'So they used it to...hurt me?'
'I don't think so,' Wanda frowned, and I sensed doubt in her words. 'It did something to you, something else. It made you...unreachable. We could be in the same room, and your mind would be blocked from mine.'
'You were different, too,' Pietro added in a low voice. Sad, almost. He looked down at his hands as he said, 'You didn't recognize us. You didn't hesitate when they told you to attack us. You didn't even recognize your own name, when we called to you. There was this strange look in your eye, like you saw everything but...but didn't react to it. Like you were dead.'
'You were someone else,' Wanda said, raising a hand to touch my arm; I wondered how much she knew I was feeling right now, how the ground seemed to tilt under my feet at hearing those words, how nauseous I felt. 'But I knew the real Amelia was still there, somewhere deep inside. When I took away your memories, after we escaped, I thought maybe I removed the trigger as well...but apparently that it not true. The Crucible buried it deep in your mind, deeper than I dare to reach. It's a part of you now. But it wasn't all of you.'
'How did you know it was me, then?' I asked, trying to level my breathing. All of this was frightening, and I almost started hyperventilating. I had no idea the Crucible had made it so easy for them to control me. What if something like that happened again? What if I really did forget who I was? 'Back in the market, in Novi Grad. I didn't recognize you then, either. How did you know it wasn't, that it wasn't the other me? That I might hurt you?'
'Your eyes,' Wanda said with a small smile and a shrug. 'They weren't...dead anymore. You looked around too much. And your mind was open again. I could feel your fear, your confusion, the curiosity. It was someone good. Not the heartless soldier that the Crucible made.'
Heartless. I had been heartless.
'It wasn't you.' Pietro said, taking my hand. The contact made me jolt a little. I looked up into his eyes, and there was a sincerity there, trust that I could believe in his every word. 'I know you wouldn't hurt us, if given the choice. The Crucible took that away from you. But you always got it back. You were stronger than them. And your proved it, over and over again.'
'It wasn't permanent?' I asked, voice barely a whisper as my eyebrows raised in hope.
Pietro shook his head. 'The longest you were under was maybe...a few weeks at the most. That was at the beginning. They struggled finding ways of making it stick.'
'I think something triggered you,' Wanda added. 'The same way you went under, you came back out. Something you saw, something you heard brought you back. We don't know what. We only ever saw the aftermath.'
'But I still hurt you.' I said. It wasn't a question, just a statement. A fact.
Wanda's eyes flicked away, distracted by memories, and I knew it must have been worse than she was letting on, even when she said, 'Sometimes. It wasn't bad, though. They didn't want you to kill us. We were weapons of a different sort, too rare to lose. They just wanted to test you. To make sure that you could fight — and defeat — anything that got in your way. It was...it was our job to hurt you as much as possible. Kill you, if we could.'
'What?' I stared. Wanda winced at how accusatory I sounded.
'We didn't want to!' Pietro quickly jumped in to her defense. 'We did our best just to take you down. You were our friend, and we couldn't lose you. By that point we knew that you were the only way for us to get out alive. So we hurt you...just enough to be convincing. It was just easier to let you defeat us. So we could all live.'
'Why would they want me dead?'
'They didn't.' Wanda said, finally able to look back at me. There was pain in her eyes. I couldn't tell if it was from the memories of being attacked and betrayed by a friend, or the guilt of having to hurt me in return. 'But the Crucible, they have no patience for failure. If you could not stand up to us, then you were of no use. Weakness is culled. Anyone who has it, dies.'
'We made sure you didn't.' Pietro said.
A different person. I had been a different person. It took me a moment to process this. Longer to understand its implications. I probably never would. The Crucible had inserted a trigger in my head that could never be removed. I would have it as long as I lived. As long as I was alive, I was always in danger of being turned against myself. Of becoming the Crucible's soldier again.
The bright blue sky and the smell of salt water no longer held its charm for me anymore, not with this information heaped upon my shoulders. How could I appreciate all of this when there was something terrible inside of me, just waiting to be let loose?
'I suppose I should be thanking you, then,' I eventually said, looking at Wanda and Pietro with a smile. It was genuine, even if my mind was racing, my thoughts panicked and afraid. 'I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you two.'
'The same could be said for us,' Wanda said, returning the smile, and Pietro squeezed my hand in reassurance. I didn't realize he hadn't let go. 'None of us would be here without the other. The Crucible made a fatal mistake when they decided to put us all together under the same roof.'
It was the best thing she could've said to me in that moment. It, of course, had to be ruined when someone tapped my shoulder and interrupted, 'I'm sorry, did you three want a picture taken? I can help.'
'What?' I said, turning around in surprise. Standing there, a few feet away, was a couple, middle-age, and definitely American in their flip flops and fanny packs. My own English caught me off guard, an automatic response to theirs. It took me a moment to register what they said, before looking down, seeing the camera I was still carrying in my hand. 'Oh, I didn't —'
'Oh, my dear!' The woman jumped in surprise a little, her eyebrows shooting up when I turned to look at her. 'What happened to your faces? You look like you were attacked by some bear!'
