Chapter 5: The Executive Board_The Scarlet Jane Files

I doze fitfully on this cold and unfortunate night. Garbed in an T-shirt two sizes too big and a pair of sweats that appear to have seen better days, I toss and turn for most of the early hours of the morning, during which time I think of my mother, the monster that had slain her. Each time I close my eyes, I see her torn body, its grisly visage; and though try as I might to block it out, I cannot.

 When dawn begins to creep through the window behind me—and when bright, orange sunlight draws me from the depths of a defeated slumber a few hours later—I open my eyes.

 I’ve barely slept a wink.

 Yet it doesn’t matter. The bedside clock shows that it’s almost eight thirty in the morning, and though I have no idea when Shadow will arrive, the knowledge that he will soon come is enough to spur me from bed and into the shower in record time.

 The moment I step out, and the second I turn to look at my reflection in the mirror, is the moment I wish I hadn’t.

 My bloodshot eyes, the bags beneath them, and my tired features and weary expression all confirm what I wish it hadn’t.

 I needed to rest.

 Yet I cannot—because within a matter of an hour, maybe less, a man named Shadow will come to deliver me to a group of people known as the executive board, who will then decide my fate.

 My fate, I think, struggling to hold it together as tears once again bud in my eyes.

 I can’t help but think of everything that could have happened last night, everything that did. I shouldn’t have gone to the basketball game. I should’ve played sick. I should’ve, when I’d told my mother that I was nervous, copped out of the game altogether. But she’d told me that it was important—that it could potentially benefit my future—and I’d gone ahead with it, all because I knew she was right.

 I was destined for greatness. I’ve known that for a while—at least, I have for the past few years. As a straight-A student, and an athletic one on top of it, my teachers had reasserted the claim time and time again that I was bound for success. College, they’d told me, would take me far. I’d have a good job, a dazzling career, potentially even a full ride through school. I could’ve done absolutely anything I wanted.

 But here, though, and now, I realize that I was in the presence of something disastrous—something that could easily change my life eternally.

 Wiped memories—

 An altered past—

 A future not set in stone—

 My life, my love for my mother, and her savage, brutal killing, could all be erased in a moment.

 I have to convince them that I can do this, I tell myself, balling my hands into fists as I gaze at my reflection. I have to convince them that I can kill the monster that killed my mother.

 I know nothing of what this place is, what their procedures dictate, or how they operate, especially with people like me. All I know, as I stand here, before this bathroom mirror, is that I want only one thing:

 Revenge.

 And by God, I will do anything for it.

 “Even if I die trying,” I whisper and close my eyes.

 A knock comes at the door.

 “Miss Brown?” Shadow’s familiar voice asks. “Are you awake?”

 “I’m coming!” I call.

 I scramble into clothes, press my feet into shoes, and prepare myself for what is to come by taking a long, deep breath. Then I start toward the doorway and open it for the man who had taken me from Louisiana and delivered me all this way to Dallas.

 “Hello,” Shadow says.

 “Hello,” I reply.

 “I expect you’ve slept?”

 I don’t reply. Rather, I force a nod and hope he doesn’t press me for more answers before stepping out of the room. “Are they ready for me?” I ask.

 “They are ready,” Shadow replies as I pull the door shut behind me. “Be forewarned, however, that they may instruct me to wipe your consciousness at any moment.”

 “And make me forget this forever,” I say and nod not long after. “I understand.”

 “Good. Follow me, please.”

 He turns and begins to lead me down the hall—toward the elevators we had used earlier this morning. Nervous, now, more than ever, over what I could possibly face, I ball my hands into fists in an effort to still my trembling hands but find that does little to abate my anxiety.

 Remain calm, I tell myself before sliding my hands into my pockets. You have to act normal—or at least as normal as you can, considering the circumstance.

 But the truth of the matter is that I can’t act normal—can never be normal again, now that this tragedy has unfolded, now that circumstance has placed me into the custody of a stranger—a stranger who, with a wave of his hand, had led me into the world of the impossible, a world that dwells just below the surface of society, hidden away from view, where any and everything could happen.

 Regardless, I understand that I must at least try to present an air of calm. For that reason, I take a deep breath as we approach the elevators and pray to God that Shadow has not taken notice of my insecurity.

 “Shadow,” I say as we step into the elevator.

 “Yes?” the man replies.

 “Is there anything I should know before… well… we get there.”

