ã€ŠGod Buries Dollsã€‹


 Between the Trains

    Friday, July 8

    On paper, Francis Coppula was in Pittsburgh on official business. He hadn¡¯t been to the city in years, and he cursed them both for making him come back. He hated this terrestrial boil with its nonsensical roads, segmenting neighborhoods into labyrinths that made no cosmic or practical sense. Thankfully, his task was nearing completion. He had tracked one of them as far as Union Station, and as he prowled noiselessly among the dark and silent trains, Francis felt his pockets to ensure he still had what he needed to finish the job: sedatives, injector, needles---he froze. Cursed. Patted himself down once more. He was missing his disposable cell phone. He fumbled around inside his clothing. A surge of relief as he felt the familiar bump in his breast pocket---

    His body registered approaching footsteps before his mind could comprehend them. His spun around with an agility that most people would not even think possible. But it wasn¡¯t fast enough.

    In the few seconds it took for Francis to realize that he was staring down the gleaming end of a pistol, the shot had already been fired.

    ***

    Sophia was crouching behind a nearby train. Shock and fear ballooned in her chest. She bit down on her knuckles to prevent herself from making a sound in case the shooter was still around. She heard the sickening thud of heavy flesh. Light footsteps tapped out a frantic staccato rhythm on the tiled floor, paused, then scurried off in the other until they dissolved into distant echoes in the darkness. Very slowly, with her heart in her mouth, Sophia crouched on her hands and knees and peered under the train, hoping she might be able to see if the coast was clear. Most of her view was obstructed by hulky machinery, but she was able to make out a hand lying in a pool of blood. Her insides clenched and an acidic, nauseous lump rose in her throat. She forced herself to swallow it as she climbed unsteadily to her feet, bracing herself for what she knew would come next. Sure enough, it wasn¡¯t long before a white glow bloomed in the darkness. Translucent, spherical entities were bobbing towards her. They looked like giant soap bubbles, and she tried not to pay too much attention as her mind was filled with memories that weren¡¯t her own: twin boys standing next to each other in a mirror, making faces and laughing; a haggard-looking woman scowling across the dinner table; a doctor with a clipboard and a grim expression; his classmates looking at him with fear and hatred as he held out the mangled body of the class gerbil; pill bottles labeled ¡°Risperdal¡± being spilled into the toilet; lying on a park bench smelling of filth; a man with a dark beard appearing over him (that memory was accompanied by the latent impressions of a strong emotion that passed too quickly for Sophia to identity); a slew of memories about the same teenage boy with dark blonde hair (sitting on the edge of a bed with a blanket around his shoulders, walking outside in a garden, holding out his hand for something with a depreciating smile, running his shaking fingers over soft skin); and then the ruthless end of a gun, followed by darkness.

    After a few minutes, Sophia stumbled drunkenly to her feet. She felt the memories settling inside of her, fusing into the familiar incomprehensible blob of sustenance that had been both satiating and shaming her for years.

    Feeling bloated, she turned and headed back to the motel.

    ***

    ¡°He was killed,¡± she said, shutting the door behind her. ¡°Somebody shot him, Sybill.¡±

    Her sister was sprawled out on one of the beds, but she raised her head slightly at this announcement. Her braid---a thick rope of champagne blonde---hung heavily over one shoulder, and her round glasses glinted in the lamplight. She had a lighter in one hand, a blue one this time, and was absently clicking it on and off---a tick she¡¯d had for years.

    ¡°Did anyone see you?¡± she asked, momentarily lifting her eyes from the small flame that had sparked to life at her fingertips.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    Sybill nodded and fell back down onto her pillow. She pocketed the lighter. ¡°Okay, then.¡±

    Sophia looked around nervously, then said: ¡°I should probably say something, right? I could go to the police---¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re kidding.¡±

    ¡°But--¡±

    ¡°How are you going to explain why you were there in the first place?¡±

    ¡°I can say I was on an errand.¡±

    ¡°You were running an errand that involved lurking in a train station in the middle of night where a shooting conveniently took place? Sure. They¡¯ll buy that.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m just supposed to just let a murderer get away?¡±

    ¡°Somebody will find the dead guy eventually and they¡¯ll the cops. So it all works out.¡±

    ¡°And in the meantime he can just bleed all over the concrete for five or six hours like a sack of meat?¡±

    Sybill yawned and removed her glasses so she could rub her eyes. ¡°Isn¡¯t that how it always is for you? Why are you getting so worked up about this one?¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t always like this,¡± Sophia snapped, stung. ¡°He was shot! I¡¯ve never taken them from a murder victim.¡±

    ¡°Well in your line of business it was only a matter of time, wasn¡¯t it? Go to sleep. We¡¯ve had a long day.¡±

    Sybill turned off the light and rolled over so she was facing the wall. Sophia stared in mute outrage at her back. But after a few moments her temper cooled, and she felt herself settling into her usual complacence. She crawled into bed, defeated.

    She stared up at the nose-shaped stain on the ceiling for several minutes, the sound of gunfire still ringing in her ears. She tossed and turned, wrinkling her nose against the pillows that were emitting a bewildering array of unpleasant odors; they smelled like someone had attempted to disguise the scent of mold human fluid with linen-scented Febreze. She chucked them across the room in disgust and then tried to settle back into the hard mattress.

    If they were going to con their way across the continental United States, couldn¡¯t they at least do it in style? Maybe she¡¯d pitch the idea to Sybill the next time they had to stop. She was tired of spending her nights wondering when she was going to be eaten alive by an army of territorial cockroaches. Or knifed by a vagabond. Or abducted and sold into sex work by a big hairy drug lord named Howard.

    It started to rain. She could hear the droplets pattering against the grimy windowpanes. An eel of nausea unfurled in her stomach at the sound of water and thunder, but she wasn¡¯t sure why. She put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. Eventually, the darkness of sleep carried her away.

    ***

    Saturday, July 9

    Nate Reynolds squinted at his computer screen, hoping he wasn¡¯t going to go blind by the time this case wrapped up---if it ever did. He¡¯d been sitting at his desk for hours now, leafing through endless recordings of traffic cameras near Union Station.

    Last night had been a bad one: a robbery at a grocery store in Crafton and a stabbing in Squirrel Hill, not to mention that a mere few hours ago, an officer had discovered a body near Station Square. Or what was left of one, anyway. Apparently it was missing a few limbs.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°Find much?¡±

    Nate looked up. Stilly was standing in front of him, looking like he had just styled his hair with an eggbeater. His full name was Richard Stillton---but nobody, he said, called him that except his mother.

    ¡°Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Well keep looking. I¡¯m gonna run out and grab a coffee real quick.¡±

    ¡°Again? Why don¡¯t you just fill up an IV and attach it to your arm, old man?¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you kiss my lily-white ass, brat?¡±

    Nate grinned as Stilly swaggered off, thrusting his hands in his pockets. He was wearing the same kind of suit he¡¯d worn when they first met: a charcoal-grey jacket and trousers and a matching shirt and tie. He was also just as alarmingly skinny as he¡¯d been years ago. Maybe he had a tapeworm---or a drinking problem.

    Initially, Nate had joined the force because he wanted to move out of the house as soon as possible. Joining the police academy was his best option at the time. He wasn¡¯t smart enough to attend university (and had no particular field of study he wanted to work towards anyway), but he managed to achieve the credits required to graduate from the academy and become an officer. The next few years were professionally uneventful, but the tedium was a welcome change from the prior horrors of home.

    One night after his shift, Nate was walking back to his apartment when he saw a commotion occurring at a house across the street. He saw the flash of red and blue sirens reflected in the dark windows, and a handful of onlookers gathered on the sidewalk. He crossed over curiously, nudging people in the crowd aside as he pushed through, flashing his badge to give himself some semblance of authority for the stubborn ones who glared at him, or refused to budge.

    The house had been roped off with yellow police tape. The front windows were broken; the few shards that remained intact glistened in the flashing lights like saliva-laced teeth. The front door was broken off its hinges, and dark shapes milled about in the hallway beyond. One of them emerged and stood for a moment on the porch. It was a tall man with dark, disheveled hair and wolf-grey eyes. He was very skinny, with paper-white skin and gaunt cheeks. He scanned the onlookers for a moment, and then his eyes alighted on Nate. He pointed a gnarly finger in his direction and beckoned him forward. Baffled, and too stunned to refuse, Nate approached.

    ¡°You the officer who responded to the 911 call?¡± wolf-eyes asked gruffly.

    ¡°N-no, sir. I was just walking home from work.¡±

    ¡°But you got your badge out.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yes. That was because---¡± Nate felt his ears reddening. His words came to a stuttering halt.

    ¡°To bully your way into a good seat for the show?¡± The man grinned, but his eyes looked cold and unamused. ¡°Well put it on.¡±

    ¡°What¡ªbut I¡¯m off duty, sir.¡±

    ¡°Not anymore. I need someone to help me take them out and my other guys are busy with the crime scene. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Reynolds, sir.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Stilly. Get your ass in here, Reynolds.¡± He turned and walked back into the house without waiting for a response. Helpless in the face of such bald authority, Nate hurried after him, hastily clasping his badge onto the front of his belt. They walked into a living room that was in total disarray; furniture was knocked over, hundreds of pieces of broken glass lay glittering on the floor, and the piano in the corner had great chunks of it hacked off, as if someone had taken an axe to it. Good God, Nate thought, looking around in horror. What had happened here?

    Stilly bent over a big green couch, and Nate realized for the first time that there was a woman lying on it. She was bloodied and half-conscious. She mumbled something incoherent when Stilly placed a gentle hand on her forehead.

    ¡°She¡¯s burning up. We gotta get them to the ambulance out back. I got her, you get the kid.¡±

    Startled, Nate followed Stilly¡¯s pointing finger and realized there was a small shape crouched in the corner. He approached slowly, and when he was a few feet away, he squatted down so they were eye level. It was a little girl who looked no more than five years old. She had long red hair that fell in tangled clumps to her waist. There were bruises on her face, and the tears leaking from her eyes cut shining lines through the dirt on her cheeks.

    ¡°Hey there,¡± Nate said softly. ¡°My name¡¯s Nate. What¡¯s yours?¡± She didn¡¯t respond. Her eyes darted over his shoulder, and then she said in a small voice:

    ¡°Momma.¡±

    Nate looked over to see Stilly half-carrying the woman out of the room. ¡°Wanna go with Momma?¡± he asked the little girl.

    ¡°Momma.¡± A few more tears dribbled down the child¡¯s face. Her fearful eyes followed Stilly. ¡°Momma!¡±

    Nate stood up and beckoned for her to follow him. He was hesitant to take her hand, fearing she might grow hysterical if he touched her. The little girl stared up at him, unmoving, and then her eyes flickered down to the badge on his belt. She hesitated for a few more seconds, then she climbed unsteadily to her feet. Her small hand clutched the bottom of his shirt. He looked down into her big eyes, which were brimming with unshed tears.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Nate told her. His nervousness had left him. ¡°You¡¯re safe now.¡±

    They walked out of the room together, following Stilly and the injured woman down the dark hall and back out into the starless night. He led her to the ambulance parked around the back of the house. The little girl looked around for a moment, then back up at Nate.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t he coming too?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The boy in the basement with no eyes.¡±

    Nate stared down at her. He felt like he¡¯d been kicked in the windpipe. A worm of nausea rippled through his stomach.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about him, sweetheart.¡± Stilly had appeared at Nate¡¯s shoulder. He smiled down at the little girl. ¡°My friends are taking care of him, okay? Now go with these nice men. They¡¯re taking you and your momma to the hospital.¡±

    The little girl released Nate¡¯s jacket, gave him a final wide-eyed stare, and then climbed up into the ambulance. The doors slammed, and then it pulled away from the curb and sped down the road. Nate watched it go, the nausea still coming in waves.

    ¡°What did she mean?¡± he croaked.

    ¡°Never mind, kid,¡± Stilly grunted. ¡°Thanks for helping out. You can head home now, and try not to think too much about what you saw here tonight. Reynolds, was it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°You look familiar. You one of Frank¡¯s guys?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yeah.¡± Nate continued to stare off into the distance. He kept replaying in his head the moment the little girl had noticed his badge. The look on her face.

    ¡°You alright?¡±

    ¡°How many years would it take to make detective?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Nate turned and met the cold grey eyes with a fierce stare of his own. ¡°You heard me.¡±

    Stilly stared at him for a second, and then raised one razor-thin eyebrow. ¡°Well that depends, kid. At least a few years, maybe more, depending on how badly you want it.¡±

    Nate nodded, then turned away, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ¡°I¡¯ll see you around then.¡±

    ¡°Doubt it.¡±

    Nate turned back. ¡°Sorry?¡±

    ¡°As soon as she mentioned that boy, your face went the color of sour cream and you¡¯ve been shaking like a grandma without her walker for the past ten minutes. You don¡¯t have the stomach for this kinda thing.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? Well maybe we need some people who actually give a shit.¡± He turned on his heel and walked away, not bothering to lower his voice as he added: ¡°Reptilian son of a bitch.¡±

    He found a purpose that night. That little girl had activated a primal urge that pulled him towards something he¡¯d never anticipated. He couldn¡¯t protect everyone, but he had protected her, and it¡¯d made him feel stronger. He wanted to get that feeling back again.

    He made detective in record time. He still remembered the day when he walked into his new office and discovered that he would be working side by side with the wolfish detective he¡¯d met all those years ago. He wondered if the man would recognize him. There was a moment of silence as they shook hands. Then Stilly looked him up and down said with a shit-eating grin:

    ¡°How¡¯ve you been, Mister Give-A-Shit?¡±

    ¡°Listen, sir, about that night----¡±

    ¡°Who the fuck is sir? It¡¯s Stilly. And you¡¯re not about to apologize, are you? I was just starting to like you.¡±

    ¡°In that case.¡± Nate smiled and began to unload his things onto the desk Stilly pointed at---the one right next to him.

    Nate grinned at the memories. Not much had changed. Stilly was still a sour old man and he was still getting frazzled over rough cases. He resumed his mindless mouse clicking as he waited for his colleague to return from his coffee run. Grainy shot after grainy shot marched across his screen. Pedestrians, sidewalks, cars, trains. God, he couldn¡¯t take this anymore. Slamming his head down on the desk would be a more interesting pastime. At least that would put some feeling back into his face.

    A screenshot of one of the platforms popped up. He was just about to click to the next when he saw something that made his finger freeze. He leaned forward, his nose almost squashed against the computer screen. In the bottom righthand corner, behind one of the parked trains, was a dark smudge. He would have taken it for nothing but a shadow if it hadn¡¯t visibly jumped when the shot was fired offscreen. His stomach plummeted. He felt the hand resting on the mouse start to tremble.

    Nate looked over his shoulder. Everyone had their noses buried in their desks or were otherwise running around taking statements. Keeping an eye out for any approaching colleagues, he emailed the footage file to his personal email address. After a moment of consideration, he deleted the footage from the camera reel as well and had just finished emptying the recycling bin on his desktop when Stilly came lumbering back. He was clutching a giant mug of steaming coffee in one of his reedy hands.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll go out for a smoke,¡± Nate said, pushing back his chair as he stood up.

    ¡°At least my caffeine addiction doesn¡¯t give me cancer.¡±

    ¡°Is it hard to get around with that stick up your ass?¡±

    Stilly made a rude gesture at him from across the room as Nate slipped out the side exit and into the alley, pulling his phone from his pocket.

    She picked up on the second ring.

    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± Nate said. ¡°Somebody saw you.¡±

 Potpourri

    Saturday, July 9

    They left the motel at sunrise. Sophia woke up feeling lethargic and light-headed, so the first thing they did was track down some food. Sybill went to the convenience store down the road while Sophia picked the lock of the room next door. She found a man lying in bed with needles scattered around his bed sheets. She hung back in the doorway, not wanting to alarm him, and listened as his rattling breath gradually faded into silence. A few seconds later, the hideous bubbles floated out of his dead mind and into her parasitic one. She gasped at the impact and had to grab the door frame to avoid falling backward. It lasted longer than she thought it would; he had lived an unusually busy life for someone so young.

    ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± Sybill asked when they met at the corner a few minutes later. She was chewing her breakfast slowly, holding a half-eaten bagel in one hand.

    ¡°It was an overdose.¡±

    ¡°Simple enough, eh?¡± She saw the look on Sophia¡¯s face and scowled. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I¡­I should have called someone, Sybill.¡±

    ¡°This again? Junkies are always on death¡¯s door anyway.¡±

    ¡°People can come back from addiction, can¡¯t they? I should have given him a chance. I should¡¯ve tried to---¡±

    ¡°Stop.¡± Sybill took a big bite of her bagel. ¡°You''re not the one who jammed the needle in his arm.¡±

    Sophia turned without answering and began to walk down the road. Sybill followed, finishing the rest of her bagel and licking the cream cheese from her fingers.

    ¡°I think we should get out of state,¡± she said matter-of-factly.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You wanna go to Ohio? See the capital? Is it Cleveland or Cincinnati? I can¡¯t remember. Not like it matters, they¡¯re both equally shitty. But they¡¯d be far away from here.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re in that much trouble?¡±

    ¡°Better safe than sorry, right?¡±

    ¡°How the hell are we supposed to get to Ohio though?¡±

    ¡°Can you get a trucker to think we¡¯re his best friends?¡±

    ¡°That might be hard to pull off.¡±

    ¡°Well, whatever, we¡¯ll figure it out. Let¡¯s just get to a gas station and wait for one. Then we can go from there.¡±

    ¡°But we don¡¯t even know where the nearest gas station is. We could walk for hours.¡±

    ¡°So? It¡¯s a nice day.¡±

    Sophia felt all the energy leave her body as she huffed a frustrated sigh. They walked in silence for a while. The strengthening daylight bleached Sybill¡¯s hair into white frost. Sophia glared at the back of her sister¡¯s head, as if the power of her anger would extract the answers she needed from Sybill¡¯s mind. She was told they¡¯d been wandering around for a week, but she didn¡¯t know if that was true. She didn¡¯t know a lot of things these days. A dark well had been dug out in her mind, a bottomless cylinder of impressions she couldn¡¯t define or name. Sybill said it was because she hit her head when she fell down. Sophia had no physical mark from this incident ---her skull was no lumpier than usual and her head didn¡¯t even hurt---but she accepted the explanation because it made the most sense. What else could account for the large chunks of time she had lost? Sybill had promised to fill her in once they were ¡°safe.¡± Safe from what? I¡¯ll tell you soon, she¡¯d said.

    The last clear memory Sophia had was sitting in the living room with her mother and talking about something that had happened at school. It had been a sunny day. Bright light streamed in from the window behind Mom and washed the pale blue carpet into dazzling white. Sophia couldn¡¯t recall when this conversation took place, but it didn¡¯t feel like that long ago. She vaguely remembered the funeral, but only the sight of her mother lying in the coffin. She couldn¡¯t remember where it had taken place or who had attended. There was a wide stretch of darkness before the next clear memory emerged: Sybill leaning over her, calling out her name and shaking her shoulder.

    The landscape of darkness that lay in between those memories of her mother and her sister seemed to grow a little wider every day. Sometimes a few of memories dislodged from the blackness, and she caught flashes of images: redheaded girl, a moss-covered mansion, and a splintered windshield under a flickering streetlight. Other images came to her when she was asleep. She had a recurring nightmare about three people with blurry faces leaning over her as she slept. They watched calmly as she was disemboweled by a severed hand; it scooped out her flesh handfuls at a time, and then thrust itself into her hollowed remains and made her flop around like a puppet.

    Sybill wasn¡¯t much help when it came to filling in the blanks. When Sophia told her about the splintered images and her nightmare, her sister only shrugged. ¡°Probably stuff you saw on T.V.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never watched anything like that.¡±

    ¡°Well you must¡¯ve.¡±

    Her ambiguity was frustrating. She didn¡¯t know if Sybill was keeping something from her or if she had also suffered a head injury. The only thing she knew was that they needed to trust each other because nobody else in their life seemed to be around at the moment. Mom. Hannah. Javier. They were all part of the great black void in her mind.

    ***

    They ended up walking all day. When the sun started to cast slanting lines on the sidewalk, Sophia turned to Sybill and said peevishly:

    ¡°We¡¯re not gonna find a gas station before dark at this point.¡±

    ¡°I could¡¯ve sworn there was one around here.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s stop at a house tonight. I¡¯m sick of these gross sex motels anyway.¡±

    ¡°You sure you¡¯re up for that?¡±

    ¡°I think so. I mean, as long as it¡¯s not a family or anything.¡±

    ¡°Okay. We¡¯ll do a couple stakeouts.¡±

    ¡°We need to take a detour first.¡± Sophia put a hand to her head as she spoke; she was starting to feel light-headed with hunger. ¡°Someone¡¯s gonna die a few blocks down.¡±

    Sybill nodded. ¡°Then we better hurry. Afterwards we can track down a diner and you can watch me stuff down a pile of pancakes with extra whipped cream. And strawberries. Or wait, no, oooh, I could get chocolate chip.¡±

    ¡°Yuck. Chase your bliss.¡±

    ¡°Do you miss having real food?¡±

    ¡°Not anymore.¡±

    ¡°More for me then.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, pace yourself if you really do get pancakes. I¡¯m not dragging your fat ass across state lines. Super strength isn¡¯t one of my things.¡±

    Sybill gave her a none-too-gentle shove and Sophia fell into a nearby shrub. She swore and struggled to detangle from its clutching branches as Sybill took off down the road, laughing over her shoulder. By the time Sophia had managed to stagger to her feet, her sister was several feet ahead, and she had to sprint to catch up.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    After the ¡°hunt¡± (as Sybill gleefully called Sophia¡¯s hunger excursions), they walked on until they hit the Cultural District. Sybill thought they would be able to find some nice lodging there, but Sophia quickly lost hope once she realized that the living arrangement of choice was luxury apartments---all of which required entry via a fancy lobby guarded by a doorman or security.

    ¡°What about here, Soph?¡± Sybill asked. They paused outside a majestic sky rise and peered through a golden revolving door and into a spacious lobby.

    Sophia shook her head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I¡¯d have to go through too many people.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep looking, then.¡±

    They headed towards Steel Plaza, and when they finally turned down Arthur Street, Sophia felt a surge of relief. The residential area was lined with an assortment of small but respectable-looking houses---and with no security guards in sight. All hail, middle-class America.

    They took a couple walks around the block and watched people come and go from their homes. After a while they settled on a tall brick house located at the end of the street. Only one guy seemed to live there. He came out once to water the garden, then once more to arrange some furniture on the porch. The windows revealed no one else passing through the house. Sophia knew it was their best bet. It would be dark in a few hours.

    The plan was to approach the front door under the guise of selling him something, but fate afforded an easier way to learn the man¡¯s name. Just as Sophia was about to lead the way across the street, a postal truck pulled up to the front of the house. The girls watched the mailman get out with a bundle tucked under his arm. He shoved it into the man¡¯s mailbox, chatting into his earpiece. Once he had climbed back into his truck and driven around the corner, Sybill ran across the road, opened the mailbox, and began to rifle through the envelopes. Sophia nervously kept watch, looking both ways down the street, until Sybill jogged back over to her.

    ¡°His name¡¯s Francis Coppula.¡±

    The name sounded familiar to Sophia, but she wasn¡¯t sure why. ¡°Okay, cool. I¡¯ll get him to think we¡¯re some nieces he hasn¡¯t seen in a while.¡±

    ¡°What if he doesn¡¯t have any siblings?¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll make one up.¡±

    ¡°Think you can handle that much?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Sophia said, only half-joking.

    They crossed the street, walked up the man¡¯s porch steps, and rang the doorbell. After a long silence, the door swung open. He looked a lot younger up close. He was tall, bronze-skinned, and muscular. Even though there was a light dusting of grey in his dark hair and beard, his face was still unlined and tight with youth. He stared at them in polite confusion. Sophia smiled widely when his eyes met hers. The chords of consciousness in her mind reached out to his, and she concentrated on threading them together.

    ¡°How have you been?¡± she chirped. She laughed when his confused look deepened. ¡°What, has it been that long? It¡¯s Sophia!¡±

    She felt his mind cave beneath her insistent prodding, like a gelatinous surface yielding to a pushing hand. She soared through his memories, scattering bits of herself and Sybill into every crevice, artfully spinning each fabricated moment into a vivid tapestry of experience.

    ¡°Sophia!¡± he cried, rushing forward to hug her. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in---God, it must be years!¡±

    ¡°Our big rebellious road trip is over for now. There¡¯s no Wi-Fi on the open road,¡± she laughed.

    ¡°We?¡± His eyes finally fell on Sybill. ¡°Is that Sybill?¡±

    Sybill grinned and spread her arms. ¡°The one and only.¡±

    ¡°How are you?¡± He hurried forward to hug her, too. ¡°Come on in, girls. Are you hungry?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Sybill said eagerly.

    Francis Coppula ushered them into his house. The foyer smelled like apples and cinnamon. As they followed him down the hallway, Sophia located the source of the scent: a big bowl of potpourri was sitting on a shelf. They were led into a gleaming modern kitchen, and while he made lunch, Francis chatted aimlessly (at Sophia¡¯s mental prodding) about old vacations, family gatherings, and the fateful day when the sisters had announced they were leaving home to go on a road trip. He placed a large basket of English muffins on the table. The smell made Sophia a little sick, but Sybill snatched one up immediately and shoved it into her face like she hadn¡¯t eaten in months.

    ¡°I thought you were the biggest dumbasses for leaving,¡± Francis was saying, grinning over a cutting board full of diced garlic. ¡°How far did you get before that crappy Buick broke down?¡±

    ¡°West Virginia,¡± Sophia said quickly, provoking another laugh from ¡°Uncle Francis¡± as he turned towards the sink to empty pasta into a strainer. ¡°But we almost made it to Wheeling.¡±

    Sybill leaned forward and whispered:

    ¡°You could¡¯ve at least said Virginia.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to make the story believable, Sybill. Like we¡¯d ever make it that far in a Buick.¡±

    Sybill grinned as Francis called over his shoulder:

    ¡°You guys want butter or margarine for the muffins?¡±

    ¡°Butter,¡± Sybill said. ¡°Thanks, Uncle Francis.¡±

    There was a brief pause, then he turned around, cocking his head to one side.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Butter.¡±

    ¡°No, what did you just call me?¡±

    Sybill¡¯s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then her eyes darted from him to Sophia, whose heartbeat quickened as she scanned Francis¡¯ mind for any information that might tell her why he was suddenly looking at them like that.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Sybill said, forcing another laugh. ¡°You get into the booze already?¡±

    ¡°Did you just call me Francis?¡± His face had paled, and Sophia felt her hold on his mind slipping. A reality she couldn¡¯t yet define was leaking through the cracks, brushing aside the cobwebs of her illusion. Suddenly she saw Francis¡¯ real memories: the face of a man swam up from the depths of his consciousness. He looked a lot like the man who was cooking them dinner, but his face was leaden and still. He was laying on the ground with a single dark hole in his forehead. That man had been Francis. The one dicing garlic, staring at her with increasing hostility and suspicion, was named Xavier.

    The dead man¡¯s twin brother.

    Shit.

    The truth she saw revealed in his mind collided with her web of lies; it was too much for her to sustain and she felt his mind break free of her power.

    Sophia jumped to her feet so quickly she knocked her chair over.

    ¡°We have to go,¡± she said, grabbing her sister¡¯s sleeve.

    ¡°What?¡±

    The man fell back into the sink, clutching his head and moaning. Sophia began to hurry out of the kitchen.

    ¡°Hurry!¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± Sybill hissed as she followed her. ¡°What¡¯s---¡±

    ¡°He isn¡¯t Francis, ¡°Sophia panted. ¡°The real Francis is dead---he must¡¯ve lived in his house, that¡¯s why his mail was here, I didn¡¯t have time to---I didn¡¯t realize---shitshitshit---¡±

    Sybill suddenly cried out. Sophia spun around and saw that Xavier had grabbed her by the arm. His face was an ugly mask of anger and suspicion.

    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± he demanded, twisting Sybill¡¯s wrist as she swung her fist at him. She screamed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t hurt her!¡± Sophia cried.

    ¡°Nobody has to get hurt, but you¡¯re going to sit here and explain yourselves or I¡¯m calling the cops.¡±

    Sophia looked around helplessly. The odds of her making it out the door were pretty minimal; her head was already beginning to pound in weariness from the energy she had exerted on slipping inside this man¡¯s mind. Besides, even if she could somehow book it, she¡¯d have to leave Sybill behind.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll do whatever you want. Just don¡¯t---¡±

    In a movement that was so quick Sophia barely had time to see it, Sybill kneed the man in the groin. He yelled in pain and fell back. Sybill leaped around him and ran down the hall, shoving Sophia towards the exit. Their sneakers thudded on the carpet as they stumbled around the corner and reached the front door.

    Then Sophia felt a rough, hot hand seize her by the hair.

    She yelled, thrashing at the upside down face of the stranger. His eyes were bulging and frenzied. As he dragged her back, her flailing hands knocked against something hard and, more importantly, moveable. She grabbed it and flung it blindly into his face. There was a hollow thud. Xavier screamed, and her hair was released. She staggered forward, gasping, and saw the stranger writhing around on the ground, clutching his face. A spicy, floral scent reached her nostrils. Lying next to him was the spilled pot of apple-and-cinnamon scented potpourri.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said breathlessly to her sister, but they had only gone a few steps when they heard the man speaking:

    ¡°There¡¯s two of them and they just attacked me. They broke into my house---¡±

    Sophia turned around. The man was sitting against the wall, breathing heavily, his cell phone pressed against his ear---and Sybill was running towards him. By the time Sophia opened her mouth to scream for her to stop, it was too late. Her sister had already seized the jar of potpourri and was smashing it down onto the man¡¯s head.

    The fifth time the jar collided with his skull, the pot broke into jagged shards. His cries turned to guttural moans. Then the moans turned into a silence that filled every inch of the world.

    Sybill straightened up, panting. Her eyes were as flat and expressionless as granite. She bent down and looked at something on the body, then she started stomping wildly. It took Sophia a while to register that her sister was stomping on the man¡¯s cell phone. Meanwhile, Sophia could feel Xavier still clinging to life; his memories trembled on the edge of his consciousness. It was a horrible feeling, standing there while another human being was struggling and clawing to remain in the world...their mind darkening¡­

    Then she heard Sybill speaking, but her voice was far off, like she was yelling from the other end of a long tunnel.

    ¡°¡­dangerous to be here. I don¡¯t know if the neighbors heard anything.¡±

    Sybill took her hand, pulling her towards the door. Halfway there, she paused and then removed the blue lighter from her pocket. She toyed with it for a second, her brow furrowed. Then she quickly walked to the nearest room and was back before Sophia even realized what she was doing.

    ¡°Go,¡± she said urgently.

    They ran from the house just as smoke began to fill the hallway.

 Felicity

    Saturday, July 9

    After leaving her a voicemail the previous night, Nate decided to a break from the Union Station footage and catch up on paperwork. He¡¯d only been at it a few minutes when his phone rang. When he picked up, he heard Stilly, talking like it was his last few minutes on Earth. Each word was followed by an agitated grunt and some language that would have made any mother blush. Nate had to ask him to slow down several times; the reception was particularly crackly.

    ¡°You¡¯re where?¡± Nate demanded, pressing his palm to his other ear so he could hear better.

    ¡°Inside an ambulance. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯ll make it. He¡¯s in bad shape. Skull smashed in and he¡¯s got third-degree bur---no, not that!¡± he barked at someone on the other end. There was muffled shouting in the background.  ¡°What in the name of the Pope¡¯s sagging left nut do you think it means, Wilson? I don¡¯t care if---I said fuck off. Sorry about that. I¡¯m back. Nate? You there?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I dunno what you think I¡¯m supposed to do with this delightful story,¡± Nate said, annoyed that he was being bothered with this when he was already balls-deep in paperwork. ¡°Who are you with? What¡¯s happened?¡±

    ¡°This guy is related to our other guy.¡±

    ¡°Our what?¡±

    ¡°The guy who got shot at the station last night. Francis Coppula?¡±

    ¡°Was that his name? I never got a look at the---¡±

    ¡°Reach down and see if you can grab your ass with both hands. Having trouble with that, too?¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright. How do you know they¡¯re related?¡±

    ¡°This guy¡¯s name is Xavier Coppula.¡±

    ¡°Well that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean---¡±

    ¡°A few pictures survived in the house and they¡¯re all of the two of them.  And now both these guys are dead---well this one isn¡¯t yet---within 24 hours of each other. These might be hits. Possibly done by the same person, but it¡¯s hard to say at this point.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what do you mean pictures survived?¡±

    ¡°The house is on fire. They¡¯ve got a good handle on it now but---¡± There was more shouting in the background. ¡°Wilson, what you don¡¯t know could fill the motherfucking Grand Canyon. You¡¯re so full of shit it¡¯s coming out your eyes. I didn¡¯t---yeah. Okay, yeah, I got it! I gotta go, Nate. I¡¯ll talk to you later once I get more details.¡±

    ¡°Okay, thanks, Stilly, I really---¡± The line crackled and then went dead. Nate hung up, staring at his desk as a swarm of thoughts buzzed around in his head.

    Had Felicity done this, too? If so, what the hell for? What purpose would this serve, apart from giving even more reasons for the cops to buckle down on the Union Station case? What was she thinking? Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe this Xavier had merely fallen down the stairs or been the victim of a random break in.

    He decided to call her again after his shift ended. He got off at seven and broke a few speed limits racing home. As soon as he let himself into his apartment, he locked the door, dumped his jacket and bag in a corner, took a seat at the dining room table, and dialed her number.

    A phone began to ring in his bedroom.

    Nate froze, his limbs going rigid as they readied for flight. Then he relaxed as the situation dawned on him. He sighed, stood up, and followed the sound. Felicity was curled up in his bed, fast asleep. Her vibrant hair---a brilliant tapestry of reddish gold inherited from their mother---was flung like a velvet net over the crumpled bed sheets.

    Nate bent down and gently rubbed her earlobe between his fingers.  She stirred and opened one eye. A sleepy smile spread over her face.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve told me you were coming over,¡± he said.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to bother you at work.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should¡¯ve thought of that before you blew Coppula away.¡±

    She unfurled herself from her tangle of blankets, stretching her arms over her head, her body curving voluptuously into an arch. Nate averted his gaze. He needed to stay angry. He wanted to be his own for just a fucking second.

    ¡°I did say I was going to take care of him, honey. What did you think I meant?¡±

    ¡°Intimidate? Bribe?¡±

    ¡°I took a gun with me.¡±

    ¡°I thought it was for protection in case he tried to take you back or hurt you. Didn¡¯t you get my message? There was a witness. You¡¯re lucky you aren¡¯t in cuffs right now.¡±

    ¡°Would you like me to be?¡± she said with a smile that sent ripples of heat through his blood.

    ¡°Felicity. This is serious,¡± he said in what he hoped was a severe tone. His head was already feeling thick and dizzy with arousal.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    She sighed. ¡°Well how was I supposed to plan for someone being around?¡±

    ¡°If you go to murder someone, you¡¯re supposed to think of all the fucking angles, Felicity!¡±

    He was breathing heavily, fists clenched. She looked at him for a minute, then dipped her head sheepishly.

    ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Did you do the other one, too?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    He filled her in about Xavier Coppula¡¯s death. The look on her face told him that she had nothing to do with it, and when he was finished speaking, she shook her head.

    ¡°It¡¯s funny though. Providential, you might say.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Live by the sword, die by the sword.¡± She shrugged, then gave him a tiny smile. ¡°I don¡¯t know who did it, but I¡¯d like to shake their hand. Though I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve caused you trouble.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sorry? I¡¯m working with one of our unit¡¯s best detectives.  Sorry doesn¡¯t even begin to put out the shitstorm you¡¯ve started.¡±

    A worm of guilt writhed in his stomach at the mention of his partner. Stilly¡¯s instincts were sharp, refined by years of experience; he had once solved a murder by having a DNA test performed on a cigarette he found lying in a street drain two blocks down from the house where a family of five had been brutally murdered. Everyone thought he was nuts. What a waste of time and resources, they scoffed. Two months later, they were booking the psychopath who had broken into the house, killed the family, robbed them blind, smoked a cig on his way out, and then hailed a cab once he had walked far enough away from the crime scene.

    ¡°You¡¯re on the case? Isn¡¯t that good?¡± Felicity¡¯s voice brought him back to the present. ¡°You can sweep this thing under the rug.¡± She walked around the bed, closing the distance between them. As she gazed up into his face, she gently ran her fingers over his jawline and down the side of his neck.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±

    ¡°But you understand, don¡¯t you?¡± She looked up at him pleadingly. ¡°You know what that man was, Nate.¡±

    His heart softened. ¡°You still shouldn¡¯t have done it. You¡¯ve managed to keep a pretty low profile since you got out. This just makes things more complicated.¡±

    He caught her hand as she began to pull away. He pressed her palm to his face and looked down into his sister¡¯s eyes. How many times had he lost himself inside them? They were light green, fringed with amber lashes that went for miles, and currently brimming with tears that---at least to him---implied genuine contrition for the mess she¡¯d gotten him into. Looking at her, he was flooded with feelings that for years had both disgusted and enthralled him: he wanted to seize her warm, slender body and feel her beneath him, to become entangled in bed sheets and trembling, soft white limbs. The desires always left him twisted up in knots. He wasn¡¯t sure how to channel them---or where to hide them away. A knowing smile spread across Felicity¡¯s face, and he immediately grew self-conscious.

    ¡°I made copies of the rest of the footage today,¡± he muttered, pulling away from her. ¡°We can look them over together and make sure there isn¡¯t anything else I should illegally dispose of.¡± His voice turned sarcastic. ¡°We should also see if we can get a good look at the person who might¡¯ve seen you.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± she said, kissing the tip of his nose. He felt the warmth of her lips for hours afterwards.  ¡°I¡¯ll make us some snacks.¡±

    She disappeared into the kitchen while Nate, hands trembling, fired up his laptop and opened up the files he had emailed to himself back at the station. Felicity came back with a plate of crackers and cheese, set it next to his elbow, and flopped down into the armchair next to him.

    They spent a few hours attempting to dissect the footage. They couldn¡¯t see much, other than the fact that someone was clearly there, hiding behind the trains for unknown reasons. Felicity thought it looked like a teenage girl, but Nate said it could¡¯ve been a small, skinny boy. The stranger had lingered on the ground for a curious amount of time once Francis Coppula went down---approximately one minute and twenty seconds. Then they turned and hurried off, disappearing around the corner into a pocket of space where there weren¡¯t, unfortunately, any other cameras.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t they confront me?¡± Felicity said.

    ¡°Maybe they were doing something illegal too.¡±

    Felicity leaned closer to the screen and frowned at the paused footage. ¡°Go back to the shot before this one. The one that shows the street.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll see this person walking towards the station.¡±

    Nate shrugged and did as she requested. The footage that revealed the streets and walkways outside Union Station looked pretty deserted to him.

    ¡°There,¡± Felicity said suddenly, pointing at the screen.

    It took Nate several seconds to see what she was looking at. At the very top of the screen, a figure darted across the street. They were only in view for a second, but Nate paused and zoomed in. Felicity waited at his side, impatience radiating from her. Finally, they both leaned in and saw the face of a young girl. She could have been anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. Other than a wild mane of distinct dark hair, her appearance was ordinary, nothing that would stand out in a crowd.

    ¡°Do you think anybody at your precinct noticed this?¡± Felicity asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. At least, not yet.¡± He turned to look up at her, and something about her expression made him ask: ¡°Do you recognize her?¡±

    There was a slight pause before she said: ¡°Of course not. Maybe that¡¯s not even the same person who saw me. Could just be someone out for a walk.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be a pretty big coincidence."

    ¡°I guess. You¡¯ll have to look into it and keep me posted, m¡¯kay?¡±

    Nate leaned back in his chair and stretched, looking at the clock. It was past midnight.

    ¡°Did you wanna crash here tonight?¡±

    ¡°Is there enough room in your bed?¡± she asked with a look that made his bones turn into oatmeal.

    ¡°I think so,¡± he said hoarsely, caught off guard. He¡¯d assumed she would take the couch. She laughed and then slinked off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Nate listened to his own heart pounding in his ears; he didn¡¯t trust himself to go into the bedroom until well after she had.

    He didn¡¯t sleep well. He tried to lay as close to the edge of the bed as possible so they wouldn¡¯t touch, but it didn¡¯t help. The sheets were engulfed in the scent of her skin. He rolled onto his side and looked at her sleeping face. Loops of silky hair had fallen onto her forehead. He gently brushed them away, letting his fingers linger on her warm cheek. Every ounce of his flesh was aching with need. He wanted to wake her, to tear away the clothes that hid her away from him, to hold her slim and bare against his body---just once more, he told himself. Just one more time.

    But deep down he knew that if he allowed himself to fold into her again, he would become lost and nothing else would matter. He couldn¡¯t afford to do that right now. He had to focus.

    Nate slid out of bed and climbed out his window and onto the fire escape.

    He gulped the fresh night air, filling his lungs with coolness and trying to chase away the smell of her. The city of Pittsburgh was sprawled beneath his feet, a glittering spider web of lights blooming between dark skyscrapers.

    Was the stranger between the trains out there somewhere? Or had they merely been passing through the city at the time of the shooting? Why hadn¡¯t they contacted the police? What kind of person chose to remain silent after witnessing a murder?

 An Odd Signal

    Saturday, June 9

    The dark fingers of twilight crept into the room. The mattress was lumpy. It kneaded Sophia¡¯s back in all the wrong places, but she didn¡¯t want to sit up because she was afraid Sybill might take that as an invitation to talk. They hadn¡¯t spoken a word since they¡¯d arrived at the front desk and collected the keys to a room. (Sophia had used her last shred of power to convince the clerk they had booked some accommodations. The effort it took practically knocked her out.) She didn¡¯t want to speak about what had happened, but she knew that the silence between them was reaching a dangerous point. If it wasn¡¯t broken soon, it would harden into something impenetrable, an unspoken monster they would never be able to conquer.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Sybill said suddenly. Sophia heard her get up and walk across the room; the bed sunk a little lower as she sat on the edge of Sophia¡¯s mattress. ¡°Are you mad at me?¡±

    Sophia raised herself up on her elbows and stared at her. ¡°Um, yeah.¡±

    ¡°I know that wasn¡¯t the best way to handle things.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t the best way to handle things?¡±

    ¡°But it was the only option.¡±

    ¡°So talking to him or just---oh, I don¡¯t know---running away? Those two things never crossed your mind?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that simple. He had already called the cops.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, about a break-in. Which would¡¯ve been a whole lot easier to live with than a murder.¡±

    ¡°I was trying to protect us---protect you. That¡¯s what I¡¯m always doing. Nice to be appreciated.¡±

    Sophia fell silent, picking at a hole in the blanket. She could feel Sybill¡¯s gaze boring into her and for several uncomfortable seconds, she avoided meeting her eyes.

    ¡°I just wish you hadn¡¯t done it,¡± she said finally.

    ¡°Well, I did. That¡¯s all there is to it.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ever get tired of running?¡±

    ¡°It won¡¯t always be like this.¡±

    ¡°When won¡¯t it be like this, Sybill? When do we get to stop? When can we just be normal?¡±

    ¡°When I say so,¡± Sybill said coolly, as if dealing with a difficult toddler.

    Sophia felt her cheeks grow warm with indignation; the heat began to spread through the rest of her body. She sat up, a newfound feeling of power overtaking her. Images of Coppula¡¯s mangled head cut through her brain. She remembered Sybill¡¯s eyes as she had brought that potpourri jar down---flat and black like a shark¡¯s. How quickly she had reacted, moving with the sharp, keen sense of a predator who was used to tearing, wounding---killing.

    Sybill screamed and jumped to her feet.

    Sophia gave a start and looked around, startled, half-expecting to see a hooded man standing in the corner with a knife. But a scan of the room told her they were alone, and when she looked back at Sybill, she saw her cowering by the window.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± she yelled.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Sophia cried.

    Sybill was staring at a spot near the bed, but Sophia couldn¡¯t see anything there---certainly nothing that should¡¯ve made her sister look so pale. After a tense minute, Sybill¡¯s face relaxed, and the wild look faded from her eyes.

    ¡°What---did you---why did you do that?¡± she said, breathing heavily.

    ¡°Do what? Are you okay?¡±

    Sybill wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of a trembling hand.

    ¡°I---yeah.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°I think we should call it a night. I¡¯m obviously pretty tired. We¡¯ll talk more in the morning if you want.¡±  Without another word, she climbed into her bed and rolled over. Sophia stared anxiously at her back, waiting for the sound of her deep, even breathing to fill the room.

    It never did.

    Eventually Sophia nodded off herself, dozing fitfully. When she woke up in the early hours of Sunday morning, the room was dark and her stomach was rumbling. She closed her eyes and sent out mental feelers, stretching into time and space to see if anybody nearby was going to conveniently die. She came up empty. Looked like everyone in the motel, at least, was planning on living through the night. She would have to expand her search. With a quick glance at Sybill, Sophia slithered off the bed and tiptoed out of the room. There was nobody at the front desk, so she was able to duck out the front door undetected.

    It was a stuffy night. The heat lay like a smothering blanket on her neck and shoulders. Bugs swarmed around the streetlamps, dancing in the air like sentient darts of dust. She wandered for a few blocks, taking constant care to look over her shoulder. She finally came across a homeless man in an alleyway. He was passed out, the ground around him a battlefield of empty booze bottles and broken glass.

    She crouched down and waited. It only took a few minutes. The curtain of the universe barely ruffled as he slipped quietly beyond it. His memories of an alcoholic dad and an absent mom were as sad as his current state. Sophia turned away feeling heavy, overwhelmed with the agony of a life that wasn¡¯t her own.

    When she rounded the corner that stood across the street from the motel, the flash of red and blue sirens blinded her. She ducked behind a bush and peeked through the branches. Her heart plunged into her knees.

    Two officers were leading Sybill out the door and into a cruiser. Just before they pushed her inside, her head snapped up and her eyes stared right through the bush. Sophia froze, struggling with the urge to both help and hide.

    Then one of the police officers forced Sybill into the car and the cruisers drove off into the night.

    ***

    Sunday, July 10

    Nate was roused in the early hours of the morning by an excited phone call from Stilly. ¡°We¡¯ve got someone,¡± he said. ¡°I just Mirandized her. You wanna be part of the interview?¡±

    ¡°Gimmie five minutes,¡± Nate said thickly. ¡°I need to find some fucking pants.¡±

    ¡°Put on your Sunday best, sweetheart. I¡¯ll be waiting.¡±

    He left Felicity a note on the counter and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. When he got to the station, he found Stilly waiting for him by his desk. They wasted no time and hurried together down the hall to the interview room.

    The single lamp hanging from the ceiling cast a bright glow over the girl¡¯s thick blonde braid, throwing into sharp focus the dirty state of her clothing. Her tee shirt was smeared with what looked like a week¡¯s worth of grime, and it was yellowing around the neck and armpits. There was even a small hole in one of the sleeves. She was wearing large, gold-rimmed glasses---which, oddly enough, looked cleaner than anything else on her person. They had confiscated her belongings when they¡¯d booked her, though she hadn¡¯t been carrying much. Just some spare change and a blue lighter.

    Stilly pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Nate perched on the edge of the table, putting up a great show of nonchalance as he swung one leg back and forth.

    ¡°Hi there,¡± Stilly said. ¡°My name¡¯s Detective Stilly and this is my partner, Detective Reynolds. We were hoping to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?¡±

    The girl looked at Nate. He felt an immediate and disconcerting sense of danger. A cold caterpillar of dread inched down his spine. He forced himself to smile at her.

    ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± he said.

    ¡°Reynolds, was it?¡± She poked her tongue out between her lips as she continued to stare at him with unblinking eyes. ¡°Like the Vikings?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, surprised. ¡°How¡¯d you know? Do you like history?¡±

    The girl didn¡¯t answer as she shifted her gaze back to Stilly. Her face had a slack-jawed, bored expression. Stilly cleared his throat.

    ¡°We¡¯re not here to judge you or jump to conclusions,¡± he began, his voice tinged with a convincing note of sympathy. ¡°But I have to say, we¡¯ve pulled your record up and it doesn¡¯t look too good for you, kiddo.¡±

    A lie. They had run her prints, but the girl was nowhere in the system. Quite honestly, they had nothing but a neighbor¡¯s account of two girls fleeing Coppula¡¯s burning house. The witness had described one of them as ¡°short with dark hair,¡± and the other was ¡°tall and maybe had glasses.¡± Not exactly rock-solid evidence. Still, this girl didn¡¯t know that. Nate carefully watched her face as Stilly continued:

    ¡°But I want to hear your side of the story. Why don¡¯t we start with your name?¡±

    ¡°Sybill.¡±

    ¡°Well, Sybill, it¡¯s nice to meet you. Would you mind telling me what happened?¡± No response. ¡°Who was with you in Mr. Coppula¡¯s house?¡± Stilly pressed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know anybody named Coppula.¡±

    ¡°Then why were you in his house?¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what you guys would call a leading question?¡± Sybill asked sweetly.

    ¡°Look, Sybill. I get it. Maybe things got out of hand. It was supposed to be an easy job, right? You and your friend decide to break in during the day because most people are at work, but then you see he¡¯s home after all, right when you¡¯re in the middle of it, and your friend panics. Maybe they do something stupid and leave you to pick up the pieces.¡±

    Nate¡¯s heart sank when he saw a smile oozing across the girl¡¯s face. Her eyes were as unreadable as a slab of granite.

    ¡°When do you chip in and play bad cop?¡± she said, turning to Nate. ¡°You gonna flip the table? Should I stand back?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to do anything, Sybill---except try and help you,¡± Nate said. ¡°Tell us your friend¡¯s name.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have friends. They take up too much time.¡±¡±

    Stilly sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

    ¡°Now, Sybill. We know you must¡¯ve had this job planned for a while. The receptionist at the motel said two girls came in. She said you had reservations. So this was clearly premeditated.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re so sure, why are we still sitting here?¡± She held out her wrists. ¡°I surrender.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just be straight with us? It¡¯ll be easier for you in the long run.¡±

    Sybill lowered her hands and rolled her eyes. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure that¡¯s exactly how it would all play out.¡±

    Stilly pushed back his chair and stood up.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to step out for a minute, Sybill. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?¡±

    She flashed a toothy smile. ¡°No thank you, sir.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    He walked out into the hall, Nate at his heels. Stilly closed the door behind them with a sharp click, shaking his head. The look of benign interest his face had worn during the interrogation dropped, replaced with his usual expression of sour complacency.

    ¡°She¡¯s a real fucking treat.¡±

    ¡°Why hasn¡¯t she asked for a lawyer?¡± Nate wondered aloud, scowling through the one-way glass at the hunched blonde figure on the other side.

    ¡°Because she¡¯s arrogant. She doesn¡¯t think she¡¯ll be here for very long.¡±

    ¡°I mean, she¡¯s not wrong to be cocky. We have jack and shit on her. If we can¡¯t find anything solid in the next 48 hours, she walks.

    ¡°Holy shit. You¡¯re right!¡± Stilly looked at Nate with exaggerated awe. ¡°That never occurred to me. You¡¯re so smart and handsome. Can I get your number? Are you seeing anyone right now?¡±

    Nate glared at him. ¡°Did you find any leads on a possible accomplice, jackass?¡±

    ¡°Oh sure. Then I promptly forgot to bring that the fuck up during the interrogation. No, Reynolds, I don¡¯t have any leads.¡± Stilly took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. There was a beat of silence. ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered. ¡°That was uncalled for.¡±

    ¡°Your apology is actually more unnerving than the insults.¡±

    Stilly smiled ruefully. ¡°Right. So what do we know about this delightful ray of sunshine named Sybill?¡±

    ¡°The woman at the motel didn¡¯t see the two girls drive up with a car, so I imagine Sybill¡¯s friend is on foot, which means they probably haven¡¯t gone far.¡±

    ¡°Do you think the two of them had something to do with the Union Station shooting?¡±

    ¡°Who knows?¡± Nate said, carefully avoiding his partner¡¯s eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a weird coincidence that both brothers were attacked so close together though. Is Xavier still out cold?¡±

    Stilly nodded. ¡°I doubt he¡¯ll make it. His head wounds looked pretty bad.¡± He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. ¡°I¡¯m going to follow up with forensics in a bit. They¡¯re still processing evidence from the house. Maybe something will turn up. In the meantime, let¡¯s leave her in there to sweat for a bit.¡±

    He turned and led the way back down the hallway. Nate threw one last glance at Sybill. She looked like she hadn¡¯t sweat a day in her life. He suppressed a shudder. There was something about this girl that was almost¡­reptilian.

    ***

    ¡°Welcome home,¡± Felicity said, coming out of the kitchen to greet him when he walked through the door. The apartment smelled like bacon. ¡°I was wondering when you¡¯d get back. Your note sounded urgent.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sorry for leaving like that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please. It¡¯s your job.¡± She smiled. ¡°I¡¯m making brunch for dinner. Like when we were kids, remember?¡± She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ¡°Want some?¡±

    ¡°Sure. Thanks.¡± He smiled down at her, trying to ignore the way his heart stopped when her lips touched him. ¡°How long are you sticking around?¡± he called as she went back into the kitchen.

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s up to you and your police friends, honey. Any leads?¡±

    Nate threw himself down on the couch. ¡°Not really a lead, but a hell of a coincidence. You been watching the news at all?¡±

    ¡°Not if I can help it,¡± she laughed.

    ¡°We have a suspect for Xavier¡¯s attacker.¡±

    He heard the microwave door slam. Felicity came hurrying back out into the living room. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s a person of interest in custody, but we can¡¯t officially charge her yet. You should see this girl. She has the eyes and social skills of a dead fish. Out of nowhere she asked me if my surname was Viking---I always thought dad just had an overblown sense of self-importance when it came to our lineage---and then basically told my partner to screw himself, which would have been funny under any other circumstance. There¡¯s something off about her, you know? You remember that one kid in your fifth-grade class, Jimmy what¡¯s-his-nuts, the one who liked to eat glue?¡±

    ¡°Viking?¡± Felicity said. There was a strange look on her face. ¡°Who is this girl?¡±

    ¡°Honestly, we don¡¯t know much about her, other than the fact that her name is Sybill. I don¡¯t even know her surname ---are you okay?¡±

    Felicity¡¯s face had turned white as bone.

    ¡°Did you want toast?¡± She turned and headed back towards the kitchen.

    ¡°Felicity?¡±

    ¡°Do you want me to put on some coffee?¡±

    Nate got up and followed her into the kitchen.

    ¡°Felicity.¡±

    Her back was to him. She made a show of frying the bacon on the stove and transferring a few slabs to a plate on the counter.

    ¡°You trust me, right?¡± She turned around. Her face was still pale, but there was a rigid stubbornness about her jaw that Nate recognized.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°I need you to arrange a meeting.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°With Sybill.¡±

    He stared at her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ask questions,¡± she said pleadingly. ¡°Please, Nate. She could make things really bad for me¡ªfor us.¡±

    ¡°Felicity, what the hell is---¡±

    ¡°Please.¡±

    Nate felt the old feelings stirring inside him, like filthy sediment from the bottom of a pond rising to the surface. He fought them---weakly---but once again they overwhelmed every notion of common sense he had in his head.

    ¡°I can¡¯t give you long,¡± he said curtly. ¡°Five minutes tops.¡±

    ¡°And no cameras.¡±

    He stared at her. ¡°Felicity¡­¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t hurt anyone. I promise. I just need to¡­sort some things out.¡±

    ¡°How do you know Sybill? What¡¯s going---¡±

    Felicity took his face in her hands. Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears.

    ¡°Just trust me.¡±

    Her mouth silenced the protests that rose to his lips; the bacon on the stove began to burn.

    ***

    Monday, July 11

    Something was very wrong---well, other than the fact that they were wading through deep shit with no end to the reeking pile in sight. What she was feeling now was something else, something unusual.

    Sophia had been keeping close to the police station, scoping the building for any sign of her sister. She made sure to blend in with the crowds on the sidewalk across the street, falling into step behind dog walkers, sitting on curbs behind parked cars. Hours passed. It became apparent that Sybill wasn¡¯t going to be released anytime soon. Sophia, worn out and too frightened to try and manipulate someone into giving her accommodations for the night, slept behind a bush in a nearby park. She slept fitfully and found herself longing for lumpy motel beds.

    Morning came. It was a warm one; the air shimmered with pearl-gold curtains of evaporating dew. Sophia extracted herself cautiously from the bush and walked back towards the station, her cramped muscles protesting. As she peered around the bumper of an SUV, she spotted a woman strolling up to the front doors. The sunlight tangled in her brilliant red hair, which fell to her waist in a dazzling array of ringlets. She was only in view for about five seconds before she vanished into the building---but it was long enough for Sophia to sense that something was off about her.

    Normally Sophia was connected to the mental rhythms of those around her. That was how she knew when someone was going to die: she felt the signals fading, the way a doctor might see a heartbeat getting slower on an ECG. But this redhead¡¯s signal felt...jumbled. Sophia couldn¡¯t get a clear read on her mind¡¯s language. It was like tuning into a familiar radio frequency and getting nothing but static.

    She closed her eyes and tried to reach out to this odd signal, to feel her way through its sporadic beats and pulses. But she found herself in a myriad of mental confusion. When she opened her eyes again the sun blinded her, and she felt dizzy. She took a moment to get her bearings, then glanced back over at the station and saw that the redheaded woman had come outside again. She was standing off to the side of the front entrance. It looked like she was smoking. Sophia watched her intently for a few moments. Just when she was just thinking of migrating (she didn¡¯t like to linger in one spot too long), the woman threw whatever she was smoking on the ground and made a beeline towards her.

    Startled, Sophia turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction. Her heart was pounding fiercely in her ears. She tried not to go too fast so she wouldn¡¯t arouse suspicion among passersby, but the woman was walking next to her before Sophia had even registered the click-clack of her heels on the pavement.

    ¡°Don¡¯t say anything,¡± she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. ¡°Just follow me.¡±

    Sophia¡¯s first instinct was to run, but curiosity made her pause. The woman certainly didn¡¯t look like a cop. Besides, squatting next to cars and walking in circles was getting old. She decided to follow her while maintaining a generous amount of space between them. That way she could still make a break for it in the event the woman decided to grab her and throw her into the back of a van. Plus, the distorted mental signals flowing from this stranger were even worse up close; a certain degree of distance made Sophia feel less dizzy.

    ¡°Listen closely,¡± said the woman as they cut through an alleyway. ¡°I¡¯m going to take you somewhere safe. You¡¯ll stay there until we can hash out a way to get your sister off the hook.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not doing shit until you tell me who you are, lady.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m an old friend of Sybill¡¯s. We went to school together. Okay?¡±

    ¡°What school? Who was your homeroom teacher?¡±

    ¡°You ever get any better at that brain-sucking trick, Sophia?¡±

    Sophia stopped dead in her tracks. The woman looked at her from over her shoulder.

    ¡°Sybill told me all about it. It¡¯s nice to finally put a face to the stories.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Sophia demanded.

    ¡°Your sister trusts me. Isn¡¯t that good enough?¡±

    Sophia studied the stranger¡¯s face. With its round, moon-like whiteness and rosy cheeks, it wasn¡¯t exactly a dangerous-looking one. The woman turned around again and they continued to walk for a while, hopping fences and cutting across parking lots until they finally arrived at an apartment complex. Sophia couldn¡¯t see any street signs and she didn¡¯t recognize the area. She started to get nervous.

    The woman led the way up a flight of stairs, then two, then three. Finally, she stopped at a door stamped with the number six and fiddled with some keys before entering the apartment.

    ¡°You should be safe here,¡± she said, turning on lights as they stepped inside. ¡°My brother usually rents it out, but it¡¯s been vacant since last year. Feel free to go out and---do whatever it is you do to eat. But stick close to the area if you can, and don¡¯t go out for any other reason. I¡¯ll be by to check in on you.¡±

    ¡°How are we going to get Sybill out?¡±

    There was a long pause before the woman answered:

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. But don¡¯t worry, honey. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll think of something.¡± She smiled. ¡°I¡¯m good at that.¡±

    ***

    Monday, July 11

    Nate came out of the bathroom buckling up his pants and swearing. This belt had been a gift from Felicity a few years ago, but it was too tight. He wished he had the balls to throw it away; he didn¡¯t really need any more daily reminders of her. He was still struggling to with the buckle when he came around the corner and almost ran right into a gangly woman with stringy hair. She worked a few desks over from him, but he couldn¡¯t remember her name. Molly? Macy?

