The Vanishing Girl

by Laura Thalassa

  57 84 11 60 39

  I stared at the note’s numbers, trying to figure out their meaning. After wasting a minute ruminating over their logical connection, I stuck the note back in my boot. This was the second time in a week I’d found a note on my person. At least this time it was a benign set of numbers.

  I wandered around the room, pulling out books and reading their spines. Quantum physics, genomics, biological engineering. This room’s owner was not interested in light reading.

  I moved on to the desk. The surface was bare, save for a paperweight. It seemed odd that a person who liked such complex subjects would have such a barren desk. Either he was majorly OCD, or this office wasn’t being used.

  I pulled out the desk drawers, one after another. There wasn’t much inside them, which made me think that whoever owned this stuff hadn’t worked in this room in a long while—if ever.

  It was as I turned away from the desk that I saw a safe set into the wall behind it. To the right of the safe was a keypad. I pulled the note out of my boot.

  Could this be the logic behind the numbers? There was a chance that if I imputed the wrong numbers an alarm would be triggered. I however, probably wouldn’t be around long enough to find out either way.

  Carefully, I typed each number into the keypad. Once I was finished, the safe let out a long beep and the safe’s door released.

  The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end. That should not have worked.

  I studied the note I held. The calligraphy was wrong. This wasn’t my handwriting. In fact, it looked eerily similar to the first note I’d found in my clutch a week ago.

  I glanced down at my outfit. The black shirt and leggings I wore were not something I’d ever pick out for myself.

  This entire scenario felt orchestrated. And, now that I thought about it, so did the club I’d found myself in a week ago. I couldn’t explain how that was possible, but the more I thought it over, the more certain I was.

  Which probably meant that the mastermind behind tonight’s destination also teleported me to the club last week.

  For a moment, all I felt was relief. I wasn’t psychic and sadistic after all.

  Then anxiety took over. This was not an accident.

  Someone knows I can teleport. And now, somehow, that someone had harnessed my ability. Goosebumps broke out along my skin. If this wasn’t my doing, then I was being directed like a puppet to my destination.

  Inside the safe sat a stack of simple black notebooks. On top of these rested three identical stones. All were about an inch in length and cut in a similar fashion as the quartz crystals from my childhood rock collection. Only these stones were a dark chrome color and highly polished.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I spun to face the voice.

  I recognized the dark hair and beautiful features. Adrian.

  “You?” I said before I could stop myself. He stood in the doorway, looking equally shocked.

  His mouth worked, trying unsuccessfully to form words. I had the distinct impression he was trying to decide what the most appropriate thing to say was. After all, how do you react to a girl who crashed your party, carried evidence that she intended to kill you, and then vanished into thin air only to return a week later to break into your safe?

  Finally he spoke. “How are you possible?”

  “What?” How was I supposed to answer that?

  His disbelief slowly melted away, and I watched his face register that this impossible series of events was actually happening. I could empathize with the emotion, except for the small fact that I was in deep. Real deep. Attempted murder and attempted robbery were no light offenses. And now my fingerprints were all over the most damning evidence.

  He closed the door and stalked towards me. I backed away cautiously as he came closer. Jumping out the window was out of the question. From this height cars resembled Hot Wheels.

  But my ten minutes had to be nearly up. I was safe so long as he didn’t try to kill me.

  He rounded the desk and invaded my personal space. I held my hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

  “What is going on here?” he asked.

  “Believe me, I have no idea,” I said.

  “That’s funny,” he cocked his head, “I don’t believe you at all.” He pushed me hard into the wall.

  I grunted on impact. “Fine, be a dick.” The words slipped out.

  “I’m a dick? You’re the one with the hit list.”

  When would I get out of here?

  “Fine. Don’t believe me,” I said. “After all, why should you trust a girl who can disappear?”

  “Exactly,” he said, “Wait—?”

  But his question came too late. Thankfully. I felt the tingly sensation that signaled the end of another ten-minute excursion a split second before the scene vanished.

  The memory surfaced as I was in the shower the next morning. I swore loudly. The tattoo was nothing compared to the kind of trouble I was in now.

  Chapter 3

  Class was almost unbearable. I couldn’t pay attention to the lessons today, my body taut with so much anxiety. I was hyperaware of my surroundings, prepared for the police to burst in at any second to haul me off to jail.

  Throughout Anatomy I convinced myself I had a solid alibi—Ava and my parents could firmly place me here, in San Francisco, on both days I visited Adrian.

  But two periods later in Calculus, I silently freaked out. Adrian could very well live in San Francisco or within driving distance of the city, meaning that it was possible to get to his place from my house should they lift the fingerprints that I’d so idiotically left on the safe. That was an amateur move; I knew better.

  By the middle of Government, I was a hot mess. Why did I have to be cursed with the freakish ability to teleport? It had done nothing but threaten my life, embarrass me, and now it had gotten me into this mess.

