Separian - Book 1

Chapter 11

Oh, for the love of God...

"Don't move!"

I'd gone from sitting in a room with Steve and Jen, chained to a table and unable to move, to standing in another room entirely. Sullivan, the officer who'd brought me to the station now held me at gunpoint... again.

What did you do? I asked.

Not a thing. As you can clearly see, you are the one in control of your body now. I didn't believe him. As well you should not. I am attempting to make a point, here. He sounded weak, but only just.

What point? I asked.

That if you are in fact in control of your own body and Samuel, your alter ego, shall we call him, is out cold, then how on Earth did you get into the weapons vault? He sounded too different from before. It was like I was talking to another person entirely. Though, he was more or less, just as difficult. it wasn't Samuel.

We were in the vault. There were rifles, handguns, riot shields, ammo boxes, empty magazines, and a variety of different types of armor lining all four walls. The ceiling was low. I could have raised my hand and jumped less than a foot to reach it. But of all the features in the room, even John, I couldn't stop staring at the giant door, bolted shut from the inside.

It suddenly occurred to me what I was expected to do. And I refused to fall in line. There was nothing on this Earth that would make me shoot my way out of a police station. Even my own life.

Are you stupid? I asked, overlooking his implied plan for my escape.

Give up or shoot your way out. Those are your choices.

Okay, let me see if I understand this correctly. I either die here after giving them nothing, or make my own way out as a murderer? I stopped and thought about the idea for a moment. I'll take plan C.

Very well. Then you have less than ten minutes before they break through that door. Come up with your own way out of here before that happens.

In that instant, the stranger's voice left me without a hint of returning. It was an unusual feeling, like I was being taken back to before 'Samuel' ever surfaced. My head no longer felt cluttered. It was quiet. Thinking a clear and complete thought had never been easier for me. But how long was this reprieve going to last? A few minutes?

Where are you going? I suddenly felt very alone, not wanting him to leave, regardless of how irate he'd made me up until now. I didn't know how to get out of this situation without him. Help me!

He was gone. His words, his attitude, his thoughts, any trace that he'd been present at all. Gone.

Ironic, how up until now, I would have given anything for this feeling of relief and now it was tarnished; overwhelmed by my contempt for him having left me to fend for myself in this snake pit.

And now there was only myself and Officer Sullivan. Shirt unbuttoned, one sleeve removed, pants unbuckled, ready to fall down, waiting to clock out, gun pointed at my chest, Officer Sullivan.

A few things I'd been told to do if ever held at gunpoint. Stay calm and do exactly what they say. Likely hood is they don't need another reason to kill you other than your ability to turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's best not to give them one. There were exceptions, though, such as a person other than yourself at gunpoint, a gunner not in their right mind, more than gunner; the list wasn't exactly short. It's merely the hostage's job to interpret the situation and act accordingly.

Now, John was a cop. But like any normal person would, he feared for his life, unaware of what was actually going on here. He'd seen 'me' maul a seemingly innocent woman in cold blood and now I had worked my way into the weapons vault, locking myself inside it with him. Half dressed as he was, his level of composure was outstanding. I'd half expected him to fire once I registered what was happening.