by Alice Reeds
“I have those, too. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“So, we have strange memories, an abandoned freighter, a German name, Polish papers, as well as knowledge and language skills we didn’t have before. What a helpful list of facts, the only thing left is some kind of math question like ‘considering this information, at which velocity will the sun set’ or some bullshit like that.”
“I’m pretty sure the sun sets at the exact same speed every day.”
She looked at me as though to ask really in the most annoyed way possible, but a grin played on her lips.
“Despite all the memories and other weird things in our brains,” I said, getting our conversation back on track, “what I’d really like to know most right now is why everyone who was once on this ship is now gone, and who was responsible for it?”
Fiona nodded, her expression sobering. “And how do we avoid being the next to disappear?”
Chapter Nine
The Villa
There was a disconnect between my mind and my body, one so fuzzy and the other heavy as lead. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, speak, or even see. It was as though my eyes were glued shut, my ears unhearing, my thoughts too loud, and my mind completely silent all at once.
Slowly, so painfully, unnervingly slowly, some kind of order returned, my mind clearing little by little, my muscles at least turning somewhat responsive, an ache blooming in my neck, and a pain radiating from my right arm. Still it was silent, no sounds, no voices.
What even happened? No matter how much I strained my brain, I couldn’t get hold of anything, some kind of memory of what happened before…before what? What even was this? Where? Why?
Finally, I opened my eyes.
Black turning white, biting. I blinked to ease the pain, but it barely did anything at all. Everything around me was too bright, the contrast too stark, my eyes unable to figure out what to do and how to cope. Part of me didn’t even want to see, didn’t want to face whatever was around me and about to happen, my fear too great, the coward within me showing his ugly face.
“About time,” a voice said, dark and male, firm with just the slightest hint of annoyance.
All at once everything came back to me, our escape attempt, the guard Fiona punched hard enough it looked like he temporarily blacked out, the guards pursuing us, the gunshots, everything. I wanted to curse, scream, dissolve.
Fiona?
Fiona!
Where was she? Was she okay?
I attempted to look around, but my body refused…slow, so slow.
“You bastard,” Fiona hissed somewhere next to me. Relief flooded my mind and body. She’s alive.
Turning my head, my neck cracked at the sudden movement, loudly, and the ache got only worse, but I didn’t care. She was okay, even if her voice was hoarse, her hair messy, and her brows pulled together. She looked at me and for a moment everything else stopped. We were both okay, alive, and that was far more important than the pain I felt, or the anger—at myself, at Briola, the guards, Doc Bowie, my stupid traitorous brother, and the guy who shot me.
“I must commend you for your effort, I would almost say I’m impressed,” the same male voice—Doc Bowie—said, his neutral tone making his words sound only weirder. “But, then again, while I’m almost impressed, I’m certainly not surprised. I would even go as far as to say that I’m a little disappointed.”
“Why? Because your people only almost killed me, instead of actually killing me?” My voice sounded and felt raspy, as though I hadn’t used it in a week. Whatever they’d shot me with to knock me out really did a number, my muscles still achy. How long was I even out?
Someone had brought us inside and dumped us onto a very uncomfortable sofa that stood opposite Doc Bowie’s desk. I couldn’t see anyone besides him, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone behind us. My skin tingled with the crawly sensation of being watched.
“Don’t insult our people, Oscar,” Doc Bowie said. “If they wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” As much as I wanted to believe he was lying, I knew he wasn’t. Those shots, the ones that didn’t hit us, were far too precise to be accidental. “You think this is all just a joke? You think you can do whatever you want? That we accidentally left your door unlocked and the hallways unguarded?” He shook his head. “I’ve read your files, talked to you many times, but this is disappointing even for you.”
The silence that followed threatened to drown me, choke me, strike me down. It was all planned, a test, a trap, and I’d walked us right into it.
This was all my fault.
I was so wrong about everything.
Of course, I was wrong.
Why had I expected anything else?
Fiona could’ve gotten hurt because of me. What was I even thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t. I’d been blinded by anger, and this was what I got for it. I deserved getting shot, deserved to feel more dead than alive, deserved for Doc Bowie to look at me like I was an ignorant child.
“I hope this was lesson enough, that maybe now, finally, you understand how this is going to work,” Doc Bowie continued mercilessly, his words like daggers. And yet, no matter how much at fault I was, how much both Fiona and I knew it, she still reached for my hand. It was so warm against mine, and she squeezed it as though to remind me that she was there, that we were in this together, that she wasn’t mad at me.
Why? Why wasn’t she mad? I didn’t deserve her. She could’ve gotten hurt. But thankfully she hadn’t. Perhaps my father was right after all. I was useless, nothing but a pathetic child, and yet a part of me refused to accept it. That voice was too quiet, though, too far in the back, overpowered by the amount of hate I felt for myself.
For years people thought I loved myself, was an egocentric narcissist, but in reality, I hated myself more than they ever could combined.
