The Forbidden Trilogy

by Kimberly Kinrade

  "Can you see what I'm showing you?" I didn't expect it to work. Vomiting and fevers didn't put me at my strongest.

  'Is that your bedroom?'

  "Yes!"

  'It's nice. Cozy. Are those pictures of your friends on the wall?'

  "Lucy and Luke, yes. And some other kids from class field trips."

  'You're very pretty.'

  "Thank you."

  'Have you had a happy life here?'

  Given his childhood memories, I could understand his curiosity. As bad as things had become, my life had been pretty good by comparison.

  "That's tricky to answer. It's hard to miss what you never had, but when I read books, see TV shows or visit other families, I wonder what my life would have been like raised in a family. I guess I've always done my job knowing that when I turn eighteen, I'll be free to do what I want. I now have enough control not to put myself or others at risk. When I feel your visions, I know that my life has been pretty good compared to what you've endured."

  'Your birthday's coming up, Sam. We need to talk about what happens next.'

  I didn't know. So much had happened that I hadn't really given thought to my birthday and my release. College waited for me on the other side of this life, didn't it? Sarah Lawrence and freedom. But I knew—in the stillness of my heart I knew—it was all a dream of mist and vapors. It had never been real.

  Mr. K's letter proved that. Other kids, they'd had going away parties. They'd been happy. We'd even gotten postcards from some of them.

  I opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand and shuffled through some papers until I found what I needed. The Eifel Tower stood proud and glowing on the postcard, thousands of lights in the night. On the back, a postage stamp from Paris. Hey, Sam, wish you were here. You'd love the Sorbonne. Stay good and enjoy your time in New York. Love, Rebekah.

  She'd been one of us. Now she was free. Or was she? Could it all have been faked? Would they really go through so much trouble to dupe us? If they had, then where were these kids? Where was Rebekah?

  I projected my thoughts and the image of the postcard to Drake. I told him the story we'd been fed our whole lives—that Rent-A-Kid kept us safe, trained us and prepared us for the real world. Our parents had given us up to protect us.

  'Sam, you know too much. Did all your parents give you up willingly? Why weren't they involved in your lives at all? Have any ever come to visit or interact with their kids? You don't think those postcards can be forged?'

  "Our parents gave us up because they couldn't handle kids like us. They did what was best for us." It was true. It had to be true. I needed it to be true.

  'Then why couldn't they at least stay in touch? Visit? Call?'

  "I don't know. Probably for safety. We get to meet our families when we leave. Once we are safe."

  'You keep talking about being safe, but they have rented you out since you were thirteen. You've been safe enough for clients for a long time, so why not let your family back into your life? Come on, Sam, you're a smart girl, but they've got you brainwashed to believe they are the good guys. They are not the good guys. They tracked me down, attacked me, and brought me here against my will. You and I both know they weren't saving me from anyone. Does that sound like something a good organization would do?'

  My head pounded, the pain coming back full force, and I didn't want to deal with these questions.

  I would figure it out later. "Drake, I admit that something isn't right here. At the very least, Dr. Pana is a problem, and someone's stealing powers, but that doesn't mean everything has been a lie. Look, I've been sick, and I'm crashing. Can we talk later?"

  'Okay. Hey Sam....'

  "Hmm?"

  'Be careful.'

  That night, stolen kids and heartbroken parents filled my dreams. I woke up more exhausted than when I'd fallen asleep, drenched in sweat, my heart racing.

  Chapter 14 – Sam

  Two days of forced bed rest left little room for fun.

  After reading the first three chapters of every book in my possession, and countless hours studying Dr. Sato's dialect, I needed reinforcements.

  Poor Drake had already put up with so much. "You must be so sick of my whining and moping and all my Japanese thinking. I'm sorry. I'm just so bored!"

  'I'm not sick of you, and I can relate. I'm strapped down to a bed and powerless, after all. By the way, you're a freaking genius with language. I can't believe how much you've learned in just three days. How do you do it? I barely know Spanish and I grew up surrounded by it.'

