by Sean Platt
“I thought I’d never see you again,” I cry into her neck.
“What are you doing here?” She pulls away, concern arching her brows. “They’re never going to let you go.”
“I know,” I say, not wanting to say anything of the seedlings of escape plans I’m hatching, not until I know for certain that we’re not being spied on.
“Are we alone?” I ask.
A second person materializes in the room. “No,” she says.
I look at Eden, still looking no older than the first time I saw her in Ben’s memories — a perpetual child but not.
I thought she was dead. How is she here? Did Fairchild somehow save her? And if so, how much of Eden is the Eden I knew? My father watched as her soul, or whatever it was, maybe whatever I am, left her body.
What is she now if not that?
And more importantly, who is she allegiant to?
I want to ask Eden why she’s here, how she’s here, but I don’t want her to know what I know.
Chelsea, maybe reading my mind, says, “She’s here to help me unlock your past.”
I want to ask Chelsea if we can trust Eden, but I’m not sure which of our thoughts Eden is privy to.
Again, now more obviously in response, Chelsea thinks, “She can’t read our thoughts. But be careful. She isn’t stupid.”
Eden looks at me with a friendly smile, as if she’s not with the person holding me hostage. “How are you, Ella?”
I’m not sure how to respond. Or what I’m responding to. Is it someone who cares about me? Something that sees me as its daughter or sister? Or is it the construct of Fairchild’s will, seeing me only as a means to an end?
“I want to go home,” I tell her.
She looks at me sadly. “You are home, Ella. You’re with family.”
I don’t respond.
“Now,” she says as she approaches me, looking at my head as if it’s filled with tattoos that she’s trying to read. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
She touches my face, and a shudder runs through me.
Chelsea’s bedroom is gone, and we’re standing in a swirling darkness, a dark tornado spinning in slow motion around us. I look up as flashes of lightning illuminate the vortex.
We flinch as if the lightning might strike us.
“We’re safe,” Eden reassures us.
Light flickers across our faces.
“What is this?”
“A Confusion used to mask your memories, similar to the one I installed at your request. But this one I didn’t do. Maybe this will explain where you’ve been for the last five years.”
I’m not sure if a Confusion is a program or something else entirely, nor how it works. But I think that I’m about to see.
Eden steps toward the swirling darkness and reaches inside. Then it dissipates around her hand.
She looks up at me. “Are you ready to see what’s been hidden?” Her other hand is waiting for me to accept it.
“Yes,” I say.
Our hands touch and lightning spreads like a fiery blue web of electricity, choking the clouds.
Suddenly, I’m alone again, with bright, blinding light shining down on me.
“Wake up,” says a man over a speaker.
I open my eyes.
We’re tied to a metal chair, blinding lights shining brightly above us, surrounded by glass walls forming a ten by ten room.
Beyond the glass, I see people in the dark, sitting behind a giant control panel. Three of them: two men and a woman, all wearing lab coats.
I’m back in Irina five years ago.
Back in the Hospital.
* * * *
CHAPTER 6
Ella
A square black metal pedestal, about a foot wide, slowly rises from the floor with a slight mechanical whir.
The pedestal stops, standing about four feet tall. The top unfolds, like a box opening itself, to reveal a gleaming black globe, so shiny that I can see Irina’s terrified reflection staring into it.
I remember the pain that came next.
I struggle against my restraints. Irina’s reflection in the globe only serves to mock the futility of escape.
It comes again, sharp blades piercing my skull as I scream.
I don’t just black out like I usually do before a Jump.
Time slows to a crawl.
My surroundings change. The lights, the walls, the windows with the doctors behind them, all of them are immersed in dark swirling clouds that they don’t seem to notice.
A storm is settling over the world, but only I can see it.
I no longer feel Irina’s pain, even though I’m still in her body.
But even that is momentary in this slowed-down time.
I feel a tug, like an invisible hand reaching down from the clouds and pulling me from Irina.
I obey.
As I leave her body, I see my own form is like that of the clouds, a darkness among them.
Part of my brain panics at the sudden incorporeal nature of my being, but then a soothing calmness claims me, and I become a spectator, numb to the panic, numb to the pain I see Irina experiencing in the chair.
Suddenly, nothing else matters.
I’m floating above Irina, wondering what to do now. Even though this moment has already happened and I’m merely remembering it, it feels real. It feels like now.
The clouds are churning faster, a funnel ending in a gaping black hole above, now pulling me toward it.
I launch myself from my place above Irina like a swimmer pushing off the floor of a deep pool, following the tide to wherever it takes me.
**
I’m in The Void.
A black nothingness with no floor or ceiling.
Just space.
And I’m floating.
Among the Collectors.
There are so many, ephemeral wisps of light in the darkness, some blue, some purple, some red, and many colors that I’ve no words for. They’re almost human in shape, and most are joined hand-in-hand with other colorful things — the souls of humans.
