A Dangerous Game (H 1.6)

The moment of shared experience in Wells' glance stills me. I wonder what wounds Wells wears as a result of the man's constant criticisms, and I almost can't blame him for killing the crank.

The Whispers tones splice into the moment like unwelcome splinters making my eyelids flutter. I pull my hand away from Wells' neck and shift my glass into it, bringing my focus back to the present.

"Yes, it paid off, certainly." I lift my eyes and take in the room again. "You must have everything you've ever wanted." My last words are softer, considering if I really could have it all too, but then most of my life hasn't been about what I want. It's been about what I need. What do I need to get to tomorrow? To eat for the week? To pay rent for another month? What do I need for this day, this shift, this minute?

What I want? I'm not sure I even know what that is, but this would be a good start and if Lucky kills Wells, I lose it. I wet my lips, wondering if I should heed the Whispers' urging this time, but then I quickly change my mind and take a drink instead.

"I can't tell him Lucky's plan until the Merrimack is secured," I argue to the Whispers. "I don't care about what happened to Hard Strike. I do care about what happens to Salem. The Sipps will need that ship if they're going to survive."

Wells seems happy with your agreement. Another Yo-Yo Ma song plays and soon after, Clarissa enters the room.

She's pushing a metal cart on wheels like the one from earlier. On top of it is another silver cloche. She wheels it up to the space where you're sitting as Standish brings a long pane of thick glass which he sets on top of the bronzed bowl in front of you - making it into a dining table.

It is only the salad, but I can already tell that this is the nicest meal I have ever eaten. Everything is colorful and fresh, and when I take a bite, the salty tang of cheese and bright bursts of cranberry balance everything perfectly. I haven't even noticed the balance of food before, concerned more with the fact that it exists than anything, so this is a new experience.

I keep my napkin in my lap, munching quietly for a few moments and just appreciating the experience before I can't help but asking, "Do you? Have everything you ever wanted?" The question has been lingering since the thought crossed my lips, but now that it's out, I worry it might be the wrong question.

The Last Vault. The title alone makes my skin shiver. If the first Vault held all that gold, what treasures could be inside the last? I'm sure the Vaulters don't even know, and that's what makes it such a prize, a prize worth a ship. A prize worth me? I try not to let my doubt show, instead taking another bite of the food, determined to enjoy this meal to its fullest.

I'm about to tell him that I can help open the Last Vault - I'm sure the Whispers know something - but then he brings up the medical exam and my lips close again. The tone the words are delivered with reminds me that this role I'm offering myself up for is just another employee on his roster, unless I can convince him to truly open up to me like the Whispers said, unless I can convince him I truly care for him first.

"Of course," I answer calmly. "I expected as much."

I expected nothing of the sort, and it makes my heart race to think that some doctor might look deeply into my eyes and find the Whispers there, that they might know the voices in my head and mark me unwell. Then I remember the series of small, circular bruises left behind by the leeches on my inner thigh. Some are almost healed, but one at least is fresh - deep purple with a small scab in the middle. How will I explain that to a doctor? How will I explain it to Wells?

I stab a bite of salad that has all the best parts in it. "I'd be happy to."

"They don't have a person doctor, Helix," a Whisper informs you.

"It's a machine, and they will steal your ability to hear us," a flat-toned Whisper states. "You won't be special anymore. Mikkie will hate you. Nuport will pity you. You'll just be Wells' toy-thing."

Wells talks about the diseases I'm surely carrying like I'm some mutt he picked up off the street, like I am the rotten apple spoiling his perfect barrel, and he has the audacity to tell me not to worry as if he's certainly the savior I've been longing for.

Then the Whispers chime in and the way my mind starts spinning momentarily overwhelms my annoyance.

The Whispers would go away? Forever? With one machine's examination?

For so long, that's all I've wanted. I've drowned them out, pushed them away, sequestered them to tiny corners of my mind, forever in a tug-of-war over who has control of my life, but faced with the prospect of them going away forever, I suddenly want to keep them. It's the same feeling I had earlier in the elevator when they were so silent, but this time they wouldn't come back.

I am torn in two at the idea - half of me screaming about how I could let this opportunity to be rid of them pass me by, the other half screaming about how I'd be nothing without them. Or is that them screaming about that, for their continued existence? How would I even know the difference?

I could tell him that Fubu gave me the okay, but I don't think Wells would accept the word of a street doctor. The only source that might be higher than the word of the Vault might be... "I don't think you need to be worried. Edmund gave me a clean bill of health just a little while ago. Do you know him? Edmund Sterling? From the Tower?"

I keep eating as if this isn't surging panic into every part of my being, as if I'm not angry or offended or lying, as if Edmund even knows who I am.

I let out a soft breath of disappointment when Wells doesn't immediately take "Edmund's approval" as enough to bypass the tests. It was stupid to even try. Of course it was stupid, I thought of it. Just like I thought of coming here in the first place. I thought I could get Lucky his ship and his revenge and myself my freedom all in one go without having anyone except Wells get hurt in the process.

I don't need the Whispers to say it. I hear it in my head myself - stupid, stupid, girl.

I watch my salad disappear from in front of me without my okay, realizing again just how in control Wells is here, but what replaces it is so fragrant and glistening with fresh flavor that I almost can't be upset over it.

Then I realize what Wells asked Standish and I look to the door as if the answer might appear there. Did Nuport go through the same medical tests Wells wants for me? Were the Whispers already stolen from her? I can't begin to guess how she might react, but if her reaction is poor, these might be the final few minutes I have in this place.

I dive into the food without hesitation. Tomorrow, I'll be back to soggy oatmeal and boiled fishhead soup. Right now, I have this. I'm not about to leave it on the plate like the cake from earlier.

Each bite is better than the one before it. The gentle crunch of the asparagus pairs with the fluffy taste of the rice. The smoky flavor of the salmon is enhanced by the glaze. While Standish is gone, Clarissa brings fresh, pure glasses of water, which only livens up the taste of the meal. Easily the best things you've ever tasted, simply heaven in your mouth. The salmon melts in your mouth, exploding with wonder. Even the Whispers seem to be in awe of the meal.

Wells makes soft sounds of pleasure as he eats. He savors each bite and is still working on the salmon when you realize you've nearly scarfed down all of your meal.

What do you do?

I know I'm scarfing this food down compared to Wells, but I don't care anymore. It feels like this whole attempted reach for a better existence is about to fall apart, so I'm taking every bit of it I can get. I start taking bigger sips of my drink too, the alcohol smoldering in my chest, a quiet fire.

You tuck into the salmon delights and finish before Wells. Wells continues eating and savoring while Clarissa takes up your plate once you're completely done. And for several minutes, you sit there with nothing in front of you as Wells chews and slowly moves his head to the music. He seems interested in the food and doesn't engage in conversation. All the while, the Whispers are telling you how doomed you are.

What do you do?

I expect Wells to say something after I've finished, but when I realize how absorbed he is in his own experience, I sit back on the couch a bit with my drink in my hand and Whispers in my head. They push and prod, reminding me how bad a situation I'm in, and finally I break. There's no reason to hold back now if I'm already in this deep.

"It wasn't fair, you know," I say. "The way your father blamed you that day." I don't name the day, or his mother, waiting for Wells' response first.