    ¡°Hey Reynolds. ¡®Scuse me. Oh, by the way, some old guy is waiting for you at your desk.¡±

    ¡°Old guy?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, he said he had an appointment?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­okay. Thanks.¡±

    She continued down the hall towards the women¡¯s bathroom. Nate stared after her for a moment, then cautiously walked back through the lobby towards his cubicle. When he saw who was waiting for him, he stopped dead in his tracks.

    The man sitting there had a face like old leather and a body as solid as a brick wall. His short-sleeved polo shirt stretched laboriously across biceps that bulged with veins as thick as metal rods. A couple of buttons were undone at the throat (no doubt pushed to their limits by his python-thick neck), which allowed the gleaming silver locket he always wore to poke through. He had shaved his head since Nate last saw him, and grown a fluffy, salt-and-pepper beard in its place. The eyes that stared out from beneath his aggressive, bushy grey eyebrows were devoid of any warmth or humor, and they were the color of a rainy sky. There was a mole on the corner of his eye that Nate had always hated; it looked like it was an extra eye, watching him.

    When the man spoke, his gravelly voice sent an unpleasant shiver down Nate¡¯s spine.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you again, Nathaniel. How long have you been working in this precinct? Do you enjoy it?¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°I guess we¡¯re not catching up then. Very well. I¡¯m looking for your sister.¡±

    ¡°Still don¡¯t have anything better to do, huh?¡±

    His leaned back in his chair, eying him warily.

    ¡°I thought she might have come to you. You were always¡­close.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. Don¡¯t know what to tell you. I haven¡¯t seen her since she broke out of your loony bin.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t expect me to believe that?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect anything from you, Dad.¡±

    There was pregnant pause. Then his father sighed. ¡°Well if you do come across her, please let me know, will you? I¡¯m terribly anxious about her.¡± His smile didn¡¯t reach his cold, flat eyes.

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    His father stood up, pushing his chair back.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you get back to work then. Take care, son.¡±

    Nate watched as he lumbered across the police station. The tense knot of dread in his chest loosened only when the front door closed behind him. Nate yanked back his chair and sat down at his computer, angrily chugging coffee for the rest of the morning as he tried to distract himself with the ever-growing mound of paperwork on his desk. But no matter what he did, he couldn¡¯t shake the heaviness from his heart. His father had always possessed the knack of leaving behind an unpleasant spiritual stink, excreting ooze like some kind of metaphysical slug. Nate knew he was going to be pissed off for days.

    Felicity had come to visit him just that morning. She¡¯d wanted to arrange a time to see Sybill, but since they still had nothing solid on the girl, Nate had advised his sister to wait just a little longer. The situation might resolve itself, and there would be no need for secret meetings. If Sybill was released, they could just talk on their own time. But Felicity wouldn¡¯t listen. She had gone in and visited Sybill for a few minutes, with Nate nervously keeping watch. She left without incident, hurrying out if the station without looking at him or explaining what she had talked about with Sybill.

    Had his father come an hour earlier, they would¡¯ve run right into each other. The thought made him feel nauseous.

    Nate leaned back in his chair, stretching his aching muscles. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after five. The station was deserted except for himself and the security guard, who was packing up his things for the day. Nate was just about to follow his example when the front door flew open. A breeze swept across his desk, almost knocking his papers to the floor.

    Stilly entered, flushed, out of breath, and radiating smugness.

    ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d still be here,¡± he said.

    ¡°Yeah, well, not for long. I¡¯m gonna go home and drink myself to death, so if you¡¯ll kindly move aside, I can get right on that.¡±

    ¡°Hang on. I got something you¡¯ll wanna to see.¡±

    ¡°Look, boys, I have a family dinner thing,¡± the security guard called. ¡°You locking up or¡­?¡±

    ¡°Jesus, Tommy, what do we pay you for?¡± Stilly said, staring at him. ¡°Two minutes.¡±

    ¡°Fine. But I¡¯m going to time you.¡±

    Stilly rolled his eyes and turned back to Nate. With a dramatic flourish, Stilly flung something onto the desk between them. Nate glanced at it, then leaned forward to get a better look. His heartbeat quickened.

    ¡°The lab pulled this from the ruins of Xavier Coppula¡¯s house a couple days ago. You¡¯re looking at a half-eaten English muffin.¡±

    Nate stared at him, waiting for further elaboration. Stilly¡¯s grin widened at his confusion.

    ¡°How did you even find this?¡±

    ¡°With my incredible sleuthing. Also, I might¡¯ve tripped over some debris when I was snooping around the other day and face-planted right on it. It almost made me throw up, but then I noticed a bite had been taken out of it.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Sybill¡¯s DNA is all over it. The lab just matched it to the prints we got when we booked her. It shows she was at least in the house. Maybe we can use it to squeeze her for details about---"

    ¡°Guys,¡± Tommy said.

    ¡°That was definitely not two minutes,¡± Nate said, turning to face him.

    ¡°Wrap it up. My wife is ovulating.¡±

    ¡°Tommy,¡± Stilly said in disgust, ¡°what part of my demeanor suggests I am the least bit interested in your sex life?¡±

    Tommy grinned and jangled his key ring. ¡°You boys calling it a night or am I locking you in here? Though maybe you¡¯d like that.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off. Get your coat, Stilly. He looks serious,¡± Nate said. He turned back to his desk. He didn¡¯t know how to feel about this English muffin. Mostly because he didn¡¯t know if he wanted to convict Sybill or let her go. He had no idea how it would affect his sister, or which option might be better for her. Frustration washed over him. He wondered why Felicity was keeping him in the dark about all this.

    He wondered how many times she had done it before.

 The Lookalike

    July 12, Tuesday

    Sybill had been charged with breaking and entering. Mary--- Sophia doubted that was her real name---communicated this the afternoon after she had collected Sophia from the police station. Sophia was lying on the couch, but at this announcement she sat up. Her body went numb, and she stared up at Mary in wordless horror.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look like that,¡± Mary said, waving her hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. ¡°It happened a few hours ago and from what I hear, the evidence is pretty flimsy. The cops just want an excuse to hold her while they try to implicate her for the murder. But we¡¯ll get her out before that happens. It isn¡¯t as bad as it sounds, honey. Trust me.¡±

    She seemed confident, and for a moment the knot in Sophia¡¯s stomach loosened. ¡°When does she go to trial?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh, it won¡¯t get that far. Her preliminary arraignment is in a few days and after that she¡¯s still got her hearing.¡±

    ¡°I want to see her.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I should¡¯ve been clearer. What I meant was, no fucking way.¡±

    Sophia glared at her. ¡°I¡¯m just supposed to sit here on my ass and take your word for it that everything will work out?¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    Sophia thought about pushing the matter further, but something told her she wouldn¡¯t get very far, and every minute they spent bickering could be spent planning Sybill¡¯s release instead. She resigned herself with a heavy sigh.

    ¡°Atta girl,¡± Mary said with a pearly smile. "Now. Just look at this place! It¡¯s a mess. Get off that couch and help me tidy up, honey. I won¡¯t have Sybill¡¯s baby sister sleeping in filth.¡±

    Sophia reluctantly stood up with another sigh. While they tidied up the apartment together (it looked as if it hadn¡¯t been lived in for ages), Mary gave Sophia little bits of information about their school days. She told stories Sybill had never even mentioned. For instance, apparently one time in freshman year, the two of them had almost been expelled for setting fire to their chemistry teacher¡¯s toupee.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t mean for it to catch that quickly,¡± Mary recalled, grinning. ¡°Sybill just wanted to see if it would burn. He came over to help her with a beaker and she did it as he bent over. It was hilarious.¡±

    ¡°Did he get hurt?¡± Sophia asked in horrified fascination.

    ¡°His bald spot got a little singed,¡± Mary said, laughing.

    She left around seven in the evening, telling Sophia once again to not leave the apartment for anything except to eat.

    ¡°There¡¯s a spare key on the coffee table. Don¡¯t forget to lock up if you do go out. And make sure you shut the lights off before you go to bed. Oh, and the faucets here are leaky, so make sure you screw them extra tight when you turn the water on and off.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mom.¡±

    ¡°Good girl,¡± Mary said coolly. She shut the door behind her without a backward glance and Sophia heard the key turn in the lock. She sighed and looked around. The possibility of being left alone for days on end with long stretches of anxiety-fueled time to contend with was not ideal.

    That is, until such time ended up being the very means by which she came to discover her new ability.

    ***

    July 13, Wednesday

    Mary stopped by to drop off toilet paper early the next morning. (¡°I know you don¡¯t eat food, but you do take dumps like the rest of us, right?¡±) She left a pack of rolls on the kitchen counter. As Sophia unwrapped the package so she could start placing rolls under the bathroom sink, her thoughts wandered yet again to Sybill.

    What if her sister was actually convicted? How soon would it be before the cops came for her, too? Would Sybill take a deal and incriminate Sophia? No, of course not. Sophia was ashamed for even thinking about it. But she couldn¡¯t hide in this apartment forever, and even if she did somehow manage to pull that off, she didn¡¯t want to. She hated the thought of being alone. Sybill knew how to look after them. If she was gone, how would---

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Sophia¡¯s thoughts were interrupted by a flash of color near her elbow. She looked up and screamed; the toilet paper rolls fell from her hands and bounced across the floor.

    Sybill was standing next to her.

    As soon as Sophia locked eyes with the vision, it flickered and then vanished. Sophia stared at the spot where it had been, her heart pounding in her ears, hardly daring to breath as she waited to see if her sister would come back. But she didn¡¯t. Sophia sucked in a deep, steadying breath.

    Well, she thought. That was interesting.

    Stepping over the toilet paper, Sophia lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table. She folded her hands in her lap, took another deep breath, and closed her eyes. She concentrated on Sybill again. She filled her mind with images of her sister, of the way she looked and spoke and moved. She tried to hold these images and access her power at the same time. It was hard to reach out to a mind that wasn¡¯t dying, but she tried anyways. After what felt like a very long time, she caught hold of a signal. It was so faint she didn¡¯t know if it was really there. Bracing herself, Sophia opened her eyes and looked around.

    Sybill was there---or at least, something that looked very much like her.

    Sophia jumped up and eagerly approached, but as soon as she ceased to concentrate on holding the signal, the Sybill-illusion began to flicker. Sophia stopped dead in her tracks and scrambled to grasp the connection again. The image solidified.

    She stared at it hungrily, her eyes tracing the lines of her sister¡¯s face. The vision didn¡¯t look like flesh and blood, but it didn¡¯t exactly look like a hologram either. In fact, if you saw it from a distance, you might mistake it for a real person. It was only up close that one could perceive the transparency of the figure, see how the light fell through instead of around it. Sophia was seized with awe. The cosmic energy she had assumed existed only in the field of consciousness had crystallized in reality, right before her eyes, in the middle of this smelly and ordinary kitchen. It seemed¡­ blasphemous somehow. Like she was blowing her nose on altar linens.

    Holding the connection was causing her to break out into a sweat. With a pained gasp she had to release it, and the Sybill-entity vanished. Sophia leaned against the kitchen table, breathing heavily. Her mind buzzed with questions. Could she control this projection, or was it something else, something independent of her will that she could only perceive because of her ability?

    Only one way to find out.

    She waited a few minutes for her heart rate to slow down, then she shut her eyes, relaxed, and summoned the Sybill-illusion again. It appeared after a few seconds this time. Sophia locked eyes with it and projected a thought towards its energy:

    Speak.

    The entity stared at her, lips unmoving. Sophia gritted her teeth. She felt sweat dripping down her neck. Several more seconds ticked by, and then she slumped forward onto the table, exhausted. The lookalike vanished.

    As she took a moment to breathe, inhaling the smell of the old plastic table, she suddenly recalled the way Sybill had yelled at her a few days ago in their motel.

    ¡°Why did you do that?¡±

    Had she inadvertently projected something that day? If that was the case, why hadn¡¯t Sybill mentioned it? They could¡¯ve figured it out together. Being able to cause hallucinations---or whatever she was doing---could¡¯ve come in handy on the road. Sophia rose and went over to the sink to splash some cold water on her hot, sweaty face. She tried to ignore the stream of resentment bubbling inside of her, but despite her best efforts, it pushed an unpleasant thought to the surface of her mind.

    How many other things had Sybill decided Sophia was better off not knowing?

    Don¡¯t be stupid, was her next immediate thought. Sybill wouldn¡¯t hide anything from her. Not without a good reason, anyway.

    In an attempt to distract herself, she switched on the T.V. There wasn¡¯t much on but the news, although halfway through surfing, she saw a headline that made her pause: ¡°Union Station Shooter Still at Large.¡± She stared at the scene playing out on the screen: A rain-soaked street roped off with yellow tape, flashing blue and red lights, a police officer at a press conference urging the public to come forward with any information. She was struck by his hair color. It was as red as strawberries. Like Mary¡¯s.

    Something stirred in the depths of her memory, the flavor of things forgotten. She had a gut feeling that whatever she wasn¡¯t remembering had something to do with this case or Sybill or both, though she couldn¡¯t even begin to articulate why she felt this way. She also couldn¡¯t shake the suspicion that she had met Mary before. Or at least seen her somewhere.

    When Mary came to check on her at lunchtime, Sophia casually asked if she could have a phone to access the Wi-Fi---for entertainment only, of course. Mary told her not to use a regular phone, but---if she promised to use it sparingly---she would buy a cheap pay-as-you-go device for her. She did so later that evening.

    ¡°We can throw it away once we leave here. Guess you¡¯re pretty bored, huh?¡± she said, slapping the black phone into Sophia¡¯s palm.

    ¡°Yeah, a bit,¡± Sophia said with convincing peevishness. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Any updates on Sybill today?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you know,¡± Mary said, walking out and shutting the door behind her.

    Sophia waited until her footsteps died in the hall before accessing the Wi-Fi. She typed ¡°Sybill Montgomery¡± into the search engine. A few links down, she found a news article from the Pittsburgh Gazette dated November 6th, 2017.

    ¡°...two teenage girls went missing from their home the same day as their mother¡¯s funeral...¡±

    ¡°...manhunt issued by local police¡­¡±

    Sophia stared at the screen until she could no longer see it. Then she buried her face in her hands and tried to think. Whenever she tried to remember the day they ran away, her memory was full of holes. According to the news article, they had fled their home less than two weeks ago...and they had been wandering for about a week...what had happened at the funeral? Why didn¡¯t Sybill let them go home? Was somebody chasing them? Now her sister was locked up, and if things didn¡¯t go as Mary planned, Sophia would never get any answers.

    She spent the night curled up on her mattress and staring wide-eyed at the wall. By the time dawn illuminated the curtains on the window, she had surrendered to the truth as it leered before her, a monster of heartache and clarity: Sybill was lying to her. All this time she had kept her stupid, submissive, and in the dark.

    Why?

 Writhing Earth

    July 14-15, Thursday & Friday

    Left for hours with nothing to do but naval gaze, Sophia began to use her free time to play around with her newfound projection abilities. At first she practiced summoning Sybill. When the illusion appeared several times at her beckoning, looking almost as solid as flesh except for a faint, barely perceptible shimmer around the edges, she decided to try someone else. She thought of Mary, took a few deep breaths, and closed her eyes. She gnashed her teeth as she concentrated, propelling her consciousness through the network of signals that spewed from countless minds. Finally she found the one she wanted.

    It was harder to work with Mary¡¯s signal though. Most were like threads, undulating and throbbing as they channeled a constant stream of memories. Mary¡¯s, on the other hand, resembled a thick pole. It was harder for Sophia to grab onto it and push it inside her own bubble of consciousness. Once she felt this ¡°pole¡± latch into place, she opened her eyes, breathing heavily.

    A shadowy projection stood in front of her, quivering like a reflection on the surface of disturbed water. After only a few seconds, she lost her grip and it vanished. Sophia slumped back on the couch cushions, panting. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and noticed that her stomach was rumbling. With a resigned sigh, she stood up, grabbed the spare keys, and headed out the door to find something to eat.

    After just a few minutes, she found a weakening strand of memories and followed it into an alleyway. She came across a woman curled up under some newspapers, her matted hair clinging to her neck. As Sophia leaned against the opposite building and waited for the woman to expire, she thought sadly how easy it had always been for her to find someone on the brink of death. She never lacked potential ¡°meals.¡± Death was a generous dinner host.

    After a few moments the woman¡¯s breathing stopped, and Sophia felt the memories sink into her own brain. She closed her eyes and let them fill her, enjoying the sensation. It was only when she came to the last memory that she suddenly stiffened. Usually she didn¡¯t like to linger over them; it was less depressing that way. But when she saw Mary¡¯s face, she slowed the flow of consciousness:

    A girl leaning over her, frowning. Her lips were moving. She couldn¡¯t understand her. Her face vanished from view for a moment, and then she reappeared holding a bottle of water. She felt a delicious coolness slipping down her throat and dribbling down her chin. She tried to thank her. Tongue felt heavy. Stomach empty. She thought she managed a nod at least, because the strange girl smiled down at her. Then she looked sharply to the left and ducked out of sight. Nothing but blazing, grey, cold sky above her. Darkness corroded the edges of her vision.

    The memories stopped and Sophia stood blinking in the sunlight. What on earth was Mary doing in this area? What was she up to and why wasn¡¯t Sophia allowed to know anything about it? She felt a surge of rebellion, accompanied by a sudden restlessness. The idea of going back to that apartment was suffocating. She was so sick of sitting around with knots of anxiety in her stomach. She wanted to find a change of scenery---no, she needed one---no matter what Mary said about staying locked inside. Besides, Sophia told herself, she would only be gone for an hour at most. Nobody would even know she had broken the rules.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    After ambling down trash-strewn alleyways for several minutes, she spotted a cab rolling down the block. Without thinking, she dashed after it, climbed inside, and told the driver to take her into the city. The ride only took a few minutes. At her request, the cab deposited her on Grant Street. The driver¡¯s mind was unguarded and innocent; it was easy for Sophia to slip in and give him the impression that she had paid for the ride.

    She strolled down the sidewalk, watching people run in and out of U.S. Steel Tower, living their normal nine-to-five lives. She wondered what it would be like to worry about average things like bills and jobs. She got so absorbed in people-watching that she didn¡¯t pay attention to where she was going. She collided with a man coming around one of the trees in the courtyard. Sophia stumbled back, muttering apologies and trying not to stare too hard at his unusual bulk. He was so solid he blocked out the sun.

    ¡°Excuse me---¡± he began politely, and then he stopped and stared at her with sudden interest. It made her nervous, as she was certain she didn¡¯t know him.

    ¡°Sorry. I wasn¡¯t looking where I was going,¡± Sophia said quickly, trying to walk around him, but he blocked her way by thrusting out an arm that was as thick as a tree trunk. Sophia felt her initial nervousness give way to annoyance ¡°Can I help you?¡± she asked.

    His gaze was hard and scrutinizing. Then something passed over his face, the slightest shadow of recognition that confused and alarmed her. Before either of them could say anything else, they were distracted by a figure emerging from a nearby park bench.

    It was Mary.

    She was staring down at her phone, but when she pocketed it and looked up, she saw them both. She stopped dead. Sophia barely had time to recover from the shock of seeing her before several things happened at once.

    A car came swerving around the corner like a sleek black bullet; it pulled up to the curb with a loud screech; the doors flung open. Sophia felt Mary seize the collar of her shirt and drag her backward. Her mind was a blur of panic and confusion.

    ¡°Isaac!¡± the stranger bellowed.

    The earth beneath Sophia¡¯s feet jolted and she fell to her knees. Looking down, she realized with horror that the ground was writhing, thrusting up and down as if some crazy, agitated snake lived beneath the surface. Felicity¡¯s grip was torn from her shirt. Sophia whipped around and saw her ducking and weaving as giant chunks of earth and cement were chucked at her head. Sophia heard a scream, and when she turned, she saw that the bulky stranger had grabbed hold of Mary and was trying to drag her into the car.

    Sophia ran towards them, hardly thinking about what she was going to do. But then she saw the man buckle over with a bellow of pain, and Mary tore from his grip. She ran at Sophia, seized her arm, and began to pull her down the street. As they ran down the street, Sophia glanced down and saw the small knife clutched in Mary¡¯s hand. The tip gleamed scarlet.

    The chaos behind them faded as they sprinted down what felt like several blocks. Finally Sophia could go no further. She collapsed against a dumpster in an alley, gasping for air.

    ¡°Who the hell was that?¡± she panted.

    ¡°Not here,¡± Mary said in a breathless voice. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of sight first.¡±

 The Round Up

    As soon as they got back to the apartment, Mary locked the door and collapsed into an armchair. Her pale face was shiny with sweat. Sophia remained standing by the door. The whole scene was glazed with surrealism; it was like she was watching something play out on T.V. She felt numb, her mind reeling with the shock of the last hour. Then, gradually, that shock gave way to anger, and she was the one who broke the silence.

    ¡°Mary. Who was that man?¡±

    ¡°No one.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Sophia¡¯s voice sagged with acidic bewilderment. ¡°Do random strangers often try to chuck you into the back of their cars?¡±

    Mary didn¡¯t answer. She was staring at the opposite wall, a pensive frown on her face. Then she sighed. ¡°Fine. Look, you---don¡¯t tell Sybill I mentioned any of this, okay?¡±

    Sophia stared at her in astonishment. Could she make that promise? Mary sighed and went on without waiting for confirmation:

    ¡°That man is named Doctor Reynolds. And the man who did that stuff to the ground is named Isaac. They work together. They want to take us back to the Institute.¡±

    ¡°The what?¡±

    Mary leaned forward, clasping her hands between her knees. When she finally spoke again, her voice was pained and halting, like every word was a jagged stone working its way up her throat.

    ¡°Reynolds calls it a treatment facility, but really it¡¯s just a house for freaks like us. As far as I know, your sister was never a resident herself, but she was really scared you would be locked up there because of your power.¡±

    ¡°You said ¡®take us back.¡¯ Have I been there before?¡±

    ¡°On and off.¡± Mary rubbed her forehead with a tired sigh. ¡°It was turning into a long-term arrangement. Sybill asked me to help you guys run away and in exchange, she helped me escape from there. I had been there for a while and I just couldn¡¯t take it anymore.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡± Sophia rubbed her forehead. Her thoughts moved like mud through her skull. ¡°Why would Sybill care if I was going somewhere that could help me with my powers? Even if it was long term.¡±

    ¡°Because that place doesn¡¯t help anybody with shit. My dad just uses it as a front for his sick curiosities.¡±

    ¡°Dad?¡±

    Mary looked startled for a minute, then she heaved another sigh. ¡°I¡¯m Doctor Reynolds¡¯ daughter. My name is actually Felicity.¡±

    ¡°So why¡¯d you tell me it was Mary?¡±

    ¡°Just a precaution.¡±

    Sophia¡¯s mounting curiosity outweighed any anger she felt over being lied to. She processed this new information and moved on.

    ¡°You said this is a place for freaks like us. What do you mean? What sort of people are there?¡±

    ¡°All kinds. There¡¯s this one girl I know who can mimic other people¡¯s forms. She does it by stripping the skin from a person¡¯s body and then consuming their flesh.¡±

    Sophia gaped at her, speechless. Felicity went on:

    ¡°I know that¡¯s kinda messed up, but the treatments my father does is¡­¡± She shook her head, a grim expression on her face. ¡°Like, that girl¡­she¡¯s just a kid, right? But they don¡¯t care. They stuck her in a cell by herself for months and kept her sedated. At one point she was chained to the floor like some kind of animal. She was so drugged up she couldn¡¯t even go to the bathroom on her own, and her room always smelled like piss and shit. And they do that will all the kids. I know some little boys there who have the ability to absorb the blood of anyone near them. Dad¡¯s solution was to stick them in freezers and put them in some kind of sleep. I think that quack had been planning on lobotomizing them at some point. The only reason he didn¡¯t was because their parents started visiting and he didn¡¯t want a lawsuit.¡±

    Felicity¡¯s whole body was shaking, her face black with anger.

    ¡°My dad¡¯s so-called wellness facility doesn¡¯t help anyone master their skills or learn more about themselves. His idea of treating me was to stick needles through my eyelids and inject me with something that made me so high I couldn¡¯t even tell you where my own ass was. I was awake---mentally anyway---but otherwise physically incapacitated. It was awful. I would¡¯ve been better off dead. Can you blame Sybill for wanting to keep you out of there?¡±

    Sophia swallowed something thick and hard that was rising in her throat. Her head was starting to heart; the mud in her skull oozed around blocks of information that she struggled to absorb.

    ¡°Where is this place anyway? How come I¡¯ve never heard of it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know the exact location. It¡¯s not like they advertise on Craigslist. It gets all of its business from word of mouth, and the people who are lucky enough to leave---officially---have to sign NDAs.¡±

    ¡°But your dad runs it. How could you not have at least some idea where---¡±

    ¡°Dad has people working for him, people like us. They do things to shield the location and keep us inside.¡±

    ¡°So how did you escape?¡±

    ¡°Like I said. Sybill helped me.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I get that, but how?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to sit around like this anymore,¡± Felicity said, standing up. ¡°We have to free Sybill and get you both the hell out of here. Right now.¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Felicity chewed her lip, the pensive frown returning to her face. ¡°Okay, here¡¯s what we¡¯ll do. You wait here. Lock the doors and don¡¯t go out, not even to eat. You¡¯ll live a day without sucking brains, right? I¡¯ll have Sybill here by tomorrow morning.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow?¡± Sophia repeated, startled. ¡°But how---¡±

    ¡°Just trust me, honey,¡± Felicity said with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m good at thinking on my feet.¡±

    July 16, Saturday

    Sophia didn¡¯t sleep well that night. Whenever she managed to drift off for just a few minutes, she was assaulted by the recurring nightmare about the blurry faces standing over her, watching silently as her innards were scooped out of her body. She woke up gasping and sweating, only to toss and turn for a few more hours before repeating the damn cycle all over again. When the pale slivers of dawn finally crept across the floor, Sophia got out of bed and started to pace. She had been at it for a few hours when she heard a sharp knock on the door. She flew across the room and wrenched it open.

    Sybill was standing there, flanked by Mary and a tall blonde boy. Felicity introduced him as ¡°Jack,¡± but Sophia barely spared him a glance before she flung herself onto her sister¡¯s neck. Sybill wrapped her in a tight hug that lifted Sophia a few inches off the floor.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she said. ¡°Have you been getting enough to eat? You look like shit.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been sleeping,¡± Sophia said, laughing weakly as she pulled back and stared up into her sister¡¯s face. ¡°Are you actually here? I was starting to think I¡¯d never see you again.¡±

    Before Sybill could answer, Felicity hissed,

    ¡°You¡¯ll have plenty of time for tearful reunions after everyone was safe. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia looked at her, surprised. ¡°Right now?¡±

    ¡°No, Sophia, after we have a going away party with all of the neighbors. Yes, fucking now. Jack, can you get us there?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a bit wiped out right now,¡± the blonde boy said in a peevish voice. ¡°We¡¯ll have to be old fashioned and walk.¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t know what that meant, but she decided not to care for the moment, reserving any commentary for when she was finally alone with Sybill again. There was going to plenty for them to talk about---and not all of it was going to be pleasant. The questions were already bubbling up in her mind: Why did you never tell me that there were other people out there like me? What actually happened the night we ran away from home? Why haven¡¯t I been able to remember anything?

    Felicity led them down a few flights of steps and then out into the muggy summer morning. They walked for what felt like hours, pausing frequently to rest their legs. Sophia had plenty of time to think, and she found her eyes wandering to the tall boy named Jack. The languid way he strolled down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, like he was moving through honey; his heavy-lidded grey eyes; the feathers of dusty blonde hair that fell onto his long neck; the way his voice had the slightest hint of a Southern drawl. It all seemed vaguely familiar, but she wasn¡¯t sure why. She was certain they had never met before.

    ¡°Where are we going to go?¡± she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, tearing her eyes away from Jack to look at her sister.

    ¡°As far away from here as we can,¡± Sybill whispered as they turned into Station Square and began to make their way across Bessemer Court. The fountain, splashing into its great stone basin, was the only sound Sophia could hear on the quiet summer air. The rest of the area was largely deserted. ¡°We¡¯ll just borrow some money---Felicity? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Felicity had stopped dead in her tracks. A silence fell on the group, an unnatural calm that made everything inside of Sophia grow cold.

    ¡°Oh dear,¡± Jack sighed, at the same time Felicity yelled ¡°Fuck!¡± and started to run across the courtyard.

    Sophia barely had time to process what was happening before she felt something wrap around her ankle. She was pulled to the ground and dragged yelling and clawing across the bricks. She twisted around on her back to see who was pulling her, only to realize with horror that it wasn¡¯t a who, but a what. A thick brown vine---rough and hairy---was coiled around her leg. It was pulling her towards a tree---no, a man. He was covered in writhing vines, branches sprouting from his head and shoulders. Wreaths of leaves were entangled in his long dark hair and curling around his legs and torso. The only human thing about him was his eyes. They glittered in between the leaves like fat, black beetles.

    ¡°DROP HER!¡±

    Sybill was suddenly at her side, tearing at the vines with her nails, a hideous expression of feral rage on her face. Sophia felt the bonds break and she scrambled to her feet. She started to run, but then noticed that her sister wasn¡¯t following her.

    Sybill had lunged at the tree-man instead.

    His eyes popped in surprise and before he could react, she was already on him, gouging her fingers into his eye sockets. He yelled and thrashed, but his struggling only made Sybill claw with more ferocity. He desperately beat at her with the vines hanging off his wrist, his alarmed cries turning into roars of frustration and rage. Then Sybill suddenly went limp and collapsed heavily onto the ground. Sophia expected her to spring to her feet, but the seconds ticked by, and she didn¡¯t move. Sophia rushed over to her.

    Her heart stopped.

    A thick branch was protruding from her sister¡¯s body. Her head flopped on her chest as blood poured down her torso and trickled onto her legs. Unbelievably, she was still breathing---but barely. Sophia could hear her ragged gasps as she struggled to pull air into her failing lungs.

    She¡¯s okay. We¡¯ll get that thing out of her and then we¡¯ll run away to a new life, just the two of us, like we planned.

    Sophia could hear the chaos still happening around her, Felicity¡¯s angry screams, the guttural moans of agony from the tree-man, Jack¡¯s high-pitched laughter. The noise broke over her, divorced from meaning, as insignificant as dust in a tornado. The center of reality was right in front of her, and it was ending.

    A shadow fell over her. She heard the rustling of leaves and waited for the vines to dig into her flesh once more. But nothing happened. The tree-man just stood there. Waiting. Sophia realized he was letting her keep vigil until---

    Her sister drew a long, choking breath that shook her entire body. Then she slumped forward and expelled several gelatinous, swirling bubbles, which slowly rotated and began to drift towards Sophia, coming at her with a solemn, bobbing finality. Sophia recoiled.

    The tree-man grasped her by the shoulder and pulled her to her feet. She had no strength left to fight him off. He could¡¯ve led her straight off a cliff. He half-carried, half-dragged her towards the main road, where a van was parked. The side door flung open. A woman Sophia didn¡¯t recognize reached out and pulled her inside. She stumbled into thick darkness that smelled of leather and sweat. The windows were tinted, and as she groped her way through the blackness, she realized there weren¡¯t any seats. She curled up into a fetal position on the floor. Then the door opened again; the light was blocked by tree-man¡¯s silhouette and someone else was shoved next to her with a heavy thump. Sophia realized with horror that it was Sybill¡¯s body when she saw the memory bubbles materialize in the blackness. She scooted frantically away from them, pressing herself against the windows, her arms extended as if to push them away.

    Nnononononono, please, oh Christ, I¡¯m not ready, nonono ---

    The van door opened for a third time, and she had a split second to register Felicity and Jack struggling against their captors before they were forcefully thrust inside. Then the door slammed again. After a moment Jack started to softly hum to himself and Felicity began to snivel. But Sophia didn¡¯t feel sorry for her; she wasn¡¯t even annoyed at Jack¡¯s baffling nonchalance. She felt nothing but the weight of her own agony and confusion as the bubbles swarmed around her.

    The floor beneath her lurched, and the van began to move.

 The Life and Death of Angel Boy (Part 1)

    The cat was cute, covered in black and white spots. It looked like a little cow. But it was also lame and old. It was hobbling across the yard, tottering on unsteady limbs. The man mowing the lawn did not see it.

    Sybill could have screamed a warning, told him to stop. But she had no instinct to do so. Instead, she stood across the street, clutching her favorite stuffed animal, a green elephant she¡¯d received for Christmas one year. She sucked her thumb.

    ***

    The elephant was being ripped from her hands. She screamed in fury, only to be met with a blow to the top of her skull. It sent her reeling back into the wall. Dazed, blood in her eyes, she saw the mean man throw the elephant into the garbage. He brandished his coffee mug like it was a knife. He was yelling, his face red and blotchy. He smashed the mug against the table and one of the flying shards cut her across the cheek. She picked it up and jabbed it into his shin. He screamed and started kicking her. She tasted blood. And joy.

    ***

    Spots of color. Green interwoven with blue. Yellow shimmering between green-blue patches, shaking golden drops onto her face. Warming her skin. It was sunshine. It leaked through the canopy of leaves above her head, dappling her comic book with dancing buttery squares. She was in a secluded part of the garden, hidden from view in the event anybody happened to glance out the kitchen window. Martha had picked up drinking again and it was only a matter of time before she started looking for someone to take it out on. She was also hoping the bushes would hide her from Annie, who had spent the bus ride home pulling her hair whenever the driver wasn¡¯t looking.

    Sybill had never read anything like these comics. She¡¯d stolen them from Annie¡¯s room, but she wasn¡¯t too worried about getting into trouble for it. She was pretty sure her ¡°sister¡± wasn¡¯t even supposed to have them, as they¡¯d been hidden under the bed along with bags of junk food, a bottle of foul-looking booze, and some weird-looking toys she was fairly certain Annie had borrowed from the older girls at school.

    The comics were called ¡°Angel Boy.¡± They told the story of a boy who decided to kill criminals with his newfound psychic abilities. The panels were quite graphic, depicting in detail the violent ways in which he exploded heads or burst hearts. In one storyline, he even used his powers to crush a man¡¯s bones into powder.

    When she went to bed that night, Sybill saw them as soon as she closed her eyes: panels of gore and carnage, images of death and pain and power.

    Images which should have horrified rather than captivated her.

    ***

    There were several jeering faces standing over her. Annie stood out from the rest, the weak winter sunshine gleaming on her red pigtails and silver braces. She was sitting on top of Sybill, pinning her against the ground. As Sybill thrashed against her, Annie bent down, scooped up a handful of mud, and tried to shove it into Sybill¡¯s mouth, provoking screams of delight from the other children. Sybill squirmed and cried out. But the area was deserted. No teachers. No classmates. Nobody was coming to help. Nothing fucking new about that, so why did it still make her feel so sad?

    She choked on chunks of earth and had to swallow some to breathe.

    ¡°Gross!¡±

    ¡°She actually swallowed it!¡±

    ¡°Eeeewwww!¡±

    Annie laughed, wiping her hands on the back of Sybill¡¯s shirt as she climbed to her feet.

    Sybill rolled onto all fours and started to retch.

    ¡°Shit mouth,¡± Annie said, running back towards the school as the bell rang. Her gang followed, giggling. Sybill sat in the dirt for a long time after they were gone, the taste of earthworms lingering on her tongue.

    ***

    She was rummaging around in Everett¡¯s study, pulling open desk drawers and filing cabinets. Annie had stolen her lunch at school and it was hours before dinner, so she thought she¡¯d see what he had around in terms of snacks. He told Martha he was off sugar since his last heart attack, but Sybill knew he had a stash somewhere; she¡¯d seen him cramming down a bag of cookies the other day.

    When she yanked open one of the top drawers, she saw a

    lighter lying next to a pack of cigarettes. So much for the ¡°I-haven''t-picked-up-a-cigarette-in-weeks dear¡± storyline too. No wonder he was in the ER every other week. Stuffing down cookies and nicotine every day of his pathetic life. It was amazing his doughy ass was still alive. And fibbing about it to his wife too, like some kind of grade-school pussy.

    Sybill picked up the lighter and flicked it on with her thumb. For a moment she forgot herself as she stared at the tiny spark between her fingers. Translucent blue melting into pale yellow, wriggling in the air like a living thing. The metal grew hot and she had to switch it off. She waited a few seconds, then clicked it on again.

    And again.

    The loud growl in her stomach brought her back to her original purpose. She closed the desk drawer but slipped the lighter into her pocket.

    ***

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Everett was practically foaming at the mouth as he paced back and forth in front of her, waving her report card like it was a dead rat. The family dog---a chubby mutt named Louis---cowered under a chair in the corner.

    She sat on the couch in silence, glaring at her sneakers as he raved at her. Stupid Louis was whimpering nonstop.

    ¡°A year of private tutoring and this is what you have to show for it? What happened here?¡±

    Screw you, Everett.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you won¡¯t at least try. You have access to good teachers, good lessons. Your sister is doing well at the same school.¡±

    She¡¯s not my fucking sister.

    ¡°So what¡¯s the problem, Sybill? Are you lazy? Or are you just stupid?¡±

    Fat. Mean. Useless. Piece. Of. Shit.

    ¡°Me and Martha want you to have a good life.¡± He threw her disappointing report card on the coffee table and came towards her. ¡°We take good care of you, Sybill. Don¡¯t you want to make us proud?¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± she said dully, looking up at him.

    Even though she was expecting it, the slap still stung. She gnashed her teeth together to prevent herself from crying out.

    ¡°Then do better next time,¡± he said curtly.

    He turned and walked out of the room.  After several minutes of silence, Louis crawled out from his hiding place and trotted up to her. He licked her hand, then sat on his haunches and looked at her with eyes that communicated more kindness than any human¡¯s.

    She smiled and patted the top of his head. Her cheek was still stinging.

    Then she remembered the lighter in her pocket. She took it out and rolled it between her hands, thinking about Angel Boy. She flicked the lighter on. Louis immediately scattered, shooting reproachful looks at her from over his retreating furry rump. As she watched the tiny flame dance before her eyes, she felt a conviction bubble up from deep within the wells of her angry heart. Control was the only thing worth having. The people who had it were free and the suckers who didn¡¯t spent their lives---well, eating dirt on playgrounds and getting slapped in the face by fat ass foster father dick heads.

    She put the lighter away and stood up. The weight of it in her pocket felt comforting.

    ***

    She watched the retreating back of the social worker from the window. It was dark and raining outside.

    This one was named ¡°Emma.¡± A sweet, wholesome name and a face to match. She had baby-blue eyes and a sugar-white smile and she proved to be about as useful as a fucking Pop Tart. She had sat there and listened to Sybill for thirty minutes, nodding and frowning with concern. When Sybill finally stopped talking, Emma said she would ¡°look into it.¡± Sybill knew what that meant. Emma was just like the others; she thought Sybill was fibbing or exaggerating or still ¡°adjusting¡± to her new home.  It never dawned on them that the system was failing her. They had already decided she was a kid who was failing the system.

    She watched Emma climb into her car and slam the door.

    ***

    She watched the shadowy patterns dance over the grass as the tire swing rotated. Her feet dangled inches over the ground. She didn¡¯t want to go inside for dinner. They were probably having leftovers, and she wasn¡¯t really in the mood for part two of Martha¡¯s Shitty Cooking. It was going to be chili. She would¡¯ve rather eaten Louis.

    Speaking of which. She raised her head and watched him sniffing around the garden. He paused at a bed of mums, burrowing his nose inside their fragrant pink depths, tail thumping enthusiastically against the ground. Martha had just planted those this afternoon. Her gardening tools---including shears, a shovel, and gloves---were still lying in the grass. Sybill hopped off the swing and ran over.

    ¡°Get outta there, Louis.¡±

    He ignored her. She didn¡¯t really care about the mums, but she knew Martha would blow her stack. And when Martha was pissed, she liked to transfer that anger to those around her---mostly to the foster kid she didn¡¯t like.

    ¡°Move it,¡± Sybill said, shoving the dog¡¯s rump with her foot. His head jerked up. A deep growl bubbled up from the back of his throat. ¡°Quit being a dick,¡± she said, waving her arm at him in an attempt to shoo him away.

    Louis lashed out quicker than her eyes could register. Sybill cried out and stumbled back, clutching her arm. He had broken skin. Beads of blood trickled down her wrist.

    She bent down and snatched up the gardening shears. Louis, realizing his attack had not scared her off, crouched low to the ground and bared his teeth. Sybill lunged; the shears opened and clicked; Louis gave a piercing yelp. The tip of one of his ears was bleeding freely from a raw and open wound.

    His pain only made her angrier.

    The shears opened their steely jaws once more--twice--three--four times¡ªand each cry of the wounded animal ignited her rage.

    By the time her vision cleared and she realized Louis was no longer moving, dusk had fallen. The shadows stretched across his bloodied fur, covering him in darkness, as if the world was trying to hide what she had done. She stood silently in the gathering twilight, her heart pounding in her ears. Her hands still clutched the shears, and hot euphoric blood rushed through her veins.

    The chunk of ear she had clipped from Louis was lying near the mum bed. An idea suddenly came to her. Grinning, Sybill pocketed it before turning her attention to the problem now at hand. She dragged Louis¡¯ corpse to a tree in the back of the yard and, using Martha¡¯s shovel, began to dig a hole into the ground. It took a while, but she worked quickly and fiercely. Finally she had a fairly deep ditch, and she rolled his body into it. He flopped inside with a final thump. Sybill spent several minutes throwing dirt over him, patted it into place, and then started back towards the house.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    She entered through the kitchen door. Martha was at the sink, and as Sybill walked into the room, she turned towards her with a spoon in her hand.

    ¡°There you are. Did you want chili with---good Lord. What the hell have you been up to?¡±

    ¡°I went hiking. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Wash your hands. You look like a pig.¡±

    Martha moved out of the way as Sybill turned on the faucet and ran her hands under the water. When her foster mother went out into the dining room to set the table, Sybill decided it was now or never.

    Martha¡¯s pot of chili was still simmering on the stove. Sybill slipped Louis¡¯ ear chunk out of her pocket and, giggling, hurried across the room and dropped it inside the pot. She stirred it a couple times to mix it in with the meat and tomatoes, and then hopped back to the sink just as Martha re-entered with a tray full of empty bowls.

    ¡°None for me,¡± Sybill said. ¡°I don¡¯t like stewed tomatoes.¡±

    Halfway through dinner, Everett said the chili seemed chewier than usual.

    ***

    She sat up in bed. The room was dark and stuffy, filled with Annie¡¯s snoring and the rancid stench of sweat and dirty laundry. She listened tensely for several minutes, making sure the little bitch really was asleep. Then she slithered out from underneath her covers and tiptoed over to the window.

    It was a clear night. The sky was covered in a sparkling tapestry of stars. Sybill stood looking up at it, marveling at this mere sliver of a vast universe---a world of beautiful, cold, indifferent chaos.

    Her resolve solidified. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out the lighter.

    A little flame appeared in the smothering darkness. She leaned it towards the curtains and watched the fire eagerly latch onto the ugly pink lace, spilling upward in a riot of sulfuric hunger. She applied a similar tactic to Annie¡¯s bed covers, pausing for a moment to admire the glorious blaze as it leapt up the sleeping girl¡¯s legs. Then she ducked out of the room and ran down the hallway, her bare feet thumping on the carpeted floors.

    She lit several more curtains as she ran from room to room, as well as some rugs and a few towels. Finally, she set fire to the living room couch. She watched, dizzy with euphoria, as the fire ballooned into a furnace of unadulterated destruction. When the smoke began to choke her, she turned regretfully away and hurried from the room.

    It was a little clearer out in the hall, but not by much. Sybill had to squint through a veil of smoke, and it was so hot she could already feel beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. She heard someone pounding on a door upstairs. It took her a few moments to realize that it was Annie. Screaming for help. Only to be drowned out moments later by the wail of smoke detectors.

    She walked to the foot of the stairs, listening to the symphony of panic and chaos swelling up around her. Was that Everett and Martha, yelling for help from the master bedroom? It was hard to tell. The landing to the second floor was blocked by a wall of fire. She couldn''t have helped them even if she wanted to.

    Sybill lay down on the bottom step and closed her eyes. It was getting harder to breath. She wondered what she wanted to happen. Sleep, said a small voice in her head. She just wanted to sleep, surrounded by this hot, beautiful madness.

    The last thing she thought of before she lost consciousness was her green stuffed elephant.

    ***

    The study was bigger than her previous bedroom and upstairs bathroom combined. The walls were made of sleek mahogany, as dark and gleaming as the eyes of the woman sitting across from her. She had an untidy brunette bun twisted on the top of her head, and the crisp blue pantsuit she wore crinkled whenever she moved. She had finished signing the stack of papers on her desk and was now regarding Sybill with silent judgment. Sybill looked back at her coolly, refusing to blink and thinking that the crisp pantsuit would make good kindling. A distinct odor hit her nose, and it took a moment for her to realize that it was probably the perfume the woman was wearing. Sybill had never experienced anything quite like it. It smelled like firewood and something sweeter, an odor that was hard to identify. Mint, perhaps?

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re settling in, Sybill,¡± brown bun was saying. ¡°We¡¯re so happy you¡¯re here. I was very sorry to hear about your family, but I hope you¡¯ll learn to think of us as your new home.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery.¡±

    Brown bun smiled. ¡°None of that. You can call me Evelyn---or Evie, if you like.¡± She paused, as if waiting for Sybill to go into ecstasies over this announcement. When she was silent, ¡°Evie¡± went on: ¡°Have you seen much of our home yet?¡±

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Would you like to?¡±

    Sybill shrugged. Evie stood up and beckoned her to follow. Sybill obeyed, barely listening as she was shown a variety of rooms: there was the game room, down this hall was the bedrooms, here is where your bathroom will be, blah, blah, blah. Though the layout was of little interest to her, she had to admit that objectively the house was an impressive feat. It had an ornate oak staircase in the foyer that wound up multiple flights of stairs, spacious hallways with glass windows embedded in the ceiling, old-fashioned chandeliers, and tidy rooms filled with bright decor and plenty of light.

    ¡°This house has been in the family for centuries,¡± Evie was saying, looking around with obvious pride. ¡°We tried to make as few alterations as possible to the overall architecture.¡±

    Impressive lineage or not, it didn¡¯t feel like a home to Sybill. It felt more like an institution.

    Evie led her down into the kitchen. Sybill was immediately disoriented by its size. It glittered with modern appliances and was filled with an array of delicious odors. She noticed a woman standing at the stove, stirring something and yelling orders at a younger twitchy-looking boy who was opening up the fridge.

    ¡°No, no milk, Miss Evie and Miss Sophia are extremely allergic to dairy. I told you that before. Miss Evie had a tiny piece of cheese once and she had to go to the hospital.¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes ma¡¯am, I understand.¡±

    ¡°And remember to wipe up the coffee grinds when you spill on the counter. Not now, Javier, close the fridge first, before you let out all the cool air. Here, stir this. You can do that, right?¡± She spotted Evie and came over to her, shaking her head. ¡°Bad news, boss. The noob is as competent as a spatula.¡±

    Evie smiled. ¡°I thought you would be happy for the help. He¡¯s looking for experience and who better to teach him than one of America¡¯s finest chefs?¡±

    ¡°Gordan Ramsey would slap you right across your pretty mouth for uttering such blasphemies. And I can¡¯t argue that the kid needs experience---and a couple extra brains cells. Where¡¯d you find him anyway?¡±

    ¡°He graduated from Auguste Escoffier School Of Culinary Arts this past summer. He¡¯s a good kid. I know his family, so be nice and give him a chance.¡±

    The woman shrugged moodily. ¡°You¡¯re in charge, I guess.¡± She was looking curiously at Sybill, whose ears reddened under her gaze. Evie placed a hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°Sybill, this is Hannah. She¡¯s been with me for longer than she would probably like. She does all the cooking, something for which I¡¯m sure my daughter is infinitely grateful.¡±

    Hannah grinned and shook Sybill¡¯s hand. Her palm was beefy and damp; she had fingers like round pink sausages.

    ¡°So you¡¯re the orphan rescue! I¡¯ve heard a lot about you.¡±

    ¡°Hannah,¡± Evie said reproachfully.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Sybill said. ¡°It¡¯s true.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s nice to meet you, Sybill,¡± Hannah said. ¡°If you ever need a midnight snack---well, too bad. My kitchen closes after five.¡±

    Sybill smiled dutifully at the joke, and Evie shook her head in exasperation as she steered her out of the kitchen. Hannah resumed barking orders at ¡°Javier.¡± Sybill couldn¡¯t decide if she liked the cook or not. At least she was upfront.

    She followed Evie into a furnished basement as the latter called out:

    ¡°Sophia, come say hi.¡±

    A girl¡¯s head popped up from over the back of the couch cushions. She pulled earbuds out of her ears and stared at Sybill for a few moments before giving her a casual nod.

    ¡°Hi.¡±

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    The girl looked like her mother. She had a mass of untamed brunette curls and wide dark eyes the color of coffee beans. A spray of brown freckles ran across her nose and cheeks like a dusting of cocoa powder. She had a single mole, like a drop of chocolate syrup, on the corner of her right eye. She looked about thirteen; the full and perky breasts asserting themselves beneath her T-shirt had clearly jumped the gun. Sybill was immediately conscious of her own pitiful boobs. She was almost sixteen now, but puberty was taking its sweet time.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you show Sybill around the den?¡± Evie said. ¡°I¡¯m going back upstairs to check on dinner.¡±

    And with that she vanished, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

    Sybill went over to a chair in the corner and sat down, examining the T.V. and entertainment center. They looked pretty new, so at the very least she could waste away in style if this family proved to be as awful as the last one.

    ¡°Wanna play something?¡± Sophia asked, sliding off the couch and crawling over to a stack of video games in the corner. The jeans she was wearing were just as flattering as the tee shirt; they revealed the nebulous stages of the lovely womanly body that was to be. Envy surged through Sybill¡¯s bloodstream and spread like mold through her soul.

    ¡°I¡¯m not very good at them,¡± she mumbled.

    ¡°Good. Neither am I.¡± Sophia looked up with a smile. She had a smile Sybill didn¡¯t trust. It didn¡¯t have anything to hide, and Sybill had never met anyone who didn¡¯t have anything to hide. ¡°Any preferences? Cowboys? Shooter? Racing?¡±

    ¡°Something that involves punching,¡± Sybill said.

    ¡°Fair enough. So do you want me to get all the preliminary bullcrap out of the way now or are we just gonna skip it altogether?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Like do you want me to ask where you were born, what your hobbies are, how you¡¯re liking things so far, if you got any weird allergies or fetishes¡­that kinda thing? I¡¯m told sister¡¯s do that.¡±

    ¡°God, no.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. Let¡¯s play this one, then.¡± She yanked out a disc from the middle of the stack; the game tower immediately toppled and spilled several cases over the carpet. Sophia kicked them aside indifferently as she inserted the chosen one into the gaming system. Once the menu was displayed on the T.V. screen, Sophia crossed the room and flopped next to Sybill like they were old friends. She smelled faintly of heather. The odor unlocked something inside of Sybill. She became overwhelmed with a feeling she could not immediately identify. Then she realized that this was how her stuffed green elephant had made her feel---before one of her many lousy foster parents had disposed of it.

    They ended up playing some racing game. Halfway through the first track (which they had to keep re-starting since they both kept crashing), Sybill asked when she was going to meet ¡°the dad.¡±

    ¡°My dad died when I was little.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sorry.¡±

    Sophia shrugged, her eyes still glued to the T.V. ¡°I don¡¯t really remember him.¡±

    ¡°Evie bring home any boyfriends I should know about?¡±

    ¡°Hell no. She never dates.¡±

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s easier on you, right? It¡¯d be weird to have some random dude walking around.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s whatever. Personally I think it would be nice for her to have someone, but she never seemed to need it. Then again, maybe she¡¯s just waiting for me to move out so she can start entertaining a plethora of lovers unfettered.¡±

    Sybill snickered. What thirteen-year-old talked like that? She wondered if Sophia had read that in a book somewhere.

    ¡°That must be it. But her lack of libido explains me, I guess.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°She wanted another kid but didn¡¯t have anyone to plow her field.¡±

    ¡°Thank you very much for that mental image. I¡¯ve always wanted to imagine someone drilling into my mother.¡±

    ¡°Hey, nature chose the method. I had nothing to do with it.¡±

    Sophia laughed. ¡°Look, I know it¡¯s probably really weird being here.¡± She tore her eyes away from the game and looked over at her, smiling. ¡°But for what it¡¯s worth, I¡¯ve always wanted a sister.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try my best to live up to your expectations.¡±

    ¡°Honestly if you just stay away from my tampons we¡¯ll get along fine.¡±

    ¡°You use tampons?¡± Sybill said, surprised.

    ¡°Yeah, not really a pad girl, on account of them being basically big diapers and all.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t even had my period yet.¡±

    ¡°Cherish every minute. I hit puberty when I was nine. It¡¯s not something to envy.¡±

    ¡°Girls!¡± Evie called from upstairs. ¡°Dinner!¡±

    ¡°Finally,¡± Sophia said, immediately throwing her controller on the couch and jumping to her feet.

    Sybill followed her up the stairs and into a gleaming dining room.

    ¡°Come sit by me,¡± Evie said, smiling and waving Sybill into a chair on her right. ¡°Sophia, what¡¯re you doing? We haven¡¯t said grace yet. Put the spoon down and step away from the mashed potatoes.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m starving.¡±

    ¡°Is that supposed to be news or something? Wait two seconds. I¡¯ve seen you make it at least that far before.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but barely,¡± Sophia grumbled, though she obediently put down her utensils and folded her hands.

    Evie lowered her head and began to chant:

    ¡°Bless us oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord.¡±

    At least it was short and sweet, Sybill thought as Sophia said ¡°amen!¡± and then lunged towards the nearest dish. She looked around at the table laden with bright dishes and steaming food, and then stared across the table at the girl she liked a lot more than she thought she would. Sophia grinned when she caught her eye; she had a large quantity of green beans stuck between her teeth.

    ***

    Sybill had never been to a Catholic service before. She had vague memories of going to church when she was little, but none of her foster parents in recent years had been what one might call ¡°religious.¡± Everett had been raised in what he described as ¡°the-church-of-what¡¯s-happening-now,¡± but he hadn¡¯t brought any of that into his marriage. Not like Martha would¡¯ve allowed it. She¡¯d been a staunch atheist.

    Sybill sat silently in the pew, wedged between Sophia and Evie, and marveled at how involved it all was. The incense was so thick it made her eyes water, and her ears throbbed from all the chanting, bell ringing, and organ music. At one point the priest walked down the aisle and used a wand to fling water on the congregation. Sybill wasn¡¯t too happy when she was splashed right in the eyeball. There was also way too much kneeling and standing; at times it seemed more like an aerobics class than a church service.

    But at least it wasn¡¯t all stuff and nonsense. She liked the priest¡¯s robes. Though the sight of a grown-ass man in a gown tickled her, she was impressed by his somber demeanor and the bright colors of the clothing. The robe was as red as a cardinal¡¯s breast, with a trail of elaborate gold trim down the front. It gave him a kingly aura; he seemed to glide rather than walk across the marble altar. She also liked the windows. The sunlight filtering into the church ignited the stained glass, transforming it into a dazzling mosaic of color and light which showered the floor with tiny rainbows.

    But the best thing about the service was the crucifix dangling over the altar. Sybill had absorbed the basic narrative behind it through T.V. and peers, but now that she was looking at one up close, the last thing she thought of was ¡°redemption.¡±  This was the sanctification of violence, brutality re-packaged and enshrined into ¡°holy¡± doctrine. It was the worshipful glorification of torture.

    She couldn¡¯t stop looking at it.

    On the way home she asked Evie where she could get one. Evie---looking surprised but delighted---promised to get her a birthstone cross pendant for her birthday.

 The Life and Death of Angel Boy (Part 2)

    ¡° ¡®Oo didn¡¯t ¡®ave to do that,¡± Sophia said in between mopping her nose with the blood-soaked tissue Sybill had handed her. They had been sitting on the front steps of the school for the last half hour. Sophia looked pretty roughed up, from the torn buttons on her coat to the sticks clinging to her hair.

    ¡°Yeah, you for sure looked like you had it under control. Where did they sling your panties again?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the second pair this week. How¡¯m I su¡¯posed to keep es¡¯plaining this to Mom?¡±

    ¡°Just tell her a football player took it.¡±

    Sophia started to laugh, then winced in pain. ¡°Dum¡¯ bitches.¡±  She twisted the tissue into a rope and inserted it up the nostril that was spewing the most blood.

    ¡°They can hit pretty well for dumb bitches,¡± Sybill said, flexing her scraped knuckles. ¡°You need to learn some moves or they¡¯ll kill you next time. What was it all about, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Pam doesn¡¯t need a goo¡¯ reason to make m¡¯life hell.¡±

    ¡°Everyone is saying you threw the first punch, Soph. Tell me what it was really about and I can help you come up with a good cover story for Evie.¡±

    There was a beat of silence. The blood had started to dry up, leaving crusty red trails on the edge of Sophia¡¯s nostrils. ¡°Pam was saying stupid shit about you.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°She was just trying to get a rise out of me.¡±

    ¡°Well clearly it worked.¡±

    Sophia grunted and they sat together in silence for a few minutes. Sybill felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her body. She decided she didn¡¯t care for it. She didn¡¯t trust it.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go home,¡± Sophia said sullenly, removing the now-crimson tissue from her nostril and gingerly feeling her nose. ¡°Before Mom starts to worry.¡±

    As they walked through the descending twilight, Sybill relived the fight in her head. Fists swinging, wisecracks flying, the terrified look on the faces of Pam and her friends as they turned and ran, screaming profanities over their shoulders, Sophia¡¯s teary look of gratefulness and embarrassment as she let Sybill help her to her feet.

    She was still feeling the adrenaline pump through her veins.

    ***

    ¡°At least try to look like you¡¯re not eating a mouthful of shit,¡± Sophia whispered in her ear as Sybill scowled around the room. Hundreds of lenses winked in the sunshine streaming through the big front window.

    ¡°Do I have to get some?¡± she asked irritably, looking up at Evelyn.

    ¡°You could even read the menus at the restaurant, dear. I think this is long overdue.¡±

    ¡°At least have a look,¡± Sophia said with a grin as she shoved her towards a tower of square spectacles.

    All the samples looked the same. This was going to be such a pain in the ass. She¡¯d have to worry about rain and fogging them up, not to mention the general discomfort of having them on her face every day---

    ¡°What about these?¡± Sophia asked. She held up a gold-rimmed pair with large round lenses.

    ¡°Those are dorky.¡±

    ¡°Aw, I think they¡¯re cute.¡± Sophia smiled; her eyes were bright. She looked like an eager little puppy. ¡°The gold matches the highlights in your hair.¡±

    Sybill stared at her for a minute, then down at the glasses. Reluctantly, she reached out and took them.

    ¡°Atta girl,¡± Sophia said with an obsequious thumbs up.

    Sybill turned away under the pretext of checking the glasses out in the little mirror that was sitting on the front desk. Really she just needed an excuse to hide her face. Nobody had ever shown much interest in how she looked. It gave her a strange warm feeling in her stomach. It was like she¡¯d swallowed a mouthful of comforting soup.

    She stared at her reflection. If she got these glasses, would she always have this feeling?

    ***

    She was sitting in a hot, stifling classroom, staring out the open window at the grounds below. She was bored out of her mind. If she had to listen to one more motherfucking detail about Homer¡¯s adjective-spewing, wind-blowing ass, she was going to climb on top of her desk and jump out the window.

    As she shifted in her seat, she caught the pungent odor of cigarettes. She had always liked that smell. She was out of her seat as soon as the bell rang, hurrying out the door and into the muggy air, following the odor around to the back of the building.

    A girl was leaning against the bricks, surreptitiously blowing smoke towards her feet. She had a blaze of red hair that ran down her back in a riot of unruly curls. As Sybill approached, she hastily tried to stash the cigarette out of sight.

    ¡°Can I have one?¡± Sybill asked.

    The girl stared at her for a minute, raising a coppery eyebrow. Then she pulled out a pack, carefully selected a cigarette, and handed her one. Sybill waited for her to light it, took a drag, and immediately began to cough. She spent the next minute and a half hunched over, wheezing as water streamed from her eyes.

    ¡°I pegged you for a pro,¡± the girl said when Sybill finally straightened up.

    ¡°You¡¯re in my history class,¡± Sybill said, ignoring the comment as she struggled to speak through her gasping. ¡°Fiona?¡±

    ¡°Felicity Reynolds.¡±

    ¡°Sybill Montgomery.¡±

    ¡°That Irish?¡±

    ¡°English, actually.¡±

    ¡°Cool. Mine is Viking. I think I¡¯m related to a Norse god.¡± The corners of her strawberry lips pulled up into a teasing smile.  ¡°I¡¯ve actually heard a lot about you, honey. It¡¯s nice to put a face to the stories. Your mother was right---you¡¯re very pretty.¡±

    Sybill took several deep breaths. Her mouth tasted like charred chicken.