They’re all around, though none are close. None seem to even notice me. And being in this nothingness should scare the hell out of me. They should scare the hell out of me.
But I’m not scared.
I feel as if I’ve been here before. And there’s an odd comfort to this nothingness.
I swim forward in the darkness, searching for some way out.
And that’s when I start to see a pattern, a spiral of Collectors encircling a glimmer of light in the distance.
I push myself down the center, through the vortex and toward the light.
I move faster, accidentally brushing against them.
As our skin touches, I get flashes of memories. At first they belong only to strangers. Snippets of a child’s birthday, a swim in a lake, a puppy, a sunflower, all of them seeming so random.
But as I continue toward the ever expanding light, I start to see patterns in the memory. Telling a story, about a girl lost in The Void. A girl who lived many lives, none her own.
A Lost Soul.
Me.
And then I see images of light. First a moon, then flashlights, and a hundred other lights, all telling me to keep on going.
So I do.
And it feels like forever.
I continue to float through The Void, understanding more as they tell me their story.
They’ve always been here. They don’t know why, they only Collect.
And deliver souls into the light.
I’m moving faster, though it feels like an eternity.
And then the light grows bigger and brighter like a supernova threatening to explode and take everything with it.
I’m no longer surrounded by Collectors. I’m all alone in the bright being, floating toward something I can’t see or feel, but can sense nonetheless.
And then I’m back.
“Well, what did you learn?”
I’m not even sure who says
it, but I don’t care. This is mine, not theirs. And I’m not going to share it.
* * * *
CHAPTER 7
Ben
I’ve been in The Cage for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what light feels like.
Then the lights turn on all at once, and I remember.
It burns.
As I cover my eyes, the vault door cranks open from the outside.
I go to stand, but too late.
Irina has me paralyzed again.
I fall back against the wall, frozen in a sitting position as Irina steps in, followed by Fairchild, the pair accompanied by a guard in all black, pushing a wheelchair into the room.
Clifton’s body is bound to the chair, dark circles under his eyes, eyes glazed over, hands shaking beneath the restraints, and his chest heaving as Ella coughs. His head has healed, but he still looks like hell. I’m guessing they’re keeping Ella awake so she can’t Jump. I wonder how long until Clifton dies from exhaustion.
I’d hate to see the old man die, and hated to tell Ella to bash his head in in the van, but Clifton would lay down his life to save the world without flinching. He believed in our cause. He’d lost his Deviant son to Fairchild’s evil “science” lab.
The door remains open as Fairchild instructs the guard to leave Ella beside him. Irina stands to her right, focusing on my physical and psychic paralysis.
“Now,” Fairchild says, as if he’s about to continue his earlier lecture, “you’ve put me in a horrible spot, Ben. Nobody we captured seems to know where Niko is, which means that you are the only one who can help me. But given our ideological differences, I know you won’t do so willingly. Am I correct?”
I don’t know what he’s going to do, but it isn’t looking good. Will he torture Ella? Is he twisted enough to torture an old man that might be holding the cloned souls of his daughter and granddaughter?
“Correct,” I say, staring him in the eyes.
He lets out a deep sigh, then grabs Clifton’s hand.
I have to think of him as Clifton, not Ella. It’s easier that way. Not much, but a little bit.
Fairchild looks down at the old man’s frame. Clifton is barely able to look up and meet his face.
He takes Clifton’s index and middle finger and squeezes them tight, threatening to pull them back.
Clifton’s eyes widen, face shaking, bracing for the pain.
“This isn’t fun for me, Ella. You see that I’m giving him an opportunity to do the right thing, don’t you?”
Clifton’s mouth opens, and he groans, “Fuck you.”
Fairchild’s smile falters.
He jerks both fingers back.
Clifton screams as his fingers make a sickening crunch.
The sounds and the pain in Clifton’s face cut through my gut as I try to break free from Irina’s hold.
“You fucker!” I scream.
She tightens her grip, so much so that it’s a struggle to speak.
Fairchild continues to stare at me with no emotion.
It’s been five years since I learned that Fairchild’s a monster. Five years since I learned that he had my father killed. That he murdered my Ella. Anders. And who knows how many others?
Five years that I fought him using my own Psychics and Jumpers.
Five years that I worked to understand my enemy.
A part of me can understand why he’d try to get Niko and unleash the virus. He sees humanity as a threat, as the ultimate enemy. And if humans are good at one thing it’s turning The Enemy into The Other — a thing that’s no longer human, and thus undeserving of mercy.
I get all of that.
But I don’t understand how he can stand there breaking an old man’s fingers to extract information from me. And without the slightest trace of pain or regret.
He’s more of a monster than I’d ever imagined.
Clifton whimpers, tears streaming down his face as he chews on his lips, trying not to display his pain.
