To Be Free

by Marie-Ange Langlois

  As I walk by I stare at the pendulum swinging to and fro with every tick, and as I watch it time seems to leaden, thickening around me entirely. The ticks get further and further apart and movement is complicated, hard to achieve, and only when I tear my eyes away does time continue along at its regular pace. I suck in a breath so quickly I go light-headed, stumbling into Quinn, and for a moment the procession of three pauses in the curving hallway while he grips my arms, helping me keep my balance.

  Once I nod, letting him know I'm okay and reassuring him that I'm not, in fact, having a relapse, he releases me. To keep him confidant about my well-being I keep hold of his hand, all the way through the hallway and down a spiral staircase that brings us to the basement. Here it's a bit cooler, and she leads us to a large wooden door and unlocks it with a key she fishes out of her pants, gesturing for us to come inside before she closes it, locking it behind us.

  “This room's soundproof,” she informs us idly as we linger just inside the room, blinking owlishly at the sight.

  The elephant in the room is a large table with a huge map of North America spread out on it, the main roads drawn out and certain areas coloured in a vibrant red shade. There's a star drawn in blue at the bottom of Oregon, presumably where Ashland is, and about eight chairs sit idly around the circular table. The walls are lined with bookshelves full of books and a few wardrobes and chests holding other miscellaneous goods. The light fixtures hang timidly from the ceiling, and more than one globe decorates the room, as well as maps of other locations around the world.

  Melissa lets us take this all in, hands laced together limply between each other as we stare slack-jawed at the room, and takes a seat at the table once she pulls a thick tome from the shelf, inviting us to take a seat. We do so, looking at her curiously.

  “The preparations take about a week, two if we're unlucky,” she begins, leaning forward in her seat and steepling her fingers together, regarding us both. “In the meantime, you have two options available to you – and it's not an easy decision. The option you choose could be the deciding factor on whether you make it to Canada or not. With me so far?”

  I nod, and Quinn mirrors the gesture after a moment. I'm resting my forearms on the table, and he's got his crossed over his chest loosely.

  “Okay, so the preparations include getting some false IDs for you and some documents, a ride and some supplies. This gets you across the border, and from there you decide how you do things.” Pausing a moment, she looks to the map spread out on the table. “Our guy who takes care of the documents also gets the car and brings the whole lot over to you, and where that is depends entirely on the decision you make. We have two ways to see you go as far up as you can without suspicion and before the Vigils start asking for papers.”

  Quinn leans forward, arching an eyebrow.

  “How close are we talking?”

  She smiles a lopsided grin, pressing her index finger on the map. We both sit up to look at the place she's indicating, and when I notice the name of the city her fingertip is affirming I have to bite back the wave of hope clawing up my very being from my feet to my scalp. My fingers, of their own accord, tighten their hold on the table.

  Seattle, Washington.

  Only 140 miles between there and freedom. Two hours' drive.

  We both look back at her, sure she's pulling our leg, but she just smiles warmly at us.

  “There's a little home not far from there that Janice's grandmother left to her in her will, so we use that home for these sorts of things while we wait to sort out the legal matters and falsify your existence, to put it simply,” she clarifies, and Quinn and I can't help but look at each other, wide-eyed. I swear, only this man could make it so that we'd luck out like this. “The only thing is that, during your stay there should you decide to take this option, you must not leave the place and you must temporarily alter your most defining features – such as hair, eye colour and height.”

  We sit back down, sobering up; although, the idea that we'd be so close to the end makes my blood sing and fidget slightly in my seat until I force myself to calm down.

  “The second option, the one some tend to opt for, is to remain here while the papers are being drawn up, and to then make their way to the border on their own time,” she states, and at this option we look at one-another again, frowning.

  “What's the survival percentage of those who choose the second?” I ask, not too sure I want to hear the answer. “The one for the first option, too. What is it?”

  Melissa bites her lower lip, looking down to the book on the table in front of her and opening the pages, the weathered paper protesting only slightly as she opens it to a list of names, more than half of them scratched out.

  “Those who remained here were either on their own or travelling in larger groups than yours, which made transferring them to the house more difficult,” she begins, sighing as her eyes tumble down the list of names. “The larger groups, of three, four and sometimes even five... well; I can only tell you that perhaps four of those groups made it through alive. The larger the group, the harder it is to safely pass.”

  She looks genuinely upset as she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “The others had fairer chances. I'd say seventy-eight percent of them got through alive – the others just didn't know how to survive, and to be honest it's a miracle they'd gotten this far to begin with. Their abilities were either underdeveloped and they couldn't control them, or they were dormant,” she sighs, closing the book and looking back at us. “In comparison, those who chose to go to Seattle had a higher chance, having only to go a small distance. I'd say ninety-three this time, if only because crossing the border is harder and harder with each passing year.”

  Then Melissa leans her chin on her curled fingers, looking at us.