    ¡°You know Evie?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Felicity said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. ¡°She comes to our house a lot to talk about the business with my dad.¡±

    Sybill rifled through her mental files for past occasions when Evie might have mentioned a Felicity Reynolds, or her father. She came up blank. Maybe she just didn¡¯t listen very well.

    ¡°What¡¯s your dad do?¡± she asked, leaning against the building and deciding to just enjoy the smell of nicotine rather than inhale it.

    ¡°He¡¯s a---shrink.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t even know our parents worked together.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve never heard gushing reports about the Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing?¡± She tossed her cigarette to the ground. ¡°Or me?¡± She winked. ¡°We¡¯ll have to fix that.¡±

    Sybill smiled. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±

    ¡°Lovely. I should head back to gym before Miss Welsh notices I¡¯m gone. See you later, honey. It was nice meeting you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the smoke.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to practice and get better at it,¡± Felicity said. With a grin and a flash of red hair, she vanished around the corner.

    ***

    ¡°Who is Doctor Reynolds?¡± Sybill said as she walked into the study unannounced.

    Evie looked up from her desk. The big bay window behind her revealed a stormy day. Rain dripped down the panes, tinkling against the glass.

    ¡°Benji? I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve mentioned him before,¡± she said, smiling. ¡°He¡¯s works with me at our wellness institute.¡±

    ¡°I met his daughter the other day.¡±

    ¡°Oh, really? How¡¯s she doing?¡±

    ¡°She seemed alright.¡±

    ¡°You should have her over for dinner sometime.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡± Sybill shrugged and turned towards the door.

    ¡°Wait a moment, dear. I almost forgot.¡± Evie dug around in her desk for a moment before extracting a small white box. She held it out. ¡°Happy birthday.¡±

    Sybill took it, surprised by the gesture. The last ¡°gift¡± she¡¯d received had been from Annie a few years ago: a nest of spiders in a brown paper bag. The thought still made her shudder.

    She peeled away the purple bow wrapped around the box and then popped open the dainty white lid. Nestled in red velvet was a sapphire-encrusted cross pendant. Sybill stared down at it for at least thirty seconds before she slowly pulled it out and then clasped the gift around her neck; it nestled comfortably in the hollow of her throat.

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Evie¡¯s smile reached her eyes. Sybill was so overwhelmed with an unexpected rush of gratitude that she was ashamed of herself.

    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome,¡± Evie said gently. ¡°Now, what would you like to have for dinner tonight?¡±

    ***

    Thanksgiving. Hannah and Javier knew how to make a good one. The aroma of turkey was heavy in the air from the moment Sybill got out of bed in the morning. Dishes appeared on the table throughout the day, and by the time dinner rolled around it was heavy with mashed potatoes, dishes full of cranberries, a variety of pasta, three different kinds of salad, and of course the crowning glory: the turkey, toasted to crispy golden perfection.

    Sybill ate way more than she should have. She split a wishbone with Sophia and felt the glow of triumph rush through her veins when her end snapped off decidedly bigger.

    ¡°This was rigged,¡± Sophia sulked, throwing her jagged bone piece onto her plate.

    ¡°Lose with a little grace, Soph.¡±

    ¡°Wanna know where you can stick your grace?¡±

    ¡°Girls,¡± Evie said, but she was laughing into her wine.

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying---¡± Sophia began, but the rest of her sentence was cut off by a wet cough.

    ¡°Okay, baby?¡± Evie asked.

    Sophia nodded, but then the coughing turned into gagging. Sybill stood up so fast she knocked her chair over. For a second she thought that stupid Javier must have put milk in one of the dishes and Sophia was having a reaction. But then she realized Evie seemed fine, and fear ballooned in her chest, paralyzing her.

    Sophia made one final retching noise before the contents of her stomach poured out onto the floor. Evie leapt to her feet, spilling wine over the tablecloth, and bolted around the table to kneel beside her daughter. Sophia was wiping her mouth and shaking.

    ¡°Breathe, honey. Maybe you should lay down.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take her to her room,¡± Sybill offered.

    Evie nodded and relinquished Sophia into her arms. Sybill led her trembling sister up the stairs and helped her into bed. Sophia¡¯s face was damp with sweat, her eyes huge and black in the semi-darkness of the room. Sybill sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair for a few minutes.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Sophia whispered finally.

    ¡°Very American of you to eat until you throw up. It¡¯s what the Founding Fathers fought for.¡±

    Sophia smiled a little. ¡°I can¡¯t keep much down lately.¡±

    ¡°Pick up a bug from school?¡±

    ¡°I dunno. Maybe. I don¡¯t eat anything but dinner these days¡­and even then it¡¯s a bit of a crapshoot. Everything makes me nauseous. I should''ve known better than to try and stomach all this today.¡±

    ¡°Jesus, Soph. How long has this been going on?¡±

    ¡°About a week.¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t feel like eating anything?¡±

    Sophia was silent for a long time before she said quietly: ¡°Not food.¡±

    ¡°Do have an unquenchable thirst for blood for something?¡±

    Sophia laughed a little. ¡°You caught me.¡±

    Sybill grinned and climbed to her feet.  ¡°I¡¯ll let Evie know you¡¯re not upchucking anymore.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Sophia whispered, rolling over so she was facing the wall. Sybill left her and went back down to the dining room.

    ¡°She¡¯s sleeping,¡± she said when Evie looked up. ¡°But she might have to go to the hospital. She can¡¯t keep anything down. She said she hasn¡¯t eaten much in days.¡±

    ¡°Days?¡± Evie repeated, looking astounded. Then she frowned and bit her lip. She was silent for so long that Sybill grew uneasy.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she said.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Come finish dinner, Sybill,¡± Evie said gently. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about Sophia. For now we¡¯ll just let her sleep.¡±

    Sybill, puzzled by her foster mother¡¯s suddenly composed demeanor, lowered herself into a chair. She stared at the wine stain on the white tablecloth as Evie resumed her meal; it had spread into a perfect circle. Like a splash of blood on virgin snow. The only perfect thing in a world that had just fallen to pieces.

    ***

    ¡°Need help with that?¡± Sybill asked.

    Felicity looked up, startled. She had one leg thrust out, her foot pressed against the side of the building. There was a vivid bruise on her calf, blooming on the white skin like a dark flower. Sybill stared at it, mesmerized, until Felicity laughed and held out a tube of ointment.

    ¡°Wanna rub it for me?¡±

    Sybill rolled her eyes. ¡°Did Franks finally slap the shit out of you for skipping all those gym classes?¡±

    ¡°I fell down last night.¡± Felicity hunched over and resumed smearing the ointment on her skin. Sybill took out her lighter and began to click it. She followed the flame with her eyes, losing herself in its vivid color, until Felicity straightened up, wincing as she lowered her leg to the ground.

    ¡°You feel like smoking today?¡± Sybill asked.

    ¡°What a stupid question.¡±

    She reached into her pocket and produced a pack. The two of them stood side by side for a few minutes, blowing clouds of cancer into the crisp air.

    ¡°So who did it? Your dad?¡± Sybill asked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Sbyill didn¡¯t answer.  Another silence lapsed between them. Then Felicity huffed smoke from her nostrils.

    ¡°My dad was---¡± She made a show of straightening her skirt before continuing. ¡°He was---mad at me. I ran from him and I fell down the stairs. Believe me, this would look a lot worse if my brother hadn¡¯t intervened.¡±

    Felicity stared off into the distance. When she spoke again, there was a slight tremor to her voice:

    ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for him, I think I would¡¯ve died a long time ago.¡±

    Sybill didn¡¯t know how to answer that. She wondered how other people would react in this situation. When someone you called a friend was upset, did you put an arm around them? Say you were sorry? Probably best to mind her own business.

    The two of them finished their cigarettes in silence.

    ***

    Sybill stood in the hallway as her sister¡¯s retching echoed around the church basement. Sophia had started to gag only moments after receiving communion, and Sybill, familiar with the symptoms by now, immediately jumped up and hurried her out of the church. Luckily nobody else was in the bathroom; Sophia collapsed to her knees as soon as she burst into the stall, and Sybill discreetly ducked out of the bathroom to give her some privacy.

    After several minutes she heard the toilet flush and her sister emerged from the porcelain confines of her inexplicable illness.

    ¡°I think I threw up the Host,¡± Sophia moaned.

    ¡°Can¡¯t even stomach Jesus these days, huh?¡± Sybill said, snickering.

    Sophia leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what¡¯s happening to me.¡±

    ¡°Maybe the wafer was made of spoiled bread?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not the bread. It¡¯s everything.¡±

    Sybill shrugged. ¡°What does it taste like, anyway?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The bread. Is it as bland as it looks?¡±

    ¡°Like paper,¡± Sophia said with a shaky laugh. ¡°You¡¯re not missing out on much.¡±

    ¡°I do like the idea behind it though.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°The idea that Christians have to eat their god in order to be saved fits in nicely with the whole torture narrative. Violence is cleansed with violence. It keeps the cycle of redemptive brutality going. Eat or be eaten. Commit, or perish forever. Instead of labeling violence as wrong, it celebrates it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s---Jesus, Sybill.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Sophia gave another shaky laugh and rubbed her temples. ¡°I guess I never thought of it that way. I always thought the Eucharist was supposed to be a reminder of the end of all violence. Christ preferred to die an unjust death rather than fight back.¡±

    Sybill shrugged. ¡°At the end of the day you guys think you eat Jesus. That¡¯s an inherently violent act and it¡¯s at the center of your worship.¡±

    ¡°I figured it was supposed to be a bit of a paradox. Like, the violent act is there to remind us of what the consequences of true violence really are. It¡¯s not an invitation to replicate torture and death. It¡¯s a call to something better. A different way. ¡®Blessed are the peacemakers¡¯ and all that.¡±

    ¡°If you say so,¡± Sybill said, suddenly feeling like the conversation was getting away from her.

    ¡°I think we should go back up. Evie is probably wondering where you are.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, okay.¡± Sophia tenderly placed a hand on her stomach and grimaced.

    As they walked across the darkened church basement together, Sybill found herself wondering if anyone truly accepted this idea of ¡°Eucharist.¡± She imagined a god slithering out of his celestial cloud blanket one day and deciding he was going to come to Earth and wallow in the foul quagmires of human experience. A god that acquiesced to roll around in all the sweat and blood and pain---and still decide at the end of it to give himself to people for nourishment. A god like that was a total moron. Hardly worth her time, let alone her adoration. How different the world would be if such things were true.

    How different she would be too.

    ***

    Sybill graduated from high school feeling cautiously optimistic about the future. It had been a little over a year since she had arrived at the Montgomerys. She was enrolled at the local university and since the school was within walking distance, she planned to live at home rather than on campus. Evie had offered to pay her dorm fees, but Sybill found herself reluctant to live among strangers again. The Montgomery house had become a place of cautious safety. She wasn¡¯t ready to mix with the general sweaty mob of humanity. Besides, she had Sophia. She didn¡¯t need any other friends.

    Shortly after her high school graduation, Sybill also learned that Evie had started the paperwork to officially adopt her. They had discussed it a lot in the past months, but Sybill had never supposed anything would come of it. When the possibility presented itself, she found that she liked the idea of becoming part of a family---and then it surprised her that she liked it. She wasn¡¯t quite sure what to make of the strange warm feelings taking root inside of her. She didn¡¯t quite trust them, but sinking into them was too sweet a temptation to resist. She curled up inside them like a child in a blanket.

    She grew complacent.

    ***

    During freshman orientation, she was surprised to see a familiar shock of red hair in the crowd. She approached, tapped the girl on the shoulder, and found herself grinning into Felicity¡¯s shocked face.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a sight for sore eyes,¡± Felicity said, laughing and seeming genuinely pleased to see her.

    They snuck off behind the science building to smoke for old times¡¯ sake. As they puffed, Sybill told her about the adoption plans and Sophia¡¯s growing illness.

    ¡°It¡¯s just getting weirder. She keeps throwing everything up.¡±

    ¡°She can¡¯t keep down anything at all?¡± Felicity asked, examining the smoldering end of her cigarette.

    ¡°Nope. She can¡¯t even stomach water anymore.¡± Sybill crossed her arms and stared out across the lawn, scowling. It was a chilly afternoon; the ground was covered with a blanket of dirty slush, and the sky was a moody gray.

    Felicity exhaled a cloud of sulfuric smoke into the cold air, then said slowly:

    ¡°How much do you know about our parents¡¯ practice, Sybill? What has Evelyn told you?¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t really talk about her work.¡±

    Felicity sighed. ¡°So you don¡¯t know anything then.¡±

    ¡°About WHAT?¡± Sybill demanded, her frustration mounting.

    ¡°Honey, Evelyn brought Sophia to my house a few nights ago and talked to my dad about committing her to the Institute.¡±

    ¡°Committing her?¡± Sybill repeated. The words gripped at her guts, twisting them into ropes of anxiety and fear. ¡°But she¡¯s not crazy.¡±

    ¡°The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing isn¡¯t for crazy people---technically.¡± Felicity¡¯s mouth twisted as if she had tasted something sour. ¡°It¡¯s for people like Sophia. A horror house for freaks with powers.¡±

    ¡°The fuck are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Honey, I¡¯ve seen a lot of Dad¡¯s patients over the years. Based on what you¡¯ve told me, Sophia seems to be showing a lot of symptoms of a growing supernatural ability. They¡¯re hereditary so I mean it makes sense, given Evelyn¡¯s power¡­which judging by the look on your face, you also knew nothing about. Jesus. She hasn¡¯t been upfront about anything with you, has she?¡±

    There was a brief silence as this unpleasant news settled onto Sybill¡¯s brain like new-fallen snow. Surely she didn¡¯t believe this comic book bullshit. And yet¡­

    ¡°What kind of powers does Sophia have?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d have to ask her.¡±

    ¡°How many of these freaks are out there running around?¡±

    ¡°Lots. You know more of them than you think you do.¡±

    Felicity met her eyes and smiled. Sybill stared at her, and then a sharp ray of comprehension fell across her mind.

    ¡°So what can you do?¡±

    ¡°Wanna see?¡±

    Sybill raised an eyebrow. ¡°Depends. Is it something you show me or use on me?¡±

    Felicity grinned. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you. I promise.¡± When Sybill continued to look skeptical, she laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t you trust me?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Sybill said.

    Felicity laughed again and then her expression changed; her brow pinched, and the muscles on her neck strained against her pale flesh. Several seconds went by before her face relaxed, melting into its familiar mask of slovenly indifference.

    ¡°Huh. That¡¯s funny.¡±

    ¡°What is?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the smoke. I¡¯m going to head back to the tour group,¡± Sybill said, tossing her cigarette to the ground. An unpleasant swill of emotions was swelling in her stomach. She had to go away and think.

    ¡°Of course, honey,¡± Felicity said sweetly. ¡°See you later. Feel free to keep me updated on little sissy. I¡¯ll help in any way I can.¡±

    Sybill started back towards the orientation hall. Halfway across the grounds, she glanced over her shoulder. Felicity was staring after her with a frustrated look on her face.

    ***

    Sybill was startled awake by raised voices. She sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The room was dark and stuffy; bleak moonlight trickled through the thin curtains on the window. She climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly and sneaking down the hallway. She followed the voices to Evie¡¯s study and stood outside the door, listening.

    ¡°How could she already be showing signs of escalation?¡± The words were uttered by a deep gravelly voice Sybill didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°Her symptoms seemed relatively mild when we saw her last.¡±

    ¡°Yesterday Sophia got upset about something that happened at school, and as she was telling me about it a book sitting on the table behind her flew into the air and then fell onto the floor. If we don¡¯t do something soon, she might hurt someone.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m assuming you¡¯ve ruled out the possibility that the book simply fell over? Perhaps Sophia knocked into it? Or a breeze, maybe? Was the window open?¡±

    ¡°A breeze?¡± Evie repeated coldly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have called you after all. I considered a book jumping in midair of its own accord to be a rather unusual event, especially in our line of work, but you¡¯re right, Benji. Maybe it was just a fucking windy day.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯m sorry. I was just saying---¡±

    ¡°I know what you were saying.¡±

    ¡°Has Sophia started to¡­ah¡­ seek alternative forms of nutrition yet?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. She might have an idea of what she¡¯s craving, but I¡¯m sure she has no idea how to handle it.¡±

    ¡°Then here¡¯s what I suggest: in the next month or two, encourage her to seek out the nutrition she needs. Maybe even go out with her the first few times. Once she has become accustomed to her new diet, we can sit her down and discuss transferring her to our facility full time.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Benji, I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s still so young¡­¡±

    ¡°You know it¡¯s the safest place for her, Evelyn.¡± The gravelly voice softened. ¡°And she¡¯ll get the best care.¡±

    The voice dropped so low that Sybill had to inch closer to the door to hear.

    ¡°I promise.¡±

    There was a long silence. Sybill wondered, with some distaste, what they were doing all by themselves in that room. Then Evelyn spoke up, and Sybill tensed at the sound of her own name. ¡°How will I explain all of this to Sybill? I haven¡¯t told her much about our work, but I can¡¯t hide it forever. Especially with everything happening with Sophia.¡±

    ¡°Sit her down and talk to her about it like an adult. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll understand. She seems like a smart girl.¡±

    Sybill had heard enough. She hurried back to her room as quietly as she could, blood pounding in her ears. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the darkness for what felt like hours. Thoughts flapped like frantic birds through her mind, eventually landing onto a single realization that made her heart freeze:

    They were going to send Sopia away.

    She went and fetched her laptop from her desk. She opened up a search engine and typed in ¡°The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing.¡± The results were surprisingly scarce. She learned that Evelyn Montgomery and her business partner---Doctor Benjamin Reynolds, the man in the room, no doubt ---were mental health experts with a current practice in Washington, Pennsylvania. This ¡°practice,¡± however, was curiously vague. It sounded like either a mental hospital or a home for troubled children. Either way, she didn¡¯t like the way this was looking, especially if she was going to believe Felicity about it being a ¡°horror house¡± for superpowered freaks. Sophia would never survive in a place like that. She was too weak, too soft with insufferable kindness. She wouldn¡¯t be able to stick up for herself.

    Sybill was so buried in her thoughts that when a floorboard creaked outside her door, she almost jumped out of her skin. She held her breath and listened. Someone was creeping down the stairs. She stood up and pulled open her door, sticking her head out into the hallway and making sure the coast was clear before following the footsteps down the stairs. A dark shadow was slipping out the front door.

    It was Sophia.

    Sybill went after her into the night, keeping a fair amount of distance between them so she could avoid detection. She followed her for a block or two before Sophia made a sharp turn down an alleyway. Sybill cautiously approached and peeked her head around the corner. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

    Her sister was crouched beside a large lump on the ground. Then Sybill heard snoring. It was a homeless guy. Sophia sat next to him for several minutes, seemingly just...watching him. Then the snoring stopped. Sybill strained her ears. Nothing. She saw Sophia¡¯s silhouette give a violent shudder and she fell back onto her butt, breathing heavily. Then, after a few moments, she stood back up and turned. Sybill ducked out of sight.

    Not fast enough, apparently.

    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Sophia demanded, her voice shrill. ¡°I¡¯m...I¡¯m armed!¡±

    ¡°With what, your unflinching bravery?¡±

    ¡°Sybill?¡± Her voice cracked with relief. ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°I heard you get up and I was worried,¡± Sybill said, coming out from her hiding place and closing the distance between them. ¡°What¡¯s up with this guy?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. I mean, I was---I was just staying with him while he died.¡±

    Sybill stared down at the heap of clothing on the ground. ¡°He¡¯s...dead? Shit.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s just go home, okay?¡±

    ¡°Hey, wait a sec,¡± Sybill said, grabbing the sleeve of Sophia¡¯s jacket as she moved to pass. ¡°Maybe we should call somebody.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± The shrill word cracked on the air. Sybill looked around to make sure nobody else was nearby before she leaned closer and whispered:

    ¡°Did you kill him?¡±

    ¡°Jesus, no, of course not! I told you. I was keeping him company and---¡± she glanced nervously around them--- ¡°I don¡¯t want this getting complicated, okay? If we call the cops, they¡¯ll start asking questions. I know how this looks and---I swear to God, I didn¡¯t do anything bad, Sybill. Just please don¡¯t call anyone.¡± Her voice shook and even in the dim light, Sybill knew she was crying. She placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.

    ¡°Okay. Relax. But you have to fill me in, at least.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t believe me,¡± Sophia said thickly.

    ¡°Try me.¡±

    Sophia wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffed. ¡°You know how I¡¯ve been having trouble eating lately? It has to do with that.¡±

    ¡°Okay?¡±

    ¡°Lately I¡¯ve been able to---I know when people are going to die.¡±

    ¡°So you come out to get front row seats to the show?¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t funny.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. Go on.¡±

    Sophia went on. Her voice was halting and timid. ¡°I come out to---I can do this---this thing. When people die, I feel like it...satiates me?¡±

    ¡°You mean it gets you off?¡±

    ¡°God, no. What¡¯s the matter with you?¡±

    ¡°Well you¡¯re not explaining it very well.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like what I don¡¯t get from food, I get from them. Their...memories. When someone dies, they expel them. They look like...bubbles, I guess? Other people don¡¯t seem to notice them. And I absorb them. They make me feel full.¡±

    Sybill was silent for a long time. She wasn¡¯t sure what to say.

    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me,¡± Sophia said sadly.

    ¡°No, I do,¡± Sybill said, realizing with faint surprise that she wasn¡¯t having that much trouble accepting Sophia¡¯s story. ¡°I just have some questions. Like, can you control when the person dies?¡±

    ¡°No, thank God. It¡¯s not like that. It¡¯s more like I¡¯m¡­witnessing.¡±

    ¡°So how long have you been sneaking out to hang around corpses?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say it like that,¡± Sophia snapped. ¡°I feel guilty enough about all this.¡±

    ¡°Guilty? Why?¡±

    ¡°I just wonder if I could do anything to prevent some of them from dying. Sitting there and just waiting for it to happen is...awful.¡±

    ¡°But if you didn¡¯t come and---do whatever you¡¯re doing here---you¡¯d basically starve, right?¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± Sophia said heavily.

    ¡°So aren¡¯t you just surviving? You get what you need and they¡¯d die anyway. If not in front of you, then somewhere else, and then you wouldn¡¯t get to benefit at all. What¡¯s the point of that?¡±

    ¡°Maybe¡­¡±

    ¡°How many memories do you take?¡±

    ¡°I dunno. All of them I guess. I try not to look at them because that feels weird.¡±

    ¡°Can I go with you the next time you do it?¡± Sybill asked eagerly.

    ¡°No way,¡± Sophia said with a shaky laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to see me like that.¡±

    ¡°I just wanna help,¡± Sybill said, but deep down she knew that wasn¡¯t quite true. She was aware of only one feeling: envy. To be able to absorb something so precious to another person while they were in their last moments was the ultimate power move. She felt like it was wasted on a bleeding heart like Sophia.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go home. And please don¡¯t tell Mom about any of this,¡± Sophia pleaded as they began to walk towards the main sidewalk.

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Sybill said, deciding not to tell her that Evelyn was already fully aware of the situation. ¡°Besides, if she knew what was going on with you, she might try to send you away or something.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Sophia said, alarmed.

    ¡°Who knows?¡± Sybill said, keeping her voice light and seemingly unaffected. ¡°I mean, she does run a mental hospital, right?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yeah, but¡­she wouldn¡¯t do that. Not to me,¡± Sophia said. But Sybill heard the note of fear and uncertainty in her voice. She let an uncomfortable silence hover between them for a minute, then she said:

    ¡°What kind of patients are at that place anyway?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°Is it people with powers like yours, or do they have normal things like anxiety or depression?¡± She made sure to put slight emphasis on ¡°normal.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna talk about this anymore.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Sorry. I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t come to that.¡±

    They walked the rest of the way home in silence.

 The Life and Death of Angel Boy (Part 3 - Final Part)

    Sophia snuck out again the next night. Sybill followed, curiosity overpowering her initial resolution to respect her sister¡¯s wishes. She crept through a winding labyrinth of starless streets, keeping her eyes on Sophia¡¯s darting back. The pull of this mysterious ability must be strong; Sophia seemed to know exactly where she was going, picking her way through the darkness with impressive expertise, until she finally came to a halt outside of a deserted office building. The windows were dark and silent, gazing solemnly down at the glittering city streets spread beneath them. Sybill ducked behind a parked car and watched, breathless.

    She saw Sophia jerk her head upwards and stumble back; she thought she heard her yell something, but Sybill was too far away to hear it. The next moment there was a horrible crash and the sound of splintering glass. Shards exploded up into the sky. Sophia was staring at something in front of her, and even from this distance Sybill could see that she was shaking. She cautiously crept out from behind the car and ducked into a nearby bush, craning her neck to get a better look.

    A crumbled body lay on top of the car parked directly in front of her sister; the metal roof was flattened beneath the corpse. The windshield had exploded, and a thousand pieces of glass streaked like shooting stars across the dark asphalt. Sophia fell to her knees. Her shoulders were hunched, her body quaking. Sybill watched her with interest, wondering what kind of life she was digesting. After what felt like ages, Sophia finally stood up. She smoothed back her hair and gave herself a little shake and then began to head home. Sybill felt the leaves of the bush stir as her sister passed, and thought she heard a small sob. But then again, it could have been the wind.

    She followed Sophia for several nights, and each time, her understanding of her sister¡¯s power grew. For starters, she seemed to be able to control people. Sybill watched her talk a burly security guard into letting her into a parking garage even after he had refused her twice; his face suddenly grew slack, he mumbled something Sybill couldn¡¯t hear, and Sophia slipped by without further incident. On another occasion, Sybill saw her do what Evie had described to Doctor Reynolds: she moved an object without touching it. Specifically, she was sitting on a park bench after ¡°dining,¡± staring down at her shoes, and the trash bin behind her lifted a few inches off the ground, hovered, and then crashed back onto the grass. Sophia had jumped up, startled, looked around, and then hurried away.

    Sybill couldn¡¯t understand why Sophia seemed so upset about being the vehicle for such a power. It seemed to her to be a wonderful thing. In fact, she became so obsessed with witnessing these trysts that her schoolwork suffered, and she only got a few hours of sleep each night.

    ***

    ¡°Nice to see you again, honey,¡± Felicity said when Sybill showed up at their smoking grounds after a prolonged absence. They had formed the habit of meeting in the same spot where they¡¯d first smoked during orientation. It was a relatively isolated area, and they didn¡¯t have to worry about anyone complaining about their discarded cigarettes on the grass.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°I was afraid you¡¯d started making healthy life choices.¡±

    ¡°Are you talking about quitting smoking or you?¡±

    ¡°Both?¡± Felicity said, her eyes sparkling as she offered her a cigarette.

    ¡°Sorry I haven¡¯t been around.  I¡¯ve been keeping my eye on things.¡±

    ¡°And h ow is dear little sissy doing?¡±

    Sybill took the cigarette from her. As Felicity lit it, she gave her the bullet points of what she had seen so far. When she stopped talking, Felicity was silent for a long time. Then she said:

    ¡°Has your mom said anything else about committing her?¡±

    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve been able to tell. Maybe she decided Sophia is better off at home.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t get your hopes up,¡± Felicity said. She uttered an odd laugh; the hand holding her cigarette trembled. ¡°When the patient starts to display more than one ability, they¡¯re considered a higher risk to the public. You said Sophia digests memories. But now it sounds like she can exercise mind control and levitate stuff too. That¡¯s some advanced shit. Once it becomes clear to your mom how much Sophia is truly capable of¡­¡± Felicity let the rest of her sentence trail away ominously.

    Sybill fell silent, considering this. Then she said: ¡°What about you?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°You have powers too, so why hasn¡¯t your Dad committed you already? Is he only interested in locking up people with Sophia¡¯s kind of powers?¡±

    ¡°If only.¡± Felicity gave a sour laugh. ¡°He¡¯ll come for me some day too. I¡¯m just not far gone enough yet to justify it to his stupid board or whatever.¡± She stared off into the distance for a while, curls of smoke drifting from her barely parted lips. ¡°My brother and I want to move out,¡± she said after a long pause. ¡°He¡¯s been working and saving up for a while. We¡¯re almost at the point where we can do it. Maybe you and Sophia should consider it too.¡±

    ¡°You mean work and go to school?¡±

    ¡°Or drop out. Do whatever you have to if it means making her safe.¡± Felicity turned and looked at her with a fierce glint in her eye. ¡°Do you fucking hear me, Sybill? Keep her safe.¡±

    Sybill stared at her, a bit taken about at the sudden passion in her voice. Felicity threw her cigarette onto the ground and lit another. She glared at the tiny glowing ember which bloomed at the end of the white cylinder, and then she gave another strange laugh.

    ¡°I guess if I suddenly disappear, you¡¯ll know where I¡¯ve gone. Promise you¡¯ll visit. You can stop by my room after seeing Sophia.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off it. Sophia¡¯s not going anywhere.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s almost sounds like a threat, honey. Good. Keep that pioneering spirit. You¡¯re gonna need it.¡±

    Sybill turned and snatched the cigarette out of her hand, grinding it into powder beneath her heel while Felicity stared at her in open-mouthed surprise.

    ¡°Quit this shit. It¡¯s bad for you.¡±

    ***

    The adoption papers finally went through and Sybill took on the Montgomery name. Evie took them out to dinner to celebrate, although Sophia couldn¡¯t stomach anything but water. But she laughed a lot, and gave Sybill tons of hugs, and told her with teary eyes how happy she was to officially call her a sister. Sybill felt something stir inside of her at Sophia¡¯s words, a warmth and also an unbearable ache. Were they really going to be separated---now, when they had just become a family? She looked across the table of Evie, who was smiling. She raised her glass in a silent toast when their eyes met. This woman was her mother now. Sybill had been cautiously optimistic about that possibility all those months ago. Now the thought filled her with disgust rather than gratitude.

    ***

    It had been a month since she¡¯d last seen Felicity. Sybill tried texting her, but the messages came back as undeliverable. As the days passed, Sybill felt a pit of nausea growing in her stomach. Had Felicity already been taken to the Institute ? How long before Sophia met the same fate?

    When she got home from her classes one afternoon, Sybill dumped her bookbag in the hallway and headed straight for Evie¡¯s office. She spent a few moments outside in the hall with her ear pressed to the door. She didn¡¯t hear any signs of life, so she took a deep breath and walked inside. The room was empty. She crept soundlessly over to the desk and began to pull open the drawers. After a few seconds she found what she was looking for: a stack of business cards. There was no address listed, but there was a phone number. Shooting a fervent look towards the door, she picked up Evie¡¯s desk phone and dialed. After four rings, someone picked up.

    ¡°You¡¯ve reached The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing. This is Marissa. How may I help you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to reach a patient,¡± Sybill said.

    ¡°Certainly,¡± said Marissa. Her voice was thick and sweet like molasses. It was very unpleasant to listen to. ¡°May I have the name of the patient?¡±

    ¡°Felicity Reynolds.¡±

    There was a beat of silence. Sybill shot another look at the door.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but Miss Reynolds is in a healing session and can¡¯t come to the phone right now,¡± Marissa chirped. ¡°I can take a message if you like. Shall I have her call you back at this number?¡±

    ¡°No. Let me give you my cell.¡±

    They exchanged information and then Sybill hung up. She pocketed one of the business cards and then crept back out into the hallway, closing the office door gently behind her.

    ***

    A deep hum shredded her cobweb of dreams. She opened her eyes, blinking sleep away from her lashes as she sat up in bed. A cone of light shone on her ceiling. It was coming from her cell phone, which was vibrating on top of her dresser. Sybill swung her feet over the side of the bed and hurried over to it.

    ¡°Hello?¡± she said thickly.

    ¡°Sorry to wake you, honey. I decided to sneak a call when everyone was in bed. More privacy, you know?¡±

    Sybill wondered if this was real or if she was still asleep. ¡°Felicity?¡±

    ¡°The one and only.¡±

    Sybill heard some kind of thrumming noise in the background on the other end. Maybe a heating unit?

    ¡°Jesus¡­I¡­it¡¯s been a while. Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m alive.¡±

    ¡°Not what I asked.¡±

    ¡°Then honestly? I feel like I somersaulted down three flights of stairs and then faceplanted into a concrete wall. In between the heavy onslaught of meds and the Coppulas, I don¡¯t---¡±

    ¡°The who?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re my doctors. Real chuckle fucks when they aren¡¯t injecting poison into my eyelids and beating up residents and locking people up into freezers.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sybill¡¯s heart stopped.

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you this place is fu--¡± Felicity abruptly stopped talking, and a second later she uttered a low curse. ¡°I think someone¡¯s coming. It was nice to hear from you, honey. I¡¯ll be in touch.¡±

    The line went dead before Sybill could answer. She tried to call her friend several more times after that, all on different days of the week. But she always got the same answer:

    ¡°Miss Reynolds is in a healing session.¡±

    ***

    The moment Sybill entered Evie¡¯s study she knew something was wrong. The first thing she saw was Sophia, sitting in the corner with her hands clasped in her lap. She was seated directly in front of a dark curtain, and her pale face stood out against it like a moon orbiting the black canvas of space.

    ¡°Good morning, Sybill,¡± Evie said brightly. ¡°Have a seat.¡±

    Sybill didn¡¯t move. Evie¡¯s dark, unfathomable eyes passed over her briefly, and the corners of her mouth pursed ever so slightly. But she went on in the same cheerful tone:

    ¡°Sophia has been telling me how supportive you¡¯ve been lately regarding her---condition. I would like to thank you for that. My work allows me to see firsthand how difficult it can be for people like her, especially when their family members are not accepting.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I know all about your work,¡± Sybill said tersely.

    She heard Sophia stir in surprise, but she didn¡¯t look at her. Evie¡¯s eyebrows raised barely a fraction of an inch. The rest of her face remained frozen and smiling.

    ¡°Wonderful. That saves me a lot of time.¡±

    ¡°Mom wants to send me to the Institute after I graduate high school¡± Sophia said quietly. ¡°I think I should go.¡±

    Sybill stared at her, startled.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been doing a lot of thinking and I---maybe it¡¯s for the best. Besides, it won¡¯t be permanent. Right, Mom?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Evie said, smiling.

    Sybill glared at her, then turned her ire on her sister. ¡°Are you kidding me? How can you be okay with this?¡±

    Sophia raised an eyebrow at her acidic tone. ¡°I can¡¯t just Google ¡®how to control your telepathic abilities.¡¯ I need help understanding it.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t go to that place. It¡¯s a horror show.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia said, looking quickly at their mother.

    ¡°I just want you to be safe, dear. Nobody is trying to trick you.¡± Evie looked at Sybill; her eyebrows went up a little higher. ¡°Where did you hear such things, Sybill?¡±

    Sybill didn¡¯t answer. She just stood there, shaking and glaring at the two of them. Beneath her fear was a swirling current of hatred towards----well, everything. Most of all herself, for daring to hope that things were getting better for her.

    It¡¯s not fair! She wanted to cry childishly. It wasn¡¯t fair that she had been shoved from foster home to foster home, like an old shoe nobody wanted. It wasn¡¯t fair that she had spent her life living in fear and hiding from angry words and flailing fists. It wasn¡¯t fair that the only person she had ever felt any attachment to was going to leave her. And it wasn¡¯t fair that Evie had ended up being like every other parental figure in her life, someone who forced their will on others.

    Sybill ground her teeth together as she stared across the room at Sophia¡¯s resigned face. You don¡¯t want this either, she thought. You can¡¯t. You¡¯re just letting her bully you.

    Felicity suddenly flashed through her mind. That was someone else she¡¯d kind of cared about---and the Institute had swallowed her too. She couldn¡¯t even get her on the phone. Once Sophia disappeared inside that place, Sybill knew she would never see her again.

    A thought curled around her soul like a snake, gripping her with tight resolve.

    I won¡¯t let you leave me too.

    ***

    Sophia started her treatments a week later. At first, she only went to the Institute twice a week. Then it was three times. Then four. Then the ¡°check ups¡± turned into overnight visits, and it wasn¡¯t uncommon for Sybill to go several days without seeing her sister. When she asked Evie when she would be allowed to visit her, she was given evasive answers that infuriated her.

    One night, Sybill was startled awake by the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the bedstand. She groggily reached into the darkness and picked it up, pressing it to her ear as she mumbled,

    ¡°Hullo?¡±

    ¡°Are you sitting down, honey?¡±

    ¡°Felicity?¡± She sat bolt upright, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. ¡°Where are you calling from? This isn¡¯t the Institute¡¯s number right?¡±

    ¡°I stole my dad¡¯s cell. I didn¡¯t wanna discuss this on the main line.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°I heard Sophia is coming here in a few weeks.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Sybill.¡± Felicity¡¯s voice wavered for a moment. She cleared her throat and continued. ¡°You can¡¯t let that happen.¡±

    ¡°You think? But what the fuck am I supposed to do about it? They already decided on their own. Besides, it¡¯s not gonna be a permanent arrangement.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, my dad was saying they were just going to keep Sophia for the summer. But that¡¯s horseshit, Sybill. Everyone here at one point or another was told they would only be here for a week, or until Easter or Christmas or whatever. Then the visit is extended, over and over, until eventually we stop asking when we can go home. And they¡¯re real nice at first to the new patients, but eventually the mask falls off.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Felicity¡¯s voice climbed several octaves. Sybill had never heard her sound like this before. ¡°The patients here are beat all the time; a few kids have disappeared and the staff won¡¯t say where, but we all know they¡¯ve been taken to a floor that¡¯s only reserved for really fucked up treatments; I was locked in my room without food or water for days because I wouldn¡¯t take medication that made me feel bad. This place is a nightmare. You have to get us out of here, Sybill.¡±

    Sybill¡¯s grip on the phone tightened. ¡°How?¡± she said bitterly. ¡°I haven¡¯t even been allowed to visit her yet. Sophia won¡¯t believe me anyway. Can¡¯t you talk to her?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t just let me just talk to whoever I want,¡± Felicity said snidely. ¡°Especially not to the daughter of Doctor Evelyn Montgomery, gem of the human race and saint to the emotionally disturbed.¡±

    The sound of Evie¡¯s name sent a hot flush of anger across the back of Sybill¡¯s neck. ¡°All of this is her fault,¡± she snarled, half to Felicity, half to herself. ¡°Is that bitch with Sophia all the time? There¡¯s no point where you could sneak a chat?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s impossible. And even if your sister wasn¡¯t shadowed by Evelyn all the time, she¡¯d be guarded by someone else. The staff are scared of her. They don¡¯t say that, of course, but they treat her differently than the rest of us. She¡¯s dangerous because she¡¯s basically an uncontrollable version of her mother, and they all know how powerful their darling Evelyn is.¡±

    ¡°What can she do, anyway?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s some kind of force field around this facility and she¡¯s the one who controls it.¡±

    ¡°What kind of force field?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I was unlucky enough to run into it a few weeks ago when I¡¯d slipped past the security guards. I ran towards the woods thinking I was home free and then I hit what felt like an invisible wall of electric JELL-O. As I¡¯m sure you can imagine, it was an incredibly unpleasant experience.¡±

    ¡°How do you know Evie made it?¡±

    ¡°I saw her project it the other day when she was taking a walk on the grounds. She sort of just waved her hands around and expelled what looked like heat waves from her body and they rippled around the whole property.¡±

    Sybill¡¯s heart was pounding, her brain working furiously. Felicity filled in the silence, speaking very slowly, like each word was heavy on her tongue:

    ¡°As long as your mother¡¯s around, Sybill, Sophia is stuck here. We all are.¡±

    Sybill was silent for a long time as she absorbed this. Jumbled thoughts scattered across her mind, darting like trout through dark water. When she finally grasped one and held it, she saw clearly the only path that made sense, the unspoken suggestion lurking between the lines of Felicity¡¯s words. The only way to get her sister out of the facility was to remove the person who kept her inside.

    ¡°What¡¯s to prevent your dad from just replacing Evie with someone else?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nobody in the world like Evie,¡± Felicity said coldly.

    ¡°How can you possibly know that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve eavesdropped on a lot of Dad¡¯s meetings, honey. I know way more than I should about the sorts of things my father studies. Like how Evie is part of a family of abilities that deals with psychic powers. Some people get to read minds, others can levitate. But Evie¡¯s power manifests in a way that has so far been unprecedented. At least I couldn¡¯t find anything definitive on it, and my dad has all kinds of notes about how he thinks her powers work. In the end, though, even he doesn¡¯t know. He thinks Evie can basically exert control over the atomic realm, but I think that brings up a whole bunch of other questions. Like, how many levels are there to her control? Can she just manipulate the air or something to project the shield, or could she literally create her own universe if she wanted to? Anyway, my point is that there is nobody on earth like your mommy dearest. She¡¯s one of a kind. Irreplaceable.¡±

    Sybill felt the weight of these words sink deep inside of her. She toyed with the cross pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat. Come to think of it, what would happen to them if Evie died? Sybill was a legal adult, but Sophia was still underage. Would Sybill get custody of her? That made the most sense, right? Maybe that¡¯s why Evie had wanted to legally adopt her; it would be easier to make her Sophia¡¯s legal guardian that way. After all, who else was there? Sophia¡¯s father was dead. There were no aunts or uncles to speak of. And even if Sybill wasn¡¯t technically her guardian, surely the courts would be sympathetic towards two sisters who had just lost their own mother? Yes¡­she would probably have no issues taking her sister under her wing¡­

    ¡°Is there no way around this barrier?¡± she asked slowly, in a last-ditch effort to perceive another way out of this.

    ¡°None.¡±

    Sybill could hear Felicity¡¯s tense breathing on the other end of the phone.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said flatly.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Felicity said quietly. Her words were innocent enough, but Sybill could sense how they sagged with understanding; a silent communication passed between them.

    ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°Sybill?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    The words came out broken, and so hoarse Sybill almost didn¡¯t hear them:

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ***

    Sybill stayed home from school the next day, complaining of a migraine. As she lay in bed feigning pain, she went through her mental checklist once more to make sure there were no gaps in her plan.

    It was Wednesday. Evie would be working from home in her office. Wednesdays were also Hannah¡¯s day off, which meant the cooking would be left up to Javier today. Sybill glanced at the clock. He should be preparing breakfast right about now; since he hadn¡¯t counted on Sybill being home, it would probably take him longer than usual to work in another plate. Evie would know this, and thus, she wouldn¡¯t think there was anything strange about her own meal being somewhat delayed.

    Sybill lay in bed for about twenty minutes, making sure Evie had plenty of time to become engrossed in whatever work she was doing in her study. Then she kicked off her bed covers, pulled her pants down to her knees, took a deep breath, and urinated on her sheets. The rank odor stung her nostrils, but she only had to endure it for a few seconds. Hoisting her pants back up, she slipped out of bed and made her way downstairs, not bothering to wipe herself off. A wet crotch would make her story more sympathetic.

    As she entered the kitchen, Javier was scooping coffee grounds into a percolating pot with frantic precision. When he looked up and saw Sybill, he regarded her with an expression caught between panic and irritation.

    ¡°Morning, Javier,¡± Sybill said, smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt you.¡±

    ¡°It is no trouble,¡± Javier said with a nervous smile, eyeing the steaming coffee. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±

    He was such a sweet boy, with a slight accent she could never quite place. He had big, soppy green eyes and an eager smile that showed his gums. This was going to be a real shame.

    ¡°Is Hannah around?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No, she¡¯s off today.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Sybill looked around the kitchen, as if at a loss, and then down at her stained pants. Javier¡¯s eyes followed, and the blush that ignited his skin extended all the way up to his hairline.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Sybill said, avoiding eye contact and biting her lip, as if fighting back tears. ¡°I was just going to ask Hannah if she wouldn¡¯t mind changing my sheets. I-I¡¯m not sure where she keeps them, and I, well---¡± Sybill gestured sheepishly at her lower body. ¡°I¡¯d ask my mom but she¡¯s busy and¡­I think I had an accident while I was sleeping? I¡¯m really sorry. This is so---I¡¯m---¡± Her lower lip trembled.

    Javier¡¯s face relaxed into a smile, though his cheeks remained rosy. ¡°Nothing to be ashamed about,¡± he said gently. ¡°I can take care of it in a few minutes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but could you do it now? I¡¯ll keep an eye on stuff down here if you want, make sure nothing burns. It just...it really stinks in my room.¡± She grimaced.

    Javier hesitated, then nodded, stepped back from the stove, and removed his apron. ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°Thank you so much, Javier. I really appreciate it,¡± she said, smiling at him as he hurried out. As soon as he vanished around the corner, Sybill began to look around the kitchen. The coffee pot? No, she thought quickly. That wouldn¡¯t work. Even if she could somehow sneak milk into the coffee, Evie would smell or taste it before it barely touched her lips. Not to mention the fact that the milk would change the color of the beverage.

    Then she spotted the skillet on the stove. It was sizzling with coconut oil, and next to it sat a bowl of vegan pancake batter---a classic breakfast in the Montgomery household.

    That might do.

    Sybill bent down and opened up the cabinet beneath the silverware drawer. She pushed aside the pans until she found what she was looking for: a little milk carton that was stashed on the bottom shelf. She had purchased it at a convenience store the other day. It was small, something a kid would¡¯ve put in their lunchbox. But it would be enough.  She added a trickle of it to the batter, whisking fiercely to remove any traces of white until she had emptied the entire carton. Then she crushed the carton in her fist, making a note to burn it later. She checked the clock. Five minutes had passed.

    The oil began to pop in the pan. She went over and stirred it passively, humming to herself. The coffee was finished, and the kitchen was filled with warm, pleasant scents.

    After a few more minutes Javier returned, looking pink-faced and winded. ¡°All done,¡± he panted.

    She looked up from the pan and smiled. ¡°You¡¯re a life-saver. That was probably really gross.¡±

    ¡°It was no trouble,¡± he said, coming over to check on the hot oil. Sybill stepped aside and surrendered the stirring spoon. ¡°Thank you for keeping an eye on things.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the least I could do,¡± Sybill said, hurrying towards the door. ¡°Thanks again!¡±

    She went back upstairs and shut herself in her room. After a few minutes, she heard the tinkling of cups and plates as Javier walked up the extra flight of stairs to Evie¡¯s office. Sybill tip-toed to her door and pulled it open again, sticking her head out onto the landing. She caught bits of conversation drifting down from the floor above her:

    ¡°...trouble at all, Javier. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Let me know if you need anything else, Mrs. Montgomery.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. Don¡¯t forget to give Sybill something. She should stay hydrated at least. Oh, and leave the door open a bit, will you?¡±

    Sybill ducked back into her room and listened to Javier¡¯s footsteps die away as he went back downstairs. Then she sat on the edge of her bed and waited. The sheets were emitting a clean linen scent. He really was a nice kid. Just a bit frazzled---as would soon (hopefully) be apparent to everyone.

    Sybill counted the minutes, listening for any noises of obvious distress coming from the floor above her. She thought she heard some thumping and a crash, but she wasn¡¯t sure.

    After twenty minutes, she heard Javier start up the stairs again. Everything seemed to slow down. Her apprehension mounted. Then she heard a scream, followed by a slew of incomprehensible words uttered in a language she didn¡¯t understand.

    She poked her head out into the hallway and called out:

    ¡°Javier? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    There were frantic footsteps and his panicked face appeared over the banister.

    ¡°Call an ambulance!¡±

    Sybill stared at him for a moment, as if in shock. Then, rather than following his instructions, she bolted up the stairs, pushed him out of the way, and burst into Evie¡¯s office. She hoped her face was arranged into an expression appropriate for the occasion; internally, she was feeling nothing but excitement.

    Evie was sprawled on the floor amidst a rubble of household objects: spilled food and broken dishes, papers, pens, and a breakfast tray. A coffee stain had spread through the carpet right by her head, giving her the appearance of bleeding out. Her limbs were bent at odd angles, like she was a doll somebody had pushed off a shelf. Sybill started to walk towards her, but then reconsidered. She shouldn¡¯t touch the body.

    Javier was running around the house, yelling at the top of his lungs. He ran from the door to Evie, rushed back to Sybill, pulled at her sleeve helplessly, all the while sobbing and screaming and clutching at his face. Sybill told him to stay with Evie and then she ran down the hall to fetch her cell phone in her room. She took a moment to work up some tears before dialing 911, and the woman who picked up the call seemed to buy it well enough.

    For the next hour, the house was in chaos. It only took a few moments for the paramedics to pronounce Evie dead on the scene. As they gently rolled her over to lift her up onto the gurney, Sybill saw her face.

    It looked like a mottled radish. Spittle was frozen at the corners of her mouth. She had died with her eyes wide open. They stared at the ceiling, glass marbles in a mannequin¡¯s head.

    Sybill and Javier were interviewed separately. The officer who questioned Sybill was a sweating, red-faced man shaped like a cookie jar. He took her statement patiently, letting her pause whenever she needed to cry into her sleeve or blow her nose.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing great,¡± he said softly after she¡¯d finished another burst of tears. She nodded, sniffing, doing her best to look brave. ¡°Now, I need you to think real hard for me. Who was the last person to see your mother alive?¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Sybill paused. ¡°Well, I guess it was Javier. He went up to serve her breakfast after he got done changing my sheets.¡±

    ¡°Where were you while he was changing your sheets?¡±

    ¡°In the kitchen. I made sure the food didn¡¯t burn while he was away. It only took a few minutes. Then he came back down and took the food up to Mom and I went back upstairs to lie down. Then a few minutes later---¡± Her voice caught, and her lower lip trembled. The policeman patted her shoulder gently.

    ¡°Who actually made your mother¡¯s food?¡±

    Sybill stared at him, blinking in confusion. ¡°Javier did. Our regular cook is off today.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± The officer drummed his fingers on his knees for a moment, frowning. ¡°Did you make anything yourself while you were waiting for Javier to come back?¡±

    Sybill shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m pretty useless in the kitchen.¡± She smiled a watery smile. ¡°Evie loves Javier¡¯s pancakes. Or I mean---she did.¡± She paused to cry some more. The officer patted her shoulder again and stood up.

    ¡°Okay, sweetheart. Thank you. You did really well. Do you think you can call your sister and tell her what¡¯s happened? I¡¯m assuming she¡¯s at school?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I guess I should,¡± Sybill said in a shaky voice, not bothering to correct him regarding her sister¡¯s whereabouts. The officer nodded and left the room to give her some privacy.

    Sybill strained her ears to hear the conversation in the other room: she caught the deep rumble of another officer¡¯s voice and the stuttering answers of Javier.

    ¡°What is your relation to your employer?¡±

    ¡°N-No relation, sir. I just work for her.¡±

    ¡°I see. Okay. And you said you were the one who prepared breakfast this morning?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes but---¡±

    ¡°Did you know of her allergy?¡±

    ¡°Of course I did! I-I didn¡¯t mean---I mean, I know I didn¡¯t put it in, I was trying to do a bunch of things at once---¡±

    ¡°So would you say you were more distracted than usual?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes--- I mean, no! No, not like that, not enough to where I could¡¯ve forgotten to---I-I swear I---¡±

    ¡°I understand that the regular cook was off for the day?¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes, b-but¡­.¡±

    His words broke off in a symphony of blubbering.

    Sybill had heard enough. He was playing the role far better than she¡¯d hoped. She dialed the number of the Institute, retreating into a quiet corner of the living room so she could hear better. It took a few seconds for the woman at the front desk to transfer her call. When Sophia finally picked up, Sybill started the waterworks. It was awful, she told her sister in between theatrical sobbing. She had to come home right away. Something terrible had happened to Mom.

    ***

    The funeral mass was held at St. Philip Catholic Church in Crafton, with a luncheon to be served at the Montgomery¡¯s house afterwards. Sybill was disappointed to discover that the funeral was closed casket. She would have liked to see Evie¡¯s face one more time before they lowered her into the ground.

    Her sister arrived at the church early in the morning, accompanied by Felicity and a giant wall of a man whom Sybill deduced must be her father, Benjamin Reynolds. Sophia didn¡¯t say much to them---or to anyone--- other than asking Sybill about Javier. Sybill told her he was under suspicion for having something to do with their mother¡¯s death. Sophia only nodded and went back to staring at the front of the church, where Evie¡¯s casket was displayed.

    ¡°Let¡¯s stay here for now,¡± Sybill whispered when the organ music signaled the start of the funeral mass. They were standing in the vestibule of the church, and it began to empty as lingering mourners filed into the nave. ¡°It¡¯ll be easier than having everyone stare at us.¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t respond or move. She continued to stare blankly forward, like a silent, white-faced statue in black attire. Sybill found herself growing impatient at her sister¡¯s immobility, but then quickly reminded herself that she needed to put on the proper performance of the grieving daughter, lest other people---or worse, Sophia---suspect her. So she stood by Sophia¡¯s side, and the two of them watched the mass proceed from a distance.

    Evie¡¯s funeral was packed with an assortment of wailing friends and acquaintances. There were barely enough seats in the church to accommodate everyone. About fifteen minutes into the service, she saw a guest, who was sitting near the back of the church, stand up. A blaze of red hair identified her in a moment, and Sybill watched as Felicity snaked out of the pew and made her way to the back of the church, directly towards them.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± she whispered, patting Sophia¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Sophia said dully. ¡°I¡¯m glad you and the doctor could come. I know he¡¯s busy.¡±

    ¡°Not for your family,¡± Felicity said with a smile. An undercurrent of resentment lurked behind her kind words.

    ¡°How long are you in town?¡± Sybill asked.

    ¡°Dad¡¯s going to stay for a couple days,¡± Felicity said. Sybill noticed the tactful phrasing of the answer. Sybill briefly wondered where her friend would go now that she was free, but her curiosity was short lived. It wasn¡¯t her concern right now. She had her own shit to deal with.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go sit down, Sybill,¡± Sophia said dully. She moved through the front doors and into the church before Sybill could protest.

    ¡°This is actually a good point to tell you something,¡± Felicity said, looking around to ensure they were alone. ¡°It¡¯s about the will.¡±

    ¡°What about it?¡±

    ¡°Apparently my father is the Executor.¡±

    The organ music had started playing again, but the notes fell strangled and distant on Sybill¡¯s ears.

    ¡°He¡¯s gonna meet with you two later to talk about it,¡± Felicity was saying.

    Sybill didn¡¯t respond. She couldn¡¯t. Her prior confidence about their future dissolved like sugar in water. Feelings of shame and anger and helplessness swirled in an unpleasant cocktail in her stomach. She found herself staring at the coffin resting at the foot of the altar steps. Staring and hating the person locked inside of it.

    Even when you¡¯re dead, you¡¯re still fucking us over.

    ***

    ¡°Hello girls,¡± said Doctor Reynolds, gesturing at some seats across from him. ¡°I¡¯m glad to have this opportunity to speak with you both in private.¡±

    Sophia and Sybill exchanged wary looks as they sat down. They were in Evie¡¯s study, and the luncheon had just ended. After the last guest left the house, the doctor summoned the two of them here, leaving Felicity alone in the living room. The study felt somber and haunted. The air seemed thick with death and mortality. The very desk Reynolds was leaning his arms on was the one where Evie had surely been sitting, moments before¡­.

    ¡°What¡¯s this about, doctor?¡± Sophia asked, wrenching Sybill¡¯s morbid thoughts back to the present situation.

    ¡°I¡¯m the Executor of Evelyn¡¯s will. But before we get into that, I just want to take a moment to offer you both my condolences,¡± the doctor said in a tender voice. ¡°There are grief counselors at the Institute. If either of you want to talk to someone, that can be arranged.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Sophia said hoarsely. Sybill didn¡¯t say anything.

    ¡°Now then.¡± Reynolds leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together and regarding them both with a business-like stare. ¡°The terms of your mother¡¯s will are simple. She left everything to the Institute and appointed me as your guardian. Sybill, I understand that you are of legal age, but you¡¯re currently in college, correct? I¡¯m more than happy to continue to provide for those expenses, and for housing. Whether you want to live in the dorms or off campus is entirely up to you. I¡¯ll cover it either way. As for you, my dear,¡± his eyes flicked over to Sophia and he smiled warmly, ¡°I would like you to live at the Institute. You will be very well looked after, I promise.¡±

    A deafening silence followed his words. Sybill felt like someone had stuffed cotton balls down her throat. Everything was thick and suffocating, she could barely draw breath, and the lights in the room seemed to contort and then blacken. Was she passing out? Was any of this even real?

    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to the house?¡± Sophia asked finally.

    ¡°I was thinking I¡¯ll hang onto it for now. I know it¡¯s been in Evelyn¡¯s family for generations, and you may want to live in it yourself when you get older.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Sybill said.

    Reynolds turned towards her politely. ¡°What¡¯s that, Sybill?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t lock her up. There¡¯s nothing wrong with her.¡±

    ¡°I understand that originally, Sophia¡¯s stay at the Institute wasn¡¯t supposed to be permanent. But circumstances have changed.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn.¡±

    ¡°What do you suggest then, Sybill?¡± he asked with maddening patience.

    ¡°She can live with me. I can go off campus.¡±

    ¡°What about her powers?¡±

    ¡°What about them?¡± Sybill snarled.

    ¡°Shall she continue to stalk the streets and devour homeless men?¡±

    ¡°If the only other option is being buried in your asylum, then yeah.¡±

    ¡°Sbyill, you¡¯d be free to see her whenever you---¡±

    ¡°Bullshit. Nobody who walks inside that place walks out.¡±

    ¡°Who told you that?¡±

    ¡°Sophia isn¡¯t going,¡± she said coldly.

    ¡°Sybill,¡± Sophia said. She placed a hand on Sybill¡¯s knee. ¡°You haven¡¯t asked me what I want.¡±

    Sybill turned to look at her, and the expression on Sophia¡¯s face made her heart drop into her stomach. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to be with me?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Of course. But shouldn¡¯t I get a handle on this power first? You heard the doctor. You can visit whenever you want.¡±

    ¡°I can even arrange for some people to drive you to and from,¡± the doctor added helpfully.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want your goddamned people driving me anywhere.¡± Sybill stood up so fast her toppled over. She was hot and furious, conscious of an awful feeling bloating her stomach. An image seared through her brain: A stuffed green elephant being snatched from her clutching fingers.

    She turned and walked out of the room without another word.

    ***

    Reynolds and Felicity stayed overnight in the guest rooms. Sybill hated the idea of this man fouling up the house, squatting like a watchful spider in the dark corners, biding his time before snatching Sophia into his web. What she hated almost as much was Sophia¡¯s willingness to go to him. How could she be this na?ve? Didn¡¯t she realize she was selling her freedom? Why didn¡¯t that bother her? She hasn¡¯t lived the way I have, Sybill thought, tossing and turning in her bed. She doesn¡¯t understand how rotten people really are. They only want control. How can she just GIVE it to them without a fight?

    She sat up, throwing back the covers. She went out into the hall, crept down the stairs, and stepped out onto the front porch. It was a cool night, and she gulped lungfuls of air in the hopes of soothing the bonfire of rage that was roaring inside of her.

    ¡°Fancy meeting you here.¡±

    ¡°Jesus!¡± Sybill almost fell over the railing. Felicity was sitting on the porch swing. Sybill saw the glow of a cigarette in the darkness and caught the familiar acidic scent of vaporous cancer in the air. ¡°I thought you would¡¯ve taken off by now.¡±

    ¡°Not until I¡¯ve paid you back, honey. I don¡¯t like owing people.¡±

    ¡°Paid me back?¡± Sybill repeated. ¡°It¡¯s already over. You¡¯re free and we got Sophia out of that place.¡±

    ¡°But not for long, apparently. I heard from my dad.¡±

    Sybill fell silent, seething.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± she said finally. ¡° I hate it.¡±

    Felicity laughed softly. ¡°Fortunately for you, I may have a solution, though it might be a bit¡­risky.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°You can come out now.¡±

    There was a beat of silence. Then the bushes rustled and a silhouette emerged on the lawn. Sybill sprang back.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± she gasped, panicking.

    ¡°Honey, relax. This is a friend of mine from the Institute. He managed to sneak away too. We came to a bit of an agreement. Like I said, I wanted to repay you, and he wants---well, I¡¯m sure he can explain.¡± She cast an exasperated look at the darkness. ¡°Nice of you to show up, Jack. You were supposed to meet me at the church.¡±

    ¡°You give shit directions, darling,¡± a voice drawled. A dark figure stepped into the porch light and Sybill could see that it was a tall, gangly teenage boy with dishwater blonde hair and an unnerving grin. He had tiny pointed teeth. Like a shark¡¯s.

