In one blow, that dream died as they dragged me—him—away.
A tear slid down my cheek. I wasn't the only one mourning
the loss of a dream.
"I'm sorry."
'You're not alone, I just wanted you to know that. And
someday, when I have my powers back and am free, I'm going to do some serious
damage to the people who've hurt you.'
His words released in me a primal urge to feel safe and
protected, to belong to someone in a more intimate way than I'd ever
experienced before. Still, in that moment he was just a voice, and I had to do
this on my own.
I opened the door and stepped in. Raw pain filled me at the
sight of my painting.
'Show me what it looked like, before the fire.'
His request surprised me, but I did as he asked. With eyes
closed, I projected the exact details of the painting I had poured my soul
into. Just as I had experienced his love of surfing in a visceral way, he
shared not just the visual beauty of my work, but the love and passion with
which I had dedicated myself to it.
'Thank you. Now, it will never truly be gone.'
I choked back a sob and went to Mr. K's office. I pulled my
sketchbook out of my book bag and ran my hand over the cover with the gold
emblem, then opened it to the sketch I'd drawn from his mind the last time I'd
seen him.
The box had been important. It had to be here somewhere.
I searched his desk, his cubby and his metal filing cabinet,
but found nothing of note. His office had survived the fire with less damage
than the studio, but it didn't reveal any secrets that would help. Frustrated,
I fell into his chair and put my head on his metal desk. That's when I noticed
the painting on the wall. It had been moved and hung slightly askew.
No way. That was too clichéd even for Mr. K. But... what if?
I went over and moved aside the painting. Sure enough, he
had a safe.
Now what? What combination of numbers would be most
important to Mr. K? I thought back to all the times I'd read his mind for
assignments. Piece by piece, I recalled numbers that stood out. 4-15-70, the
date he'd lost his wife and child in a freak accident.
The safe clicked open and inside sat my box.
I ran my hands over the delicate detail of the carving; he'd
done the work himself. Grief threatened to overcome me. I missed him so much.
No one had ever understood me or my passions the way he had.
The box didn't open on the first try. It had been locked,
but I couldn't find a spot for the key. The box didn't have a keyhole, but an
emblem—fit to complement the one on my journal—adorned its front.
Using a metal letter opener from the desk, I pried the
emblem off my sketchbook and inserted it into the emblem on the box. With a
firm twist, it opened. I held my breath in anticipation of what I would find.
Nothing. The box was empty.
I turned it upside down, as if gravity would magically spill
the secrets I'd hoped it would contain, but of course, nothing fell out.
Crushed, I couldn't contain the tears anymore. Sobs tore
through me and I unleashed all my rage and fear and grief. I nearly threw the
box across the room, but stopped myself in time. Mr. K had made this; it was
all I had left of him.
"What am I going to do, Drake? I can't live with the
loss of both Mr. K and my art."
'We'll find a way, Sam. I promise. Have you checked for
any secret compartments in the box? When I lived in foster care I had to hide
things important to me, and that's how I did it.'
Excitement overcame me and I looked on the box with new
eyes. The inside didn't seem as deep as it should have been. Using the same
letter opener, I loosened the bottom on all sides until it popped off.
A letter lay in the compartment, and it had my name written
on it in a familiar scrawl.
~~~
Sam,
If you're reading this, I'm gone. Please know I would
never leave you here alone, which means I didn't leave voluntarily. There are
deep secrets at this school, and I've only scratched the surface. One of my
students disappeared after she left. She's not where Higgins said she'd be. I
fear a worse fate for you. Get out, Sam. However you can, get out. Someday, if
I'm still alive, I'll find you.
You were the best of them all.
Mr. K
P.S. I made this box for you. Keep your own secrets in
it.
~~~
What had Mr. K discovered that scared him so much, and what
did they do to him?
"Drake, did you see?"
'Yes. Do you believe me now? They kidnapped me, Sam. They
didn't save me from
shit
!'
"I don't know. Yes. Maybe. It's all so much. I wish
I knew what to do. I wish Mr. K was still here."
Luke and Lucy needed to see this. I put the letter back and
sealed it, then slipped the box into my bag.
I left Mr. K's office and walked right into Headmaster
Higgins.
"Sam, what are you doing here?"
"I came to see if any of my art survived. The first
time, I was too upset."
His face softened. "Of course. Actually, I'm glad I ran
into you. The clinic is looking for you. It's time for your vitamin shot and
checkup."
"Right now?" I had a standing appointment every
three months for that, and this was odd timing.
"Yes, they've revamped the vitamin cocktail, and we
need to make sure all the students get it. There's been a nasty flu going
around and it'll help keep you healthy."
'Need everyone healthy. Healthy and happy.'
"Okay, I'll head there right now."
"Great. Oh, and did you find anything?"
"Not really. Everything's pretty much destroyed."
"I'm sorry, Sam. I really am."
"Me too."
I left before he could question me more, and headed to the
clinic.
'Don't let them give you any drugs, Sam. Vitamins my
ass.'
"I don't have a choice. There's nothing I can do
about it."
He sighed mentally but didn't say anything more about it.
As I approached the clinic, Luke and Lucy walked past me.
"Hey, where are you two going?"
They both smiled with glazed expressions that contained no
hint of personality. "Just back to our room. See you around," Lucy
said.
I couldn't hide my exasperation. What was going on?
"Wait, what did you find out?"
Luke slugged my shoulder. "Oh, Sam, you worry too much.
Everything's fine. They're waiting for you in there, and we have to go."
They walked away and left me stunned.
'Your friends have been compromised.'
"They're like pod people. I'm scared, Drake."
'Me too.'
But what could I do? I couldn't hide or escape, so I walked
into the clinic and spied on every mind I could find, fighting a mounting
headache the whole time.
