Emma opens her eyes.

The shock of it. Breathless at the scale of it. The hanging bodies. The ropes and chains and hooks. The throat wounds. The blood in pools and puddles underneath. The smell. The quality of the light.

The poignancy of the bodies. The stillness of them. The way they’re suspended like slabs of meat in a freezer, the wrongness of it. The way their hands are bound at the front, arms tied again around the waist, faces obscured with blood. No hair—he’s shaved them this time.

The keening in her head magnifies. Resolves itself into a piercing, endless scream.

She looks for as long as she can. Records everything behind her eyes, as Cooper instructed. Records it also in her viscera, in the marrow of her bones, in the sinews of her legs, in the mysterious recesses of her mind where no light enters.

Cold sweat pops on her skin, like she felt in Huxton’s basement. She sways on the spot.

Finds herself reeled in. Looks down and is surprised to discover that she and Bell are holding hands. Looks up and he is staring at the bodies, too. His expression is one of absolute despair. Then his eyes close with the awareness that nothing will ever be the same.

CHAPTER TWENTY

After working the scene with Cooper and the Scientific Analysis team for two hours, they peel off their paper suits, collect Bell’s jacket, walk back to the Diplomat, and begin the long return drive to Quantico.

They should feel hungry, but neither of them wants to eat anything. Near Manassas, the car develops a subtle yaw as Bell starts to shut down. Emma makes him pull over on the side of the parkway so they can switch drivers. In the passenger seat, he complains that he’s not tired. Five minutes later, Emma looks over and his head is heavy against the window, his breathing deep and even. He wakes just before Southbridge with a jolting start.

She rolls the car into an exterior parking space near Jefferson at about 01:30.

“The car needs to go back to the motor pool,” Bell says dully.

“Doubt the gate will be open yet.” Emma unbuckles and rubs her neck.

Neither of them has the energy to get out. They just sit there listening to the engine tick as it cools. Finally, Bell rouses himself.

“We should go to the dorms. Get some sleep.”

“You sleepy again?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.”

“I’m too wired. I shouldn’t have napped.” Bell sighs deeply, pushes open his door.

“It was nap or become a road fatality.” Emma sticks her tongue in her cheek. She shouldn’t have mentioned fatalities. “Wait.”

“What’s up?”

“I know what we need.”

She gets out of the Diplomat, stiff-legged. Brushes crumbs off the driver’s seat and shoos Bell out, locks up. Then she walks fifteen feet to her own Rabbit. Keys, keys. She finds them in the back pocket of her jeans. The trunk has a sticky lock, and it’s been nearly a week since she’s paid the car any attention. She pats one cold taillight affectionately.