MirrorWorld

“Maya’s maiden name is Lyons. Stephen is her father and Simon’s grandfather. He never had a son. Just the one daughter and he loved that boy more than his own child. Their loss set him on a … refined path. He was driven before, by what he described as a cursed childhood, taunted by the darkness, monsters in the closet, unceasing, crippling fear for which there appeared no source. He spent years with psychologists and psychiatrists who rotated him through various drug cocktails. But nothing helped. And then, when he was grown and accustomed to the fear, it left him wounded, but driven to understand it and uncover its source, which he did, and they took his — our — family for it. Rabid curiosity and study shifted to preparedness and, I fear, vengeance. But … who can blame him? I’d be lying if I said I never thought about finding a way to hurt them. Hugh … the man was an angel.”

“Who’s left? In our family.”

“Just the four of us, counting Maya. Stephen’s wife passed away when Maya was still a child.”

“Why would I run from all this?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question, wondering aloud because what Allenby has said doesn’t feel like me.

Allenby shrugs. “God only knows, but you took Lyons up on his offer to erase your memory, which, if you ask me, was your first and only real act of cowardice. When you woke with no memory, you attacked. This part is secondhand, mind you. As I mentioned, I found out about your decision via e-mail, and the job was done when I arrived. You were subdued and drugged. Katzman drove you away, put you on a park bench, and set you loose upon the world. I don’t know what the man was thinking, but within a few hours you’d been arrested. I located you when you were committed to SafeHaven a few days later.”

“And left me there.”

“It seemed the best place for you. Even you believed you were crazy. So, yes, we left you there.”

It’s a lot to assimilate, but one detail stands out. “You said I had the potential to be a living WMD.”

She nods.

“I’m just a man.”

This gets a laugh, like I’ve just told the funniest joke. “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to be honest with you because it seems to be the only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself out of windows or punching people in the face.”

“Makes sense.”

“You were born without fear. Didn’t shed a tear when you entered the world. While your mother and I wept, you stayed as calm as a—”

“You were there when I was born?”

“Cut the cord.”

“How old am I?”

“Thirty-four. Your mum was twenty-three at the time. I was twenty-two. Turns out you were born with malformed amygdalas. Your memory was unaffected, but you couldn’t feel fear. You never have.”

“A lack of fear doesn’t explain what I can do.”

“It explains why you excelled in the military.”

“What branch?” I ask. I’m not sure why I care, but I want to know who I was, and different branches of the military can shape a man.

“Army,” she says. “First as a Ranger, and then Delta. But that didn’t last long.”

“I washed out?”

“You were noticed.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Lyons,” I say. “What is this place, CIA?”

“Once upon a time,” she says, “as were you. Your skill set made you the ideal operative.”

“My skill set…” I say. “What did I do?”

“In the Rangers, and Delta, you fought alongside some brave and highly skilled men, and one woman if I’m not mistaken, but your willingness to take on any assignment and do whatever insanity was required to get the job done set you apart. You went into the darkest places and saw the vilest aspects of humanity, and somehow, on your own, came to understand something that Lyons had already hypothesized; that there were monsters in the world, just beyond our experience but influencing it.”

If what Allenby is telling me is accurate, I was a fearless, highly skilled soldier who could experience horrible things and not be forever changed. That information, combined with my mental filing cabinet overflowing with ways to inflict pain, extract information … and kill, forms a picture in my mind. I know what I was. Who I was.

“Assassin,” I say.

“The best,” Allenby says. “The CIA would never confirm this, of course. Assassination isn’t a sanctioned activity, you know. And it’s not the best career choice for a husband and new father. Lyons, like you, worked for the CIA once upon a time, but the company specializes in international affairs, not … what we do. So Neuro was formed as an off-the-books black operation with limited oversight, and you signed up, in part because Lyons was already your father-in-law, but also because that skill set of yours made you even more qualified for what Neuro was tasked to research, and not just as a warrior. Threat assessment was part of our job, but we were also tasked with uncovering any natural resources that might exist just out of reach. Our research had the potential to change the world.” She watches my face, judging my shifting expression. “What’s confusing you?”