The Vanishing Girl

by Laura Thalassa

  His fingers paused. “Did this hurt to get?” he asked, referring to my tattoo.

  “Like hell.”

  He resumed tracing my tattoo. “Why’d you get it?”

  I flipped onto my side and propped my head up so that I could see him better. “You already got one secret out of me that wasn’t yours to take; I’m not giving you another.”

  He gazed at me, his expression heated. My heart pounded. Things between us already felt different. Not only had Caden been up to no good since I divulged my secret, but I’d also seen him in a different light since—like he might be someone I could get close to. The thought of us together made me feel lighter than air.

  But it couldn’t be. Not if I wanted to escape.

  “You now owe me a question and a favor,” I said.

  Caden’s smile dissolved and his body tensed. “I do. What do you want?”

  I gave him a sly smile. “I have to think about it. Unlike someone I know, I don’t like making quick decisions.”

  “Hesitation is lethal.”

  I stared into his hazel eyes. So many different colors made up the complex pattern of his irises. My confession earlier was painfully true. I could easily fall for him. And Caden was right, this hesitation might just be lethal. To my plans.

  I blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness. I did a couple of stretches and shook out my muscles, loosening up my taut body.

  Around me was what looked like an outdated office. I glanced down at my outfit. My breath caught at the sight.

  I wore black jeans and soft leather boots. But it was the shirt that distracted me. The face of an angry man rested above the phrase, Big Brother is watching you.

  I checked my pockets and pulled out a tiny flashlight and a note.

  Bottom desk drawer. Third cabinet from the top.

  Same handwriting as before.

  Don’t do it Ember. Don’t look.

  These notes had only caused me trouble. In spite of that, I clicked on the flashlight, and when the weak beam of light passed over a desk, I walked over to it.

  Built into the side of the desk were three drawers. I knelt down and opened the bottom drawer and aimed the light inside. Some used paper clips, a rubber band ball, and a roll of duck tape.

  Why did the note lead me here? I mulled over the slip of paper some more. And then it clicked. The note didn’t say that I’d find anything in the bottom desk drawer.

  With that realization, I felt below the drawer. My fingers skimmed over rough wood until they moved over a small bump. Something was tapped beneath it.

  I peeled away the tapped item and flipped it over in my hands. A key.

  I focused my attention back to the note. Bottom desk drawer. Third cabinet from the top. The bottom drawer had been the third cabinet from the top, but I doubted the note wanted me to only find this key. After all, I couldn’t take it back with me. No, I was supposed to use it.

  I shined the flashlight over the rest of the room, pausing as my light passed over a tall metal filing cabinet. I counted four drawers, all which had a keyhole next to the handle.

  I walked over to the drawers and tried to open a cabinet. Locked. I pulled the slip of paper out again. Perhaps the second sentence referred to something other than the desk’s drawers—perhaps it referred to the filing cabinet. I crouched down on my knees so that I was eye level with the third drawer from the top. Next to the handle was a key slot. I jammed the key in and turned.

  Files were crammed into the drawer. I shined the light on each manila file folder. Each one had a tab with words Prometheus Project and a name taped on.

  I pulled out the file on Gregory James. On the front of the file folder the word Expired was stamped in red.

  A tremor ran through my hands as I opened the folder. Inside someone had paper clipped a picture of Gregory. Beneath the picture was his basic information. According to the document, Gregory was three years older than me and a teleporter—not that I had assumed otherwise. But it was the words at the bottom of the page that caught my attention.

  Cause of death: Acute hemorrhaging caused by gunshot wound to the chest. Splicing.

  I swallowed and flipped through the rest of the folder. The photographs on the following pages illustrated in graphic detail Gregory’s brutal death.

  A wave of nausea rolled over me. He didn’t appear to have died from a single bullet wound. No, judging by the way most of his insides were exposed, splicing—whatever that was—had caused it.

  I shoved the file back into the drawer and grabbed another with the name Danielle Jackson written across the top. It too was stamped with the word Expired in red. And like Gregory, one of Danielle’s causes of death was splicing.

  I shoved her file back in the drawer and pulled out a few more. All roughly my age, all involved in the Prometheus Project, and all expired. Each cause of death included one violent injury—such as a knife or gunshot wound—and this strange new term, splicing.

  It took a moment to put two and two together, but when I did, my body swayed, and I stumbled back to regain my footing.

  Of course. These wounds must’ve been sustained while these teleporters were on a mission. And when they materialized back in their beds … well, instead of their bodies stitching themselves back together, something went very, very wrong.

  I’d bet serious money that the rest of the files all had that same red Expired label stamped onto them and that they all died in the same gruesome manner.

  My skin prickled. Splicing. This was how we died.

  Monday morning I finally made it to breakfast in the dining commons on time. It had been a week since I arrived, and slowly I’d been accommodating to my new life here.