  His praise released a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Learning languages and reading minds wasn't nearly as exciting as hacking computers, walking through walls or kicking butts in martial arts. I loved that he thought my gifts were special. "I've been studying languages since I was two years old. It's always come naturally."

  'How many can you speak?'

  I had to do the math in my head. "Um, thirty or so, plus a few dialects."

  'Holy crap! That's seriously impressive. When we get out of this mess, we totally have to travel all over the world. You'll be able to talk to everyone.'

  My heart swelled with images of walking hand-in-hand with Drake through the streets of Italy, touring the great cathedrals in France, eating at a café and chatting with the locals.... But the best part—visiting all the greatest museums of the world. What I wouldn't give to spend hours at the Louvre and the Rodin Museum in France, the Van Gough Museum in Amsterdam, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.... My mind trailed off into the lands of the greatest artists, and I "showed" Drake memories of my favorite paintings throughout history.

  As soon as class got out, Lucy and Luke came over bearing gifts—flowers, a get well card, chicken soup, and a new DVD.

  "You guys, I'm not dying. It's just a bad flu." I acted annoyed but appreciated the kindness.

  Lucy handed me the soup and a spoon. "I know, Chica, but we figured you were bored out of your mind, and this might cheer you up."

  I smiled. "It has."

  Luke sat in my favorite chair, his long legs spread out before him. Lucy sat at the edge of my bed. They both seemed happy enough, but still not quite right. Their eyes looked glazed over, and they had an artificial calm to them.

  "So spill it, what's going on with you and Drake?" Lucy asked.

  "Nothing." I tried to look innocent as I sipped my soup.

  "Nope. Try again."

  I put the soup down and switched to our made-up language. "Don't you guys find it odd that we all got sick after our recent 'vitamin' injections?"

  Lucy's eyes fogged over, then cleared. "I feel fine, Sam. I don't know what you're talking about."

  I looked to Luke for support. "You both were like zombies, and then I came down with this flu. And now you seem... different. Less suspicious."

  Luke smiled, but with a shadow of his normal brightness. "Lighten up, Sam. Life's too short to worry so much."

  I cried out to Drake in frustration. "What do I do?"

  'Maybe if we work together, we can push them to remember. Help clear their minds.'

  "It's worth a try, I guess. Okay, you stay with me while I link to them. Instead of pulling their thoughts from them, I'll try to push my thoughts into them."

  Messing with my best friends' minds made me nervous, but so did their way-too-carefree new personalities.

  With Drake in tow, I focused on Luke first. Once again, a haze of heaviness settled on me and lured me to sleep, but Drake's mental tether kept me alert. I imagined the haze lifting and clarity returning. I pushed my will into the thought and felt Drake do the same. Almost immediately, my link weakened as the amount of power it took to create this level of connection drained me. After being so sick, I had very little energy left, but I couldn't give up.

  It worked. With one last push, Luke's mind regained some of its former energy.

  We pulled out and did the same with Lucy.

  When we were done, I closed my e
yes and wiped away the tears that slid down my cheek. I'd never felt more exhausted in my life.

  Luke's voice had more energy than before. "You okay, Sam? What did you do? I feel like I just woke up from sleepwalking."

  Without opening my eyes, I answered him. "Do you remember the shot the doctor gave you? Being sick?"

  Lucy's voice joined the conversation. "Yes, I do now. Damn, I'm so sorry we doubted you. It's weird. Part of me still thinks everything is okay and I should just chill out, and another part feels a panic at what's happening.

  My friends were back.

  "Thank you, Drake."

  'I'm glad it worked.'

  Now that they could think for themselves, it was time to talk about our future.

  ***

  "Do either of you wonder about our parents?"

  Luke's face hardened. He and Lucy had been left by their parents at a hospital as babies. Rent-A-Kid somehow got to them before Social Services could intervene. "Not really. It's better that way."