 “Do not be afraid,” he says. “They will see your fear and use it to their advantage.”

 But how? I wonder. How would they use my fear to my advantage? Would they prey on the reality of a life without my mother? Of my twisted fantasies of how this place, this Agency, might reset my life? The thought that I might be placed in foster care away from my family enters my mind. Then I consider the idea that they might leave me somewhere—on these strange streets in a random city with nothing but the clothes on my back—and begin to tremble.

 Unable to know what I might face until I address it head-on, I steel myself for what is to come and watch as Shadow leans forward to press a button near the top of the elevator’s dashboard—a button that simply says The Operating Room.

 We begin to rise not long after, at which point I begin to ponder how long of a ride we will have and what emotions I will endure as a result.

 Thankfully, I do not have long to consider the circumstance. Soon, the elevator lets out a ding, and the door opens—Stolen novel; please report.

 Revealing the most opulent room I have ever seen.

 Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Crystalline fixtures upon them reflect the light streaming through the distant, panoramic windows. White furniture with gold accents sits atop white marble floors. Even a white piano rests in the far corner of the room, granting the impression that this place—this operating room—may in fact be reserved for the Agency’s most elite members.

 I have just begun to take in everything when a gargantuan metal groan echoes from the depths of the room.

 “What is—” I start to say.

 But then I see it: the fixture of armor that rounds the corner. Standing at least six feet in height, the armor appears to have been taken straight from the medieval ages. It is surprisingly perfect, in that it bears no damage, in that it appears to have never been used in combat.

 “Halt,” the mechanical voice within says. “Please: state your intentions.”

 “Special Agent Shadow,” the Wiper says, lifting his head to regard the suit’s intimidating helm. “I seek an audience and guidance from the executive board for a Miss Scarlet Jane Brown.”

 I shiver as the air chills, as that horrible sensation of being watched returns anew, and wrap my arms around myself in response.

 The figure in the suit of armor adjusts its hold on the halberd in its grasp and lowers their head to look at me.

 “Access has been granted,” the figure says, then disappears around the corner.

 I wait for the sound of its monumental footsteps to disappear before asking, “What was that?”

 “You would be better off asking what that was,” Shadow replies. “That, Miss Brown, is what you would call an automaton.”

 “A what?”

 “An entity that bears no flesh body.”

 “So… you’re saying that the suit—”

 “Is alive? Yes. I am. The automatons guard the executive board from any threat. Had it deemed you unwelcome, it would have killed you instantly.”

 “That’s comforting,” I mumble before hesitantly following Shadow around the corner.

 I lift my eyes to find the automaton, and an identical companion, standing before an impressive stone door.

 “Is that…” I start to say.

 However, I am stunned into silence a moment later.

 The stone door—if it can even be called that, for it resembles a work of art—features a myriad of depictions upon its surface. What appear to be Christian angels, Biblical demons, and creatures from myth and legend are emblazoned within the stone, doing battle upon what most would consider their grandest precipice. The sight alone is enough to freeze me in place, but the reality that someone might be waiting on the other side for me?

 “They’re waiting for you,” Shadow says.

 “You’re not coming with me?” I ask, turning my head to face him.

 “No.” He shakes his head. “You are to face the board alone and suffer whatever reward or consequence is offered.”

 Swallowing, I offer the Wiper a short, hesitant nod, then step between the automatons flanking the stone doorway.

 As I reach forward—and as I wrap a hand around one of the door’s intricately carved handles—I feel, for the briefest moment, an unholy sense of fear.

 Remember, I tell myself. Remain calm.

 When the fear in my veins is replaced by determination and anger, I pull the door open and peer inside.

 Inside sits a single person—a woman, who, with long blond hair and fair white skin, appears to be as normal as possible.

 “Come in,” the woman says, lifting her cold, black eyes to face me.

 I enter hesitantly—and am just about to reach back to pull the door shut when it closes, then clicks behind me.

 You’re locked inside, I think. You’re locked inside. With her.

 Her.

 This woman, who I can undoubtedly tell is something supernatural.

 Frozen, like a deer in the headlights, over the realization that this woman can do anything she wants to me, I draw in a breath and wait for her to speak.

 “Sit,” the woman says, gesturing to the chair opposite the slab of oak between us.

 I seat myself in the chair, all the while trying my hardest to keep from succumbing to the eerie calm in the room.

