The Rules

by Stacey Kade

  “Ariane—”

  Jacobs intervened. “Enough of this. Mark, thank you for your service. Finish your rounds and wait for me in my office.” He waved him off—it was so odd to think of him as “Mark,” but I would not think of him as my father. Never again.

  Mark waited a beat, staring Jacobs down before turning abruptly and leaving the room.

  “You’ve really got him quite conflicted. I believe he’s grown quite attached to you.” Far from sounding disturbed by this, Jacobs seemed almost pleased, like I’d performed some kind of admirable trick. “We had to put the cameras up in the school when we learned your powers were returning and he hadn’t reported it.”

  Only because I hadn’t yet reported it to him, I thought bitterly, pushing myself to my feet slowly, my knees protesting their time on the hard tile floor.

  “And he refused to bring in the Bradshaw boy last night. Did you know that?”

  I looked up sharply, caught off guard. Damn it. He’d surprised me, mentioning Zane so casually. There went any chance I might have had at pretending I didn’t know or care about Zane.

  “Oh yes, we know all about him,” Jacobs said.

  Even though I’d expected this—my fath…Mark Tucker had warned me—I still felt the blood rush from my head at the implied threat. “You can’t touch him,” I said quickly. “He’s a minor and one of your precious humans.”

  Jacobs shrugged idly. “If I have his father’s permission, I can do anything I want.”

  Would Zane’s father give him over that easily? Not if he knew what Jacobs intended, but nothing was stopping the good doctor from lying. Plus, he had that whole pillarof-the-community thing going for him. I couldn’t be sure Zane’s father would check into the situation thoroughly before sending Zane over.

  My shoulders sagged. And even if Zane’s father did manage to keep him away from GTX, what would be next? Would Jacobs haul in every person I’d ever spoken to? Everyone who’d been, if not kind, at least not cruel? I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let him hurt innocent people on my behalf.

  “Now, we have a lot to do before the trials next month,” Jacobs said, consulting a clipboard. “The Department of Defense is such a stickler for documentation and details.”

  You could kill him, my logical side offered softly. Even with the wall between us, all I had to do was direct that newly recovered power in my head to squeeze his heart until it no longer had the strength to beat—just as he’d had me do to Jerry. Just as I’d almost done to Rachel.

  He’s old. It probably wouldn’t be that hard. The cool and unemotional analysis made me feel vaguely nauseous again. I didn’t want to be that person. That’s who Jacobs wanted me to be, even if he didn’t want to be the target.

  A tapping on the glass wall startled me into paying attention again.

  “You may think I don’t know you, but I’ve spent years reading Mark’s reports, and I’ve studied the photos and videos from our surveillance teams. I’ve seen that expression on your face before, particularly when confronted with my delightful granddaughter. So bloodthirsty,” he said with a chuckle. “Exactly what we wanted. But let me clear one thing up for you: that door”—he pointed to the transparent door set in the glass wall, through which I could see the start of a generic white hallway—“only opens to my palm print.”

  And I knew from experience that nothing short of an explosion would take out the glass wall.

  Which meant killing Jacobs wouldn’t do any good. He’d die on the other side of the glass and the door would still be locked. I’d be trapped in here, unable to escape, waiting for someone to find me. And I wasn’t foolish enough to believe they didn’t have a contingency plan, with or without Jacobs. If I became too violent, too uncooperative. Against my will, I looked up at the air vents in the ceiling. The room was airtight. I was sure that was not a coincidence.

  “I think maybe you need some time to settle in,” Jacobs said decisively, putting his clipboard down.

  The mouse in the cage, as if sensing a change in the air, abandoned his wheel and scurried to the far corner of his habitat, scattering cedar chips.

  “A fresh uniform is under your pillow,” Jacobs said. “As always.”

  Without meaning to, I glanced over at the cot, seeing the neatly folded pile of white fabric beneath the pillow. I’d spent years trying to disappear, to not be seen as an individual among the humans. That uniform would accomplish it in a second. The moment I put it on I would become nothing. No one. Again.