***
My trepidation mounted when the doctor with the gold tooth
walked into my room. "Hello, Sam." He flipped through a chart.
"Looks like it's time for your vitamin dose. This is an enhanced version
and will give you added health benefits as well as strengthen your powers."
"Who are you?"
"You are a direct young lady, aren't you? I'm Dr. Pana.
I created this new serum and am overseeing the distribution of it."
'Sam, that's the doctor who treated me.'
"I know."
"Please hold out your arm and lie back. You might get
dizzy or even fall asleep for a time. That's completely normal."
'Sam, don't! Please.'
"I have no choice."
My arm shook, but I offered it to him like a sacrificial
lamb. For all my newfound courage, I still just let myself be pushed around.
I'd never had any real power over my own life, and I realized I never would.
"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second."
The prick came, and my body filled with a warm glow as I
slid into oblivion.
Drake's voice touched at the edges of my consciousness. I
reached for him, but he slipped farther and farther away, until he was gone and
I was alone.
***
The little boy sits on the bed once again and waits. When
New Daddy gets home, he's going to be ready for him this time.
New Mommy gets older every day and her skin wrinkles and
sinks into itself in a yellowish muck. Drake won't hurt New Mommy, even if she
does let New Daddy beat him.
New Mommy hurts herself enough for them both.
But New Daddy, he won't be allowed to do this anymore.
The door slams open and the little boy waits, quiet as a
dead mouse.
Then New Daddy is standing over him, a gun in his hand.
The blow lands before Drake can move, but Drake's been
practicing.
He pushes New Daddy's weak mind. He pushes harder and
harder—with each bashing from the pistol, he pushes.
This beating hurts more than the rest. The metal from the
gun breaks open his skin and bone. He might not heal from this, but he doesn't
care as long as New Daddy doesn't either.
As Drake fades into darkness, as he becomes truly as
quiet as a dead mouse—as a dead boy—he pushes one last time.
He hears the gunshot and feels New Daddy's brain and
blood hit his face.
New Daddy shot himself.
***
The nightmare woke me from my drugged stupor. A deep ache
built in my womb and pulsed through me. I calculated my cycle, but no, I still
had a few weeks for that. Still the cramps burned inside me, as did the memory
of that dream.
Of Drake's dream.
Drake's memories.
My breath hitched at the realization that all of my
nightmares recently had been his. This was his childhood—his inner child, not
mine.
I cried for him and called out to him in my mind.
'I'm here. Are you okay?'
"Are you? I saw, Drake. I saw what happened to
you."
He grew quiet and I feared he'd left.
'Do you hate me?'
"What? Why would I? You were a child trying to
protect yourself. But what happened after your foster father killed
himself?"
'I was in a coma for a week. Once I recovered, the
orphanage took me back, and my foster mother was put on trial for abuse and
negligence. I spent the next several years in and out of foster families until
I finally ran away and moved in with my best friend Brad.'
My mind tumbled around as it tried to process what kind of
life Drake must've had.
'How do you feel? You don't seem as drugged as your
friends.'
"I don't feel that different. A little loopy and
very achy."
I placed my hand on my abdomen. Sharp pain shot through me
every few minutes. Maybe I had the flu. I did feel flushed. It could also be a
side effect of this new "cocktail" they'd given me.
When Dr. Pana came into my room, I did my best impression of
how Luke and Lucy had acted, and the doctor released me with instructions to
rest for the remainder of the day.
If only a nice nap could have solved all my problems. I had
to find a way to save my friends.
"Luke, Lucy, open up!" I rapped on their door
again and tried the knob, as if it would magically unlock for me.
They'd never locked me out before.
Fear pricked my chest. I scanned for their mental signatures
and reeled back in shock. Their minds had a weight and sluggishness to them
that I'd never felt before.
My voice hitched with unshed tears. "Open up,
please!"
Luke finally came to the door, and I hugged him hard.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Don't know. Feel weird. Tired. Maybe we caught that
flu."
I pushed my way in and felt his forehead. "You don't
have a fever. Where's Lucy?"
"In bed sleeping."
I peeked in on her and then curled up on their couch.
"Can I stay the night?"
Luke shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'm going to
bed."
I wrapped myself in the throw blanket and reached out to
Drake.
'I'm here.'
"I can't sleep."
'Neither can I. I'll stay up with you.'
And he did. When the sun came up, I finally fell asleep to
the sound of his voice as he described Venice Beach.
The next morning, Luke and Lucy seemed less affected, but I
woke up with a fever.
When I fell over while trying to stand, Luke picked me up
and carried me back to the clinic. My weak protests did nothing to stop him.
"You're sick, Sam. Really sick. Like, 103-degree fever
sick. You're going to the doctor."
I wanted to say, "The doctor that made me sick."
Instead, I said something like, "Gumma mum ack," then threw up on
Luke's chest and passed out.
***
I woke up groggy and in the Clinic. My head screamed at me
to chop it off and put it out of its misery. My body clearly had been weighted
down with lead.
"Good morning, sunshine." Dr. Sato, all five feet
and ninety pounds of her, leaned in close.
Relief poured through me. Better her than Dr. Pana.
"How long was I out? What happened to me?" My voice cracked, making
me sound like a shipwreck survivor. I tried to lift my head. Bad idea.
Sorry
head.
"You get sick on boyfriend. He bring you here. You been
unconscious. High fever."
"He's not my boyfriend." Mistrust tickled the back
of my brain, and I instinctively reached for her mind to fill in the missing
pieces of the story.
I'd been studying her dialect for weeks, but still hadn't
learned enough to make sense of her thoughts.
A spasm in my abdomen wrenched me from her mind. I rested a
hand on my stomach and tried to breathe.
"Are you all right? You hurting?"
"Just cramping. What am I sick with?"