Nate nods.
“We need to stop these guys,” Zoë says.
“Stop them? We don’t even know who they are!” Xander says.
“Well, we’re going to find out,” Elijah says. “They’re a danger to the citizens as well as Annika.”
But no one outside this room is going to know this. The hunting crew will frame me for the bombing and act like the good guys trying to stop me.
“Fine, but then what do we do? These guys are practically invisible; we have no idea who they are, where they are, or when they’ll strike next.”
“They strike when Annika is out there and vulnerable,” Marissa says.
“So are you suggesting we use Annika as bait?” Kono asks. I bet she would love that plan.
“No, not a chance,” Nate says.
“So we just keep her bottled-up in Kenyon for however long it takes to find these guys?”
Sounds like house arrest.
“Sounds like house arrest,” Zoë says, echoing my thoughts.
“What choice do we have? It’s that or we let her walk through a mine field.”
“Hey, I didn’t say I disagree with it. I just think it sucks… for Annika.”
“I think we should start by establishing why they want her dead,” Kiaria says.
Oh, no… let’s not get into this.
“I’m going to bet they’re not the only ones who want her dead. What I’m more interested in knowing is why they are having so much more success than anyone else who may be after Annika. That’s how we’re going to stop them,” Nate says.
The door opens, and Dr. Reins steps into the room. All heads turn and stare at the man dressed in a dark grey suit. He doesn’t move far enough in to close the door, but he clicks his cane on the ground.
“An eventful holiday, no?” he says. None of the Metanites know what to say, so they start glancing back and forth at each other.
“Moton, we—” Marissa starts, but Dr. Reins raises his hand to silence her. He looks at me now, and I stare back at him. He doesn’t frighten me.
“Nate, are all of Annika’s wounds taken care of?” he asks.
“Yes, comparatively minimal damage to what she could have received,” Nate says.
Mhe-me-mhe-me-mehh. Comparatively minimal damage. Me-me-mehh.
“Excellent,” Dr. Reins says. “Annika, may I have a private word with you?”
I nod.
Dr. Reins nods back to me. “Follow me.”
The elevator opens to the seventieth floor, the same floor as my room and the Metanites’ rooms. Instead of walking toward the bedroom, Dr. Reins leads me around the corner and to a small memorial framed on the wall.
It’s a baseball cap, emerald with a green four-leaf clover sewn on the front, burnt near the edges, and stained with spots of brownish-red. A glass frame covers the folded and pinned hat in the shallow display box. I’ve seen this hat before. A short string once hung from the bill of the hat, but now it is gone.
I remember the boy who always wore this hat. He never took it off. He said that it was his talisman from his homeland, the only thing he owned that was truly his. We all had something like that: the one thing that solely and uniquely belonged to us. He said the hat gave him luck. He would kiss two of his fingers and rub the clover with them whenever he needed a little luck.
I can picture him still wearing this hat. His red hair flipping out under the sides of the hat, his freckled face sparkling with that mischievous grin, and cheeks the same shade as his hair. He was shorter than the others his age, and they would tease him by holding the hat above their heads.
“Eighteen months ago, Abraham, Nickel, and Kiaria came across a young boy in an alley downtown. He was in critical condition when they found him and brought him here to Kenyon,” Dr. Reins says.
I listen, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the hat. I wish I could.
“We did what we could to save him, but he died just a few minutes after arriving. Apart from the fatal wounds that caused his death, there were other mysterious scars on his body, which, after some examination, we determined were caused by experimental surgeries.”
I remember that day he showed me the scars on his feet and legs. He wasn’t proud of those scars or his new abilities that came from them. Like the rest of us, he hated them. He was afraid of them.
“He didn’t say much, but what he did say was remarkable. He said his name was Peter, he didn’t have a last name, and he told us he came from Dr. Nancy,” Dr. Reins continues. “He said, ‘she came back for us’… that Basia Nancy rescued them.”
