Page 90 of Shattering Dawn
“When he showed up at my door that night he was in a panic,” Irene continued. “He kept saying Sweetwater had tried to drop him straight into hell and that the only thing that had saved him was one of his men who got in the way. Claimed he’d barely escaped and that he was on the run. He had to get out of the country. He wanted my help.”
“You knew who and what he was all along. Why did you kill him?”
“He said he wanted me to escape with him. But I was sure he planned to use me as a hostage.”
Amelia stilled. “I don’t understand. How would that have worked?”
“He thought that as long as he controlled me he would have access to the drug. My father is the only one who can supply it, you see. He deals directly with the Aurora Islands people. He has never read me or my brother and sister into the details of the arrangement that he has with the source. To make a short story shorter, I agreed to run off with Falcon. I went back to his place with him. He wanted to collect the fake IDs stored at the safe house. When I got the chance, I shot him.”
Cutler paused his pacing long enough to grunt. “Falcon was becoming unstable. He couldn’t handle the drug.”
And maybe you can’t handle it, either, Amelia thought, but she did not say that aloud. The possibility that the drug was making Cutler unstable was terrifying. Did it mean she and her friends were doomed, too?
A sudden thought occurred. She looked at Irene, who was pouring coffee for herself with a steady hand. “You’re not on the enhancement drug, are you?”
“No,” Irene said. “My father thought it would be unwise to experiment on ourselves until we had enough data from the drug trials to make an informed decision. He changed his mind a couple of months ago, however, and began injecting himself with the serum.”
She spoke in a cool, nonjudgmental voice, as if she was simply offering a reasonable answer to a reasonable question. But the unstable vibe in the atmosphere flared. Amelia did not have to look at Steen to know that Irene’s casual words infuriated him. There was probably nothing more annoying than having your offspring point out your poor decisions.
“The drug fuckingworks,” Cutler growled.
“If it doesn’t make you insane or kill you outright,” Irene added. “We knew going in that not everyone could tolerate the serum. The goal of the trials was to develop a profile of the ideal candidate, quantify the risks, calculate the proper dosage, and establish the maintenance schedule, if one was necessary.”
Amelia looked at Cutler. “If the idea was to be careful and methodical, why did you jump the gun?”
“Because thanks to you and your friends we were able to build a profile of the ideal candidate andI fit the fucking profile,” Cutler shot back.
“Which is?” Amelia asked, her breath very tight in her chest.
Cutler took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together, and resumed his pacing. “The basic requirement for success appears to be that the subject possesses a degree of natural paranormal ability, a core talent.”
“But you had no practical way to test for that particular quality until you found the list of names from the old research study,” Amelia said.
“The list changed everything,” Cutler said. “Up until that point all we had was a string of failures. But when the directors of the pharma company gave us the list of people like you, people who had been tested and found to have a genuine paranormal talent, we turned a corner. We knew we were on the right track.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes. “People died in those tests.”
“It’s true we lost a few subjects due to their inability to tolerate the drug. Having some degree of latent talent is not enough to guarantee success. But you and your friends not only survived—you appeared to be stable. That was a big step forward. Unfortunately, though, it looked like you hadn’t developed any measurable new paranormal ability. That was…discouraging.”
“My father considered you and your podcast friends to be failures,” Irene said.
Cutler stopped and slammed a clenched fist into the nearest wall. “Because paranormal talent is so damned difficult to observe or measure, especially from a distance.”
“My friends and I grew up with at least some awareness of our psychic vibes,” Amelia said. “We learned early on that it was best to keep quiet about it. We all doubled down on that approach after you ran your experiments on us because we didn’t want people to think we were completely delusional.”
Cutler shot her a fierce look. “I didn’t realize that until recently. In the meantime we did have some clear successes.”
“You managed to produce a couple of psychic assassins,” Amelia said. “My friends ran into one on Night Island. Congratulations. You must be so proud. Definitely the kind of scientific advance that will improve the quality of life for human beings around the world. Yep, I can see a Nobel Prize on the horizon for you.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, you stupid bitch,” Cutler roared.
The atmosphere in the great room was electric. It was easy to believe lightning would strike at any second. For a moment Amelia was afraid she’d gone too far.
But Irene stepped in to manage the situation. It was obvious she’dhad some practice with the task. The relationship between father and daughter was clearly fraught.
“I’m sure you’re curious about the origins of the enhancement serum,” Irene said, pretending not to notice that Cutler looked like he badly wanted to murder someone.
Cutler fixed Amelia with a lethal expression. “How did you find out about Aurora Islands Pharmaceuticals?”