“You belong to us, you live only because we need you alive, but if you really think we wouldn’t kill you, you are giving yourself far too much credit. You are as replaceable as everyone else, your skills and traits are something others possess as well, and you are alive only because I want and need you to be. You’d do yourself a big favor if you’d accept your fate, remember your place, and act accordingly. Next time we might not be as merciful. Besides, there are worse things we could do to you than kill you.”
“Like what? Cut off some body part like cheap mafia villains?” Fiona asked, her voice firmer, while I really wished she wouldn’t say anything at all. He was trying to provoke us, and she was giving him just what he wanted, which couldn’t be good.
“We’re not barbarians.”
Even before he finished, someone grabbed my hair, hard, and pressed cold metal against my temple. Fiona squeaked or gasped, or both, while my blood turned cold. With a click the safety was removed, and this time I wasn’t so sure if perhaps I wouldn’t actually die.
“I’m sorry,” Fiona said, her tone bordering on pleading, panicked. “We’ll behave, just don’t do this. Please!”
Doc Bowie waved his hand and the gun disappeared, as well as the hand from my hair.
“Have we reached an understanding?” he asked, his eyes going from me to Fiona and back to me.
“Yes,” we answered almost in unison, her voice as shaky as mine. Part of me wanted to hold her and apologize, protect her however I could. Another part, though, wanted to remind her to keep her anger in check, be smart about her words and everything around Doc Bowie.
Doc Bowie actually smiled, the image sick and twisted, and my stomach turned. Somewhere behind us a door opened and someone came inside—no, two people by the sound of it. The nurses, the same ones from before. The woman now had a bandage on her nose and shadows under her eyes.
“Since we didn’t get to it yesterday,” Doc Bowie said, motioning toward the nurses, “I think we should begin with some bloodwork, get your cuts checked out, and change your ban
dage, Oscar. Then we’ll do a full physical, make sure you’re okay, inside and out, and after that we’ll have a chat. Depending on how all of it goes, I’ll decide how much longer you two should remain in separation, especially since you’ve already broken the rules and failed your test. A form of quarantine, if you will.”
“Wait,” I said. “What exactly do you mean by quarantine?”
“The word ‘quarantine’ makes it sound much scarier than it really is; there’s nothing to worry about. We’ve been over this before,” he began, his tone back to a more relaxed neutral tone, and he didn’t look annoyed as he spoke. “All we want to do is make sure you’re healthy before you can return to your normal lives and to the others.”
This time as the male nurse—Michał, according to Doc Bowie—stepped toward her, Fiona didn’t fight. She stood up even without being asked to. We shared a look before Michał led her out of the room and down the hallway to the left, while Majka, my nurse, led me to the right. As much as I hated the idea of the two of us being separated, I could hardly argue against it and make a scene. I wouldn’t risk Doc Bowie threatening Fiona this time, hurting her like they had me.
Majka led me into a room that looked like any other doctor’s office I’d seen in Florida and then had me sit down so she could take some blood. She collected everything she needed and then pulled up a stool along with a silver tray on wheels with her tools laid out on it.
Majka tried to coax my veins into cooperating before sticking the needle into the crook of my arm. What exactly were they looking for on these tests? What was it that they’d done to us, tested on us, besides tricking us with a simulation? Perhaps they wanted to make sure the stuff they’d knocked us out with hadn’t left some kind of damage?
Soon Majka had two vials filled with my blood. She sealed them and then placed them in a plastic tray. Both were labeled “O. Lyel.” I stared at it a moment longer, as though I could change it to “M. Echo” with sheer willpower, but of course that didn’t happen. Another nurse came into the room and retrieved the tray, while Majka placed a cotton ball and Band-Aid over where the needle stuck my arm.
“Now, let’s have a look at your neck,” Majka said. She had me switch places with her, then worked with light fingers, careful and meticulous. I barely felt it as she pulled off the bandage and inspected the cut Fiona needed to make with a piece of scrap metal to get the capsule out when we were on the island. “It looks surprisingly good, no infection. It’ll take a bit until it’s fully healed, and it’ll leave a scar. But it shouldn’t be too noticeable, and if it makes you self-conscious, you can always let your hair grow out like Brandon and, voila, no one will be able to see it.”
She chuckled as if she’d made some funny joke, but all I felt was the need to get up and leave. Even just a week earlier I would’ve loved the idea of looking more like my brother, of being just a little more like him, but now?
I didn’t comment on Majka’s words, merely made some kind of noncommittal noise so she knew I was listening. She continued talking about something or other while she worked, inspected my arm, cleaned and disinfected the gunshot wound, and put a new bandage around it, but her words turned into nothing but background noise.
With Leon’s betrayal it felt like I’d lost myself as well, another part of Miles chipped away. Everything the Villa employees were telling us wasn’t helping in any way, either.
For so long I had worked toward being as smart and good as Leon, science and IT, both subjects I’d developed a passion for, yet they would forever remind me of him. Who was I now? All I knew was that I had to be good enough for Fiona. I couldn’t severely screw up again like I had last night.
Hopefully she was okay, the cut on her neck healing just as well as mine. No matter what happened, the scars would stay with us, something of each other remaining forever. How fucked up was it that others had couples tattoos and we had scars from cuts we’d given each other?
