Before Another War

Chapter Fifty-One

Mary gazed out of the window. He doesn't deserve this.

She hadn't been able to talk to Steven about it yet. He was avoiding her, making excuses to go out for the shopping or mow the lawn. Anything to avoid the conversation about his brother being a hardened criminal.

They hadn't announced a court date yet, but Mary knew she'd be long dead by then. Not long left now. It didn't bother her anymore. But, if she'd been younger, fitter, maybe she would be doing something about it. In her youth, Mary had been no stranger to a good protest. And this was her son. She'd been fantasising about breaking him out, about standing up from her chair and running to the prison. Anything for him. But she couldn't do that.

There was a knock on the door. Probably the post, she decided. When no answer came, she heard some light mutterings before the window was smashed in. Again.

The last one had only been fixed a few days ago. Having a feeling she already knew who it was, Mary waited. Death didn't scare her anymore.

There was a great deal of clattering and huffing and puffing in the kitchen before Cyrille made it to the front room, out of breath. He dragged a cart behind him, one that looked like it shouldn't have been able to fit through the window.

'Sorry,' he began. 'I forgot you couldn't...' He motioned to the door.

Mary was desperate to know why he was here, but she hoped he hadn't got her another puppy again. She'd had to take the last one to the shelter. Well, Steven had had to.

Cyrille took a seat across from her. It was only then that she noticed the gash down his face, stretching from just below his eye to his jaw. It was clearly a few days old, but it would scar nonetheless. In fact, Cyrille looked less sharp than usual. His pinstripe suit was slightly crinkled and his hair wasn't neatly slicked back over his head.

'I have something for you,' he began, pulling the cart over to him. Whatever was inside was covered by a tartan blanket. 'I understand that Matt is currently incapacitated, but I never break a promise.'

This was true. Despite all of his misgivings, he would never go back on his word. Besides, Cyrille had a feeling he would need Matt for something else very soon. Cyrille whipped the blanket off the cart, only to reveal a monstrous contraption. A cloth cap sat on top of a huge network of wires. It was connected to them by small metal pads dotted about its surface. Cyrille stared at it with pride.

'It's an EEG,' he said. 'With some small adjustments.'

He picked it up and placed the cloth cap on her head, pushing away her messy hair. Mary, knowing he wasn't going to hurt her, tried to calm her breathing. Even if she was in danger, she couldn't do anything about it. She was so vulnerable, sat in this house.

Cyrille set to work, threading the wires under her jumper through to the ends of her arms. He stuck them down with cold, metallic tape. There was a fibrous glove that he found buried at the bottom of the cart which he pulled onto her fingers. Then, he found the battery pack, which was attached to the cap by a long wire . Cyrille fumbled in his pocket and placed the batteries in, along with a tiny piece of the Egia.

Cyrille wasn't stupid, he knew that the piece from his other machine was likely to go missing at some point. That's why, when he'd first found it, he'd smashed it into three pieces. Just a tiny amount could go a long way.

He'd charged it using one of his less than fortunate henchman. It hadn't killed them, but it looked like they were going to be sleeping for a while.

Not sure it would work, Cyrille took a deep breath before switching the machine on.

Mary felt the effects almost instantly. Somehow, the machine had replaced the neural network for her arms. She could move. Flexing her fingers, she smiled, before lunging at Cyrille trying to smash her fist into his cheek. He moved surprisingly fast, dodging out of the way.