For A Star To Fall

Chapter 7: To Exploit Weakness

Chapter 7

Emyle looked at him and put on her calmest expression. Dr. Valin was threatening her—but with what she had yet to clarify. However, he still expecting her to react with shock to something like this, and because of that she could not allow any emotion to cross her face, as that would be giving him what he wanted.

“Which people are you referring to?” she asked, her tone kept carefully neutral.

Dr. Valin met her steady gaze with an almost resigned expression in his eyes. “Your father, of course.”

Masking her sudden, unreasonable terror, Emyle inhaled deeply and silently, forcing herself to stay composed. Screaming and hyperventilation was what he expected and wanted from her, as this would soon lead to pleas for mercy and other such spineless, weak things. Father would be fine, right? She willed herself to listen to the voice of logic. He was strong, of that she was sure. Besides, Dr. Valin would not have the resources here in the facility. Emyle would admittedly be surprised if she discovered that he was employing the use of torture equipment on Father. Perhaps, worry for Father aside, she would even be pleasantly surprised, for torture might be the only way to get the information she needed out of Dr. Valin.

Her opponent obviously considered her continued silence a response to his blatant threat. He nodded, as if to himself, and said, a hint of satisfaction ringing in his tone, “Well, I sincerely hope that we are clear now. If you go wandering off again, I will have no choice but to hurt your father. It would truly be such a pity, to cause pain to an old friend. I will leave you to consider my words, then. Please remember the fact that I mean every single word of what I said.”

With a strangely dry feeling in her throat, Emyle nodded slowly, almost thoughtfully, and Dr. Valin smiled that warm smile of his, but this time it was as if she was able to peel back the layers of false cheer to reveal that dark satisfaction beneath. She watched, motionless on the bed, as Dr. Valin turned and strode out the door, chin held high, even though he had basically betrayed an “old friend” of his mere moments before.

Once he was out of sight, Emyle uncurled herself from her cross-legged position. She sat there for a moment, legs stretched out in front of her, as voices too muffled for her to make out the words being said conversed just outside her door. She made no move to stand up and attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. Then, overcome by some foreign, wild emotion, she laughed quietly to herself. Yes, Father was in mortal danger and she still had not found him or the thumb drive, but this was the most fun she had had in ages. And it was addicting, really. This adrenaline rush, this utter terror and horror at what Dr. Valin said he would do. But Father was strong, and would not break so easily, no matter what he put him through or how much he tortured him.

In addition, Dr. Valin was intelligent, much smarter than she had initially thought when she had first met him. In an act of pure, unreasonable folly, she had told Jordan about her apparent “hobby”—spending time with Father. Dr. Valin had somehow gotten hold of that piece of information, a piece of a vulnerable part of herself, and was now exploiting it as a weakness in her cold facade. And, she had to admit, his strategy was working. She was a little intimidated and a bit frightened, but, for the most part, she was excited and raring to go. It served more as a motivation for her than as a tool for Dr. Valin to use her familial bond with Father to his advantage.

Getting to her feet, Emyle moved towards the door, thinking suddenly of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Adventure of the The Abbey Grange, where Sherlock Holmes had ever so famously uttered the words, “Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot.” Emyle almost smiled, considering the appropriateness of those words in her current situation. She grasped the door handle and opened the door gently, taking care not to make a sound. Then there was an arm blocking her exit route, one that was obviously heavily muscled, even in the black sleeve that surrounded it.