 “Scarlet Jane Brown,” the woman says, flipping open a folder that displays my most recent yearbook photo, as well as lines of text that I cannot read below it. “My name is Doctor Amelia Vanderoof. I am a resident Archivist and one of the chairing members of the executive board of directors. I am here to determine whether or not Agent Shadow’s recommendation of integration through the process of assimilation is appropriate.”

 “All right,” I say.

 “First: give me your full name, your age, and date of birth.”

 “Scarlet Jane Brown. I’m seventeen. I was born on December 7th, 1986.”

 “Where were you when you first bore witness to the Supernatural world?”

 “I—” I start, then stop as fear begins to grip me.

 Don’t show it,

 I tell myself. Don’t show how afraid you are.

 “Come, Miss Brown. I am a very busy woman.”

 “Shouldn’t it be in the report?” I ask.

 Amelia Vanderoof raises her eyes to face me. “Yes, Miss Brown. It is. I would like to hear what you have to say, however.”

 “I saw my mother dead,” I say, “in my home. After I walked home from a basketball game.”

 “What did you see?”

 “A monster.”

 “What kind of monster, Miss Brown?”

 “This is going to sound ridiculous,” I say, “but… I think it was a vampire.”

 “The Sanguine are known to prey upon unsuspecting victims, especially if they believe that can attain access to a stable source of blood.”

 “Sanguine?” I ask.

 “Vampires,” Amelia replies. “Alien creatures who have been on the planet since the dawn of human civilization. They take host within the corpses of human beings and reanimate the body through a series of chemical reactions upon the host’s brain and body.”

 “You’re saying my mother was killed by an alien.”

 “I’m saying your mother was an unfortunate victim in a plague we cannot curb.”

 “Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “I mean, if you’re going to erase my memory—”

 “Then there’s no harm in telling you something you will only know temporarily.”

 “I—” I start. “I’m—”

 The woman narrows her eyes at me.

 Swallowing, I try to find a reason to speak. Unfortunately, words do not come.

 “Special Agent Shadow has informed me that you refused his attempts at erasure. Why was this?”

 “I want revenge on the thing that killed my mother.”

 “And to what lengths would you go to exact this revenge?”

 “Death,” I say.

 It feels so strange to say it out loud—to speak it in words that are physically tangible. However, there is also a strength in those words; and as a result, I find that I am able to keep myself from trembling as the woman rises from her seat.

 “Stand, Miss Brown,” she says.

 I do as asked and firmly settle my weight upon my feet as the archivist circles the table, considering my with a hawkish gaze that immediately makes me feel small. Compared to this woman’s six-foot frame, my five foot four body seems minuscule. The idea that I am standing next to a godly figure in the grand scheme of things is not lost on me, especially as Amelia Vanderoof begins to circle me.

 This needs to go right, I tell myself. I need her to know that I want this.

 Of course, saying that outright is not likely to work; and as a result, I remain silent as Amelia Vanderoof lifts my arm, tests the firmness of my muscle, gestures me to turn, all the way around, until we stand face-to-face. The woman tilts my chin up with a long finger and considers me with a gaze that is beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

 “You are arrogant,” the woman says. “Headstrong. Determined. Extremely intelligent, maybe even more than is good for you. You do things your way and refuse the assistance of others if you believe yourself capable of doing them yourself. You are strong in heart and pure in mind—naive beyond compare, and innocent beyond all comprehension. You are, without a doubt, human.”

 “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

 “It means I will test you, Scarlet Jane, in ways you have never thought possible, until I can determine if you are capable of what you believe you are. I will rend your body, tear your flesh, and shatter every preconceived notion about the world and your purpose in it. Only through these trials will we be able to determine if you are fit to become a Hunter.”

 A Hunter? I think. What does that—

 Amelia relinquishes her hold on my chin. “Go,” she says, jutting her head toward the door. “Return to the one who calls himself Shadow. You are dismissed.”

 “What are you—”

 Amelia Vanderoof shakes her head. “I will call upon you when you are needed,” she says. “For now: rest, contemplate, and consider everything that you have thought. You walk a dangerous path, Scarlet Jane. Decide now whether or not you wish to embark upon it, for once you start, you can never leave.”

 “I understand,” I say.

 “Then go.”

 I turn and, with a weight upon my shoulders I never thought imaginable, push the door open.

 When I come face-to-face with Shadow, I step forward and say, “I’m ready.”

 “Very well,” Shadow says. “Come with me.”

AliNovel

Chapter 5: The Executive Board