Isabelle must have made certain connections in her head because she reflected, “You used your power to make Bruce seem alive, that’s how you kept Turner’s anti-tracker working.”
“Yeah. I didn’t know I was doing it, though. My mother never told me that marrying Bruce was to protect us from Turner. She made me think that Bruce was someone she married for love. I used my power to keep him animated because I thought Mom would be devastated if he died. I never dreamed that she hated him as much I did. She only stayed with him to keep us safe,” I explained.
“Why do you have a relationship with Turner and Roberta, then? After everything they’ve put you through, after your father’s sacrifice, after your mother’s death? I’d kill them if it were me.” Isabelle wasn’t judging, she was genuinely confused.
“Why haven’t you killed Turner yet?” I shot back. “You said he did all those horrible things to you, too. But you haven’t killed him.” I figured if Isabelle could give me her reason for not killing Turner, I could maybe think of a reason for myself. I honestly didn’t know why I kept going back to my grandparents. Circumstances, I guess. But I knew it was more than that. I was genuinely developing feelings for both of them. A thought that made me want to vomit and cry at the same time.
“I tried to kill him and you stopped me,” Isabelle stated.
“True, but you knew he’d stop you, didn’t you?” I asked what I suspected about the assassination attempt.
“Yes, we knew about you and we knew that attempting to kill Turner during his speech would be the opportunity to draw you out. We didn’t, however, know what you could do. We didn’t even know that kind of thing was possible.” Isabelle still seemed flabbergasted at the thought of raising the dead.
It was odd to me that someone with her powers would be shocked by my ability, especially since her fellow assassination squad had equally frightening mojo.
“Your power is way more dangerous than mine, Isabelle. If Elisha knew the potential of what you could do, she’d perform the power-transferring ritual on you,” I warned. I still didn’t know exactly what Isabelle’s power meant. It was kind of like the twins’ power had been, though not as straightforward. They could control all life. Isabelle’s ability wasn’t like that. It was almost as if she could control all movement, if that made any sense.
Isabelle began to lazily swirl the water with her feet. “I haven’t told anyone about what happened and Dean is keeping quiet for me. We trust each other, but I’m not sure about Harry anymore, and Terence is Harry’s loyal dog. Harry wants to stay out of the Turner and Elisha feud, but Elisha is trying to bring Harry back into the fold. I know him, he’s definitely considering it. I think she’s just as bad as Turner though.”
“She’s worse, and I never thought I’d say that, believe me.” Seriously, never thought I’d say that. “Turner thinks he’s doing the things he does for the greater good. I’m pretty sure he believes that whole-heartedly. Elisha wasn’t born with a conscience. She’s like what they used to call serial killers.”
“I was around when serial killers existed,” Isabelle reflected. “They would make movies and TV shows about them. Real life monsters.”
“They still exist. Gramps employs them. Another form of population control for him.” I was supposed to be arguing Turner’s case, not reminding myself of what an insane psycho he was.
“I know. He started that program years ago. He had them all tagged so they wouldn’t get too out of control.” Isabelle laughed at the absurdity of it, “It was one of the reasons why Harry and our team left Turner. We had to fake our deaths.”
“Now that you know what you can do, what are you going to do?” I still didn’t trust the girl, no matter how much we were sharing.
“I can’t do what you did. I tried. I’m not really sure if I tried all that hard though. I’m tired of this life. I’m tired of being a killing machine. I’m not all that different from a serial killer. Our motivations may be different, but I can guarantee my body count is higher.” Isabelle pulled her feet out of the water and stood up on the dock. She reached her hand down to help me up and I took it warily. “I want to show you why we distrust your grandfather so much. Can I do that?” Isabelle wasn’t asking permission, she was asking me how to access her memories so I could see her past.
I wasn’t exactly the master of that kind of thing, but as long as I could get to the memory door section of her brain we were golden. I tried not to look too eager, but I had to admit I was extremely curious to see Isabelle’s past. Maybe it would give me more insight into her – or, better yet, into my grandparents.
“Yeah, hold my hands,” I instructed, and we faced each other holding hands. I concentrated as hard as I could on picturing a long winding hallway with lots of doors, hoping this would take us to that part of her mind.
But we were still at the lake.
“Is something supposed to happen?” Isabelle genuinely looked perplexed.
“I usually jump straight into the memory section. We just need to think about your memories…” As the words came out of my mouth the dock and sky and water all swirled into a tornado of color and was replaced by Isabelle’s memory center.
Nice.
Isabelle surveyed the area in awe. There were millions of doors all facing each other down an infinite hallway. Each door was unique in its design: some tall, some small, some carved out of wood, and some made of metal.
“These are my memories?” Isabelle asked.
“It’s how I see them. You should be able to sense which memory is behind which door, so it’s up to you what you want to show me.”
Isabelle nodded and walked forward, then her face lit up. “You’re right. I know without looking what’s behind each door.” She tapped a few doors and started to hurry down the hallway, “This way. We have a long way to go.”
