Kenji stops.
We reach what looks like a dead end—what could be the very end of Omega Point.
Kenji pulls out a key card I didn’t know he was hiding, and his hand fumbles for a panel buried in the stone. He slides the panel open. Does something I can’t see. Swipes the key card. Hits a switch.
The entire wall rumbles to life.
The pieces are coming apart, shifting out of place until they reveal a hole big enough for our bodies to clamber through. Kenji motions for me to follow his lead and I scramble through the entryway, glancing back to watch the wall close up behind me.
My feet hit the ground on the other side.
It’s like a cave. Massive, wide, separated into 3 longitudinal sections. The middle section is the most narrow and serves as a walkway; square glass rooms fit with slim glass doors make up the left and right sections. Each clear wall acts as a partition to rooms on either side—everything is see-through. There’s an electric aura engulfing the entire space; each cube is bright with white light and blinking machinery; sharp and dull hums of energy pulse through the vast dimensions.
There are at least 20 rooms down here.
10 on either side, all of them unobstructed from view. I recognize a number of faces from the dining hall down here, some of them strapped to machines, needles stuck in their bodies, monitors beeping about some kind of information I can’t understand. Doors slide open and closed open and closed open and closed; words and whispers and footsteps, hand gestures and half-formed thoughts collect in the air.
This.
This is where everything happens.
Castle told me 2 weeks ago—the day after I arrived—that he had a pretty good idea why we are the way we are. He said that they’d been doing research for years.
Research.
I see figures running, gasping on what resemble inordinately fast treadmills. I see a woman reloading a gun in a room bursting with weapons and I see a man holding something that emits a bright blue flame. I see a person standing in a chamber full of nothing but water and there are ropes stacked high and strung across the ceiling and all kinds of liquids, chemicals, contraptions I can’t name and my brain won’t stop screaming and my lungs keep catching fire and it’s too much too much too much too much
Too many machines, too many lights, too many people in too many rooms taking notes, talking amongst themselves, glancing at the clocks every few seconds and I’m stumbling forward, looking too closely and not closely enough and then I hear it. I try so hard not to but it’s barely contained behind these thick glass walls and there it is again.
The low, guttural sound of human agony.
It hits me right in the face. Punches me right in the stomach. Realization jumps on my back and explodes in my skin and rakes its fingernails down my neck and I’m choking on impossibility.
Adam.
I see him. He’s already here, in one of the glass rooms. Shirtless. Strapped down to a gurney, arms and legs clamped in place, wires from a nearby machine taped to his temples, his forehead, just below his collarbone. His eyes are pressed shut, his fists are clenched, his jaw is tight, his face too taut from the effort not to scream.
I don’t understand what they’re doing to him.
I don’t know what’s happening I don’t understand why it’s happening or why he needs a machine or why it keeps blinking or beeping and I can’t seem to move or breathe and I’m trying to remember my voice, my hands, my head, and my feet and then he
jerks.
He convulses against the stays, strains against the pain until his fists are pounding the padding of the gurney and I hear him cry out in anguish and for a moment the world stops, everything slows down, sounds are strangled, colors look smeared and the floor seems set on its side and I think wow, I think I’m actually going to die. I’m going to drop dead or
I’m going to kill the person responsible for this.
It’s one or the other.
That’s when I see Castle. Castle, standing in the corner of Adam’s room, watching in silence as this 18-year-old boy rages in agony while he does nothing. Nothing except watch, except to take notes in his little book, to purse his lips as he tilts his head to the side. To glance at the monitor on the beeping machine.
And the thought is so simple when it slips into my head. So calm. So easy.
So, so easy.
I’m going to kill him.
“Juliette—no—”
Kenji grabs me by the waist, arms like bands of iron around me and I think I’m screaming, I think I’m saying things I’ve never heard myself say before and Kenji is telling me to calm down, he’s saying, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to bring you in here—you don’t understand—it’s not what it looks like—”
And I decide I should probably kill Kenji, too. Just for being an idiot.
“LET GO OF ME—”
“Stop kicking me—”
“I’m going to murder him—”
“Yeah, you should really stop saying that out loud, okay? You’re not doing yourself any favors—”
“LET GO OF ME, KENJI, I SWEAR TO GOD—”
“Ms. Ferrars!”
Castle is standing at the end of the walkway, a few feet from Adam’s glass room. The door is open. Adam isn’t jerking anymore, but he doesn’t appear to be conscious, either.
White, hot rage.
It’s all I know right now. The world looks so black-and-white from here, so easy to demolish and conquer. This is anger like nothing I’ve known before. It’s an anger so raw, so potent it’s actually calming, like a feeling that’s finally found its place, a feeling that finally sits comfortably as it settles into my bones.
I’ve become a mold for liquid metal; thick, searing heat distributes itself throughout my body and the excess coats my hands, forging my fists with a strength so breathtaking, an energy so intense I think it might engulf me. I’m light-headed from the rush of it.
I could do anything.
Anything.