  “We can work on getting you some more age-appropriate reading materials and videos. Perhaps some of the items you enjoyed during your time with Mark?” he offered.

  Just the idea of my possessions—reminders of my life outside—being trapped in here with me, like a mockery of the freedom I’d thought was mine, made me want to scream.

  “I want you to be comfortable here. This is your home, after all,” he said with the same gentle smile he’d given when he’d left me to go hungry in the dark, years ago.

  Tears of frustration and fear burned in my eyes, and I turned away swiftly before he could see them.

  “Oh, 107, do dispose of that mouse sooner rather than later, would you please? I feel as though I can smell the stench from in here.”

  Then the intercom clicked off, and when I risked a glance over my shoulder, the glass wall had flashed to solid, leaving me alone in a deafening silence.

  Time passed slowly in the white room, with nothing to break the monotony. I’d forgotten about that.

  I sat on the edge of the cot, attempting to take up the least amount of room possible. The lights had been dimmed to the “nighttime” setting. I was tired, my head hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to lie down, close my eyes, and try to gather my fragmented thoughts. (As if having a better grasp on the situation would change anything.)

  But it felt like if I allowed myself to relax, I was accepting my fate, resigning myself to whatever Jacobs had planned.

  And I couldn’t do that.

  So the uniform remained folded beneath the pillow. And I’d named the mouse out of sheer obstinacy. “Pinky” was alive and well, spinning furiously in his wheel, first one direction and then the other, like he wasn’t sure which way he was supposed to go.

  I watched Pinky spin and tried to stay awake, a small act of rebellion and the only one available to me at the moment.

  I didn’t know how much time passed—and I might have dozed off while sitting up, despite my best efforts—but suddenly the wall flashed to transparent, letting in the light from the observation room, and startling me into looking up.

  On the other side of the window, my…Mark Tucker approached. And my heart lifted with hope even though I knew better. It was as though the years of habit, of trusting him, relying on him, just weren’t ready to die.

  The sole lab tech in the observation room stepped in front of him, trying to stop him.

  The intercom wasn’t on, so I couldn’t hear what Mark said, but I saw the tech cringe and then scurry through the door. Some kind of threat, no doubt.

  A second later, Mark’s voice sounded in my little room. “Ariane.”

  Hearing him say my name—was it really my name any-more?—tore at something fragile inside me.

  I shifted on the cot, giving my back to the glass wall. “I don’t want to see you. Ever again,” I said, disgust thick in my voice.

  “I’m not going to beg you to understand,” he said finally. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that would make this okay.”

  Hmm. You think? With effort, I swallowed back the words. Engaging only made it worse, reminded me of all the conversations and moments from before, when I hadn’t yet known he was a lying, traitorous bucket of pond scum. When I’d believed he actually cared about me. It hurt to remember that time. And I hated that it hurt almost as much I hated my own stupidity and foolishness for believing to begin with.

  “I just wanted you to know, my daughter is real. Was real,” he said, and I heard th
e pain in his voice. “Everything I told you about her was true.”

  “Except?” I prompted dully without turning around. There had to be something I was missing.

  “Except Dr. Jacobs promised me the best in experimental treatment for her if I took this…assignment,” he said.

  And there it was. My heart fell. Of course. He would have done anything for his Ariane. “But it didn’t work,” I said, clearing my throat against the lump growing there.

  “No, it didn’t,” he confirmed. “But the research they’re doing here, it’s important, so I agreed to stay on. They told me that your immune system attacks and destroys irregular cells and cell growth. If GTX can keep their funding and figure out how to recreate that in full-blood humans, do you know what that would mean? No more cancer. No more sick children spending their short lives in and out of hospitals.”

  I sat back, stunned. I knew they’d taken all those tests and samples years ago for a reason; I just hadn’t known what it was. Assuming that Jacobs was telling the truth, the good of the many always outweighed the good of the few. Right? What was one not-so-human child in light of all those who would be saved? Except when that not-sohuman child is you.