I followed close behind. The older the person, the more memories they had. It looked as if Isabelle organized her memories by date. If we were going all the way back three hundred years we were in for a long walk. So much for getting a good night’s sleep tonight!
After what seemed like miles Isabelle stopped in front of a half-sized door. It stood out among the other normal-sized doors so I knew that whatever was behind it had to be important. Isabelle didn’t seem surprised at all at its size. She turned to me, a sad expression on her face. “You ready to see this?”
Gulp.
That sounded really scary, but I nodded.
Isabelle took a deep breath and opened the small door. We had to duck to walk in, and once we were inside neither one of us could stand. I immediately started to feel shaky. I felt like I was back inside the metal coffin I had been buried in. The room was only five feet high, and maybe ten feet wide. A single light bulb swung from the low ceiling, giving only a small amount of dim light to the room. A little girl was huddled in the corner. Isabelle. She was probably eight years old. Her clothes were torn and dirty and it didn’t look like she had bathed in weeks. She was scraping the walls with her fingernails.
“I thought you should see this first,” Isabelle said, her voice distant. Seeing this was more emotional than she had expected.
That’s when I noticed that underneath the dirt covering little Isabelle’s skin were deep purple bruises.
“I thought I told you to keep it down!” A familiar voice screamed from outside the room.
Bruce.
I hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like years, but had only been months ago. Then I realized, I hadn’t heard his real voice since I was seven. Controlling Bruce my whole life, he had been the epitome of the perfect father, kind and loving. But in this memory… this memory was how I remembered him too. Inhuman.
We had to crouch to even stand in the room, and it made me feel all the more vulnerable. I knew this wasn’t real, that it was just a memory, but hearing Bruce scream at young Isabelle like that brought me back to the terror of my own childhood.
I flinched involuntarily when Bruce swung the doo
r open and grabbed young Isabelle by the collar of her dress, violently pulling her out of the room.
Seeing Bruce again made my breath stop.
Tears came to my eyes and I couldn’t seem to stop them.
I remembered him hitting my mother.
I remembered him hitting me.
And now, seeing that three hundred years before I was born he was beating another little girl made me want to scream. It made me think about Turner’s vicious words to me when he told me the truth about Bruce and my mother. My only tiny bit of satisfaction was knowing that Bruce was a violent man and I hoped that he beat that murderer regularly. That murderer being my mom. My brain was on conflicting overload. Turner sent kids to Bruce and men like him on purpose. On purpose!
Little Isabelle didn’t make a noise as Bruce yanked her the rest of the way out of the room to have his way with her. I was afraid that Isabelle was going to make us follow him and watch, but she motioned for us to leave.
I didn’t argue. I followed her out of the small room and immediately started to breathe in deep. I knew that, literally speaking, I wasn’t even there, my actual lungs and body snuggly safe in bed with Ryan, but when you’re inside someone else’s head, it feels real. I needed deep breaths to calm down.
Isabelle looked visibly shaken by the memory as well. “Thank you for killing him.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that so I simply said, “Yeah.”
Isabelle started to move back the way we came. “I’ll show you how Harry and Turner were like my family.”
I followed her without a word. Betrayal only happens when you trust and care about the person doing the betraying. It was going to be strange watching Gramps in the past. Maybe it would give me more insight into the man he had become today.
After a long trek back through the hallway of Isabelle’s memories we arrived at a steel door. Isabelle opened it slowly, then we walked through.
We were in some kind of office or headquarters. Strange rectangular metal boxes with flashing lights were set on the floor. On the desks were rectangular frames playing flat images on their surface. I was pretty sure they were what we learned in history class were called “monitors,” and the boxes on the floor had to be a kind of primitive computer. All very archaic and chunky.
Turner and Harry were there, staring at the screens, which were playing some kind of surveillance footage. From the tenseness in the room there were obviously a few missions taking place.
That’s when the door on the opposite side of the room burst open. Dean and Charlie charged in, carrying Isabelle between them. She had an arm around each of their necks and her stomach was red with blood. She didn’t look like she was going to make it.
Turner and Harry nearly leapt to take Isabelle from Dean and Charlie’s arms.
Turner screamed at Charlie, “Get supplies!”
Charlie ran out the door.
Dean swiped a monitor off one of the desks, sending it crashing to the floor. No one complained about it. Harry carefully laid Isabelle on the makeshift bed.
Turner took off his jacket and wadded it up to make a pillow, tucking it under Isabelle’s head. He whirled on Dean, “What the hell happened?!”
Dean was a wreck himself, “She didn’t have enough time to stop his heart, a guard got to us first. He was good. Really good. He fired from what had to be eight hundred feet. It was an impossible shot. He has to be like one of us.”
Watching the scene from outside, Isabelle explained to me, “That was Terence, Turner hunted him down to have him killed for shooting me. But he recruited him instead.”
I couldn’t tell if that upset her or if she was okay with it, either way Isabelle couldn’t keep her eyes off the memory.
I focused my attention back to my grandfather who was brushing the hair out of Isabelle’s face. There was so much concern and worry in his eyes that it made my heart ache. I had only seen Gramps act that way toward Roberta. It was weird seeing him look at Isabelle like she was… his daughter. Especially now since he so coldly wanted her dead. How could things change so drastically?