    ¡°I¡¯m kind of surprised you didn¡¯t just give up looking for me and fuck off,¡± Felicity said. ¡°Would¡¯ve been easy enough.¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯m a man of my word. Besides, it¡¯s not like I¡¯m doing this for free, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but who the hell are you again?¡± Sybill demanded.

    His toothy smile widened. ¡°Like Fifi said, my name is Jack. I lived at the Institute until about two days ago, thanks to your generosity. It¡¯s nice to finally meet you, Sybill. I¡¯ve heard monstrously interesting stories about you from Fifi.¡±

    Sybill turned and gave her friend a look of wide-eyed horror.

    ¡°How much does he know?¡± she hissed.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry,¡± Jack interjected with a breezy wave of his hand before Felicity could respond. ¡°Only that the force field dropped and you had a hand in it. Believe me, I didn¡¯t want to know any more than that. Plausible deniability and all that.¡± His grin widened. ¡°I¡¯m just glad to be out and I¡¯m here to repay your altruism, darling---if you¡¯d like me too.¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Sybill said gruffly. She hadn¡¯t let her guard down, but she couldn¡¯t deny that she was growing more interested with each passing second.

    Jack licked his lips a few times, and then a smile oozed across his face like molasses.

    ¡°Sophia.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck did you just say?¡±

    ¡°Oh, not like that. Goodness. Don¡¯t be vulgar. I meant I want her Time.¡±

    ¡°Her---sorry, what?¡±

    ¡°Just a little,¡± Jack said with a wink.

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡±

    ¡°My ability is time travel---sort of. I can take people or objects to anywhere in time and space. I can also create portals that allow for a limited degree of spatial travel. Cool, right?¡±

    Sybill was silent. He went on with a little sigh, seeming disappointed that she didn¡¯t respond in the affirmative:

    ¡°However, in order to do activate my powers, I need to take some Time from someone. It¡¯s like fuel for the engine. And I would like Sophia to be the one to help me out with that. It tastes so much better coming from someone with an ability.¡± The shark grin returned. ¡°Anyway, I promise I won¡¯t take much, just enough to propel you two to wherever you would like to go. Ancient Rome? 19th century England? The world is your oyster.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you¡­you can send us anywhere, just like that?¡±

    ¡°Just like that. I¡¯m pretty amazing that way.¡±

    Sybill took a moment to process this information. Then she said: ¡°How much Time would you take from her?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Not much, just a little smackroll, really.¡± He paused, then held up two bony fingers. ¡°Two years from her lifespan. To be honest with you, I would take more if I could. But I¡¯ve run into nasty consequences in the past with being too greedy. I wouldn¡¯t want to harm you girls.¡± He winked. ¡°So what do you say? Shall we run this little scheme of ours by Sophia and get the ball rolling?¡±

    ¡°Sophia can¡¯t know you¡¯re doing it.¡±

    Jack raised his eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know about the forcefield or the role I played in getting it to drop. She doesn¡¯t even know I¡¯m friends with Felicity. I¡¯d like to keep it that way. It was all to protect her, but she might¡­misunderstand. ¡±

    He was looking at her in a way she detested. It was like they were in on a private joke.

    ¡°I guess don¡¯t mind. As long as you¡¯re sure that¡¯s how you want to do this.¡±

    Two years wasn¡¯t so bad, Sybill thought quickly. It wasn¡¯t like she was allowing him to chisel away a decade. It was a small price for Sophia to pay for her freedom.

    ¡°Oh, I almost forgot,¡± Jack said. ¡°I should warn you about the side effects of taking Time. It¡¯s likely Sophia will be rather disoriented. She won¡¯t remember much of tonight, or possibly other things. At least that¡¯s been my experience.¡±

    ¡°What ¡®other things?¡¯¡± Sybill asked cautiously.

    ¡°The hole my power creates in a person¡¯s memory varies. But it won¡¯t be anything major.¡±

    Felicity uttered a low whistle.

    ¡°It¡¯s up to you, Sybill. But like I said, this is risky. What¡¯re you gonna tell Sophia once she starts asking questions about those missing pieces?¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s only a bit here and there, it¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m good at thinking on my feet. And she trusts me. She¡¯ll believe anything I tell her.¡±

    Felicity stared at her wordlessly for several seconds. Sybill knew she sounded nonchalant, but she was actually taking the matter quite seriously. Sophia had to be protected from the Institute. Period. She could worry about the finer details once the larger goal had been accomplished. She was running out of both energetic fumes and practical options. Did she trust this string bean looking mother fucker? No. But she could use him, and that was at least something.

    ¡°All right then.¡± Jack squared his shoulders. ¡°Where would you like me to send you then? Paris? Japan? Or maybe somewhere romantic like Florence? And when would you like me to send you? I wouldn¡¯t recommend anything pre-nineteenth century on account of all the diseases and hideous clothing. But it¡¯s your party.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the point of going where we can¡¯t understand the language?¡± Sybill said scornfully. ¡°No, let¡¯s stay in the country, and I want it to be...six years from now. That¡¯ll be enough time for things to quiet down here. And I want to be somewhere far away. How does San Francisco sound?¡±

    ¡°Sure thing. I¡¯ll have to dump you in a random spot, though. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know the city very well. I¡¯ve only been there once.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We¡¯ll take it from there.¡±

    Jack shrugged, looking disappointed by her lack of vision.

    ¡°Oh, before I forget,¡± Felicity chimed in. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a wad of bills, which she pressed into Sybill¡¯s hand. ¡°For the road.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯d you get this?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s not mine.¡± Felicity grinned. ¡°My father will be paying for our escapes.¡±

    ¡°How generous of him.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it though?¡±

    Sybill grinned and pocketed the money. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go. And make it quick¡ªbefore she has time to fight you or argue with me.¡±

    ¡°Wait, now?¡± Felicity asked, startled. ¡°It¡¯s the middle of the night.¡±

    ¡°You think I¡¯m gonna wait for tomorrow morning? To help Sophia pack and have Reynolds watch me like a hawk?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s very pragmatic, Fifi,¡± Jack said, whispering loudly behind his hand.

    ¡°Quit calling me that. I¡¯m not a poodle.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Sybill said irritably, cutting into the banter she saw brewing between them.  She turned and led the way back into the house. The three of them crept noiselessly up the stairs. They stopped in front of Sophia¡¯s room.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna make sure she¡¯s asleep,¡± Sybill said. ¡°Stay out here for a sec.¡±

    ¡°Wait. Jesus, Sybill, you¡¯re gonna do this when she¡¯s not even conscious?¡±

    ¡°Fifi, if you¡¯re going to nitpick every little thing, we¡¯ll be here all night,¡± Jack drawled.

    ¡°But this is----¡±

    ¡°Felicity, if you fucking talk again, I¡¯m going to kick you down the stairs,¡± Sybill hissed, which shut her up real fast. She slipped into the darkness of her sister¡¯s bedroom and crept towards her bed. Sophia was fast asleep, curled up like a shrimp. Her face still looked swollen from crying. Sybill went back over to the door and pulled it slightly open, ushering the other two inside. They came and stood next to her, and the three of them peered down at Sophia¡¯s sleeping form.

    Then a blood-red light bloomed in the darkness. A portal was opening like a bleeding gash in the air in front of them. It grew to the size of a large mirror. Jack smiled at her.

    ¡°Go on then.¡±

    ¡°We have to walk inside?¡± Sybill whispered, horrified.  She felt a stab of fear and remorse. Maybe she was being reckless. What if this didn¡¯t work? What if this weirdo just left them in some time vacuum?

    Sophia stirred on the pillow and blearily opened her eyes.

    Sybill froze. Her brain jammed.

    ¡°Sybill?¡± Sophia¡¯s voice was thick from sleep. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. ¡°What¡¯re you doing in here?¡± Then Sybill saw her go rigid. ¡°Who are they?¡±

    ¡°You feel like standing up, Sophia,¡± Felicity said in a voice that could have commanded an entire room.

    Sophia stared around at them, and then a glossy look came into her eyes, and she climbed out of bed.

    Sybill looked over her shoulder at her friend, surprised and impressed. ¡°How¡¯d you---¡±

    ¡°Get out of here. Quick. She won¡¯t be obedient for long. See you around, honey.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully not.¡±

    Sybill gave her friend a final wave before she seized Sophia¡¯s hand and dragged her into the red portal. She took a deep breath and braced herself.

    Everything was snuffed out. For an agonizingly long second, she found herself swimming in utter darkness.

    Then there was light, a dizzying whiteness, and she was being hurled down a tunnel so fast her neck felt like it was going to snap. Incoherent noises broke over her, shredded bits of syllables that surrounded her in a balloon of sound that meant nothing. Her head was being squeezed from either side; she felt like her skull was collapsing. Something was wrong. Something was surely going horribly wrong---

    She slammed into something cold and hard.

    The shock of it sent the wind flying from her lungs. She was on her hands and knees trying to breath when she looked over and saw with relief that Sophia was still with her. She was also on the ground, retching and shaking.

    It seemed uncharacteristically chilly for California; the night air whipped against her face and made her cheeks sting. They were in a deserted alleyway and it was raining heavily. The distant sound of car horns blared. She craned her neck and saw tall buildings looming over her, meeting the stormy sky with their majestic spires, the rain forming a glowing ring of mist around the streetlamps.

    For a moment she felt a giddy rush of joy. They had made it. They were out in the sweet, liberated evening, years and years away---then dancing yellow lights caught her eye. Her glasses were dusty, and she had to clean them on her shirt and put them back on before she could make out where the lights were coming from. They seemed to be radiating from somewhere in the street up ahead.

    ¡°Soph, stay here,¡± she said. She hurried forward until she could stick her head out of the alley and get her first look at the streets of San Francisco.

    She found herself looking instead at the yellow bulbs illuminating the sign across the street: Benedum Center. It was advertising in bright flashing letters a show for that weekend: September15-16, 2017.

    Jack had sent them across town and only a week into the future.

    The city lights blurred into a single blob of pulsating energy as rage consumed her, blotting out her surroundings and making her forget everything else---even Sophia. She stood there shaking, clenching her fists while the rain pummeled her head and shoulders. When her vision finally cleared, she turned and went back to the alleyway, Sophia was lying on her back, her eyes closed. Her pale face was stamped with nausea. Sybill reached down and gave her a gentle shake.

    ¡°Sophia?¡±

    Her sister blearily opened her eyes, which looked glazed and distant. A sudden chill gripped Sybill¡¯s stomach. She knelt down and put her hand on Sophia¡¯s forehead. She felt normal, but why did she look like that? It must be the time travel¡­what if that nutcase had killed her? She should¡¯ve thought more about this---

    ¡°What happened?¡± Sophia moaned, rising on her elbows and squinting around. ¡°Why the hell are we downtown?¡±

    Sybill¡¯s initial rush of joy after hearing her sister speak was quenched in the fear which flooded her at the question. She had to think fast.

    ¡°Soph, are you feeling okay?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia¡¯s face was becoming increasingly frightened. Sybill felt a worm of guilt unfurl in her stomach, but she hastened to squash it. This had to be done.

    ¡°What¡¯s the last thing you remember?¡± she asked.

    Sophia swallowed. ¡°I...I don¡¯t know. I guess¡­I was just talking to Mom about school or something and then I was¡­here¡­then¡­the funeral¡­¡¯¡¯ She looked up at Sybill, her eyes widening. ¡°Why are we in our pjs?¡±

    ¡°You fell and hit your head just now,¡± Sybill said, thinking quickly.

    Her mind was working furiously and her heart was hammering in her chest. Felicity, Jack, the Institute¡­was it all gone? Did Sophia even remember that she had powers?

    ¡°Sybill,¡± Sophia said, looking increasingly pale. ¡°What do you mean I hit my head?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, uh, we were out here because you had to¡­eat.¡±

    ¡°So what¡¯s that got to do with hitting my head?¡±

    ¡°Okay, when I say you had to eat, what does that mean to you?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Sophia stared at her. ¡°Are you talking about my power?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Sybill said eagerly. Okay, so she at least knew that much. She was hesitant to provide further details. If Sophia really didn¡¯t remember anything else about Reynolds or the Institute, she didn¡¯t want to jog her memory. ¡°We were out here because of that and then they found us, so we ran, and that¡¯s when you fell and hit your head.¡±

    Sophia looked around uneasily. ¡°Who found us?¡±

    Sybill arranged her face into what she hoped was an expression of pensive concern. ¡°You don¡¯t remember? The men Mom sent to take you away because of your power.¡±

    ¡°What? Take me where? What men?¡±

    ¡°Look, we don¡¯t have time for this now.¡± Sybill glanced around. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of sight. I¡¯ll tell you later.¡±

    ¡°But---¡±

    ¡°Come on.¡± She took her hand and began to pull her down the street. Her heart was thudding in her ears, her mind already spinning tapestries of tales to feed her later. She just needed time to think. For now, they had to get out of town.

    That was the first step towards them finally being free.

    ***

    Sophia let the next several memories wash over her. She had been there for most of them and had little desire to relive it. A sharpness---cold and cruel---was growing in her heart the longer she watched this nightmare play out in her sister¡¯s dead brain. After a while she couldn¡¯t bear to focus on the pain anymore; she closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on the memories again. Anything was better than the agonizing pinpricks of betrayal and disillusionment that were spreading across her soul like black mold.

    ***

    They checked out of the motel at dawn. Sophia sensed the death of someone nearby, and so Sybill left her to her ¡°breakfast¡± as she ambled down the street to the convenience store. She was hoping to find something edible. If nothing else, she would settle for a donut.

    The place was bright white industrial madness. People stopping in before work milled about the aisles like ants. She had to duck to avoid getting knocked on her ass by a hairy man wearing a greasy baseball cap who was groping for something on one of the shelves. Her head still thick from sleep, Sybill grabbed a few items and headed to the register. There were a couple of people in front of her. She turned her gaze absently to the T.V. hanging behind the cashier¡¯s head. The words flashing at the bottom of the screen caught her eye. Suddenly she was wide awake. She managed to catch the last half of the announcement just before it vanished from the screen:

    ¡­COPPULA SHOT AT UNION SQUARE. PERPETRATOR STILL AT LARGE.

    Coppula. Something stirred deep within the caverns of her mind. It took some extensive mental rifling before Sybill realized where she had heard that name before. As she hastily paid for her breakfast and hurried back out into the dewy morning to meet Sophia, a swirl of thoughts bounced around in her head. They all kept landing on the same mark: It couldn¡¯t be a coincidence that the man who was shot dead was one of the doctors who had tormented Felicity. Had he been trying to bring her back to the Institute? Were the people from that place looking for Sophia too? Sybill felt an insatiable curiosity overwhelm her. God, she hadn¡¯t felt this kind of rush since Evie died. She wanted to stick around and see what happened with the shooting, but she knew they couldn¡¯t afford to. She had to get Sophia out of town as quickly as possible.

    ***

    Francis Coppula, Sophia was saying. The man¡¯s name was Francis Coppula. Sybill stared at her. Come to think of it, hadn¡¯t Felicity talked like there was more than one Coppula? Was this the dead guy¡¯s brother? Was Felicity trying to kill this one too? Maybe they would run into her in his house. Wouldn¡¯t that be hilarious? They would just be sitting there having tea with her arch-nemesis when she came in to kill him. Though it quickly became less funny when Sybill wondered if seeing Felicity would trigger any memory in Sophia. It was possible.

    She heard herself agreeing to the plan before she could properly formulate a better one in her mind. Curiosity won out over caution and Sophia was already ringing the bell. Sybill felt a surge of excitement. She had spent so long planning their every move. It was nice not knowing what was going to happen next.

    ***

    Xavier---not Francis, fuck---Coppula was standing there, his mangled head dropping hideously to one side. She screamed and jumped to her feet, and then noticed that he was flickering. He wasn¡¯t real. Furious, she turned on her sister.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± she yelled.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°What---did you---why did you do that?¡±

    ¡°Do what? Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°I---yeah.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    Sybill took a moment to think. Was Sophia¡¯s power growing?

    ¡°I think we should call it a night¡­¡± she found herself saying. Sophia was looking at her, stormy-eyed and red-cheeked, still angry from their argument, but Sybill refused to engage. She turned her back to her and got into bed.

    Her last thought before she dropped off to sleep was that by killing that other Coppula, she had actually done Felicity a favor. Maybe she could cash in on that in the future.

    ***

    Reynolds. Holy shit balls.

    She stared incredulously at the young police officer sitting across the table. She felt like an early Christmas present had been dropped into her lap. He looked just like Felicity, although¡ªshe sat up in her chair and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. A thick, palpable, mysterious quality hung about him like smog. When he blinked and averted her gaze, she suddenly realized what it was. Sophia had the same quality. It was difficult to label. She groped for a word. It was easy to mistake it for loyalty or kindness, but it wasn¡¯t either of those things. Then it hit her.

    Gullibility.

    She gave him her biggest smile. Asked him if his name had Viking roots. He blubbered some response and left the room with his partner. Would he repeat their encounter to his sister? She hoped so. She wanted Felicity to know that Jack had fucked up. She wanted her to be nervous that Sybill might say something that could oh, incriminate her in the recent death of a prominent doctor.

    She wanted her to come and visit her.

    Sybill sat in the brightly lit interrogation room, staring at her reflection in the one-way glass. She smiled at herself. She knew the cops were watching her on the other side.

    ***

    She was alone in a windowless concrete box, stretched out on an uncomfortable bed. It was getting cold. She thought about Sophia, trying to go over all their options, wondering if they were going to charge her officially with something or if she was just going to sit here and rot for the rest of her life¡­

    Her pondering was interrupted by a door slamming. Hurried footsteps approached her cell.

    She looked up, bored, expecting to see another cop. She found herself staring instead at Felicity¡¯s thin, pale face. They gazed at each other for one long minute, two rattlesnakes reared up, waiting for the other to strike first.

    ¡°Sweet of you to visit,¡± Sybill said at last, swinging her legs around to sit on the edge of the cot. ¡°I take it your brother told you I was here?¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Do you really wanna know? It¡¯s a long and tragic tale.¡± Sybill glanced around her cell and spotted a camera in the upper right corner. Felicity followed her gaze, and then said curtly:

    ¡°Nate switched it off. We have five minutes.¡±

    ¡°What did you do to get him to be such an obedient lapdog?¡¯¡¯

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a social call, Sybill,¡± Felicity snapped. ¡°Explain. Do you have any idea how risky it is for you to be back?¡±

    ¡°Back? I never left in the first place.¡±

    There was a beat of silence. Felicity blinked several times.

    ¡°But I thought Jack sent¡ª"

    ¡°Nope.¡± The sound of his name made her blood boil; every word that fell from her lips bled with cold fury. ¡°That human shit-stack only sent us across the fucking city, a week into the future. That¡¯s funny, isn¡¯t it? In fact, I was so busy laughing I forgot to watch my ass, and now here I am. So thank Jack for me, will you? Preferably with a machete and some rope.¡±

    Felicity¡¯s face was a mask of pallid stone, but Sybill saw several emotions flit across her eyes; they passed before she could determine what they were.

    ¡°So was smashing in Xavier¡¯s head part of an anger management plan or what?¡± Felicity said.

    ¡°Who cares? I did you a favor.¡±

    ¡°Favor?¡± Felicity said incredulously. ¡°Do you get what¡¯s happening right now?

    Because of what you did in that house, you¡¯ve put me in the middle of a major shitstorm. Not only is my brother on this case, but now he¡¯s wondering how we know each other. I can¡¯t keep avoiding his questions.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Has all this been hard for you? Poor baby.¡±

    Two red spots appeared on Felicity¡¯s cheeks. ¡°I risked a lot helping you get away that night. I could¡¯ve just fucked off  when the barrier fell and left you dangling in the wind. But I helped you because I thought we were friends. And that¡¯s why I¡¯m here now. Do you have any idea how worried I was when I heard you were in here?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re full of shit.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not here because you¡¯re worried about me. You¡¯re here because you¡¯re afraid of what I could say to your brother.¡± Sybil moved closer to the bars, holding her friend¡¯s gaze. ¡°You know, now that I think about it, it sure is hard keeping all these secrets. Maybe we should just come clean to your brother. I can tell him the details about the night you escaped your dad¡¯s facility and what led up to the barrier falling down in the first place. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll find it all very interesting. Call him in here, won¡¯t you? I suddenly feel a strong urge to confess.¡±

    Felicity¡¯s face went even whiter, and she made a movement, as if she wanted to lunge forward and strangle Sybill through the bars. Then she swallowed. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

    ¡°I can try to talk to Nate,¡± Felicity said through gritted teeth. ¡°Have they charged you with anything yet? I can ask him to hold off until---"

    ¡°That¡¯s not good enough.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°We made a deal with Jack and he didn¡¯t hold up his end of it. He took Sophia¡¯s time but fucked us over. I normally wouldn¡¯t trust him as far as I could throw him, he clearly has little control over his powers, but my options have become kind of limited at this point. Get him back here. Make him hold up his end of the bargain.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t even know if he¡¯s still in the area. He took off after---¡±

    ¡°Not my problem.¡±

    Sybill was becoming aware of something stirring inside of her, a current of vibrating energy that was hard to define. Her excitement over their exchange---with her in utter control---was skyrocketing, but she felt like this strange force was trying to pull it OUT of her. She suddenly remembered feeling something similar once in their Smoking Corner, on a cold day that seemed very long ago now. The she recalled how easily Felicity had ordered Sophia out of bed that night, telling her that she ¡°felt like standing up.¡±

    Felicity was trying to use her power on her---and given the look of frustration on her face, it didn¡¯t seem to be going well.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Sybill asked in mock concern. ¡°You seem strained. Maybe you should take a spa day.¡±

    A vein throbbed in Felicity¡¯s forehead. She exhaled loudly. ¡°Just tell me what you need.¡±

    ¡°First things first: find Sophia. Make sure she¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°Are you fucking joking? What am I supposed to tell her? What if she remembers me and---¡±

    ¡°Scrambling her memory is the one thing Jack did right. She won¡¯t know you. Just tell her you¡¯re an old friend of mine. That¡¯ll be good enough for her.¡±

    ¡°Then what?¡±

    ¡°Come back and see me once she¡¯s safe. Then we¡¯ll talk about how we¡¯re going to make round two of this clusterfuck work.¡±

    Sybill could feel Felicity flexing her power again, desperate to gain some foothold, some semblance of control. Her frantic shuffling only made Sybill smile, and after a few seconds the connection snapped. Felicity¡¯s expression was decidedly sour as she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

    ***

    Sybill got the biggest shock of her life when she was sitting in her cell and the cop that she now knew was Felicity¡¯s brother suddenly appeared on the other side of the bars.

    ¡°Follow me,¡± he said tersely. ¡°You¡¯re going to the bathroom down the hall.¡±

    Sybill didn¡¯t stop to ask questions. She jumped to feet as he led them down a back hall and to the public restroom.

    ¡°You have fifteen minutes,¡± he muttered.

    Sybill opened the door, walked inside, locked it, and looked around. Her eagerness quickly turned to annoyance. What was she supposed to do in here? There was no window. Was she supposed to just take a shit and wait for a miracle? Then again, what other options did she have? She went and sat down on the toilet. After about five minutes, a familiar-looking red gash appeared in midair. Sybill felt a knee-jerk reaction of rage right before Jack¡¯s head popped through. He looked around, appearing confused for a moment, and then his eyes fell on her.

    ¡°Hi there,¡± he said with a shark-toothed grin. ¡°Hurry up. I¡¯m taking you back a few minutes but I can¡¯t hold this forever.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t do it right this time I will personally hunt you down and rip off your nuts.¡±

    He reached out his hand, grinning in an entirely insincere way. Then he yanked her into the gaping red jaws of his hellish creation.

    After what felt like an eternity of rushing noise and crushing pressure, they stepped out of the portal and into a hallway. Sybill staggered, panting, while Jack seemed largely unaffected. He stepped coolly out and then knocked directly on the door in front of them. It flung open and there was her Sophia, staring in wide-eyed wonder. Their eyes met; they rushed towards each other and embraced. But Felicity---emerging from a dark corner in the hall Sybill hadn¡¯t even noticed before---curtly pulled them apart and said to hurry, there wasn¡¯t time for that.

    ¡°Jack, can you get us there?¡± she asked.

    He shook his head grimly. ¡°I¡¯m a bit wiped out right now. We¡¯ll have to be old fashioned and walk.¡±

    The four of them went down a flight up steps, through a hallway, another flight of steps---then there were outside and hurrying down a dark and silent road. It was almost over, she thought. She was scared of the relief surging through her. It suggested hope, and she wasn¡¯t used to hoping for anything.

    Felicity was walking to her left. Sophia was on her right. Sybill slowly eased over to Felicity, making sure Sophia out of ear shot, before she muttered out of the corner of her mouth:

    ¡°Where are we headed?¡±

    ¡°Bus station. I have money. It should cover at least two transfers.¡±

    ¡°Wait, Jack isn¡¯t gonna use his power to transport us?¡±

    ¡°You heard him. He used up everything he had getting you out of that cell. But no worries. We can still get you out of here. You may not be going to San Fransciso, but the bus will at least take you out of the city.¡±

    Out of the city. The words made her feel lighter. They could worry about getting more money later. Maybe Sophia could use her powers to make a stranger suddenly feel generous.

    The four of them walked for a long time, stopping often to rest their feet. Sybill was on edge; she kept shooting nervous looks around, half-expecting to see a trail of police hot on their heels. By the time they reached Station Square, the sun was beginning to set.

    ¡°Where are we going to go?¡± Sophia asked as they stepped into Bessemer Court. The area was empty; the only sound was the gurgling of the water fountain.

    ¡°As far away from here as we can,¡± Sybill said, smiling. ¡°¡°We¡¯ll just borrow some money---Felicity? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Felicity had stopped dead in her tracks, and Jack tilted his head to the side, like he was listening for something. For a moment there was silence.

    Then chaos exploded around them.

    Someone was screaming. Actually, it sounded like a lot of people were screaming and then her heart dropped into her stomach when she saw that someone else was here, they were running at Sophia. For a wild second she thought it was a moving tree, and then she saw that it was a man. He had thousands of branches protruding from his skin. Several vines flowed from beneath his clothes and wrapped around anything within reach; the tendrils hurled the snatched objects through the air: rocks, bushes---Sophia.

    Without thinking, Sybill took a running leap, using a jutting piece of moving earth to propel herself up into the air and onto the freakish tree-man¡¯s shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to claw, bite, tear into his flesh. Her frenzied fingers lunged towards his eye sockets, hoping to feel the gelatinous eyeball pop beneath her fingernails---

    Then there was a hot, searing pain between her shoulder blades. Something was tearing into her skin, slicing through bones and tendons as if they were warm butter. Blackness exploded before her eyes, great splotches of it spreading over her vision. She was falling and then she crashed onto a hard surface, every jolt sending a fresh wave of agony through her body. She lay there gasping in a warm pool of some unseen substance. A sharp, rusty smell assaulted her, and she knew that it was her own blood, slithering out of her veins and ushering her into the grim arms of death.

    Panic seized her---not at the thought of dying, but at the realization that her memories would be exposed to Sophia.

    ¡°When you see them...please...please...¡±

    She didn¡¯t know if she was actually speaking the words, or merely thinking them. Would Sophia understand? Everything she had done was to protect her. She loved her. She was the only person who really did.

    The world was fading. She could no longer feel the warmth of her own blood or the hard earth beneath her. She was lying on nothingness and going towards oblivion. As she felt the last remaining shreds of bodily sensation succumb to fragile mortality, she was seized with a new fear: that maybe there was an afterlife after all.

    She heard a rushing sound, and then darkness overcame her.

 Defectives

    The van rattled down an unseen road. Sophia clung to Sybill¡¯s body; she felt like she was drowning and her sister¡¯s cold flesh was a lifeboat. This didn¡¯t feel real. What she had just witnessed, Sybill¡¯s death, her mother¡¯s death, everything that Jack and Felicity had done to her¡­it was a nightmare realm. She was asleep. Surely, she was asleep.

    ¡°Sophia.¡± Felicity¡¯s voice was closer than expected. ¡°Is¡­is Sybill¡­.¡±

    Her words trailed off and vanished in the cavernous darkness. Sophia didn¡¯t respond for a long time. Then she said in a hoarse whisper:

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    She hoped that voicing her hideous new reality would provide relief, but it didn¡¯t; the weight on her heart only increased. Her arms tightened around  the corpse.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± Felicity said, her voice thick with tears. ¡°If you need---¡±

    ¡°You knew.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What happened to my mother. You knew about everything this whole time. You¡­it was your idea.¡±

    ¡°I never---¡±

    ¡°Shut the fuck up.¡±

    Felicity stopped talking---wise choice. One more word and Sophia might¡¯ve lunged at her, just to have somewhere to direct the pain that was filling her heart.

    After what felt like hours, the van finally came to a halt. Doors slammed. Footsteps pounded on unseen concrete, and then the door slid open. Her surroundings ignited into white fire, and Sophia blinked rapidly in a dizzying wash of sunshine.

    ¡°Exit single file,¡± said a gruff female voice.

    Felicity and Jack obeyed, but Sophia didn¡¯t move. The woman looked expectantly at her, and Sophia stared back defiantly, still clutching Sybill¡¯s body. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that the stranger was middle-aged, as thin as a stick, and all angles. Her eyes were as white and glittering as glaciers, and she had streaks of magenta in her lank brown pixie cut.

    ¡°You come with me,¡± she said in a clipped voice. ¡°And one of my other associates will take care of that.¡± She gestured dismissively at Sybill¡¯s corpse.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have any leverage here, kid. Get out of the damn van or I¡¯ll make you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see you fucking try it, lady.¡±

    The woman opened her mouth angrily, but suddenly a bulky shape appeared at her side. It was Doctor Benjamin Reynolds. He laid a big, thick hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°Take both of them inside, Constance,¡± he said softly. ¡°Barney.¡± He turned to someone outside of Sophia¡¯s line of vision. ¡°Remove Sybill from the car and take her to the infirmary. They will be able to find her a bed until other arrangements can be made. And I¡¯m sure I don¡¯t have to tell you to be careful.¡± He looked at Sophia again. ¡°No harm will come to her. I promise. Now please come out.¡±

    Something in his eyes made her soften, and she let Barney---a portly blonde man---scoop Sybill into his arms. She wondered where the tree-man had run off to. She would¡¯ve liked to rip his throat out.

    She climbed out of the van and looked around. The first thing she saw was a polished plaque on a tall iron gate that read: The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing. The building behind the gate was a stone monster, stacked several stories high and pockmarked with hundreds of windows. Snaking across its facade were thick tendrils of ivy. The landscape surrounding the Institute was smooth, green, and bare, apart from the enormous trees lining the pebble path which led to the front door---a path that took them several minutes to walk. The front door was made of gleaming dark walnut, fitted together with heavy iron hinges. It looked like it would take at least three men to budge it, but Doctor Reynolds pushed against it easily and waved Sophia over the threshold. She heard the door swing shut behind her with a final, deafening boom.

    She followed him down a shadowy hallway. When they came to a fork, he indicated that she should follow him instead of Constance, who was already herding Felicity and Jack in the opposite direction. Sophia watched them go with some trepidation. She certainly had no warm feelings towards either of them, but she felt vulnerable when left alone with Reynolds.

    He led her into a dark office and waved her into a chair while he maneuvered his solid bulk around the room, turning on lights; a warm glow illuminated glossy wood furnishings and an ornate red carpet that looked like it cost more than a mortgage. After he had finished with the lights, the doctor settled into a voluminous red chair behind his desk. She stared sullenly at him for a long time. Finally, he seemed to understand that she wasn¡¯t going to speak first; he smiled and said:

    ¡°Welcome back to the Institute, Sophia. Your mother would have---¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she said sharply.

    He looked at her for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a cooler, more professional tone, as if he was interviewing her for a job.

    ¡°It¡¯s my impression that you are somewhat fuzzy on the details of this past week. Do you need me to fill you in?¡±

    ¡°No. I just saw it all.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°In Sybill¡¯s memories.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Yes. Of course.¡±

    Another silence. Then:

    ¡°Do you have any questions for me?¡±

    ¡°Will the freak who killed my sister be held accountable?¡±

    ¡°I will speak with him.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked.¡±

    ¡°I assure you everything will be taken care of, and you¡¯ll be provided for here. I¡¯m not sure if you remember your mother¡¯s last will and testament, but she entrusted me with---"

    ¡°I just told you I saw it all.¡±

    ¡°You did. But I wasn¡¯t sure to what extent Sybill would recall---¡±

    ¡°She recalled everything.¡±

    Sophia felt herself deflating like a balloon. She sagged even lower in her chair. Reynolds went on:

    ¡°I will ensure that Sybill has a proper burial, Sophia. She will receive the best we can provide---¡±

    ¡°Stop. I don¡¯t care. I can¡¯t---I don¡¯t want to talk about that.¡±

    ¡°What do you want to talk about, my dear?¡± he asked.

    His voice was not unkind. But Sophia couldn¡¯t bring herself to speak, or even look at him. Another silence lapsed between them. Then the doctor said:

    ¡°I don¡¯t pretend to know what transpired this past week or why you ran away. It was quite unexpected; you seemed more than willing to come and live at the Institute the last time we spoke. I have a feeling that perhaps your sister, forgive me, was not honest with you---about me or about this place. So let¡¯s make a deal: I¡¯ll tell you whatever you want to know, anything at all. In return, I would like to know why you decided to leave and what you¡¯ve been up to this past week.¡±

    His voice was still very gentle, almost paternal, like he was trying to talk a sulking child into coming downstairs for dinner. Sophia didn¡¯t have much interest in the Institute right now---or anything at all, really. But she wanted to distract herself from what had just happened. So she said dully:

    ¡°What is this place? I know it¡¯s for kids with superpowers or whatever, but why did you start it?¡±

    ¡°The residents here possess defective abilities which operate at the expense of other people. It¡¯s dangerous for them to be around the general public.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by ¡®defective¡¯? You mean there are powers that aren¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± He looked at her strangely for a moment.

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia said irritably.

    He leaned back in his chair, a cavernous crevice forming between his bushy brows. ¡°We¡¯ve had this conversation before.¡±

    Sophia stared at him, then sighed and slumped a little lower in her chair. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. I only know what Sybill did because I saw her memories. There are¡­gaps.¡±

    She was hesitant to tell him the source of those gaps. Would spilling the beans about Jack and Felicity, and the role they had played in their escape, do more or less damage in the long run? How would he react if he knew his own daughter had had a hand in his partner¡¯s death?

    ¡°I see. Very well,¡± Reynolds said. ¡°I don¡¯t mind going over this again. Perhaps it will help jog your memory. So yes, people with powers aren¡¯t new. You just don¡¯t know about the functioning ones because they lay low and don¡¯t cause any trouble.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the criteria for deciding who¡¯s dangerous? What about Felicity?¡±

    Doctor Reynolds raised his bushy eyebrows. ¡°What about her?¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem to have any kind of dramatic power. Nothing that would launch a nuke or end the world, anyway. So why is she in here?¡±

    The doctor smiled. ¡°Defective abilities take many forms. My daughter is what we could classify as an empath, but she drains and manipulates a person¡¯s emotional core rather than merely experiencing it. Any ability has the capacity to be flawed. Take you, for example. Rather than simply having a mental connection with others, like a normal Telepath, your physical well-being relies on sucking the memories, the very life of the brain, away from someone else. It¡¯s genetic Russian roulette, really. For every ten people who are born with powers, there is one who is born broken. Those are the Defectives. Those are our patients.¡± He flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve.

    ¡°Felicity mentioned some other patients here. Kids.¡±

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°We have many children, yes.¡±

    ¡°She said there¡¯s a little girl here who is doped up and chained in her room, living in her own piss and shit. And she mentioned some brothers who you put in a freezer or something and then planned on lobotomizing.¡±

    The doctor looked at her pityingly.

    ¡°My daughter is very sick, Sophia. I¡¯m sorry if she frightened you. The brothers she referred to are Max and Mason Richardson. They¡¯ve been here a while and yes, we have them confined. But those boys tear blood from a body with about as much forethought as you would give to dumping water from a bucket. It¡¯s not like in the movies, with neat little puncture wounds and lingerie and velvet seduction. They almost killed your mother once, you know. They tried to latch onto her like leeches. Fortunately, Evelyn was never one to let her guard down, even around the young ones. She invented the drug we now use to keep them sedated around the clock. My point is that the children we have at this facility are dangerous, and sometimes that warrants extreme treatments, including quarantine.¡±

    ¡°Who are you to decide which powers are broken?¡± Sophia said. Her skin was beginning to prickle with anger. All of this was starting to sound like some kind of bullshit mad-scientist manifesto. ¡°How do you know suppressing them won¡¯t just make them worse?¡±

    ¡°Of course we¡¯ve considered that,¡± the doctor said with maddening patience. ¡°It¡¯s a nice idea. But we don¡¯t work with ideas, we work in reality. You mentioned a little girl before.  I believe you¡¯re talking about Samantha Houston. Did Felicity tell you what she can do?¡±

    ¡°She says she¡­strips flesh,¡± Sophia said grudgingly. ¡®But that still doesn¡¯t mean you have the right to---

    The doctor cut her off.

    ¡°Samantha is a Defective shapeshifter. Rather than creating an illusion, which is what functioning shapeshifters do, she has to physically consume the flesh of her victims. However, she can only wear the flesh of people her own age. Otherwise, as she says, the skin ¡®doesn¡¯t fit.¡¯ Do you know why she was dropped off at this facility in the first place? It was because of what happened at her school up in Arlington, Virginia. An entire class of third graders was found dead and skinned one morning on the playground during recess. It was an act of random, horrific violence that nobody could understand. There was only one brave little survivor.¡±

    He folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, his eyes burning with an intensity that made Sophia feel like she was sitting under a spotlight.

    ¡°Her parents almost threw her like a football through my front door. And who could blame them? They were scared to death of her.¡±

    ¡°I---¡± Sophia swallowed. The words stuck in her throat.

    ¡°Those are the sorts of residents we¡¯re dealing with, Sophia. Yes, sometimes the treatments are a bit¡­unorthodox. But are you beginning to understand that sometimes, it¡¯s the only option? That other boy you were traveling with ---Jack? He¡¯s a Defective time traveler. When I first met him, he was busy killing off the senior population in Maryland. He didn¡¯t even use their stolen time; he just liked collecting it. He did this for years until he was caught; a story broke that he had wiped out half the residents at a senior home in New Cumberland. The public thought he was using some kind of poison. He was going to be tried for insanity. But the chief of police is an old friend, and he recognized what Jack was. I got the call 24 hours after they apprehended him. My point here is that I don¡¯t quarantine people for my own amusement, my dear. I¡¯m not a sadist. I do it to keep innocent people safe.¡±

    Sophia stared at him. She disliked this man; she disliked his cold smugness and his arrogance and the fact that he was part of the reason her sister was dead. She wanted more than anything to call him a liar, but something about his words rang true. Maybe that¡¯s why she¡¯d agreed to go to the Institute the first time around. Deep down, perhaps she had agreed with him: that she, and people like her, were monsters who needed to be contained. If it were possible to sink any lower in her chair, she would have.

    ¡°Sophia,¡± Doctor Reynolds said gently, ¡°do you mind if I ask some questions of my own now?¡± She gave a half-hearted shrug. He went on: ¡°In Sybill¡¯s memories, did you see how your mother truly died?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The official cause of death was a fatal allergic reaction. I want to know if that¡¯s really what happened.¡±

    Sophia¡¯s field of vision seemed to shrink into a pinprick. For a moment Reynolds stood out as the only clear thing in a world of darkness and confusion.

    ¡°Why do you ask?¡± she said in a shaky voice.

    ¡°Ah.¡± He smiled slyly. ¡°That would be a yes, then.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a yes,¡± Sophia snapped. ¡°It¡¯s not anything. I just want to know why you¡¯re sticking your nose into it.¡±

    ¡°Because I find her official death extremely unlikely.¡±

    ¡°Well jokes on you, because Mom did die of an allergic reaction.¡±

    He looked at her silently. She met his gaze with a wrathful stare. She hated how loyalty to Sybill came to her automatically, no matter how undeserved. Still, the fact remained that she didn¡¯t know Reynolds at all. What would he do with the information? Go to the police? Refuse to bury her sister? Try to pin the crime on her instead? For all his bullshit about helping society and protecting people, she didn¡¯t really know his true motivations.

    ¡°Please let me help you, Sophia,¡± he said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need your help. And I don¡¯t want to talk about Mom anymore.¡±

    Reynolds inclined his head politely. ¡°Very well. Maybe another time. Let¡¯s talk about you, then. We have an array of competent therapists and doctors who are ready to give you anything you may need. Most importantly, they will be able to assist you with your...diet.¡±

    Sophia straightened up in her seat, her anger momentarily forgotten. ¡°What? How?¡±

    ¡°Right now, you devour the memories of those who pass away. But there are ways for people like you to merely select memories, and you can do this while the person is still alive, at no harm to them. Granted, it¡¯s not a perfect scenario. Once you devour the memory, it will leave a gap in your subject¡¯s mind. But at the very least, you won¡¯t have to chase corpses anymore.¡±

    ¡°A gap?¡± Sophia repeated.

    ¡°An insignificant memory lapse. That¡¯s all.¡± He continued before Sophia could articulate her discomfort with such a notion. ¡°Your mother is the one who spearheaded this technique. We always assumed such things were impossible for Defective Telepaths. That was one of the best things about her, you know. Her faith in our residents. I believe her interest in alternative treatment methods arose from attempting to understand her own powers---but perhaps I¡¯m getting ahead of myself. Did your mother ever speak with you about her abilities?¡±

    ¡°I only learned of them recently,¡± Sophia said. She felt an eel of nausea unravel in her stomach at the memory of the barrier and what Sybill had done to their mother to ensure its fall.

    ¡°It was extraordinary,¡± Reynolds said softly. ¡°Evelyn was truly amazing.¡±

    Something in his tone made Sophia look at him sharply. But he was standing up, preventing her from analyzing his expression any further.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take good care of you here,¡± he promised, smiling.

    She sincerely doubted it, but she stood up and followed him out the door. He escorted her back through the hallway and down a flight of steps.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be in the Meadow Ward,¡± he said over his shoulder. ¡°The head counselor there is named Hazel. She¡¯ll show you around. She¡¯ll also be the one providing you with regular therapy and behavioral techniques.¡±

    ¡°Does she have powers too?¡±

    The doctor nodded. ¡°Most of the head counselors do. Your mother was one. She ran the Sunshine Ward. That¡¯s where we keep the younger residents. She also treated many of the patients in the Basement Complex, which is a fortunately scarce floor¡­ah. Here we are.¡±

    The doctor gestured at set of heavy wooden doors. He pushed them open and waved Sophia inside. She walked through slowly, feeling tense.

    She found herself in a sunny, spacious lobby with several comfy-looking bean bag chairs scattered across the floor. A massive bottle-green couch sat across from a large white marble fireplace, and an air hockey table stood in the middle of the room. In the corner was a table sagging with an assortment of board games. There were no curtains on any of the windows; sunshine streamed into the room and splashed like golden flowers across the white walls. The thick carpet beneath her feet was the same color as the couch, and vases of fresh flowers sat on every free surface. Near the back of the room was another door, which swung open almost as soon as they entered. A woman came hurrying towards them.

    ¡°Hazel,¡± Doctor Reynolds said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. The woman shook it, beaming. Sophia, in no mood to be generous, callously thought to herself that this woman looked like a stump with lipstick; she had a shaved head and a short, dumpy stature. She was wearing tortoise shell glasses, and the eyes behind the frames were the color of wet concrete.

    ¡°This must be Evie¡¯s little girl!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Nice to meet you, sweetie. Why the long face, hm?¡±

    ¡°My sister bled out on my lap less than an hour ago.¡±

    Hazel blinked, her red, lipsticked smile frozen in place.

    ¡°Sophia will be residing here indefinitely,¡± said the doctor smoothly. ¡°I trust you¡¯ll make her feel welcome.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes, of course. I knew your mother quite well, dear.¡± She spoke like this was supposed to impress Sophia, but when she remained silent, Hazel turned her frozen smile back onto Doctor Reynolds. ¡°She¡¯s in good hands, Ben.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± Reynolds said.

    Sophia sure did, but since that didn¡¯t seem to matter to anybody, she crossed her arms and let her silence speak her displeasure. After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Hazel, Doctor Reynolds bid Sophia goodbye and walked out of the room.

    ¡°This way, sweetie,¡± Hazel said cheerfully, gesturing for Sophia to follow her. ¡°All the residents in the Meadow Ward get their own rooms. Some of the other counselors think I¡¯m crazy for allowing it, but what do they know?¡± She winked over her shoulder. ¡°No suicides yet, and only a few murders. Oh, I¡¯m kidding, sweetie! Such a long face! No, honestly I just found that when my patients were given their own space, their mental health was so much better. Happy heads make happy hearts, hm?¡±

    ¡°I guess.¡±

    ¡°You are such a raincloud! Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll turn that frown upside down soon enough. Now, let me give you a basic run down of how things will go here, m¡¯kay? There are social events every day in the lobby. We had a sundae bar yesterday, and everyone had such fun with it. Do you like ice cream, sweetie? What am I saying? Of course you do! The social events are voluntary, of course, though we do encourage you to go to at least three a week. They last all day in order to accommodate each resident¡¯s schedule. Most attend during their recreational period---that¡¯s when you¡¯re allowed to do whatever you please for a couple hours. Of course, sometimes people choose to just stay in their rooms during that time, and obviously that¡¯s fine, but¡­well, too much alone time can make a person a wee bit crazy, don¡¯t you think? Our staff routinely checks on anyone who stays in their room during the recreational periods, just so you know. Nothing intrusive, we just like to make sure nobody gets lonely.¡±

    Sophia was silent as she struggled to keep up with this deluge of chatter. Hazel led her up a staircase, continuing to blabber away.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see, what else¡­oh, yes, so every day, you¡¯ll take part in meditation exercises---that¡¯s part of our overall commitment to wellness---and you¡¯ll also have what we called Mastery Sessions, which are controlled environmental settings where we  teach you how to suppress those destructive urges.¡± Another wink. ¡°But that¡¯s all in due time. Here we are!¡±

    Hazel stopped at a wooden door stamped with the number ¡°11.¡± She shoved it open; it swung back with a heavy creak.

    It was like stepping into a cloudless sky. The walls, ceiling, and carpet were robin-egg blue, while the sheets and duvet on the twin-sized bed were white plaid. The dresser had a row of chubby blue pots resting on its surface, overflowing with various kinds of blue and green ivy. There was a reading nook in one of the corners: a white armchair, along with a blue footstool, sat atop a braided straw rug. Next to the chair was a small blue bookshelf stuffed with reading material. Off to the side was what looked like an open closet, but when Sophia took a closer look, she saw it was in fact a tiny bathroom. There was only one window in the room. It let in the light but was too high up for her to reach---or climb out of, she immediately noted. It was also secured with multiple locks.

    ¡°We added those ivy pots the other day,¡± Hazel sang. ¡°Aren¡¯t they adorable? They add a little something to the room, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Sophia said dully.

    Hazel beamed.

    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you like it. Why don¡¯t you settle in, hm? I¡¯ll have someone bring you fresh clothes. Tomorrow we¡¯ll start your integration. For now you just focus on getting some rest, poor thing.¡±

    She patted the top of Sophia¡¯s head. Sophia resisted the urge to bite her finger off. Swallowing a lump of something in her throat, she instead asked,

    ¡°Reynolds said you guys could show me how to take memories from someone who¡¯s alive. How will that work?¡±

    The idea didn¡¯t sound that great the more she thought about it. Sure, it sucked watching people die, but a dead person didn¡¯t need their memories. A living one had a right to them.

    ¡°So many questions!¡± Hazel cried, laughing. ¡°I promise we¡¯ll answer everything soon enough. Don¡¯t worry about a thing, sweetie.¡±

    She had walked out of the room and slammed the door before Sophia could answer. She heard a lock click, and resentment swelled in her heart. Was she a patient or a prisoner? But now that she was alone, the last 24 hours finally caught up with her; she slid down the wall until her butt she hit the floor. She hugged her knees and stared at the opposite wall, grappling with another hideous revelation: for the first time in her life, she was utterly alone. She was falling down an endless black cavern, blind and deaf, with nothing and no one to help her.

    Minutes, then hours, went by. She heard sounds on either side of her walls---other residents, no doubt. There was periodic banging, and once she thought she heard someone singing, but she couldn¡¯t make out the words. Eventually a young woman wearing scrubs and a sour expression entered the room, carrying a bag of clothes. She ignored all of Sophia¡¯s questions and left without uttering a word.

    The shadows lengthened across the floor. When twilight came, the tears burst out of Sophia at long last, a hot, stinging deluge of loss and anger. She spent the rest of the night curled up on the floor, her body shaking with gut-wrenching sobs. At one point in the wee hours, she heard a shuffling in the hallway. A few seconds later she saw something white pop out from underneath the crack in her door. She crawled over to inspect it. It was a handkerchief.

 Into the Honeycomb

    She must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing she knew she was blinking in the amber sunlight. She sat up and winced. Her muscles were stiff from being on the floor all night, and when she stood up, her knees cracked and groaned. She shuffled to the tiny bathroom and thought about pissing all over the toilet just to cause problems for that snooty nurse lady later. But it was a passing fantasy. In the end, she resigned herself to going to the bathroom like a human being.

    She caught a glimpse of her face in the bathroom mirror when she went to the sink to wash her hands. Giant purple bags hung like satchels under her eyes, and her face was blotchy from crying. Her hair was a dark thicket of wild curls and haywire frizz. She spotted a brush on the back of the toilet and attempted to re-establish order on her head, but it got stuck in the tangles, and she threw it back down in frustration. She decided to use the teeny shower instead. She didn¡¯t know if there were technical ¡°bathing hours¡± or whatever, but---well, she didn¡¯t give too much of a shit, if she was being honest. Let the water bill run through the roof. She peeled off her filthy clothes and tossed them into a corner.

    The soap and conditioner managed to detangle her hair, and she smelled a lot less like death and more like a human being when she stepped back out onto the cold tiles. She had lingered for what felt like at least a half hour, feeling a little better as she washed away a few days¡¯ worth of grime. Dripping and shivering, Sophia walked back into her room to paw through the bag of clothes left behind by that bitchy nurse.

    It was full of five different sets of the same outfit: loose cotton pants and a matching short-sleeved shirt. Both were  pale green, and they smelled like lavender. She also spotted a pair of tan slip-on shoes by the door that she hadn¡¯t seen the night before. They were fuzzy on the inside and felt nice on her aching feet. She tried the door and found that it was still locked. Motherfucker. Guess the overlords hadn¡¯t decided to let her roam yet. She went over to the bookshelf and squatted down to check out its contents. It had a lot of art books. She pulled one out and flipped through it for a few minutes. It was full of paintings of fruit, flowers, and fields. The stillness and peace in each piece looked unnatural. It made her nervous. She had just managed to slip it back into its place on the shelf when she heard the lock on her door click and the door swung open.

    A man entered. He looked like he was in his late thirties to early forties. He was tall and very thin, with an unusually long head. He had thinning ginger hair and a matching beard. His eyes were full of what Sophia would have once called kindness, but now she wasn¡¯t sure. He was wearing scrubs that were the same style as her own, but sky-blue instead of light green.

    ¡°Good morning, Sophia,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m Larry. How¡¯d you sleep?¡±

    ¡°On the floor.¡±

    ¡°Is the bed too soft? Or too hard? We can change the mattress out for you.¡±

    ¡°So are you my new babysitter or something?¡± she demanded, ignoring the question.

    A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. ¡°Do you prefer Hazel?¡±

    ¡°God no.¡±

    ¡°Good, because you¡¯ll be seeing more of me anyway.¡± The smile widened into a grin. ¡°Hazel  will be in group therapy and around during social events, but that¡¯s pretty much it.¡±

    ¡°Group therapy?¡± Sophia repeated, horrified.

    ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it sounds. You don¡¯t have to talk if you don¡¯t want to. We just like to give our residents multiple options when it comes to coping with their condition.¡±

    ¡°My condition? It¡¯s not syphilis.¡±

    ¡°Right. You¡¯re---what was it---¡± He consulted a clipboard he had in his hand. ¡°A mind gobbler?¡±

    ¡°Is that what it says?¡± Sophia said, outraged, but then she saw him smiling again.

    ¡°Look, I just want you to know you have a wide range of options here, okay? I¡¯m not going to drag you kicking and screaming into group sob fests if you really don¡¯t want to go. I¡¯m just here to help you find the path that¡¯s best for you.¡±

    ¡°And what would you know about any of this? Do you have a power?¡±

    ¡°Wanna see?¡±

    ¡°Wait---really?¡± Sophia said, startled.

    Larry set his clipboard down on her bed. Then he drew himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders, and theatrically cracked his knuckles. Sophia watched, a skeptical eyebrow raised. Then she gasped.

    Water droplets had materialized around her, frozen in midair like someone had paused a rainstorm on a screen. The sunshine falling through the window became tangled in each drop, causing the whole room to transform into a dazzling show of silver and white and gold. Then they all evaporated. Several seconds of silence ticked by. She was speechless. Larry saw her expression and laughed.

    ¡°It¡¯s pretty cool, right?¡±

    ¡°What---what exactly was that?¡±

    ¡°Here we classify what you saw as an Elemental Exhibition.¡± He put air quotes around the term and rolled his eyes. ¡°Mine is water. It¡¯s easier to manifest when the element is directly present.¡± He nodded at a glass of stagnant water sitting on her bedside table; she hadn¡¯t noticed it until that moment. The nurse must¡¯ve left it there the night before. ¡°But if I really tried, I could pull water from the atmosphere, too.¡±

    ¡°Wow, that would come in handy...¡± Sophia said, half to herself. Control the ocean. Provide water to destitute areas. Maybe even control people? If humans were mostly made of water, wouldn¡¯t a person with such an ability hypothetically be able to---Larry¡¯s voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

    ¡°I once used it to cheat in a swimming contest. You could say I had my priorities right from a young age.¡±

    Sophia laughed reluctantly. Larry picked up his clipboard and gestured towards the door.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you more fascinating life stories on the way to breakfast.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t eat real food,¡± she began, but he waved his hand dismissively.

    ¡°I know, that¡¯s in your file. But it¡¯s part of the grand tour, and maybe you¡¯ll meet your new best friend. I met mine in detention back in fourth grade.¡±

    He continued to talk as they made their way down the corridor to the dining hall. Once he had shown her around, he pointed her towards the line and suggested she take a tray and attempt to mingle with her peers.

    ¡°I have some other things to attend to this morning, but I¡¯ll be back when the breakfast period ends,¡± he said. ¡°Try to get acclimated.¡±

    He hurried off before Sophia could protest. She was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling like the new kid in school.

    Her first instinct was to throw such an awful tantrum they would have to carry her back to her room, where she could spend the rest of the day trying very hard not to deal with her recent trauma. Then reason kicked in, and she begrudgingly decided it might be easier to follow Larry¡¯s advice. She went and collected a food tray, which was laden with egg salad sandwiches, a small salad, and a bowl of soup. An odd menu for breakfast, she thought. She was almost sorry she couldn¡¯t sample any of it as she scuttled off to an isolated corner. She noticed that every resident she passed was dressed in different scrubs: she saw some people wearing the same green color she was, while others were clothed in buttery-yellow, heather-grey, or lavender.

    After she had taken a seat, she realized with a pang of awkwardness that the table already contained an occupant: a girl around her age. Her hair was soot-black and hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. She had angular, razor-thin eyebrows drawn over sullen, lapis-blue eyes, and skin so pale that Sophia could see veins lacing across her neck and bare arms. She was wearing lavender scrubs.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Sophia muttered, starting to rise, but the girl waved her back down. The air stirred from the movement, and Sophia caught a whiff of a gentle, husky odor that made her think of the woods in spring. It had a calming effect. She felt the knot that had been in her chest since yesterday loosen up a bit.

    ¡°No worries. I¡¯d appreciate the company,¡± the girl said. ¡°They keep telling me to make friends here. Like it¡¯s anyone¡¯s damn business. Hey, let me ask you something. Since when did reading by yourself in the corner become a psychological disorder? Psychology is a huge scam, don¡¯t you think? Just one more thing society has come up with to make you feel bad about yourself, like diets and those stupid twisty things on bread that are impossible to untie, right? I swear to God, since when did having toast require a degree in rocket science? So. Who¡¯s yours?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia said. Her brain was still struggling to process this onslaught of new information.

    ¡°Your counselor.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I-I don¡¯t know. Hazel, I think?¡± Had they even been talking about counselors?

    The girl stared at her for a moment as she chomped down on her egg sandwich like it was her last meal. ¡°Oh. I get it. I was wondering why I didn¡¯t recognize you. When did you get in?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m, uh---¡± Sophia was trying hard not to stare at the girl¡¯s zealous chewing. ¡°Last night. I¡¯m Sophia.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Valerie Dupeneti, but just call me Val. Valerie was my grandma¡¯s name and she was a crusty old bitch.¡± She swallowed and began to work on another sandwich. Halfway through her third bite, she paused to glare down at her salad as if it had insulted her, then she went back to devouring her sandwich. ¡°I can¡¯t believe there¡¯s olives on this . Who likes olives, anyway? They look like big boogers and they taste like rusty pennies. I would know. I used to lick them as a kid. The cake here is usually okay, especially the chocolate. Oh, but just so you know, the slices they pass off as raspberry are actually red velvet, so don¡¯t fall for that shit. And why can¡¯t we ever have bacon for breakfast? I have so little to live for, do I really have to live without pork too? Sorry, what did you say your name was again?¡±

    ¡°Sophia. Sophia Montgomery.¡±

    Val nodded and tapped the side of her skull. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m lousy with names. And remembering things in general. You¡¯ll have to repeat yourself a few times before anything sticks. Side effect.¡± She grinned, and when Sophia stared blankly, she added: ¡°Of my power.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Every time I use it I get gaps. They tell me I¡¯ll probably reduce myself to a human vegetable before I¡¯m thirty, but for now I can still wipe my own butt, so I figure I¡¯m doing okay so far.¡±

    ¡°How long have you been here?¡±

    Val screwed up her face for a minute, her brow wrinkled in concentration. ¡°Since I was a kid, maybe? It¡¯s hard to keep track. So what gift did the gods curse you with, Sophia Montgomery?¡±

    ¡°I---¡± Sophia paused, trying to figure out how to best summarize her ability. ¡°I absorb the memories of people after they die. It works like nourishment. I can¡¯t actually eat real food. So help yourself.¡± She gestured at her tray.

    ¡°Cool. I suck souls.¡±

    Sophia sat in silence, unsure how to react to this. Val didn¡¯t seem to notice as she chewed thoughtfully on her fork.

    ¡°How¡­how does that work, exactly?¡± Sophia said faintly.

    ¡°Well¡­let¡¯s see. Instead of escorting souls to the afterlife, like a normal Reaper, I try to absorb them. I¡¯m like some kind of energy magnet. And whenever they fight back and break free, my soul is reduced because they take some of my essence with them...or something. It means I won¡¯t live long, I guess. The doctors here have explained it over and over, but I can never remember the particulars. Actually, between you, me, and this crappy salad, I don¡¯t think they really know how it works. They¡¯re just blowing steam out their asses until the check clears. Anyway, not like it matters. One day I¡¯ll just---poof! Like smoke. And no poor soul will have to worry about me ever again. Can I have your cake?¡±

    She spoke of her gradual existential reduction with the same dull, flat tone another person might use to read a label on a food jar.

    ¡°What do souls look like?¡± Sophia asked, pushing her cake towards Val¡¯s grasping hands.

    ¡°Reflections in a pond.¡±

    A thought suddenly occurred to Sophia. She went cold and then hot, and her hands began to shake a little. She clenched them into fists and put them on her lap so Val wouldn¡¯t notice.

    ¡°So do the souls of everyone in the world come to you?¡±

    ¡°No, thank God. Just the ones in proximity.¡±

    ¡°Did you see a girl recently?¡±

    Val bent down to sniff cautiously at the cake slice. ¡°You¡¯ll have to be more specific.¡±

    ¡°It would¡¯ve been a blonde girl with glasses.¡±

    Val straightened up and shoved the cake away, wrinkling her nose. ¡°This smells like feet. Better not risk it. Do you see the little flecks in here? What the hell is that? Looks like salmonella to me. Anyway. What were you saying? Oh, yeah, so blonde and glasses... let me think.¡± She screwed up her face again. ¡°Yeah...come to think of it, someone like that came last night. She practically made me shit my pants because she looked so rough. Bleeding everywhere.¡±

    ¡°Did she...do you know if she...found peace?¡±

    ¡°Sorry. I never know what happens to them once they leave me.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this, though. She put up a hell of a fight when I tried to absorb her. I mean, I¡¯m used to that, but this girl was intense. She put me on my ass for a whole day.¡±

    Sophia laughed weakly, keeping her eyes on her tray. She felt hot, stinging moisture gathering on her eyelashes. She could feel Val¡¯s sympathetic gaze, and she hated it.

