Run to You Part Five: Fifth Touch. Clara Kensie

after what happened at that motel in Tennessee.”

      It took less than five minutes to get to the APR. I shivered as we hustled down the pebbled path into the building—cold because I’d left without grabbing my coat, and also, yes, because I was scared about why I’d been pulled out of school and brought to the APR. Cole put a timid arm around me, to offer warmth or comfort or both.

      Dennis waited for me in the lobby, somber and pensive. “Dennis, what’s going on?” I asked. “Did Aaron find Jillian and Logan? Did something happen to them?”

      Dennis thanked Cole for fetching me, then guided me through security. But instead of heading down the main hallway, he turned to the right, into the elevator that led to the Underground.

      That’s when it hit me: “You’re taking me to see my parents, aren’t you?”

      He pressed the Down button, and the doors closed. “I am.”

      “But I told you I’m not ready.” I covered my belly with my hands. I would never be ready. They were liars. Thieves. Murderers. They made me Killers’ Spawn.

      “You don’t have to see your mother,” Dennis said as the elevator brought us down. “But your father needs you. As you know, he’s been unconscious the whole time he’s been here. But lately he’s been stirring and mumbling. More and more every day.”

      “He’s finally waking up. That’s good.” I didn’t want anything to do with my father, but I was relieved he was waking up.

      “He’s still incoherent. He keeps reliving the night Kellan abducted you,” Dennis said. “Today, he became frantic. They can’t calm him down. I was here to check on Aaron, but when I heard what was happening with your father, I suggested that you come see him. He’s not aware of his surroundings, but maybe he’ll sense that you’re safe, and calm down on his own. Are you willing to see him, Tessa?”

      “Of course. Yes,” I said, a knot of concern forming in my stomach. My father must be in agony, reliving what was probably the worst night of his life. I didn’t want him to suffer like that.

      The knot in my stomach tightened when a gun-chomping, muscle-bound man met Dennis and me at the elevator—Mr. Milbourne, the head warden. Winter’s father. Nathan and the rest of the Lab Brats would know all about my Underground visit by the end of the day. I could just picture the gleeful, vengeful gleam in Nathan’s eyes. He would probably be happy my father was in such a tormented state.

      Mr. Milbourne grunted a greeting and led us through the prison. Dim and dank, smelling of mildew and hopelessness. Dozens of steel doors, windowless and locked airtight.

      He led us past the cell where I’d stayed for three weeks, the cell Kellan had thrown me in after he’d kidnapped me. The cell I’d refused to leave until I could leave with my innocent parents.

      The cell where Tristan had proved to me that he truly loved me.

      We continued walking, the hall silent except for our footsteps. We rounded a corner, and an echoed howl came from behind the door at the far end.

      My father’s cell.

      As Mr. Milbourne swiped his badge through the security pad, I held my breath, gaining the courage to see my father for the first time since I’d left the Underground.

      * * *

      If he’d been lying peacefully in his hospital-type bed, it may not have been so bad. It was his hysteria that set me trembling, that made my legs refuse to move and a small whimper escape my throat.

      My father was even thinner than when I’d last seen him. Pale. Cheeks sunken, hair gray. Unshaven and bedraggled. His eyes, however, were open, and alive with panic. They darted, wild, back and forth. He howled, struggling with ferocious effort against the padded cuffs connected to the bed rails.

      “We don’t know where he’s finding the strength,” Dennis said. “They had to restrain him so he wouldn’t hurt himself.”

      Mr. Milbourne stood in the doorway, stiff-legged, massive arms crossed over his massive chest. Coming up behind him was the woman I’d seen talking to Kellan outside of the boardroom a few weeks ago.

      “Tessa, this is Beverly Jacobs, the agency’s executive director,” Dennis said over my dad’s howls. “She’s Aaron’s mother.”

      Her gold badge shone brightly, and her face was smooth and hard as ice as she acknowledged me with a quick nod, then turned to Dennis before I could greet her. “I hope this works, Dennis,” she said.

      “Me too,” he replied grimly, and nudged me further inside my father’s cell.