Identity
Page 25
“Don’t hurt her!” the blonde woman and Dr. Mire order in unison.
The blonde lowers her gun and stoops beside Tessa. I start for Karen, but the mutant whose been guarding me yanks me backwards and forces my hands behind my back. I glance at him and his narrowed eyes gleam with odd golden flecks.
The blonde woman, crouched beside Tessa, pulls a syringe from her pocket and says, “Sedate Nathaniel and bring him to holding, but don’t hurt him.”
I glance at Karen and we lock eyes. For some reason, I’m not panicked anymore. Am I afraid? Definitely. But I’m not frozen in panic. The worst has happened, and it’s going to keep happening, but as long as we’re together, we’ll protect each other.
I hold her gaze and think, ‘whatever happens, we’re going to be okay.’
One of the agents sinks a needle into my skin and Karen’s face grows blurry. Among the meaningless thoughts that slip in and out of my head, I hear one that matters.
... I love you, Nathaniel. You’re the bravest person I know …
An agent holds me down while Claire Hawke thrusts a needle into my arm. Wincing at its insertion, I send another slew of sparks to the agent who’s got me in his grip. He screams and releases me. I try to get to my feet, but the room spins like a merry-go-round.
Claire Hawke leans close to me and I believe she’s whispering as she says, “Don’t worry, Tessa, I’ll make sure you’re alright.”
My vision blurring, I return my attention to my sister. Dr. Mire approaches Karen, something small and shiny in her grasp. I can’t see what it is, but I don’t think it’s a gun. Dr. Mire crouches until she and Karen are eye level.
My heart pounding, I squint through my hazy vision, trying to make out what the object is.
The device could be some sort of weapon, but I doubt Dr. Mire would kill her own offspring. “Don’t …hurt her,” I say, trying and failing to stretch my hand out towards Dr. Mire.
As much as I dislike Karen, she’s my sister. I never wanted her dead, I only wanted her respect.
Dr. Mire brings the shiny object to Karen’s face and says, “This is for your own good.”
“No …” I say, everything around me growing dim. I force my eyes back open.
Claire Hawke is approaching Dr. Mire, a hand on her shoulder as they stand over my sister’s limp body. “You’ve had a hard day,” Claire says, “let me ...”
“No!” I cry. My eyes giving way completely, I sink into sleep.
May, 1999
“Please welcome our salutatorian to the stage,” Fairtowne High’s Principal, Mr. Ron Barber, smiles warmly and glances my way as he says, “Karin Greenich.”
...the kid’s not even nervous. She’s something else ... His thoughts slip into mine while the audience claps. Mr. Barber has no idea how wrong he is about my nerves. But I return his smile, a surge of gratitude overshadowing the anxiety that’s crept into my gut.
Mr. Barber’s the best Principal I’ve ever had ... well, not that I remember having any other Principal, but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s been awesome this past year. The last minute addition of an awkward amnesia patient to his student body’s graduating class was probably less than thrilling. But instead of making me feel like a burden, Mr. Barber encouraged everyone to go out of their way to make me feel at home.
Standing, I readjust my graduation cap as a cool breeze blows the tassel every which way. Today is perfect for an outside graduation, with bright blue skies and lots of sunlight. Still, though, the weather’s on the colder side at about sixty-five degrees. That’s not surprising. Fairtowne, a small city in inland Connecticut, is the kind of place where hot chocolate and well-made sweaters are necessary for a solid ten months out of the year. Why we’re having an outside graduation on our school’s front lawn is beyond me, but ...whatever. At least it’s picturesque.
The girl beside me, Bianca Goings, offers her palm for a high-five and I respond with a firm slap. Bianca’s the only Deaf student in our school. She reads lips like a pro and on my first day here, when she asked me where I was from (because, apparently, I speak with a ‘southern twang’), we were both surprised when I replied by signing, “I have no idea.” That was the moment we both realized I know American Sign Language. Go figure.
“You got this, Karin,” Bianca signs.