  With the residual mental link to Luke still active, flashes of memory fluttered into my mind: A woman with large brown eyes and a soft smile humming a lullaby and rocking him and Lucy.

  Their mother.

  I looked to Luke, but he didn't make eye contact, so I pushed it aside and continued our conversation.

  "But if my parents were just doing what was best for me, then why haven't they been allowed to visit? Why don't any of us have contact with them? What if... what if they didn't give us up willingly?"

  Lucy stiffened. "Where is this coming from, Sam?"

  I kept my voice calm and reasonable. "As you said yourself, Higgins lied to you. Someone stole Kyle's powers and sabotaged my art project. Mr. K disappeared, and now they've drugged us. Our future may not be as secure as we'd hoped. What if we aren't released and let into the world when we turn eighteen?"

  Lucy's voice sounded hollow as she spoke. "I just can't bring myself to believe that it's not true, Sam. Why don't we just focus on one problem at a time? We have to figure out what happened to your painting."

  I suppose we all were desperate to believe, because to doubt the truth of this place meant questioning everything about our lives. Exploring the alternatives made my stomach clench worse than this flu. We were nearly eighteen, and Drake's ideas left me unsettled and fearful of my future. I wanted to let it go, to just stick to the current problem, but my birthday was fast approaching. Suddenly, the loss of my painting paled in comparison to these new problems.

  "You guys, Drake made some good points, things we'd have thought of already if we weren't too scared to face the truth. Why have they taken him and locked him up? If they were really saving him from a threat, why haven't they released him? And why don't we have any contact with the outside world except on assignment?"

  "It's for our protection," Luke straightened in the chair, his muscles tense. "If they knew what we could do, we would be locked up and tested like a bunch of lab rats."

  "I don't buy it. By the time we were old enough for assignments, we were old enough to keep our own secrets and control our powers. So what secret are they keeping from us?"

  "I can tell when people are lying," said Lucy. "Don't you think I would know if there was a big conspiracy?"

  True. We called Lucy our human lie detector. And I could read minds, so how could they keep the truth from us? What would be the easiest way—

  Of course. "They aren't lying!"

  "That's what we're saying." Luke slumped back in the chair, a smirk on his face.

  "No! I mean, what if they only tell the people we have contact with the cover story, not the truth? So those people aren't actually lying. After all, this organization is bigger than we know. We've never even met the people at the top. Maybe our teachers and the staff really believe we'll leave to our new life when we turn eighteen. And besides, Lucy, you said Higgins lied about Mr. K. Something is clearly going on!"

  Their crestfallen faces evaporated my enthusiasm.

  "Oh, my God, Sam," Lucy said. "What if you're right? What if we don't really get to leave? What do they do with us then?"

  Luke's fist balled. "Lucy, don't encourage her. This is all bullshit."

  I ignored him. "Drake was right about one thing: we know too many secrets. We'd be too dangerous in the world on our own. Even if we don't know the location of this property, we know where our assignments have been. We know the dirty secrets of some of the richest, most powerful people in the world. How could they take the chance of letting us go free? Think about it!"

  We sat there, staring at nothing, lost in our own dark thoughts. Before they could object more, I showed them the letter Mr. K had left me.

  "Mr. K suspected something, then he disappeared."

  "So what do we do?" Luke asked. "If you're right, or if your boyfriend is right—What do we do? We don't know what happens when kids leave here. We don't know anyone on the outside, and we've no way of contacting them if we did. This place is impossible to escape from. I'm not saying we just give up, but we need a plan."

  "Does that mean you believe me?" If I had to face the truth, I wanted my best friends with me, as selfish as that sounded.

  "I'm not sure, but you have a point. We'd be stupid not to think about it. But without any outside connections, we're dead in the water." He stared out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

  "We may not know anyone, but Drake does. His best friend is a reporter in California, maybe he can help."

  "Drake, what do you think?"

  'Brad's probably freaking out right now. I know he'd do anything to help us, but we need a way of contacting him. He's going to give me such shit for not listening to him earlier.'