Gramps spoke to Isabelle gently, “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to take care of you.”
Harry was just as frantic, holding Isabelle’s hand. He turned to Dean, “Did you call the doc?”
Dean nodded and watched as Isabelle’s eyes fluttered in and out of consciousness. He loved her. I could see it in his eyes. Did Isabelle feel the same? Were they still an item? These memories were causing me to ask more questions, not answer the ones I already had.
The Isabelle of the past woke up briefly, “Geoffrey,” she called out weakly.
Gramps held her other hand and she clasped it tightly, he said to her, “I’m here, Izzy, I’m here.”
Isabelle’s face relaxed slightly as if just hearing this from Turner would cure her instantly.
“We just need to see your injury,” Harry said. I could tell he was a little miffed that Isabelle called out for Turner instead of him, but Harry’s concern for her overrode any jealousies he was having.
Isabelle might not have caught that, but I did.
Charlie came running in with a bag of bandages and supplies, placing them next to Isabelle’s body.
Dean took over. He ripped open the bottom of her shirt to reveal the damage done. There was blood everywhere with a wad of cloth that used to be someone’s undershirt stemming the blood flow. He carefully pulled off the improvised bandage: a flood of blood poured out of a small hole in Isabelle’s gut. Isabelle groaned in pain. Dean started to clean the wound with gauze and rubbing alcohol.
A man I could only assume was a doctor ran into the room and went directly to Isabelle’s side. He wore a white coat and some kind of rubber over his hands that I assumed were gloves. It was weird watching the past: nowadays doctors operated using “alternate skin,” a germ-free bio-compound that forms around their hands. I guess that before the waste laws doctors used to use tight fitting gloves.
“Clean those,” the doctor instructed, pointing at the metal instruments Charlie had brought in the bag.
Charlie started cleaning the instruments with the alcohol. The doctor picked up a kind of prong-type medical tool and started digging into the small hole in Isabelle’s stomach, trying to locate and pull out the bullet.
Isabelle screamed. Turner was still holding on to her hand and with the other wiping her forehead clean with a wet cloth.
Isabelle turned to Gramps with tears in her eyes. “I’m not going to make it.”
Turner responded, “You’re going to be fine. The doctor will fix you.”
Isabelle shook her head and pulled his hand closer to her heart. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
There were actual tears in Turner’s eyes, “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for. Save your strength.”
“You all are my family. I’ve never had a real family before,” Isabelle’s voice grew weaker the more she talked.
Turner leaned down and kissed her forehead, “Just hang in there.”
Gramps really loved her.
Isabelle’s eyes fluttered. She was about to lose consciousness. “I… love you...”
Before she passed out completely Gramps kissed her hand. “We love you too, Izzy.”
Turner and Harry shared a look of terror.
They didn’t want to lose her.
The Isabelle next to me pulled me outside into the hallway and slammed the door shut.
“I wanted you to see how he felt about me before I show you what he did.” Isabelle’s voice was cold. She had detached herself from Gramps so many years ago and now, seeing how much he’d loved her once…did nothing to change her hatred for him. In fact, it seemed to strengthen it.
Uh, oh.
I could only imagine what he did to her.
We walked further back to where we first started passing the wide variety of doorways along the way. Finally we came to the creepiest door I’ve ever seen. It was rusted metal with thousands o
f sharp spikes protruding all across its surface. I wasn’t even sure how Isabelle was going to open it without making her incorporeal self bleed, but she simply kicked it open with her foot.
As we entered the space it shocked my senses to find ourselves outside in bright sunlight. My eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness of the hallway and of Isabelle’s darker memories, but this flashback was on a hilltop overlooking an enormous skyline. I didn’t recognize the city, but it was huge. Buildings that stretched up into the sky mixed with old stone masonry structures. The city looked like a patchwork of old and new. It was breathtaking, the expanse of the ancient city going on for miles. There was something so majestic about the place. It even had a river winding its way through the beautiful architecture of the cityscape. It wasn’t until I saw the Eiffel Tower in the far distance that I realized we were standing above Paris, France.
Isabelle of the past was standing across from Harry. They were screaming at each other.
“You’re full of crap, Harry!” Isabelle was enraged. “Turner wouldn’t have done that to me!”
“I’m not lying.” Harry’s eyes were pleading, “Turner had all your parents killed, including Dean’s. He’s the reason you have your power. He started testing Age-pro trials on pregnant women years ago and when some of the children started showing unique abilities, he decided to build an army of them. When Fortski realized the key ingredient to stop the aging process was to literally to stop aging, Turner could no longer continue his experimentation because nothing can grow inside a body that can’t age. Geoffrey was left with the only people who’d survived his experiments, namely you and the rest of our team.” He held Isabelle’s arms with his hands and looked at her with genuine sympathy. “Your mother was just another guinea pig when she was pregnant with you. It was his idea to kill the parents after the kids like you were born and send you all to abusive homes. He thought it would weed out the weak ones.”
The Riser Saga Page 88