SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

22

Another bomb shook the facility sending Graham stumbling into Cadence. The contact more than disgusted him, it repulsed him. He couldn't get off of him fast enough. The look Cadence gave him was one of mild amusement. Graham hated it, that smug look. If only he could wipe it off with something hard, something brick-like.

"Exactly how many explosions did you rig?" Jareth snapped at Fes, himself having run into a wall, and hard by the looks of it.

The word slipped from Fes nonchalantly, "Thirteen."

Graham's response was nothing if not facetious. "Don't you think that's a bit excessive."

Fes shrugged. It seemed "excessive" was Festra Corriday's middle name. She didn't know the meaning of overboard. "I broke out of the same prison cell twenty seven times, once."

It was Cadence's turn to pose a question. "Which one?"

"This one's." She thumbed Graham's direction.

"Me?"

Fes smirked as they rounded a corner down a dark hall, smoke billowing against the ceiling. "Yeah, Grimsby. And you didn't make it easy either."

Graham furrowed his eyebrows and covered his mouth against the smoke."Why would I keep you locked up? Aren't we on the same team?"

"We weren't always. This way."

With that she lead the way down the hall, and into a doorway on the right. On the other side of the door lay a large conference room, chairs now askew, tables toppled. A tall window opened to the right, revealing open sky and bent steel and, in the distance, a expanse of wheat fields so vast Graham couldn't see the end of it.. They were somewhere over the midwest, and by the looks of it, in the middle of no-man's land.

Fes continued forward, leading them up a flight of stairs to a balcony where they took an exit to a corridor. "It's over here."

The closer to "here" they got the faster she moved. Graham found himself almost running to keep up with her. The distance down this hall felt like miles. A more accurate measurement would have put the distance at 200 yards - the length of the longest independent section of the Island, and they were going to the far end, the end that had lost ist rotors and was sinking.

At the far end of the hall stood a single glass door, one with no clear locks, knobs, or other fixtures. The room on the other side was completely dark, unreadable safe for the black form of a person pacing back and forth near the door. Someone was waiting for them. Festra approached a wall panel nearby, removed it, and started fiddling around with the electronics underneath. Graham knew he could pop the door open with the wave of a hand if he wanted. He didn't know exactly how he knew this, it was just a fact, like his name or that he breathed air. Along with this fact came another, one he'd pieced together: a price. If he popped this door with a wave of his hand another wave of memory would disappear. He'd lose something else, something bright. He might lose his most current memories. No, any abilities he had concerning electronics would have to be saved as a last resort. He couldn't risk another bout of memory loss.

The door popped open with a quiet snap. A gloved hand pressed against the glass door, pushing it open. Out stepped an elegant woman with charming features that Graham couldn't help but admire. Large almond eyes, looked him over appreciatively. Soft, full lips curved into a smile. She had round, Italian features, a long nose that came to a soft bulge at the end, and ears that stuck out just slightly. Soft, black, unwashed hair hung in waves around her face: the only sign that her imprisonment had been harsh. She was clothed from under the chin to her toes. Keeping her skin from being exposed struck Graham as odd until her received a memory, one he didn't like, about a man who dressed similarly and appeared just as charming, someone who harmed someone he cared about. The name Dustan came to mind.