Red: What do you do when the rules cannot help you? (Rule Number 3)

by Teya Tapler

  “Understood,” Ollie said.

  “You’ll converse only to me and no one else, not even my sibling.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ollie said eager to please his benefactor.

  “Take this. It is to bring you back here after your mission,” the Chancellor tossed a transcaster gun on the table and Ollie hid it in his pocket.

  Without getting up the Chancellor pulled the transcaster device out of his ultramarine robe, adjusted the settings and sent Ollie to the past. That was the only way he could warn himself of the latest events. Yes, he had sent Evangeline there too, but if Ollie completed the mission successfully he, Ranshen, would know how to handle her for the good of the inquisitors. Her powers, even though useful, had to be tamed and controlled. Mort needed her help but Ranshen had to remain in control.

  Chapter 4

  “This is experiment 378,” Mort said with a loud voice. The statement sounded like an order that expected unquestioned subordination.

  Evan was sitting at the table writing on the white pages of a red-leather-bound-notebook with a red-ink-pen. Taking notes during the experiments was part of the assistant’s responsibilities. She had been doing that for the last six months or so since she joined the gang.

  “We’ll add to the mix three parts of conscious composites and five parts of subconscious elements with seven parts of fly ash and calcium oxide,” with a loud authoritative voice Mort dictated slowly the components for that experiment. The materials were lined on the long table already portioned; some of them in bowls, other chunked or pureed on large Petri-dishes.

  During the last 77 experiments, since Evan became Mort’s assistant, they had followed the same approach. He was telling her how to measure the ingredients and lay them on the table; then he would dictate, or more likely shout at her to record everything in the diary. Next, they would mix everything following the predefined sequence and while the mixture was hardening in the molds Mort would shout-dictate some more notes. Then he would touch the pearls with one or two hands and expect them to glow.

  That hadn’t happened yet. The pearls were defying his authority and approach. Every time Mort touched the pearls they had either immediately disintegrated in front of him into piles of dust or have sent an electric shock through his body paralyzing his hands for a while.

  Time after time Mort had gone back to the drawing board with furious determination.

  “You mix it this time,” Mort ordered Evan to start. “It is an even number experiment. As we agreed I’m mixing the odd numbers and you’ve the even ones.”

  Evan had simply played along. That work division was his decision and she knew very well that resistance was futile. The tattoo on her left inner arm and her burgundy hair were good remarks that she was better off complying as they would get their way against her will.

  All her hair, except her eyebrows, had gradually turned burgundy. Initially Evan thought that they had used a hair die, similar to the one she had seen her mother use, but as the time passed there were no signs of that. Her hair was getting longer and the hairs coming out of the roots were the same color as the rest of it. Before panicking she spoke with Amanda, and learned that the mouth swab she was told was a test for genetic diseases was actually the way the DNA changing virus was delivered into her body. Ranshen had tampered with her genetics, infecting her the very first day without mentioning anything. Locked in her room Evan had cried and yelled and screamed and then cried a lot more after learning that. Weeks later she had noticed that the rest of her body hair had started to turn burgundy as well. For some time she was even afraid to look at herself in the mirror to avoid seeing the freak she was becoming due to the rest of the genetic changes she imagined would follow.

  It was harder for Evan to interact with Ranshen and Mort after that. Evan had to force herself into not showing her revulsion and fear, for she wasn’t only frightened, she also hated those two men to the bottom of her heart. After becoming tired of being afraid she had grown to be compliant, obedient and accommodating. She didn’t want to ignite Mort’s insidious character or to provoke Ranshen’s sweet talking but yet malignant disposition. Initially when the hate filled her heart the only thing that Evan could think of was revenge. She spent numerous sleepless nights trying to identify the best way to destroy the brothers. Then the thought that she was in the past and that whatever she did to them was going to change the future stopped her. Doing anything like that would change her future as well and she might not even meet Zander, or he might die or she might not end up there with the inquisitors but in the open space and suffocate or implode in the hostile environment.