“Yeah,” I whisper, “if I don’t trip and fall flat on my face.”
She chuckles and I make my way down our aisle, accepting fist bumps and high-fives on my way to the stage. In this large of a crowd, the amount of thoughts that pour through my mind are incredible, but I take a deep breath and do my best to avoid letting them overwhelm me.
I glance at the ASL interpreter Fairtowne’s hired for Bianca and we exchange nods. In acknowledgement of our previous arrangement, the interpreter takes a step back.
I turn to the microphone and lift my hands, signing as I speak, “Over a year ago, I woke up on the front steps of an orphanage with no memory of my past.”
A hush falls over the audience and butterflies fill my stomach. I lift my chin, steady myself, and continue, “All I knew was that, according to the ID card in my pocket, my name was Karin Greenich. Other than that card, I had no identity. But now, a little over a year later, I’ve gained a clear sense of who I am and where I’m going. I wouldn’t be able to say that if it weren’t for all of you.” I scan the familiar faces in the audience and my gaze stops at Ms. Spencer, the director of Fairtowne Orphanage, the “state-sponsored group home” I belong to. Tall and heavy set with frizzy red hair, Ms. Spencer stands out like a sore thumb. As she meets my eyes and smiles, my anxiety subsides.
“You guys are a close knit graduating class. You’ve grown up together and you’re like family to each other. But when this shy new girl with amnesia and a weird accent,” I continue, grinning as a few people laugh, “was suddenly a part of your class, instead of treating me with prejudice you treated me with kindness. Your kindness was so powerful that it actually filled the spaces left empty by my missing memories. Mr. Barber and my teachers, likewise, kindly encouraged me to take my time in discovering things about myself. Like, how much I love acting, and-”A few of my friends from Drama Club cheer. They make so much noise I’m forced to pause. Grinning, I continue, “And you helped me realize that, more than anything, I love helping people the way you all helped me. I have yet to recover my memories of my past, but thanks to your kindness I know exactly where I’m going. I’m going to become a teacher one day. That’s my identity, and everyone in our class has their own distinctive identity. Like Bianca, who can dance better than Brittney and JLo put together and-” Before I can continue, the audience claps and someone shouts, “Class of 1999!”
I chuckle and shift on my feet as I prepare to conclude my speech. To be honest, right now I’m sort of grateful for my amnesia. I know it’s probably silly to think that because I have so many questions about my past and this weird ‘hearing-thoughts’ ability I’ve got going on. But still, something tells me that I wouldn’t be this happy if I had my missing memories. Actually, I don’t know about that, I could be totally wrong ...all I know is that in this moment, I feel whole, like I know exactly where I’m going in life.
“KARIN, THAT WAS a beautiful speech,” Ms. Spencer gives me a hug, her smile as bright as ever. It diminishes only a tad as she lowers her voice and looks me in the eye, “But are you alright? I mean, in this kind of a crowd?”
Ms. Spencer is the sole person I’ve told about my ability. And the only reason she didn’t think I was a complete nutcase is because she was the one who found me on the front steps of the Orphanage that freezing March morning. Ms. Spencer knows there was more than an identity card in my pocket ...the card was tucked away beside a device, a long and slender gadget that, as crazy as this sounds, gives its wearer the ability to become invisible and fly. So, we both realize there’s something odd about my past. We’ve also agreed that, for the time being, it’d be best to let the mystery remain in the past.
&n
bsp; “It’s not too bad,” I say even as I nod to her car and add, “but I wouldn’t mind heading out now.”
She smiles with understanding and we start towards her little blue Toyota. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride to the banquet with one of your friends?”
As if on cue, Adam, a short guy who’s had the most ridiculous crush on me since I started at Fairtowne calls after me, “Karin, you riding with me? Right?”
“Sorry, Adam. I already have a ride,” I reply over my shoulder. He makes a face, so I smile and blow him a kiss. “But save me a seat next to you.”
He winks back at me and I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry, Ms. Spencer, I was totally joking-” I pause in stride at an abrupt shift in the whispers waltzing in and out of my thoughts.
