“Overly-playful?” I repeated. “What? How old is he?”
“Hell if I know.” Clark shrugged. “But he might seem a little…okay, actually, he’ll probably scare the living hell out of you. Just…be prepared for that, and know that you’re not the only one he scares.”
Clark turned away just as I was about to press further. His eyes moved to the clock above the door.
“We need to sit down. Where are you and your family?”
“Over there,” I motioned to the table.
“I’m one table over. If you need anything, just lean across and ask me.”
“Hey, Clark.” I caught his elbow as he started to leave.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to let you know, I really appreciate you looking out for me,” I told him softly. He smiled shyly.
“You’re welcome.”
We moved to our separate tables as everyone began taking their seats. I sat next to my mother, who was between me and my father. My father was talking amiably with Mr. Lloyd, sitting mechanically as Mr. Lloyd lowered himself to his seat. I saw some other familiar faces of the Commish Kids sitting with their families, but much to my relief, no other Commish Kids sat at our table.
I watched the clock tick down to exactly ten. I noticed that there were only two minutes before the exact start of the meeting and no one was at the podium or trying to get organized.
“Where is Mr. Christenson?” my mother asked before I had the chance. “I thought you said he was all about punctuality.”
Mr. Lloyd barked a laugh.
“When I mean punctual, I mean down to the second. He will be here as soon as the second hand is on the hour.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing that was impossible.
I watched the seconds tick by. At thirty seconds to ten, a woman walked onto the stage. She was very pretty with short-cut brown hair and clear green eyes, wearing an expensive, well-tailored suit. She stepped up to the podium and switched on the microphone, but no one quieted, barely noticing her at the front of the room. I looked back to the clock. Twenty seconds left…
The woman shuffled some papers and also glanced at the clock.
Ten seconds…
Conversation slowly died in the final ten seconds and, by one second before ten, the room was silent. When the second hand hit the ten, all open doors slammed shut to close off the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Commission of the People,” the woman at the front of the room started, “I am pleased to call this meeting on the night of September seventh in session. We have much to review tonight with concerns of the representation of regions and the security of our nation, as well as a general update and report on the status of our Enterprise experiments and the status of elected officials currently facing charges,” she listed. “However, before we start that, we have an induction ceremony.” She looked around the room, smiling as a tremor of excitement radiated through everyone present. “Where is Mr. Thomas Sandover and his family?”
“Here,” my father called, raising his hand.
“Ah, there they are. The Commission of the People would like to welcome you and present you with a gift tonight. My name is Danielle Markus, and I am advisor to Mr. Christenson. If you are in need of anything, please feel free to ask me.”
Speaking of this Mr. Christenson, where is he? I muttered to myself.
“Well, we can’t very well do the ceremony or meeting without our leader, can we? Mr. Christenson,” Mrs. Markus smiled, “the floor is yours.”
Everyone around the room started clapping, but there was no sign of the leader of the Commission. Then again, I had no idea what he looked like—no one outside of the Commission knew.
I waited for him to walk to the stage, but he did not, and no one else thought of that as strange. They still clapped and smiled at one another, unfazed.
“You must be Little Lily Sandover…” a voice hissed in my ear.
Naturally, I screamed.
Chapter Thirteen
More accurately, I screamed and jumped out of my chair, turning to face the owner of the voice. Everyone started laughing at me—except for my parents, who were also startled. As soon as I saw who was behind me, everything else in the room disappeared in a millisecond.
The man was tall, very tall, easily close to two meters, wearing an expensive, immaculate three-piece suit. He was younger than I expected. His jaw line was strong and his hair was a deep auburn, but what startled me the most were the sunglasses he was wearing. Inside. In such a dark room…
My first thought was that he was blind. However, he leaned down and picked up the chair I had turned over, placing it back at the table without missing a beat.
“Mr. Christenson!” Mr. Lloyd laughed. The man who had snuck up behind me turned. “You shouldn’t sneak up on pretty young ladies like that.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Christenson agreed with a chuckle. He looked at me again and offered his hand, palm up. “I do apologize, Little Lily.”
A shiver ran down my spine from the nickname. There was something in his tone that made it threatening and endearing at the same time. I nervously took his hand, my own shaking uncontrollably. He leaned down slowly, almost gracefully, and kissed my knuckles. The action was chivalrous and polite, but there was also something extremely dangerous about it. I felt as though I was sticking my hand into the cage of a hungry lion.
He straightened and stared at me from behind his dark glasses. I could do nothing but stare back, frozen in place.
He released my hand, his lingering touch leaving cold tingling on my skin.
“Mr. Sandover,” he said, walking to my father and offering his hand. My father shook Mr. Christenson’s hand firmly.
“Mr. Christenson, it is an honor to meet you,” my father greeted. He was also perplexed by the sunglasses, but he did not seem to get the same feeling of danger that sat in my gut.
“The honor is mine,” Mr. Christenson said. He turned to my mother. “Mrs. Sandover, correct?”
“Yes.” My mother smiled, giving her hand to Mr. Christenson, who bent down and kissed her knuckles before backing away with a perfectly white smile.