  It was extremely hard for Evan to swallow her hatred, to give up her chance for revenge. The only thing that helped her do it was the thought of Zander, the thought that if she didn’t harm the brothers she would still have a chance of being retrieved, a chance of seeing him again. Evan locked her heart and closed her mind. She slipped into a submissive behavior her criminal companions expected from her, and clang to the hope that she wouldn’t have to be there for too long.

  Today in Mort’s lab, she was the same yielding and obedient assistant that quietly followed Mort’s orders and didn’t complain.

  “Just be careful not to touch the ingredients or the mixture with bare hands. Here put on these gloves,” Mort said tossing a pair of vinyl gloves in her direction. “One mistake is enough. I don’t have patience for more and these ingredients are too expensive. This is not a playground,” Mort continued yelling at her.

  The mistake he was referring to had happened the first time Evan helped him - 76 experiments ago. Ever since that mishap, Mort constantly reminded her or her place and rubbed her initial ignorance in her face over and over. Evan swallowed her anger and lowered her head. She put on the gloves and approached the mixing station. Following Mort’s orders, she started pouring the ingredients in the big bowl before her. From the chair at the opposite side of the table Mort carefully watched her actions. His eyes shone with expectation as the mixture expanded and bubbled after each ingredient was added. The hope was in the air that the recipe would come out right that time.

  A knock on the door interrupted his indulgence.

  “Come in,” Mort roared still focused on Evan’s actions and the mixture she was preparing.

  “Ranshen wants you to see the new guy,” Amanda yelled from the door.

  Evan continued mixing carefully, she was compliant and agreeable. She was alive. Not happy, but alive and that was what she needed, to stay alive until Zander or his friends come for her. She stirred the mixture thinking that she was in a thick mess, thicker than the one she was producing that day. Her eyes moved to Amanda and Mort and when they closed the door she looked around.

  For a first time since Evan joined the group, six months ago, she was alone in another room than her bedroom. She was alone in the lab with all the chemicals and tools. The thought of taking a spoonful of something just to end Mort’s emotional turmoil, Amanda’s poignant remarks behind her back, and Ranshen’s evil looks and comments ran through her mind. Lost in her worrisome thoughts Evan stopped working on the mixture and thrust hands deep into the pockets of the maroon lab coat she was wearing. Her fidgeting fingers touched something smooth. She grabbed it quickly and pulled it out. It was a sun-shaped golden medallion. It was sitting quietly on her palm as if waiting for her to put it around her neck.

  That was an unexpected discovery. Her thoughts started chasing around: she got the lab coat from Amanda, who most likely received it from Ranshen, so… anything in the pockets used to belong to one of them.

  Evan put the medallion back into her pocket and looked back at the ingredients on the table in front of her. With a deep breath she forced herself to return to her work and continue to methodically stir the mixture. She knew what the pearls would do to the world, that they would be the reason behind great destruction and devastation, the force that would kill many people and extinguish many lives. She didn’t want to help Mort. Evan didn’t want
to be part of all that.

  Wondering what to do she combed her hair with one hand and looked around. As her eyes returned to the mixing bowl she saw several of her red hairs spark and disintegrate in the mixture she was stirring. They shushed and burned without a flame or smell and disappeared into the blend. Evan froze. She had inevitably tampered with the mixture. Her eyes darted around. There was no one else in the lab. Mort was not recording the experiments on any electronic media; he was a strong believer into the hand written notes. No one had seen the few hairs fall in the exotic concoction.

  Not knowing what else to do, and excluding a confession to Mort from her options, Evan continued adding the rest of the ingredients according to his instructions. The thought that the incident would remain unnoticed settled in as the concoction she stirred hardened faster than any cookie dough she had made in the past.

  “I thought of adding something extra this time,” Mort rushed into the room.