    ¡°What was her name?¡± Val asked quietly.

    ¡°Sybill.¡±

    ¡°Friend?¡±

    ¡°My sister.¡±

    ¡°I used to have a sister. She got run over by a drunk driver,¡± Val said. ¡°She was the first soul I tried to eat.¡±

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Sophia looked up at her in shock. ¡°Jesus. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°It was a long time ago.¡±

    ¡°Did you---how did you learn to live with it?¡± Sophia whispered.

    Val chewed thoughtfully on her fork again as she stared vacantly at a spot over Sophia¡¯s head.

    ¡°According to Dan, I haven¡¯t. But it¡¯s not like grief is a cold. You can¡¯t just ¡®get over¡¯ it. At best you learn to walk with it.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Dan?¡±

    ¡°Oh. My therapist. Did I not mention him? Honestly he¡¯s a nice guy and everything but I don¡¯t know how he gets any air with his head so far up his own ass. Don¡¯t worry, though, you shouldn¡¯t get him. He¡¯s reserved for the lost causes, like the Basement kids and girls who see dead people everywhere.¡±

    ¡°Basement kids? You mean the ones in the Basement Complex?¡±

    ¡°Well somebody clearly paid attention during orientation.¡±

    ¡°Doctor Reynolds mentioned it earlier,¡± Sophia muttered. ¡°What sorts of patients are down there?¡±

    ¡°Not sure. I just know you have to be a major shithead. I knew one guy a few years ago who was pretty fun, but I get why they had to confine him.¡± She picked thoughtfully at a spot on her chin. ¡°He was sort of a dick. From what I remember, he---oh hey, Larry.¡±

    Sophia looked up, startled, and saw Larry standing over her shoulder.

    ¡°Get enough to eat this morning, girls?¡± he asked, smiling.

    ¡°Whatever happened to eggs and bacon for breakfast, Larry?¡± Val said. ¡°Do you see what this is? This is lettuce, Larry. Did the cook get lazy or am I a fucking rabbit?¡±

    ¡°We had a lot of dinner leftovers,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°I¡¯m going to borrow Sophia now, if that¡¯s okay.¡±

    ¡°Steal her you mean, and does it matter if I think it¡¯s okay? Guess it¡¯s time for her first Zen squat already. How times flies.¡±

    ¡°My what?¡± Sophia said, puzzled.

    ¡°Meditation class,¡± Larry clarified.

    ¡°They¡¯ll make you kneel on a pillow next to a fountain,¡± Val said. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be relaxing, but it just makes me have to pee.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Sophia said, reluctantly standing up. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯ll see you later.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Val said. When Sophia looked confused, she gestured at their different colored scrubs. ¡°I¡¯m in the Lavender Ward. But I¡¯ll probably catch you during mealtimes. It was nice meeting you, Sophia.¡±

    She actually looked like she meant it.

    ***

    Sophia did end up having to pee, but she managed to hold it for the duration of the class.

    The meditation instructor was a pale, languid woman named Dee, who referred to the classroom as the ¡°Sanctum.¡± Her heavy ash-blonde hair hung down her back in loose braids, and she wore loose-fitting yellow yoga pants and a baggy green tee shirt. Several rosaries dangled from her neck. Or maybe they were mala beads. It was hard to tell.

    The Sanctum was a cool, dimly lit room full of shadows, incense, and a baffling amount of plants. Sophia had never seen so many crowded together in one area. Some were quite large, extending all the way to the ceiling, while others snaked up the walls and crept along the baseboards. There were dozens of thick blue mediation cushions scattered across the floor, and the windows were framed with blackout curtains.  The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood.

    After settling onto a cushion at the front of the room, Dee instructed the rest of them to sit in silence for forty minutes and count their breaths. If they had trouble with that, they could practice ¡°mindful watching¡± instead, which involved counting a specific object in the room, like the tiles on the ceiling or the number of plants. Both practices---according to Dee anyway---gave your brain something to focus on, a mantra of sorts that enabled the ¡°monkey mind¡± to become quiet. Once the forty minutes were over, she rang a couple of gongs, chanted something in a language nobody understood, and then assigned them homework: befriending their thoughts and practicing their daily affirmations of choice.

    Sophia found it all a bit overwhelming. By the time Dee dismissed the class, she was feeling light-headed---and hungry. How exactly was she supposed to eat around here, anyway? Reynolds had said something about selecting memories, but how long would that take? She voiced these concerns to Larry when he came to escort her out of the Sanctum.

    ¡°That¡¯s something that will actually be addressed at our next destination,¡± he said, leading her down the hallway. ¡°I¡¯m taking you to your first Mastery Session now. You¡¯ll be with Doctor Clara Vendra. She¡¯s a Telepath as well. She¡¯ll be able to answer any questions you may have about the memory selection process.¡±

    Sophia followed him down a flight of steps and into another hallway. There were noticeably fewer windows here, and the doors lining either side were fashioned with heavy padlocks. They passed one with five different kinds; from within it came an eerie groan that made her shudder. Thankfully, they passed by and stopped before a door at the end of the hall. It only had one padlock. She felt the tension in her muscles ease slightly.

    Larry took a moment to rifle through his key ring; then he unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow her to enter first. Sophia hesitated.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he assured her. ¡°He¡¯s properly restrained.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she said, startled.

    ¡°Go ahead,¡± he said soothingly.

    Sophia swallowed something in her throat and obeyed. The first thing she saw was a woman sitting in the corner with a clipboard poised on her knee. She was squat, bespectacled, and middle-aged, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders and into her sharp, feline eyes. She wasn¡¯t in scrubs like everyone else; instead, she was wearing a navy pantsuit.

    As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sophia realized there was someone else in the room too. A figure was lying on the bed in the corner, their arms and legs secured with iron chains. It was a boy. As she approached, her nostrils were assaulted with the charred odor of something burning; it took a moment for her to realize that his body was covered in smoking burns, and that what she was smelling was his smoldering flesh.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back for you in ten minutes, Sophia,¡± Larry said. He backed out and shut the door. The woman in the corner stood up.

    ¡°Hello, Sophia.¡± The sharp voice slipped into Sophia¡¯s ears like a cold switchblade. She felt the hairs on her arm stand up. ¡°I¡¯m Doctor Vendra---or Clara, if you like. Come over and we can get started.¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t move. Clara raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Your file said nothing about you being hard of hearing,¡± she said.

    ¡°What am I going to do to him?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You won¡¯t hurt him.¡±

    ¡°How do I know that?¡±

    ¡°Because I won¡¯t let you.¡±

    Sophia looked down at the unconscious boy, and then back up at the doctor. ¡°Does he even know what¡¯s happening?¡±

    The doctor stared at Sophia like she had just taken a shit on the floor. ¡°Did Larry tell you what ward this is, Sophia?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°This is the lowest wing of our infirmary. The residents here have burned themselves out and there¡¯s nothing we can do for them anymore. This one has done it quite literally.¡±

    Sophia looked at the patches of torched flesh on the boy¡¯s arms and legs.

    ¡°He did that...to himself?¡± she whispered.

    Clara nodded. ¡°The Defectives here have minimal levels of consciousness. Their minds are a wasteland of disjointed thoughts and memories, which makes them ideal fodder for you. You just have to slip in, take one of those thoughts, and slip back out. They won¡¯t even notice.¡±

    ¡°Who is he?¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    It seemed to Sophia that it did---a lot--- but Clara didn¡¯t seem interested in continuing the conversation. She motioned for Sophia to come and stand next to her.

    Sophia obeyed. Clara placed a hand on her shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll be your anchor,¡± she said. ¡°If I feel like you¡¯re losing control, I¡¯ll give you a squeeze---¡± she demonstrated by gripping Sophia¡¯s shoulder with surprising strength--- ¡°to break your concentration and bring you back. But before we begin, I need to know a little more about you so I can figure out the best way to help you master this technique.¡±

    Sophia was growing more agitated by the second. None of this felt right. Carving out pieces of a stranger¡¯s mind while they were unconscious seemed violating. Was there really no other way for her to gain sustenance?

    ¡°To what extent have you explored your abilities? Have you tried projection?¡± Clara asked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Have you attempted to enter another person¡¯s consciousness?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yeah, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Describe what you did.¡±

    Sophia tried to recall what she had done when she was practicing creating the lookalikes in ¡°Mary¡¯s¡± kitchen. ¡°Well, I¡­I propelled myself through all the signals in the consciousness field¡­that¡¯s what I call it, I dunno if you have another name for it here¡­ until I found the signal I was looking for, and then I just sort of...grabbed it.¡±

    Clara nodded, apparently satisfied with this clumsy explanation.

    ¡°Great. That¡¯s cuts our session in half. So you¡¯re just going to do the same thing here. Project yourself into this boy¡¯s mind, but rather than grabbing the whole signal, this time I want you to concentrate on taking a single memory.¡±

    Sophia stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When the doctor stared back with cold expectation, Sophia said slowly: ¡°How do I do that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s simpler than it sounds,¡± Clara said coolly. ¡°Trust your instincts.¡±

    Sophia was at a loss for words. Stirring someone¡¯s brains up like soup and then hoping for the best didn¡¯t sound like much of a plan. She stared down at the boy on the bed. Despite the burns, he looked well-nourished and clean. His dark red hair, spreading across the clean white pillow like spilled merlot, was rather long; if he had been sitting up, it probably would¡¯ve reached his shoulders. He barely looked thirteen.

    Clara¡¯s hand tightened encouragingly on her shoulder. Starving, guilty, and more than a little doubtful about her ability to pull this off, Sophia took a deep breath and shut her eyes.

    She was engulfed in disorienting noise. It hadn¡¯t occurred to her before entering that she might have to brace herself, seeing as she had to navigate through a jungle of other Defectives¡¯ signals. The quagmire she found herself in was like nothing she had ever experienced before. It was even worse than ¡°Mary¡¯s¡± signal had been.

    She waded through the tangled yarn of collective consciousness for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the boys¡¯ mind so she could slip inside of it. Just when she was beginning to despair, she saw what she was looking for. She eagerly took hold of his signal and attempted to focus on the individual memories that held the thread together.

    She had never examined one up close before. It looked like a honeycomb. Each glittering sphere contained swirling images of a life that was not her own. After staring at them for a moment, she saw that a web of fissures extended across each memory, like cracks inching across the surface of a marble, warping the image within. She tentatively selected the nearest one.

    Immediately the other bubbles broke from the thread and swarmed her.

    She was inundated with noises and colors. Everything around her became so loud she couldn¡¯t tell if the screaming was coming from one of the memories or her own mouth. She tried to detach, to break free, but they pulled her in every direction---

    ¡°Sophia!¡±

    Her eyes snapped open. She was panting, sprawled on the floor, the side of her face pressed against the cold tiles.

    ¡°I---took---too---much,¡± she gasped.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Clara asked, kneeling next to her.

    ¡°They---just---swarmed---¡±

    ¡°Count your breaths. That¡¯s it. Good girl.¡±

    Sophia struggled to sit up and looked over anxiously at the boy in the bed. He appeared unchanged.

    ¡°How many did you take?¡± Clara asked, following her gaze.

    ¡°I dunno,¡± Sophia said uncomfortably. ¡°A lot.¡±

    ¡°His vitals remained the same and everything was functioning normally. Whatever you did doesn¡¯t seem to have caused much trauma.¡±

    ¡°Am I just going to pick him clean until he¡¯s brain dead?¡±

    ¡°Of course not. We¡¯ll provide you with new nourishment every day so that no long-term damage is inflicted on anyone.¡± Clara stood and helped Sophia to her feet. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of subjects on this floor. By the time you get through them all, you¡¯ll have your absorbing abilities well under control.¡±

    ¡°And this just goes on forever? What happens when the patients run out?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge when we come to it. No need to get ahead of yourself,¡± Clara said with a smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡° The goal now is to perfect the selection technique, alright?¡±

    ¡°Sorry if I¡¯m missing something here, doc, but this doesn¡¯t seem like the greatest alternative to what I was doing before.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± Clara said coolly. ¡°Unfortunately, Defective Telepaths are relatively rare. As such, we haven¡¯t had much of an opportunity to explore their dietary needs. I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to be content with this for now.¡±

    She left it at that, and Sophia knew that arguing would be useless. What was she supposed to do, starve? She hated everything about this. She wanted to go home.

    But this was her home now.

    Larry came to fetch her a few minutes later, and after exchanging some small talk with Clara, he led Sophia back up into the main corridors.

    ¡°Next is your recreational period,¡± he said. His voice was so breezy and casual that it disconcerted Sophia. It was like they were coming back from the grocery store, rather than returning from a scene which had consisted of her peeling back another person¡¯s brain and devouring the thing that made them a person. ¡°I¡¯ll take you down to the lobby. I¡¯ll be back for you in about an hour, okay? Try to relax and mingle with some of the other residents.¡±

    A rock dropped into her stomach. ¡°Do I have to?¡± she asked pleadingly.

    Larry smiled down at her as he led the way into the Meadow Ward lobby. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said. That seemed to be his mantra for the day.  It was starting to annoy her. ¡°It won¡¯t be that bad.¡±

    He left her to Hazel¡¯s simpering pleasantries. Sophia managed to put up with an onslaught of cheerful small for about two seconds before excusing herself for being tired. She collapsed into the armchair furthest from the door. She slumped down as low as she could without actually falling off the chair.  Her mind was teeming with questions she knew nobody would care to answer for her, and so she settled with glaring at the people around her.

    It wasn¡¯t long before her glare turned into wide-eyed fascination.

    There was a host of bizarre characters strolling around---the girl standing across the room, for starters. Instead of hair, she was sporting a dancing bonfire on her head, and her entire body was smoking. After a few moments, she lost interest in whatever she was looking at on the front desk; she turned and moved across the room, leaving smoky footprints on the floor behind her. They steamed for several seconds before evaporating.

    Then there was the boy  on the window seat. His skin looked like it was glittering with thousands of tiny diamonds. Upon closer inspection, Sophia realized he was actually covered with glass shards; they were sticking out of his epidermis like needles on a porcupine. His every movement was mesmerizing. Sophia had to force herself to look away, blinking spots from her eyes.

    There was an equally weird display going on by the fireplace, where a group of boys was sitting. With no warning, a few of them disappeared, only to materialize in random places at different points in the lobby. It took Sophia a moment to realize she was looking at the same person; he was producing copies of himself out of thin air. Two---four---six---and then it wasn¡¯t boys anymore, but just parts of one. A leg was kicking one of the chairs across the room; two arms were wrestling one another on the coffee table; a grinning head popped into view on the mantle; an eyeball appeared behind the shoulder of a nearby blonde girl, who screamed and ran away. One of the staff members---a woman with emerald slits for eyes---called out: ¡°Dillon,¡± in a voice of deep maternal disapproval. The limbs and body doubles vanished, replaced by a single sheepish-looking boy who slumped down in his chair with an air of defeat.

    Suddenly a young girl walked across Sophia¡¯s line of vision, breaking her focus on the multiplying boy¡¯s antics. At first Sophia gave her only a hurried glance---but then she couldn¡¯t stop staring. The girl couldn¡¯t have been more than seventeen, but there was something ancient and haunting about the look on her face. She was covered in a series of grisly wounds: her forehead was punctured by two deep, dark holes; there was a long, jagged puncture wound right over her heart; and around her neck was a ring of purple bruising that looked like the impressions of a rope. Sophia watched in fascinated horror as the girl raised her arm to scratch her scalp. The sleeve of her shirt fell back, revealing a bicep pockmarked with dozens of tiny holes.

    Finally Sophia redirected her gaze to the sun-dappled carpet, deciding she¡¯d had enough of the freak show. But apparently, the freak show was not quite finished with her yet: she had only been sitting there for a few minutes when she realized that the carpet was looking back at her. She blinked; the eyes on the floor mirrored her. Sophia gasped and jumped to her feet as a human form materialized within the sun patch. It was like watching a chalk outline at a crime scene come to life.

    The entity was the exact same color and texture as the carpet. As it stood, it left behind a bleached, human-shaped spot. Then a head materialized in midair: a boy with long sandy hair, gathered into a sloppy ponytail at the nape of his neck. His upper half was wearing the same purple scrubs Val had worn; the bottom half was still camouflaged, giving him the eerie appearance of being legless. He had arms as skinny as spaghetti.

    ¡°Jude Fitzpatrick!¡± Hazel had come running over, her voice heavy with playful disapproval.

    ¡°Sorry. I fell asleep in the sun again,¡± said the boy, smiling sheepishly.

    ¡°Honey, you know you¡¯re not supposed to nap in the lobby. We¡¯re going to have to re-dye the carpet again, and we don¡¯t have the budget for that right now, especially after Gerry¡¯s little mishap.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, as usual.¡± Despite his expression of angelic chagrin, Sophia thought she could detect the slightest note of sarcasm creeping into his voice. His legs were slowly re-materializing, and she could see that they looked like just as scrawny as his arms. He was also quite tall. ¡°I feel just awful about this, Hazel.¡±

    Hazel smiled sweetly. ¡°There, there, dear, there¡¯s no need for that puppy dog face. I¡¯m sorry if I got cranky. Now, why don¡¯t you sit down like a good boy and get to know Sophia here? She¡¯s new and I¡¯m sure she could use a friend. I¡¯ll be right over there. Remember, I¡¯ve got my eye on you!¡± She winked jovially, and Jude gave her another flat smile as he obediently sat across from Sophia. As soon as Hazel bustled off, however, the smile dropped from his face. He turned to look at Sophia with a sour expression.

    ¡°Hi, Noob. Nice to meet you. Here¡¯s how this is gonna go. I¡¯m gonna sit here for five minutes and then I¡¯m pissing off. No offense, but it¡¯s been a long day and I don¡¯t feel like babysitting.¡±

    ¡°Does it have to be five minutes? Feel free to piss off any time---no offense.¡±

    The boy sat up straighter. The bored look had vanished from his face.

    ¡°What was your name again?¡±

    ¡°I already said you can go. We don¡¯t have to be friends.¡±

    He grinned. ¡°But now I think I want to.¡±

    She raised her eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯m Sophia Montgomery.¡±

    ¡°Jude Fitzpatrick.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I heard Hazel earlier.¡±

    ¡°Everyone hears Hazel,¡± he grumbled.

    ¡°Why are your scrubs different than everyone else¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°Because this isn¡¯t my floor. I was visiting a friend.¡± He stood up. ¡°Well since you¡¯ve denied the titillating pleasure of my company, I¡¯m gonna go ahead and sneak out. See you around, Sophie.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Sophia.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll shimmy out across the ceiling,¡± he said, ignoring her. Or maybe he hadn¡¯t even heard her. The latter was somehow more distasteful to her than the former. ¡°I haven¡¯t done that in a bit¡­she wouldn¡¯t be expecting it...¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you, then,¡± Sophia said coldly as Jude began to move away.

    ¡°You got that right,¡± he replied.

    She watched in speechless outrage as he leaned casually against the wall, and in moments he had completely disappeared. She tried to detect his movements, but it was impossible. Once she thought she spotted him in a corner, but for all she---or anybody else---knew, it was nothing but a passing shadow.

 Grief and Flowered Couches

    Every day at the Institute was the same. It began with her waking up in a cold sweat, still shaking from nightmares featuring her mother¡¯s bloated corpse and Sybill¡¯s shredded body. She never gave herself time to dwell on any of it because she knew that if she did, she would fall down the hole that had been dug out inside of her. Once that darkness swallowed her, she would never be able to claw her way back out.  So instead, she would roll quickly out of bed to dress and make her way down to the dining hall. There, she would sit with Val over a breakfast she couldn¡¯t eat, trading stories about her adjustment period (¡°So how are your Mastery Sessions going?¡± ¡°Great, except I¡¯m being taught by a reptile who lacks basic empathy.¡± ¡°Can I have your pie?¡±). Then she would head to the Sanctum for meditation. Her attendance was mostly for show. Sophia had no intention of ¡°going within.¡± Instead she sat there and suppressed her feelings, mentally reciting prayers she had learned as a kid in an attempt to distract herself from her own thoughts. If grief or anger tried to enter her mind, she would force them back out onto the threshold of denial and increase her efforts.

    Now I lay me down to sleep¡­

    Sybill¡¯s body, a collapsed string puppet of limp, bloody limbs, dripping in her arms¡­.

    I pray the Lord¡­

    The sound of branches splintering, flesh tearing, ripping and screaming¡­

    My soul to keep¡­if I should die¡­

    Mom¡¯s cool hands soothingly stroking her hair¡­

    Shit. If I should die¡­

    It¡¯s okay, Mom, everything will be okay, I love you and everything will be okay¡­

    IF I SHOULD DIE BEFORE I WAKE¡­

    Sybill¡¯s smiling face, but her mouth was a slit in a human-like mask¡­

    I PRAY THE LORD MY SOUL TO TAKE¡­

    Sybill and Mom sitting at the breakfast table, sunlight splashing across the white tablecloth, but there was blood on the cloth too, it was a blotch of darkness, it spread towards Sybill elbow¡­

    NOW I LAY ME, DOWN TO SLEEP¡­.

    By the time that forty minutes came to an end, she was shaking and dripping with sweat.

    After the hellish moments in the Sanctum came her ¡°meals¡± with Clara. She was taken to a different room in the infirmary each day and forced to take memories from comatose patients---or rather, that¡¯s what she was supposed to be doing.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand your hesitation,¡± Clara said one day, pursing her lips in frustration. ¡°Do you want to starve?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± Sophia said through gritted teeth, picking herself up from the floor for what felt like the hundredth time.

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not. Muzzle your scrupulosity, Sophia. This is about survival.¡±

    ¡°Was that part of your Hippocratic oath?¡± Sophia said snidely.

    Clara jabbed a finger at the patient lying on the bed. Today it was a young woman with blonde hair.

    ¡°Again,¡± she ordered.

    After these sessions came her allotted recreational period. Terrified at the thought of being alone in her room with her thoughts, Sophia would sit in the Meadow Ward lobby and people-watch. Visiting hours at the Institute seemed flexible; residents from other floors would come and go all day, mingling and laughing with one another. She never saw Val during this time, but on a couple of occasions she spotted the chameleon boy, Jude. But he never came over to talk to her.

    Once her free time ended, she went to therapy with Hazel, who offered private counseling as soon as Sophia had made it clear she wouldn¡¯t be participating in group therapy. Their appointments were predictably asinine.

    ¡°How are you adjusting to your new home?¡± Hazel chirped, folding her stubby hands in her lap.

    ¡°It¡¯s a wonderland.¡±

    ¡°How do you feel about your fellow residents?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re fine.¡±

    ¡°Have you made any friends?¡±

    ¡°Loads.¡±

    ¡°How are your classes going?¡±

    ¡°Riveting.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful! Which ones are your favorite?¡±

    ¡°Gee, it¡¯s so hard to choose.¡±

    ¡°Have you thought about your mother lately?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    ¡°How about Sybill?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about that either.¡±

    Hazel would nod, an infuriating look of pity on her face. ¡°We can end our session early if you want. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. Don¡¯t forget to keep journaling.¡±

    ¡°Keep journaling¡± implied that she¡¯d started in the first place. Hazel had handed her a generic black notebook at the end of their first session and told her to spend some time each evening writing out her feelings. ¡°It helps with the grieving process,¡± she promised.

    Sophia had taken the offered journal without comment, gone back to her room, and thrown it in a corner. It had remained untouched ever since.

    But as bad as the therapy sessions were, the worst time of day was when she had to go to bed. In those dark, silent moments just before sleep, when her guard was down, grief would pounce. It ransacked her body with its relentless shears, shredding her heart into thousands of bleeding pieces. She would soak her pillow with tears, biting down on the sheets to muffle her sobs.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Then she would wake up the next day and do everything all over again.

    ***

    Sophia paused outside Hazel¡¯s office, staring at the door with a slack expression as she mentally prepared for the session. It was a rainy afternoon. She could hear the drops pattering heavily on the roof and the growl of thunder, like a monster roaring in the distance. The sound grew louder and louder until it filled her ears to the point of bursting. She suddenly felt like she couldn¡¯t breathe; images seared through her brain. She thought of city lights smearing through her fluttering eyelashes, rain pelting her face as she lay in an alleyway which smelt of dirt and cigarettes, water dripping down her neck and forehead and dribbling into her eyes. Stay here, Soph.

    She turned and ran down the hall. When the panicked fog had faded from her mind, she realized she had stumbled into a hall she didn¡¯t recognize. She spotted an open door and casually wandered through it, trying not to look out of place or too out of breath. For a second she thought she had stumbled into the Meadow Ward lobby. Then she realized that it was a very similar room, but with minor alternations: the walls were light purple and there was a fuzzy lavender rug spread across the shiny tiled floor. The fireplace here was black marble. She saw staff members and patients wandering around in lavender scrubs, and suddenly became conscious of her own green attire. She hurried over to a loveseat in the corner that was half concealed by a giant fern. As she lowered herself into it, peeking through the leafy branches to make sure nobody saw her, she heard a sharp hissing noise. Something stirred beneath her. She jumped back to her feet with a small cry. A familiar head and chest materialized.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± Sophia snarled as the rest of Jude Fitzpatrick followed.

    ¡°Me?¡± he said irritably. ¡°This isn¡¯t even your floor.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m ditching therapy.¡±

    He stared at her for a minute, raising his pale eyebrows until they disappeared into his shaggy bangs. Then he sighed.

    ¡°Fine. Sit down.¡± He patted the seat next to him. ¡°Quick, before they see you.¡±

    She obeyed, glancing around nervously. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The people I¡¯m hiding from.¡± His skin was still returning to normal. There were patches on his upper body that were still flowered, like the upholstery. He held his arms up to his eyes and scowled. ¡°Shit. Guess I¡¯m looking like grandma¡¯s couch for the rest of the day.¡±

    ¡°Does that always happen?¡±

    ¡°Only with certain patterns.¡± He sighed again, slumping comfortably in his seat. Then he turned and looked at her. ¡°So what¡¯s your deal, Noob?¡±

    ¡°My deal?¡±

    ¡°Your tragic backstory.¡±

    ¡°Maybe I don¡¯t have a tragic backstory.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.  It¡¯s not like anybody¡¯s sent here for stealing lunch money.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s yours, then?¡±

    ¡°Do you have a pen and paper ready? This is award-winning material.¡±

    A reluctant smile pulled at her mouth. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to remember it for the test later.¡±

    ¡°I was born in a small town that you¡¯ve never heard of because it¡¯s like every other small town in America.  It smelled like pollution, thanks to the nearby steel mills, and it had a dirty river full of questionable aquatic life. Our forms of entertainment included a grocery store and a bowling alley---then the bowling alley went out of business.¡±

    ¡°A charming backdrop for an eventful life,¡± Sophia said.

    He bowed his head. ¡°Obviously. I¡¯m an only child and the pride and joy of my parents. My list of accomplishments includes flunking every class I ever took and then getting kicked out of four different schools for fighting. Apparently, I have a mouth that gets me in trouble.¡±

    ¡°I never would¡¯ve thought.¡±

    ¡°Yes, the accusations shocked me too.¡±

    ¡°So did you do something to a classmate? Is that why you¡¯re here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here because I pulled my vanishing trick on my parents one too many times and they got sick of it. I used it to sneak out all the time.¡± He yawned and sank even further into the couch cushions. ¡°I guess spray painting the mayor¡¯s house and breaking into cars isn¡¯t something a decent person does. But see, I don¡¯t really know what a decent person does, because I had a mother who drank and beat me whenever she wanted---I could look at her the wrong way or just fart in her direction, it didn¡¯t take much to set her off---and a father who was never home because he was too busy being a defense attorney for every scumbag in town.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t looking at her anymore. Sophia didn¡¯t know how to react, but it didn¡¯t seem to matter; as Jude continued to speak, he seemed to become less aware of her.

    ¡°Dad thought I would take over the family business one day, but he eventually gave up when he realized I was more drawn to weed than the courtroom.¡± He laughed; it was a joyless noise that sounded more like a bark. ¡°Anyway, add my general failure as a person to my weird power, and they couldn¡¯t wait to make me someone else¡¯s problem.¡±

    There was a long silence. She watched as his distant eyes slowly returned to the present. His gaze fell on her again.  He smiled thinly. ¡°So that¡¯s my deal.¡±

    ¡°That really sucks.¡± It was a terribly lame thing to say. She cringed as soon as she uttered the words. But she didn¡¯t know what else to say.

    ¡°It really does. The question is, can you top it?¡±

    ¡°I see your tragic backstory and raise you a catastrophic life.¡±

    His smile grew. It almost reached his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sufficiently interested.¡±

    ¡°My father died when I was little.¡±

    ¡°You call that catastrophic? I call it lucky.¡±

    ¡°Let me finish.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know what she was doing. She barely knew this guy. But maybe that¡¯s why the words were easier to say. She didn¡¯t care how they were received, and she just wanted to get them out of her, to expel them from her body like lumps of cancer.

    ¡°A few weeks ago my mother died in a horrible accident, and before I could even process that, I lost my sister too. She bled out right in front of me. I couldn¡¯t do anything to help. I just sat there until she died. I think they buried her somewhere around here, but I¡¯m not sure where. I don¡¯t think I want to know.¡±

    She paused, realizing she had said all of this very fast and that she was out of breath. Jude remained silent and unmoving next to her. She went on, her voice cracking:

    ¡°She wasn¡¯t a great person, you know? I found out that she did a lot of really bad things to other people¡­and to me. And that really messes me up because I didn¡¯t see it, I didn¡¯t see anything until everyone around me was already gone, and maybe if I had, if I¡¯d had some idea, I could¡¯ve---I might¡¯ve been able to---¡±

    The words strangled her; they grew thick in her mouth and choked off the rest of her sentence. She leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

    ¡°Wanna help me finish this shitty cupcake?¡± Jude said after a long silence.

    Sophia¡¯s eyes flew open and she turned to stare at him. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I got this from the cafeteria earlier.¡± He produced a squashed pastry from somewhere at his side.

    ¡°Jesus, that looks¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s not great. Have half.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t. Real food makes me sick. Side effect of my power.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± He shrugged and took a bite. His face changed, and he stared down at the cupcake in surprise. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t even care if you¡¯re lying because this is better than I thought it¡¯d be. More for me. What¡¯s your power, anyway?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a Telepath.¡±

    Jude shoved the rest of the cupcake into his mouth, then licked the icing from his fingers. She¡¯d never seen someone eat so fast.

    ¡°You eat memories or something like that, yeah?¡±

    He asked the question with the same nonchalance anyone else might use to ask someone to pass the salt.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°What do they look like?¡±

    ¡°Soap bubbles.¡±

    He laughed. ¡°I¡¯ve always thought the metaphysical powers were cool.¡±

    ¡°Metaphysical?¡±

    He saw her blank look and raised an eyebrow. ¡°So I take it that in addition to ditching therapy, you¡¯ve ditched a few Mastery Sessions too.¡±

    ¡°No, but I will say I don¡¯t always listen to Clara when she¡¯s talking. So what¡¯s a metaphysical power?¡±

    ¡°Non-material, basically. So anything involving consciousness, soul reaping---oh shit.¡±

    He was looking over her shoulder. She turned around, and her stomach sank.

    ¡°There you are,¡± said Hazel, her lipsticked smile looking a little more strained than usual. ¡°I was worried when you didn¡¯t come to our session. What are you doing all the way back here? Oh hello, Jude. Aren¡¯t you supposed to be with Martha?¡±

    ¡°Oh, shoot, you¡¯re right.¡± Jude stood up. His whole voice and demeanor had changed. ¡°Thanks for helping me out, Sophia. I¡¯m sorry I made you late.¡±

    ¡°Uh---that¡¯s¡­fine?¡± Sophia said, standing up and reluctantly following Hazel. She looked over her shoulder as they walked out of the room. Jude was sitting back down, his body vanishing once more into the flowered couch. He grinned at her; then his face disappeared as well.

 Recollection Reparation

    Sophia was startled awake. She¡¯d been having that awful dream again, the one where she was lying in bed, unable to move as she was gutted by a bodiless hand beneath the unfeeling stare of three blurry-faced strangers. Only this time some of the details had been different: one of the faces was Sybill, and the bodiless hand was no longer bodiless but attached to her sister¡¯s wrist. Sybill¡¯s eyes were dead as she gripped and unwound Sophia¡¯s innards with cold, clinical precision.

    Sophia put her hands over her eyes and tried to take deep breaths. It was raining outside. The drops fell in a sharp staccato against the windowpanes, and she could hear the wind moaning in the distance like a man in pain. She was shaking, and the sheets beneath her body were soaked with sweat. She could feel the cold traces of tears on her cheeks, and when she pulled her hands away from her face, they came away damp.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± she whispered.

    She sat up, kicking the tangled blankets off her legs as she swung them over the side of the bed. She walked the length of her room a few times, growing antsier and more restless by the second. This space was too small. She needed to get out of here, away from the bed drenched in sweat and nightmares. She went over to the door and pulled it, expecting it to be locked but still feeling a rush of disappointment when she discovered it was. She bent down and pressed her eye to the keyhole, trying to surmise what sort of lock she was dealing with. Then she went over to her dresser and rummaged around in one of the drawers, feeling around for the sock that held her bobby pin.

    Bobby pins were technically forbidden in this place; they were deemed a safety hazard and were one of the items that the residents weren¡¯t allowed to stash in their rooms (along with pens and paper clips). However, Sophia had had one in her pocket the night she arrived at the Institute. She¡¯d used it to pick the locks of empty motel rooms when she and Sybill needed lodging for the night and she had lacked the energy to manipulate someone into giving them a room.

    Ah. There we go. Her fingers touched something hard and metallic. She eagerly pulled the pin out from the sock and hurried back over to the door, where she spent a few minutes concentrating on the lock. When it finally gave a gentle click, she felt a surge of triumph. Fastening the bobby pin firmly behind her ear, Sophia slowly opened her bedroom door and then slipped out into the hallway.

    There was a time when she would have certainly become lost in this labyrinth of winding corridors and staircases. But she had been here for two months now, and even though she¡¯d never walked around at night, her feet easily found their way through the dark and silent halls. She walked quickly at first, hastening to leave her room behind. When she had rounded a few corners, she finally slowed down.

    This place was oddly peaceful at night. It was like the building let its guard down. The grand, impressive demeanor it put on during the day was dropped, and it was simply asleep like everyone else. She walked until the sweat cooled on her skin and dried on her clothes. Eventually she found herself standing in front of a blue door she had never seen before. In the middle of it was a round, thick pane of frosted glass. As she stood looking at the door curiously, she suddenly realized there was a noise coming from the other side of it. She scooted closer and pricked up her ears.

    Someone was sobbing.

    It was a ragged, gut-wrenching sound that she immediately recognized as a litany of grief, those wails of agony that tore the throat and made the body feel like it was breaking apart.

    She¡¯d had enough nocturnal wandering. Sophia turned and hurried away from the blue door, those awful sobs still echoing in her ears.

    ***

    In what seemed like no time at all, the ripe colors of autumn melted away and winter arrived. Every morning the ground glittered with shards of frost, and the bitter winds tore like shrapnel through winter coats. The fireplaces in every Ward lobby roared all day long, and the staff went around delivering extra blankets to the residents¡¯ rooms. On the first snow of the year, Sophia awoke to a room that felt like the inside of a refrigerator. She sat up, rubbing her arms to get some feeling back in the numb flabs of skin. Her teeth were chattering. The heating at the Institute seemed outdated and inefficient; the baseboards by the door were hot to the touch, but the ones near her bed felt like blocks of ice. She jumped out of her pajamas and into her clothes as quickly as possible, layering socks and underwear for good measure, and putting a long-sleeved shirt on under her usual green scrubs.

    The dining hall wasn¡¯t much better, although it had the advantage of having a lot of bodies gathered in one place, making it slightly warmer than the individual bedrooms.

    ¡°It¡¯s always been shitty here in the winter,¡± Val said through a mouthful of bacon. ¡°You won¡¯t feel warm again until mid-April¡­if you¡¯re lucky.¡±

    ¡°When was this place built?¡±

    ¡°I think the building itself is pretty old. It used to be a convent. Reynolds bought it and turned it into a freak sanctuary in¡­I wanna say the early 2000s? Maybe? Don¡¯t quote me on that though.¡¯¡¯

    ¡°It was in 2002,¡± Jude said. Sophia jumped. He had appeared behind her with no warning. She watched in speechless confusion as he strolled around the table and sat next to Val. ¡°You gonna be around in the lobby later, Val? I have your blanket.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I should be. But you can keep that if you want. I have plenty in my room already.¡±

    ¡°No thanks. It was too heavy. Had some major swamp ass going on all night.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a first-class act, Fitzpatrick. One day you¡¯re going to make some girl very happy.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you sweet?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, do you two know each other?¡± Sophia demanded.

    They both stared at her like they¡¯d just remembered she was there.

    ¡°You know Jude?¡± Val said, round-eyed with surprise.

    ¡°We¡¯ve had a few fateful meetings,¡± Jude said, giving Sophia a grin that made her feel like she was the butt of some secret joke. ¡°She sat on me once.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Val said, laughing.

    ¡°Yeah, and it wasn¡¯t in a sexy way either.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see him because he was invisible,¡± Sophia snapped, feeling her ears grow hot. ¡°It was his fault for pulling that bullshit wherever he goes.¡±

    ¡°What you call bullshit, I call perfecting an art form,¡± he said. ¡°Besides, that was---Val, what the actual hell do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want it,¡± Val said, depositing the fistful of bacon she had taken from his plate onto her own.

    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting theory, considering how I literally just sat down.¡±

    ¡°Right, and it was obvious from the beginning that bacon just wasn¡¯t for you.¡±

    ¡°If you don¡¯t give it back in five seconds, I swear to God I will throw a hissy.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s that different from any other morning?¡±

    ¡°You can have mine if you want,¡± Sophia said, pushing her breakfast tray towards him. She was eager to break up this oddly intimate exchange; it was making her feel like she was crashing a date.

    ¡°But that just allows Val to get away with her horrendous behavior.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it then,¡± Val said, grinning and reaching out for Sophia¡¯s plate.

    Jude slapped her hand away and snatched the tray for himself. ¡°I didn¡¯t say I wouldn¡¯t. I was just bemoaning that you haven¡¯t learned any lesson. Why are you eating so much, anyway? Seeing lots of dead people these days?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not them this time. I think it¡¯s this new treatment. It makes me feel drained and hungry.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you¡¯re on a new treatment?¡± Jude said sharply. ¡°Since when?¡±

    ¡°A few weeks, I guess? Anyway, I¡¯m taking some different medicine. It¡¯s making me sleep a lot and I end up skipping meals.¡±

    ¡°How do they treat your power anyway, Val?¡± Sophia asked curiously. ¡°Is it anything like the Mastery Sessions I have with Clara?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never had Mastery Sessions---at least not like you do. My power isn¡¯t something that influences the external world, so it¡¯s not considered dangerous. They classify it as¡­Jude, do you know what the category is again?¡±

    ¡°Class 4.¡±

    ¡°A what?¡± Sophia asked, but Val went on as if she hadn¡¯t spoken:

    ¡°Mostly they just give me lots of therapy so I can adjust to my inevitable demise at the hands of the ghosts I try to devour. But in the last couple years, they started giving me medicine too. They said it was to increase¡­shit, I don¡¯t remember the explanation. It makes me calmer when I¡¯m grappling with a soul. That¡¯s the gist of it. But I think it¡¯s just anxiety meds.¡±

    ¡°Are these new drugs anxiety meds too?¡±

    ¡°Must be. But they sure knock me out.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like the sounds of this,¡± Jude said, scowling. ¡°Drugs are their solution to everything around here. Just pop a pill, kids, says daddy doctor, fucking quacks¡­they¡¯ll push whatever meds the corporations wanna fund¡­ it¡¯s not to actually help you or anything¡­¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna launch into a Libertarian rant, I¡¯m finishing my meal in my room.¡±

    Sophia leaned her cheek on her hand as she watched the two of them. Her initial assumption was that they might be together, but the longer she watched, the more she doubted it. Their intimacy didn¡¯t seem romantic. They spoke with the blunt frankness of siblings. When she excused herself from the table to go to her Mastery Session, they both waved wordlessly at her, not even bothering to pause in their squabbling.

    ***

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Clara said coolly as Sophia pulled herself to her feet. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you take one?¡±

    They¡¯d been at it twenty minutes. Sophia had entered the mind of her latest subject three times.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said through clenched teeth. ¡°I can¡¯t get a good grip on one, and I don¡¯t wanna take a whole bunch again.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s better for you to take a lot than nothing at all.¡±

    ¡°How long do we have to spend on this?¡± Sophia said peevishly. ¡°When am I going to learn the other stuff?¡±

    ¡°What other stuff?¡±

    ¡°What about the ins and outs of that projection thing I can do?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re doing right now, Sophia.¡±

    ¡°No, not entering the consciousness. The other thing, where I can make projections of people. And what about my ability to modify existing memories?¡±

    There was a slight pause. Clara¡¯s face was impassive as she traced her mouth with a long, pale finger.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had those skills. They weren¡¯t in your file. Did you disclose them to Hazel or Doctor Reynolds?¡±

    ¡°I dunno. I can¡¯t remember. Why? Is it weird that I can do those things?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Clara¡¯s cold, searching eyes traced Sophia face. ¡°Just¡­unusual.¡± Her expression was impossible to read. Finally she said: ¡°No matter. The fact remains that both of those techniques are dangerous for a Defective Telepath to even attempt. We certainly won¡¯t be exploring them further.¡±

    ¡°But I thought---¡±

    ¡°Sophia, our mission at this facility is to teach our residents how to function while causing the least amount of harm to themselves and others. In the case of a normal Telepath, those powers might be worth exploring. But since your ability is dysfunctional, aggravating it would only put you at risk.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°How do you know that? Shouldn¡¯t I at least try?¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t open for debate. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I have a lot of work to do today. Let¡¯s try this one more time.¡±

    Sophia dropped the subject for the time being. But her curiosity had been re-ignited, and for several nights afterwards, she practiced in her quiet bedroom what she had learned all those months ago in ¡°Mary¡¯s¡± apartment: summoning transparent duplicates of everyone she could think of ---Hazel, Clara, Val, Larry, Jude. They all marched across her room in silent, shimmering triumph. She experimented with how much she could control them (she made Hazel do squats; Val twirled in place; Larry did some jumping jacks). However, while she had some say over their actions, she quickly realized that she couldn¡¯t make them speak. The most they could manage was a soundless opening and closing of their mouths.

    After mastering the hallucination trick (the only side effect was dizzy spells), Sophia began to think about her ability to manipulate memories. She had only ever used it to deceive. But what if she could use it to communicate? The idea excited her. After all, wasn¡¯t communicating telepathically----well, Telepathy 101? Why shouldn¡¯t she be able to do it?  Defective my ass, Sophia thought. She¡¯d show everyone what she was truly capable of.

    She started playing around with it, sitting quietly in the Meadow Ward lobby during her free periods and selecting residents to ¡°talk¡± to. She would project into their mind like she¡¯d done with Xavier Coppula, only rather than scattering a false narrative, she just thought the words ¡°look up,¡± again and again and again. She concentrated until she broke a sweat. But nobody she reached out to ever showed any signs of hearing her. It went on like that for weeks.

    Until one day, it suddenly worked.

    She had selected a young boy sitting in the window seat. He was reading a book. Sophia took a deep breath and flung herself into his mind, focusing intently, like she¡¯d done countless times before.

    Look up.

    The boy yawned and lazily flipped a page. Sophia felt a surge of frustration.

    LOOK UP, DIPSHIT!

    The boy jumped like he¡¯d been stuck with a pin; he looked wildly around the room. Sophia slumped in her seat to hide the grin spreading over her face. Her elation was cut short, however, by the prompt arrival of a dizzy spell. It was a particularly nasty one. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. It didn¡¯t help. She felt like she was upside down. The contents of her stomach were climbing up her throat.

    ¡°Sophia? Honey?¡± Her eyes flew open. Hazel was leaning over her. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sophia said, trying her best not to puke as she wrenched her lips up into a painful smile.

    Hazel placed a damp hand on Sophia¡¯s forehead. ¡°Goodness, you¡¯re burning up. You get yourself to the infirmary, young lady. No buts!¡± she added sternly when Sophia started to protest. ¡°You could be contagious. You don¡¯t want to get any of your little friends sick, hm?¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll be okay if I just lie down here for a minute.¡±

    ¡°Now, honey, don¡¯t make me use force,¡± Hazel said with a little laugh. ¡°You want to go by yourself like a big girl, or do I need to have someone escort you?¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Sophia said, seething as she stood up. The room pitched; she staggered into the coffee table.

    ¡°Goodness! Jude? Jude! Come here, please. Will you help Sophia get to the infirmary?¡±

    ¡°Anything for you, Hazel.¡±

    Sophia heard footsteps and the air stirred with an unfamiliar scent. She felt an arm wrap around her waist, supporting her as she took a few unsteady steps forward. She was resentful of the attention, but she felt too sick to push him away.

    ¡°Be careful!¡± Hazel sang. Her laugh followed them out the door and into the hallway. Sophia wished somebody would stuff a sock in that woman¡¯s mouth and be done with it already.

    ¡°Jesus,¡± Jude said, panting somewhere above her head. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m carrying a wad of dough.¡±

    ¡°Do you charge for your opinions or is this a Monday morning special?¡± Sophia snarled, wincing as her head gave a painful throb.

    ¡°Well you¡¯re clearly not THAT sick¡­wups. Hang on.¡±

    He let go of her waist. Her vision was still spinning and she couldn¡¯t see where he went; her head hurt so much she gritted her teeth to prevent herself from screaming. Then she felt him scoop her off her feet and, carrying her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a pillow, he continued down the hall. He felt shockingly cold; his chest radiated no heat, and the hands curled around her back were as cool as chilled water. She shivered.

    ¡°Yeah, sorry about that,¡± he said, giving her a gentle squeeze. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find a sun patch today.¡±

    Her brain was struggling to slog through the meaning behind his words. The throbbing in her head made speaking difficult. Her lips seemed to move slowly and painfully.

    ¡°What were you doing in the Meadow lobby anyway?¡±

    ¡°Looking for Val. She wanders¡­what¡¯s wrong?

    ¡°Slow down. I feel like I¡¯m gonna puke.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t. It took me forever to find scrubs that fit.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try to control the projectile,¡± she said sourly. ¡°And what do you mean she wanders?¡±

    ¡°She forgets the way back to our floor sometimes. It¡¯s been bad lately.¡±

    They came to a halt. She heard him kick at an unseen door.

    ¡°Hubert! A little help!¡±

    There was a scuttle of footsteps and Sophia felt herself being transferred to a cool soft bed that smelled faintly floral. She shut her eyes and took a few more deep breaths. The nausea was receding, but her head still felt like it was being nailed to a wall.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice to see you again, Jude,¡± came a deep, unknown male voice from above her head. ¡°Did you want to visit Simon while you¡¯re here?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t visiting hours over?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but go in if you feel like it. Nobody¡¯s around. I¡¯ll look after your friend---what did you say her name was?¡±

    ¡°Sophia. And thanks.¡±

    Sophia heard his retreating footsteps. Unseen hands adjusted the pillow behind her head before moving to feel her forehead and then her pulse.

    ¡°What happened, Sophia?¡± said the man; she assumed it was ¡°Hubert.¡±

    ¡°I got dizzy,¡± she mumbled.

    ¡°What¡¯s your last name, hon?¡±

    ¡°Montgomery.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Just lay back and relax. I¡¯ll be back in a jiff.¡±

    She heard him move away, and she focused on breathing deeply until he returned.

    ¡°So I see from your file that you¡¯re a Telepath,¡± he said. ¡°It isn¡¯t uncommon for people like you to experience dizzy spells or migraines when you use too much power. Overdo it in your Mastery Session, eh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that must be it,¡± Sophia said quickly. ¡°My instructor has been driving me pretty hard.¡±

    Hubert chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised. Doctor Vendra isn¡¯t known for her gentle touch. The good news is that there¡¯s nothing seriously wrong with you. You¡¯ll just have to lie back and take deep breaths until the pain goes away. Usually doesn¡¯t take long. I¡¯ll be around, so call me if you need anything.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Thanks.¡±

    She listened to him walk away. When the ache in her head had receded into a single, throbbing knot, Sophia finally felt well enough to open her eyes and sit up. She was in a spacious dome-shaped room filled with sunshine. Rows of beds fitted snugly with mint-colored sheets lined each side. There were three other occupants in the room: a sleeping girl whose skin was rippling like water; a teenage boy sitting up and staring vacantly at the wall; and a boy who had blue hair that appeared to be wiggling. It was like he had thousands of worms on his head.

    Sophia swung her feet over the bed and hurried out of the infirmary, wincing as her temples throbbed. She didn¡¯t bother to let Hubert or Jude know she was leaving.

    ***

    ¡°Ready?¡± Clara asked, standing with clipboard and pen in hand.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Sophia said nervously. It had been decided that she was going to ¡°eat¡± this evening without Clara acting as the anchor this time. As much as she disliked the doctor, Sophia found herself feeling particularly vulnerable without the guarantee of her assistance.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you exactly two minutes to go in and get what you need,¡± Clara said. ¡°If you aren¡¯t back by then, I¡¯ll come and find you. And I would be much obliged if you could do it in one go this time.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m trying to fail.¡±

    ¡°You have certain scruples that are getting in the way of you mastering this technique.¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t respond, but she felt the weight of the doctor¡¯s words in her stomach. She was back in the room of the first person she had practiced on: the burned boy with red hair. She shut her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and plunged into his mind.

    She found his signal after only a few seconds. Finding them wasn¡¯t the issue at this point. It was the follow though. She hovered nervously, deliberating on which bubble to select from his thread; she finally settled on a cluster of what looked like early memories. She reached out for one, but the entire cluster instantly swarmed her. She couldn¡¯t move away fast enough and a deluge of images engulfed her:

    He was riding a bicycle, Jude jogging alongside with one arm out, making sure he didn¡¯t fall off¡­

    He was watching a classmate win the spelling bee while he sat in the front row, his heart bursting with jealousy and self-hatred...how could he not remember that ¡®commitment¡¯ had two m¡¯s¡­

    ¡°Hey there, reprobate,¡± Jude said as he came out of school late one afternoon, slinking down the front steps in shame. ¡°Wait ¡®til Mom hears her baby got detention.¡±

    ¡°Oh God, Jude, please don¡¯t tell her.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± he sulked.

    ¡°Really? Because I heard you gave the teacher¡¯s lounge a makeover. Where did you even get spray paint, squirt?¡±

    ¡°It was Felix¡¯s idea.¡±

    ¡°Felix? The kid who eats pencil shavings?¡±

    ¡°Look, I know it was dumb, okay? I won¡¯t do it again.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say THAT. Just do it smarter next time¡­¡±

    He was in his room, his heart pounding¡­ there was an odd smell of burnt clothing in his nostrils¡­

    He stared at the singed racoon sprawling on the lawn, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. He looked down in speechless horror at the orange flames flickering from his fingertips¡­

    Sophia extracted herself from the images with difficulty; she felt a few of them lodge onto her consciousness as she severed the connection. That would satiate her for a few hours. It was good enough. She couldn¡¯t stay here any longer. She rocketed back over the ocean of signals until she found the opening into her own brain. There was a sharp sting in her knee. She opened her eyes, gasping. She was kneeling on all fours. Clara was gazing down at her with a skeptical expression on her face.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t even in there a minute,¡± she said. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Sophia staggered to her feet, her mind racing for an acceptable answer.

    ¡°Nothing, I just¡ªI got scared. I thought I¡¯d been in there too long,¡± she said finally.

    ¡°That¡¯s understandable. But you did very well, considering it was your first time going in alone.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Sophia said dully.

    Clara dismissed her for the day. As Sophia trudged down the hall, an ominous feeling of guilt bore down on her once more. She had known from the start that she had no right to witness other people¡¯s secret lives. But now she was spying on people she knew. Jude¡¯s brother¡­

    She went to bed that night with newfound determination. She had to figure out how to survive without devouring memories. She wouldn¡¯t be able to live with herself if she continued to do this. Clara had mentioned that Defective Telepaths were rare, but it wasn¡¯t like she was the first person to have this ability. Somebody must¡¯ve tried another way at some point, right?

    The next morning, Sophia found Larry in the dining hall and asked him to take her to the library. She knew the Institute had one, but she¡¯d never had any reason to go there before.

    ¡°Sure,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s up a few floors. I¡¯ll show you.¡±

    She followed him up two flights of gleaming mahogany stairs and into a small hallway; it was so narrow she almost walked right by it. They stopped in front of a pair of frosted glass doors. Larry pushed them open and led her into an enormous, oval-shaped room. Her eyes were immediately drawn up to the skylight, a mosaic of stained glass which cast sprays of tiny rainbows over the floor. There was a curved front desk to her right, behind which sat an older man with a beard, and an array of desks and cubicles spread out across the floor. The library was at least three stories high; the upper floors were accessible via a series of winding staircases.

    ¡°Do you think you could get back by yourself, or did you want me to come and find you later?¡± Larry whispered.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll be okay,¡± she said. ¡°Come looking if you don¡¯t see me for 24 hours.¡±.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a plan,¡± he said, smiling. He turned around and left.

    Sophia located an empty cubicle with a computer that looked like it hadn¡¯t seen a good day since 1998. As she sat down and fired it up, she wondered how she should go about this. What was she supposed to search for? ¡°How not to suck out people¡¯s brains in three easy steps?¡±  After a few minutes of deliberation, she typed in a hodgepodge of keywords, including ¡°telepathy,¡± ¡°control,¡± and ¡°memory selection.¡± Finally, she came across a promising article available through the library''s archives. It was entitled Recollection Reparation: An Informational Pamphlet for Beginner Instructors. Her eyes dropped to the author byline: Evelyn Montgomery.

    Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment her body was flattened by waves of grief and longing. After taking a few minutes to collect herself, Sophia clicked on the article. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled down the page. Her mother¡¯s voice came alive, leaping out from the computer screen with a clarity that made Sophia¡¯s heart ache:

    Most Telepaths are capable of using their ability without sacrificing personal and communal well-being. However, this is not the case with all of them. In my line of work, these individuals are referred to as Defectives. However, I will not be using that term throughout this essay because I believe it to be stigmatizing. Those who manifest an ability which diverges from ¡°the norm¡± do not necessarily suffer from behavioral problems, and I do not even believe that they are dangerous. Thus, I will simply refer to them here as ¡°Variants.¡±

    Telepathic Variants have a particularly agonizing struggle. It is not enough that they absorb memories from those whose minds are weakened and susceptible; they MUST commit this violation in order to survive. They have (they believe) no other choice. As they feast upon the countless memories of those around them, they are burdened with guilt and self-hatred.

    I would like to propose an alternative path for these individuals. It seems to me that a good solution to this burden would be for the Variant Telepath to perfect the art of recollection reparation--a method that has fallen into obscurity as of late, but which I believe deserves to resurface as a valid form of treatment.

    Many Variant Telepaths report seeing ¡°cracks¡± on the memories they are attempting to absorb, especially when such memories belong to individuals who are either in a comatose state, or else in a state of mental dissociation (see Fishmore et al., 2009, and Markes and Burns, 2000, pg. 49). However, it has been well-documented that during such sessions, the Variant obtained just as much satiation from learning to close this ¡°crack¡± as he or she might have gained from absorbing the memory in its entirety. The conclusion, at least as I understand it, is that a Variant does not need to steal a memory to survive; they only need to fix ones the ones that are damaged. Recollection reparation can be achieved through the following steps:

    <ol>

    <li>Selective Digestion: This is the process of targeting specific areas of consciousness. When a Variant begins the process of memory selection, they will be shown how to do this via projection. If they have not yet mastered projection, instructors should refer to Fishmore before proceeding any further (pgs-17-19).</li>

    <li>Sealing: Once the Variant has mastered the art of Selective Digestion, they will be able to choose a ¡°cracked¡± memory to repair. They may then proceed with Sealing. This involves intense concentration. It is crucial that they do not attempt this without proper supervision. </li>

    <li>Recementing: Once they have Sealed the memory, the Variant may place it back within the subject¡¯s consciousness before exiting the Collective Cosmos (for a detailed explanation of this theory, please refer to Thomas and Matthew, 2011). Once they return to the physical plane, they may experience nausea or headaches. Such pain is not uncommon. With time and practice, it should recede.</li>

    </ol>

    Recollection reparation will not be easy for Variants, but it is crucial to reinforce their progression with affirmation and constant encouragement. It should be communicated to them that they are blessed; they have been given a gift: the ability to help the mentally distressed. They are special within our community. Mastery of their gift may be a difficult journey---but it is not an impossible one.

    Sophia stared at the words on the screen until they blurred. Her heart was racing. She had never heard anyone at this facility mention ¡°recollection reparation.¡± She thought about the way Clara and Reynolds had described her ability. Defective. Flawed. Something to be hidden away.

    Her mother¡¯s narrative had been quite different.

 The Art of Mind Manipulation

    Sophia woke up in the wee hours of the morning drenched in cold sweat. Her face was damp with tears. She¡¯d had another dream about her mother. The two of them had been in the study, talking about school. Suddenly, Sybill burst into the room and rushed at their mother with a knife. She stabbed her repeatedly, while Sophia stood frozen and unable to help. The last thing she saw before waking was her sister¡¯s teeth, flashing white and clean against a face smeared with blood.

    Sophia kicked the blankets off and sat up, breathing heavily. As she glanced around the room, she saw the journal Hazel had given her months ago still lying in the corner. After hesitating for a moment, she went over and picked it up.

    Crouching by the window, she wrote a letter to Sybill, composing it by the light of the waning moon, without pausing to think about what was being poured out onto the pages. When the first pale rays of dawn filled the room, she paused to rest her cramping wrist, watching the light ripen into the golden freshness of a new day. It was only when the sun had climbed high above the horizon that Sophia allowed herself to read what she had written:

    Dear Sybill,

    i always had a hard time believing in hell before, but maybe we came up with it at some point because some people really deserve it. why should evil human beings do shitty things and then just get away with it? why should you rest in peace? why should you get any kind of mercy at all, when you never showed any, when nobody around you was ever safe? you shouldn¡¯t have been allowed to live for as long as you did. i¡¯m glad that tree man tore you apart. i hope it hurt. i hope you were in agony the whole time. i wish i could¡¯ve made your suffering last longer. i wish instead of holding you while you bled out, i¡¯d kicked you in the head. for every person you hurt, i should¡¯ve cut off a different part of your body. there would¡¯ve been nothing left of you then. you¡¯d be a bleeding screaming stub.

    Sophia closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her knees. The morning sun felt warm and comforting against her back.

    ***

    ¡°.... but it¡¯s called recollection reparation. It¡¯s pretty dangerous to try alone, but I know Clara won¡¯t teach me. I didn¡¯t even bother asking her in our last Session,¡± Sophia said, moodily stabbing at the food on her plate. She looked across the table at Val, who was munching complacently on a piece of lettuce. ¡°You want any of this, by the way?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll nab those carrots if you¡¯re done,¡± Val said, reaching across the table. ¡°Maybe you could ask someone else to teach you.¡±

    ¡°Like who?¡±

    ¡°No idea. Just spit-balling.¡±

    Sophia sighed and then scowled at her fork. ¡°I mean, imagine if I could fix consciousness. Think about how many people I could help and heal.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d be a pretty big deal. Can I be your first apostle? Can we make them all women this time?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Val.¡±

    ¡°Who says I¡¯m not, gorgeous?¡± Val said brightly. She cheerfully stabbed a damp piece of broccoli with her knife and raised it to her mouth. Sophia sighed again.