That was eighteen months ago. Then, my mission was simply to save as many of us, the ECs, as I could. I was a different person then. I had people to protect and people who depended on me. I was doing something good. But that was eighteen months ago. Even the green clover is a shade darker now.
“Do you remember him?” Dr. Reins asks.
I look down at the floor. Of course I remember him. I remember all of them. That day…eighteen months ago… that was the last day I saw him and most of the others. I broke most of them out of the factory and away from the fire, but I only escaped with eight in my company. I don’t know what happened to the others, but I remember all of them.
“Miss Nancy,” Dr. Reins says.
Peter was special. Unlike the others, he still had that glow of innocence in his eyes. I remember those eyes. I remember all of them.
“Basia,” Dr. Reins says.
I look back up at the hat.
“We are not against you; we are on your side. I am on your side. We have strong suspicions of what Dr. Nancy does, and we don’t believe you are responsible for those crimes held against you. We believe you are a victim.”
Peter, the young girl with curly blonde hair, the others—they are victims, victims of Dr. Nancy’s experiments. But me… some of those crimes I did commit and many I am responsible for. That girl in Austria… I did that.
“I’m hardly a victim,” I mutter.
Victim—me? No, I did this. Dr. Nancy may have pulled the trigger, but I was his rifle. His monstrous weapon. That’s the mission now.
I’m halfway through my bedroom door when I hear Marissa exit the elevator.
“Annika!” she says.
Ugh. What now? I turn and see her skipping toward me.
“What are your plans for dinner?” she asks. The curls of her hair bounce off her shoulders. “We are going downtown for a group dinner, and we were wondering if you wanted us to pick something up for you.”
“Um, thanks but I think I’ll pass. Not that hungry,” I say.
Real answer: I’m starving. I won’t be here when you all get back, so bringing back food for me would be pointless.
“Are you sure? The place we’re going is awesome, and since we feel bad that you can’t go with us—oh, I almost forgot! I have your sweater in my room!” she says.
“Oh, okay.”
“Come down to my room, or… maybe you should change first,” she says.
I glance down at the torn jeans and the wrapping around my leg.
“Oh, right… sorry about your clothes,” I say.
“It’s okay! I didn’t care much for those anyway. Let me go look for your sweater, and I’ll meet you in my room,” she says. She leaves before I can reply.
I unwrap the bandage around my leg to reveal a number of small, red cuts. Nothing too bad. Once I’m back on the streets they won’t bother me too much. I change into dark, athletic clothes that I think I can survive the next few weeks in, then I wander down the hall to Marissa and Zoë’s room.
I hear Marissa chatting behind the open door of room 71N17. I knock on the door and look inside. I see Zoë standing in front of a full length mirror and sticking long, shiny earrings into her earlobes. Then Marissa, still talking, bounces to the door.
“Hi! Come on in,” Marissa says. I follow her into the room, careful not to step on the clothes scattered on the floor.
Zoë glances at me as I wal
k in, but she says nothing. At least she didn’t roll her eyes.
Their room is twice the size of mine and has a purple theme throughout it. Both beds have a similar purple pattern. A purple rug in the middle of the floor—hidden under clothes, of course. A purple chandelier. A purple blanket and pillows on a grey couch. And purple picture frames with over a dozen pictures of the Metanites.
I see a small clutch purse on the pseudo windowsill. It would be the perfect size to fit into the pocket of my sweater. I also need something to be able to hold coins and small valuables without them bouncing around in my pocket.
The purse sits next to a bowl of Andes mints and Hershey’s kisses. It’s not much, but I’m starving. It would be an easy snack for the road, and I won’t be making another stop after I leave Marissa and Zoë’s room.
“Okay, I am so sorry, Annika. I don’t remember where I put it,” Marissa says, digging through a bin she pulled from under her bed.
“Hmm? Oh! That’s okay,” I say. I grab the purse and snacks and hold them behind my back.
