Inside

by Kyra Anderson

  “So…Mykail is not one of these…Machines of…”

  “Neutralization. No,” Dana finished my sentence. “He was just for fun. He came out far too human for this particular project.” Dana looked back to Eyna. “Eyna is the first one who has not been lost after the second part of the procedure. He seems to have retained basic motor skills as the DNA has been linked to his. The only side effect we had is that all of his body hair has fallen off, except for this, his eyebrows, and some downy, blonde hair…” Dana ran his hand over the young man’s hair. “We’re checking his blood and other DNA factors to see how he differs from the others who were unable to move past this stage.” He turned to the scientists. “Is that what you’re doing now?” he asked Kyle.

  “Yes, sir,” the man confirmed. “And giving him some supplements for his immune system, which seems to be slightly weakened, but not drastically so.”

  “Beautiful,” Dana complimented.

  “Does…Leader Simon know about all this?” I asked, feeling surprisingly brave. “Do you tell him about all this?”

  “Weekly.”

  “Do you tell him the truth?”

  Dana chuckled.

  “That’s a smart girl you’ve got there,” he said, glancing briefly at my parents. “As a matter of fact, Little Lily, Leader Simon is a regular visitor to this area of the Commission to watch the process himself.” He looked at the others of my family. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

  My mother found her tongue again.

  “No,” she said rapidly. “No, no.”

  “Oh, there is no need to be nervous,” Dana assured, looking down at Eyna. “He’s harmless right now.”

  “Oh…yes, I’m sure…” my mother agreed, her voice shaking. “Forgive me, Mr. Christe—Dana. I am simply tired.”

  “My apologies,” Dana said. “It is rather late. I shall walk you back to the main room. You can make it back to the lobby from there, correct?”

  My mother turned, eager to escape as fast as possible. I followed everyone, being the furthest from the door. Dana came up behind me and his hand gently brushed through my hair, causing me to freeze.

  “I just want to see if it’s as soft as it looks,” he whispered. As we walked through the door out of the lab, he leaned down to my ear. “You are far more beautiful than in the pictures I have,” he hissed. “It will be a pleasure getting better acquainted with you.”

  There was not only a feeling to his voice that made everything in my body go on alert, but there was a promise in the words that told me he would get to know me better by any means necessary.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The car ride home from the Commission meeting had been silent. None of us spoke, too overwhelmed to form any coherent thought, let alone maintain conversation.

  I got into bed without thinking, not even noticing my actions until I was under the covers with the lights off, staring at the ceiling numbly. My brain, overloaded with terrifying images and upsetting realizations, had stopped functioning.

  I was unsure if I slept at all, but when the numbers on my clock read ten in the morning, I decided to get out of bed and read the assigned chapters of J.A.N.E. I read slower than normal, having difficulty comprehending everything, needing to move my eyes over each sentence at least three times before I actually read it—even then, I was sure I had not retained any of the information.

  When I made my way to the kitchen to silence my belly, I heard heated arguing downstairs. In a strange way, the sounds eased me as I took comfort in realizing that my parents were also upset over the previous night.

  I descended the stairs, listening to them.

  “What do you want me to do, Karen?” my father snapped. “We signed the damn contract. Leader Simon knows what the Commission does. We have no one we can report this to!”

  “Damn it, Thomas, they are taking humans and turning them into…God only knows what!” My mother’s voice was strained.

  “The people the Commission collects are criminals,” my father growled. “The Commission was created to get rid of these people, that’s why it exists!”

  “And no one seems to care where they’re taking these people and what they’re doing to them. The people would start a new war if they heard about last night.”

  “Exactly,” my father said strongly. “If keeping quiet and accepting our role is going to keep the peace, so be it.”

  I stepped slowly across the living room carpet as a heavy silence took over the argument.

  “What?” my father finally growled.

  “You’re going to go along with this?” my mother hissed.

  “We don’t have a choice, Karen!”

  “Dana gave us a boy with goddamn wings!” my mom cried. “And you’re going to act as though this is normal?”

  “Apparently, it is normal for the Commission!” my father burst. “We are bound to the Commission by contract and you know we cannot get out. We’re stuck! The first thing we need to do is accept that there is no other alternative.”

  My parents finally caught sight of me when I stopped in the archway into the kitchen. They shared a worried look and then turned back to me.

  “Come here, hun,” my father said quietly. He hugged me tightly. I needed the hug. I closed my eyes and tightened my grip around him, refusing to let go. “How are you holding up?” he asked, rubbing my back.

  “…okay…” I said slowly, though it was still too early to tell how I was faring.

  “I’m going to make some lunch, Lily. Are you hungry?” my mother asked mechanically.

  “Yes.”

  I helped my mother make simple sandwiches and we ate at the smaller table in the kitchen. At first, the meal was silent, but half-way through his sandwich—we were all eating slower than usual—my father sighed heavily.

  “I know we’re shaken up,” he started. “But we need to gather ourselves and accept the things that happen in the Commission.”

