Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  Johansson came at me. I only caught flashes of what happened next. Fists flying, trading blows, red eyes, glowing veins — I thought for sure I'd end up on my back, like I did with Brandt, but moments later I was still standing, and it was Johansson being helped up, groaning, rubbing his head.

  A voice behind me muttered, 'She's getting better…'

  I should have felt victorious. But I felt nothing.

  The world shifted again, the memory sliding forward beneath my feet. Walking out of that room, heading to...where? I couldn't remember. My thoughts were not in my head. I only knew I was supposed to go somewhere, that I had to be punctual, only for a hand to grab my arm and to be slammed against the wall.

  I should have seen it coming. I'd seen the way he looked at me. I should've been more careful, on my guard.

  But I wasn't. So of course Savin managed to catch me unawares.

  'Hey there, sweetheart,' I hated his voice. Savin grinned, looming over me. He always had something to say, but getting stuck like this with him was something new; Brandt didn't tolerate others playing around with me when she didn't specifically order them to.

  My instincts hadn't been completely shut down, so I tried to throw him off of me. But Savin was bigger, and I was cornered in a small alcove, with nowhere to go and no one to rely on watching out for me. No, that sort of thing didn't exist in the Crucible. I couldn't escape, and when I tried, Savin just sneered and switched his grip to my throat — he was strong enough to lift me off my feet.

  'You don't know when to quit, do you?' Savin asked, tilting his head as I started to squirm. His grip tightened, grew hotter. I watched as the veins down his arm began to glow. 'They told me you were quiet, but I didn't realize they meant you were mute. Can you talk at all?'

  My throat was tight, and not because he was starting to choke me. My tongue was dry in my mouth.

  The words were rough, barely more than a whisper. 'Yes.'

  It hurt coming out, like ripping my heart out of my throat. I hadn't spoken in so long, I didn't even recognize my own voice, realize that I'd spoken, until after I saw the expression on Savin's face.

  He grinned viciously. 'Well, look at that. I bet that mouth of yours could do more interesting things besides talking.'

  I clenched my jaw, and despite myself, tried to shake him off. But the effort was only half-hearted, stunted by some internal force that suffocated insurrection.

  Savin's grip clenched tighter, and I let out a whimper as he started to burn me. 'What's wrong, sweetheart, you don't like me? The Crucible made you to serve. So what happened to that obedience they promised us?'

  I jerked in his grip. 'Not... yours.'

  'Like hell you aren't,' Savin snarled, his voice lowering as a few agents passed behind him. He drew in closer, so our faces were inches away. I could smell his breath — sulfur and brimstone. There was a faint red glow in his eyes as they bored into mine. 'If the Baron didn't want me playing with his toys, he shouldn't have picked one with such a pretty face.'

  And that's why. That's why I remembered him.

  He drew in closer, and I was frozen in fear. It was forbidden for me to attack a superior without permission, when it wasn't a part of training. Savin knew this, and he seemed to have no problem taking advantage of it.

  The memory shifted again. A part of my mind tweaked out — no, no, what happened next? How could I just let that happen to me? I had to know. Or maybe it was better that I didn't. Maybe this was my mind protecting me...

  Something else. I was in another room, filled with computers, medical equipment. Vaguely, I wondered how big the Crucible was. How much of it had I seen already?

  I was just walking through — passing doctors and scientists in white lab coats, too distracted by their own work on screens and clipboards to notice me or the Extremis soldiers I was escorted with. Brandt led the way, her red hair like some sort of guiding flare. I looked to my left, beyond the doctors, to the windows beyond.

  Only they weren't windows. They were glass walls, cages. And that's when I first saw them.

  A girl with red eyes and a boy with silver hair.

  I didn't know what they were at the time, but I could see that they were different. Two teenagers, gangly and pale, in loose-fitting white clothes. The girl eye's flashed as she levitated old children's toys: dolls, building blocks, things she was too old to play with, but was all she had nonetheless. The objects were suspended in midair, swirling red magic seeping from her twisting, clawing fingers.

  The boy had nothing to distract himself with. He was too busy bouncing off the walls of his enclosure. Unlike the girl, it was clear he was trying to escape, but didn't have the energy, the power. His cage was misted with the silvery trail he left behind. The scientists didn't seem alarmed by the banging noise he made, fighting against the glass. He was weak, malnourished. They both were.

  The boy eventually collapsed against one wall, breathing hard, head hanging low in defeat. He dropped to his knees, pressed his hand against the glass between him and the girl. The girl had her back turned to him, but as if sensing him, she turned around, reaching back for him. Their eyes met. There was no escape for them. Not for any of us.

  Then, as though they sensed an onlooker, the boy and girl simultaneously turned their heads and met my gaze.

  Chills went down my back — I couldn't remember the last time I felt a jolt of real fear, but that was it. The looks those two gave me was enough to make me skittish, and I quickly jerked my head back in front of me, returning to the march, and pretending as though I had never noticed them at all.