Fairchild walks behind him, then goes to his right hand, grabs his index finger and pulls it back.
Clifton closes his eyes, bracing.
Fairchild stares at me. “So, are you going to sit there and let me break every finger? Wow, Ben, I’m surprised.”
Fairchild pulls his finger back. There’s another sick crunching, barely audible beneath Clifton’s screams. The old man meets my eyes. “Don’t tell him,” he manages between hitched breaths.
Fairchild smiles. “Ah, such bravery in the Shepherd family! I wonder how brave you’ll be if I were to start cutting her.”
Fairchild pulls a pocket knife from inside his jacket and presses a button. A long, sharp and gleaming blade pops to attention.
He brings it to Clifton’s throat.
“Will you let me kill her … again?”
Something in me snaps.
A deep reservoir of anger and hate. Suddenly, I can’t feel Irina controlling me.
This is it!
I leap from the bed, hands like claws, eager to rip the flesh from Fairchild’s face.
His eyes widen.
He drops the blade and falls back.
“Die,” I say, closing in.
But then my legs give out beneath me.
I collapse to the ground, my cheek and elbows getting it worst.
I’m paralyzed again.
I’m not sure if Irina or Fairchild stopped me. Maybe both.
Fairchild steps back, straightens his jacket and flower, then looks down at me and spits.
It hits my forehead above my left eye.
He leans over, grabs me, and with surprising ease, hefts me up, slings me over his shoulder, then throws me back on my bed.
Fairchild sighs and props me up against the wall.
“I’m done playing, son.” He turns to the still-open door. “Bring in the other chair.”
Moments later, the guard from before wheels in a second chair, this one draped with a thick black sheet, hiding whoever’s beneath it.
The guard rolls the chair up about six feet to Clifton’s left, then turns and leaves the room.
Irina is glaring at me with a sadistic smile.
Fairchild is still eyeing me with pity like he doesn’t want to do whatever he’s about to do.
My heart races as I struggle against Irina’s hold.
Fairchild retrieves his knife from the floor and slides his finger along the edge of the blade, almost absentmindedly, never moving his eyes from me.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t make me do this, but you leave me no choice. You can’t be made to care about your daughter in this old man’s form.”
Where is he going with this?
What’s beneath the sheet?
“Remember the words you said as you stood over Ella’s corpse at the funeral? Such a touching testament. Such powerful words. They really hit home. And Ella, oh, she looked so beautiful, even in death, wouldn’t you say?”
I growl, “Where the hell are you going with this?”
“A shame it wasn’t your daughter in that box. Such a beautiful replica. Our people do excellent work.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I couldn’t just leave my granddaughter’s body to rot. Not when science has come so far, when it’s given us the ability to sustain a body without decay.”
No. No.
I shake my head, my stomach in a sickening free-fall.
He rips off the sheet, revealing Ella’s dead body.
“Ta-da!” he says with a giant smile, like a carnival barker presenting the Surprise Main Event!”
I look at Ella, eyes closed, skin a pale shade of blue, but otherwise, looking like she’d just fallen asleep, down to her tee shirt and shorts.
Clifton is staring at the body, eyes wide. “Is … is that me?”
Fairchild smiles, “Yes, dear, it is. Would you like to go home?”
I interrupt, yelling, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Since you don’t seem to care
about Ella in this old man’s body, I figured you’d be more willing to work with us if we put her back in her old self. Just like new!”
He’s really going to put Ella back in her body just to have leverage against me? Is he planning to break her fingers too?
“No! I won’t help you.”
Fairchild raises the blade and wags it at me. “I don’t need your help.” He turns to Irina. “Not when someone else has your gifts. Would you kindly, my dear?”
Irina takes a place between Clifton and Ella in their chairs, then takes both of their hands into hers.
I try to break free — if she’s focusing on this, she might not be concentrating enough on me.
But I still can’t move.
“Are you ready?” Fairchild asks.
Irina nods.
“No!” Clifton cries out. “No, I don’t want—”
Fairchild takes the blade, puts it under Clifton’s neck.
“No!” I scream.
He slices.
* * * *
CHAPTER 8
Ella
I gasp as the blade goes into my throat.
The pain is surprising and instant.
So much blood.
And then I feel nothing.
I’m floating above it all.
I see Fairchild standing there holding the bloody knife.
I see Clifton’s body, with his broken fingers, gasping, gurgling blood, eyes wide as he returns to his body to find himself dying.
One minute he was sleeping in bed. Then the next his body is hijacked by me.
And now he wakes to death.
Another passing at my feet.
I see Irina staring at the dying man. And I’m not sure, but I think I see something in her eyes, some sense that she feels the pain she’s causing. Some sense of regret.
Or is she so twisted by Fairchild and her desire to get her brother back that she’s willing to do anything, too?