Kenji’s arms drop away from me. I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s stumbling back. Afraid. Confused. Probably disturbed.
I don’t care.
“So this is where you’ve been,” I say to Castle, and I’m surprised by the cool, fluid tone of my voice. “This is what you’ve been doing.”
Castle steps closer and appears to regret it. He looks startled, surprised by something he sees on my face. He tries to speak and I cut him off.
“What have you done to him?” I demand. “What have you been doing to him—”
“Ms. Ferrars, please—”
“He is not your experiment!” I explode, and the composure is gone, the steadiness in my voice is gone and I’m suddenly so unstable again I can hardly keep my hands from shaking. “You think you can just use him for your research—”
“Ms. Ferrars, please, you must calm yourself—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I can’t imagine what they must have done to him down here, testing him, treating him like some kind of specimen.
They’re torturing him.
“I would not have expected you to have such an adverse reaction to this room,” Castle says. He’s trying to be conversational. Reasonable. Charismatic, even. It makes me wonder what I must look like right now. I wonder if he’s afraid of me. “I thought you understood the importance of the research we do at Omega Point,” he says. “Without it, how could we possibly hope to understand our origins?”
“You’re hurting him—you’re killing him! What have you done—”
“Nothing he hasn’t asked to be a part of.” Castle’s voice is tight and his lips are tight and I can see his patience is starting to wear thin. “Ms. Ferrars, if you are insinuating that I’ve used him for my own personal experimentation, I would recommend you take a closer look at the situation.” He says the last few syllables with a little too much emphasis, a little too much fire, and I realize I’ve never seen him angry before.
“I know that yo
u’ve been struggling here,” Castle continues. “I know you are unaccustomed to seeing yourself as part of a group, and I’ve made an effort to understand where you might be coming from—I’ve tried to help you adjust. But you must look around!” He gestures toward the glass walls and the people behind them. “We are all the same. We are working on the same team! I have subjected Adam to nothing I have not undergone myself. We are simply running tests to see where his supernatural abilities lie. We cannot know for certain what he is capable of if we do not test him first.” His voice drops an octave or 2. “And we do not have the luxury of waiting several years until he accidentally discovers something that might be useful to our cause right now.”
And it’s strange.
Because it’s like a real thing, this anger.
I feel it wrapping itself around my fingers like I could fling it at his face. I feel it coiling itself around my spine, planting itself in my stomach and shooting branches down my legs, up my arms, through my neck. It’s choking me. Choking me because it needs release, needs relief. Needs it now.
“You,” I tell him, and I can hardly spit the words out. “You think you’re any better than The Reestablishment if you’re just using us—experimenting on us to further your cause—”
“MS. FERRARS!” Castle bellows. His eyes are flashing bright, too bright, and I realize everyone in this underground tunnel is now staring at us. His fingers are in fists at his sides and his jaw is unmistakably set and I feel Kenji’s hand on my back before I realize the earth is vibrating under my feet. The glass walls are beginning to tremble and Castle is planted right in the middle of everything, rigid, raw with anger and indignation and I remember that he has an impossibly advanced level of psychokinesis.
I remember that he can move things with his mind.
He lifts his right hand, palm splayed outward, and the glass panel not a few feet away begins to shake, shudder, and I realize I’m not even breathing.
“You do not want to upset me.” Castle’s voice is far too calm for his eyes. “If you have a problem with my methods, I would gladly invite you to state your claims in a rational manner. I will not tolerate you speaking to me in such a fashion. My concerns for the future of our world may be more than you can fathom, but you should not fault me for your own ignorance!” He drops his right hand and the glass buckles back just in time.
“My ignorance?” I’m breathing hard again. “You think because I don’t understand why you would subject anyone to—to this—” I wave a hand around the room. “You think that means I’m ignorant—?”
“Hey, Juliette, it’s okay—,” Kenji starts.
“Take her away,” Castle says. “Take her back to her training quarters.” He shoots an unhappy look at Kenji. “And you and I—we will discuss this later. What were you thinking, bringing her here? She’s not ready to see this—she can hardly even handle herself right now—”
He’s right.
I can’t handle this. I can’t hear anything but the sounds of machines beeping, screeching in my head, can’t see anything but Adam’s limp form lying on a thin mattress. I can’t stop imagining what he must’ve been going through, what he had to endure just to understand what he might be and I realize it’s all my fault.
It’s my fault he’s here, it’s my fault he’s in danger, it’s my fault Warner wants to kill him and Castle wants to test him and if it weren’t for me he’d still be living with James in a home that hasn’t been destroyed; he’d be safe and comfortable and free from the chaos I’ve introduced to his life.
I brought him here. If he’d never touched me none of this would’ve happened. He’d be healthy and strong and he wouldn’t be suffering, wouldn’t be hiding, wouldn’t be trapped 50 feet underground. He wouldn’t be spending his days strapped to a gurney.
It’s my fault it’s my fault it’s my fault it’s all my fault it’s all my fault
I snap.