...where’d that girl come from? And her face ...my God ...
...did that girl just...appear? Like, out of nowhere?...
...oh my God, what happened to her face...
The murmurs that are pouring into my thoughts begin to resemble one another, only one of them standing out as different ...there she is, there’s Karen...
Karen. I exhale slowly, trying to get a hold of myself. Why is my blood running cold at the sound of that name?
“Karin?” Ms. Spencer touches my shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I absently reply, my gaze going to the very center of the crowd, the place where everyone else is pretending not to look.
There stands a girl with stringy blonde hair, chunks of it burned away to reveal a painfully scarred scalp. Her face is, likewise, a tapestry of tomato red burns that culminate into the worse scarring I’ve ever seen on her chin. She wears a turtle neck, which is loose and over-sized on her skeletal form, and her jeans nearly fall off of her as she limps my way. Her blue eyes, unable to mask the pain of her every step, are full of surprising determination and the intensity of her gaze is so magnetic that I can’t look away as she walks toward me.
“Do you know this girl?” Ms. Spencer whispers, taking a protective step closer to me.
I look into the girls’ eyes, hoping for some tug at my memory. But all I can remember is ...nothing.
“I don’t know,” I confess.
“Karen,” the girl’s voice is raspy.
“Karin,” I correct and take a tentative step towards her.
“No, Karen.” She shakes her head slowly, as if even this movement requires a ton of effort.
She’s so frail that I worry she’ll pass out before she even reaches me, so I leave Ms. Spencer and close the gap between us.
“Is there something I can ...” I realize that I don’t know what to say. “That I can do for you?”
“Not me.” The girl takes a breath and a croaking noise comes from her throat as her eyes fill. My God, she looks like she’s in horrible pain. My heart breaking, I touch her arm to steady her. “It’s too late for me,” she continues. “But the others, you can help them.”
... Karin, I don’t like this ...
Knowing that this thought must be coming from Ms. Spencer, I glance at her before returning my attention to the burned girl. My mouth dry with nerves, I ask, “What others? I don’t understand.”
“You hear thoughts.” With that, she grabs my hand. “I travel.”
I gasp as my school’s front lawn with its crowd of graduates and proud family members is no longer around us. Instead, we’re surrounded by a tornado of colors and I’m completely paralyzed; I can’t even scream!
The tornado comes to an abrupt halt and the girl with the burns releases my hand.
So disoriented that I’m cross-eyed, I shake my head to clear my vision and look around. We’re on the sidewalk just down the road from my school. A car whizzes past on the nearby street and my heart pounding, I turn to the girl. “What did you just do?”
“That’s my ability. Just like...” she pauses to catch her breath, the life in her eyes dimming. “...just like you hear thoughts. Use your gift to help the others.”
“You’re saying there are others like us? People with powers?” I know I’m asking too many questions, but I can’t stop. “Where did we come from and why-”
“Go here,” she interrupts me, and reaches into the pocket of her jeans, her hands trembling with weakness.
I start to help her when a slew of whispers take center stage in my mind ...Target six tunneled to the northeast, a half a mile away...
... eyes on target six. She’s on a street corner, talking to a dark-haired girl; a teenager in a graduation gown ...
“People are following you,” I say, glancing around. The words have barely left my lips when a black Buick, its windows tinted, careens towards us from down the street. I keep my focus on the shadowy figure in the driver’s seat, trying to pinpoint his thoughts within the barrage of whispers assaulting my brain.
... wish Dr. Mire would just let us put this kid down. Watching her waste away is worse than...
The girl grabs my hand and presses something into it, “Find Iris. Save the others.”
I turn to her, but she’s gone.
“Wait!” I cry, blinking into the empty space she just occupied. In my confusion, I nearly drop the piece of paper she’s left in my hand.
... How is this kid still tunneling? She should be dead by now ... The Buick roars away, its tires screeching as it takes off.
I look down at the paper she’s left me with and, my hands shaking, I frown into the tiny writing ...actually it’s not just writing. It’s got a drawing, a map.
