James Knapp: State of Decay

He was one of them.

Sean was looking at me, pupils still wide, waiting for an answer. Except for some reason his little trick wasn’t working, and he hadn’t realized that. Not yet. His eyes narrowed.

I’d had pinprick necrosis in a section of my brain. Whatever had happened to me, it seemed to have left me immune to their influence.

I let my mind go blank. I stopped thinking about anything else except what he’d said.

“I understand,” I said. His face relaxed.

“This was a win across the board,” he continued. “Whatever you saw or heard down there, forget it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Sean’s eyes stayed the same, but his face relaxed a little and his tone of voice changed when he spoke again.

“This is for your own good, Nico. Stay out of this.”

I had known Sean for years. Our relationship had always been the same, and I trusted him with my life. Seeing him then, it was like he had pulled off a mask.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, leaning closer, “then forget everything to my statement ‘mark one three one.’ I need to know one thing.”

“Okay.”

“Where is Samuel Fawkes? Did he get out of the facility?”

I knew there was a lot riding on my answer. This was important to him, very important. I had never seen him so serious about anything before in my life. Fawkes had been telling the truth. The group he described, they did exist. They had infiltrated even the FBI, and they knew about him.

“No,” I said.

“No?”

I could have told him I didn’t know or I could have told him the truth, but something told me to play that information close to the vest.

“Samuel Fawkes is dead.”

“You’re sure?”

“He’s dead,” I said.

What the hell. It wasn’t a lie.

James Knappgrew up in New England and currently lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Kim.