  Evan startled and stepped away from the table.

  “Do NOT stop mixing this!” Mort shouted pulling some hairs from his head. “After all if I am to influence them they need a piece of me and the hairs are the perfect conduit of one’s thoughts and emotions.” He dropped one of his bright ginger colored hairs into the mixture. The hair shushed and disappeared as Evan continued to stir.

  A few ingredients later the mixture was ready and she stepped aside. Mort lifted the heavy bowl with ease and poured its content in molds: careful to avoid the formation of any bubbles, splitting it evenly in five.

  “Now we wait,” he said pulling her out of the room. ”Come back here in six hours,” he locked the door behind them.

  Chapter 5

  Evan felt her stomach grumble. She wasn’t eating regularly. Spending most of her days in the lab where food and drinks were not allowed had made it impossible for her to follow the three meals a day schedule. Her food intakes were limited to breakfast and dinner sometimes more than 16 hours apart.

  She slowly moved towards the kitchen. The six hours until the mixture cured were going to be enough even to cook something. Her mind filled with thoughts about what she would like to treat herself to when passing by the living room she heard a very familiar voice. Listening to it made her feel safe and secure.

  “You might’ve heard about the Cancun robbery,” the familiar voice said.

  “Which one? The one in the casino?” Mort asked.

  “No, the one in all of the hotels, casinos and banks throughout the Cancun coastline in 2423,” the familiar voice explained calmly.

  Evan stopped close to the living room door and pressed her ear to one of the frosted glass panels. The corridor was dark and with the light coming from inside the room they would never see her. She was positive, she had heard that voice somewhere before. It sounded very, very familiar.

  “The one where,” the familiar voice started.

  “There’s a huge blackout for about 37 minutes after which all the money from the safes and valuable the guests were wearing or carrying were gone without a trace,” Ranshen interrupted him in owe then asked with his hissing voice, “How many hands d’you use?”

  “About five people,” the familiar voice said, then added with a chuckle, “Well we were six in the beginning but we had to cut the power, that’s why I said about, ha-ha-ha”

  She felt the laugh was faked. That person wasn’t the one he was claiming to be. Her memories were telling her that was a person who had been nice to her, who had helped her.

  “Ve-ery impressive!” Mort sounded amazed.

  “And were you part of the Brazilian act too?” Ranshen inquired. The conversation sounded like an interview. The brothers were verifying the resume of a potential new member of the Inquisitors. After Grakhun and Telagh were recruited and Evan heard there was another reputable candidate she became worried what a freak he or she would be considering those latest two additions: Grakhun always wore suits and his uncombed and oily beard reached his belt while Telagh not arguably had the worst breath in the world even after brushing his few teeth.

  “This is a long story-” the familiar voice started when the door Evan was leaning on opened and she fell into the living room. The golden medallion slipped off her pocket and landed in front of her making a distinct rattling sound as it bounced off the marble floor. Evan sensed how Mort, Ranshen and the third person turned towards her. She felt their eyes on her. Detecting how Mort’s anger was bubbling up, she prepared to meet his wrath and Ranshen’s disdain. Evan slowly stood up picking up the sun-shaped item as she faced the three men. There between Mort and the caped Ranshen she saw …Emil. He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark gray t-shirt, his curly dark ash blond hair was shorter than the last time she had seen him but his eyes were still that sparkling bright green color.

  “Emil, meet our personal reader,” Ranshen waved towards her then added sternly “What brings you here Lin? Were you looking for a strap for your pendant?” She saw his scar twitching.

  “I-I had another dream,” Evan realized she had crossed the line. She shoved the medallion in her pocket and blinked very slowly. It was imperative for her to say something powerful. Having a dream was the first thing that came to her mind. Thinking about her six months with the brothers without making any predictions, now was the perfect time to use her powers for good and help Emil get in the group.

  “What did you see?” Mort was annoyed by her uninvited appearance.