    ¡°I keep being told I¡¯m not a functioning Telepath, but maybe I¡¯m not a Telepath at all. Maybe I¡¯m supposed to be something completely different. Why is everyone so obsessed with convincing us we¡¯re dog shit?¡±

    ¡°Money?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Everything here is modeled around the idea of suppression, right? They put the fear of God in us by saying that if we do our thing, we¡¯ll hurt ourselves. Or worse, the people we love. Can I have your cookie too? Wait, is that raisin--- ew, never mind. I thought it was chocolate chip.¡±

    ¡°What does any of this have to do with money, Val?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. Well, think about it. Wouldn¡¯t it throw a wrench in everything if we discovered that we don¡¯t actually have to suppress our powers? The best way to keep making money off people is to make them think they need you, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if that applies to me, though. Reynolds is my legal guardian--¡± she grimaced-- ¡°so wouldn¡¯t he be paying my way? Why would he waste money promoting something he knew was false?¡±

    ¡°You are so cute. You think truth has anything to do with it? Look, I¡¯m not saying money is all that¡¯s behind the whole ¡®you suck¡¯ message. I think some people really should suppress their powers. But you know¡­¡± Val looked around at the busy dining hall, then leaned forward, lowering her voice. ¡°If you want to learn more about this recollection thingy, I might be able to hook you up with some resources.¡±

    ¡°I already went through every book in the library that had the word ¡®telepath¡¯ in it.¡±

    Val settled back into her seat and picked up her fork. ¡°Have you ever been to the library¡¯s third floor?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a room up there that¡¯s for ¡®research purposes only.¡¯ It¡¯s locked and guarded by security. I bet it has some material they wouldn¡¯t want us little people getting our hands on. Dig?¡±

    ¡°You can get me access?¡±

    ¡°Not me. Jude knows how to get in. He might be able to help. Come to the Lavender Ward lobby during your free period this afternoon and we can run it by him.¡±

    Sophia felt her blood beating with excitement as she strolled into the Lavender lobby later that day. Jude (his ponytail even sloppier than usual) and Val were sitting by the fireplace; per usual, they were in the middle of a heated conversation. Sophia approached slowly.

    ¡°...because if you shave higher than the knee, you¡¯re a skank,¡± Val was saying.

    ¡°What if you¡¯re just a girl with really hairy high-maintenance thighs?¡±

    ¡°Not even then.¡±

    ¡°I dunno, Val, this seems like a system built on highly erroneous assumptions.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t make the rules--- hey, Sophia.¡±

    ¡°Hi,¡± Sophia said, sitting next to Val on the couch and eying Jude with open wariness. He smiled impishly at her in a way that did not inspire confidence. ¡°So. I hear you¡¯re a man with a certain set of skills.¡±

    His smile widened. ¡°I understand you¡¯d like to use them?¡±

    ¡°Has Val told you what I need?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I get the gist. This thing you¡¯re trying to do. It¡¯s supposed to show you how to repair memories, right?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the theory.¡±

    Jude drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Then he shrugged.

    ¡°Okay, what the hell. I don¡¯t like Simon being fodder for a crazy Telepath anyway. I¡¯ll help.¡±

    Sophia blanched guiltily at the mention of his brother. ¡°How¡¯d you¡­¡± The rest of her sentence faded, but Jude helpfully finished it off:

    ¡°¡­know you were sucking out my brother¡¯s brains on a daily basis?¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°It¡¯s not daily.¡±

    Jude smiled wryly. ¡°I know how a Defective Telepath gets nutrition. I¡¯ve read a lot about the process.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± she demanded. ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°Why, in the books contained in the room you are currently trying to access. Look at us, bringing it full circle. I¡¯ll try to have something for you by the end of the week.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Books. I¡¯m sorry, am I at the wrong meeting?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just---you¡¯re going in alone? You don¡¯t need my help?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d just get in the way.¡±

    ¡°How will you even know what to look for?¡±

    ¡°Because you just told me what you wanted to read about, dumbass.¡± He grinned when she glared at him. ¡°Relax. I¡¯ve done this dozens of times.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t there security? Locks?¡±

    ¡°Loads,¡± he said smugly, the subtext being I¡¯m just that good.

    Sophia decided to leave it at that. A few days went by. She didn¡¯t see Jude, and just when she was wondering if he¡¯d forgotten about the whole thing, he appeared next to her in the Meadow lobby during her free period.

    ¡°Hi sunshine,¡± he said brightly. ¡°What an unbelievable coincidence, seeing you here.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, life is a real fucking wonder and a half.¡±

    ¡°Come to my room,¡± he whispered, keeping one eye on a bustling Hazel.

    ¡°Never took you for the bold type.¡±

    ¡°Har har. You¡¯re a true wit. Do you want this shit or not?¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay.¡±

    She stood up and followed him, doing her best to look casual, and they managed to slip out of the Meadow lobby undetected.

    Jude¡¯s room was almost identical to her own. The main difference was the color scheme: beige instead of various shades of blue.

    ¡°Help yourself,¡± he said, pointing to a small stack of books on his bed. ¡°I picked thin ones so they¡¯d be easier to hide under your shirt to smuggle back to your room.¡±

    Sophia went over and eagerly began to root through them.

    ¡°Encyclopedia of Telepathy,¡± she read aloud. ¡°That could be useful for the basics...Recollection Gaps in Adolescence¡­that looks a bit clinical¡­. Telepathic Brain Removal for Beginners...holy shit, that¡¯s awesome¡­¡±

    ¡°The one behind it---there---seemed pretty relevant.¡±

    Sophia glanced down at the thin green book he had placed in her hands: Memory Reparation and Sealing: The Art of Mind Manipulation. Sophia stuck it neatly into her waistband. It felt chilly against her stomach. Once she was assured it would stay in place, she began to carefully stick the other books behind it.

    ¡°Thanks for doing this,¡± she said, adjusting her pants. ¡°I know it was risky.¡±

    ¡°No problem. Breaking and entering is the most excitement I get around here. I included some books about basic power stuff too, like classifications.¡±

    ¡°Why? Is there gonna be a quiz later, professor?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t even know what Class 4 meant and I don¡¯t wanna have to put up with your vapid questions for the duration of your stay at this lovely establishment.¡±

    ¡°What makes you think I¡¯d come to YOU for answers?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no one else to go to.¡± He grinned.

    Sophia rolled her eyes as she slipped the last book into her waistband; then she tucked her shirt in, stepped back, and spread her arms. ¡°How do I look?¡±

    ¡°Like a law-abiding citizen with a slight beer belly.¡±

    ¡°Excellent.¡±

    ¡°You have about two days with those and then I¡¯ll have to return them. They need to be re-shelved before anybody has time to notice they¡¯re missing.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to tell me how you managed to pull this off?¡±

    ¡°I like to keep an aura of mystery about me, Sophia.¡±

    She sighed, but decided that some things were probably better left unsaid. She slipped back to her own room, hid the books, and returned to the lobby in a matter of minutes. She sat down in a chair in the corner and did her best to look like she¡¯d been there the whole time. Hazel was on the phone behind the front desk; she showed no signs of ever knowing Sophia had been gone in the first place. Satisfied, Sophia slumped in her chair and relaxed, dozing in the afternoon sun until the free period ended and she was ushered to the Sanctuary for her daily meditation.

    She thought of the books for the rest of the day, counting down the minutes until lockdown. When it finally arrived, she stayed in bed long enough to make sure most of the residents on her floor had fallen asleep. Then she jumped up, retrieved the books, and settled onto her bed to read by the light of the lamp on her bedside table.

    It didn¡¯t take long for her to discover why something like The Art of Mind Manipulation was not available to the general public.

    The book didn¡¯t simply talk about advanced methods of memory modification; it discussed in detail all the horrific things that could go wrong if the method was performed incorrectly. The consequences ranged from erasing crucial memories to rendering a person as good as dead. There was one account of a man who had attempted to manipulate his wife¡¯s memories when she threatened to divorce him. His goal had been to erase all traces of every nasty fight, but the wife ended up slumped on the floor like a sack of putty, her tongue hanging out, face slack, eyes rolled up in her head. She was reduced to the state of an infant and spent the rest of her life re-learning how to eat, walk, and talk. Pictures accompanied this gruesome story. Sophia knew it would be a while before she could forget those images.

    Another study highlighted the tragic case of a telepathic daughter and her mother: the daughter had attempted to help her mother forget a painful experience suffered at the hands of her ex-husband. However, the daughter lost the thread at some point during the process, and she ended up twisting the mother¡¯s memories so much that the mother became another person---a violent, unpredictable one---with a whole other set of childhood ¡°memories¡± and ¡°experiences.¡± The mother ended up breaking into her daughter''s home and stabbing her to death in bed.

    But it wasn¡¯t all horrific.

    One young man managed to heal the dementia that had been eating away at his brother¡¯s mind for years. A grandmother used the ability to enter the memories of her comatose grandson and bring him back to consciousness. Yet another---and by far the most interesting---case told the story of a college graduate who used her knack for recollection reparation to work for a rehabilitation program at a private government facility. She would spend her days sitting with criminally insane felons and healing their minds, removing the hatred they had for their victims, themselves, and the world in general. The success rate was staggeringly high, and the facility was still under operation today---though the paper maintained its anonymity by giving codenames to all the participants and to the facility itself, simply referring to it as ¡°Project Camilla.¡±

    Sophia was still mulled over all of it when she heard a soft knock on her door. She quickly shoved the books under her pillow, hurried across the room, and cracked open the door.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said, deflating with relief as Jude slipped inside and closed the door behind him. She went and sat back down on her bed.

    ¡°The security on your floor is surprisingly lax. Anyway, I thought I¡¯d sneak over and see how the research was going.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s rough.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s a reason why they hide this stuff on another floor, huh?¡± He strolled over to the bed and sat next to her. He smelled like fresh linen---the detergent used for his scrubs, no doubt---and something else, a sweet and gentle scent that seemed to come from his skin rather than his clothes.

    ¡°Have you read a lot of stuff from the restricted area?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Probably half of what they¡¯ve got in there. I¡¯ve been here a while and reading¡¯s the only thing that helps me sleep. I¡¯ve been breaking into that room for years.¡±

    ¡°How can they not notice?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re not paying attention. They don¡¯t think we¡¯re a threat.¡±

    Sophia hesitated before asking her next question:

    ¡°Has Simon been here for a while too?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s actually why I started breaking into that room in the first place. I wanted to find a way to help him. I thought they were hiding dirty research secrets or something, but¡­nope. Turns out they were honestly doing everything they could for him, and he still burned up anyway.¡± He glanced down at the pile of books resting between them. ¡°Some of these don¡¯t look like mine. You been doing your own research? I¡¯m hurt.¡±

    ¡°Well you can dry your eyes. That¡¯s just stuff I got from the peon library to pass the time. I have a hard time sleeping too.¡±

    He picked up the book nearest to him and checked out the cover. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know our library had Baudelaire.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, he was shoved in a dusty corner with Flaubert.¡±

    ¡°A dusty corner is exactly where Flaubert belongs. His writing is like a fart: it stinks and then lingers for too long after its finished.¡±

    ¡°Wow. Tell me what you really think, Jude.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t mean to brag, but having strong opinions about insignificant crap is kind of my thing.¡± Sophia stared at him, tilting her head. ¡°What?¡± he said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said, laughing. She quickly covered her mouth to muffle the sound, and when she lowered her hand again, her voice was much quieter: ¡°I can¡¯t decide if I like you or not.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll eventually realize that you do. Most people are big fans.¡±

    ¡°I dunno. You don¡¯t seem like a great influence.¡± She grinned and poked his ear. ¡°Two¡­three¡­geez, are there four piercings on this ear?¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± he said, closing his eyes. He seemed to relax as she gently rubbed his earlobe between her fingers. ¡°And two in the other one. Of course I¡¯m not allowed to actually put anything in them while I¡¯m here, because why should I ever get to do anything I like?¡±

    ¡°You seem like a gold hoops kind of guy.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s rude. I¡¯m more into diamond studs. Mostly because they pissed off my dad and I¡¯m mature like that.¡±

    They heard a sudden noise out in the hallway and they both froze. After a moment the footsteps faded. They looked at each other for a minute, and then Jude climbed to his feet.

    ¡°I guess I should head back to my floor,¡± he whispered. ¡°Sounds like I overlooked some security.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Be careful going back. And thanks again for the books.¡±

    ¡°Happy to help out a fellow delinquent.¡±

    He closed the door quietly on his way out. Sophia flipped through a few more books and briefed herself on what Jude had referred to as ¡°basic power stuff.¡± Most of it was pretty clinical, clearly meant for researchers and therapists. But there were other parts that were quite interesting. She stayed up too long reading, finally falling asleep at around two in the morning.

 Purple Flowers

    Val looked particularly droopy at breakfast the next morning.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Sophia asked, sliding into the seat across from her.

    Val yawned and shrugged. She looked even thinner than usual; shadows were smudged beneath her eyes and her collarbones stuck up like bony wings from her emaciated neck.

    ¡°My brain feels more scrambled than usual. However---¡± she jabbed a finger at Sophia --- ¡°you¡¯re Sophia, and you give me your food. So I can still remember the important things in life.¡±

    Sophia grinned and pushed her plate across the table.

    ¡°Also it¡¯s Tuesday, ¡± Val said as she started shoving eggs into her mouth.

    ¡°Friday.¡±

    ¡°Dammit.¡±

    Sophia laughed and they spent a few moments in silence. She wished she could at least drink coffee. She missed how it tasted and the way it used to warm her stomach.

    ¡°How goes the research with Jude, by the way?¡± Val said.

    ¡°Interesting, I guess. But it¡¯s also proving how dangerous recollection reparation actually is. I really shouldn¡¯t try it out by myself.¡± She leaned her chin on her hand and scowled moodily at the table. Mom probably would¡¯ve showed me how to do it, she thought. Her heart swelled, and she blinked tears from her eyes.

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She dashed an impatient hand cross her cheeks. Val looked at her through narrowed eyes for a minute, then stabbed a thick slice of ham on her plate and lifted it to her mouth.

    ¡°So how¡¯re you doing? With---stuff.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡±

    ¡°Have you visited your sister¡¯s grave yet? Larry knows where the resident cemetery is. I¡¯m sure you could---¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    There was a moment of silence. The cafeteria bustled around them. Then Val said:

    ¡°When I grapple with souls as they try to pass on, I get latent impressions of the last thing they felt before they died.¡±

    Sophia looked at her sharply. ¡°What?¡±

    Val nodded, taking a long moment to chew a rather hefty mouthful of breakfast meat. ¡°Your sister---Sybill, right?¡± Sophia nodded, and she went on: ¡°She was filled with regret. It felt like I was being ripped apart by knives. I¡¯ve never experienced something like that before. Whatever she did, she seemed really sorry for it.¡± Val looked at Sophia for a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t know if that makes it better.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I just wanted you to know.¡± Val resumed devouring her ham. Sophia watched her without really seeing her or anything else around them. Fuck Sybill, she thought.

    Her eyes filled with tears again.

    ***

    When Sophia walked into her Mastery Session later that week, she took one look at the patient on the bed and felt her heart fall into her knees. It was a little girl wearing dark red scrubs. She was much younger than the residents Sophia was used to seeing; she looked even younger than Simon.

    ¡°What now?¡± Clara said with a sigh.

    ¡°How old is this girl?¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡±

    ¡°The point of this is for me to try and take early memories, isn¡¯t it? She doesn¡¯t look like she has much to spare.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t give her to you if it meant harming her. However, there¡¯s something we need to go over before you start with this one.¡± Clara tucked her pen behind her ear and crossed her arms over her chest. She frowned at the girl on the bed. ¡°Samantha here is a resident from the Basement Complex. Due to their often-traumatic pasts, and the way those events have further shattered their already broken abilities, the minds of our Basement residents are...fragmented. You might find it difficult to navigate. If you feel uneasy at any point, you have my permission to withdraw. Understood?¡±

    Sophia felt a cocktail of unease and guilt bubble inside of her as she approached the little girl. This shit just kept getting worse. She closed her eyes and reluctantly entered the child¡¯s mind.

    It was instant, horrifying chaos; the girl¡¯s consciousness was a hive of incoherency. Sophia struggled to maintain her connection, dodging memory bubbles as they charged towards her with frantic aggression. She waded deep into the disjointed strings of honeycombs, searching for a distant childhood experience that was safe for her to remove. After a while she came to a cluster of memory bubbles that looked cloudy and sluggish. Jackpot. She approached cautiously. They turned leisurely and began to bob towards her, lacking all the energy of the ones that had charged at her upon initial entry. She gently reached out to them, and a cauldron of disjointed images washed over her:

    She wrenched open heavy eyes. Two bearded faces leaned over her. Something sharp tweezed its way into her flesh, digging deep, but she barely felt the pain; everything was suppressed by the fog inside her head. Her tongue was swimming in syrup. Words fell thickly from her lips. What was her name? Did she even have a name? Her head rolled onto her shoulder and she stared through slitted eyes at the tiny, sharp little teeth lying all over the floor, the way they rolled and glinted, shiny and dripping. Wait. Not teeth. Needles. Hundreds of them. Momma was gone. She took the scent of cinnamon and soap with her. A door slamming. Cold fingers on her arms and legs. Another sharp pain in her arm. Pain exploded in her elbows and knees as she hit the floor screaming. The room burst into white light. She was blind, and then all she could see was purple flowers. Purple flowers under her hands, on the wall, ugly purple flowers blooming like bruises in the darkness behind her eyelids. Needles near her eyes. Momma was gone. Purple flowers under her fists. She pushed against them, yelling for Momma. Momma was gone. Hard purple flowers. Where was Momma? The bearded faces again, close to hers. Momma was nowhere. The skin on her wrist didn¡¯t fit. It was wrinkly and heavy. Her eyelids sagged. They felt like big fleshy hoods. Her skin was oozing off her face. What was wrong? What were they doing to her?

    ¡°...watch your step.¡±

    Watch her step. Blazing light. Watch her step.

    Cinnamon and soap.

    A dark room. She ducked inside, shutting the door and crouching down so they wouldn¡¯t see her. She heard them running by, shouting her name. She waited until her thighs began to cramp before she stood up again. It took a moment for her to feel how cold it was. Goosebumps rose on her flesh; her breath came out in little white clouds. As she squinted around in the dimness, rubbing her arms, she saw a white glow emitting from somewhere inside the sea of blackness. She followed it, her heart fluttering, hoping it was an exit. But when she rounded the corner, she found herself looking, puzzled, at what appeared to be a giant fridge. It extended all the way from the floor to the ceiling. It was spewing cold smoke and making a strange hissing sound. She walked towards it, curiosity overcoming fear, and grabbed the cold iron handles. The doors were heavy, but after a lot of sweating and grunting, they slowly swung open. She stood there panting, momentarily blinded by a blaze of white light. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

    Max and Mason were inside.

    They were standing upright, held in place by several thick cords, which were looped around their limbs and fastened to various frost-encrusted rings on the sides of the giant, inexplicable refrigerator. For a terrifying second, she thought they were dead. Then she saw their chests rising and falling, and the iron grip on her heart lessened.

    ¡°Mason?¡± she whispered. ¡°Max?¡±

    She tiptoed forward and poked the tip of Max¡¯s foot. He didn¡¯t move. Up close, she could see that he was covered with frost; his hair was laced with white, and tiny icicles clung to his eyebrows and lashes. She suddenly thought how awful it would be if he opened his eyes. She swallowed.

    ¡°Did you check the Pantry?¡± a voice outside the door yelled.

    She turned and ran deeper into the room. For a moment she got lost among a labyrinth of dark shelves, which were lined with vials full of some kind of dark liquid. She didn¡¯t stop to examine anything, and finally she saw a glowing ¡°exit¡± sign. She charged through it and back out into the winding dark halls, up one staircase, down another---until she found herself, panting, in the dimly lit and currently abandoned main lobby. Her eyes fell on the phone behind the desk; she did not hesitate. She bolted across the room towards it, ignoring the burning stitch in her side.

    ¡°911, what¡¯s your emergency?¡±

    ¡°Hi, um, I think I need the police please,¡± she gasped. Her eyes had filled with tears. She dashed her hand across her face as they began to fall down her cheeks.

    ¡°Okay, honey, tell me your location.¡±

    The lady sounded nice. She took a deep breath. ¡°Um, I¡¯m at¡ªReynolds Institute. My friends are hurt.¡±

    ¡°Hold old are you, sweetheart? Are there any grown-ups around?¡±

    ¡°Six. And they¡¯re the ones who hurt us. Please send help.¡±

    ¡°Where are you right now?¡±

    ¡°Behind the desk. They¡¯re¡ª¡± The sobs rising in her throat made the rest of her sentence incoherent.

    ¡°Hello? Sweetheart, you still there?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    She sniffed. ¡°Sam.¡±

    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m trying to pinpoint your location now, Sam, stay with me. You said you¡¯re at Ray¡ªReynolds?¡±

    ¡°Reynolds Institute. It¡¯s a hospital. I haven¡¯t seen Momma in weeks. Can you call her?¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s your Momma now?¡±

    ¡°At home. She---¡± She broke off. Hurried footsteps were coming down the hallway. Three silhouettes appeared in the doorway. Sam froze.

    ¡°Hello? Sam, are you there?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re going to stick me in the fridge too!¡± she cried as the doctors ran towards her. ¡°Please help me---no! Wait! Don¡¯t--!¡± Her screams were cut off as three pairs of rough hands dragged her out from behind the desk. The phone was torn from her grip. A sharp sting in her neck. The edges of her vision blurred.

    Darkness. Then thick, heavy oblivion.

    Everything faded. Sophia extricated herself from the memory thread without absorbing it. She stared down at it; it was like a cracked marble. As she looked at it, feelings of profound compassion and anger tore through her being like shards of ice. Everything around her fused into a single pulsating haze, and the cracks on the marble seemed to blur together. She hastily released it, suddenly uneasy as she  pushed off into Samantha¡¯s sea of consciousness, gaining speed as she propelled herself out---and opened her eyes.

    She was standing over the little girl, who was still sleeping peacefully, her blonde hair spread out on the pillow.

    ¡°How do you feel?¡± Clara asked, her pen poised over her clipboard.

    ¡°Fine---really good, actually,¡± Sophia said, realizing with some surprise that she didn¡¯t feel weak or disoriented. She also didn¡¯t feel hungry anymore. But how? She hadn¡¯t taken any memories¡­

    ¡°You had excellent control while you were inside. I could feel it. Well done.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Clara looked at her for a moment with narrowed eyes. Then she said: ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Did you see something in there that bothered you?¡±

    Something in her tone put Sophia on her guard. ¡°Nothing major,¡± she said carefully. ¡°It was just depressing. Her parents weren¡¯t around very much and I could feel how sad it made her.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not enough?¡±

    Clara pursed her lips and tucked her pen into her back pocket.

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s unfortunate.  But you¡¯ll find that many of our residents have broken homes. You can¡¯t get too focused on it.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    ¡°Good. I think we can conclude this session.¡±

    ¡­knew this was a bad idea.

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia said, startled at the voice she had just heard in her head.

    ¡°I said this session is over. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, okay.¡±

    Sophia couldn¡¯t get out of the room fast enough. Her heart thumped in her ears as she hurried down the hall, giddy on the heels of the realization that she had just read Clara¡¯s thoughts.

    Or had she? Doubt immediately quelled her glee. Maybe she had just picked up the thread of someone else passing by the door. After all, it was unlikely Clara would suddenly drop her guard and expose the contents of her mind to another Telepath like that. She was too skilled. Too careful.

    Although¡­.

    Clara didn¡¯t believe Sophia even was a Telepath. She was ¡°defective.¡± Was it possible she hadn¡¯t been on guard because she didn¡¯t think there was anything to be on guard against?

    Sophia was so excited about this theory---and what it might mean for her---that she headed straight to the Lavender Lobby to discuss the matter with either Jude or Val. She spotted both of them sitting by the fireplace.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ever hang out on your own floor?¡± Jude asked, barely glancing up from the book he had on his lap.

    ¡°I think I just read Clara¡¯s mind,¡± Sophia said, ignoring him as she threw herself into the chair next to Val.

    ¡°And why would she let you do that?¡± Val asked, raising an eyebrow.

    Sophia told them breathlessly what had just happened. By the time she was done, Jude had put down his book.

    ¡°Read my mind right now,¡± he ordered.

    Sophia sat up straighter, locked eyes with him, and concentrated on willing his mind to open...to unfold before her...nothing. She scowled. Tried again. No luck. Jude was looking at her with obvious scorn.

    ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything,¡± she grumbled. ¡°But maybe that¡¯s because there¡¯s nothing jostling around in that meat chunk you call a brain.¡±

    ¡°Have you considered¡­.¡± Jude lowered his voice and beckoned her to move closer. His expression had grown wary. Sophia leaned forward, suddenly tense.

    ¡°What?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°I was wondering if you had considered the distinct possibility that you just suck?¡±

    Sophia glared at him. For a split second, she wished her power was super strength so she could propel him through the roof and into the cold and unforgiving bowels of outer space.

    ¡°Try me instead,¡± Val said. She stared at Sophia with comical intensity. Sophia threw Jude one more filthy look before turning towards her. They stared at each other for a full minute. Then, so suddenly Sophia jumped, she heard Val¡¯s scream in her head: POOP!

    Except her lips didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°That was the extent of your creativity, Val?¡± Sophia said, grinning.

    ¡°Yay, it worked!¡± Val cried, delighted. ¡°Wanna do it again?¡±

    Penis.

    Sophia whipped around to look at Jude.

    ¡°Really?¡± she snapped. He went off into a peal of laughter.

    ¡°I thought I¡¯d go with something near and dear to my heart,¡± he said.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you two.¡±

    Hey Soph, can you hear me? came Val¡¯s mental chirp.

    ¡°Slow down, both of you,¡± Sophia said. Her head was starting to hurt. ¡°It¡¯s too much.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you talk back?¡± Val said, looking disappointed.

    ¡°Last time I tried to put thoughts in someone¡¯s head, I ended up in the infirmary..¡±

    ¡°This is so cool,¡± Val said gleefully.

    ¡°Or stupid,¡± Jude added. ¡°What happens when you can¡¯t turn off the mental notes of everyone in the room? You¡¯ll go crazy.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Sophia admitted. ¡°I¡¯d have to learn how to dial down the signals I wanna ignore.¡±

    ¡°And you think you can just hop in and do that, eh?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve figured out plenty on my own, thanks.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying let¡¯s not fly too close to the sun.¡±

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°So what do you think you saw in that little girl¡¯s head?¡± Val asked abruptly, settling back into her chair. ¡°You said she was from the Basement? That¡¯s wild, I didn¡¯t think they let those residents out...¡±

    ¡°Why? What¡¯s up with that floor anyway?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s reserved for patients that are¡­¡± Val bit her lower lip and seemed to be lost in thought.

    ¡°Batshit crazy,¡± Jude finished.

    ¡°Jude, they¡¯re not crazy. They¡¯re just erratic.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s doctor speak for crazy, Valerie.¡±

    ¡°What makes them crazy?¡± Sophia said, hoping to stop their argument before it even got off the ground. ¡°Like they have legit mental health issues?¡±

    ¡°Some of them,¡± Jude answered. ¡°But they¡¯re basically lost causes. If they didn¡¯t have abilities, most of them would probably be in regular jail instead of being locked up here. They have dangerous, crazy ass powers they either can¡¯t control or simply won¡¯t. You know how the people in the infirmary have abilities that make them comatose? Well, the Basement patients have powers like that, but rather than burning out, they explode. They¡¯re a public safety hazard. Even more so than the rest of us.¡±

    ¡°You sound like Reynolds,¡± Sophia said darkly.

    ¡°Well he¡¯s not all wrong. There are some powers that shouldn¡¯t see the light of day.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t your roommate transferred down there?¡± Val said. ¡°What was his name again? Linus? Lucifer? Wait, no, Val, that¡¯s the actual devil¡­¡±

    ¡°Liam.¡± His eyes went flat when he said the name. ¡°But yeah, he¡¯s in the Basement now, and I mean, you saw what he did.¡±

    A silence fell between them. Sophia wondered if she should ask the obvious next question, but to her surprise, Jude answered before she could voice it:

    ¡°Liam is a Defective Healer and he can¡¯t control himself worth shit. He almost crippled Simon.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia blanched.

    ¡°He had no control even when he was asleep. One time I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought I heard a tree trunk snapping, only to realize it was my legs. Or my arms. Once it was my finger.¡± He stared down at his hand, scowling. ¡°He was transferred to his own room, and then eventually to the Basement. The point is that he¡¯s nuts, and so is everyone else on that floor. I¡¯m amazed Clara¡¯s even letting them anywhere near you.¡±

    ¡°Must mean she¡¯s run through the infirmary patients and they¡¯re all that¡¯s left,¡± Val commented.

    ¡°Could be,¡± Jude said. ¡°I mean, the Basement kids are probably considered pretty low-risk too.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Sophia asked.

    Jude looked at her for a moment, then ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual. ¡°So¡­okay, I don¡¯t mean this like I¡¯m coming at you or anything.¡±

    ¡°¡­okay?¡±

    ¡°Infirmary patients are like coma patients; occasionally a family member will dutifully drop by for a visit, but they¡¯ve basically given up on them because their powers are unmanageable and scary, and nobody want stop deal with that. Basement kids are in the same boat. They¡¯re psycho, so they¡¯re families don¡¯t want to see them anyway, and nobody cares what happens to them.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying my diet makes me a legal liability, so the doctors have to make sure the people I¡¯m working on are low risk, and that nobody will come looking for them and asking questions that could put the Institute under fire.¡±

    ¡°Gold star. Great job.¡±

    ¡°What happens when I run out of low-risk victims?¡± Sophia said in a low voice.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Jude said, and for a second something like fear flickered in his eyes.  ¡°Maybe they¡¯ll have you start taking shit from the rest of us.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯d put the Institute at risk, wouldn¡¯t it? I mean, take you. If I just started taking your memories, that would lead to trouble down the line because you¡¯re not a Basement kid, or an infirmary patient.¡±

    ¡°You could get away with me,¡± Jude said with a sardonic laugh. ¡°My parents visit maybe once a year, and they¡¯re barely even present when they do. They never stop down and see Simon anymore.¡±

    A silence fell as all three of them stared into the fireplace. Finally, Val stood up.

    ¡°This has been fun, kids, but my meds have left me feeling wiped. I¡¯m going to take a nap. Soph, let me know if you need any more mind reading practice. It¡¯s fun. As long as you promise not to share what I tell you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± Sophia said, grinning; the grin slid off her face as soon as Val vanished through the door of the lobby. ¡°Is she gonna be okay?¡± she wondered aloud. ¡°She¡¯s sleeping a lot these days.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s fading,¡± Jude said. ¡°I don¡¯t think she¡¯s going to be able to rein in her power for much longer.¡¯¡¯

    Sophia stared at him. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean she¡¯s dying.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure it isn¡¯t that bad. She could be---¡±

    Jude silenced her with a shake of his head.

    ¡°She reminds me of Simon. A few days before he went to sleep and never woke up, he was acting weird too. Forgetting basic stuff like his age, where he was¡­ he even forgot my name. And Val¡¯s power is even worse than his. She always said it would kill her.¡±

    She was appalled at his bleak tone of resignation. Is this what living here was going to be like? Befriending other residents, having a laugh, watching them get picked off by abilities they never asked for, and then have it all chalked up to ¡°shit happens¡±? But isn¡¯t that always how it is? she thought, helplessness washing over her. She had watched people roll over and die time and time again. They slipped beneath the cosmic curtain and passed into the unknown, leaving only echoes of their old selves behind---echoes that nobody else seemed to notice or hear.

    ***

    When Sophia arrived for her Mastery Session the next day, she experienced a nasty shock. The boy from Sybill¡¯s memories, Jack, was lying on the bed. He wore the same colored scrubs as Samantha. Just looking at his face made her stomach boil with hatred. She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes popped out of his skull. She could do it easily. He was clearly sedated. He wouldn¡¯t even put up a fight¡­

    ¡°Is he from the Basement too?¡± she said.

    ¡°Yes. Is that a matter of concern?¡±

    ¡°Not at all.¡±

    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready then,¡± Clara said coolly, sitting down in a chair in the corner and crossing her legs.

    Sophia tried not to look directly at Jack as she took her place at the side of the bed. The loathing surging through her veins was powerful; it churned her guts into bile. She swallowed, closed her eyes, and slipped beneath the veil of his consciousness.

    A face peering out the barred window on the door as he passed in the hall. Tear-streaked, shock of red hair.

    Dark eyes staring into his, dark eyes framed by dark curls.

    ¡°How are you feeling, Jackie?¡±

    He was silent. The straps cut into his skin.

    ¡°The doctor asked you a question,¡± came a gruff voice from the corner.

    Fear and hatred tore through his heart like shrapnel. The dark eyes leaning over him pulled back and he saw the pale face they belonged to.

    The face shaped like a heart.

    ¡°Let¡¯s fix this,¡± said the pale face.

    The straps loosened. He gasped in relief.

    Shuffling boots in the corner.

    He sat up carefully, staring over the pale face¡¯s shoulder. At the flowers on the wall. They were like

    squashed purple bugs.

    Sharp pain in his arm as the needle went in. He yelled, squirmed away, tried to jump down off the hard metal table and run.

    ¡°And that¡¯s why we keep him tied down,¡± said the gruff voice, shoving him back into the straps. He knocked his head against the wall as he thrashed. Tiny stars exploded before his eyes.

    The pale face loomed over him again, frowning.

    ¡°Just take it easy, son. We don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡±

    ¡°I want to go home,¡± he sobbed.

    ¡°Keep him sedated,¡± said the pale face to someone Jack couldn¡¯t see. ¡°I¡¯ll be back after I make the rounds.¡±

    ¡°You got it.¡±

    The pale face turned to leave. Jack yanked against his bonds, yelling:

    ¡°No! Don¡¯t leave me! Daddy!¡±

    The door swung shut. The deafening boom rattled in his ears. His eyes stung and he tried to hold back the tears but they spilled over and ran down his cheeks. He was starting to feel funny. Like somebody was stirring his insides into soup. It hurt. Every part of him was liquefying. He opened his mouth and screamed for Daddy again.

    The memories were dissolving, and something new and strange happened. The older ones were being invaded by ones Sophia didn¡¯t want to touch, memories that were sharp and powerful; they sagged with such strong emotion that she was disoriented. It was like two different liquids smashing into each other, creating a swirling mess, and she was caught in the flood. They broke over her and began to play out, but she found, with no small surprise, that she wasn¡¯t absorbing them. She was drifting outside of them, witnessing the events inside the honeycomb while remaining apart from it. She felt in her heart that she could¡¯ve reached out and taken them for nourishment whenever she wanted---but she didn¡¯t need to. She didn¡¯t want to. And so she watched.

    Thwap!

    The wet thud of falling flesh. Jack rolled over, clutching his stomach, as the foot flew towards him again, colliding with his neck and jaw. He choked for breath.

    ¡°Take the fucking pills, you little shit!¡± Thwap! Thwap!

    ¡°Stop it, Xavier.¡±

    There was a pause in the blows. Jack lay in a growing pool of his own blood, unable to raise his head.

    ¡°Let go of me!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s had enough.¡±

    ¡°You know what he fucking did. Look at my fucking face!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle him. Gimmie the pills and take a walk.¡±

    Thwap! Thwap! Firsts of agony exploded in Jack¡¯s stomach.

    ¡°I said WALK.¡±

    There was a scuffle. More cursing. A door slammed. Nothing but silence and the taste of blood in his mouth. Then a hand touched his hair.

    ¡°Go for his tongue rather than his eyes next time. Maybe that¡¯ll finally get him to shut the fuck up.¡±

    With great difficulty, Jack raised his head and shot a bloody grin up at the person bending over him. This man looked the same as the one who¡¯d been beating him moments before---except for a different look in his eyes and the freckles on his nose.

    Jack¡¯s head gave an awful throb; his vision darkened and his head sagged back down to the floor as the pain carried him into a black and dreamless sleep.

    ¡­

    He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands folded in his lap and his ankles crossed. Francis Coppula sat on a folding chair in front of him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get too chummy with that kid,¡± he was saying.

    ¡°Who, Dillon? He¡¯s harmless. Like a puppy with a broken leg. Besides, we¡¯re roomies. Shouldn¡¯t we get along?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t invest in people who don¡¯t understand you.¡±

    ¡°Who wants to be understood? Sounds messy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Jack. People will always fuck you over if they get a chance.¡±

    ¡°Is that how you feel about me, Francis?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re different.¡±

    ¡°Am I? How sweet.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying I¡¯ve met people like Dillon. Walks around wringing his hands and bleeding from his heart, like anything actually fucking matters in the end. Plus, he looks like a rat.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s true. Poor thing, it¡¯s not his fault.¡±

    ¡°And I don¡¯t like the way he¡¯s always hovering around you.¡±

    ¡°Jealous?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re an awful liar, Franny.¡±

    Francis grunted, then leaned forward with his palm outstretched. ¡°Take your suppressants.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be more fun to see what would happen if I didn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°We know what would happen. You¡¯d have to take Time from someone and then Reynolds would have a hissy fit and I would be fired.¡±

    ¡°What a waste. Without my powers, what am I, really?¡± Jack sighed and picked up the pills, pinching them delicately between his fingertips. ¡°Just a sociopath with incredible hair.¡±

    Francis grinned, then reached out and patted his head.

    ¡­..

    ¡°What happened?¡± Francis grabbed Jack¡¯s chin and forced his face upward. He scrutinized the bruise blooming beneath his eye and the deep cut that glistened redly on his lip.

    ¡°I fell.¡±

    ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?

    ¡°Of course not, love. I¡¯d never bullshit you.¡±

    ¡°Was it my brother?¡±

    Jack grinned. ¡°Twins are complicated, aren¡¯t they? Has he always been so possessive of you?¡±

    Francis let out an angry exhale and released his face. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t. You¡¯re not the one who will have to suffer the consequences.¡±

    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t do this to patients, anyway. I¡¯ll throw the book at him.¡±

    Jack grinned. ¡°He¡¯s not the only one who does things to patients that he shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    There was a brief pause. Then Francis turned away. ¡°I¡¯ll be back later with some ointment for that eye.¡±

    ¡°Okay, dear. See if you can manage some caviar too.¡±

    The door slammed, cutting off Jack¡¯s mirthless laughter.

    ¡­

    It was a bright winter day. The sun ignited the snow into polished silver, while the tree branches were heavy with encasements of crystal ice. Jack and Francis were strolling, arms linked, through the remnants of a sleeping garden. The snow-clad trees lining either side of the walk stood watch over them like somber brides in white.

    ¡°Xavier¡¯s the golden boy and I¡¯m the wolf.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a bit dramatic, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Francis shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s how it¡¯s always been.¡±

    ¡°Your brother is just as unstable as you---and maybe even a little more so, honestly. He has such a temper. Have you ever hit anyone in your life, you old softie?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna be my first if you don¡¯t stop running your mouth.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be honored. Just not in the face, please, it¡¯s all I have in this world.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all, eh?¡±

    They stopped walking, meeting each other¡¯s gaze. The breath steaming from their lips mingled and bloomed outward in the winter air. Then Francis said:

    ¡°Let¡¯s go back inside.¡±

    ¡°So soon?¡±

    ¡®You need to take your damn suppressants. You don¡¯t think I know you¡¯re just stalling?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re so strict.¡±

    ¡­

    They were in the library. The sky outside the windows was the soft purple color of approaching dusk. The only sound was the ruffle of pages turning from unseen cubicles lurking somewhere in the shadows beyond the empty aisles.

    ¡°Do you believe in God?¡± Jack whispered. Francis was sitting next to him, their chairs pulled close enough together so that their shoulders were touching.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Shame.¡±

    ¡°You do?¡±

    ¡°Oh, absolutely. If there isn¡¯t someone up there to punish people like us, it¡¯s a bit of a nonsensical universe, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°God doesn¡¯t have to be real for it to all be nonsense anyway.¡±

    ¡°I think the universe is ultimately governed by justice.¡±

    ¡°And you would consider your eventual damnation just?¡±

    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ve done awful things, darling.¡±

    ¡°Everyone makes mistakes.¡±

    ¡°But normal people feel bad afterwards.¡±

    ¡°Your lack of remorse doesn¡¯t make you bad, Jack. Just different.¡± Francis held out a white bottle and gave it a little shake. ¡°There are still exactly seventeen pills in here. Have you been skipping your dosages again?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s cold in here, isn¡¯t it? See if you can get someone to turn up the heat. Or better yet, why don¡¯t you put your arm around me?¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to be difficult, I¡¯ll have to pin you down and force feed you.¡±

    ¡°I would not object to that in the slightest.¡±

    ¡°Take the motherfucking medicine, Jack.¡±

    ¡°Medicine. What a euphemism that is,¡± Jack said, holding out his hand with a lazy smile.

    ¡­

    The dimly lit room smelled of lemon-polished oak and sandalwood incense---and sweat. His whole body ached, but it was a profoundly satisfying kind of pain.

    ¡°You should go before your nurse comes looking for you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much. You¡¯ll get frown lines. Besides, I¡¯m just in an appointment with one of the Institute¡¯s most prestigious doctors. What sort of untoward things could possibly happen?¡±

    ¡°Cut that out. You really gotta go.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to. It¡¯s boring in my room. Plus the scenery isn¡¯t half this good.¡±

    ¡°C¡¯mon, I¡¯ll walk you back. You¡¯re not even supposed to be up.¡±

    ¡°Mmm¡­.who¡¯s fault is that, though?¡±

    ¡°I said cut it out, Jack.¡±

    ¡­

    It was parents week and the lobby was swarming with people. He sat in a striped purple chair in the corner, watching all the sweating meat sacks come and go. He sized each one up, trying to determine who would be the easiest to overpower. Old people were by far his preference, but that little girl running around the coffee table was a valid option.  Or the baby the blonde woman was holding. Jesus Christ, it was like a bellowing little ham, foaming at the mouth as it screamed in her arms. It¡¯d be so easy to chuck it out the window. Or down an escalator.

    ¡°I¡¯m really gonna have to talk to a guy about the locks on your door.¡±

    Without looking up to meet the dark eyes he knew were leaning over him, Jack said: ¡°Spoilsport.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re losing their minds looking for you down there. C¡¯mon.¡±

    ¡°Just a little longer.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Francis¡¯s hand gripped his shoulder.

    He swatted it away.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±

    Silence. The hive of activity continued around them. After a long time, Francis said:

    ¡°Your folks here?¡±

    ¡°Sure. Five years ago.¡±

    Francis knelt down. One of his hands rested on the arm of the striped purple chair; the other came to rest gently on Jack¡¯s knee. He didn¡¯t say anything else. They watched the people together.

    ¡­

    He was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a thick book in his lap. The door creaked open and he looked up, expecting to see his nurse with her daily injection. Instead he found himself staring at a familiar grizzled face.

    ¡°You need a shave,¡± he said flatly.

    ¡°My trip was good, thanks.¡±

    ¡°What, you¡¯re mad I didn¡¯t ask about it? You never tell me anything anyway.¡± Jack scooted over to make room for Francis on the bed.

    ¡°Been taking your pills?¡± Francis asked as he sat down.

    ¡°Not if I can help it.¡±

    Francis sighed. Jack leaned his head on his shoulder.

    ¡°Did you miss this?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Then what about this?¡±

    ¡°Jesus, cut it out. Not here.¡±

    Jack laughed quietly and withdrew his hand. ¡°What¡¯s on your neck?¡±

    ¡°What? Oh---nothing. I got knicked.¡±

    ¡°With that, a chainsaw? Your skin looks like a cheese grater.¡±

    ¡°This kid fought me.¡±

    ¡°You work for a place people are always trying to get away from. That must really sting your pride.¡±

    ¡°They run away because they¡¯re stupid and under the delusion that it¡¯s better out there.¡±

    ¡°Would you come after me if I left?¡±

    ¡°Are you thinking of going somewhere?¡±

    Jack didn¡¯t answer. He merely wanted to rile his doctor up, and he figured he knew it was all just bullshitting. So he was surprised when Francis suddenly pulled him into a hug.

    ¡°I would,¡± he said gruffly.

    ¡°Even if I didn¡¯t want you to?¡±

    ¡°Especially if you didn¡¯t want me to, you little shit.¡±

    Jack chuckled. His arms slid up Francis¡¯ back as he pressed his face into the warm, hard contours of the doctor¡¯s chest.

    ¡­

    He¡¯d only been back at the Institute for two days when he found out.

    Jack stared at the headstone without comprehending the words engraved upon it. It was a lie. He knelt on the soggy ground and repeated this to himself over and over again.

    Francis wasn¡¯t buried beneath the black granite tombstone so clearly addressed to him. He wasn¡¯t being feasted upon by whatever countless, creeping things lurked within the dark heart of the earth. The rain drummed hard against the top of Jack¡¯s head, plastering his hair against his forehead. Water ran down his neck and into his collar. Francis was not dead. Jack felt his insides collapsing; he was turning inside out; he was going to be sick. Francis was not dead.

    The raindrops dripped down the granite tombstone like tears.

    The memories were crushing her now. Too much was spilling over into her mind. Sophia struggled to extricate herself, to breathe----

    She cried out when she felt her knees hit the floor.  She breathed heavily as her body was ransacked by emotions that weren¡¯t her own. Her heart was shredded by a grief so overwhelming she thought she would black out. There was nothing but darkness, nothing but this bottomless ache. Then it was suddenly over, and she lay there gasping and trembling.

    Clara, used to such displays by now, didn¡¯t even bother looking up from her clipboard; she was feverishly taking notes. Jack was breathing heavily. His eyelids fluttered, and his brows pinched together. Sophia watched him anxiously as she rose to her feet, but he didn¡¯t wake up.

    ¡°Sophia.¡± Clara¡¯s voice was clipped.

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Sophia winced as her head gave a nasty throb. The edges of her vision were blurring. She staggered a little to the side and grabbed the headboard of the bed to prevent herself from falling down.

    ¡°You had amazing control, but you did something other than memory selection in there. What was it?¡±

    ¡°I¡­watched.¡±

    That was all she had time to say before the room lurched and she collapsed face first onto the floor.

    ***

    She awoke in the infirmary sometime later. Jude was sitting next to her bed, Val hovering anxiously by his side.

    ¡°We were visiting Simon when they brought you in,¡± he said when Sophia groggily opened her eyes . ¡°What happened?¡±

    Speaking low so as not to summon any of the nurses, Sophia told them about Jack¡¯s memories of the room with the purple-flowered wallpaper. She didn¡¯t mention Francis.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure it was the same place Samantha was in?¡± Jude said.

    ¡°Yeah, positive. What if the shit they went through in that room is still going on today?¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t early memories supposed to be unreliable though?¡± Val asked. ¡°Maybe they both watched the same show or read the same book at one point, and the fiction made its way into their memory pipeline and distorted their real experiences.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Val, what are the odds of that?¡±

    ¡°Yesterday I got in a fight with a girl in the lobby because I made a reference to a Sailor Moon episode that I was positive I¡¯d mentioned to her before, and she stared at me like I was a moron. I got so mad I flipped the coffee table. When actually---¡±

    ¡°Wait, where the hell was I during this?¡± Jude said, looking offended.

    ¡°In the bathroom working your way through the tacos we had for lunch.¡±

    ¡°Fuck. That¡¯s right. Also, Sailor Moon, Val? Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Whatever. I cosplayed that shit for years. I slayed. Anyway, Soph, it turns out I hadn¡¯t even met this girl. I mistook her for someone else I¡¯d told that same story to.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but couldn¡¯t that particular case be because you---¡± Sophia stopped.

    Val grinned. ¡°Because my mind is full of more holes these days than Swiss cheese? Fair enough. Look, I¡¯m just saying you might not be able to trust what you saw, so there¡¯s no reason to go all conspiracy theorist. And we don¡¯t even know if that room with the purple flowers is in this building. It could be anywhere.¡±

    ¡°Why does any of this matter anyway?¡± Jude asked. ¡°You can¡¯t change what happened to those kids. And even if that room is somewhere around here, what do you think you can do? If you confront anyone here about it, they¡¯ll just deny it.¡±

    ¡°If the room is real, I can gather evidence for the cops and---¡±

    ¡°Are you even listening to yourself? Why would the cops take someone like you seriously?¡±

    ¡°What the hell does that mean?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re checked into a ¡®wellness¡¯ facility, Sophia. Normal people would read that as code for ¡®batshit crazy.¡¯ They¡¯ll think you¡¯re nuts before you even get two words in.¡±

    ¡°Guys,¡± Val interjected. ¡°Enough. There¡¯s a bigger issue here. Why would Clara be bringing Sophia memories that incriminate this institution? If Sophia is right---shut up and let me finish, Jude---why would Clara want to reveal that this place tortured residents at one point?¡±

    ¡°Maybe she doesn¡¯t know how much they actually remember,¡± Sophia said. ¡°They both seemed pretty young at the time. The minds of the Basement kids are supposed to be broken beyond repair, right? It probably doesn¡¯t even occur to her that I can see anything coherent.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Val said, still sounding unconvinced. ¡°You think she¡¯s that dumb? That she¡¯s never considered the risk involved in letting you work on these kids?¡±

    ¡°I just think she constantly underestimates me.¡±

    Val was silent at that. Jude looked at Sophia thoughtfully, then shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s fair. You¡¯re totally crazy. It¡¯s hard knowing what you¡¯ll do next.¡±

    ¡°Says the vandal with shitloads of piercings.¡±

    ¡°It was a compliment. And at least I don¡¯t have them in any weird areas.¡±

    ¡°Their placement isn¡¯t the issue here, Jude.¡±

    ¡°I guess you¡¯ll just have to see if Clara brings you any other Basement kids. Try to fit more pieces together that way,¡± Val interjected.

    Sophia nodded and settled onto her pillows. Just then a man with a face the same pinkish hue as freshly cut salami poked his head around the corner.

    ¡°Visiting hours are almost over,¡± he said.

    ¡°Thanks, Hubert,¡± Jude said.

    The man vanished. Jude and Val stood up. Val jiggled Sophia¡¯s foot as she turned to leave.

    ¡°Get plenty of rest, ¡®kay?¡±

    ¡°Will do.¡±

    They walked away, leaving Sophia alone with her thoughts and still-throbbing head.

 The Bone Bender

    The winter grew worse, and so did Sophia¡¯s dreams---though at least now she had discovered the identity of the three people standing silently over her. She saw their faces clearly: the cold narrowed eyes of Sybill, Felicity Reynolds¡¯ pale-skinned look of resignation, Jack¡¯s lazy smile. And now they were all taking turns being the hand which disemboweled her and moved her carcass around like a puppet. She didn¡¯t know if these new details meant her mind was accepting what had happened to her, or if it was simply repackaging the trauma.

    It became so frigid outside that the staff started putting individual space heaters into each room. Sophia spent most nights curled up against it. Jude snuck over a lot to take away the latest books from the third floor and give her new ones. Sometimes they dozed by the heater together, their bodies pressed together for warmth beneath the thick blankets Sophia pulled down from her bed. It was a bit strange, but on the nights when Jude slept over, the bad dreams stayed away. He always made sure he was gone before it grew light outside so he could avoid being discovered by the staff.

    One particularly icy morning in mid-February, Sophia went up to the Lavender Ward to visit Val. She found their usual place by the fire empty---well, almost.

    ¡°Is she sleeping again?¡± she asked Jude as she sat down.

    ¡°Must be.¡±

    Sophia scowled at the blazing hearth; the flames leapt up and disappeared inside the dark throat of the chimney.

    ¡°How long have you guys known each other?¡± she asked after a prolonged silence.

    ¡°Years,¡± he answered. ¡°We both came for check-ups a couple times as kids before we were eventually ditched here for good.¡±

    ¡°Her parents don¡¯t come and see her, then?¡±

    ¡°Not that I know of. I¡¯ve never met them. I think there¡¯s a lot of bad blood on account of her trying to devour her sister¡¯s soul and all that.¡±

    He heaved a deep sigh and slumped lower in his chair. His long, spindly legs touched a patch of sun on the rug. Sophia watched as his shoes began to turn a woodsy grey, camouflaging against the carpet. He followed her gaze and jerked his foot up. ¡°Shit.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t control that very well, can you?¡± she said.

    ¡°Speak for yourself, brain sucker.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°How have you not been caught stealing books yet?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only hard to control when I¡¯m stressed.¡±

    ¡°Breaking and entering doesn¡¯t stress you out?¡±

    ¡°No, I actually find it rather cathartic. Bit of a power rush, you know?¡± He grinned. ¡°It also helps that I¡¯m unbound by the laws of gravity.¡±

    ¡°¡­what?¡±

    ¡°Camouflaging isn¡¯t the only way I¡¯m like a lizard, sweetheart.¡± He mimed climbing with his arms, grinning at her.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­awesome.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Do you get stiff when you¡¯re too cold?¡±

    ¡°Yup. Every winter is a fight for survival. I gotta be extra diligent. A few years ago, the heat at this place kicked off for a few hours once and I couldn¡¯t move for a full day.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should take my space heater.¡±

    ¡°Nah, you need that too. I¡¯ll just continue to use it along with your body heat, in the dead of night, with no ill intentions.¡±

    She grinned. ¡°Other than the transference of stolen property.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that reminds me. I¡¯ll need to come by tonight to---¡± He stopped, staring over her shoulder. A mingled expression of anger and confusion flashed across his face. Sophia twisted around to follow his gaze.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I thought I saw someone---there!¡±

    He sprang to his feet. Chords of veins popped out of his neck. Sophia stood up as well, placing a hand bracingly on the small of his back as she tried desperately to see who or what was causing him to act like a spooked racoon. After a few moments of strained squinting across the room at the pothos plant in the corner, she saw one of the large leaves shake; then a dark head popped out. It was followed by the crouched body of someone wearing dark red scrubs. The intruder darted across the room and hurried through the doors. Jude immediately strode after them.

    ¡°Hey, wait---¡± Sophia said, startled, but he didn¡¯t even seem to be aware of her as he walked out of the lobby. After a moment of hesitation, Sophia followed him.

    She hurried out into the hallway, just in time to see Jude disappearing around a corner. A moment later she heard a loud thud and a muffled cry. She hurried around the corner, a sudden vise of panic gripping her chest. Jude was gripping a dark-haired boy by the scruff of the neck and pinning him against the wall. The boy looked around their age; he was heavy set and short, and he wheezed for breath when Jude¡¯s grip jerked upward and lifted him a few inches off the ground.

    ¡°What the fuck are you doing on my floor?¡± Jude snarled.

    The boy tried to say something, kicking his feet while his face turned bright red. Jude glared at him for a moment. Then with a disgusted noise, he released him and stepped back. The boy slid down the wall, gulping for air as he rubbed his neck. He looked up at Jude with watering eyes. He hadn¡¯t once glanced Sophia¡¯s way.

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to cause trouble,¡± he panted. ¡°I just got lost. I¡¯m looking for the Sunshine Ward.¡±

    ¡°Someone like you shouldn¡¯t even be around kids.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m way better at controlling it now, Jude,¡± he said, staggering to his feet. ¡°I promise. It¡¯s not---¡±

    ¡°Crawl back to your hole, you fucking maniac.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t. I have to see----¡± He stopped, scowled, then looked away. It was only then that he noticed Sophia. ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡±

    ¡°Never mind who she is,¡± Jude snapped, shoving his shoulder so that the boy slammed into the wall again.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± he yelled, swatting Jude¡¯s hand away.

    ¡°You mean like this?¡± Jude shouted as he backhanded him across the face.

    They were grappling and swinging before Sophia could blink twice. Her first impulse was to call for a staff member, but then she decided against it. What would they do but drag everyone back to their rooms, and possibly limit their free time in the future? No thanks. Besides, even she could tell their fighting wasn¡¯t serious. They punched like they were swatting flies. It was clear that neither of them had ever been in a fist fight before. The damage they¡¯d incur to each other would be minimal. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, watching them. After a few minutes, they started to slow down. Jude fell back against the wall, nursing a bruised eye; the other boy leaned forward on his knees, panting through a bloody lip.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Finished?¡± Sophia asked. They both looked up at her.

    ¡°For now,¡± Jude growled.

    ¡°You good? Or did you wanna take a swing at me too?¡± she asked the boy.

    He straightened up, looking at her curiously while he wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand.

    ¡°Despite what he thinks---¡± he jerked his head in Jude¡¯s direction--- ¡°I don¡¯t go around hurting people for the hell of it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good, because I¡¯m shit in a fight. I¡¯m Sophia Montgomery.¡±

    ¡°Liam Kennedy. And sorry, did you say Montgomery? Was your mother named Evelyn?¡±

    A hard knot tightened in her chest. She nodded.

    ¡°I see,¡± Liam said. He was looking at her with sudden wariness.

    ¡°Did¡­did you know her?¡±

    ¡°She was one of my doctors.¡±

    ¡°Sorry to butt in, kids, but I think we¡¯ve lost track of the general point,¡± Jude said angrily. ¡°Which is you fucking back to the Basement, Kennedy.¡±

    ¡°I already told you, I can¡¯t. I want to visit someone first.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Sophia asked. "Maybe we can help you find them.¡±

    ¡°The hell we will,¡± Jude snarled.

    ¡°But the sooner we get him out of here, the sooner he¡¯ll fuck off to the Basement,¡± Sophia said innocently. Jude looked at her through narrowed eyes. Then he turned on his heel and began to walk down the hall, waving his hand non-committedly through the air.

    ¡°You¡¯re dangerous, Sophia Montgomery,¡± he said without turning around.

    Sophia gestured to Liam, and the two of them hurried after Jude¡¯s stomping form.

    ¡°Thanks," said Liam. "I haven''t checked up on this friend for a while."

    ¡°She¡¯s probably better off,¡± Jude piped up.

    Liam glowered at his back. Sophia noticed he was curling and uncurling his fists. His tone, however, was even as he went on.

    ¡°Her name¡¯s Samantha. She a really sweet kid. I just wanna make sure she¡¯s doing okay. The last few months have been rough for her. Her new treatment plan is making her powers act out.¡±

    ¡°That sucks. What can she do?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a shapeshifter.¡±

    Sophia stopped walking and stared at him. ¡°You¡¯re not talking about Basement Samantha, are you?¡±

    Liam stopped and stared at her as well. ¡°You know her?¡±

    ¡°¡­kind of. But wait, what would she be doing in the Sunshine Ward? Doesn¡¯t she live down there with you?¡±

    ¡°Sometimes they let the younger Basement residents stretch their legs a bit.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m pretty sure Kennedy here doesn¡¯t have that privilege,¡± Jude said over his shoulder. ¡°How¡¯d you even get out of your room?¡±

    ¡°What, you¡¯ve never picked your lock?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s none of your business, shithead.¡±

    ¡°Put your dicks away, boys,¡± Sophia said. ¡°Nobody has to prove anything. Let¡¯s just find the Sunshine Ward.¡±

    They stopped at a pair of glass doors. Every inch of the glass looked like had been painted by kids: there were drawings of yellow suns, spooly clouds, smiley faces, balloons, smiling stick figures.

    ¡°Here you go. Have a nice life then,¡± Jude said, turning around abruptly and ungraciously. He started to walk away without bothering to see if Sophia was following him. She wished she could talk to Liam a bit more, but she didn¡¯t know her way around as well as Jude. She waved at him as she turned away.

    ¡°It was nice meeting you, Liam. Maybe I¡¯ll see you around.¡±

    Liam smiled and returned her wave. But his eyes followed Jude down the hall.

    ***

    Sophia was late to her Mastery Session the next day. She had fallen asleep in the lobby during her free period and had a nightmare. She wasn¡¯t the one lying on the bed this time. She was the one standing over someone: herself. She felt the way her duplicate squirmed as she wordlessly disemboweled them with her own hand.

    Clara looked up from her clipboard when Sophia bustled into the room, breathless.

    ¡°What time is it, Sophia?¡±

    ¡°I know, I¡¯m sorry, I---¡±

    ¡°Answer me, please.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s one o¡¯clock.¡±

    ¡°And when was our appointment?¡±

    ¡°Twelve-thirty. I fell asleep---¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s start,¡± Clara said curtly, pointing at the person on the bed. Sophia threw her a filthy look before turning her gaze to her newest guinea pig. Her anger evaporated, replaced with shock. It was Liam.

    ¡°I can¡¯t---¡± she began, then she stopped. She¡¯d been about to say ¡°because I know him¡± before she remembered that their meeting had been an unauthorized jaunt to a floor that wasn¡¯t theirs. Not to mention the fact that Liam wasn¡¯t supposed to be wandering around like that. And she probably wasn¡¯t supposed to let him, let alone help him out on his secret missions.

    ¡°More scruples?¡± Clara said coldly.

    ¡°Oh, y-yeah, sorry.¡± She went to stand next to the bed. She could feel Clara¡¯s intense stare on the back of her head. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and entered his mind.

    It was easier to navigate than Samantha¡¯s and Jack¡¯s had been¡ªbut only a little. She fought laboriously to reach the darkest corners, calling out to the small divots bubbling within the blurry, incoherent spheres of his early childhood. When she drifted as far back as she could, she saw a particularly blurry memory. But before she could select it, she was suddenly seized by another. It took by surprise and she had no time to fight it off; it sucked her into its vortex like water through a straw:

    They are sprawled on slushy winter ground. Their staring eyes are marbles wedged into heads bent at crooked angles, stuck on top of necks in shapes they shouldn''t be, connected to limbs sticking out like needles in a ball of yarn, unnatural and long. He screams their names but nobody answers. His words turn into sobs and the sobs choke him and after a while he doesn''t know if he''s saying the names our loud or just thinking them.