“It’s in Kia’s room,” Zoë says. “Remember Kia said she could get that stain out?”
“Oh right! I’ll be right back. Annika, you can stay here,” Marissa says. She bolts out the door, leaving just Zoë and me.
I slide the snack-filled purse up my sleeve and study the purple-framed photos of the Metanites. Based on the light quality of the photos, I assume all of them came from pictures taken from a Smartwatch. Only one photo captures them all together: they stand outside Rockefeller Park in the snow, bundled in layers and layers of thermals. Nate is the only one not smiling in the photo—an erupted snowball covers half his face. Abraham is looking at him with his arm extended, so he must have thrown the snowball.
“Why didn’t you tell them about the woman on West Third?”
I turn and look at Zoë. She’s still messing with her earrings.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t pretend like I didn’t see you save that woman from the bomb. The video cam on the street probably caught it, too,” Zoë says.
What do I say to that? I didn’t exactly save her, since without my interference, the hunting crew would not have targeted her in the first place.
“Why don’t you want anyone to know you saved her?” Zoë says. She turns around and stares at me.
She doesn’t look angry. She sounds a little angry, but maybe. She stares at me the way she did in the elevator when she and Zoë gave me a tour of Kenyon. Not the glaring, get-the-hell-out-of-my-home stare, but the one where she’s trying to look into me.
“Why does it matter?” I say.
“Because they think you’re a criminal, and criminals don’t save people.”
“Maybe some do,” I say.
“Look, I don’t know if this is just an act to intimidate us or try to get us off your back, and maybe you really do believe you’re a criminal… but I saw differently today,” Zoë says.
“Because of me she was almost killed,” I say. “Just for looking like me.”
“Yeah, but you still saved her. That’s something most of the Metanites couldn’t have done,” she says.
I grin and look at the floor.
“Maybe we started off on the wrong foot, but I think Kenyon might be really good for you,” she says.
I smile and look back up at her. “Oh no. You’ve been talking to Nate,” I say.
She smiles.
“Did he convince you to say this to me?”
“No, you did,” Zoë says. “Think about it tonight, but do consider staying.”
“Here it is!” Marissa says, barging back into the room with my black sweater in hand.
Marissa tosses me the sweater, and I catch it before it hits the floor. Finally. The chocolate and mint-filled purse almost slides out when I put the sweater on, so I clutch it in my hand. If either Marissa or Zoë notice it, I don’t know how I could play it off.
“Also—forgot to mention: Kiaria put you in the system, so you can hang out in the Base while the rest of us are at dinner,” Marissa says.
“Thanks, I think I’ll head there now then,” I say.
“Okay! Have fun!”
I head out the door and straight for the elevator.
IX: A Reason to Go and a Reason to Stay
Monday, March 17, 2065; 8:35 p.m.
First person
I take the elevator all the way down to the first floor. I’m sure the Metanites will play back the camera and see me, but I’m hoping that walking out the front door will send the message to not run after me again.
“Going somewhere?”
I spin around, clutching the purse under my sweater. Dr. Reins sits on a bench against the wall. He sits so still that I actually mistook him for a statue. His arms stretch in front of him and hold his walking cane, pulling the sleeves of his tailored grey suit past his wrists. An end of a cigarette burns between his middle and pointer finger, and seeing that it’s snowing outside, I figure he must have decided to smoke inside. His jacket is unbuttoned, and the top buttons of his white dress shirt are also unbuttoned, revealing a thin silver chain that hides the rest of the necklace behind his shirt. His eyes are closed, but then he opens one, sees me, and smiles.
“I…” I say, but I can’t finish.
I feel my face burning red, and the purse stabs into my side. My legs quiver, frozen to the ground, and my stomach twists into a knot.
How did he find me? Wasn’t he just upstairs with me two hours ago?