  I felt someone nudge my back. One of Brandt's men, whispering: 'They're creepy, right? Some pet project of the Baron's. Don't look those two in the eyes, they're Mutants. Who knows what they could do to you if you piss them off…'

  I decided to take those words to heart, and didn't look behind me as we passed the cages. Still, even as we left, I could still feel their eyes, that boy and girl, burning holes into the back of my head.

  'Amelia? Amelia! Look at me, please!'

  'W-what…?' My tongue was thick in my mouth, dry as sandpaper. The Crucible faded, replaced by bright, natural light that hurt my eyes. I squinted, flinched away in pain. I expected my shoulder and sides to hurt, but they didn't — I wasn't in the training ring anymore. I was sitting, actually. On a nice, cushioned chair. I looked around, startled to find the metal walls and glass windows of a train around around me.

  It took me a long second to recover from my shock, to catch up with the thousand questions racing in my sluggish head. Voice rasping, I said, 'Where am I? How did we get here?'

  'You don't remember?' Wanda asked, and my eyes slid over to the seat next to me, where she sat. Wanda's brow was drawn in concern. I didn't realize her hand was on my face until I saw it, and I jumped. She withdrew her hand, fingers curling with regret. 'Amelia, you were walking around, talking. The train was your idea. We're going to Paris. You don't remember?'

  'I...no,' I pressed a hand to my head, squeezing my eyes shut. 'Why are we on the train?'

  'You were scared. You didn't want to go on the cruise,' Pietro. He was sitting in the seat opposite us. A train compartment. Civilian, comfortable, private. Intercity travel. Where were we going? 'You were afraid the boat would blow up, like the last one. But you weren't...you.'

  At my questioning look, Wanda stammered with uncertainty, 'Y-you were a different person. The way you acted, it was like you were back in the Crucible. You were a-a soldier again. You could barely speak. When you did speak, it was in Russian. You tried to run away from us. You were...angry, panicked a little. You kept saying a word. Extremis.'

  'Extremis?' I repeated, and my eyes widened when it finally hit me. 'That's what they are. The man that went on the boat. That's why I recognized him.'

  'Who?' The twins looked utterly confused.

  'Brandt, Savin, the others, that's what they're called,' I said, shaking my head, letting it fall
into my hands. 'They're called Extremis soldiers. I-I don't know what it means, or how I know, or why they'd attack Killian's ship... But I remember now.'

  'And it was them, that attacked the ship?' Wanda asked, her brow furrowing. 'The same Komitet chasing us? That's what you were saying earlier, Amelia. It was like you were trying to get back to them. You were trying to get away from us.'

  'It was scary,' Pietro said quietly, his gaze downcast. 'It was like you didn't recognize us anymore. That we were your enemies.'

  'I thought it was just another memory, like on the train,' I whispered, shaking my head. Had I been awake that whole time? How could I still function like that? 'You're saying I was walking around in some sort of fugue state? I wasn't unconscious like last time?'

  'No,' Pietro and Wanda shook their heads in unison. Pietro said, 'You almost got hit by a car. I had to pull you out of the way. You never even saw it. You barely even saw us.'

  'Well, lucky you guys were there, then,' I said, wincing slightly as I slumped back in my seat. The world passed by outside the window. We weren't in Nice anymore — instead, green countryside rolled past, massive vineyards and village clusters resting on sunny hilltops. It was too beautiful, too pure for what I was feeling right now. 'If I'd been alone…'

  I couldn't fathom it. As if falling unconscious at random moments was bad enough. My body, acting as someone else, someone strange, someone dangerous, now walking off of its own accord while my mind was trapped inside awful memories? That was going to be a bitch to deal with. What if I got hurt? What if I hurt someone else ?

  'You weren't,' Wanda laid a hand on my arm, reassuring, and this time I didn't jump. 'But I'm scared it might get worse. Your nose was bleeding the entire time. More than last time. It was hard to get anywhere without drawing attention. If we were attacked, we'd be in trouble.'

  'I'm sorry,' I whispered, meaning it. And even worse, I put the twins in danger. 'This other me, was she loyal to the Chairman?'

  'We don't know,' Wanda shrugged. 'But it seemed like you were trying to get back to them. I was just afraid it might be permanent. I didn't know what to do.'

  'Well, if it happens again,' I took a deep breath. At least the solution was simple. 'If other me tries to hurt you, or turn against you, feel free to knock me out. Stop me anyway you can. Because I know right now I'd rather be out of commission than serving the Chairman. Okay?'

  'Even if it means using my magic?'

  'Yeah,' I said, as the dread tightened in my stomach. 'Even then.'I grew up in the City that Never Sleeps, but Paris certainly lived up to its own nickname: The City of Lights. It was pitch black by the time Paris first came into view from the train windows, and I couldn't rip my eyes away. Even the twins were awed, and we crowded against the windows, watching as the city grew closer and closer.

  Paris was radiant. Millions of lights, glowing, warm and flashing — people were still up, the city was still awake. There were no massive skyscrapers like there were in New York, but I couldn't think of anything else as majestic as the Eiffel Tower, black metal framework glittering against the sky.

  Seeing it, I felt tears spring into my eyes. Mom always wanted to go to Paris. The one time I go, and she wasn't here with me.

