New Sight

by Jo Schneider

  “You recognize him?”

  Lys nodded. Kamau shook his head. “I am sorry; I am not familiar with the event.”

  Mr. Doyle cleared his throat. “This man here was attempting a mind control experiment in Vermont.” He pointed at the photo. “He and his people were harmless at first, but more and more innocent kids got sucked into the cult—for lack of a better term—and their parents grew concerned. When a handful of parents tried to come and retrieve their children, they found that their kids had been completely brainwashed. Not one of them would leave. When law enforcement got involved, the man in this photo convinced everyone in his little cult to kill themselves.”

  Lys watched Kamau’s reaction. His frowned deepened.

  “How does this relate to Mr. Mason?”

  Mr. Doyle turned the photo so he could look at it. “Mason was still in contact with this man up until just a few days before the whole thing blew up. We’ve been unable to find out what their communication consisted of, but we can only presume that Mason had a hand in suggesting that these people destroy any incriminating evidence against him.”

  That seemed pretty extreme to Lys. First off, the people in Vermont had made it very clear that the decision to end their lives was a completely individual choice. They left letters to their families, if Lys recalled correctly, that stated as much. Something about not being able to live in a world where being different made them outcasts. At the time Lys figured they were all mentally unstable, and had been led down the wrong path by someone who just wanted to either make money or revel in fame.

  Thinking about the whole thing from a different angle, she had no way to tell what those people had been through or what their reasoning had been.

  Kamau’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Forgive me if I seem doubtful, but this is all very strange.”

  “I realize it sounds insane,” Mr. Doyle said with one of his now-familiar smiles. “I’m just glad that we got the two of you out before anything permanent went wrong.”

  “What about Brady?” Lys asked.

  “You mean the other boy that was with you outside the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Doyle’s smile faded. “I’m afraid he’s in bad shape. Until he wakes up we won’t be able to assess how much damage Mason’s drugs did to him.”

  Drugs. Lys couldn’t wrap her head around all of this. Mr. Mason said she was addicted to a rare drug. This man, this Mr. Doyle, someone she’d never seen before in her life, claimed that Mr. Mason had poisoned her so he could get her to his facility and then either use her for her DNA or brainwash her. This made less sense than Mr. Mason’s original explanation. Thoughts of her first visit with Mr. Mason brought her memories back to her parents.

  “Can I call my parents?” she asked. “They were planning to visit the hospital a few days after I got there.”

  “We have contacted your parents.” Mr. Doyle looked back and forth between them. “They are aware that you are safe. Unfortunately we cannot let you speak to them, or release you, until this matter has been officially investigated.”

  “Release us? I just want to call my parents.”

  “I spoke to them myself,” Mr. Doyle said. “They know you’re safe.”

  A beep came from Mr. Doyle’s watch, and he glanced down at his wrist. “Looks like I’ve got a meeting in just a few minutes. Why don’t you let some of my people get you some food? I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to stay in the cells for at least another day. The residual effects of the poison can be fairly nasty, if you know what I mean, and it’s safer for everyone if you’re locked up.”

  Wait, what? This guy was going to give them a snack and return them to their cells?

  Mr. Doyle stood as Jed and Erik came back into the room. “Get these two back downstairs and bring them some food.”

  He looked at Lys and Kamau. “If you know anything about where Mr. Mason’s facility might be, please tell me. We’ve been tracking this bloke for a long time, and it would put a lot of people at ease to know that he’s been captured and put behind bars.”

  The short walk back to their cells felt like a thousand miles. Lys’s mind was weighed down more than her limbs could ever be, and she didn’t know which would give out first.

  Had Mr. Mason lied to her? She had felt so sure about going with him. He promised to help her, and as far as she knew he’d kept that promise. Until this Mr. Doyle and his agency had kidnapped her.

  Kamau’s arm bumped hers, but the contact held no comfort. The world as she knew it a month ago lay in pieces. For a time she thought Mr. Mason could put it back together for her. Could he? Could anyone?

  And Brady. Was he really too far gone? What did Mr. Doyle mean by all of that? The more that Lys thought about the basement at the hospital, the more she knew she had no idea what really happened.

  If she believed her own version of the events she had seen a vision of Brady. Not a dream, not a memory, but a clear vision of either what was happening to him right then, or what happened a few minutes later. She’d seen it through his eyes. The only proof she had was the memory of going down into that basement and finding him in the room with the mirror.

  That’s when things started to get jumbled. She saw a light like he did, but when Lys saw it through her own eyes it looked different than when she’d seen it through Brady’s eyes. So that didn’t match up. Not completely, anyway. And Kamau had seen something totally different.

  The issue of the door bothered her the most. Lys clearly remembered Brady crumpling the door like a piece of paper. With his bare hands. Kamau claimed he only saw the door open. Why would a barred, emergency exit that probably hadn’t been used in years be open? Brady hadn’t had a key. Kamau hadn’t been close enough to be able to use a key. Had he?

  She felt Kamau’s hand brush her back as he led her through the door into the hall outside their cells.

  “Are you alright?” he asked in a voice so quiet that Lys barely made out the words.