“I must say, it is wonderful to have you. The Commission is always looking for fresh blood,” Mr. Christenson said as he walked away from our table. We resumed our seats as others from the Commission laughed at Mr. Christenson’s statement, understanding a hidden meaning. Mr. Christenson looked over his shoulder as he approached the stage and flashed his perfect smile once more.
“Mr. Sandover, you and your family will be a very welcome addition to the Commission of the People, and we are all very pleased to have you here.” His voice turned soft and gentle as he reached the stage, standing to the side of the podium, ignoring the microphone completely—he did not need it a the room was commanded into silence by his very presence. “If the Sandover family would please stand, we will get the ceremony underway and get to the part everyone is waiting for.”
The gift. I knew that was what everyone was waiting for.
Thankfully, Mr. Christenson still frightened and confused me enough from afar to keep the adrenaline running, stopping me from growing weak as I got to my feet alongside my mother and father, the three of turning to face Mr. Christenson.
“Now, then,” he started, clasping his hands in front of him, fiddling with something between his palms. “Do you fully swear loyalty to the Commission of the People, its cause, and its belief in protecting the basic rights of the American people outlined by the standards set after the Second Revolution?”
His voice was clear, yet it had a slight rasp that sent a shiver over my body. I could not determine if it was a shiver of fear or if I enjoyed the sound of his voice.
“I do swear,” we recited.
“And you understand that your words are bound under contract to remain within the confines of the Commission of the People and are never to extend beyond the members of this group?”
“I understand.”
“E
xcellent,” he praised. “Well, then, I welcome you, as my colleagues, into the Commission of the People.”
We were surrounded by clapping and cheering. My father and mother smiled as they took their seats, beaming with excitement at being welcomed into the exclusive group. I heavily sat, trying to sort out my fears and see if they were justified. I had a feeling that it was as Clark had said, and I had no idea of the full extent of what I was getting into. But nothing had happened to make me worry so extensively, yet.
Well, aside from the secretive invitation, the secretive drive that could only be taught through word of mouth, the non-disclosure agreement, the meeting room near the center of the earth, and the man wearing sunglasses who was the ring-leader of that political circus.
“Now,” Mr. Christenson continued, still fiddling with the object in his hand. I saw a glint of gold as he dropped the object, the chain wound around his fingers. The pocket watch hung just below his fist as he wrapped it around his fingers absent-mindedly, starting toward the side of the stage. “Everyone is very curious about your present, so I will ask my men to bring it out now.”
The double doors to the side of the stage opened and a very large, cloth-covered box was rolled onto the stage. The four men pulling the box up the ramp to the stage strained as they pushed and pulled, but they finally rolled it to the center of the creaking stage. Mrs. Markus moved away and one man removed the podium to make room for the box that was larger than the men bringing it on stage.
There was an excited murmur around the room. No one seemed surprised by the size, but they were all curious what was behind the cloth. I had to admit, I was, too. I was very nervous and frightened, but undeniably curious.
“Thank you.” Mr. Christenson nodded to the men who had brought the crate. They bowed their heads and stood to the side of the gift while Mr. Christenson turned to look over the room, finally focusing on our table.
“I know that everyone is very curious about this gift and, I must say, I am a little reluctant to part with this one,” he said, his tone turning sad, but it sounded more like a child’s voice than that of a grown man.
“That means that he thinks you’re something special,” Mr. Lloyd whispered to us with a smile and a thumbs-up.
“Because this is a very special gift, it will require some upkeep and maintenance, but I will be sure to provide that for you and pay all necessary expenses. However, if it becomes too much for you to handle, I will be willing to negotiate an exchange.”
He looked back at the cloth-covered box.
“However, I think that you will really enjoy this,” he said, his lips barely quirking upward in a smile. I could feel his eyes settle on me as his voice washed over my ears. I stiffened. It was as if he was speaking directly to me—as if the gift was for me.
“Is the suspense killing you, yet?” Mr. Christenson asked the whole room with a mischievous grin. “Before I reveal it, I must say to the rest of you, I don’t want to hear any complaining about having never heard of this before. It was a one-time test and we happened to be fortunate. It is not something we will be trying again, so no one gripe. I won’t listen to any whining.”
Mr. Christenson turned to the gift once more and then nodded to the guards.
The four of them grabbed the cloth and pulled it sharply.
I could not believe my eyes.
The box that had been covered was not a box at all, but a large iron cage, like the ones used to transport large animals. But there was not a lion in the enclosure. Instead, there was a boy. He appeared to be about my age with stunning blonde hair that fell in a wavy disarray about his head and over his eyes. But even through his hair and at our distance, the amazing color of his piercing blue eyes was still visible. He did not have a shirt, revealing strong muscles in his shoulders, chest, and arms, though his abdomen was less-defined. He had a drape of white feathers behind him and was wearing simple white pants without shoes.
I was dumbstruck. The others in the room gasped and gawked over the gift, impressed and not at all horrified by the fact that Mr. Christenson’s gift to my family was another human being. I finally managed to look to my parents, but they were staring, just as horrified.