  “You both have curious abilities – untapped potential, and lots of it by the looks of it – and you can control them, with varying degrees of side-effects. If you had to use them at the border, I highly believe you'd manage to cross and you'd be able to find a safe place to rest.”

  I look at Quinn, noticing how concentrated he looks. It's an insane decision, and those more cautious would decide on remaining here. Yet... the idea of being so close and only having to wait two weeks at the most is tempting – and with our skills and abilities, I think we'd be able to survive. For those two weeks, we could probably even try to learn to control them more effectively.

  “How do we get there in the first place?” he inquires, worrying his lower lip.

  “It's a seven-hour drive from here to Seattle, and before we'd leave we would have to tweak your appearances a bit. Have you dye your hair or wear a wig; wear coloured contact lenses; higher shoes... the whole works.”

  “What option, in your opinion, would work best for us?” I ask, and Quinn looks at me as the same time she turns her attention onto me. Fidgeting, I clarify. “I mean, I know that we'll have to talk it through with one-another a bit before we come to a consensus, that's for sure – unless Quinn decides he'd rather do this leg of the journey on his own, in which case this is irrelevant – but, from what you've learned and observed from us, what do you think would be best?”

  This time Melissa sighs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms as she thinks, frowning. Closing her eyes, she answers my inquiry.

  “You two would survive with relative ease in Seattle – you escaped the facility, a feat very few, if any, can boast about; you also have gifts I can't even begin to wrap my head around. You two could also benefit from some time alone together, without fear of having to Run during that time... you both have things to work out together, from what I can tell.” Opening her eyes, she gives us a piercing stare that roots us to our seats. “We have methods of keeping Recon One off your tails, so you can breathe easy during that time. They won't be a concern for you during that time, but we're only able to keep it up for about two weeks at a time before they catch on.”

  She then gets to her fe
et, brushing nonexistent dust from her pants before offering us both a warm smile again.

  “I'll leave you both to talk about it for a bit, and come join us upstairs once you're done,” she tells us, waving with a smile before leaving us in the vast, suddenly suffocating room.

  I sit there beside Eleven, tense for a reason I don't quite understand. Avoiding his figure entirely, I instead look at the table and bite my lower lip, wishing nothing more than to be anywhere but here.

  There's something big bothering him, and I'm afraid to find out.

  Without warning, Quinn gets to his feet and turns my chair around so that it faces him, and he completely ignores my cry of protest. Instead, he grips the armrests and looms over me almost threateningly. I find myself trapped in his gaze, unable to tear away, and I swallow thickly.

  The glare he's shooting down at me completely immobilizes me, and pulls numerous reactions out of me. Silently I curse myself for being so powerless, for being so human, and for finding it kind of... well, in a word, hot.

  Welcome to my life.

  “What gave you the idea that I'd ever want to go my own way for this last part?” he growls, and his voice hints at a frightening amount of self-control as he leans in, close enough for our noses to almost touch. “That I'd ever want to leave you behind – especially when it comes to the moment when we need one-another now the most. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't thrash you, Sebastian, or so help me I'll beat you to a bloody pulp.”

  Oh, I remember this. It's exactly like when he told me he wanted me to trust him, that he wouldn't stick around if I couldn't bring myself to trust him even a little. Different circumstance, same principle.

  In both, I underestimate him.

  The future isn't set in stone. It's constantly changing – what a seer might see one day will not be the same as what he sees a week from now.

  Again, my arrogance surfaced and I failed to trust him. Once more, he's called me out on my bullshit.

  Against my will, my lips tug into a smile and I relax in my seat, sighing softly as I smile up at him. He pauses, confused.

  “Once again, you put me in my place after I assume we're so different we'll never harmonize,” I admit, hands rising to grip his biceps gently, for something to touch. Quinn relaxes slightly in my touch. “You remind me we're equals. It's just... my dreams, lately, and my waking moments, have been showing me the future, Quinn. I've seen so many things, the end of our journey in so many different lights – both good and bad. I've seen you part ways with me here and at the border; I've seen us fall in battle... I've been told that it has to do with my potential, that aspect of my gift that can only come to be under a specific circumstance.”

  He kneels on the ground in front of my chair, and my hands slip to his on the armrests, squeezing them lightly. Curiously, his eyes tell me to continue even though he remains silent.

  “You have one, too, you know. Mine... just had a special circumstance I wasn't quite aware of until recently, and I sort of have you to thank for it,” I continue, smiling warmly to my beloved. His eyebrows furrow, and I free a hand to press the confusion away from his features. “If you had not believed me when I spoke my story, had not given me the chance to begin healing after so long, I wouldn't be able to begin controlling my abilities.”

  Quinn closes his eyes as my hand slips down his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone and fingers dragging down along his jaw, my thumb pressing lightly as it ghosts over his lower lip. Smiling against the digit as I drag it over his chapped lips, he mouths the words I love you against the pad of my thumb, opening his curious hazel eyes and locking them with mine.

  I breathlessly voice the same affirmation, and he smiles up at me.