'Mugger, actually,' the lie fell off my tongue faster than I could think about it. I gestured to Wanda and Pietro, who just stared back, dumbfounded. 'We, uh, we got held up a few days ago. We're lucky they just took our wallets and not, you know, anything else.'
'Oh, well that's such a shame!' The woman clucked her tongue, shaking her head.
'Is there anything we can do to help?' The man asked with an offered hand. 'We could give you some spare change.'
'No, no, that's fine,' I said with a nervous laugh. What could I saw, friendly help from complete strangers was a little unexpected, especially here. Was it because I was American? 'We'll be okay, we just got a little beat up. Happens sometimes when you travel, right?'
'Well, it's an awful way to spend your vacation,' the woman said with sympathetic disapproval. 'I'm sure your parents must have been worried sick after that happened!'
'Ah,' I saw Pietro open his mouth to reply, and threw him a quick negatory look to stop him from speaking and giving us away. I looked back at the tourist couple with a simple shrug. 'Yeah, they were pretty upset. We're sort of grounded, now, although I guess it's our fault for wandering around at night.'
It seemed like a good detail to add. Unnecessary, maybe, but realistic, if the three of us were actually here on vacation with our non-existent parents. Seriously, though, Mom would never let me outside again if she knew I had ever been mugged. I couldn't imagine how she'd react if/when I told her about what actually happened. I'd probably be locked up in an underground bunker for the rest of my life.
'Good thing you're not here alone,' the man said with a nod. 'A little adult supervision builds character.'
I had to keep myself from snorting rudely. Thankfully, the woman spoke again before I had to think of a response: 'If you like, we could still take that picture. Have one good memory of yourselves here, to tell your own children about later!'
Her words just took ten years out of my life; the thought of having future kids nearly gave me a heart attack. I gave the camera to the woman before I could drop it and pass out. I was so not ready for the responsibility of my own children — I had my own ruined childhood to worry about, thank you very much.
> The couple stepped back as the three of us aligned ourselves in front of the fountain. Wanda threw me a slightly annoyed look, as if she knew I just couldn't help myself. I shrugged back at her, while Pietro covered his mouth to hide a laugh. All of this, a silent exchange, lest the couple hear and learn that not all of us were American and that our story may not be the truth.
'Smile!' The woman called with a grin. The camera flashed, and they returned to us with the camera and newly minted photo. 'Oh, would you look at that. Three peas in a pod! I'm sure your mother and father would love it.'
'Oh, thanks, but we're not —' I stopped myself before I could correct her; I didn't anticipate her thinking all three of us were siblings, but I suppose it wasn't the worst assumption. Both Pietro and Wanda looked older enough than me to be convincing siblings, at least at a glance. 'Ah, never mind. I hope your right. Maybe they won't be as angry with us.'
'Oh, don't worry,' the woman said with a laugh. 'You know how parents get, they're just worried about you.'
'I'm sure in a few years they'll be laughing all about this,' The man added with a smile. 'Well, probably. Better make it ten years, just to be sure. And, this may be my midlife crisis talking, but you look really familiar. Have we met before?'
He was looking at me when he asked this question, and I already knew where he'd seen me, even if he himself didn't remember. The TIME magazine only just came out; the sharp imagery would still be fresh in his mind.
But there was no way I was giving up the goose now. 'Ah, no, sorry. We've never met before.'
'Oh, okay. Like I said, mid-life crisis, gives you funny ideas. I guess you just have one of those faces…'
Thankfully, that blew over without any repercussions. I thanked them again for the photo, and the three of us waved them off as the couple went off on their merry way.
'That was weird,' Wanda said as soon as the tourists were out of earshot.
'Really? I thought it was kind of sweet,' I said, finally taking a moment to appreciate the photo. It was a good shot, none of us blinked, and despite our ragged clothes and banged-up appearance, we looked like we fit together. Pietro even turned his 'good side' with the bruised eye towards the camera. Unbelievable.
'Of course you do, you trust the benevolence of random strangers,' Pietro snorted, peering over my shoulder to admire the photo. 'You two look terrible next to me.'
I elbowed him in the gut, and Pietro retreated with a winded laugh. 'Maybe because not everyone is out to get us.'
'Or maybe because they're American, like you?' Wanda asked with a raised eyebrow, smirking.
'Okay, sure, that too. Is that so wrong?'
'It is fine!' Pietro said, pushing me gently with his shoulder in a joking manner. 'We only make fun. You Americans are too friendly for your own good.'
'How would you know? I'm the only American you've ever met.'
'We know three now, actually,' Wanda said, holding up her fingers, then jerked her head at the distant tourist couple when I looked confused. 'You, and them. That tells us all we need to know, doesn't it?'
'So you're saying I should be less friendly.'
'Maybe don't smile as much.'