  And who else knew about my ability? I’d never mentioned it to anyone. That was the most disturbing question of all.

  Mr. Culver, meanwhile, droned on. “Congress’s legislative powers balance the executive branch and the judicial branch. They, in turn, balance—”

  The classroom phone began ringing. I braced my hands along the edge of my desk, not caring that my knuckles were turning white or that the girl sitting next to me was shooting me strange looks.

  “One moment,” said a disgruntled Mr. Culver. He hated interruptions that broke up his lessons.

  “Hello?” He paused. “Oh, hi Cynthia,” another pause, and then he scanned the room. His eyes came to rest on me. “Yeah, she’s here.”

  My heart hammered in my chest.

  “Okay, I’ll send her in.”

  This was it.

  He hung up the phone. “Ember, pack your bags and head to the office.”

  Around me kids whispered.

  “Ember’s in trouble,” someone murmured.

  Tremors ran through my body as I picked up my bags and left the room. I practiced breathing techniques—more to prevent myself from vomiting than to calm myself down.

  My mom waited for me in the office. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying.

  “Mom?”

  “Hey Ember, let’s get you home.” Her voice shook, and my heart sped up further.

  The office secretary’s eyes darted between us curiously. My mom must not have mentioned exactly why she was picking me up.

  We were silent as we walked to the car. I could guess what was going on, but I had no idea why my mother and not the cops were picking me up. I was smart enough not to say anything until I knew the full situation, so I stayed quiet while my mother sniffled next to me.

  As soon as we got into my mom’s Honda, her words came rushing out. “Ember,
there’s a lot I need to explain in a short amount of time.” A couple tears dripped down her face. “I’m not sure how to start …”

  This was not how the situation was supposed to play out. Not at all. I was supposed to be confessing to her, not the other way around.

  “Do you remember your father and me telling you that you were our miracle baby?” she asked.

  I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and nodded. I vaguely remembered the story, but I had no idea why now of all times we were taking a walk down memory lane.

  “Well,” she continued, pulling the car out of the parking lot as she spoke, “we both wanted a child for years before you came along, but it never happened. And as we grew increasingly more desperate, we began going to fertility clinics, trying everything from artificial insemination—”

  I crinkled my nose. I’d already gone to Anatomy for the day—this was really pushing my comfort limit.

  “—to a surrogate mother. Nothing worked. Then we found a government sponsored fertility program. They subsidized the treatment cost, so we didn’t have to pay a thing. Their only condition was that, if the treatment was successful, the child was required to enlist in the military for a minimum of two years.”

  I gasped at her words, a disturbing thought beginning to take shape.

  “We convinced ourselves that enlisting for a couple years wasn’t so bad, and we felt like the odds of us conceiving were so remote that we went for it.” She pulled in a lungful of air. “And then you came. Our miracle.” Her words sighed out of her.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I was too shocked to be furious. How could they keep such a secret from me?

  My mother looked guilty. “The clinic told us that if the program was shut down, you would not be obligated to enlist. A few years after you were born, we heard that the program lacked the necessary funding, and it went under.”

  I was hesitantly hopeful. “So, then I don’t have to serve in the military?”

  I couldn’t even fathom being a soldier. Besides being allergic to taking orders, I didn’t think I had what it took to kill or seriously injure someone. My mind flashed to the club and the gun in my purse. At least one person thought I did.

  My mom began crying.

  I understood what she couldn’t bear to say. And in that moment I felt sorry for both her and me. Because we both knew my future was no longer my own. Somehow the program had received the funding it needed, and I was required to serve the government.

  I took to staring out the window for the rest of the car ride, my mother’s voice mostly white noise. Every once in awhile an explanation would drift in.

  “The we feared the program had started back up …”

  “… why we moved so much …”

  “… they’re recruiting you today.”

  This last statement snapped me back to attention. “They’re recruiting me today?”

  My mom nodded. “That’s why I pulled you out of class. Agents are waiting for you at the house as we speak. Everyone thought it best that I explain the situation to you before—”

  “I don’t even get to say goodbye to Ava?” My voice caught.

  My mom shook her head. “I’m so sorry Ember.”

  My current situation was only slightly better than getting hauled off to jail. But even with the unfairness of it all, I wasn’t sure who to be angry at. My parents—who were desperate and selfish enough to bargain their child’s future away? Or the government who exploited a couple’s weakness?

  The car slowed as my mom turned onto our street. Parked in front of our house were several black SUVs.

  My mom pulled into our driveway, and I jumped out of the car, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I had to find my dad. We understood each other in a way my mom and I never could.

  I barreled into my house. Five government officials milled about our living room, clearly waiting for me. My dad sat on our couch, rubbing his forehead. He and everyone else looked up as the door slammed behind me.

  A quick glance at the officials’ tailored suits, smooth hair, and ear pieces told me that there was more to my recruitment than my parents knew or let on.

