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 and 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.
Even if just to myself.
Over the next few weeks, dizziness and nausea thwarted my
plans to help Drake or learn anything new. My illness forced me to leave class
twice to go to the Clinic. This continued despite the fact that my face had
healed well, and the flu shouldn't last that long.
With my eighteenth birthday days away, I still hadn't heard
from Higgins about my next assignment. This would be my last chance to get off
campus and get us some help.
In addition to losing all excitement for my future, my
concern for Drake buzzed in my mind like a pestering bee. As his strength faded
by the day, he became more and more ill.
'Sam!'
My history professor enlightened us about some war or
another. I pretended to pay attention while listening to Drake.
'I heard the nurses talking. They're moving me, but I
don't know where.'
My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to stay calm
and keep up appearances.
"I don't know what to do. I haven't figured
out anything."
'They're coming in. Sam!'
"Drake! Drake!"
Nothing.
I ran out of the classroom, startling everyone next to me,
and headed to the nearest bathroom.
"Drake. Drake!"
He didn't answer. They'd probably drugged him unconscious.
I fought in vain to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks.
The bathroom door opened and Lucy walked in. I splashed water on my face to
wipe away any evidence, and dried off, hands still shaking, heart still racing.
"Sam, are you okay?"
The flood gates opened again, and I told Lucy everything.
"Oh, Chica, I'm so sorry. We'll sort it out." She
held me as I cried into her shoulder.
Then my stomach rumbled, and I threw myself at the nearest
stall, just barely making it to the toilet before practically puking up my
intestines.
"Is she okay?"
Great, Luke was there too. Sometimes his ability to walk
through walls unnerved everyone around him. The heaving stopped. I wiped my
mouth with toilet paper and stood up slowly.
Lucy protested. "Luke, this is the girl's room, you're
not allowed in here! Just... never mind. Help her."
"Sam, no arguments." He put a little extra thunder
in his voice. "I'm taking you to the Clinic, again. You know, I should
start charging you a service fee as a personal escort."
Lucy scowled at him. "Luke, grow up."
I stumbled out to the sink and rinsed my face and mouth. The
sight of my skin, like paste dotted in beads of sweat, made me feel even worse.
***
They escorted me through the halls. Luke kept a hand on my
shoulder, in case I got a bit too wobbly.
Lucy said, "I already told Mr. Vecarali that I'd make
sure you got to the Clinic. He gave us all passes."
On the way there, Lucy filled Luke in on what had happened
to Drake.
"While we're in there, Sam, try to ferret anything you
can from the staff's minds. Lucy, you ask some questions, see if anyone is
lying. Sam said Missy knew something, so ask her. I'll see if I can discreetly
slip through a few locked doors and find anything."
The twins left me in the care of Dr. Sato and went to do
their spying. I tried to make contact with Drake but still couldn't reach him.
What if they'd already moved him somewhere too far away? What if they'd hurt
him? And as always, my mind kept coming back to the same questions. Why? Why
bring him in now? They couldn't rent him out, because he was a loose cannon—but
he wasn't a true danger. So what use did they have for him?
And what would they do to me when I turned eighteen? These
days, my grief over my art had been replaced by fear for my life. What a change
a few months could make.
I clutched my stomach as another spasm rode me. Dr. Sato
rushed to my side and led me to a bed. While she helped me change into a
hospital gown, I tried to scan her thoughts.
My language skills had improved enough that the dialect
wasn't too hard to understand now. Still, people usually don't think in
coherent sentences, which made context very important.
'She's sick... hope baby okay... color... yellow... the
boy is trouble... but strong powers... their baby is good... fear... I
want....'