  I plopped down in one of the two empty seats next to Jeff, my tray clattering against the table. Ever since I started eating with them, Caden’s group of friends had left two spots open for the both of us.

  A few minutes later Caden sat down next to me. “Good morning, princess.”

  “There is nothing good about mornings.” I rubbed my eyes. The world still had that hazy look to it.

  “I think your shirt’s on backwards,” Eric said.

  “Don’t care.” I spooned a tasteless bite of granola into my mouth. The food here seriously needed some upgrading.

  Caden reached towards me and grabbed a white fabric tag that stuck out just beneath the base of my throat. “And it’s inside out,” he said, using the tag to tug me towards him.

  His face was way too close, and it was doing strange things to my stomach. “Says the man with coffee breath.”

  Caden smiled, his dimples appearing. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Oh, it is.”

  “Would you two please get a room?” Serena said.

  Before either Caden or I could respond, Debbie entered the room. The noise level dropped to a whisper before it vanished altogether.

  “Good morning everyone,” she said. She had the whole room’s attention. “As many of you may have heard, this week all students over the age of eighteen will begin simulations.” The room erupted into whispers. As I glanced around, I noticed that most people appeared nervous—even those who couldn’t be old enough to participate.

  “Because this will take all day, each day this week, those participating will be placed on independent study for the duration of the simulations. Your instructors have emailed you assignments that you are to do each day, so make sure to check your email.

  “After breakfast a list will be posted on the dining hall with the date and times of each simulation—you each are scheduled for two. If you’re a pair, you’ll be participating in the simulation as a unit.”

  My hands began to shake at her words. The tremors worked their way up from my hands to my arms and shoulders and then my back.r />
  Caden eyed me. “Are you okay?” His gaze was too intense, too concerned. All I could do was nod and look away.

  I hadn’t told him about the office. Since I’d teleported there, I’d been scared shitless about getting spliced. Teleporting was dangerous enough as it was. Now that we were going on missions, the chance of someone getting hurt only multiplied on itself, and with it, splicing.

  “You are each to be in your rooms thirty minutes before your simulation. Remember your training—these simulations will be incredibly real, so don’t take them lightly. You can still get hurt.”

  My foot began to jiggle under the table. There they were—the words I dreaded to hear.

  A hand squeezed my leg, and I met the pair of eyes it belonged to.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Caden said, giving me a meaningful look. “We’ll be doing this together. I’m going to personally make sure nothing happens to you.”

  I nodded and gave him a tight-lipped smile. His words should’ve reassured me, but instead, thoughts of Caden getting hurt filled my mind. If he was busy watching my back, who’d be watching his?

  Already I could feel my hesitation that day at the lake twisting in my gut. Somehow Caden must’ve known that getting that one secret out of me was the key to keeping me here. Because I might want to survive, but I hadn’t run yet, and he was the reason why.

  I turned to Caden. He must’ve seen something flicker through my eyes as I stared because he tilted his head and smiled slyly.

  Had I even won that race? Or had this been another one of Caden’s tricks? What if he wanted to see what I’d do when he offered freedom to me—whether I’d hesitate or go for it?

  I pushed out of my seat. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was just me overthinking. Damn this place; it was giving me a headache. If the simulations didn’t kill me, the psychological warfare would.

  I headed back into my room without peering at the taped announcement. I logged into my computer and checked my emails for the first time since the night I arrived.

  Over fifty new messages filled the screen. I deleted the spam first and glanced over the remaining emails.

  My chest tightened when I realized that none of them were from Ava or my parents. Before I went through the rest of my emails, I wrote each of them a message, explicitly asking them to write me back.

  Once I sent those out, I flipped through the rest of my inbox. Many of the others were emails from various instructors—including the dress code for Etiquette. Whoops. One of the most recent ones went over the simulations again. I skimmed over the first paragraph and deleted it when it told me nothing new.

  I read over the messages containing my homework assignments for the week. My blood pressure rose at the coursework I had ahead of me. It wasn’t that there was too much, it was that all my assignments looked like gibberish to me. I didn’t know how to assemble an SSAK-47, nor did I know the proper way to insert a 9mm magazine into a Glock 19.

  My instructors were right, I wasn’t ready to be put in the field. Not even close.

  I spent a few more minutes on my email before deciding to close out. As I moved my cursor to log out, my computer pinged and a new email popped onto my screen. I read the title.

  Greetings from Your Former Victim

  The email address was a random combination of letters and numbers meant to hide the true identity of the sender. I thought I knew who this was from. I clicked on the heading and opened the message.

  Ember,

  Thought you were the only one who could do the stalking? Unfortunately for you, I’m resourceful. Finding your email address was too easy. But what I’m really writing about is the Prometheus Project.

  Listen Ember, I’ve decided to trust you, mostly because you’re way too incompetent to be a threat. Because my life’s in jeopardy—thanks to you—I’ve been doing some research on you and the government project you’re a part of.