  Not knowing what else to do, she shrugged. No, she wasn’t alright! Was he?

  Lys didn’t even bother to speak as the two men put her back in her cell. They’d asked her what kind of sandwich she wanted just after they’d left Mr. Doyle’s office. Another man arrived, handing them their lunches and leaving.

  Turning to watch the men go, Lys stood at the barred door of her cell and wondered who to believe. She took a bite of her sandwich.

  “You seem troubled.”

  Lys looked across the hall to where Kamau stood behind bars. “Aren’t you?” she asked. “None of that seemed strange to you?”

  To her surprise, Kamau smiled. “All of it seemed strange to me.”

  “Do you think he’s lying to us?”

  “Everyone lies,” Kamau said. “Even people who think they are telling the truth, or doing things for the right reason.”

  Everyone lies? Lys wondered again if Mr. Mason had been lying. If Mr. Doyle had just lied to her. If Kamau really came from Africa. She supposed that she lied. Not a lot. Her parents had instilled a regime of truth throughout her childhood. Even when she did something stupid, if she told them the truth about it they would usually be reasonable. The few times Lys had tried to get away with a big lie, they’d caught her and she’d been punished.

  “What do you think?” Kamau asked.

  A harsh laugh escaped before Lys could stop it. “I think that anyone who leaves us in a dungeon, however bright and shiny it might be, isn’t telling the whole truth.”

  “I agree,” Kamau said. “He is hiding something.”

  Lys glanced around. The bars under her hands were cold metal covered in white paint. She couldn’t reach anything else from where she stood; not even Kamau’s hand if she’d wanted to. Turning, she studied her cell: sink, toilet, a pillow and a bed with sheets and a blanket. The sheets were fastened to the mattress, which was bolted into the frame which was encased in a steel box. Nothing there.

  “What are you thinking?” Kamau asked.
r />   “Just trying to figure out how to get out of here,” she said. “If he would let me talk to my parents I might be inclined to stay, but he won’t.”

  “You have a plan?”

  She shook her head. “No. And we probably shouldn’t be talking about it.” She couldn’t see any video cameras, but a place like this—a dungeon for some “independent branch of law enforcement”—had to have a camera somewhere. Maybe microphones, too.

  Kamau nodded. She hoped he understood. He’d seen movies, right? Didn’t he say he’d been going to university before Mr. Mason had found him? It seemed strange to think that the boy standing right across the hall from her, someone she’d talked to and even been through danger with, lived halfway around the world. Their differences should be more apparent than the color of their skin. But they weren’t. They were both in the same boat. Did that make them friends? Or more?

  Lys sat on the floor by the door and they both ate their lunch in silence, Lys not even tasting the food as she chewed.

  “What does your father do?” Kamau asked.

  “Uh,” Lys said. “He’s a lawyer.”

  “How long will it take him to realize that you are not where he thought you were?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lys said. “It depends on when they were planning to come and visit the hospital. It could be today or tomorrow or even the next day. They were supposed to call Mr. Mason and set up a couple of appointments.”

  That brought Lys back around to Mr. Mason. He had been very secretive about where he would be taking her. Her parents received some information from him, but Lys hadn’t been privy to it. Not about the location of the facility anyway.

  “I think that perhaps we should . . .” Kamau started. Then stopped.

  A low rumble filled the air, and the ground beneath Lys’s feet began to shake.

  “What is it?” Kamau asked, looking around.

  “Earthquake.” She shrugged. “Not a very big one.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I live on the west coast. This happens all the time.” Although when the shaking didn’t subside after a few seconds, she looked around.

  When the wall on the other side of her bed blew open, she was so surprised that she didn’t bother to duck. Rubble few at her, but most of it went to her left.

  “Are you sure this is the right way?” a weak, but familiar, voice asked through the settling dust.

  “I’m sure,” Brady replied. “I can feel them through here.”

  “Brady?” Lys asked, coughing as a storm of particles enveloped her, rolling out through the ruined wall like fog.

  “Hah!” Brady said triumphantly. “I told you we were going the right way.”

  Chapter 9

  As the dust settled, Lys saw Brady holding up the slumping figure of Mark. They both wore the same plain, white outfits that she did, although someone had wrapped Brady’s cut arm.

  “What are you doing?” Lys asked, stepping forward to help Mark get through the opening. It was a hole at least four feet around.

  “Busting you guys out of here,” Brady said, supporting Mark from the other side. “Kamau is here, isn’t he?”

  “I’m here,” Kamau said.

  “Good, just let me get these doors open and we’ll be on our way,” Brady said.

  Brady left Mark with Lys. As he stepped away, Lys noticed that Mark could barely stand. He leaned heavily on her, and Lys tried not to stumble. Fresh bruises adorned Mark’s face and arms. Lys’s eye traveled down to his hands, which were encased in what looked like bright yellow hair gel. Solid hair gel.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “Don’t touch it, mate,” Mark said, slurring the words together.

  “Come on,” Brady said, pulling the bars of her door apart like Superman would. “I’ll grab Kamau and we’ll get out of here.” He looked back toward her with a grin.