  It didn't even seem completely night once we were in the city itself. Low cloud cover meant a lot of light reflected back down on the city, giving the sky a warm grayish glow.

  I felt light-headed, getting off the train. This didn't feel real. Me, in Paris? I'd only dreamed of this before. But now, here I was, in some magical, beautiful city with two fugitives, not necessarily running from the law, but not heading towards it, either.

  I was still wrapping my head around the fact that this was somehow my idea. Getting scared of boats because of the attack on the Adelaide, I could understand, even for my altered psyche. But why Paris? Why head further north? Why not west, to the Atlantic?

  Whatever Other Me had in mind, though, it seemed to be working out so far. I guess of all the places to go, Paris wasn't the worse. At least Other Me didn't try to hurt or lose the twins.

  If I woke up without them, I'm not sure what I'd do.

  Pietro and Wanda, for the most part, seemed to like the idea as well — once they saw Paris, too. I guess it's just one of those cities you fall in love with at first sight.

  Eventually, the train stopped and we deboarded. The train station was aboveground and brightly lit, stainless steel and huge industrial lighting. Too bright, in fact, that I felt exposed, and I could pick out every security camera we passed under. As tempting as it was to look around, maybe visit the shops and cafes inside, I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

  I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched. It had been there earlier, when we were in the train cabin, but the closed door and muted noise had created a small bubble of safety. But out in the open, suddenly surrounded by strangers, Parisians and tourists alike,

  A chilly, howling breeze coursed throughout the station, billowing coats and hats, and we followed to an open walkway outside.

  A crowd of tourist passed by. I followed as Pietro led the way, and I glanced over the faces as we weaved through them.

  Red hair. Scarred lips. Flashing eyes.

  I snapped my head around, heart skipping a beat. What the hell —?

  Brandt. Her wicked smile and knowing gaze. But it wasn't possible. I'd seen her crushed beneath the avalanche on the train.

  As soon as I saw her, she disappeared. I came to an abrupt stop, scanning the crowd again.

  No one with red hair.

  A ghost.

  'Amelia?' Wanda called after me. Her hand on my arm. I whipped back around, trying to catch my breath. Her face, very real, brought me back to reality. 'What's wrong? You look sick.'

  'It's...it's nothing,' I said, pressing a hand to my temple as I continued forward again, my footsteps heavy. It was my paranoia, my exhaustion playing tricks on me. 'Just seeing things.'

  Wanda didn't look entirely convinced, but accepted my answer nonetheless. Still, she remained by my side as we left the train station, making sure not to lose track of me again. Normally I'd be annoyed by the babysitting, but I couldn't blame her, either. After what happened in Nice, I'd keep a closer eye on me, too.

  'Where do we go now?' Pietro asked, as we caught up to him on the street. Once more, I remembered Paris was somehow my idea; I stared back at him blankly, no clue what the other half of Other Me's plan was.

  'Oh, I know!' Wanda piped up, saving me at the last moment. 'We should sleep in the fanciest hotel Paris has!'

  'What?' My relief was immediately replaced with bewilderment. 'Why?'

  'Because I want to,' Wanda shrugged. 'Because we can. I thought you'd like the idea - a fancy hotel is the last place the Komitet, the soldiers will look for us.'

  Apparently, I still looked doubtful. Wanda tapped me on the arm, skipping ahead, 'Trust me, you will like it! Just follow me.'

  Ten minutes later, we stood in the lobby of the Hotel Ambassador; three ragged, dirty teenagers in twice-handed-down clothes, who hadn't showered in over a day, standing in front of desk in a room that was bigger than Midtown's gym. A middle-aged couple, waiting in on a nearby couch, glared at us from their mink-lined coats. I met their gazes once before studying the floor, embarrassed by the holes in my jeans, exposing bruised knees.

  Turned out Wanda had the right idea after all.

  The old couple just stared at us, in silent offense, as the desk clerk nodded dreamily to Wanda's request - she, speaking in Sokovian, him in French. I realized I understood him, but I wasn't entirely sure the twins did. Maybe Wanda's telepathy/mind control powers could cross the language barrier. Handy.

  The woman let out a harrumph as the desk clerk stood up and handed us a pair of keys — no money had been exchanged, although I doubted the clerk was even aware of that fact.

  The man leaned over and whispered in French into his wife's ear, 'The sort of rabble they let
in these days. People like them shouldn't even be let pass the front door.'

  And just like that, all self-consciousness was gone in a moment. My head snapped up, and I fixed the couple with a brilliant smile, and asked in perfect French: 'This place is so lovely! Do you come here often?'

  The couple gawked silently at me, taken aback, faces paling in mortification at being caught. I wondered if it was the fluidity of my French, or maybe the uncanny accent. I had only spent a few days in France, but I'd already been mistaken a few times for being a native.

  I would never accept what the Crucible did to me, what they taught me, but I had to admit, it was damn satisfying to knock some snobby rich people back on their heels.

  I couldn't help but continue to smile a little as a bellman was called to escort us (and our lack of baggage) to our penthouse suite. I could feel the daggers at our backs as the rich couple watched us go. I wondered if they'd complain about us staying here, how our mere presence offended them.