  “Hey kiddo,” my dad said, his voice tired.

  I ran into his arms like I did when I was five, not caring that I was making a scene. He held me tightly.

  “I love you Ember Bug,” he whispered into my ear. “Please forgive your mother and me.”

  I swallowed. I had hoped he would tell me this was all a horrible misunderstanding. Instead, his words diffused my rising anger, replacing it with a more worrisome emotion—acceptance.

  “Ember Pierce,” a voice from behind me spoke.

  I turned and faced the official who said my name.

  “You’re finally here. I’m Dane Richards, head of the Generation Project.” I took the hand he offered.

  Dane Richards was a tall, middle-aged man with a hawk-like appearance. His dark eyes were framed by thick, arching black eyebrows, making him appear nefarious. His sharp nose and full lips intensified his already striking features. Age had hardened the lines around his mouth, between his eyes, and along his forehead.

  I could already tell he was going to make my life miserable.

  He gestured to the other officials standing around. “This is Agent Payne, Fields, Kjar, and Griswold,” he said in quick succession. There was no way I was going to remember their names.

  “So,” Dane continued, “Your mother told you about what’s going on?”

  “Briefly.” I nodded, eyeing the front door. She hadn’t come inside. My bet was that she was still sitting in the car crying.

  “Great,” he clasped his hands together and looked around the room. “Well, then pack your bags and let’s head out.”

  I stared incredulously at him. “Right now?” This chain of strange and horrifying events was almost unbelievable. I had only been called to the office an hour ago.

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, within the next thirty minutes. You have a long trip ahead of you.”

  I looked at my father, searching for some sign that this crazy turn of events wasn’t real. My father’s shoulders were slumped; he looked like a man defeated.

  But his eyes, his eyes said something else. They flicked to the front door, then back to me. In them was an unspoken command. Run.

  Despite my father’s warning, I didn’t run, not immediately. Instead I calmly walked to my room. But as soon as I closed the door behind me, I dumped out the contents of my backpack and began stuffing it with necessities. I threw my wallet and phone in there. I’d need to dump the smartphone soon, since I could be tracked with it, but there were phone numbers I’d need to copy over before I did so.

  Then I emptied the cash I always stashed away in a lock box. Three hundred dollars. I knew the amount without having to count it. Not much, but enough to get me out of the city.

  Next to the lock box was a bag full of survival gear—a compass, a hand powered flashlight, a water filter, a fire starter kit, a wool blanket, some dried food, a book on wild plant food, a Swiss Army knife, and a first aid kit. I knew how to use them all, though my life had never depended on them the way it might now.

  I’d prepared myself for a situation like this. My ability to teleport was unique enough that if someone found out about it, I knew I might have to run. I’d accepted that a long time ago. But now I wondered just how much my dad knew about it—I’d assumed nothing—and how much the government knew.

  I shoved a change of clothes and a photo of my family into the bag and zipped it up. I’d already wasted five precious minutes packing; I needed to get moving.

  Changing out of my flimsy shirt and heels, I pulled on well worn boots I could both run and hike in, switched out my shirt for a hardier one, and threw on a fitted running jacket.

 
My heart slammed into my chest as I looked at my door. On the other side of it I could hear a quiet conversation.

  I’d been found out. All my secrets, all my lies—even my tattoo—everything I’d done to stay under the radar was now for nothing.

  Over eighteen years ago my parents made a promise to the government. In return for my inception, they’d hand me over for two years of military service. Over eighteen years ago, the government had helped make me, and now they’d come to collect.

  Chapter 4

  I blinked away the sting in my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye if I ran. Knowing my precious time was ticking by, I left a brief note for my parents, telling them that I loved them. I hid it beneath my pillow and glanced at the door once more.

  Bye, I mouthed.

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder and strode over to my window. My room sat at the back of my house and overlooked a narrow alley. It wasn’t much of a view, but it was a great emergency exit.

  I jimmied the window open, wincing when its warped wood frame groaned in protest. I swung first one leg, then the other out the window and dropped to the paved ground beneath me.

  Shrugging my backpack higher up my shoulder, I glanced down the alley. At the end closest to me, a man wearing a black suit and an earpiece stood guard, probably in case something like this happened.

  What was going on?

  He wasn’t looking in my direction, but as soon as I glanced his way, it was as though he sensed me. His body turned, and our eyes locked.

  That was all the encouragement I needed. I sprinted in the opposite direction. Behind me I could here the man’s leather shoes click against the pavement as he chased after me. I could also hear his breathless voice as he contacted his colleagues. These first few moments were the most important ones for me to get an advantage. If I couldn’t lose this guy now, more agents would join him.

  I came to the end of the alley and turned right onto a busy city street. I ran down the street and cut across traffic. Horns honked at me, and tires squealed as I stopped traffic.