  “As much fun as it sounds to lurk around here for two weeks,” he begins in a soft whisper, arching an eyebrow. I mirror the gesture, earning a shove to my knee, “I'd rather spend that time together. For all we know, it could be...”

  I press my hand to his mouth, silencing him before he can finish the sentence. Blinking up at me curiously, I lean forward and replace my palm with my lips, effectively shutting him up. When I pull back, I frown at him.

  “I'm the pessimist,” I state, and at that he laughs, nodding. “Let's cross that bridge when we get there, alright? For now, let's go upstairs and tell them what we've decided on before they think we're up to something curious.”

  I Wish I May, I Wish I Might

  QUINN

  Seb ends up sleeping through the latter half of the drive upstate, all through the ferry ride until Janice asks me to wake him up as we drive down a very deserted road, surrounded by tress in its entirety. He lifts his head up from my shoulder, looking up groggily and rubbing at his eyes before he yawns. The SUV hits a pothole and the vehicle jumps, making him swear softly just as the trees thin out and give us the view of the secluded lot.

  I whistle lowly, and Seb's just trying to make sense of where he is and how he got here. Melissa pulls the car to a stop in the driveway, and both women get out to start bringing in the load of supplies in the back. I step out, looking at the old house with nothing short of awe – out of all things, I wasn't expecting anything like this.

  The house is a two-storey Victorian, the outer walls covered in stones of varying sizes. Once I take two of the bags and help them bring it up, I look around some more, the same way Nine's doing.

  We step up onto a pale piazza, a balcony swing set idling nearby and sitting near a few park benches lined along the white guardrail rising up at regular intervals to hold the overhang in place. The large French windows have the curtains drawn shut, refusing all a look inside, but that quickly rights itself when Janice unlocks the double doors for the entry and steps in, and I take one last look to the layout of the lot – the trees growing in the yard, some bearing fruit; the various species of flowers; and a stone path wrapping to the back of the house.

  Then I step inside, Melissa leaving back for the last item still in the trunk as Seb and I kick off our boots and follow Janice through the lower floor.

  The vestibule is painted a pale green and spits us out into the hall, the left featuring a large set of stairs leading to the second level. The floor we walk on is made of dark wood with interesting designs lacing through it, and we pass an open doorway into a lavish parlour. Skirting past that for another time, we make our way through the large dining room featuring a large mahogany table and an impressive light fixture hanging over it, and through the doorway there into the kitchen. Seb and I had left the other bags by the staircase as per her instructions, and we help her put everything away into the fridge and cupboards, the lights offering a warm glow.

  Once that's all settled and Melissa's brought in the last load, the blonde heads upstairs to take care of the other bags while Janice gives us a tour.

  The kitchen is enormous, to say the least. It features a fireplace and a door leading to the cellar, as well as one leading to the backyard. The counter tops are made of a white marble and everything about the equipment is modern. Once we've drawn the curtains to let in some sunlight she leads us into the dining room, where we do the same. She shows us the cupboard where the silverware and dishes are kept in the dining room, and leads us through the open doorway to the south of the house into the vast library.

  This room has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with tomes that have been well-preserved, and three large windows that allow light to spill in over the comfortable-looking couches, the large desk and the scattering of chairs. Another fireplace, sharing the same pit as the one in the kitchen, decorates the northeastern corner of the room.

  The parlour has another fireplace, dominating the southern wall and the walls have large windows that bleed sunlight into the room, showing a view of the piazza at the same time. The couches surround the fireplace, a rug at their feet, and there's a TV set as well along the northern wall, and a scattering of gaming consoles most likely imported from Europe, as they've been banned in this country.

  Then we asc
end the stairs that turn sharply about fourteen steps in, coming up into the hall on the upper floor. Melissa's in the first bedroom we visit, the one with the most windows, and she waves at us before ducking back into the closet. It features a four-poster bed with sky blue sheets thrown over it and the bay windows have their curtains drawn back to let the early afternoon light spill in. There's also a dresser and two armchairs in there.

  The next bedroom is alike except for colour scheme, as are the other two. The last thing she shows us is the large bathroom at the far eastern end of the hall, and by then Melissa's done putting away the latter half of the luggage we brought with us. We follow both women to the piazza, where Janice hands Seb a disposable cell. He looks at the grey object in his hand quizzically, looking up at her afterwards.

  “We'll call this cell once our guy will be bringing the documents. It shouldn't take more than two weeks for us to do so,” she informs him, and with a curt nod he slips it into his pockets. “For now, though, just take it easy and relax until then. Alright?”

  “Thank you,” Seb smiles, and I echo his gratitude as well. Both women smile, shaking their heads, and Melissa holds up a hand.

  “It was our pleasure, and when you make it across to Canada, give us a call, alright? Let us know you're still alive,” she tells us, and we nod. “Take care, both of you, and may our paths cross once more.”

  They're halfway to the SUV when I shout after them, skipping the three steps to the ground and jogging up to the women. They turn to look at me, curiosity brimming, and Seb remains on the porch, confused.