  “How did you do that?” she asked, shaking her head. Brady winked at her.

  Lys stopped, noticing his eyes. They were the black, oily clouds again, just like when they got out of the basement of the hospital. But now the swirling vortex only filled in where the color of his iris should be.

  The Need poked a hand out from under the pile of blankets.

  Lys pulled her eye away from Brady’s. He didn’t seem to know (or care) that his eyes looked like pools of oil.

  “Where are we going to go?” Kamau asked as Brady stepped through Lys’s door and pulled the bars on Kamau’s cell apart.

  “Out,” Brady said. “I heard some of the guards saying that only a few people are on duty tonight. A company party or something.”

  “And you think we can get past them?” Lys asked. She sent Kamau a grateful smile when he came over and pulled Mark’s other arm over his shoulders.

  “Brady can get us out,” Mark said. “We have to go now.”

  “Why?” Lys asked as they started to follow Brady to the far door. “Who are these guys?”

  “They’re bad guys,” Mark said. His head lolled around as if it might fall off any second. “They kill users.”

  Kill? Lys looked over at Kamau, who frowned down at Mark.

  “Kill us?” Kamau asked, voicing the question before Lys could. “Why?”

  “Because we can kill them. Don’t worry, Brady will get us out,” Mark said. “Just follow him.”

  The words garbled together. Mark’s shirt came up as Kamau readjusted his hold. A dark, ugly, purple bruise, bigger than Lys’s hand, covered his stomach.

  Before she could ask what happened, Brady pulled the door at the end of the hall off its hinges and set it gently back on the floor.

  “See,” he said, looking back at Mark. “I told you I could be gentle.”

  “Good job,” Mark muttered. “Now get us out of here.”

  Brady grinned. He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.

  They followed the younger boy out of the dungeon and into the more normal hall. The dim lights bathed the corridor in twilight. Brady waved them to follow as he crept along, keeping one hand on the wall at all times.

  “How did he do that?” Lys asked, eying the door as they came through. Had Mr. Mason given him super powers?

  “He’s a chaos user. He can get through the field,” Mark said. He jerked in their arms, and Lys almost lost her grip.

  She exchanged a worried glance with Kamau. He shook his head—he didn’t understand Mark’s words either.

  Brady waited for them at the next intersection. “There are a couple of people pretty close. I’m assuming that’s the way out?” He directed his question to Mark.

  “Dunno. I was out when they brought me in.”

  “I was awake,” Kamau said. “The entrance they brought us through is that way.” He pointed to the left.

  Brady reached down and touched the floor with the palm of his hand. “There are a few people that way, too, but they’re much softer.”

  “That is the way out,” Kamau said.

  “Then we’ll go that way,” Brady said with a grin as he stood. “Follow me, and stay close.”

  Lys always imagined soldiers or action heroes saying things like that. The words seemed cheesy coming from a fourteen-year-old kid from Great Britain.

  The implications of their flight started to sink in as Lys and Kamau dragged Mark through the hallway. They might escape, but where would they find themselves? And what would they do once they got out? Not that she wanted to stop and have a discussion about these things—she kept on Brady’s heels as much as she could—but the questions kept surfacing.

  Questions like, how could Brady suddenly bend metal bars like Superman? Or rip doors off their hinges? Put holes as big as her through walls? And what did Mark say? Chaos user? Field? What in the world was going on? The super power theory was starting to sound sane.

  And this couldn’t be a hallucination. No way. Lys had dreamed some horrible things at the hospital when she’d taken the tonic, but this was different. More real, more sensory. Part of
her wanted this to be a bad dream, but the realistic part of her knew better.

  Each time they came to an intersection, Brady would squat down and touch the floor with his hand. After a moment he would stand and lead them the direction Kamau indicated. Lys lost track after two turns. She spent most of her energy trying to keep Mark upright.

  The next time Brady stopped, Kamau spoke. “The entrance we came through is at the end of this next hall.” He pointed. “But it opened up into a garage. I bet we can get out right here if you wanted to avoid the guards.”

  Mark raised his head and he and Brady seemed to have a silent conversation. Brady nodded and looked back at Kamau. “Sure, I can get us through. No problem. You might want to move for a second.”

  Lys pulled Mark back as Brady stepped up to the wall. He closed his eyes and placed his palms on the concrete. He started to move his hands around like a mime, touching the surface in different spots.

  “There we go,” he muttered. Lys watched in amazement as Brady brought his hands back a few inches, and shoved them into the wall.

  Shards of concrete shot out from around Brady’s hands. Craters appeared beneath his touch. He curled his fingers under, and they sunk into the wall like it was made of sand.

  Brady took a small step back. He pulled. As soon as the wall started to moan, Brady shoved forward, pushing a section ten feet long away from him.

  Bricks broke apart, and metal screamed. A chunk of the wall, at least six feet wide, shot forward, still in Brady’s hands. Shards of rebar stuck out of the edges, and bits of brick cascaded to the floor.

  Mark, who had raised his head to watch, said, “Not bad.”

  “I know, right?” Brady laughed, shoving his hands apart, ripping the chunk in two and tossing the pieces away.