Panopticon

Reunion

In every decision, Emma knew, there is a rational choice and an emotional one. Sometimes the two coincide, but quite often they pose an irreconcilable conflict.

As a scientist, she tended to choose the path of reason. She observed the facts, weighed up probabilities, and came to the most practical conclusion. In this situation, the facts were threefold. Firstly, the killer was closer to Aiden and Noel than they were. Secondly, she was heading in the direction of their clearing. Putting those two premises together, it was hard to avoid the conclusion: even if they headed back now, they wouldn’t get there in time. They had no chance of saving the doctor and the child, and would only put themselves in significantly more danger. They had no choice but to head for the safety of the Hub.

As a scientist of the brain, however, Emma also knew a fourth fact: most people, regardless of reason, will follow their feelings almost every time. The heart often outweighs the mind, and when loved ones are at risk our common sense dissipates completely. She’d studied many criminals who had killed for love, and knew that many more would die for it. The average human might well sacrifice themselves, with no hope of any sort of happy ending, if it meant seeing their loved one just one more time. Man was not Homo sapiens, but Homo permotionem, she thought. Our emotion will always trump our wisdom.

Eventually, though, she’d found a compromise. No matter how much heart and mind seemed to clash, there was always a mid-point between them, a bridge between sense and sentiment. Elena wanted to go back and rescue Aiden, but Emma knew that they had to push on to the Hub.

“We have to head to the Hub,” the psychologist said. “It’s the only way to rescue Aiden.”

That got his mother’s attention.

“He’s probably alive,” Emma lied. “Noel would have protected him, either killing that creature or buying him some time to run. Either way, he’ll be long gone, hiding from her or other killers. If they can’t find them, we probably couldn’t either, and we’d be putting them as well as us at risk by looking. We’re closer to the Hub, and once we’re there we can get a helicopter and rescue team in to search thoroughly and safely. It might feel like we’re heading away from him, but every step actually brings us closer.”

Of course, there was no guarantee that even the Hub was secure. If calling a rescue helicopter was possible, surely Charon would have done it already. Were they also in trouble, or did they just not know that the tour needed rescuing? Had they been so engrossed in their security discussions that they hadn’t been monitoring the cameras? Emma tried not to let herself doubt. If Elena could believe that her son was alive, she could at least hope for this.

Besides, what else could she do? If the Hub was compromised, they could try heading straight back to the helicopter, but then they’d have to bypass the park’s external security. Neither she nor Elena were staff members, so they wouldn’t even know where to begin. It wasn’t inconceivable that the pilot would let them through. Emma had heard the young woman, who Charon had called Alice, say she needed to refuel, and seen her head past the train to an external building. Was it possible that she was still walking around, and might see them at the gate? Possible, perhaps, but hardly likely. That could only be a last resort.

There was another reason to go to the Hub, though, one tainted by irrational emotions of her own. Elena wasn’t the only one with somebody to save. Emma felt partially responsible for bringing Alex here, with her colleague having protested so fervently against the trip; if anything had happened to the older woman, the blood would be on her hands. If she didn’t at least try to find her, ensure that she was okay, Emma knew that she could never forgive herself.

That’s when she saw her. The oddness of the timing, with Alex weighing so heavily on her mind, made Emma doubt her eyes. Was she hallucinating, a result of the shock? But no, there she was: sitting by a tree, facing towards it, apparently unharmed. Resting? Praying? Emma wondered what her colleague was doing out here on her own, and walked towards her. Alex may have been left alone, for whatever reason, but she at least she wasn’t any more.

She alerted Elena, and they were heading to the tree when a different sort of company arrived. Gris.

They froze, but it may have been too late. Emma wondered if the killer had seen them, prowling through the trees, or if he’d noticed the stationary Alex. She closed her eyes, silently begging the killer to walk on by. With Gris’s arrival, what could have been a tearful reunion might well be the last time she saw her older colleague alive. If she opened her eyes, it might be the first time she saw her dead.

If he’d noticed her and Elena, on the other hand, it might be the last time she saw anything at all. She couldn’t hide from that. Emma steeled herself, ready to face her death. If this was to be the end, she refused to go any other way than staring it in the face.

As her eyes opened, her heart sank. It was just as she’d feared. Gris was heading for Alex.

In every decision, Emma knew, there is a rational choice and an emotional one. Sometimes the two coincide, but quite often they pose an irreconcilable conflict. She wanted to dive in to rescue her friend, her mentor, or at least call out her name, but she knew it was futile. It would not stop Gris killing Alex, and it would almost certainly kill herself, Elena, and any chance of bringing in rescue.

With every step he took, she wrestled to help her mind outweigh her heart. She had to take the rational choice here, not the emotional won. Emma fought to maintain control, to stay quiet and not sacrifice herself in vain. She was losing.

Time was up: Gris had reached Alex. Before Emma’s body could sprint towards him on instinct, though, and before her brain could stop them, something extraordinary happened. The killer looked up, and he died.

It was over in an instinct. As the Frenchman’s gaze raised towards the skies, perhaps prompted by signs of a disturbance, death came crashing downwards. It took the form of a thick branch, attached to the weight of a large man, which gravity had forced down the killer’s throat and through his entire body. The shaft had fixed him in his current position, a second backbone rooting him in place. As he stared eternally skywards, blood spurted from his lips, and Gris fell to the ground to writhe in his pain. It was too late for him, though, as the rod had clearly punctured several of his internal organs on its journey to the Earth.

“This was the bear, you said?” The man, Alex’s saviour, helped Charon down from the tree. “Looks more like a pig on a spit.”

That was enough for Elena. She had been subdued so far, following Emma’s advice even as the psychiatrist considered breaking it, and silently praying for her son, but now she was striding towards the group. Emma saw her logic. The man had just saved Alex’s life, after all, and was clearly helping Charon. As their hostess would hardly leave the Hub without security, this man had to be in her employ: he had the physique to be a security guard, and could well be out there looking for them.

The violence had seemed a little excessive, but in a life or death situation Emma supposed that you have to work with what you’ve got and improvise. If he hadn’t put Gris down permanently, the killer might well now be feasting on all five of them. She was hardly about to complain. She ran after her companion, calling out as she went. Charon looked up, her expression hard to make out, but Alex seemed to ignore them.

As for the guard, he had been preoccupied. Having been bent over Gris’s body, presumably confirming the killer’s death, now he rose, with something silver in his hand. As Emma drew closer, she saw that his arm was red with blood.

As she drew closer, the man straightened up, and she saw that Charon’s face was one of fear. He knocked Alex as he turned to watch them, and she keeled over just as Gris had. She ran closer, calling her colleague’s name, but only dead eyes stared back.

She’d made a terrible mistake.