  “I cannot talk in front of him,” she nodded towards Emil and looked down.

  “Will you excuse us for a second,” Mort pulled Evan and Ranshen into the dining room where the two men pushed Evan down onto a chair and sat close to her. They didn’t like what had happened but were considering her too powerful to be ignored. The look on their faces was intense.

  “What did you see?” Mort asked.

  “I saw him,” Evan nodded towards the living room and Emil. She was talking quietly and slowly, carefully pronouncing every word, steam coming out of her mouth into the cold room and creating the mystical atmosphere she needed.

  “A-and?” Mort asked again.

  “He knows where to aim.” Evan said cryptically enough.

  Mort and Ranshen understood her well for they looked at each other and nodded. Their faces were expressionless but she had spent enough time with them to recognize when they were content. Following the tradition not to talk after a prediction was made; the brothers quietly got up and entered the living room without looking back at her.

  From her place Evan heard pieces of the conversation that was continuing at a much higher voice than before. The agitated Mort was offering Emil to become part of the Inquisitors gang while Emil was negotiating his slice of the money. After some time Ranshen opened the door to the dining room and without checking if Evan was still there shouted at her, “His quarters will be in room 23. Show him around and explain him the rules. You have 15 minutes.”

  Emil entered the dining room.

  Evan looked at him and tried to see if he had recognized her. She already felt safer just seeing him around. It meant that help would come soon.

  “Hi, I am...” she hesitated for a while not knowing who else could be listening.

  “Lin?” Emil helped her. He wasn’t looking at her the way she expected. His eyes were impenetrable. She couldn’t understand if he had recognized her.

  “Yes, I am Lin,” Evan said,” and you are?” Not knowing who was still in the dining room she decided to play along hoping that Emil will greet her in a friendlier way once they were behind closed doors.

  “Emil,” he nodded with respect. Evan felt nice. She hasn’t been treated like a normal person for quite some time. Being constantly shouted at or verbally abused was considered the norm.

  “Emil, let me show you around here,” she lead the way. The corridor was darker than the dining room. The tracking lights at the ceiling, above the doors and at the corners made the area feel alien.

  “This is the kitchen,” she said when they rea
ched the room without a door. “Everything is stocked up and there is no need to go out for groceries,” she tried to joke. Hope was coming back to her life. Emil wast here. He would help her get out, soon.

  “How long have you been with the group?” he said; a normal question a newbie would ask.

  “I don’t remember,” she answered. “Seems like I’ve been here all my life,” seeing Ranshen entering the kitchen she forced herself to smile indicating that she was enjoying it. “Now let me show you your quarters. This way,” she led Emil out of the kitchen and navigated the labyrinth of corridors.

  “Are you really a reader?” Emil asked as they made yet another turn.

  “Why?” She extended the vowels a little bit too much and the steam coming out of her mouth hid half of her face. Ranshen and Mort were still keeping the area at 40 F, as cold as a warm winter day.

  “I’ve never seen a real reader.” Emil lied continuing to stay in the role of the famous criminal mastermind. “After the riot most of them were casted away, others disappeared on their own never to be seen again. I thought that they were, pardon the word, extinct,” he said politely and rubbed his arms. He was cold too.

  “I’s lucky to land here,” she whispered avoiding the echo in the corridors.

  “I see,” he whispered back.

  “This is your room,” she opened the door of room 23 and revealed a relatively big sitting area with a mini bar.

  “Lady’s first!” Emil held the door for her. She looked around as if afraid from being followed and tiptoed inside. That was a one bedroom suite, nothing like her elevator-size room. There was a table with four chairs, a bed with a nightstand and a wardrobe nearby. He would not have to keep his folded clothes on the floor like her. Glad that his stay would be comfortable Evan approached the thermostat to crank it up.

  “You’ll need to die you hair red and get a tattoo,” she turned to Emil and uttered the information she was expected to deliver.