Once Majka was done with my wounds, we moved on to various other tests to check my sight and hearing. I couldn’t wait for this entire ordeal to be over so we could go back to our room, away from all their watchful eyes and these deadly silent hallways, the overly sterile smell strong enough to give me a headache within minutes, and the blinding fluorescent light. Majka occasionally jotted down some notes, but they were always just out of sight. I yearned to know what it was she wrote, convinced it was surely of more merit than whatever she said to me—empty words or something meant to be reassuring. As though anything these people said could be reassuring or comforting. The guns, threats, and CCTV sufficiently destroyed any chance of that.
Fiona wasn’t there yet when we stepped back into Doc Bowie’s office. He motioned for me to sit down anyway. Majka quickly walked over and placed her notes before him. He thanked her without taking his eyes off me, his expression unreadable, yet distanced somehow, calculating maybe, and certainly a shade of cold. He was a hard-to-read man, even harder to figure out.
“Have you ever been in Berlin?” Doc Bowie suddenly asked.
I frowned. “No, obviously.”
Something about the way Doc Bowie nodded with an unimpressed expression on his face didn’t sit right with me. Why did he ask about Berlin, specifically? Especially since he knew we came straight here from the island.
The door opened once more and in walked Fiona, followed by her nurse. Fiona looked a little pale and had a glass of water in her hand. What happened? Had she fainted? She sat down on the chair next to me and answered my inquisitive look by shaking her head, dismissing the issue at least for now.
Doc Bowie stayed quiet for a moment longer, read the notes on Fiona, and then looked at us again, his hands folded before him on the desk. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” I said, and Fiona nodded.
He continued with trivial question after trivial question, none of which related to anything as far as I could tell. The longer it went on, the more it felt like just another standard doctor’s checkup, far too ordinary for a place like this. As much as it was a good thing that they cared about our health, they didn’t do so for our sake, but for their own. For their trials. Healthy, we were of use to them, sick or injured, not so much. After all, what purpose would a three-and-a-half-million-dollar investment fulfill if it couldn’t do what it’d been acquired for?
Perhaps the guards should’ve killed me. That certainly would’ve ruined their plans, but it also would’ve been selfish, cowardly. It would be what they’d expect of me, selfish naivety, and I wasn’t giving them that.
Another nurse appeared and brought in another file, much slimmer than the others, and handed it to Doc Bowie before leaving the room. Silently he looked over the pages, their contents too small for me to stand any sort of chance at reading them. The only thing I could tell was that there were lists and graphs on them.
If only I had a chance to look through those files, even if merely for a minute or two.
“Your bloodwork looks good,” he finally declared while sorting the pages into our files. “A few results are a little below what they should be, but that was to be expected. These are things that’ll fix themselves over time as your sleep schedule normalizes and you eat balanced meals again. Nothing to worry about. Very good.”
Doc Bowie smiled ever so slightly as he spoke, the expression on his face pleased for the first time, satisfied with the results of this entire ordeal. Congratulations, your property is still in perfect health.
“Normally I would say you’d be able to move around the Villa freely effective immediately, but, since you broke the rules, you’ll remain in separation for two days,” he continued. “Hopefully that gives you some additional time to think about your actions and their consequences. Once that’s over and you join the others, Pamela will remind you which way you need to go to find the dining hall, just in case.”
Back in our room, Fiona threw her arms around my neck, pulling me into a hu
g, fierce and tight. I almost lost my balance, the whole thing catching me off guard, but once I caught myself, I hugged her back. Silently I thanked whatever entity watched over us, while also begging it for some clarity and strength to get through this, figure all of this out.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I was so damn scared they’d kill you. Those assholes.”
“It’s nothing, really.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but in reality, I was terrified every time I thought about it—the guns pointed at us, the one resting against my skin, two times I could’ve truly died. A cold shiver ran down my spine.
“It’s not nothing,” she said firmly. “They shot you.” Her hold on me tightened, and it got a little hard to breathe, but I didn’t move and didn’t pull away. Instead I let my eyes fall closed and basked in her warmth, her touch.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a while. My thoughts were all over the place, unsure of how to even continue this apology.
“Don’t,” Fiona interjected, loosened her grip on me, and stepped away just a little. “Don’t apologize, there’s no reason.”
“Of course there is. This is my fault.”
Fiona shook her head, her hands moving onto my shoulders, her eyes never leaving mine. “We made that choice together, but in the end, I was the one who fucked up.”
“You didn’t do anything,” I protested and then lowered my voice, moved closer to her as though to keep whatever I was about to say just between us. “And in the end, it doesn’t even matter, does it? We’re both alive, and now we know more than we did before about their guards, their means to stop us from escaping, and how far they’d be willing to go.”
“You make it sound like getting shot and drugged was all part of our plan.”
“It was more improvisation than a plan,” I said with a shrug, the lightness in my voice fleeting. “Yes, it was scary, and I’d prefer we don’t do that again, but we can use this, right? Everything else is a mess, our entire identities and past, what they’re doing to us or need us for here…but we have other things we can focus on.”