Read Changeling for Free Online

“Who?”
    “We don’t have a positive identification yet, but it’s another male. If I were you, I’d start checking if any other employees never showed up this morning.”
    “Jarvis has a coincidental connection to this place,” Kinsey said. “You have no proof that the killer has anything to do with Weatherfield, and until you have more to go on than the suspicious nature of a former reporter”—he glared directly at me—“you should watch what accusations you’re throwing around.”
    Cipher’s fingers curled, tapped on the leg of his jeans. He was uncertain, confused by mixed signals.
    “I apologize if I offended you,” Trance said. “But the second victim was killed in the exact same fashion as Ronald Jarvis. Skin left behind, every bit of blood, organs, and bone completely disintegrated. Or removed. The point is, we don’t know how or why or who, which means there’s a chance the killer will strike again.”
    Kinsey settled. Some of the fight drained away, and he just seemed tired. “Why are you involved in this?”
    “The nature of the deaths means it could be Meta related. We have to follow every lead.”
    He snorted. “Follow every lead, or try your best to prove it wasn’t one of yours by making up stories about this facility?”
    “Touché, but to be fair, I don’t know what this facility does.” Trance stood up and clasped her hands behind her back in a demure pose. “Perhaps you could enlighten us. Change my mind, Dr. Kinsey.”
    Kinsey’s mouth opened, closed. Trance had spun a perfect web and captured him in it. “If any of this shows up on the front page of some—”
    “It won’t. You have my word.”
    He stared at me. “Mine, too,” I said. “I’m not a reporter anymore.”
    “Fine,” he said after a brief pause. “Come with me.”
    We took the elevator down to the second floor. The doors opened on a very different scene, a waiting room decorated with vivid colors—blues and greens and reds and yellows, splashed on the walls and chairs and carpet. Picture booksand games were stacked neatly on tables shaped like insects. On the other side of the room, novels and magazines littered a simple oak coffee table.
    A lime-green front desk guarded a set of double doors, all steel and reinforced glass. The attendant, a woman in pink nurse’s scrubs, smiled when she spotted us. No one was in the waiting room, but I caught the faint hum of music.
    “Good afternoon, Dr. Kinsey,” the woman said. “You brought visitors?”
    “Yes, I did, Sasha,” he replied. “These Rangers are looking into Ronald’s death, and they wanted a quick look around.”
    Sasha’s face fell. Sadness bracketed her round eyes. “So sad, what happened to Ronald. He was such a good guy, you know? He brought cookies for the kids.”
    “What kids?” Cipher asked.
    “No one’s out here now,” Sasha said. “It’s therapy time, so everyone’s together, but sometimes they have to come out of the rooms for a while.” That explained the little waiting room.
    “Is it okay if we go inside?” Kinsey asked.
    “Sure, just don’t go into the rooms. Like I said, therapy time.” She looked past him, at us, like she was sharing a secret. “We don’t like to disturb therapy. It could contaminate the results.”
    Kinsey swiped his card, punched in a code, and the doors unlocked. He pushed and went inside. Tempest and I continued bringing up the rear. I liked the support role; it gave me time to observe.
    We walked down a short corridor and stepped out into a circular room at least thirty feet in diameter. The curvedwalls were glass panels, marked every couple of yards by a glass door. Curtains were drawn everywhere, cutting off any view into those rooms, but I suspected that’s where the therapy happened. The center of the room held an assortment of tables and chairs. Chess and checkers games, stopped mid-play. Card games equally interrupted. Drawing paper and stubby crayons, storybooks and construction