  “That’s going to be tough, Dad.”

  “I know. I know…”

  None of us knew what to say. There was the same tension around the table, all of us desperately trying to figure a way out of the Commission even knowing that we were trapped for life. My father stood and looked at both of us, tears gathering in his guilt-filled eyes.

  “I’m so sorry about this…” he whispered in a choked voice.

  Seeing my normally-strong father on the verge of crying brought the tears immediately to my own eyes.

  * *** *

  I went to school in a daze on Monday. As Clark had predicted, my friends treated me differently, but none treated me more bizarrely than Becca. When I walked to Jill’s locker, as I had done every morning since the second day of school, Becca stiffened and looked around nervously.

  “What?” Jill asked, seeing the reaction.

  “I just remembered…I need to go talk to Mr. Peters,” Becca said hurriedly, gathering her backpack. “I’ll see you in class!” she called over her shoulder as she half-ran down the crowded hallway.

  Jill and I looked at one another, confused. I thought maybe she did need to speak with Mr. Peters, so I shook off the behavior. However, Becca avoided talking to me during class, avoided sitting next to me at lunch, and I made it clear that she did not want to be anywhere near me. What I did not understand was why she had always seemed so kind and accepting of Clark, another Commish Kid, but she could not act that way toward me.

  In a way, I didn’t care what they thought of me as a Commish Kid—at least for that day. I had seen things that they could never begin to comprehend and learned national secrets that would cause them to run screaming. I was entitled to a day of numbness.

  What made the day far worse was my inability to stop thinking about him. Dana’s eyes haunted me whenever I closed my eyes, whenever I blinked. That cold, powerful gaze was always watching me, which made me very distracted and jumpy.

  For that first week after my family’s induction, everything reminded me of the Commission. Pi
ctures of the carnage from the Second Revolution reminded me of the creatures in the bowels of the Commission. The loud, sudden laughter of students in the hall reminded me of the echoing scream from the lab…

  I was trapped in constant horrific flashbacks of that night.

  That was why, on Wednesday, when I came home and there were strangers in the bedroom next to mine, I screamed, nearly jumping out of my skin. The construction workers creating Mykail’s cage stared at me in surprise, and then went back to work, trying not to stare after me in confusion and concern. I put a hand over my pounding heart and went to my room, slamming the door and crying on my bed, feeling as though I had just walked through a battlefield.

  I was drowning in my own life. All I thought about day and night was what I had seen at the Commission and Dana’s incredibly powerful eyes. I was plagued by the Commission, and the calm, playful, deep voice of its leader was always looming behind me. I was unable to escape even in my own home.

  I was living in a constant state of fear.

  I had to take a short nap after my breakdown in a pathetic attempt to get rid of my headache. Once I woke, I did my homework and started drawing in an attempt to calm down. My drawings had changed and I became obsessed with drawing one picture of an angel soaring over the clouds in battered armor, holding a flag high into the air. I needed to see that beautiful creature I had encountered that night out of the cage. It gave me hope that, someday, I could get out of my own cage—the Commission of the People.

  The workers left the house just before dinner and I wandered into the room to see what they had accomplished. They had created holes above the doorways and around the window frame, where I assumed the bars would go. I shivered and left the empty room quickly, disturbed by the thought of bars around the room.

  For the next few days, I tried not to feel time passing, which only made me hypersensitive to how quickly the week was progressing. It still felt unreal that we would soon have another member in the household—one that was an experimental weapon from the Commission of the People. What worried me most was not the fact that we were getting a human who had been experimented on and made into an angel, but that Dana Christenson would be coming to our house to deliver him in person. The man felt too dangerous to be let into our home.

  I was hesitant to go to Archangel that Friday, since my friends had been avoiding me and I had passed the week in an adrenaline-muddled haze. I was sure the noises of the club would be too much to handle.

  Taylor turned to me Friday at lunch and smiled.

  “So, same time to pick you up?” she asked. I blinked, surprised that she brought up the subject at all.

  “Um…yeah, that would be great,” I said before I could think of a better answer.

  “Are you going to hang out with us at all?” Jill asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Um…only until Clark shows up,” I told them honestly. “Then we need to go up to the balcony, I think.”

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” Taylor pressed, her eyes dropping to the floor for a moment as she gathered her courage. “This whole funk you’ve been in this week, does it have anything to do with the Commission?”

  I did not know how to answer. I stared at the three sets of inquisitive eyes for several long moments before taking a deep breath.

  “Well, you know I didn’t want this to happen.” I smiled weakly. “I just…I’m just depressed, that’s all.”

  “Is it as horrible as we all think it is?” Jill teased.

  My eyes went wide and I had to take a deep breath to calm down, pushing away the images of the horror I had seen, terrified at how quickly the memories overwhelmed me. When my friends saw the look, they all stopped, their eyes growing worried—except for Becca. She looked frightened. I was too shaken up to put much thought to her strange reactions, but I did take note of it.