  “But if I’d known then what I know now. If I’d known you…” He shook his head. “I am so sorry,” he said, his eyes bright with tears. Tears for me. Not for the other Ariane.

  “Then get me out of here,” I said, choked by a swell of emotion.

  He swiftly wiped his eyes. “I can’t. I wish I could. Jacobs has the door set only to—”

  “His palm print,” I said, disappointed. I’d hoped, foolishly, that the good doctor had been exaggerating for effect. “I know. He told me. Wanted to make sure I didn’t kill him in an escape attempt. Though, I’m still considering killing him just for the fun of it.” The brittle bitterness in my tone startled even me, and I realized I wasn’t entirely sure if I was joking.

  To my further surprise, my fath…Mark didn’t seem shocked by my statement of (potentially) murderous intent.

  He looked over his shoulder, anticipating the return of the frightened lab tech, no doubt. “You heard Jacobs mention the trials with Laughlin and the other hybrids.”

  “What do you know about that?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “Not much. Jacobs expects you to win.”

  I made a frustrated noise. “But what does that mean?” I had visions of arena combat, boxing matches or competitions to see who could redirect the most M&M’s.

  “I’m not sure. But”—he hesitated—“I know it’s to the death.”

  I froze. “What?”

  Mark glanced at the door as if he’d heard a noise, before leaning closer to the intercom. “You may not believe that I care about you, but I do,” he said quietly. “And that’s why I’m telling you: commit, Ariane. Undergo the training Jacobs sets out for you. Kill the mouse. Do what he tells you, whatever you have to do in order to survive. It’s your only chance.”

  Then, as the lab tech returned with several reinforcements, Mark Tucker straightened up and walked away without a backward glance.

  I WASN’T SURE whether it was my possible concussion—and the medical requirement to keep me awake—or my dad’s newfound discovery of my value that prompted him to bring me to work with him.

  Either way, we went straight to the station after the ER doctor pronounced me only slightly broken.

  My dad left me to cool my heels in the waiting room under the vigilant eye of the desk sergeant, while he closed the door of his office to, no doubt, continue his GTX scheming.

  In the hard plastic chair I was painfully aware of every bump and bruise from the night, and there was nothing except an ancient copy of Ice Fishing Quarterly to distract me from the ceaseless churning of my brain.

  Was Ariane okay? Had she woken up yet? Had she woken up at all?

  I’d assumed that they’d knocked her out. But who knew what was really in those darts?

  My chest felt tight at the idea. The memory of the girl laughing in my truck, crawling into my lap to kiss me contrasted so sharply with my last image of her, lying so quiet and still on the pavement, like a puppet whose strings had been violently and irrevocably severed.

  Thinking of her helpless like that, it made me feel ill.

  I remembered what she’d said to me earlier: If you knew the truth, you wouldn’t be so quick to sign on.

  And last night, when she’d tried to wish me well. To say good-bye.

  She’d known this was a possibility. She’d been trying to protect herself—and me. But I’d pushed her into continuing. I’d goaded her, through Rachel, into going to the party last night.

  God, I was such an asshole.

  Ariane had accepted me for who I was, without expectations or demands that I be better. And how had I repaid her? By turning my back on her. Maybe not literally, but only because I’d been too busy staring at her, just like everyone else.

  And why? Because of something outside her control. If my dad’s theory about the missing growth hormone research was right, it was all Mark Tucker’s fault. I mean, I was pretty sure Ariane hadn’t asked her father to steal drugs and give them to her, or whatever it was that he’d done to her.

  She probably hated me for being a coward. I couldn’t blame her. I hated myself for that too.

  I’d wanted Ariane to trust me, encouraged her to take that leap, and then, at the first test, I’d been proven completely unworthy. Even worse, it was my fault she was in that situation, at the party and facing off with Rachel, in the first place.