  I don’t yet know much about it, other than it’s dangerous for you and all others involved. If you can find me again, I’ll explain this in less cryptic terms. For now, stay safe and try not to be too trusting of authority figures.

  Sincerely,

  You Know Who

  P.S. If you don’t want any more stalkers, take your email address off of your Facebook account.

  Adrian. He’d been ballsy—or stupid—enough to send me an email. At least he hadn’t written his name. I didn’t know how much of our messages the project rifled through, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they accessed our emails.

  I opened a reply box. Making sure not to include any identifying information about Adrian, I typed up a brief reply.

  Hey Creeper,

  First off, I am not incompetent, and do I need to mention again that I saved your life? Second, thanks for the warning. Third, I’ll try to see you soon.

  Kisses,

  E.

  I hit “Send” and closed my laptop. Damn my life was so screwed up.

  I worked on what I could for the next two hours. Just as I was about to take a break, someone knocked on my door.

  “Come in!” I yelled, not taking my eyes off of my laptop screen.

  The door opened and a man and a woman in uniform peered in. “Ember Pierce—are you ready for your simulation?”

  “Simulation … ?” Crap. Double crap. I hadn’t checked the freaking schedule.

  “Uh,” I cleared my throat, “I mean—yes, I am ready,” I said, sliding off my bed and into a pair of flip-flops.

  “Good,” the man said, “Come with us.”

  A million thoughts flew through my mind as I walked through the facility with them. Where were we going? How would this work if I wasn’t tired? Would I do alright? Was I going to get hurt? Where was Caden? How many people would see me naked when I returned?

  I stared at the stark white walls and listened to my sandals slap against the linoleum.

  The two individuals in uniform stopped outside a door and knocked. A woman in a white lab coat answered the door.

  “Yes?” She looked behind them at me. “Ah,” she glanced down at her clipboard, “Ember Pierce?”

  I nodded, and she opened the door wide to let me in. I glanced around the room. This place was a strange cross between a laboratory and a control room. On the walls closest to me were cupboards and drawers. Medical supplies rested on the counter that ran along one of the walls.

  Against the far walls, a series of computers had been set up. In front of them two technicians typed away. Above the computers were rows and rows of T.V. screens, all currently lifeless.

  Finally, in the middle of the room, a bed awaited—the kind you normally find in a doctor’s office. I guess I knew where I was sitting. Next to it rested a small desk, and on it, another computer.

  “Go ahead and take a seat,” the woman said, gesturing towards the bed. Reluctantly I sat down on it, the cheap paper crinkling beneath me. The scientist walked over to the desk and picked up a folder.

  “What will I be doing in this simulation?” I asked.

  “Whatever it is that you do best,” she replied evasively.

  “How will I know what to do and when?”

  “That’s for you to figure out.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile, the kind that made it clear she was tired of answering my questions.

  I shifted my weight, crinkling the paper further.

  The female scientist muttered to herself as she read the file. Then she snapped it shut and came over to me.

  She swabbed the crook of my arm.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. The question came out a tad more hostile than I meant it to.

  “Swabbing your arm,” she said, like I was the world’s biggest idiot.

  “I mean, why?”

  She pulled out a syringe an
d a glass vial filled with clear liquid. “You’re going to be sedated so that we can initiate your teleportation.”

  My mouth formed an O. That made sense. I watched as the syringe extracted fluid from the vial. Once it was full, the woman tapped on it a few times.

  “Where’s Caden?” I asked.

  The woman looked away from the syringe to focus on me. “Is that your pair?”

  I nodded once.

  “He’s in another room. For the practice simulations, the project heads are interested in isolating teleporters beforehand to better analyze you alone.”

  “So I’m being watched and graded right now?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  So now, if the project heads were watching and interested, they’d know I asked a lot of questions. That was probably not a good thing.

  The woman in the lab coat sat down in the chair stationed next to my bed, and watched a clock on her computer. The seconds seemed to stretch out, but at some point she turned away from the computer.

  “Ready?” she asked, taking hold of my wrist.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  “Then go ahead I guess.”

  The needle slipped under my skin, and I squirmed as I watched the fluid leave the syringe and enter my bloodstream.

  The sight terrified me. I was now helpless.

  Within seconds the affects began to hit me. My eyes drooped, the room swayed, colors blurred together. Just before my eyes closed I had one final, lucid thought: this was the second-to-last place on earth that I wanted to be. As for the first, I’d be there shortly.

  Chapter 16

  I stood in an alleyway between two buildings. It was night here. Looking down at myself I wore a shimmery sequined dress, and a gold bracelet ringed my wrist. I took a closer look at it and noticed on the underside of my wrist the gold gave way to a digital timer. I smiled to myself as I watched the seconds tick away. They’d given me something to time my visit.