I read the map’s title aloud, “Swamp Rose?”
Upon closer inspection, what she’s drawn begins to make sense. It’s a map of Louisiana, with special emphasis on the state’s far southern half, a town called Swamp Rose. Each of the town’s main streets are labeled and she’s got a red arrow pointing to what appears to be an island within one of the area’s nearby swamps.
...there she is!... interrupts my thoughts as Ms. Spencer’s heavy footsteps sound behind me. “Karin? Are you alright?” She calls.
Dazed, I turn to her. “Yeah, but I think I need to go.”
“Of course, we can go.” Ms. Spencer agrees, her brow wrinkled in concern. “And we don’t have to go to the banquet, not after all of that. In fact, how about a quick chat with your therapist?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I need to go in that I need a plane ticket, a flight.”
“What?” Ms. Spencer exclaims, “You can’t just ...” She takes a deep breath and dons her social worker expression of calm. “Karin, can you tell me why you feel you need a plane ticket?”
Reaching under my graduation gown, I slip the map into the pocket of my dress and return Ms. Spencer’s confused gaze. “I need to go to Louisiana, to a town called Swamp Rose.”
Ms. Spencer asks me why again, but I’m not going to explain because ...well, because I don’t even fully know how to explain why. I just know there are people who need help and if it takes traveling all the way to some godforsaken town called Swamp Rose to get to them, then that’s what I’ve got to do.
“Karin, you need to be careful,” Ms. Spencer’s voice shakes. “You have an ability, yes. And that girl who showed up obviously has one too. But think about what kinds of people would want to take advantage of kids like you. So, if that girl told you to go to this ...this Swamp Rose place, who’s to say she wasn’t coerced into sending you into some kind of a trap?”
Biting down on my bottom lip, I consider this and start towards Ms. Spencer’s car.
“Karin?” She follows me.
“Maybe it is a trap, I don’t know,” I agree, fear washing over me. “But if it isn’t and there are others like me who need to be rescued, who would I be if I didn’t at least try to help them?”
I turn to Ms. Spencer and look her in the eye, “I meant what I said in the graduation speech. This is who I am, this is what I’m made to do, to help people. I’m going to Swamp Rose.”
Her eyes softening, Ms. Spencer says. “I’m proud of you, Karin
.” To my surprise, she gives me a hug and whispers, “I’ll help you with the plane ticket, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will,” I reply, silently hoping I can keep my promise.
To find out exactly what happened to Karen, Nathaniel, and Tessa while they were in I.T.I.S., check out The South Louisiana High Series!
You’ll meet “Karin Greenich” as an adult who’s decided to make Swamp Rose, Louisiana her home. She’s become a Theater teacher at South Louisiana High School, where her students and colleagues stumble upon the full story behind her past and how she managed to escape from I.T.I.S. Check out each of their stories in the books below!
The South Louisiana High Series
Almost Friends
Mia, Kyle, & Elizabeth’s Story
Almost Twins
Andy, Gia, & Via’s Story
The Other LA
Drew’s Story
Bravery
Gina’s Story
Almost Human
Lanie & Silv’s Story
Thank you to readers who hung in there and let Karen, Tessa, and Nathaniel lead them on an adventure into the world of I.T.I.S. Trust me, this is only the beginning ...
First of all, I have to thank my friend, Stacy, who is not only one of the funniest women I know, but who patiently taught me about Deaf culture and the art of unabashed honesty. Your patience and humility are refreshing, Stacy. Likewise, Karen’s story would be completely different if I didn’t know the baker of the world’s best gluten-free brownies and her beautiful family. Yeah, that’s you, Bonnie. I’m so glad you’ve been one of my best friends since those long gone days of us aimlessly driving around Baton Rouge while listening to either Josh Groban or the Les Mis soundtrack and trying not to cry in front of each other. Why did we listen to such sad music? And do you ever wonder how much gas we wasted driving around? We were so weird back then. I’m glad we’re completely normal now.