'She doesn't smile a lot to begin with,' Pietro pointed out.
'Still too much.'
'I think I'll smile as much as I want,' I said with a huff, only half serious as I tucked away the photo in my pocket, alongside the rolled up TIME magazine with my back on it. Wanda and Pietro were still giving me impish looks, victorious that they managed to get under my skin. 'Come on, you jokers, let's go get those tickets before they're sold out.'
Retrieval of the tickets had been easy. The ticketmaster was exactly where the bodega owner said it was, and it took exactly two minutes and seven seconds for Wanda to acquire three tickets on the next liner out of what I now understood to be the city of Nice. We had three days until the ship departed for Miami, Florida.
After that, it'd be smooth sailing getting back home (pun intended).
To wait out that time, we decided to find a hotel to stay at. We acquired rooms the same way we acquired tickets — a twist of Wanda's fingers, a flash of red magic, and the desk clerk just handed us the keys and told us to have a nice stay.
Wanda called dibs on the shower, while Pietro decided to pop back outside, to gather more supplies. I knew that meant stealing, more likely than not, but didn't argue. We had lost our bags on the train, and we nothing besides the literal clothes on our backs to keep us going. I didn't imagine us starving on the ship back to America, but having a stash of supplies, both food and otherwise, would make me feel a lot better.
That left me, alone in the main room, thinking about anything and everything.
The Mediterranean Sea sparkled like a million sapphires under the sun, and we got a perfect view of it from the hotel room Wanda snagged. The room itself was quaint, warm rustic, as opposed to the bland luxury found in most American hotels. The floor was hardwood and the bathroom had homemade soaps. The bed had a wrought iron bed board, and the bed springs creaked a little when you sat down — but the pillows were soft and smelled of lavender. The quilt was finely stitched, and salty air breathed through the crack in the window.
Lying down on the bed, staring up at the plaster ceiling, I felt a moment of peace. It was hard to believe that some people already had this life, that they had nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.
I wanted to live here forever.
But I knew I couldn't.
I had to get back to America, back to New York, as soon as possible. Staying here wasn't an option. Maybe we could take a few days to rest, to get the train ride out of our system, but after that, we'd have to hit the road again.
I thought back to my first plan of returning to America, the one I made in the theater in Novi Grad. Back then, I had given myself — all three of us — a month to prepare. A month! God, I was an idiot. No, we didn't have a month to do this. There was no way I could've been prepared for anything the world threw at me. We were jumping from point to point by the skin of our teeth.
I picked myself up, went to the window overlooking the bay. There were ships coming in, boats going out. I squinted, thinking. What would be our next step out of here…?
Wanda had just finished showering when Pietro returned. He'd brought more food with him (swore he didn't steal it), along with fresh clothes (which he did steal). Another pair of shoes for him, as his current pair were run down with holes and covered in ash; as well as a vest, to conserve body heat. A new shirt for me that wasn't covered in blood — I already knew the cold didn't bother me as much as the others. And gloves and leggings for Wanda, by far the least covered of the three of us.
We spent the next day and a half, recuperating, catching up with the news. TV in France wasn't censored, and we got every major worldwide news channel here. As I predicted earlier, news of Sokovia had reached nearly every corner of the world. A woman named Darcy Lewis, from New Mexico, had started an online movement on Twitter and Facebook, called #YellowCoatsUnited — explaining the phenomenon we saw earlier, of people wearing similar jackets to mine. People, mostly teens and young adults, posted their selfies of them wearing yellow coats online, which then of course made it to national television. Apparently, it was a movement to spread awareness of Sokovia's troubled state and their support for the people seeking freedom.
Wanda and Pietro were ecstatic. They got the attention they wanted, although they had no idea what Twitter or Facebook were, even after I tried explaining it to them, twice. I wasn't sure if I should tell them that online activism didn't usually have long lifespans — but #YellowCoatsUnited (kind of a stupid name in my opinion, but I never liked online activism anyways, and beggars can't be choosers) was growing exponentially, at a rate that no one predicted. Even the President of the United States got in on the action; one of the most famous photos from the movement was the First Family standing outside the White House, in coordinated yellow jackets.
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br /> So...who knows at this point. Maybe this time something good might come of it.
It was enough to spur me outside again, to check out Nice and wonder at how fast the world was changing. The Chairman had poked the hornet's nest when he sent his Komitet after us. Their involvement had directly led to the uprising in Novi Grad, and now the Chairman had lost control of his entire country.
I bet he never had that in mind when he first decided to kidnap me. It was a satisfying thought.
I headed down to the harbor, deciding to check out the ships as they came in, and get a better idea of what the twins and I would be stuck on for the next couple of weeks. I didn't like the idea of it taking nearly a month on wide open water, in a very vulnerable location, to get us home, but I couldn't let doubt overwhelm me now. This was the closest I'd gotten to home since I first woke up in the forest of Sokovia. A part of me still couldn't believe I'd made it this far.
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