  "What could you do? You can't live in fear and you can't ever give up on your dreams. If you do, they win and you're trapped even if free. You did the right thing. It's what I would have done."

  That may not have been true before. I hadn't always had the courage to do what was in my heart, despite pressure or fear, but I knew in that moment I had changed in some indefinable and permanent way. Whoever I'd been, I now possessed a determination that couldn't be undone by the unknown.

  I shared Drake's idea with Lucy and Luke.

  "That sounds like a possibility," Luke said, "but how would we get ahold of this guy? Not like we get free access to the outside world."

  I thought about it. "I'm supposed to be going on another assignment soon—with Mary."

  "What about your guard?" Luke asked.

  "He doesn't follow me to the bathroom. If I get Brad's phone number from Drake, and steal someone's cell phone for a few minutes, maybe I can make a call."

  Lucy nibbled on her lower lip. "That might work, but you'd have to be really careful."

  I rolled my eyes. "No, I thought I'd announce my plan to everyone!"

  "Don't be a smartass, Chica, this could be really dangerous."

  "I can't think of anything else. Can you? We're too isolated here. We have no other choice."

  We stared at one another, and each of us nodded in turn. No one really expected a better plan to land in our laps.

  ***

  Lucy and Luke saw me before anyone else the next day, and tag-team hugged me.

  "You're off the deathbed, and you don't look like a sexy ghost anymore," said Lucy. "I knew the soup we brought would make you better!"

  "Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what did it." I always looked pale compared to them.

  We got to our English class and settled into our seats in the back. I mentally checked everyone, but it was just more of the usual—boys, girls, parties, tests, fear of the future, excited or nervous about the next assignment.

  Peter, a boy who'd been asking me out for a few years, sent a papier-mâché rose floating through the air to my desk. His attention had never ignited the same fire in me that my connection with Drake had. A surge of jealousy rose up from Drake, who sat in my mind like a split personality—so much a part of me now, it was hard to tell where my mind stopped an
d his started. I assured him that Peter held no interest for me. Our teacher, Mr. Jackson, glared at Peter and nodded to me, the only indication he'd give that I'd been out sick. Fine by me.

  "We are discussing Macbeth: the symbolism, the misogyny, and the thematic elements that have made this play so popular over the years." When Mr. Jackson lectured, it was as if he did so from a stage, and I wondered idly if he had a background in theater. "Who can tell me about one of the most significant symbols in Macbeth. Sam?"

  I hadn't even raised my hand! But that's what I got for missing class. I flipped through my edition of the famous Scottish play and looked at the notes I'd taken for my essay.

  "Blood. Blood is everywhere in Macbeth. The opening battle between the Scots and the Norwegian invaders in Act 1 is very bloody. And once Macbeth and Lady Macbeth start killing everyone, it holds significant symbolism for them both.

  "After Macbeth kills Duncan, he talks about Neptune's ocean washing away this blood from his hand, and later, when Lady Macbeth falls to her conscience, she gets obsessive about trying to clean her hands of the blood. Blood symbolizes the guilt that sits like a permanent stain on the consciences of both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, one that hounds them to their graves."

  Mr. Jackson clapped. "Very good, Sam. I take it that is the theme of your essay."

  "Yes."

  "Wonderful. Now, on to misogyny. Why do you think so many people have accused Shakespeare of hating women?"

  My mind wandered, and I pulled out my new sketchbook and placed it over Macbeth. The leather felt smooth under my palm as I flipped through the pages I'd filled—a portrait of Tommy playing with his truck, his youthful smile so contagious; several pages of Drake, or what I imagined he would look like if standing or sitting, rather than lying on a gurney; even a portrait of Mr. K, hawk nose and all.

  A renegade tear threatened to ruin my composition, but I caught it before it could fall. Will I ever see Mr. K again?

  Dozens of sketches of the twins covered the pages. Over the years, I'd painted, sketched, or in some way drawn nearly every inch of this place, including the entire faculty and every student. My secret notebooks proved that I'd really been here.