  Now Ariane was gone, and there was nothing I could do. She was with GTX. I hoped. That was the best alternative I could come up with.

  And if GTX had somehow known what was going on, known what her father was doing to her, did that make the situation better or worse? Human experimentation—I was pretty sure that was illegal and something GTX wouldn’t want a lot of people knowing about.

  Still trying to wrap my brain around what had happened, and my own part in it, I stared out through the heavily tinted windows of the waiting area, watching the sun come up in shades of gray.

  I wasn’t the only one up—or still up—at dawn, though. To my surprise, some of my classmates were apparently still in custody from the party last night. And as I sat there waiting for my dad, other parents I recognized—including Trey’s very pissed off dad—came in to collect their wayward and hungover offspring. Trey gave me a sheepish and pained nod as he passed me.

  Rachel was the last one to emerge from the cells at the back of the building, at the behest of a nervous and timid-looking man with a briefcase. I didn’t recognize him; he was probably someone in the employ of Dr. Jacobs. A lawyer, maybe.

  The man stayed at the desk, filling out the paperwork required, but the second Rachel saw me, she made a beeline. “This is your fault,” she hissed, jabbing an accusing finger at me, her high heels swinging in her hand. “You and your freak girlfriend.”

  I was not in the mood for Rachel. “Yeah, and you had nothing to do with it,” I snapped, sitting up straight. “What the hell was that last night? You put people in the hospital. And Cassi’s going to be okay, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

  She glared at me. “Did you miss the part where that Ariane girl almost killed me? I couldn’t breathe!”

  “You seem to be breathing just fine now,” I said dryly. “And she was only trying to stop you.” Okay, and maybe a little more. A little vengeance had been at play, perhaps. Ariane had been angry, I knew that. But she’d shown more control and caused less damage than Rachel, who had no such excuse.

  “God, she has you completely under her spell.” Rachel narrowed her eyes at me. “You know she has freaky mind powers.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m glad they’re going to be chopping her up and putting her under a microscope or whatever.”

  Everything seemed to slow down in that second, leaving Rachel’s words hanging in the air like some kind of horrible cartoon speech bubble. “W
hat are you talking about?” I managed to ask.

  She didn’t hear me. “I mean, seriously. Did you know I had to spend the whole night back there? The dirt is never going to come out,” she said with fury, looking down at her dress and her filthy bare feet.

  I snapped my fingers, earning her attention and another glare. “Rachel, focus. What did you just say about Ariane?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ariane, everybody always wants to know about Ariane,” she said in sneering, mimicky tone. “When I talked to my grandfather to get me out of here, that’s all he wanted to know. Nothing about how I was or the fact that I was in freaking jail,” she said bitterly. “He was all, ‘What exactly happened? Who talked to her? What did it feel like when she targeted you?’ You mean, aside from almost dying, Grandpa?” she scoffed.

  “Rachel—”

  “And she’s not even a person, you know? She’s a thing. An experiment.”

  The thick layer of hate in her voice stunned me. “Just because her dad stole some drugs and—”

  “No,” she said sharply. “Grandpa said they’ve been treating her for some kind of weirdo condition or something for years.”

  I stared at her, not sure if I should believe what she was saying. “He told you about Ariane?”

  “When I wouldn’t answer his stupid questions at first, yeah.”

  “Did he…do you know what’s going to happen to her?”

  Rachel frowned. “What difference does it make? She’s locked up, which is exactly where she belongs.” She touched her chest carefully, as though there were bruises from her ordeal, but I couldn’t see anything. “Wait,” she said, holding up a hand and cocking her head to the side in disbelief. “You don’t actually care, do you? She is a complete freak of nature, someone who should never have been walking around free. She’s dangerous.”

  In the face of Rachel’s determination to make me see how wrong I was, the vague shape of an idea began to form in the back of my brain. I needed to see Ariane. I couldn’t just let her disappear, not without at least trying to find her. And Rachel loved nothing more than being right and taking the opportunity to rub it in your face.