When my shock sinks in, the guilt starts building. Dr. Reins and the Metanites have given me everything—food, a bed, clean clothes, security. Hell, they pulled two bullets out of me. They put themselves at risk for me, some have almost died because of me, and they’ve asked for nothing in return.
Yet… a voice in my head says.
Even so, they’ve risked their lives for me and have been… kind to me. More so that I deserve. And here I am, taking their charity and running away—again. I’ve never been more embarrassed.
“I see,” Dr. Reins says. He closes his eyes again. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
I sit down next to him on the bench. A janitor moves from the room over into the large ceremonious lobby. He glances over at us, exchanges a nod with Dr. Reins, and leaves up the elevator. I wish I could follow him out of here—forget this whole thing ever happened instead of sitting here in this chair of guilt.
“What’s in the purse?” Dr. Reins asks.
My heart skips.
Shit. This is now the most embarrassed I’ve ever been. I pull the purse out from under my sweater and hand it over. He opens the purse and peers inside. Then, he leans his head back and smiles ear to ear. A huge belly-laugh escapes his mouth and vibrates through the high-ceiling lobby, shaking his white-grey beard, the modern chandelier, and my bones. I stare at him and see an image of a skinny, high-fashion Santa Claus.
“Mints and chocolates!” he says.
I feel my face turn darker red, if that is even possible.
“You surprise me, Annika,” he says.
“Sorry. I don’t want you to think of me as a thief,” I say.
“A poor thief you would be. I would have gone for the cash,” he says, handing the purse back to me. He’s still giggling.
Dr. Reins,” I say, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he says.
“Why are you doing this? You’re risking your lives, your futures, Kenyon, all of this for me.”
“Do you not think you’re worth it?”
“I know I’m not worth it,” I say. Dr. Reins closes his eyes again, sits in silence, and breathes in the nicotine.
“You said earlier today that you are ‘hardly a victim,’” he says. He opens his eyes and turns to me. “But I don’t see you that way. I believe you try to do good, but sometimes your efforts result in unanticipated casualties, and you think that makes you a bad and dangerous person.”
“I am dangerous,” I say.
“
There are many dangerous students here in Kenyon, many of whom you’ve met. They all come here with the same look that I see in your eyes: fear of themselves and fear of hurting others,” Dr. Reins says.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I dare not look at him.
“They come here to learn both how to control their special talents and how to embrace them,” Dr. Reins continues. “And often, they discover something about themselves they didn’t expect to find. Like them, I think there is much more to you than meets the eye, and this purse proves that.”
I look down at the mints and chocolates that now feel like much more than snacks for the road. I look for whatever Dr. Reins sees in these stupid treats—what he sees in me—but what am I looking for?
“How did you know I was going to be here?” I ask.
“I’ve seen cases similar to yours. People tend to run away from the things that scare them and the things they want to protect, especially when they feel like they don’t belong there.”
“It would be safer for all of you if I left,” I say, “before any more of you get hurt.”
“At this point, I don’t think you could leave without the Metanites pursuing you, even if I tell them not to. They’ve taken a fondness to you,” Dr. Reins says, smiling.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say.
“Me too,” he says. He sighs and closes his eyes again. He massages his knee with his hand.
“What if I left tonight?” I ask.
“What if you did?” he responds. His eyes stay closed.
“Would that make things better?”
“Did it?”
I remember Zoë and Marissa finding me in Cosmogirl’s. I remember the woman on West Third Street, the bomb, and all those people who died because of it.
“No,” I reply.
“Is there another reason why you think you have to leave?”
“Because Kenyon is for heroes and victims, you and the Metanites. But I’m neither. I don’t belong here.”
“There are no heroes, victims, or villains, Miss Nancy. There is only what you do and your reason for it.”
I turn back to see him staring at me. He’s smiling, and his fearsome face is as soft as cotton. Even if I’m not convinced by his words, it’s clear that he believes it. And right now, that’s enough.
The Nancy Experiment Page 9