“This is a very generous gift,” Mr. Lloyd hissed urgently, leaning over to my father. “Thank him!”
“This…is an incredible gift, Mr. Christenson,” my father said, stumbling over his words, forcing his stunned brain to form the sentence.
“I know.” Mr. Christenson smiled darkly, turning to the cage. “Well, go on. Show them,” he urged the teenage boy.
The boy turned his head to Mr. Christenson, his eyes bright with anger.
The feather drape behind him shifted. I quickly realized—much to my morbid fascination—that it was not a drape at all, but the feathers adorned two extremely large, white wings. The size of the wings explained the massive cage as he lifted them and spread them as far as he could in the confined space.
My mother gasped, but her eyes had changed to show her wonder at the sight. My father was also impressed. I would have been lying if I said I was not also awed by the sight. He looked just like an angel, magnificent and powerful, his sharp eyes softened by other gentle features, making him not only powerful, but also beautiful, as there was still a touch of innocence to his young face.
“I am sure you have questions about him and where he came from, but those are questions that can be answered after the meeting, and in private. For now, he will be kept to the side of the room so that everyone can marvel at him because he is quite the specimen,” the leader of the Commission of the People instructed.
Mr. Christenson nodded to his guards and they, once again, moved the cage, placing the angel against the wall for everyone to see.
“We will discuss him after the meeting,” Mr. Christenson assured us. “Now,” he nodded to Danielle Markus, “we can start the actual meeting.”
Mrs. Markus, who had been standing quietly to the side, smiled at Mr. Christenson. She stepped back up to the podium, which was also being returned to its rightful place.
“Alright, everyone, try to focus. I know that Mr. Christenson’s gift will be distracting, but let’s do our best to get through the meeting efficiently,” she said. “If you will all open your computers and insert the USBs, we will begin.”
I opened my computer absent-mindedly and the screen immediately came to life. Very shortly after inserting the drive, a program launched itself, showing a quick opening sequence for the Commission of the People before settling on a pie graph.
I blinked stupidly, not sure how I was supposed to understand what the numbers meant. I looked at my mother and father, but they were both studying the graph with some level of understanding. I turned back, reading the numbers and realizing that it had something to do with the population distribution in the regions and how those people were represented in Central.
“Clark!” a voice snapped loudly. Many people jumped, startled. I turned to see Clark’s head whirl to look at Mr. Christenson. “Come here,” Mr. Christenson ordered, sounding angry, even though his voice was quiet. Clark stood nervously. Most in the Commission turned their attention back to their computers, ignoring the teenage boy approaching the leader of the Commission. I continued watching Clark as he fidgeted, his eyes on the ground as he stood in front of Mr. Christenson.
Mr. Christenson spoke quietly, his shaded eyes making Clark even more nervous. The younger man nodded silently. Mr. Christenson took Clark’s chin and forced him to look up. He held him still, even as the younger man tried to retreat, eventually turning only his eyes away.
He nodded again and Mr. Christenson released him.
Clark hurried back to his seat. When he was nearly at his table, I looked at Mr. Christenson, who was staring right at me.
My blood halted in my veins. I felt the power of his eyes even from behind the glasses. He held my gaze, hypnotizing me, making it impossible to turn away.
I noticed nothing else.
It was only
him.
I felt the instinct to run. There was something else behind the frightening façade of the Commission of the People. What sort of gift was another person, regardless of that person having wings—particularly in the current day? And, for that matter, why was everyone okay with it? What was it about Dana Christenson that had everyone eager to accept what he was doing even when it went against everything we believed about human rights?
Mr. Christenson seemed to see the process of my thoughts because he smiled and the action sent fear through me so quickly, I knew I had to get away from him as soon as possible.
The sudden appearance of Clark at my side broke me out of my staring contest with Mr. Christenson. I jumped and turned to him when he started speaking. “Relax,” Clark said with a weak smile. “I’ve just been sent over here to be sure you understand what we’re talking about.”
“Oh, t-thanks,” I stuttered.
Mrs. Markus continued talking from the podium, her enhanced voice still not loud enough to break through my clouded thoughts.
Even though Clark had broken me out of my trance, I could still feel Mr. Christenson’s eyes on me. I looked at Mrs. Markus, who was explaining something about the graph, and braced myself to glance at Mr. Christenson, trying to make the action look casual, though I dared not to look for long, worried about being trapped by his power once again.
I spared a quick glance. He was still looking straight at me.
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to slow my breathing.
“Just focus on the screen.” Clark advised under his breath, clearly understanding my anxiety. “Don’t look at him.”
I heeded the advice, trying to focus on what Danielle Markus was saying at the head of the room or what Clark was saying beside me while my eyes remained locked on the screen, but I could still feel Mr. Christenson’s gaze. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose to keep myself from screaming for a reason I could not comprehend. I thought about his eyes, the angel in the cage, and the overwhelming panic that was overpowering all of my senses.
Mrs. Markus kept on talking and Mr. Christenson kept on staring.
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