  The three girls did not speak to me for the rest of lunch, probably because I could not hold a conversation, unable to completely push away the memories of the previous Saturday. The day was monotonous, moving around me, speeding toward the looming night at Archangel.

  When I got home, my mother was there.

  “Mom?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you were working with Dad today.”

  “No, he’s working with Mrs. Davis. They’re pitching their idea in front of Leader today.” She turned to me and sighed, forcing a smile. “How are you?”

  “…it’s been a rough week.”

  “I can imagine,” my mother agreed. She leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at me seriously. “I spoke with some of the others in the Commission about Mykail and their own gifts. They all seem very at ease. They say that the awkwardness passes after a few days.”

  “That’s not much of a comfort.”

  “Maybe your father’s right…” my mother whispered, her eyes turning to the floor. “It’s our only option to accept everything that the Commission does…maybe it really will become normal for us. Why shouldn’t it? Especially if it seems like most everyone felt the same way at first.”

  “We’re not most people, Mom.”

  “We need to adapt, Lily,” my mother insisted. “I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that happened Saturday…and I think that we might have to make an effort at first, but the Commission is not to be trifled with. Going against it would be suicidal.”

  “I know…”

  “Well, we’ll see how it is living with Mykail in the house and then we can discuss this further,” my mother decided. She turned back around and dried off the counter. “Are you going to Archangel tonight?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Alright, let me know if you need any help getting ready,” she told me, though her tone was distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

  I retreated upstairs, feeling surprisingly angry with my mother. She wanted to adapt to the Commission. The thought of pretending to be alright with the testing and torture that the Commission put their subjects through made me sick.

  I got ready for the club and, as usual, my friends picked me up, though we did not exchange many words during the drive. Everyone in the car, including me, felt awkward.

  I had only been to Archangel five times and already everything was changing drastically. The loud music and bright flashing lights of the club disoriented me further, and I was eager for Clark to show up so that I could go to the less-crowded balcony—I was too frightened to go up there alone.

  When he arrived, we said quick hellos and I stood when he nodded once to me.

  “I’ll, uh, see you later…” I told the others clumsily.

  “Okay,” they chorused back. Becca said nothing. I made a mental note to talk to her when I had my bearings again.

  Clark and I went up the steps to the balcony and, immediately, the Commish Kids enclosed around us.

  “Well, well, well,” one of the boys—his name was Frank, I think—said. “If it isn’t the new favorite.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t act all innocent,” a girl I did not know growled, stepping to Frank’s side. “Everyone knows that Mr. Christenson favors your family.”

  “Just because of the gift?”

  “Just ignore them,” Clark said, his demeanor changing and his eyes hardening. “After all, what was it that your family got, Gabrielle? Some kind of pretty boy your father immediately became far too attached to?”

  “Shut up, Clark,” she warned.

  “Oh, you’re here,” a voice said behind me. Whirling around I came face-to-face with Melissa. I recalled seeing her briefly at the meeting, but I had been so focused on Dana watching me through the whole evening that I had not paid much attention to her or any of the other Commish Kids surrounding me.

  “Melissa,” Clark greeted.

  “You all need to back off of her,” Melissa snarled at the gathering group.

  “Why? Because she’s a favorite?” another boy challenged.

  “No,” Melissa contradicted. “Because she’s more than a favorite
.”

  I turned to Melissa, confused, waiting to see if she would explain. She did not. In the silence, I looked at the rest of the Commish Kids. They were staring at me with wide eyes and nervous glances, hesitantly slinking away to the various shadows of the balcony. I looked at Clark, whose eyes were on his feet, as though ashamed that I had found out that I was “more than a favorite,” whatever that meant.

  “Clark?” I asked, my voice choked.

  “We’ll talk over here,” he said, motioning to one of the secluded corners at the back of the balcony. I walked shakily to the appointed area and Clark followed, sitting next to me on the couch, though I had turned to face him fully. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asked out of courtesy.

  “No.”

  “How are you holding up after Saturday?”

  “Horribly.”

  “Yeah…you had one hell of an induction. Most people don’t get that far into the back on their first day,” he said sympathetically. “And I think you are the first to see Eyna outside of Dana and his advisors.”

  “Clark, please,” I pressed, my voice cracking. “You said you would talk to me more once I had seen what goes on in the Commission. Now, I wish I could unsee everything.” I leaned forward. “What did Melissa mean that I was more than a favorite?”

  “It means…that you’re like me,” he whispered, forcing me to strain to hear him over the thrumming of the music.

  “How am I like you?”

  “You’re of interest to Dana,” Clark elaborated. “And now everyone understands why you’ve been assigned to me.”

  “Who else is more than a favorite?” I asked, turning over my shoulder to scan the others on the balcony. Whenever a Commish Kid arrived that night, one of the others would lean in and whisper something before pointing in our direction. I could only assume they were spreading the news that I was “more than a favorite” to Dana.

  “No one,” Clark answered. “For a while, it was just me. And then you showed up…”

  “Are you…upset about that?” I pressed, hearing the strain in his voice.