    Momma Pops Frankie Emma Sue.

    Momma Pops Frankie Emma Sue.

    What has he done?

    The Bearded Man was leaning over him. He seemed full of needles; they dripped out of his mouth and eyes and crawled out of his gums like metallic insects. Everything looked swollen and dark. Misshapen shadows crawled toward him, but when he cried out they vanished. The doctors told him they¡¯d never been there, but he didn¡¯t believe them, he didn¡¯t believe anything they said.

    The edges of his vision were so blurry. He stared sluggishly at the flowered wallpaper, the purple petals spreading out in every direction, a constellation of bruises.

    Their anger seeped through the room like water from a sack. He shrank from it and tried to turn his aching head away from their burning, dark-eyed gaze. Those eyes were like black ice.

    A sharp chemical smell filled his nostrils. He choked.

    ¡°.¡­baby¡­it¡¯ll be okay... sweetie¡­¡±

    Cool hands stroked his forehead and then they were snatched away. Something sharp pierced his flesh and his arm burned .

    Someone was screaming down the hall, high-pitched animal wails that made the hair on his neck stand up.

    ¡°Get Camilla¡­get the¡­¡±

    Light burst into the room. Bars of butter fell across the floor. His eyes stung.

    ¡°.¡­sweet boy¡­¡±

    A little girl was sitting in a rocking chair, blonde and wide-eyed and eyeing him nervously. She reminds him of Emma. He hands her his cupcake.

    Clip-clip-clop. The steady sound of high heels.

    His finger bent funny. He willed it to move. It crunched a little as it tipped sideways. Fear ripped through his chest. What had they put inside of him?

    The memory ended in a swirl of darkness. Her eyes shot open. She was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. It had been Xavier Coppula. The bearded man leaning over Liam in his memory, she was positive. She had seen that face many time in her Rolodex of nightmares, marred with blood and potpourri. And that flowered room was the same¡­and who was Camilla?

    ¡°Did you get enough?¡± Clara interrupted her train of thought. ¡°Or do you need to go back in?¡±

    Sophia tried to pick up on her mental signal, hoping she could catch snatches of the doctor¡¯s thoughts once more. But no luck. She was absurdly disappointed. Then she had a flash of inspiration: maybe she could draw some thoughts out instead of waiting for them to appear.

    ¡°There were some...strange memories in there,¡± she said, rubbing her head and speaking slowly, as if she were discombobulated. ¡°Really strange.¡±

    She sneaked a peak at Clara, waiting for her to react. The doctor¡¯s eyes were flat and expressionless.

    ¡°Like I¡¯ve mentioned before,¡± she said smoothly, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put too much trust in early memories, especially those of the Defectives from the Basement Complex. Good afternoon, Sophia. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±

    ***

    Sophia picked her bedroom lock that night and went for another midnight stroll through the silent hallways. She¡¯d been trying to locate the blue door again for the last few nights. She could still hear that awful sobbing in her dreams; the sound interwove through her nightmares like strands of notes from a demonic choir.

    As she rounded a corner, lost in thought, she bumped into something hard and warm. She sprang back with a strangled cry, her heart in her throat. It took a few moments for her to recognize the person standing there. Her stomach dropped.

    ¡°Well isn¡¯t this a lovely surprise?¡± Jack drawled. He cocked his head to one side as his eyes scanned her face with the detachment of someone watching a zoo animal pick its nose behind the glass. A dusting of soft blonde hair fell into his eyes, but it didn¡¯t seem to bother him.

    ¡°I hear you visited me a bit ago,¡± he went on, after a tense silence had passed between them.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I didn¡¯t take much of anything.¡±

    His face was partially concealed by shadows, but the part she could see was impassive and pale.

    ¡°Why not?¡± he said with a little laugh that sent a chill up her spine.

    ¡°It was hard to separate important memories from the less significant ones. So I left them all be.¡±

    ¡°How very noble.¡±

    Another silence. She wondered if he was going to move on, but he just stood there like a statue, staring at her.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t need to go through all that trouble, love,¡± he said. His voice sounded strange; it was almost like he felt sorry for her. ¡°You can take whatever you like. There¡¯s nothing in my head I want to hold onto.¡±

    ¡°Not even Francis?¡±

    One of Jack¡¯s eyebrows went up. Other than that, his face showed no expression. They held one another¡¯s gaze, stone-gray staring into warmed chocolate. Then he brushed past her and continued down the hall without looking back. Sophia watched him go, a strange combination of compassion and anger stirring in her heart.

 Tombstone Revelations

    Sophia woke up earlier than usual that morning. She sat up, pulling her blankets around her in a vain attempt to maintain body heat in the freezing room.  The bleak light of dawn leaked in from the high window over her head. Pale rays crawled across the floor and inched up the walls. She wondered why she¡¯d woken up so early. Had she been having another bad dream? She couldn¡¯t remember. Although she¡¯d apparently slept restlessly; she had kicked her socks off and one of her pillows was on the floor. Sophia hopped out of bed and scurried over to the dresser, shivering, to find a new pair of socks. As she rummaged around, something sparkled in the early morning light. She stared down at it, and then felt her heart give a single, throbbing thud. It was her birthstone cross pendant. Mom gave it to her on her thirteenth birthday. Sybill had received one too, hadn¡¯t she? Come to think of it, was it on her when she died? Did they bury her with it?

    For some reason, that didn¡¯t sit well with her. She wondered why. What did it matter if the trinket was rotting in the ground along with her sister¡¯s corpse? They were part of an era she was still violently trying to suppress. Good riddance to both.

    At least, that¡¯s what she thought she felt. When she saw Larry in the cafeteria later, she found herself asking him what the Institute did with the belongings of residents¡¯ who had passed away.

    ¡°They¡¯re usually sent to the families,¡± he responded. ¡°And if they don¡¯t want them, we just keep them in storage. Why?¡±

    ¡°My sister had some things on her when we got here¡­I was wondering¡­¡±

    ¡°Ah, say no more. I can look into it for you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± she said awkwardly. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, she asked: ¡°Can I see where she¡¯s buried too?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, of course,¡± Larry said, smiling. ¡°I¡¯ll you there on your free period today if you want.¡±

    So that¡¯s what they did. She met him in the entrance hall during the afternoon and they strolled off together to see her psychopathic sister¡¯s grave. What do I want to get out of this? Sophia wondered. What¡¯s the point of seeing her now? It¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to forgive her.

    ¡°Here we are,¡± Larry announced, pushing open a side door and leading her out into a garden.

    As they walked down a brick path which wound its way between rows of purple bushes, Sophia suddenly realized that even though it was in the middle of winter, this garden was in full bloom. Furthermore, things that normally wouldn¡¯t grow together existed side by side.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± she asked as she rotated in her steps, trying to take everything in at once.

    ¡°Nice, isn¡¯t it? Courtesy of Hazel¡¯s power.¡±

    ¡°Hazel?¡± The idea that someone like Hazel could have such artistic flair surprised her. ¡°She can grow plants?¡±

    ¡°Something like that. Her abilities are part of the same overall classification as mine, though hers are earth rather than water based. That woman could grow a plant on a glacier. She¡¯s very skilled.¡±

    Sophia nodded silently, mesmerized by the abundance of life and color all around her. She didn¡¯t realize until that moment that she¡¯d always linked powers with pain; she had never associated them with beauty before.

    They rounded a corner. Larry stopped and gestured at a gravestone situated on the grass beneath a white birch tree. Engraved roughly across the stone surface was her sister¡¯s name. There was no other identifying information, no dates, no sentimental quote. Just a rock with a name on it that nobody in years to come would know. It struck Sophia as grimly hilarious.  Despite all of Sybill¡¯s scheming, she¡¯d ended up in the one place she had tried so desperately to avoid, rotting in the earth with strangers.

    ¡°I found this in her storage box,¡± Larry said, coming up to stand next to her. He dropped something into Sophia¡¯s extended palm. A blueish sparkle caught the sun before the object disappeared into her hand. ¡°That was the only thing in there. Were you looking for something in particular, or¡­?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± She stared down at the cross pendant, then closed her fist around it and shook her head.

    ¡°No. Just this. Thanks.¡± She looked back at the grave. It was only then that she noticed someone had placed a small bouquet of daises next to it. ¡°Who put those there?¡±

    Larry followed her gaze, then frowned. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. A friend, maybe?¡±

    Sophia was silent. She felt a strange pain in her heart as she stared down at the wilted white petals scattered across the rough stone surface. Sybill hated daisies. She¡¯d claimed they made her nose run.

    Sophia remained standing there for the rest of her free period. She clutched the cross pendant so tightly she left an imprint of it in her flesh.

    ***

    She went to the cemetery often after that. Residents weren¡¯t allowed to visit the garden alone, and so she took Larry with her. He didn¡¯t seem to mind. She wondered how much of her story he knew. He never once asked her to talk about any of it---a gesture she greatly appreciated.

    The garden, she discovered, changed daily. Sometimes it burst with the vibrant colors of spring; at other times it was filled with fall ferns. There were even times when it was a combination of seasons. There was one particularly enthralling occasion when it had been both winter and summer; the trees were laced with veils of snow, while the ground beneath them was covered in summer flowers. It had been a wonderful sight.

    Today the theme was autumn. Golden bushes encircled the perimeter like a ring of flame; thick crimson blossoms spilled with reckless abandon onto the walkway; trees with milky trunks and caps of bronze rustled in the cool breeze sweeping through the sweet-smelling grass. Sophia walked slowly, taking it all in as she ambled after Larry. She was grateful---if only for a second---that beauty like this still existed somewhere in the world.

    When they came to Sybill¡¯s plot, Larry stopped so suddenly that Sophia almost ran into him. She craned her neck around his back to see what he was looking at. Her heart plummeted into her shoes.

    Felicity Reynolds was sitting cross-legged on the grass.

    Something stirred out of the corner of Sophia¡¯s eye and she turned, startled. A woman was sitting on a stone bench several feet away. She was curvy, blonde, and covered in moles.

    ¡°Hey, Marla. Nice to see you,¡± Larry said.

    ¡°Larry,¡± the woman answered with a small smile. She stood up, then nodded towards Felicity and Sophia. ¡°Why don¡¯t we give these two some privacy?¡±

    ¡°Sounds good. Sophia, just holler if you need anything, okay? This garden isn¡¯t that big.¡±

    Larry hurried after the curvy nurse before Sophia could even respond. Felicity laughed softly, her eyes following them as they disappeared behind a flowering shrub.

    ¡°The staff here spend more time boning each other than looking after us.¡± She tucked a gleaming red ribbon of hair behind her ear, then gave Sophia a syrupy smile. ¡°So. Long time no see, honey. How are you adjusting to your new life in this fine establishment?¡±

    ¡°Are we really gonna do this?¡±

    Felicity looked at her silently for a moment. The leaves overhead cast frenzied shadows across her pale face. Then she shrugged.

    ¡°I guess not.¡±

    ¡°What are you even doing here, Felicity?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t visit my friend?¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t special to her. Sybill used you the way she used everyone.¡±

    ¡°Have you come to piss on her grave then?¡±

    ¡°I¡­came to say goodbye.¡±

    No, that wasn¡¯t quite right, she thought suddenly. She had come to let Sybill go. Until she did, she knew the dreams wouldn¡¯t stop, and the pain that sucked more life from her heart every day wouldn¡¯t end.

    ¡°A bit late for that, isn¡¯t it?¡± Felicity said, yawning. ¡°Six¡­no, seven months too late. Jesus. Has it really been that long?¡±

    ¡°Are you the one who keeps leaving flowers?¡± Sophia asked.

    ¡°What?¡± Felicity looked genuinely surprised.  ¡°No.¡±

    Who on earth was doing it then? Nobody else at this place had even known Sybill. Was it simply a kind stranger paying homage to the dead?

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°How long have you been coming to visit her?¡± Sophia asked after a small pause. She sat down on the other side of the tombstone.

    ¡°A couple months.¡±

    Another silence. Then: ¡°What do you miss most about her?¡±

    ¡°Her freedom.¡±

    Sophia stared at her, wondering if she had misheard. Felicity turned towards her with a chilling smile that turned her eyes into slits of smoldering green fire.

    ¡°I tried to use my power on her a bunch of times, but it was always like rummaging around in an empty sack. There was nothing for me to hold onto. She was free.¡±

    Her tone was tinged with admiration. She went on:

    ¡°What about you, sweetie? What do you miss?¡±

    Sophia thought long and hard. Then a series of images flashed through her mind. Towers of glinting lenses, a bright front window, gold rims sparkling in the afternoon sunshine.

    ¡°Her glasses,¡± she said softly.

    Felicity raised a thin red eyebrow. ¡°To each their own, I suppose.¡±

    Sophia was silent. She picked at the grass for a long time while the wind whispered through the bushes. Finally there were footsteps, and Marla and Larry came around the corner.

    ¡°Ready, Sophia?¡± Larry asked.

    ¡°Us too, Felicity,¡± said Marla.

    ¡°Five more minutes,¡± Felicity said without looking at her. Marla¡¯s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She gave Larry a warm smile, then went and sat back down on the stone bench.

    Sophia stood up, brushing the grass from her knees, and followed Larry back down the brick path. She glanced over her shoulder. Felicity was still looking down at Sybill¡¯s tombstone.

    ***

    She began to see a lot of Felicity after that. She told her more than once to piss off, but Felicity just laughed and ignored her. After a while, her presence at Sybill¡¯s grave ceased to be an irritation and became instead a bleak expectation. Occasionally they would talk, but rarely about the same things. Felicity wanted to reminisce about her school days, whereas Sophia considered the only conversation with her to be worth having was any discussion which might shed light on what she had seen in the minds of the Basement residents.

    ¡°Were you ever brought to this institution as a kid?¡± she asked her one day. The garden was in full bloom, and the air was thick with the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine.

    ¡°Off and on,¡± said Felicity. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°They brought Jack into my Mastery Session a little while ago. I thought I saw you in one of his memories. ¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± She offered no elaboration.

    ¡°Jack isn¡¯t the only resident from the Basement Complex that I¡¯ve seen,¡± Sophia said, watching her closely. ¡°I¡¯ve worked on Samantha and Liam too.¡±

    ¡°Is that right?¡± She seemed maddingly uninterested in this conversation. ¡°Oh, speaking of basements, did I ever tell you about the time Sybill and I broke into the---"

    ¡°They all remembered the same room,¡± Sophia interrupted. ¡°Do you know it? It had purple flowers on the wall. Violets, maybe?¡±

    Felicity heaved a deep sigh and picked at something on her arm for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s hyacinths, actually.¡±

    ¡°So you you¡¯ve been there?¡± Sophia said eagerly.

    ¡°That room has been used for a lot of things over the years.¡±

    Sophia¡¯s brain suddenly lit up like a bolt of lightning. Discombobulated pieces of information clicked together, and one name sprang out at her from the dark tangle of her thoughts.

    ¡°What is Project Camilla?¡±

    Felicity stared at her for a full thirty seconds before she started to laugh.

    ¡°There¡¯s some awfully juicy stuff on the third floor, huh? I¡¯m impressed. How¡¯d you pull that off? It took me ages to figure out how to get in there.¡±

    ¡°Never mind.¡±

    ¡°No secrets between friends, honey.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine, then. We¡¯re not friends.¡±

    Felicity pouted. ¡°If you can¡¯t be nice, I¡¯ll just go.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tease me with false hope.¡¯¡¯

    Felicity showed all of her teeth in a sugar-white grin. ¡°Let¡¯s see. Project Camilla¡­honestly I don¡¯t really know what it is, honey. Daddy has only mentioned it in passing. I think the Project and this shithole are two branches of the same tree, but I don¡¯t really know how or to what extent.¡±

    ¡°Is it still operating today?¡±

    ¡°Beats me.¡±

    Endless questions poured into Sophia¡¯s mind like water from a faucet. She thought of the hyacinth room. Had she ever been there? She didn¡¯t think so, but if it happened when she was little, she wasn¡¯t likely to remember it. Furthermore, had every resident at this facility been subject to whatever went on there, or just the Basement kids? And what, if anything, did any of this have to do with a top-secret rehabilitation project that seemed---at least on the surface---benevolent and compassionate? Had her mother been involved in any of this?

    ¡°Do you know who Camilla is?¡± Sophia asked finally.

    Felicity smiled. It was a twisted grimace, like she¡¯d tasted something sour.

    ¡°My mother.¡±

    The ensuing silence swelled around them like an inflating balloon. Felicity played with a dandelion that was growing at her feet.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your mom now?¡± Sophia asked finally.

    ¡°Not sure. She moved away after they divorced.¡±

    ¡°What is your mother¡¯s last name?¡± Sophia asked. ¡°Did she keep Reynolds?¡±

    ¡°God no. She went back to Arlett. Why? Going to take her to lunch?¡±

    Sophia ignored the snide comment, lapsing back into silence as she absorbed this information.

    ¡°Our mothers knew each other, you know,¡± Felicity drawled.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Evelyn caused a lot of arguments at my house when I was younger.¡±

    ¡°Between who?¡±

    ¡°My parents.¡±

    ¡°Over business?¡±

    Felicity laughed. ¡°You could say that. Never mind. I only mentioned it to spite you.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Sophia was growing increasingly confused.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been very mean to me today. You hurt my feelings.¡± Felicity climbed to her feet. ¡°See you tomorrow, sweetie.¡±

    She strolled towards Marla, who was waiting, as usual, on the stone bench.

    ¡°Fat chance,¡± Sophia called after her.

    Felicity just laughed again and waved at her without turning around.

    ***

    Sophia snuck out of her room a few nights later. In her eagerness to avoid Felicity, she had stayed away from the cemetery over the last few days. It was taking a toll on her. She had become surprisingly attached to the ritual, and she wasn¡¯t prepared to forfeit it just yet. If she couldn¡¯t go during the day, she would go at night. She knew the way pretty well by now; she could get there without Larry.

    She waited a couple hours after lockdown before picking the lock with her trusted bobby pin. She found her way down the dark halls and to the side door. It creaked when she opened it, and she quickly slipped out into the crisp air outside to cut the sound short. The star-lit garden was a breathtaking sight. Everything was lit with a dusting of pale silver, which made every branch and flower and mossy rock appear to glow from within. As Sophia treaded reverently through, she was suddenly overcome with a feeling she used to experience during mass when the priest held up the Host. Something within her soul stirred, testifying to the truth of what was happening, but that same something was not able to fully articulate what that truth was. It was a feeling of sacredness and profound mystery.

    When she rounded the corner, her pleasant reverie ended. She came to a dead halt and all the blood seemed to leave her body. There was someone standing over Sybill¡¯s grave. Before Sophia could dive into the nearest bush to hide, their head turned in her direction. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized that this person appeared severely disfigured. Their limbs were gnarled and lumpy, and they seemed to have a hunched back.

    Then they stepped forward. Sophia gasped and stumbled back. Wild dark hair threaded with ivy and cold eyes that glinted like shards of black glass in the moonlight. She had seen those eyes a thousand times in her nightmares.

    ¡°Isaac?¡± Sophia said hoarsely.

    The tree-man was silent. He took another small step towards her; his ¡°legs¡± were trunks, and his ¡°feet¡± were really nothing but clusters of branches, which gripped the earth in a manner chillingly similar to human toes. Then he used a long, twiggy finger to point at his ears and his mouth---or rather, he pointed to the general areas where they would be located on a normal person. His own were buried beneath all the foliage growing out of his body. Then he shook his head laboriously from side to side.  Sophia mimed him, frowning, puzzled as to what he meant. After the fifth mime, she got it.

    ¡°You¡¯re deaf?¡±

    The head went up and down, with great slowness.

    ¡°And I guess you can read lips.¡±

    Nod.

    They both stood there silently, staring at one another, for what felt like a long time. Then Sophia heard a voice in her head:

    May I speak with you like this?

    A shiver traveled up her spine, and she felt goosebumps erupt on the back of her neck. This felt nothing like what she had experienced while sharing thoughts with Val and Jude. This was very intimate, and also very strange. She heard him as clearly as if he was speaking inches from her face.

    I didn¡¯t know you could do this too.

    I am a special kind of abomination.

    Have you been the one leaving flowers?

    Yes.

    Well they¡¯re shit and so are you.

    Yes. I know.

    A mental silence spread through her mind like smoke. Her heart was pounding with fear and anger, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to walk away just yet.

    Sybill fucking hated daises, by the way, so stop leaving those. The carnations and peonies are okay.

    Thank you. I will remember that in the future.

    How long are you going to stay out here? I wanted to visit her.

    Yes. Of course. I will leave you with her now.

    Isaac slowly turned and began to lumber away, his feet shaking the ground with each step.

    There was a time when I wanted to kill you.

    He paused, and then the dark eyes appeared from over what she assumed was his shoulder.

    You can project into my mind with great ease for someone so young.

    I¡¯m just finishing what you started.

    Do you still want to kill me, Sophia Montgomery?

    How would it fix anything?

    That was not my question.

    I do want you to die.

    Yes.

    But that also wouldn¡¯t fix anything.

    Indeed.

    I still have nightmares.

    As do I.

    You¡¯re in them.

    You appear in mine as well.

    Another internal silence. Sophia began to feel a strange sensation, and after a moment she realized she was picking up on the emotional imprint of his thoughts. It was similar to what she felt when she took memories from someone. This sensation, however, was much more visceral. It was like they were momentarily sharing a heart, and Issac¡¯s was burdened with a deep ache. She felt her own heart stirring with pity---and a surprising camaraderie.

    You should try to make peace with it. We both should.

    Unlike you, dear child, I do not deserve peace. I have reasons for why I did it. If I had to do it all over again, I would probably make the same decision. And so I will wrap my regret around myself like a cloak. I will never allow myself to forget your sister, or that I am capable of killing. She will haunt my every waking step and you will haunt my dreams, and so I will never be at peace. It is my own doing.

    But that¡­

    ¡­will not fix anything?

    No.

    But perhaps I do not want to fix things.

    The silence came again, and this time it felt like the coldness left behind after a warm body leaves the arms. He had severed their mental connection. Sophia hugged herself, shivering a little in the cool night air as she turned and started back towards the entrance. She had taken only a few steps when she heard him again:

    You said carnations and peonies?

    Yeah.

    Be well, Sophia Montgomery.

 Ghost Girl

    Sophia got up early and went to the library as soon as it opened the next morning. She needed something to distract her from the oddly intimate mental conversation she¡¯d had with Isaac the previous night. She took a seat in the corner, farthest away from the front desk, and logged onto the computer. She spent several minutes searching online for Camilla Arlett and Project Camilla, sorting through every hit that came up on the page. It turned out the name was more common than she had initially supposed. A full day of research yielded no solid results, and she went to bed feeling defeated. It was only after she had lain awake for hours that she realized she had another way to find what she was looking for: the third floor. She hadn¡¯t had a haul from Jude in a while.

    She planned to go and find him the following day, but to her surprise, she saw him in the Meadow Lobby when she was waiting around for a dreaded therapy session with Hazel. He was sitting by the fireplace, and he barely acknowledged her when she sat next to him. After she finished telling him what she wanted, he was silent for so long that she thought he¡¯d spaced out halfway. Then he said:

    ¡°Count me out this time.¡±

    ¡°But I need you.¡±

    ¡°Aw. That¡¯s sweet.¡±

    ¡°Shove it. I just meant that I¡¯ve never actually been to the third floor, remember? I wouldn¡¯t know the first thing about breaking in.¡±

    ¡°Look, I¡¯m---it¡¯s just that I¡¯m not really up to planning a heist right now because---¡± He stopped and looked away. ¡°It¡¯s Valerie,¡± he said quietly.

    All other thoughts were extinguished in the cold wave of fear that swept over her.

    ¡°Has something happened?¡± she said hoarsely. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she suddenly remembered that she hadn¡¯t seen Val in weeks.

    ¡°I went to see her in the infirmary last night. Before I left, she asked me to talk you into visiting her before---before it was too late.¡±

    Sophia began to shake her head. Jude leaned over and placed one of his hands on top of hers. He squeezed her fingers in a grip that would¡¯ve been painful if it was possible for her to feel anything other than the numbness that was spreading through her body like a slow-acting poison.

    ¡°Can I see her now?¡± she asked finally.

    ¡°Don¡¯t have you therapy soon?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but when has that ever been a commitment I honored?¡±

    He grinned and  stood up, pulling her to her feet. Still holding her hand, he looked quickly back and forth before leading her quickly across the lobby floor and out the doors. The blood was pounding in her ears. With every step, her heart sank lower in her chest, and the icy grip of panic tightened on her guts. When they walked into the infirmary, a nurse tried to turn them out, insisting that the patient needed to rest. Sophia considered throwing a right hook into the woman¡¯s side, but then a small voice from behind one of the bed curtains called out:

    ¡°Please, Marina?¡±

    Sophia and Jude stepped around the nurse without waiting for permission and pulled back the curtain to stare down at Val---or rather, what was left of her. The emaciated face on the pillow was almost as pale as the bedsheets. But the eyes were still Val¡¯s; they sparkled out from the gaunt sockets like barely visible stars in a black sky.

    ¡°Why the long faces? You¡¯re not at a funeral---yet,¡± Val said with a grin that made her look like a skull.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you now, Dupeneti ?¡± Sophia said. She tried to return her friend¡¯s grin, but the muscles around her mouth wouldn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Nothing much. Just a minor case of approaching death.¡±

    Val tried to sit up, winced, and then fell back down onto her pillows. Her limbs were nothing but brittle sticks encased in flesh.

    ¡°The souls have finally won,¡± she said with a cough that shook her whole body. ¡°Look at me. I¡¯m hideous. I knew it¡¯d happen one day, but I was hoping to at least make it to my eighteenth birthday so I could vote. Not like I would ever get the chance, but it¡¯d be nice to know I could, you know? I get a power rush just thinking about it. But I guess there¡¯s nothing left for me now but the steady decline into the grave. Thanks for coming to see me off.¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake,¡± Sophia said, angry at her friend¡¯s nonchalance. ¡°You¡¯re at a place that specializes in caring for mutants. Why aren¡¯t they doing something to help you?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re useless. Feel free to eat my memories when I die, Soph. You don¡¯t have to abstain because we¡¯re friends or anything.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want your memories,¡± Sophia said, her eyes stinging with tears. ¡°I want you.¡±

    ¡°Honestly I¡¯m glad it¡¯s over. My power is so hard. I mean, I don¡¯t wanna bitch and moan too much. I know a lot of people here have it worse, but God, I¡¯m tired, Soph.¡±

    Sophia fell to her knees beside the bed and rested her elbows on the blankets so that she and Val were eye level.

    ¡°I love you,¡± she whispered. She reached out and put her hand on Val¡¯s thin, tiny shoulder.

    Another ghastly grin flashed across her friend¡¯s face.

    ¡°I love you too, babe.¡±

    ¡°How¡­how long do you think¡­¡±

    ¡°Marina thinks I¡¯ll be cold by Wednesday, but I¡¯ll try to make it to Thursday morning just to spite her.¡±

    ¡°Wednesday?¡± Jude said. That was just two days away. The fear and pain on his face broke Sophia¡¯s heart, and she had to avert her gaze.

    ¡°I love you too, Fitzpatrick,¡± Val said. ¡°And you¡¯ve known for years this was coming, so try not to be a pussy about it .¡±

    ¡°Fuck off.¡± His voice broke.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you---¡± Val¡¯s returning insult was cut off in another violent fit of coughing. She closed her eyes and was so still that for a moment Sophia thought she was gone. Then she parted her cracked lips and said: ¡°Come to think of it, maybe I¡¯ll just die right now. Spite¡¯s not worth extending this kind of energy. And you guys are here. It¡¯s kinda perfect.¡±

    The three of them sat in silence for a long time. Eventually Marina pulled back the curtain and informed them that visiting hours were over.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be back,¡± Sophia said, dropping a light kiss on Val¡¯s wasted forehead.

    ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t even thinking of fucking dying without us,¡± Jude said fiercely.

    Val chuckled weakly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare.¡±

    ***

    Sophia felt like she endured twenty years¡¯ worth of pain in the next two days. They went to see Val whenever they had a free moment, but it didn¡¯t feel like enough. Every time Sophia was away from her friend¡¯s bedside, she was assaulted with horrible mental images of Val dying alone, slipping beyond the curtain with no one holding her hand or whispering comforting words in her ear. The vast relief that flooded her whenever she saw Val lying in bed with her eyes open was enough to break her in two.

    On Wednesday afternoon, Sophia and Jude decided to skip lunch to visit. But when they arrived, Marina was standing at the door with a nervous look on her face.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I can¡¯t allow you to go in today,¡± she said.

    ¡°What?¡± Jude said, raising his eyebrows in a way Sophia recognized by now as the precursor to an angry outburst.

    ¡°Valerie needs rest, especially now. It¡¯s important for her to experience as little stress as possible.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re gonna go in and bang on trash can lids,¡± Jude said. ¡°Where¡¯s this coming from, Marina? Did we do something wrong?¡±

    Marina bit her bottom lip and looked around. She seemed jumpy.

    ¡°Who told you to keep us out?¡± Sophia asked sharply.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like that, Sophia. This is standard medical practice at the Institute. Patients nearing the end of their lives often have explosions of power that put everyone around them at risk. The only people who are authorized to be there are the doctors and nurse practitioners. Please try to understand.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we understand,¡± Jude said loudly. ¡°We understand this is bullshit. Let us in, lady, or I¡¯m going to get real upset.¡±

    ¡°Jude.¡± Sophia put her hand on his arm. ¡°It¡¯s not her fault. It¡¯s okay. We¡¯ve already said our goodbyes anyway.¡± She smiled at Marina. ¡°Sorry to bother you.¡±

    She grabbed Jude¡¯s sleeve and pulled him away, not letting go until they had rounded the corner and vanished from Marina¡¯s sight. Jude glared down at her.

    ¡°What the hell, Montgomery?¡±

    ¡°Obviously I¡¯m not okay with this either. I just needed you to chill for a second. You were seconds away from punching her in the face.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say punching. Firmly pushing, maybe.¡±

    Sophia crossed her arms over her chest, thinking for a moment. ¡°I have an idea¡­but I haven¡¯t done it in a while, so I might be rusty.¡±

    ¡°Done what?¡±

    ¡°I used to pull this trick when I was on the road with my sister. When we needed somewhere to sleep, I¡¯d use my power to manipulate people into letting us stay places. I would sow false memories in their minds, make them think they knew us or that we had a reservation. I could use it on Marina and make her think we have permission to see Val.¡±

    ¡°How long does it last?¡±

    ¡°If nothing contradicts the fabrications I put in her head, then who knows? We¡¯ll probably eventually be caught, but by then Val will be dead and we¡¯ll have said our goodbyes, so who gives a shit?¡±

    Jude was looking at her with undisguised admiration. ¡°That¡¯s a scheme worthy of me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the compliment you think it is, but I figured now¡¯s not the time to be overly scrupulous.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m down. Let¡¯s not waste any more time because I doubt Val¡¯s got much left.¡±

    They hurried back to the infirmary. As soon as they pushed open the door, they saw Marina at the front desk. Her eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet.

    ¡°I already told you¡ª¡±

    Sophia walked rapidly towards her and looked her directly in the eyes. After a few seconds, she caught hold of her signal and launched herself into the nurse¡¯s mind. She thought this trick would be difficult for her since she was out of practice. But it came to her smoothly. After a moment, Marina¡¯s eyes quieted, and she gave them both a dreamy smile.

    ¡°Oh hello, you two,¡± she said in a much calmer tone. She waved languidly towards the curtained beds. ¡°She¡¯s waiting for you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks so much,¡± Sophia said. She beckoned to Jude and they walked quickly towards Val¡¯s bed.

    Their friend was so small and withered at this point that she was in danger of sinking right through her mattress. Her breath was ragged and slow. Sophia sat down on one side of the bed and Jude sat on the other. They each took one of Val¡¯s hands. She opened her eyes.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she rasped with a faint twitch of the lips. ¡°Am I hallucinating? Eh. Don¡¯t give a shit. I¡¯ll take it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re really here,¡± Sophia whispered.

    ¡°And Jude?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, me too.¡± Jude¡¯s voice was so quiet Sophia could barely hear him.

    ¡°Do you remember when we first met?¡±

    ¡°¡¯Course.¡±

    ¡°You were a real fuckin¡¯ weirdo.¡±

    ¡°Says the Ghost Girl.¡±

    ¡°Oh boooo¡­.¡± Val choked on her words, and for a moment her body was wracked with wet coughing. ¡°Do you remember the Valentine cupcakes?¡± she wheezed.

    ¡°My colon wishes it could forget.¡±

    Val grinned; her mouth took up half her emaciated face, and for a horrifying moment she was all teeth and gums.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Hey, Soph. Soph?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°I was so happy when you sat next to me. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the one who did me a favor.¡±

    Val¡¯s sunken eyes stared off into the distance for a moment.

    ¡°Huh. What a fun twist.¡±

    Sophia and Jude exchanged worried looks.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Val?¡± Jude asked.

    ¡°Wrong? Nothing at all. Hey, Soph?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s here.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    But Val was silent, and her breathing grew more labored. Then she said:

    ¡°Jude, don¡¯t forget to keep extra blankets in your room.¡±

    ¡°Stop talking, Valerie,¡± Jude said. His voice was infused with a tenderness Sophia had never heard before. For the next few minutes, the only thing she could do was lay her head down on the bed and weep silently.

    After a while, Val¡¯s breathing ceased and the room was filled with a bottomless silence. Her hand grew stiff and cold, and on her face was a pale mark of finality that Sophia recognized. Suddenly there was a glimmer in the semi-darkness, and then dozens of bubbles erupted from Val¡¯s body---luminescent, glowing pearls of translucent beauty. They hung in the air for a moment, shimmering, and then headed straight towards Sophia. She held out her arms and embraced them.

    Val¡¯s mind looked like a cheese grater; it was a world of jagged edges and broken images. Had her ability done this to her, shredded her mind bit by bit until nothing coherent was left? Sophia¡¯s heart ached, and she clung to every tattered bubble, wishing she could hold each one forever.

    Gravel crunching...she dug in her heels, yelling... a big red hand over her own, with fingers like sweating meat...

    Diana---her body twisting and vanishing beneath big black car wheels, a windshield flashing in the sun as it turned upside down---her scream silenced by the horrible sounds of tearing flesh and crunching  bones--- then her sister was standing by her side,  transparent and covered with gore---

    Oh no. No no no no no no no no no no no---

    Staring at the back of Momma¡¯s head...hair twisted at the nape of her neck like a cinnamon bun.

    How long will I be here?

    Not long, Momma said in the same voice she used when Val would ask when Dad was coming home.

    I¡¯m scared. I don¡¯t like it here.

    Well then get better so you can come home.

    She slumped in her seat, refusing to move even when Momma came around and opened up the car door. Even when the men came and dragged her out onto the gravel. Even when Momma begged her to stand up, tried to pull her to her feet, wrapped her arms around her for one last hug. She didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t raise her arms to return the embrace. Instead she slumped against her mother¡¯s chest as if her bones had liquified. Seething.

    It¡¯s the ghost girl. The words encircled her head like pecking pigeons.

    That¡¯s the girl who eats dead people.

    I don¡¯t, it¡¯s not true, I try to help them¡­someone tell them I¡¯m¡­

    Don¡¯t look at her.

    You don¡¯t have to be afraid. Please¡­

    Don¡¯t look¡­

    ¡­please¡­

    A little girl wearing footie pajamas and clutching a stuffed dog plushie. Her enormous, translucent eyes gazed across the dining hall with so much sadness in them that Val found herself wishing her power wouldn¡¯t work today¡­.

    Please¡­please just let her pass on without me¡­go away¡­

    But she felt their souls already trying to fuse; the little girl was screaming, her face warping horribly. Two magnets resisting each other; chaos erupting around her as she slid off her seat and onto the floor.

    Ghost girl---ghost girl---ghost girl---Diana¡¯s bloody face, blonde hair matted to her skull and neck---nononononononononononono---

    There was a boy in the bed next to her. His skin was mint-green, the exact color of the bedsheets.

    You¡¯re the Ghost Girl.

    Screw you.

    Is that your first or last name?

    She laughed. She hadn¡¯t laughed in a while.

    I¡¯m Jude.

    I¡¯m Valerie.

    A slew of pearly, translucent figures. A man with his neck bent at an odd angle. A woman with a gunshot wound in her head. A little boy with a thin, emaciated face. A man with no fingers. A woman with a bleeding, gaping mouth and no teeth.

    So many days in bed.

    She got lost on the way to her room, ended up in a shadowy hallway with flickering lights. Nervous, she tried the nearest door. Locked. Shivering, she moved away and turned a corner and almost ran right into the girl who was hurrying out of an open door on the right. The girl stumbled, her mouth a perfect ¡°o¡± of surprise. She was beautiful, but in a fragile and fleeting way, like a rainbow. She had hair as red as pomegranates, and she appeared slightly out of breath. A layer of sweat shone on her brow.

    You shouldn¡¯t be down here. Get out before he finds you too.

    It must be because she was the Ghost Girl. Nobody wanted to be seen with her, including this girl, because she was a freak, a loser---

    Get out!

    The  girl grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly down another hall and to a door. She pushed it open, revealing a staircase, and nudged Val through.

    Thanks for showing me the way out.

    Don¡¯t ever come down here again.  The girl¡¯s lip trembled slightly, and Val saw tears trembling on her lashes.

    What¡¯s wrong?

    But  the girl redhead only looked at her. Her expression of terror would haunt Val for the rest of her life.

    A man with a long, sad face, holding a bunch of crumpled newspapers. A woman smeared with filth from head to toe. A young boy with a shaved head, wearing a hospital gown. An old man with sunken cheeks and a toothless smile.

    Every time they came, she had to go to bed for days, drowning in sheets which smelled like sweat and armpits. The only person who came to visit her was Jude. He even brought her flowers once.

    Evelyn Montgomery. It was the only doctor name that didn¡¯t make her guts churn with nervous fear, though Evelyn was definitely scary in her own way. It was her eyes. They were always so still and expressionless, no matter what the rest of her face was doing. But she never poked and prodded Val like the other doctors did. She never called her Ghost Girl either. It was always ¡°Valerie,¡± said with a smile and a slight accent on the last ¡®e.¡¯ Val liked Evelyn---despite her eyes.

    Evelyn talked about her daughters. The warmth in her voice made Val ache. She wondered if her own mother ever sounded like that when talking about her.

    Doctor Montgomery sitting by the window, the sunshine dancing on her glossy hair.

    Doctor Montgomery in the cafeteria, talking to a colleague, laughing so that all her teeth and gums showed.

    Doctor Montgomery standing in front of her with a clipboard, a pensive frown on her face, her moist, rosebud lips pursed together. She smelled like tulips and grass and something else, something earthy that made Val¡¯s heart race.

    No, Valerie, stop, we can¡¯t do that.

    Please, Evelyn.

    Shhh, go back to sleep, there¡¯s a good girl.

    Everything inside of her broke into a thousand pieces when those brown eyes stared at her with such profound pity.

    She was in bed. The nurse was chattering over her head to another nurse. They were ignoring her. Maybe they didn¡¯t realize she was awake. They sounded panicky. Or excited? Some residents broke out, they were saying. The alarm had been sounded.

    Doctor Montgomery hadn¡¯t come into work this morning.

    She felt a cold pit in her stomach. It grew and swallowed her lungs, her heart.

    A Valentine cupcake on the floor. It was so pink it hurt her eyes. So many were flattened out like little squashed hats across the wall, stuck to the floors, the ceiling. Hazel was screaming in fury while Jude looked down at her from his corner on the ceiling, stuck to the wall like a spider, his grinning face smeared with frosting. Val used the distraction to spit out the mouthful she had bitten off only moments before. They were slippery and undercooked, and they congealed into a tasteless glob in the mouth. She was glad he¡¯d ruined the rest of them.

    Flowers in a vase. Giant crimson baubles dangling over the lip of blue ceramic.

    A bespectacled girl with a long braid, glaring at her from a shadowy corner. Her chest was covered with blood, which streamed from a jagged chest wound.  She  was full of visceral emotions; they pulsated through Val¡¯s body with such force it physically hurt her. The strongest one of all was regret, sorrow so profound it took over everything else and Val blacked out.

    More days that smelled like sweaty bedsheets.

    She picked her bedroom lock and went wandering, ducking out of sight whenever she saw the patrolling nurse ambling down the hallway. As she passed a door on the right, she heard someone sobbing. She dug around in her pocket until she found a handkerchief. She bent down and slipped it beneath the door, then turned and continued down the hallway in silence.

    A girl came up to her table, stuttering apologies, her cheeks turning apple-red. Her lashes were so long they  tangled together, and they fluttered nervously against her skin. She had the greatest hair Val had ever seen: wild, reckless curls the warm rich color of freshly ground coffee beans

    She said her name was Sophia Montgomery. Val had heard of her arrival but had never expected to meet her. She looked a lot like Evelyn---and yet not like her at all. Her eyes were the exact same color as chocolate syrup. Val found herself telling her she could take a seat, and then she felt an immediate wave of regret. No, no, this was bad, she couldn¡¯t afford to be too friendly.

    But she found out fast that this new girl was weird too. When Val mentioned her power, she got an intensely interested look on her face. She wasn¡¯t scared. She was curious.

    Lots of salads and discarded desserts that Sophia couldn¡¯t eat. With every meal, Val was left dizzy with excitement. She was so afraid that she would say or do something weird, something that would screw it up. But Sophia kept sitting with her. Day after day.

    She never called her Ghost Girl. She didn¡¯t even know who she was.

    The clouds gathered outside the big bay window in the lobby. There was  a thunk-thunk-thunk noise behind her. Someone playing ping pong.

    I met Sophia Montgomery a couple days ago, Jude was saying. I don¡¯t know if I like her.

    Why not?

    She¡¯s got a lot of attitude. Like her mom.

    I thought you liked Doctor Montgomery.

    That was you.

    I still can¡¯t believe what happened, can you? Where did they bury her?

    Why are you assuming I would know something like that?

    Because you often know things you shouldn¡¯t.

    Why, thank you. But in this case I¡¯m as ignorant as you are.

    Well, anyway, be nice. Sophia¡¯s new and everybody could use a friend around here. Not everyone makes friends as effortlessly as you.

    That¡¯s true. I guess I could shine some of my light her way.

    You¡¯re a saint.

    Flashes of Sophia and Jude¡¯s faces. Her heart swelled with joy whenever she looked at them. Friends. The word sounded strange, it fit oddly in her mouth like an oversized bite of fruit.

    Sophia was sitting next to the window and the sun kissed the rounded curve of her smooth brown cheek. Her dark hair lit up with dancing golden spots, it was hypnotic, and Val wondered what it would be like to touch one of those soft curls, just for a second.

    No, Valerie, stop, we can¡¯t do that.

    I¡¯m surprised to see you here at this hour, she said, walking across the Meadow lobby towards Jude.

    Yeah, I thought I¡¯d just chill and see what you were up to.

    Here? This isn¡¯t even our lobby. And besides, I just saw you in the--- She broke off and grinned. Oh. Okay.

    What?

    You were hoping to run into Sophia.

    She said it playfully, but the thought bugged her. Jude rolled his eyes.

    You¡¯re both always here. I just figured you would eventually---

    So are you guys thinking of a buffet at the wedding or is it gonna be a sit-down kind of thing? Can I request some sort of meat dish? Pasta gives me gas.

    Everything gives you gas, Val. You have the most explosive colon of anyone I¡¯ve ever met. And we both know that if either of us has a thing for her, it¡¯s you.

    She laughed, though a cold wave of shock rippled through her. Maybe she didn¡¯t hide it as well as she thought. What if Sophia knew? Would it make her uncomfortable? Would she not want to be friends anymore? Val felt like she was choking.

    Sunlight slits through her lids. Her eyes felt so heavy. She couldn¡¯t open them. So tired. She felt like she was sinking into oblivion, vanishing into her pillows...down, down¡­

    It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s normal to have bad reactions to a new treatment plan. Just relax.

    She felt like she was being torn apart and sewed back up, over and over again. Then the pieces grew jagged over time, they didn¡¯t fit together anymore, and she was disintegrating.

    Why is he ordering more doses than usual?

    ¡­major liability¡­

    She doesn¡¯t remember anything anyway, it¡¯s what makes her the perfect candidate. I¡¯m giving her another round.

    The ghosts had no trouble with her these days. She could barely attach to any of them, and they floated right through her. No more grapples for survival. She felt like she was shriveling inward.

    She turned her head and stared at the face lying on the table across from her. Her stomach collapsed in on itself as she was flooded with a paralyzing wave of terror. She knew it was just the drugs, she was hallucinating. But the terror that gripped her was so real the only thing she wanted to do was run; she screamed and kicked against her bonds. Unseen hands held her down, pinning her against the bed. Then the swollen face the color of mold came closer, framed by feathers of dark hair, the wheels of its gurney scraping along the tiled floor.  That face looked familiar, Jesus Christ, why did it look familiar?

    She sank further into the mattress, through it, beyond it, drifting on an endless sea of darkness and pain. It will get better soon, the voices kept saying. You¡¯ll adjust soon.

    When did she start to realize that was a lie?

    When are you getting out of here? Jude asked. The sunlight falling through the window behind him illuminated his hair. She stared at him, committing the way he looked right now to memory because she knew that this moment, at least, was real.

    I¡¯m not. Ask Sophia to visit before I kick it, will you?

    Stop that. Are they still giving you that new medicine?

    Yup.

    Well tell them to fucking stop. Look at you.

    Wouldn¡¯t the be nice, she said, laughing. If they just stopped whenever we asked.

    More darkness and pain. Her body didn¡¯t even feel like hers anymore.

    Will she know when she finally dies? She had been seeing ghosts for so long, would she even be able to tell when she became one? The only thing she was sure of was that death was not the end. All the spirits that marched in and out of her life, they were going somewhere. Maybe to oblivion. Maybe to an afterlife. But to somewhere.

    Now she would follow. To Somewhere.

    Sophia¡¯s hand is a little damp, but warm as sunshine; Jude¡¯s feels dry and cold and bony.  She¡¯s so happy she wants to laugh.

    There are spirits standing around her bed, staring down at her. Some are scowling. Others are smiling. But they all look like they are waiting for her. Huh. What a fun twist. Then she notices that the one standing directly in front of her is the blonde girl with the chest wound, the one who showed up in her room all those months ago. She tries to tell Sophia that her sister is here, but she doesn¡¯t know if she actually says the words out loud or if she merely thinks them. I know you¡¯re sorry, she tells the blond girl, and it¡¯s okay, everything will be okay, let¡¯s go together now.

    Darkness is descending and then the world around her shimmers, like she¡¯s drowning in a pot of black coffee. Everything feels thick and warm. But not scary. How strange, that she does not find it scary, that the blackness of oblivion seems like the welcoming bosom of an old friend.

    Sophia opened her eyes. Her face was damp with tears, and the sheets beneath her elbows were wrinkled and soggy. Jude had slid down onto the floor and was leaning forward on the bed, his face hidden in his arms. Sophia remained where she was for a long time, pressing Val¡¯s cold hand against her cheek.

    The shadows lengthened across the floor. Marina never came to check on them, and when Sophia raised her head and stared once more into her friend¡¯s face, Val¡¯s memories came pouring back to her. And as Sophia re-processed them, she felt the grief inside of her sharpen into a blade of anger.

    ¡°You were right about her treatments,¡± she said to Jude. Her voice sounded loud in the quiet infirmary.

    He slowly raised his head to look at her. His eyes were red and swollen.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Now I get why Marina wouldn¡¯t let us in. They knew Val was dying and they didn¡¯t want me seeing her memories.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s they? What were they doing to her?¡± His expression of grief and exhaustion was hardening into the same one that had preceded his fight with Liam.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It wasn¡¯t clear, but¡­¡±

    Her voice trailed away, and she was gripped with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Even if they could somehow prove that the treatments killed Val, who would they tell? She had seen the results of those 911 calls in the memories of the Basement kids. The police were either unable or unwilling to press charges against the Institute. Plus, there was the added problem of getting the evidence to them in the first place. She wasn¡¯t sure how they were keeping people inside here since her mother died, but even if she did manage to break out, she had no idea where she was, or which direction would lead her outside of the Institute¡¯s clutches. And Reynolds was her legal guardian.

    When she looked up at Jude, she saw the anger and hopelessness she felt mirrored on his face.

 Dear Val

    Val was buried in the resident cemetery the following Monday. Her headstone was far grander than Sophia had expected: white marble and engraved with elaborate carvings of roses. There was a small memorial service, attended only by Sophia, Jude, and two people whom Sophia assumed were Val¡¯s parents. The mother would occasionally dab her eyes with a handkerchief, but the father remained stony faced during the service. He even checked his watch a few times. Sophia resisted the urge to run over and knee him in the crotch.

    ¡°Through Christ our Lord,¡± said the preacher, closing his prayer book.

    Val¡¯s father went up and shook his hand, while the mother stood nearby murmuring and nodding. Sophia and Jude stared down at the headstone for a few moments.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t suit her,¡± Jude grumbled.

    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s pretty tacky.¡±

    A twig snapped. Sophia looked up. A bolt of shock tore through her.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Felicity stopped dead, looking equally surprised. Then she laughed softly. ¡°We can¡¯t seem to get rid of each other, can we, honey? Have I missed the service?¡±

    ¡°You¡­knew Val?¡±

    ¡°Not really. We met years ago. I just wanted to pay my respects. This sort of streamlines things for us though, doesn¡¯t it? We can swing by to see our little friend and then pop over the next minute and say hi to Sybill.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­not funny.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to be.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re Felicity Reynolds,¡± Jude said. It sounded like an accusation.

    Felicity¡¯s eyes, which had been fixed on Sophia, slowly moved over to him. She smiled. ¡°And you would be?¡±

    ¡°Jude Fitzpatrick.¡±

    ¡°Is that supposed to mean something to me?¡±

    ¡°How did you know Val?¡±

    ¡°I told you. We met a few years ago.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but how?¡±

    ¡°Anybody ever tell you that you¡¯re a wee bit aggressive, sweetie?¡±

    ¡°Stop it.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Whatever you¡¯re doing. It¡¯s annoying.¡±

    Felicity¡¯s head tilted to one side, and the smile on her face grew. ¡°You can feel it?¡±

    ¡°Lady, you¡¯re gonna feel a lot worse in about two seconds if---¡±

    He stopped as Val¡¯s parents approached them.

    ¡°Thank you for coming,¡± the mother said gravely. ¡°I¡¯m sure Val would¡¯ve appreciated it.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the father said, nodding absently. He checked his watch again. ¡°My love, we should go, the last train leaves soon¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, dear, of course. Take care, everyone¡­¡±

    They walked off down the path, their arms entwined. The priest followed them, nodding to Sophia and Jude as he passed.

    ¡°They seem real broken up,¡± Felicity said, her eyes narrowing as she stared after them. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure my dad would at least squeeze out a few tears. Then again, maybe not. He¡¯s a reptile.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re already counting all the money they¡¯ll save by not paying for Val to stay here anymore,¡± Jude said darkly.

    ¡°That¡¯s a little cruel, honey. I mean it¡¯s true, but you shouldn¡¯t always say what¡¯s true out loud.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s the only thing you should ever say out loud.¡±

    ¡°What a noble philosophy.¡±

    ¡°Felicity, cut the shit,¡± Sophia snapped. ¡°We¡¯re not here to fight.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough.¡± Felicity winked at Jude as she ambled towards Val¡¯s headstone. She stared down at it for a minute, then shook her head. ¡°How garish. I guess her folks have to convince themselves they cared just a little, eh?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± Jude said ungraciously. He turned and started to walk down the path.

    ¡°See you,¡± Sophia said to Felicity. She hurried after Jude, tugging at his sleeve when she finally caught up with him. ¡°Hey, slow down.¡±

    ¡°I just need to put as much space between me and her as possible.¡±

    ¡°How do you know Felicity?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s always been a bit of a shit to me. When I was younger, she¡¯d use her power on me and get me all worked up until my own ability would go haywire. I would disappear and reappear all day long. It was exhausting and it made me feel sick. But she thought it was funny. Anyway, I¡¯m surprised you could stand to even talk to her. Wasn¡¯t she involved in your mom¡¯s death?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Sophia said slowly. ¡°And believe me, every shitty thought you have about her is justified. But lately I¡­I dunno. It¡¯s such a waste of energy being mad at someone like her.¡±

    ¡°Someone like her?¡± he repeated, frowning.

    ¡°Yeah. Someone who¡¯s already so miserable.¡±

    ¡°Miserable? She practically owns this fucking place. I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll inherit it once her old man goes. Jesus, there¡¯s a thought. I¡¯ll have to make sure I¡¯m dead or at least mortally wounded by then¡­¡±

    Sophia was silent as he ranted. She thought about the flashes of Felicity that she¡¯d seen in the memories of the others:  the child staring forlornly through the barred window, the frightened girl helping Val escape the labyrinth of hallways. That lost child still stared out of Felicity¡¯s eyes. It was hard to hate her anymore.

    ***

    As the days passed, Val¡¯s death became a heavy chain around Sophia¡¯s heart. She spent more than a few restless nights dreaming of her friend¡¯s face. She rarely had that awful dream about the three blurry faces anymore, but it had been replaced by something equally unsettling: she was in a blank white space, all alone, and Val was standing in the distance. She would run towards her, but no matter how long or fast she ran, she never got any closer. The grief grew suffocating; it became almost a bodily necessity to release it, and she found herself turning once more to her therapy journal. When she opened it for the first time in months, she saw the letter she¡¯d penned to Sybill feverishly scrawled upon the first page. She turned to a new one and began to write.

    Dear Val,,

    today was family day. i was surprised to get a visit from Reynolds. he came up to the meadow lobby and sat next to me and asked how i was doing. what a fucking loaded question that¡¯s become. i lied and said fine and he didn¡¯t look like he bought it but he was nice enough not to push me. we got to reminiscing about mom, which was a topic I was surprisingly okay with discussing. he has a lot of stories about her. i wonder why i never saw more of him growing up. they seemed like really good friends. he tells me i look just like her except for my hands. ¡°Evie¡¯s were rather thin and petite,¡± he said. i¡¯m not sure how to take that. does that mean mine are big and fat? Haha. but I like hearing things like that. it makes mom feel close again.

    Jude¡¯s dad came to see him too. i watched Jude walk him around the room and point at things. i wonder if he was giving him a tour. ¡°and here on the mantle, father, is a shitty vase full of dead lawn scraps from outside.¡± ¡°¡®wonderful. so glad to see where my money is going, son.¡±  i don¡¯t know why Hazel thought bringing in evergreen branches would make things better. it just makes the whole place smell like a cheap christmas candle. it makes my eyes water. i remember the year my mom finally gave up and forked it over for a fake tree. it smelled like plastic and when  me and Sybill  pointed that out she told us to shut the hell up and drink our egg nog. god i miss her so much sometimes.  i miss you too Val. i¡¯m glad you were all zen about your death and everything but i can¡¯t be so blas¨¦ about it. i miss you so much. i don¡¯t have anywhere to put this pain, not really. it¡¯s like a big hole has opened up in my chest, and it just keeps pulling more of me inside it.

    Dear Val,

    i don¡¯t go to the cafeteria anymore for meals. why bother? i didn¡¯t know anybody but you and Jude rarely came to eat with us anyway. i¡¯m not sure when he takes his meals these days, but it¡¯s not with me. i¡¯ve been sneaking out to the cemetery. Larry will rue the day he showed me how to get there. the garden is beautiful these days and i wish you were here to see it, rather than buried under it. i don¡¯t see much of Jude. he must visit you on his own time. i don¡¯t see much of him anywhere, actually. he¡¯s stopped coming to the meadow lobby during free period. i think it¡¯s just too painful for us to be around each other now, because we can both sense what¡¯s missing. i love you and miss you.

    Dear Val,

    Larry caught me in the garden today but said he wouldn¡¯t tell anyone as long as i promised not to stay too long, and made sure i didn¡¯t skip any mastery sessions or meditations in the sanctuary. maybe he figures i need a fucking break because everyone around me is always fucking dying. anyway, i¡¯m glad he let me stay. it¡¯s the only place where i don¡¯t feel stifled. time doesn¡¯t seem to matter there. everything is so quiet and the pain inside me grows stagnant, and for a second---just a second---i feel like myself again.

    Dear Val,

    nasty slew of nightmares lately. i haven¡¯t been sleeping well. i told Hazel about it in therapy and she gave me some sleeping pills but i¡¯m afraid to take them. i¡¯ve been really out of it in my mastery sessions. Clara ripped me a new one the other day for being lazy and ¡°wasting time she could be spending on someone who gives a damn.¡± when I apologized and said it was because i wasn¡¯t sleeping, she just said, ¡°i believe Hazel is paid to care about those things. I¡¯m not. try again.¡± her face puckered up in that awful way that always makes her look like a butthole. it¡¯s fitting---though an insulting thing to say about any anus. i¡¯d like to make a blanket apology to them here and now.

    snowing a lot today. i went out and hurled some snowballs at a couple of defenseless squirrels. it felt good.

    Dear Val,

    i¡¯ve had three dreams now of a purple flowered room. am I just dreaming about the memories i¡¯ve absorbed, or was I taken there before? it seemed so vivid. the dreams are always just of me sitting on the bed and staring at that purple wallpaper. i don¡¯t look unhappy or scared, just bored. i wish i could ask someone about it. i wish mom was here to tell me about---everything. Reynolds surprised me today by visiting my room and giving me an old notebook of hers. it has all these theorems and notes about her work. most of it makes no sense but looking at her handwriting makes me feel so comforted that i¡¯ve started sleeping with it under my pillow. Reynolds said there¡¯s a whole box of her stuff he got from the house after she died. he said he¡¯ll show it to me someday.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Oh and Jude came to visit me today in the lobby. we didn¡¯t say much, but we left your seat by the fire open.

    Dear Val,

    there were a couple women wandering around the lobby today who looked like hitmen (ladies?) or something, i swear. one was in a pencil skirt and stiff black blazer, with black sunglasses, her blonde hair chopped off at the chin. the other looked older, her dark hair streaked with grey, and she was wearing a tan pantsuit. the blonde talked to Hazel for a while at the front desk in the lobby, while the older one strolled around talking to residents at random. they were there for about twenty minutes before they were finally led out of the room by Larry. ¡°who were those women?¡± i asked Hazel as soon as they were gone. ¡°oh nobody,¡± she said with an unconvincing smile plastered on her face. ¡°Just the plumbers.¡± ¡°really? Those women were here to fix the shitter?¡± i said. ¡°they didn¡¯t look dressed for the job.¡± ¡°go  sit over there, Sophia,¡± Hazel said with a sudden chill in her voice. she turned away from me and made a show of shuffling papers, so i let it drop. i wonder if those women are going to all the floors or if they were just scoping out mine? maybe they really were just here for the shitter.

    Dear Val,

    my projection has gotten really good these days. i¡¯ve been doing it every night for as long as i can because i¡¯m afraid to sleep anymore, and i don¡¯t wanna brag, Val, but it¡¯s really paid off. i can do it now without breaking a sweat---though i still get a little bit of a headache. i¡¯ve also discovered a neat new trick. I can make my projections talk now. i mean, not really, but i can project thoughts into a person¡¯s mind while they¡¯re looking at the projection (it¡¯s like i open a channel from my consciousness to theirs, i¡¯m not sure how that can work and obviously i can''t ask anyone about it because i¡¯m not supposed to even be doing this, but it¡¯s super cool), so it¡¯s like they¡¯re talking to a cool ass hologram or something. at least, that¡¯s what I¡¯ve gathered from what Jude has said. he¡¯s the only person i¡¯ve officially practiced on, but if i can do it with him i don¡¯t see why it wouldn¡¯t work with anyone else. the first time we did it, i projected into his room long after it was lights out so we wouldn¡¯t get caught. i used Hazel¡¯s likeness, and i tried to telepathically ask him how it looked. on the first few tries I got nothing back. but then on the third I thought I caught a whisper of his telepathic answer. after a few more tries, I got all of it: ¡°yeah, it¡¯s working. now shut up and let me go to sleep.¡± we¡¯ve done it a few other times since then and i¡¯m pretty smug about my progress. you would have been so pumped, and we would¡¯ve stayed up too late talking all the time.