It’s like I’ve been stuffed full of twigs and all I have to do is bend and my entire body will break. All the guilt, the anger, the frustration, the pent-up aggression inside of me has found an outlet and now it can’t be controlled. Energy is coursing through me with a vigor I’ve never felt before and I’m not even thinking but I have to do something I have to touch something and I’m curling my fingers and bending my knees and pulling back my arm and
punching
my
fist
right
through
the
floor.
The earth fissures under my fingers and the reverberations surge through my being, ricocheting through my bones until my skull is spinning and my heart is a pendulum slamming into my rib cage. My eyesight fades in and out of focus and I have to blink a hundred times to clear it only to see a crack creaking under my feet, a thin line splintering the ground. Everything around me is suddenly off-balance. The stone is groaning under our weight and the glass walls are rattling and the machines are shifting out of place and the water is sloshing against its container and the people—
The people.
The people are frozen in terror and horror and the fear in their expressions rips me apart.
I fall backward, cradling my right fist to my chest and try to remind myself I am not a monster, I do not have to be a monster, I do not want to hurt people I do not want to hurt people I do not want to hurt people
and it’s not working.
Because it’s all a lie.
Because this was me, trying to help.
I look around.
At the ground.
At what I’ve done.
And I understand, for the first time, that I have the power to destroy everything.
EIGHT
Castle is limp.
His jaw is unhinged. His arms are slack at his sides, his eyes wide with worry and wonder and a sliver of intimidation and though he moves his lips he can’t seem to make a sound.
I feel like now might be a good time to jump off a cliff.
Kenji touches my arm and I turn to face him only to realize I’m petrified. I’m always waiting for him and Adam and Castle to realize that being kind to me is a mistake, that it’ll end badly, that I’m not worth it, that I’m nothing more than a tool, a weapon, a closet murderer.
But he takes my right fist in his hand so gently. Takes care not to touch my skin as he slips off the now-tattered leather glove and sucks in his breath at the sight of my knuckles. The skin is torn and blood is everywhere and I can’t move my fingers.
I realize I am in agony.
I blink and stars explode and a new torture rages through my limbs in such a hurry I can no longer speak.
I gasp
and
the
world
d i s a p p e a r s
NINE
My mouth tastes like death.
I manage to pry my eyes open and immediately feel the wrath of hell ripping through my right arm. My hand has been bandaged in so many layers of gauze it’s rendered my 5 fingers immobile and I find I’m grateful for it. I’m so exhausted I don’t have the energy to cry.
I blink.
Try to look around but my neck is too stiff.
Fingers brush my shoulder and I discover myself wanting to exhale. I blink again. Once more. A girl’s face blurs in and out of focus. I turn my head to get a better view and blink blink blink some more.
“How’re you feeling?” she whispers.
“I’m okay,” I say to the blur, but I think I’m lying. “Who are you?”
“It’s me,” she says. Even without seeing her clearly I can hear the kindness in her voice. “Sonya.”
Of course.
Sara is probably here, too. I must be in the medical wing.
“What happened?” I ask. “How long have I been out?”
She doesn’t answer and I wonder if she didn’t hear me.
“Sonya?” I try to meet her eyes. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“You’ve been really sick,�
� she says. “Your body needed time—”
“How long?” My voice drops to a whisper.
“Three days.”
I sit straight up and know I’m going to be sick.
Luckily, Sonya’s had the foresight to anticipate my needs. A bucket appears just in time for me to empty the meager contents of my stomach into it and then I’m dry-heaving into what is not my suit but some kind of hospital gown and someone is wiping a hot, damp cloth across my face.
Sonya and Sara are hovering over me, the hot cloths in their hands, wiping down my bare limbs, making soothing sounds and telling me I’m going to be fine, I just need to rest, I’m finally awake long enough to eat something, I shouldn’t be worried because there’s nothing to worry about and they’re going to take care of me.
But then I look more closely.
I notice their hands, so carefully sheathed in latex gloves; I notice the IV stuck in my arm; I notice the urgent but cautious way they approach me and then I realize the problem.
The healers can’t touch me.
TEN
They’ve never had to deal with a problem like me before.
Injuries are always treated by the healers. They can set broken bones and repair bullet wounds and revive collapsed lungs and mend even the worst kinds of cuts—I know this because Adam had to be carried into Omega Point on a stretcher when we arrived. He’d suffered at the hands of Warner and his men after we escaped the military base and I thought his body would be scarred forever. But he’s perfect. Brand-new. It took all of 1 day to put him back together; it was like magic.
But there are no magic medicines for me.
No miracles.
Sonya and Sara explain that I must’ve suffered some kind of immense shock. They say my body overloaded on its own abilities and it’s a miracle I even managed to survive. They also think my body has been passed out long enough to have repaired most of the psychological damage, though I’m not so sure that’s true. I think it’d take quite a lot to fix that sort of thing. I’ve been psychologically damaged for a very long time. But at least the physical pain has settled. It’s little more than a steady throbbing that I’m able to ignore for short periods of time.
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