    Jude keeps bugging me to practice recollection reparation on him.  i told him he was a fucking maniac and to drop it. i know he just wants to help his brother, but i don¡¯t think he gets how much i could fuck his brain up. i wonder if he even cares at this point. i feel like when i¡¯m in pain i curl inward, whereas Jude¡¯s pain gels into anger and indifference. it worries me. i hope he doesn¡¯t do something stupid. But sometimes i forget how much he¡¯s lost too. i get so wrapped up in my own head that i forget the fact that his parents abandoned him here, that his brother is a vegetable, and that his closest friend is dead. he¡¯s just as alone as i am. i wonder if everyone at this place is alone.

    Dear Val,

    i went up to the lavender ward today on my free period. i got restless and sick of the same old scenery down on my own floor---and also of Hazel shooting me simpering ¡°you-can-talk-to-me-whenever-you-like¡± looks from across the room. Val, I regret to inform you that your old lobby is an affront to the senses these days. it¡¯s barely spring yet but the staff here has jumped the gun and everything is decked out in the gaudiest way you can imagine: plastic bumblebees dangling from the ceiling, every spare surface covered with lime green cloth, plastic knickknacks of flowers and birds crowding the mantle and the front desk. The whole room looks like the inside of a tacky greeting card. my floor is even worse because Hazel is the one in charge of decorating it and she went for a ¡°magical in the woods¡± kinda vibe. it looks like the Keebler elves vomited everywhere.

    i stood there recovering from the d¨¦cor for a few seconds before I saw Jude waving me over from across the room. he was sitting on the window seat. ¡°i was just about to throw myself out this window,¡± he said, gesturing at the glass. ¡°care to join me?¡± ¡°it looks awful in here,¡± i said, sitting next to him. ¡°did you see the mold-green cupcakes? they brought a bunch of trays out earlier and we all had to join hands and sing before taking one.¡± ¡°you sang?¡± i said, unable to restrain a grin. ¡°hell no. i stole a cupcake while everybody else was.¡± then he asked me how my projection was going. i told him i was taking a break for a bit, and then i asked him if he¡¯d seen any weird visitors lately, and he said yes actually, two weird chicks stalking the lobby the other day looking like they were sniffing out a serial killer. i told him I¡¯d seen them too, and we swapped theories about who they might be. the most realistic idea was that maybe they were cops---or lawyers. and neither option really boded all that well, so we let it drop. then i asked about Simon---and then we were silent.

    after a few minutes i noticed our hands had found each other; he stroked my knuckles with his thumb as he stared across the room at a horse-faced girl who was meticulously going through the candy bowl full of green jellybeans. we never talk much about you, Val. i don¡¯t know if we know how. finally, Jude asked me if i still was interested in getting books about Project Camilla from the third floor. it took me a second to remember what he was talking about.  ¡°yeah, eventually,¡± i said, a little taken aback. ¡°i just figured now wasn¡¯t the time.¡± ¡°no time like the present,¡± he said. i looked at him, frowning, and he leaned forward and mumbled: ¡°i could use the distraction.¡± i swallowed a lump in my throat and nodded. ¡°i get that.¡± ¡°just give me a call when you can,¡± he said, tapping the side of his head and grinning. ¡°in that special way of yours.¡± i promised i would and stood up to go, releasing his hand. i walked back to my room, feeling the sting of my empty palm. i wish i could¡¯ve sat there longer. but it¡¯s hard being around Jude these days for a long period of time. because when we¡¯re together, it just reminds me of who¡¯s missing.

    Dear Val,

    please kill me. Hazel found out i¡¯ve been journaling and her glee was unbearable. ¡°let me know if you need another, hmm?¡± she chirped, bouncing on her big ass---sorry but it¡¯s true, that thing looks like someone glued a couple of watermelons together--- and clapping her hands together. ¡°i¡¯m fine with just the one,¡± i grunted. she just sat there flashing me her mouthful of sugar cube teeth. i wonder if my urge to punch her in the face is entirely rational. Like, okay, maybe it¡¯s a bit overboard. but she¡¯s so annoying. Jude says it¡¯s because she talks AT you and not TO you. i think she talks DOWN to you. whatever it is, all i do know is that the single hour i spend with her in therapy every day feels like a fucking year.

    i went out to the garden again today. i saw a rose that was encrusted with frost and staring at it put me in a meditative mindset, like if I focused on this single spot of beauty, the chaos inside me would freeze for just a moment.

    Dee calls those kinds of moments ¡°quieting the monkey mind.¡± my ¡°sits¡± in the Sanctum lately have been pretty exhausting. every time i close my eyes and try to count my breaths, my mind immediately begins to scream. every crevice is filled with images of Sybill and Mom and you. it¡¯s like pieces of the same corpse keep floating up from the bottom of a lake, popping up on the black surface, scattering ripples that seem to go on forever. so much grief and anger bubbles up inside me that on more than one occasion, i¡¯ve had to gnash my teeth together and stick my fist in my mouth to prevent myself from screaming with rage. Dee has noticed (she probably could hear me grunting from across the room) and told me i would never heal with that attitude. so i asked her how long this whole letting go thing should take. she said i had to learn to forgive. i asked how long THAT should take. she  just smiled at me---she has a smile that makes her look higher than a kite---and said if i had to ask, that meant i hadn¡¯t even started. that was probably a very zen answer, but i couldn¡¯t help but feel like she was just blowing smoke out her ass. Hazel says we don¡¯t forgive for other people; we forgive for ourselves. that¡¯s why you can forgive someone without them even apologizing or knowing about it. you have to choose to do that for yourself. i guess i haven¡¯t chosen yet. or you know, maybe Hazel is full of shit.

    Dear Val,

    those women came by again today; this time i saw them talking outside the cafeteria to Reynolds. i was passing in the hall and must¡¯ve stopped and stared too long, because suddenly the doctor looked up and saw me. the two women turned and looked at me too. i felt my ears getting hot. ¡°carry on, Sophia,¡± said Reynolds. i hurried past them, ducking my head. one of the women said something and i heard Reynolds say, ¡°No one, just one of our residents, a sweet girl really¡­¡±

    those women are definitely cops. as I went by, one of them put her hand on her hip, drawing back the hem of her blazer, and i saw the gleam of a silver badge. is this about the purple room or something else? should I try to talk to them? then again, what would I even say? ¡°excuse me officers, I suspect this institute is guilty of medical malpractice and murder.¡± ¡°why, what¡¯s your evidence, young lady?¡± ¡°oh, it¡¯s rock solid, don¡¯t worry. i eat memories and i read my friend¡¯s mind and saw some sketchy things in there.¡± yeah, that¡¯d hold up in a court of law. and totally not get my ass committed.

    Dear Val,

    they brought Simon to my mastery session yesterday. it took me a second to realize it was him lying on the bed. immediately I felt all these hard balls of dread gather in my chest and then drop into the pit of my gut. i turned to Clara and said, ¡°i¡¯m not comfortable working on this kid again.¡± ¡°if you don¡¯t take him, you¡¯ll get nothing,¡± Clara said, her smile vanishing. ¡°fine,¡± i said, shrugging. ¡°i¡¯ll fast tonight. It¡¯s around Lent anyway.¡± she pursed her lips and pointed to the door. i walked out without another word. of course i regretted my decision come nighttime, when my stomach started to growl.

    can you travel around at all as a spirit, Val? Sometimes i think i can feel you standing over me when i write these entries. Maybe i¡¯m just missing you too much and imagining stuff.

    Dear Val,

    i¡¯ve discovered another new ability! very much by accident. for a change. clara was a huge bitch today and when i got back from my mastery sessions, i sat down on my head and glared at my bookshelf for a while. i was waiting to cool down, and as i sat there entertaining thoughts of revenge, my whole bookcase suddenly lifted a few inches off the ground and then fell back down with a crash. when it went over to inspect it, it was pretty undamaged. just a little scratched. so then out of curiosity i turned and looked at one of the pillows on my bed and thought of Clara¡¯s face and how marvelous it would feel to see it crushed beneath a semi-truck. the pillow sprang into the air and flew across the room. after a few seconds, i looked down at the pillow on the floor and thought about it returning to the bed. it obediently rose into the air and floated over. Val, it was awesome. i can¡¯t wait to play around with this.

    Dear Val,

    i think i can only move objects around when i¡¯m mad or something. i keep trying to make stuff float again and it only works when i¡¯m pissed off. i might be able to do it if i got super focused but anger seems like a short cut, and i guess i definitely have plenty of that. i made my pillows dance through the air today by just thinking about Sybill¡¯s face. the other day i got my desk to fly back because i was annoyed at Hazel. it¡¯s like wielding a cosmic fist or something.

    Dear Val,

    i saw Jack today. believe it or not he was strolling around the cafeteria like anyone else. as you know, i don¡¯t normally go to the caf anymore but i went today because I was meeting Larry there. he was gonna take me to the cemetery to see you. he still insists on taking me there ¡°officially,¡± even he knows i go there by myself all the time at night. anyway, i was sitting at a table alone and i looked up and saw Jack. before i could look away or leave, he came strolling over. ¡°hi darling,¡± he said, draping himself in the seat across from me.  i started to get up without answering, but then he said: ¡°i have a question for you. you remember the Coppula brothers, i¡¯m sure? you¡¯re sister beat one of them to death.¡¯¡¯ i didn¡¯t say anything and he went on, smiling (did i ever tell you how red his mouth is? it¡¯s like he¡¯s always drinking blood or something, it¡¯s super creepy). ¡°the other one who had an accident while tracking me and Felicity down. Francis. you were involved in his death right?¡± ¡°i wasn¡¯t,¡± i snapped. ¡°i just came to collect his memories after he died.¡± Jack just looked at me for the longest time. i swear to god it looked like he was trying to decide whether or not he was gonna kill me. then he said: ¡°you saw who killed him?¡± ¡°who said anyone killed him?¡± i said, and i got another horrible red-lipped smile. ¡°that¡¯s what ¡®had an accident ¡¯ means in Francis¡¯ profession.¡± he stood up. ¡°thanks for the chat, love. don¡¯t be a stranger now.¡± he strolled back across the caf towards a stern-looking nurse. i don¡¯t know what he wanted to know, but the fact that he seemed satisfied at the end of that conversation worries me.

    Dear Val,

    i had a weird and terrifying experience in the library today. i was trying to find a book in one of the aisles and suddenly i heard footsteps behind me. when i turned i saw Felicity standing there, and i could tell right away that something was off about her. one of her eyelids was drooping and she was swaying a little from side to side. ¡°i thought that was you,¡± she said. her voice was slurred and she was breathing really hard, like she had just run up the steps. ¡°i thought i took care of you, bitch.¡± i took a few steps away from her, but she moved towards me, her steps uneven and her face twisted with a hatred i had never seen before. ¡°get out, go away.¡± ¡°Felicity, what¡¯s wrong?¡± i said. i wondered if i should make break for it because she looked like she was going to strangle me. ¡°it¡¯s all your fault,¡± she said, panting. ¡°you ruined everything.¡± i told her i didn¡¯t know what she was talking about, but then she flew at me and began to hit me, screaming. ¡°you fucking bitch! you ruined our lives!¡±  i held my arms up to shield my face from her fists, and then all of a sudden, the rage left her face. she squinted down at me like she was seeing me for the first time. then she let out a high-pitched laugh. ¡°why me? why wasn¡¯t it you instead? Jesus, you look just like her.¡± there was some shouting and then two nurses came running around the corner. they grabbed Felicity and put her in a headlock, and she didn¡¯t even fight them, she just hung there in their arms like a limp doll. they apologized and said she was having a strong reaction to some new drugs. then they checked me over for cuts and told me to go to the infirmary for a full exam. i didn¡¯t.  i went to my room instead.

    i thought about what had happened for hours. i remembered what Felicity had said before in the garden about how her parents would fight over my mother. i have an idea in my head, Val. i wish you were here to tell me that i¡¯m being paranoid. because i have the horrible feeling, deep down in my stomach, that it¡¯s more than just an idea, and it makes me feel sick.

    i never knew my father. mom told me he died a long time ago. but maybe he¡¯s a lot closer than i ever thought he was. and maybe mom had a really good reason for never letting me meet him.

 The Morgue

    Spring came to the Institute. Fresh grass grew in gleaming emerald sheets over the bare hills, and the trees swelled with blossoms. Sophia normally liked spring, but this year the warm weather only exacerbated her feelings of ennui. The question of whether or not Doctor Benjamin Reynolds was her father ate away at her. She knew she could simply ask him, and that he would most likely tell her the truth. But she was afraid to hear it, because if he was, it meant that her mother had been an adulteress and a liar. She couldn¡¯t bear the thought, not on top of everything else she was dealing with at the moment. She didn¡¯t even voice her suspicions to Jude. That would make it real and she wanted it to stay in her head, where she could deny it for just a little longer.

    She couldn¡¯t sleep anymore. Every night was a struggle to just breathe, and one breezy night in mid-April, she decided she had to get out of her room, away from this horrible feeling of suffocation. She had to walk around, even if it was only a stroll around these sterile fluorescent halls. She rifled around in her drawer until she found her bobby pin. Then she went over to the door and got to work on the lock. After a few minutes  heard a click and the door popped open. She slipped out, closing it gently behind her.

    She sauntered around the dark and empty corridors, lightly tracing the walls with her fingertips. Eventually she found her way to the empty Meadow Lobby, and after standing there for a few seconds, looking around at the shadows, she realized there was someone sitting in one of the chairs by the fire. She froze.

    ¡°Hi honey,¡± Felicity  said.

    Sophia hesitated, then went over and sat in the chair across from her.

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be at Sybill¡¯s grave.¡±

    ¡°Not tonight.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t seem to get away from you, no matter how hard I try,¡± Felicity said teasingly. ¡°This must be fate.¡±

    ¡°Or my shit luck.¡±

    ¡°Those claws never go in. Did you pick that up from Sybill?¡±

    ¡°Not really. I just don¡¯t like you very much.¡±

    ¡°Rude.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I guess you¡¯re right. I have no real reason to dislike you or anything.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how many times I need to apologize---¡±

    ¡°I mean, just once would be great.¡±

    Felicity stared at her, blinking. Then she averted her gaze and scowled at the wall, chewing her thumb. Sophia looked at her for a long time, trying to find any similarities in their faces. Their eyebrows were shaped the same, but other than that, they didn¡¯t really look alike. Could they really be half-siblings?

    ¡°You have a brother, right?¡± she said slowly.

    ¡°What?¡± Felicity looked up. ¡°Why do you care?¡±

    Because he might be my fucking brother too.

    ¡°Just curious. You have any pictures of him? He¡¯s a cop, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. His name¡¯s Nate.¡± Felicity¡¯s face softened when she said his name. Her hand slipped into her pocket. ¡°I carry this one around. It makes me feel safe.¡±

    She held out a small photo of the young man Sophia had seen in Sybill¡¯s memories. She took a moment to memorize every detail of Nathaniel Reynolds¡¯ face, every curve of jaw and cheek, his smile, the way his hair tumbled into his eyes, his hunched shoulders.

    ¡°He looks just like you,¡± she said.

    Felicity re-pocketed the photo and smiled. ¡°You think?¡±

    ¡°Felicity¡­¡±

    ¡°What now?¡±

    Sophia felt her heart pounding against her throat. ¡°You said my mom caused a lot of fights at your house.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Was that because my mom and your dad---¡±

    The words caught in her throat and strangled her. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to voice aloud the hideous reality that she saw confirmed on Felicity¡¯s face. A long silence lapsed. Then Felicity gave an odd laugh and said:

    ¡°Do you know what¡¯s in Dad¡¯s locket?¡±

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°No,¡± Sophia answered, confused. ¡°Should I?¡±

    That odd laugh again.

    ¡°You should ask him some time,¡± Felicity said with a smile that gnarled her face.

    ***

    A few nights later, Sophia was pacing the floor of her bedroom, unable to sleep, her mind buzzing. She was so deep inside the well of her own thoughts that it took a while for her to notice that a commotion was happening outside her door. Footsteps were pounding down the hallway. There was a loud banging and someone was shouting, their voice high-pitched and frantic. She went to her door and pressed her ear against it, straining to hear.

    ¡°¡­downstairs! Head him off!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s by the stairwell!¡±

    ¡°Jack, don¡¯t!¡±

    It was strange to think that she was in a building full of superpowered freaks---herself included---and yet that one name could strike such terror in her heart. It felt like someone just announced that they had released a giant anaconda into the hallways. Fear pooled in her stomach and froze her lungs. She swallowed and was about to back away from the door when she heard something even worse:

    ¡°There---she¡¯s there! Miss Reynolds, don---FUCK!¡±

    She didn¡¯t recognize the voice of the person shouting. She assumed it was one of the nurses. But Miss Reynolds? Were Felicity and Jack making another break for it? Somehow she didn¡¯t think so. This felt like something else.

    There was a blood-curdling scream that made Sophia¡¯s heart go cold. More frantic footsteps and door slamming. Was that Felicity? Was she in trouble? A storm of conflicting emotions swirled inside of her. She had no strong feelings for her other than pity and hatred. Still, if something was happening to her---they were sisters---she couldn¡¯t---

    The scream came again, shattering the air like falling broken glass.

    Sophia ran across her room and found her bobby pin. She bent and picked the lock, her fingers trembling and slick with sweat. It took a little longer, but finally the door cracked open and she peeked out into the hallway. The noises were coming from somewhere around the corner, in the direction of the Meadow Ward lobby. Sophia fled soundlessly down the hall. She groped in her mind for Felicity¡¯s mental signal, running around the corner, gasping for air until her lungs burned. Suddenly her mind was full of something that sounded like static, it made her eyeballs throb in her head, and then a single word tore out, like a shriek in the dark: HELP.

    Sophia seized hold of the desperate signal and followed it into the lobby, coming to a skittering halt behind a fake plant as she bent over with her hands on her knees, panting. It took a moment for her head to stop swimming and her vision to clear. She lifted her gaze and stared through the fake leaves, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark room, she saw shapes moving in the darkness.

    A terrible sense of foreboding poured like thick syrup into her stomach.

    ¡°This will be easier if you don¡¯t run.¡± Jack¡¯s voice was very gentle, like he was trying to coax a baby out of its crib.

    ¡°Get back,¡± Felicity snarled. Her voice sounded brave, but her face looked pale and sweaty, even in the darkness. ¡°What the hell is wrong with you, Jack? Why are you doing this?¡±

    ¡°You lied to me, Fifi.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°About Francis. I asked you about him ages ago, remember?¡±

    ¡°W-Wait, I----¡±

    ¡°The thing that really hurts me is that you didn¡¯t even have to do it.¡±

    ¡°Jack---¡±

    ¡°You took something from me so I think it¡¯s only fair that I return the favor. Cosmic justice and all that.¡±

    ¡° I-I don¡¯t get it. Why does it matter how Francis died?¡±

    Jack stopped walking and cocked his head. Even in the dimness of the room, Sophia saw a horrifying smile spread across his face. His usual languid mask was cracked by the twisted, feral lips of a wild animal, and Sophia knew before she even cried out that it was too late.

    ¡°Felicity--!¡± she shouted, just as Jack sprang at her sister with the agility of a frog.

    He caught her in his arms. Felicity thrashed for just a moment, screaming something Sophia couldn¡¯t hear. Then her whole body gave a violent jerk and she grew slack in his embrace. Jack cradled her like she was a baby, rocking her back and forth as he whispered soothingly into her ear.  Coils of red began to rise off his skin like smoke. The strange substance twisted in the air, waving like the banners of a hellish army before swelling into an umbrella which loomed over the whole room. Felicity¡¯s body began to shrink and wither. Jack¡¯s face filled with an expression of orgasmic joy.

    Sophia planted her feet firmly on the ground and punched towards Jack with her cosmic fist.

    The impact tore Felicity¡¯s limp body from his hands. He was flung backward, his breathless, high-pitched laughter ricocheting off the walls. There was an explosion of crimson light. Sophia waited for her flesh to be incinerated, but she blinked and found herself in a dimly lit unfamiliar room instead. She looked around, her brain scrambling to process what had just happened. It was cold---aggressively cold. She felt goosebumps exploding up her arms, and her breath misted in front of her eyes. The walls were lined with what looked like shiny metal cabinets. Then her eyes fell on a gurney in front of her. On top of it was a body covered by a sheet.

    She was in a morgue. No sooner had she processed this hideous fact than a familiar drawl echo off the walls:

    ¡°Oh, dear. I¡¯m sorry, love, I¡¯ll fix it. Just lend me a little Time, hm? I¡¯ll get us out of here¡­¡±

    Jack¡¯s voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. He sounded out of breath and his words were slurring. Sophia hurried down a semi-dark corridor, trying to be as quiet as possible.

    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll be gentle¡­¡±

    She could hear his footsteps dragging on the white tiles. They sounded unsteady. He had glutted himself, she realized. Time had been ripped out of him just as suddenly and greedily as it had been consumed. That was good. If he was weak and slow, she might be able to outrun him---

    A cold hand touched the back of her neck.

    ¡°Found you,¡± he whispered in her ear.

    Sophia screamed and sprang away, tearing herself out of his grip as she stumbled back into a gurney. Her heart plummeted when she realized it wasn¡¯t empty; the white sheet slid down and she found herself staring down at the exposed face of a corpse.

    It was her mother.

    Everything went suffocatingly silent and she couldn¡¯t breathe. She felt like she had been submerged in water. Sophia continued to stare down at that bloated pale face for an endless eternity until someone finally grabbed her arm and dragged her away. When the dim echoes of sound returned, she realized someone was screaming. A moment later she realized it was her.

 Cocktails

    Sophia blinked. Her vision sharpened. She was staring down at her feet, which were resting on a plush red carpet. She slowly raised her head, her brain pounding sluggishly back to life as it emerged from a thick fog of shock. A hulky shape was sitting behind the desk directly in front of her.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Doctor Reynolds asked softly. The sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne---a sharp and minty odor---hit her with the force of a runaway semitruck. Dad? The word hung thickly on her tongue and she couldn¡¯t get it out. She didn¡¯t want to get it out. Thinking of her dad made her think of her mom---that bloated horrible face. Sophia¡¯s eyes stung with tears. She felt sick to her stomach.

    ¡°Jack,¡± she croaked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. He¡¯s been restrained.¡±

    ¡°What about Felicity?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s in the infirmary. Try to relax, my dear. You hit your head.¡±

    ¡°She might need another dose,¡± said a familiar voice that raked on Sophia¡¯s ears like rusty knives. Clara. A spark of anger flared in her stomach, overtaking the fear and the nausea.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she snapped.

    ¡°Manners,¡± Clara said coolly.

    Doctor Reynolds leaned back in his chair and surveyed Sophia with cold, glittering eyes.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want this meeting to be unpleasant, Sophia.¡±

    ¡°Really? Because that seems pretty fucking unavoidable, doc.¡±

    He looked at her politely, his eyes as watchful as a crocodile¡¯s. ¡°Ask me anything you like. I will hide nothing from you.

    The first obvious question that came to mind was why the flying fuck he had her mother¡¯s corpse locked up in this place? But she couldn¡¯t bring herself to ask about that now. She groped desperately for something else.

    ¡°What exactly is Project Camilla?¡± she demanded.

    He answered readily. ¡°The Project is a government-funded rehabilitation program aimed at improving the mental health and stability of prison inmates. It has an extremely high success rate. We¡¯re quite proud of it.¡±

    ¡°Who runs it?¡±

    ¡°We have a variety of Adroit employees working there. However, the large majority of the organization is--¡±

    ¡°Sorry, what? Adroit?¡±

    ¡°Ah, forgive me. That is the common term used to refer to people who have abilities that function correctly. You would not have heard that word here.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you mean the ¡®normal¡¯ mutants?¡± Sophia asked scathingly.

    ¡°Correct.¡± Doctor Reynolds¡¯ smile was decidedly cold. ¡°But as I was trying to say, most of Project Camilla is run by Telepaths since our main goal is to heal the minds of the felons enlisted in our program.¡±

    ¡°Using recollection reparation?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s all the Project does? A bunch of mutant shrinks deep dive into criminal minds and try not to lose their own sanity on the way down?¡±

    ¡°For the most part. The rest of the resources at the organization are spent on...research.¡±

    Sophia took a deep breath. ¡°So where is this organization located?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my dear. That¡¯s classified.¡±

    Sophia glared at him. ¡°Okay, then can you tell me if the Project is somehow connected to this Institute?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°They¡¯re sister programs. Project Camilla focuses on research and rehabilitation, whereas the Reynolds Institution oversees the business of quarantine.¡±

    The next question was out of her mouth before she could consider the fact that she might not want to know the answer:

    ¡°Why have you been feeding me the Basement residents?¡±

    ¡°Is there any reason I shouldn¡¯t? Based on Doctor Vendra¡¯s reports, I got the impression you were more than up to the task.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what bothers me.¡±

    ¡°Enlighten me, my dear.¡±

    ¡°Those people have memories that seem pretty fucking incriminating, doc. Why would you want me to see them?¡±

    Sophia¡¯s gut clenched with apprehension as Reynolds rose from his chair and began to pace behind his desk.

    ¡°I had really hoped to tell you all of this at a much later date. But you¡¯re too smart for your own good. Just like your mother.¡±

    He smiled at her. Sophia heard Clara make a noise in her throat, and she glanced over. The doctor¡¯s mouth was twisting like she¡¯d tasted something sour. She saw Sophia looking at her and raised her eyebrows. Sophia looked back at Reynolds, scowling.

    ¡°The children in the Basement Complex are very important to me,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Back then---I mean before this Institute was birthed and we were all part of Project Camilla---I was surrounded by Adroits every day and yet I never wondered how their abilities worked, or considered the idea that their powers might pass on to offspring. That changed when one of the Project¡¯s employees started to notice that her daughter was displaying some telepathic abilities. We ran some tests on the girl and found she had a latent gene which possessed powers similar to her mother¡¯s. Naturally, we began to wonder if the children of other Adroit employees displayed similar genes. We ran tests on these children as well and found the exact same results---though with an interesting twist. Not all of them were showing signs of power. Even though they had the gene, many of them did not seem capable of any abilities whatsoever. So we wondered further: could these latent genes in the children be accelerated? Was it possible to give them these gifts, to help them reach their potential?  I started a new research department at the Project and began to experiment on these children.¡± He saw the look of horror on Sophia¡¯s face and said quickly: ¡°The parents consented to all of the treatments. I assure you it was perfectly safe.¡±

    Sophia glared at him. ¡°Yeah? Well it looks like your experiments worked. You must¡¯ve felt really proud of yourselves, thrown a big fucking party and everything.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Language,¡± Clara growled. Reynolds waved his hand dismissively and went on:

    ¡°They did work, but not in the way we expected. You see, my dear, every resident at this Institute is actually a child of Project Camilla. As we continued to perfect the gene acceleration, we had truly stupendous results. But there were also errors---as there are in any scientific undertaking. Many children manifested their abilities in a way that was destructive. We tried to reverse the effects when we saw this occurring, but once the gene was activated, it couldn¡¯t be subdued again. Whenever those instances occurred, we isolated the Defective patient by transferring them to a new facility.¡±

    He spread his arms wide and gestured around them, a proud smile oozing across his face. There wasn¡¯t a trace of jest or regret in his words. Sophia felt like someone had thrust a fist into her stomach.

    ¡°So all that stuff you said before about us being born ¡®flawed¡¯ was horseshit,¡± she said hoarsely. ¡°We weren¡¯t born broken. You¡¯ve made us that way.¡±

    ¡°As I said, there were errors---¡±

    Sophia didn¡¯t give two farts and a flying fuck about his errors or his quasi-scientific bullshit. It all seemed to boil down to him just wanting to play with bodies that weren¡¯t his to play with. She was incinerated in the bonfires of a white-hot rage.

    ¡°You¡¯re crazy.¡±

    Clara reached for something in her pocket, but Reynolds raised his hand, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Sophia¡¯s face.

    ¡°You shoved two little boys into a fucking fridge like they were fucking Christmas hams!¡± Sophia snarled. ¡°You stuck all those kids with needles---your own daughter---and let those goddamned Coppulas make them cry and lock them up and---you sit there and---like it¡¯s nothing---you---¡±

    Her words ended in an angry splutter. Her face was red, her blood was boiling. The doctor regarded her coolly. There was no kindness in his eyes; they rested like flat coins beneath his bushy brows.

    ¡°I would hate for you to misunderstand, Sophia,¡± he said softly. ¡°The children in the Basement Complex are not mere guinea pigs. I need them. They are crucial to the development of my latest venture. However, as you have already noticed, their memories have become a liability. There was a time when we could work with them in peace, but the Institute has attracted some bothersome attention in the last couple years. That¡¯s where you come in, my dear. And you have performed your role marvelously. You absorb the memories of these Basement residents, gaining the nourishment you need, and they cease to become a risk. I can¡¯t have them getting too chatty with any snooping police. They can¡¯t talk about what they don¡¯t remember, hm? It¡¯s a rather tidy solution, if I do say so myself.¡±

    ¡°What ¡®venture¡¯ do you need the Basement residents for? And why make me a part of it? You have other people like me here, right? Why make me do your dirty work?¡±

    Reynolds put his fingertips together and frowned. When he spoke, it was like each word weighed him down.

    ¡°You are the only Defective Telepath we currently have at the facility, Sophia. And at the beginning, I had no intention of exposing you to the Basement residents. I supposed you would merely get your nourishment from our comatose infirmity patients.¡± He looked at her pleadingly. ¡°Sophia. I must emphasize this. I desired with all my heart to honor your mother¡¯s wishes and be a good guardian. I wanted nothing other than to take care of you and help you integrate your powers.¡±

    ¡°At---at the beginning?¡± Sophia repeated nervously.

    Reynolds sat back down in his chair, sighing heavily.

    ¡°The visits from law enforcement were becoming more frequent. I was increasingly anxious about how to handle it. Then Clara started to bring me her reports about your Sessions. You possessed abilities that we hadn¡¯t seen in any Defective Telepath. For almost a decade, the only power your kind manifested was memory digestion. Some of them could move objects with their mind, but usually that was an accident, and under emotional duress. But you were different. You had taught yourself projection and were even making strides in telepathic communication. Yes¡±---he laughed softly when Sophia made a startled movement¡ª¡°Clara noticed. She said she felt you slip into her mind during one of your sessions.¡±

    ¡°But non-Defective Telepaths can do everything I¡¯m doing¡ªand probably do it better. And you just said that a bunch of them work for the Project. Why not get them to help you?¡±

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t want them to help me,¡± Reynolds said, his voice still very soft. ¡°I want you.¡±

    A terrifying thought flared up inside of her. The only reason they would let her see memories that incriminated the Institute would be if they didn¡¯t plan on letting her live afterwards. A blaze of panic tore through her, and with it came a rush of power so strong she didn¡¯t hesitate; she turned and locked eyes with Clara. The doctor was startled; she had no time to resist. Sophia dove straight into the wells of her mind and scooped out the information she needed before Clara even realized what was happening.

    Reynolds was harvesting the powers of the Basement kids to create cocktails that could be sold to interested parties.

    Billionaires. Governments. Criminals.

    Clara had helped him with the selection process. She was the one who had gathered the children. The Basement Complex wasn¡¯t where the Institute housed ¡°problematic¡± residents; it was the home of the ones who had been specifically enrolled in this project.

    Max and Mason were unclassified defectives---the only kind Reynolds had ever come across. They had regenerative abilities powered by blood. The more ¡°life force¡± they consumed, the greater their ability to regenerate, and thus they had lived an abnormally long life. This elongated lifespan was what Reynolds was after. He wanted that ¡°immortality¡± quality in his cocktails. People would pay generously for eternal life.

    Samantha¡¯s abilities were useful for disguise purposes. A camouflage to make the user undetectable. Perfect for the military.

    Reynolds enjoyed the ¡°subtle brutality¡± of Liam¡¯s power. It could do a lot of harm without causing overt destruction that would attract unnecessary attention. Also useful for military warfare, no doubt. At the very least.

    Once Reynolds had taken what he wanted from these chosen few, they would be transferred to the infirmary and sentenced to a lifetime of comatose bedrest. Any relatives who cared to inquire about their state would be told that their child¡¯s power had gotten the better of them. The Institute had done everything it could. Deepest condolences, etc.

    And then new children would be collected to create new cocktails.

    That¡¯s why they needed her. Not to kill, but for storage.

    Sophia had no one left who would notice if she disappeared. She was valuable precisely because she was anonymous to the world. She had been selected to perform damage control. Whenever Reynolds was done with the Basement kids, she would be brought out to clean up any evidence.

    It was easy to hide information if it was in one place. Sophia would die one day, and all the incriminating information she knew would die with her.

    Clara was looking a bit dazed, as if she¡¯d been clubbed over the head. Sophia resisted the urge to run over and slug her in the stomach. Rage and fear were pumping through her blood with such ferocity her knees buckled, and she had to clutch the edge of the desk to remain standing.

    ¡°Sophia, are you alright?¡± Reynolds asked.

    ¡°You son of a fucking bitch,¡± she whispered.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡±

    His voice was infuriatingly calm. His eyes darted over to Clara and lingered on her vague expression.

    ¡°Did my mom know about this?¡±

    ¡°Evelyn brought you here when you were young to take part in the experiments, but it wasn¡¯t long before she put a stop to it. She decided that she wanted to give your abilities time to develop naturally. I said you might never develop your powers without our help, but she was willing to take that risk. Of course, it just so happened that your powers did emerge later, but they revealed themselves to be broken anyway, the very thing she¡¯d been trying to save you from. Pity.¡±

    ¡°Not that. I meant what you¡¯re doing to the Basement residents. The bullshit potions you¡¯re making.¡±

    Reynolds went very still for a moment, and then he moved very quickly for a man his size. Sophia thought he was going to attack her, but to her surprise, he walked right by her and over to Clara. He pushed her down into an empty chair. She crumbled into it without resistance, still looking dazed. Then he reached swiftly into his pocket, extracted a vial full of purple fluid, and injected it into her arm.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said when Sophia uttered a startled noise. ¡°It will just make her sleep for a bit.¡±

    When he had emptied the vial, he placed it back into his pocket and turned to face Sophia again.

    ¡°I take it you read her mind just now? That explains why she looked like that¡­I was a bit puzzled for a moment¡­very impressive, my dear.¡±

    ¡°So now what?¡± Sophia asked, her body a rigid pole of tension as the doctor slowly turned and wandered back over to his desk. Every movement he made was like tripwire to her nerves.

    ¡°Relax, Sophia. I¡¯m not going to hurt you. What you saw in the doctor¡¯s memories was only half the truth. It was the one I told her.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re not making potions from their powers?¡±

    ¡°No, I very much am. But the elixirs won¡¯t be for sale.¡± He turned and looked at her. His mask broke and beneath it she saw the face of such profound grief her heart stopped. ¡°It¡¯s for Evelyn.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to bring her back, Sophia.¡±

 A Family Again

    Sophia felt like her body was being filled with cement, rooting her to her chair, crushing her windpipe and turning her lungs into immovable blocks through which no air could pass. She wasn¡¯t sure how long they stared at one another, but it was only when the moon had risen in the sky outside the window that she trusted herself to speak.

    ¡°My mother is dead.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware.¡± He smiled gently.

    ¡°We buried her at the church. I saw them lower her in the ground.¡± It was like she was trying to convince herself it had really happened. Her voice sounded blank and hollow even to her own ears.

    ¡°Correct. And I went back later with some trusted associates and brought her back to where she belongs. I¡¯m sorry you had to see her under such unpleasant circumstances. I assure you Jack will be dealt with for exposing you prematurely to such---¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t belong down there,¡± Sophia said. She suddenly had a vivid flash of the room with the blue door and the wailing noises behind it. That had been the morgue. How long had Reynolds kept the corpse in there, weeping over it? ¡°What are you doing to her?¡± she asked sharply. Her mind was full of all kinds of sick theories, but she didn¡¯t want to dwell on any of them.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to find out this way,¡± Reynolds said in a heavy voice. ¡°As I said before, I hadn¡¯t planned on explaining everything to you for quite some time. I wanted you to become more comfortable here---more comfortable with me.  I had also planned for Clara to be gone at that point. She was becoming a nuisance anyway.¡±

    ¡°Gone?¡± Sophia repeated, nausea unfurling in her chest.

    ¡°Goodness, not like that,¡± Reynolds said, waving his hand through the air. ¡°I was going to fire her.¡±

    ¡°But she¡¯s been helping you make the cocktails.¡±

    ¡°And once we¡¯d made the one I needed, I wouldn¡¯t have any use for her anymore. Besides, I knew she would never be okay with what I was actually doing. She¡¯s always been a bit too jealous for my taste.¡±

    Jealous? What the fuck was he talking about?

    ¡°People are rather easy to motivate when money is involved,¡± Reynolds continued in a bored voice, glancing over at Clara, who was slumped forward in her chair. ¡°But she was never the partner I was interested in.¡±

    He smiled at Sophia. It made her feel sick. There was another long silence. When the doctor spoke again, his voice was very soft.

    ¡°How much did your mother tell you about me, Sophia?¡±

    Sophia swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

    ¡°Nothing much,¡± she whispered. ¡°But you¡¯re my dad, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Reynolds paused for only a fraction of a second.

    ¡°I am.¡±

    He turned around so that his back was facing her, staring up at the moon.

    ¡°You inherited a bit of both our powers: your hologram trick comes from me. Clara mentioned you had played around with that. My powers are illusionary, you see. No Telepath can do that. You¡¯re one of the purest specimens I have ever seen, Sophia. Your mother and I were so proud of you. And with your help, we can be a family again.¡±

    ¡°¡­what?¡±

    ¡°The powers I have been extracting from the Basement children were to create an elixir that would bring Evelyn back to us. For a while, I focused on her body, warding off the natural decay of death and trying various combinations of those children¡¯s powers to revive her. But it was a fruitless endeavor. No matter what I did to Evelyn¡¯s physical form, her essence eluded me. The regenerative powers of those twins, various combinations of Samantha and Liam¡¯s abilities to repair her damaged outward appearance, using Jack¡¯s powers to create a bubble of time around her body in the hopes of reversing her demise¡­none of it worked. Then I realized I was only focusing on physical solutions, that perhaps a more metaphysical one would be more beneficial.¡±

    ¡°Is that why you used Val?¡± she whispered. ¡°Because she can see souls?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said heavily. He turned back around to face her. His face was dark with sorrow. ¡°I thought your friend could locate Evelyn for me and perhaps rejoin the spiritual with the corporeal form. Please understand that I never intended for her to die¡­she was much frailer than I had anticipated¡­¡±

    ¡°So your plan was to what, just keep using powers from residents until you reanimated my mother¡¯s corpse? Then what? Did you ever consider the possibility that she wouldn¡¯t want to come back? Or that you might fail?¡±

    ¡°Of course she wants to come back.¡± He looked offended. ¡°She would want to see you again. And me.¡±

    A tender look came into his face and his eyes misted over. Sophia was gripped in the throes of such visceral horror and disgust that she felt dizzy. Everything in the room was dilating, like a vision in warped glass. She wasn¡¯t going to pretend that she was some mighty beacon of morality, but torturing kids in the name of regenerating the corpse of a dead lover was pretty out there when it came to the realm of questionable ethical dalliances. Diagnosis? He was absolutely, unequivocally, and without a doubt completely fucking insane.

    ¡°So what do you need me for?¡± she said, dreading the answer. ¡°Clara is under the impression I¡¯m just a filing cabinet for incriminating evidence.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I told her, yes.¡±

    ¡°And it¡¯s the backup plan, right?¡± She met his unblinking stare. ¡°In case I don¡¯t do whatever it is you want me to do.¡±

    Reynolds smiled. ¡°I¡¯m not going to force you to do anything, my dear. I know you miss her as much as I do.¡±

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    He walked slowly across the room until he came to a stop in front of her chair. He squatted down so they were eye level and tenderly tucked a curl behind her ear.

    ¡°You look just like her,¡± he whispered, leaning forward, his gaze wandering hungrily over her face.

    Worms of disgust crawled across her flesh when he touched her. She leaned back, and his hand dropped away. He stood up again, looking down at her with a frown.

    ¡°Are you scared of me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly coming across as the father of the year.¡±

    He smiled grimly. ¡°I know I¡¯ve hit you with a lot of information today. But you¡¯ll understand soon enough, especially after we start working together.¡±

    ¡°Working together?¡± she repeated blankly.

    ¡°Like I said, my initial intention was never to feed you the Basement residents. That was simply an opportunity that arose.¡± Insurance, Sophia thought, a shiver running up her spine. ¡°My initial intent was for us to stand side by side and run this place. And I was hoping you wouldn¡¯t mind picking up where Clara left off. I will terminate her immediately, of course. There¡¯s no need for her now that I have you.¡±

    She stared at him blankly. He surely couldn¡¯t be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting.

    ¡°You can help me gather materials for your mother¡¯s elixir,¡± Reynolds said patiently.

    Sophia looked into his eyes, searching desperately for some shred of sanity there, something she could reason with. There was nothing but bottomless, calculative obsession. She felt like a yawning chasm had opened at her feet, and she was tumbling straight down into unfathomable darkness.

    ¡°No.¡±

    The word dropped to the floor like a shard of ice. Reynolds just stood there, looking at her.

    ¡°I think you¡¯ll come around,¡± he said finally. ¡°I¡¯m sure you would prefer to be a partner here rather than a filing cabinet.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off.¡±

    ¡°Sophia.¡± His voice was sharpening with annoyance. ¡°We¡¯re talking about bringing your mother back. How could you not want that?¡±

    ¡°My mom is dead. The sooner you deal with that the better.¡±

    ¡°I believe that death is just a problem science has yet to master.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? Well I believe that death is fucking final, doc, and if you think I¡¯m gonna help you stick pins in kids and play around with corpses, you¡¯re out of your goddamn mind.¡±

    There was a barely noticeable twitch in the doctor¡¯s jaw, but it was gone in just a moment. Then there was groan. Sophia looked over and realized Clara was stirring. Reynolds¡¯ eyes flicked over to her, then back to Sophia.

    ¡°We shall revisit this when you¡¯ve had time to think more about it,¡± he said coolly. ¡°Ah, Doctor. How are you feeling? Sophia gave you quite the tumble.¡±

    Clara¡¯s eyes fluttered open and she sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. She glared at Sophia with hazy eyes.

    ¡°You never did know your place,¡± she snapped.

    Sophia considered telling her everything they had just talked about while she was passed out. But then she realized it wouldn¡¯t matter. Clara would never believe her over Reynolds.

    ¡°Clara, I think it¡¯s a good time to escort Sophia to her new residences,¡± the doctor said lightly. ¡°The one we talked about previously.¡±

    ¡°Certainly.¡±

    Clara stood up, still a little unsteady on her feet. Sophia jumped to her feet and backed away. New residence? She didn¡¯t like the sound of that at all.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me,¡± she snapped.

    ¡°I won¡¯t have to if you behave.¡±

    Clara took a step forward.  Sophia¡¯s anger and fear surged up and she felt something inside of her break and then spill over.

    Nobody was quite prepared for what happened next.

    Clara stumbled as if she¡¯d been physically pushed. Before she could get her bearings, she was yanked into the air ankle first. She dangled there for a moment like a rag doll before she was flung against the wall. She crumbled to the floor and lay there, unmoving. There was a ringing silence. Reynolds stared from Sophia to Clara, a look of mild surprise on his face.

    ¡°Truly extraordinary,¡± he said. ¡°A damn shame to waste such power on storage¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t do it,¡± Sophia panted, emboldened by this unexpected victory. ¡°You can lock me up or do whatever bullshit you want, but I¡¯m not taking any more memories for you. I¡¯ll starve before I¡¯ll help you cover your ass.¡±

    Reynolds raised his eyebrows.

    ¡°You¡¯ve never been truly hungry before, have you, Sophia? Do you think those rumblings you experience in between sessions is anything compared to what will happen to you if you simply quit devouring memories? Your power, desperate and backed into a corner like a frightened animal, will turn inward. Instinct will take over, and you will start to devour your own mind.¡±

    Sophia swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps not now. But you will,¡± Reynolds said with an unpleasant smile, ¡°once you start raving like a lunatic and eating yourself into a vegetative state.¡±

    Sophia couldn¡¯t tell if he was fibbing. She could feel a splitting headache coming on. Reynolds was looking at her with cool, rational detachment. Waiting. Clara was still on the floor. He seemed very unconcerned about her welfare.

    ¡°Do your worst. I¡¯m not afraid of you,¡± Sophia said finally, glaring at Reynolds.

    The doctor picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. ¡°That¡¯s rather foolish of you.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off.¡±

    ¡°Would you like to see my power, Sophia?¡± he asked unexpectedly.

    His expression made her skin grow cold, and she took an instinctive step backward. It was as if her movement was signal; everything around her suddenly pitched forward, and she was thrust into a horrifying mirror world of warped perception.

    It was like a cosmic fist had punched through the fabric of the universe and splintered reality. Hundreds of fissures erupted in the air all around her. Leaking from each one was a thick, dark liquid that smelled like pennies. It was like being in a room full of gaping, bleeding scabs. Panicking and disoriented, Sophia made a break for the door, but when she ran towards it, she saw that it had turned into a big, yawning mouth. Rows of sharp teeth lay at the front of its endless gullet and it chomped at her, snarling. She fell into Reynolds¡¯ desk. The mahogany felt soft beneath her elbows and she began to sink into it. The desk was melting like warm butter, falling into gooey clumps on the carpet. Sophia wrenched free of the hideous substance, only to fall forward and knock against something hard; she spun around and saw that she was looking into a tall mirror, which extended from the floor to the ceiling, but instead of her reflection she saw Sybill, smiling out at her, a broken jar of potpourri in her hand.

    ¡°Get up.¡±

    Her eyes flew open. Reynold¡¯s study was quiet, undisturbed, the doors and windows still intact. The only sign of disarray was the papers on the floor, which she must¡¯ve knocked off his desk in her panic. She slowly climbed to her feet, trembling, her heart pounding and cold sweat dripping down her neck. Reynolds was sitting behind his desk, examining her with an amused look on his face. Clara stood at his side, regarding her with smug satisfaction.

    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Sophia gasped. ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ¡°I did nothing but show you yourself, my dear. Now. You will be residing in the Basement Complex from now on,¡± he said gently. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry about transferring your belongings from your old room. I¡¯ll take care of it.¡±

    Clara smoothed her hair, which had been thrown into disarray from Sophia¡¯s previous attack. Then she crossed the room and opened the door.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she growled.

    ¡°Or what?¡±

    ¡°I break your legs and carry you.¡±

    Sophia hesitated, her mind racing through all the options. They all amounted to pretty much the same thing: a long canoe ride down shit creek without a paddle.

    As the door closed behind them, Sophia summoned a great rush of mental energy---ignoring the horrific pain splitting her head in two---and charged it toward Reynolds. She seized hold of his mental thread and projected a message into his consciousness:

    You¡¯re a colossal piece of shit and I¡¯m going to bury you.

    His response came quickly, oozing slickly like oil into her brain:

    Beautiful job at projecting, my dear.

 Prisoner

    The Basement Complex was much smaller than the other wards, and not a single inch of its cramped interior was wasted. It consisted of a single windowless corridor, with six doors lining each side, and it was brightly lit with dozens of fluorescent bulbs. The ceiling was a series of winding metal pipes as thick as pythons, while the floors and walls were made of shiny white tile. It was like being on board the damn mother ship. There was also a common area for socializing purposes, but it was a small space with only a few chairs and plants, shoved in the corner like an afterthought. Only three people could comfortably fit in it at one time. It was hard to feel any sense of privacy---which was probably the whole point.

    Sophia¡¯s own room wasn¡¯t much better. It was slightly larger than a roomy closet; the only furniture was a bed and a dresser. The lack of fresh air was lamely compensated for by the presence of a small humidifier on top of the dresser. The small sphere glowed softly in the dark at night, and she would spend hours gazing at the shadows it cast on her wall. During the day, it was periodically re-filled by a surly looking man in grey scrubs. She tried to ask him for his name several times, but he had only grunted at her and left the room. As time passed, she discovered that what she missed most was having a window. She felt like she had been down here for years; the absence of natural light and seasons made it difficult to determine much beyond that.

    Clara came down every day and personally escorted her to her Mastery Sessions---though truthfully they were more like standoffs. Clara would try to get her to perform mental surgery on the unlucky patient of the day, and Sophia would tell her to kiss her ass. The doctor would then reach into her pocket, extracting a vial filled with a drug Sophia learned was called praetereo. Jamming her full of this swill was one of Clara¡¯s favorite methods of discipline; it made Sophia¡¯s skin feel like it was being bitten by thousands of microscopic spiders. She woke up on the floor more times than she could count, scratching her arms until they bled beneath her fingers. Even when she was spared this particular ordeal, she felt lethargic and useless on a daily basis. Maybe it was the lack of sun and fresh air. Or maybe they were drugging her without her knowledge. Either way, there wasn¡¯t much she could do about it.

    The worst part was that despite her valiant efforts at resistance, hunger would eventually take over, and she would give in and feed on whoever was brought to her room later that evening (usually the same person she had refused to ¡°eat¡± earlier). Reynolds¡¯ sneering voice echoed through her head: You¡¯ve never been truly hungry before, have you, Sophia? Turned out he was right. So much for taking a grand moral stand. It made her hate herself more than she already did.

    ***

    Her dreams were punctured by horrible nightmares again, and so eventually she stopped sleeping. She would sit bolt upright in bed, deliberately making herself uncomfortable, and stare at the glowing humidifier on her dresser. Her waking thoughts weren¡¯t much better than the dreams. All she could think about was the people she wanted to see and couldn¡¯t. She wondered what had happened to Felicity. Had Jack killed her by taking so much of her Time, or was she locked up somewhere enduring God knows what? She missed Val. And Sybill. And Mom. And Jude. She had tried to project to him multiple times, but it was no use. His signal was obscured, locked behind mental obstructions that made projecting feel like swimming through syrup. She thought about how her mother¡¯s power had been described as some kind of psychic ¡°wall.¡± Was Clara creating  something similar around the Basement Complex? Sophia had tried projecting to other residents on the floor, but that didn¡¯t work either. It was like the ability had simply...left her.

    ***

    ¡°How many times do we have to do this, Sophia?¡± Clara said coolly.

    Sophia was lying on the floor, scratching her arms raw as she clawed at the invisible insects, her body twitching as the hellish swill coursed its way through her veins. Clara was still talking. She sounded like she had a mouth full of cotton balls. Sophia struggled to focus.

    ¡°¡­once you¡¯ve decided to be reasonable.¡±

    The door slammed and there was a long silence. After what felt like years, the feeling of crawling insects receded. Sophia¡¯s skin was cold and smeared with blood; her stomach rumbled loudly. She dragged herself into a sitting position, her face burning with shame and anger. Groaning, and entertaining vivid fantasies of Clara getting thrown out a window, Sophia hauled her aching body into bed. She stared up at the ceiling, panting with exhaustion. Tiny spots popped before her eyes. Coming down from the injections was almost as bad as the effects of the injections themselves. She wished she could talk to Jude. She hoped to sweet baby Christ that he was okay, that they hadn¡¯t done anything to hurt him just to spite her. Reynolds had already drugged and murdered one of her friends; he clearly wasn¡¯t above such tactics. She wished she could reach out to his mind and warn him, or at least check on him, but they still weren¡¯t working and these stupid drugs weren¡¯t making anything easier---

    Wait. The drugs.

    She sat bolt upright, wincing at the ensuing throbbing headache. When had they started giving her praetereo? Was it around the time she had lost her ability to project? She tried to think. Clara had been jamming that needle into her arm ever since her transfer to the Basement Complex. It was always under the guise of Sophia being ¡°defiant,¡± but if she became obedient, would the shots suddenly stop?

    She put her theory to the test when Clara came in later with her next ¡°meal.¡± This time, it was Samantha. When they entered, Clara looked at her with a challenging glint in her eye, but Sophia went and sat on her bed without comment.

    ¡°Let¡¯s do this,¡± she sighed.

    Clara cocked an eyebrow. ¡°What, no soap box to climb up on this time?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Did common sense finally kicked in?¡±

    ¡°More like an aversion to that shit being in my veins every day,¡± Sophia said moodily.

    Clara smiled. ¡°That is a good reason to behave.¡±

    Sophia grunted. The Session proceeded as usual, leaving her feeling satiated but guilty. She was so ashamed that she couldn¡¯t even look at Samantha the whole time.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Clara strutted out, leading the little girl by the arm. Sophia lay back down on her bed and waited until they were all locked in their rooms for the night before trying her projection powers again. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, trying to block out the hum of the humidifier, the creaking pipes in the ceiling, the occasional groan from another resident through the walls. She willed herself to slip into the field of consciousness and find Jude¡¯s thread, to mentally call out to him. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. After the seventh attempt, Sophia felt despair well up inside her chest like an inflating balloon. Had she really lost the ability? Panic ripped through her. She was going to rot down here for the rest of her life. She was going to be tortured and used for as long as Reynolds wanted and then she was going to be disposed of in any manner he chose. And there was nobody left in the world to care.

    Sophia jumped up from her bed and rushed to the door with her fists raised.

    ¡°Let me out!¡± she screamed in panic, pummeling the wood with her fists. ¡°Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!¡±

    Bam! Bam! Bam!

    ¡°Let me out! I don¡¯t belong here! Let me out!¡±

    Bam! Bam!

    ¡°Let me out!¡±

    Tears spilled down her cheeks. She broke the skin on her knuckles. Blood streaked across the door. But she kept banging. Pummeling. Shrieking. Until---

    ¡°Shut up!¡± A male voice bellowed. He pounded on the opposite side of the door. The whole thing shook. ¡°Shut the fuck up or I¡¯ll come in there with enough drugs to force you into a coma for the rest of your life!¡±

    Sophia stumbled away from the door, biting her lips to keep herself from sobbing.

    ¡°You¡¯re one of us now,¡± called a soft voice in the hallway. It was followed by loud laughter, which only ceased when the man bellowed for silence again.

    Sophia curled up into a fetal position on the floor and did not move for hours. After a while she must have slept because she awoke with a start in the middle of the night. The room was dark and stuffy. The air thrummed with a noise she couldn¡¯t locate. She blinked, willing the sleepy fog to leave her brain, and realized it was the humidifier. She stared at it with slitted, unfocused eyes. It seemed to float above the dresser, a sphere of pulsating yellow light, bobbing in the sea of darkness around her. Ripples of air stirred around the glowing orb. It was the steam pouring from its spout. Swirling in the blackness, catching the light, a net of gold on black¡­

    Sophia sat up, wide wake now. The staff filled that thing up every morning. It spewed its steamy contents into her room all day long. She climbed to her feet, crossed the room, and picked up the humidifier. She paused for a moment, thinking, then she turned, went over to the toilet in the corner of her room, and emptied the humidifier¡¯s contents into the bowl. She gave it three definitive flushes, and then stood watching as the swirling water took the poison down into the sewer where it belonged.

    ***

    She emptied the humidifier every morning for a week. After the surly-looking man filled it and left the room, she would wait a few minutes before springing up and throwing its contents into the toilet. Clara had stopped giving her the shots---and now it was obvious why. She figured Sophia was still getting a full dosage of praetereo every day through their little friend on the dresser. It felt good to finally have the upper hand. You never knew how long it would last around this hellhole.

    Then, one day, her powers came back.

    After her first ¡°meal¡± of the day, Sophia was staring at the humidifier, dark thoughts of revenge swirling around in her mind, when it suddenly flew backward and smashed into the wall. When she went over to inspect it, she saw that she had cracked it. She gently set it back down onto the dresser, then turned her gaze to one of the pillows on her bed. It sprang into the air and slapped against the door before falling to the ground with a gentle thud. Sophia grinned, feeling giddy, and looked down at it. After a few seconds it rose into the air and floated back over to her bed.

    ***

    Hey, loser.

    Sophia? Jesus Christ! Man¡­it feels good to have you in my head. Now THERE¡¯S something I¡¯d never thought I¡¯d say.

    I hope I¡¯m not interrupting anything.

    Just my morning shit.

    Lovely. So how¡¯s life above?

    I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re still alive. Everyone is saying you lost it and that¡¯s why they locked you up. What¡¯s it like down there?

    Sophia smiled. Despite his breezy tone, she could feel Jude¡¯s profound relief. It expanded like a cool dewy cloud across his mind. She tried to match his nonchalance as she projected back:

    It sucks monkey nuts. Clara is a psycho and Reynolds is her dark lord.

    I¡¯m surprised. They both always seemed so sunny.

    I gotta get outta here.

    Understatement of the year, sweetheart. I can help you with---

    With a gasp, she opened her eyes and found herself on the floor, her nose smashed against the ground. She had overdone it again. But the sound of Jude¡¯s voice was burned in her mind. She felt a pinprick of hope flare up and burn from deep within her chest. She had a lifeline out of this mental and emotional prison. She had won---for now.

    ***

    You¡¯re getting pretty good at this, Soph.

    Where are you?

    As far I can get outside the building. You don¡¯t recognize it?

    You¡¯re next to a tree. There are a lot of those.

    I¡¯m in the garden, smartass.

    Oh, hey, nice.

    What¡¯s your end game with all this anyway?

    I need practice stretching my boundaries. Eventually I wanna be able to contact someone outside the facility.

    You mean like the cops?

    Maybe. I might know a guy.

    I¡¯d trust a tarantula in my pants before I¡¯d trust them. They won¡¯t do jack shit..

    But they¡¯ve investigated Reynolds before. He¡¯s gotta be on a list or something. A few have even visited the Institute, remember?

    Yeah and clearly it came to something because Reynolds is behind bars now. Oh wait.

    You know what, Fitzpatrick? I never thought I¡¯d find something uglier than your face, but then your attitude comes along and eureka.

    Well before you came into my life blowing sunshine out your ass, I used to do stupid things like engage in self-care.

    Sounds boring.

    You know what, it really was.

    They lapsed into a comfortable mental silence. Sophia toyed with the connection, enjoying how it felt to keep their signals entwined. It was an intimate sensation, like dancing with someone without quite touching them. After a while she started to feel a little strange, so she said:

    How are you doing anyway? They aren¡¯t threatening you or anything, right?

    What? Sophia? You there?

    Ah¡ªyeah, shit-----

    She opened her eyes. She was breathing hard. It took over an hour for the headache to subside this time.

    ***

    One night, when she was trying---yet again--- to avoid sleeping, Sophia went through the box Clara had brought down from her old room. She was surprised they let her keep all her old stuff. The notebook Reynolds had given her a long time ago, filled with her mother¡¯s research, was still there, as were a few art books and her old therapy journal. She wondered if Reynolds or Clara had read it to make sure there wasn¡¯t anything incriminating. Then again, perhaps they didn¡¯t care if there was because in the end, it didn¡¯t matter. She was their doll, and they could make her dance whenever they liked. The fact that they weren¡¯t wrong made her vision go red.

    But they had underestimated her. Reynolds knew she was powerful, but at the end of the day, he thought she was nothing but a Defective. He was too arrogant to think that she might pose a real threat to him. She¡¯d make him regret it.

    She was going to burn this place to the fucking ground.

 Getting Nowhere

    PITTSBURGH

    8 months earlier

    Nate tried to get in touch with Felicity a few days after she had helped Sybill Montgomery escape. But she wouldn¡¯t answer any of his calls or texts. He left her so many voicemails over the subsequent weeks that eventually he filled her inbox and her phone cut him off. He had some sleepless nights, staring out his bedroom window at the glittering dark, silhouettes of the city, wondering if Felicity was somewhere within its labyrinth.

    He was still reeling from the events that had occurred that day. He wondered how Felicity had pulled it off. The night before the escape, his sister had walked into his bedroom, unannounced, and asked him to take Sybill to the bathroom at noon the next day. He was reading a book on his bed, and the odd request made him look up and frown.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Take her to the one down the hall.¡±

    ¡°But she has a toilet in her cell.¡±

    ¡°I know that honey. But make up a reason to do it anyway. I just need her alone for a bit. Let her stay in there for about fifteen minutes.¡±

    ¡°What? Why?¡± He was becoming increasingly confused. She came over and sat on the bed next to him, smiling.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m going to fix this.¡±

    ¡°How? This doesn¡¯t seem like---¡± She interrupted him with a kiss. A hot puddle of desire pooled in his stomach and he pushed her away, panting. He was determined not to let her distract him---not this time, couldn¡¯t he get at least one time? ---but she brushed his protesting hands away and shoved him down onto the bed. His feeble willpower evaporated, and he spent the night pinned beneath her, sweating and trembling and hating himself.

    ***

    The day after the official investigation had been closed, Stilly had swaggered into the office chewing nails and looking ready to fight anybody who told him to chill out.

    ¡°Get me every fucking scrap of camera footage we have in this hell hole,¡± Stilly snapped.  He kicked his chair out of his way as he slammed his briefcase down onto his desk. ¡°That little skid mark thinks she can just live happily ever after? I¡¯ll have her ass hanging over my door.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve already reviewed it, Stilly. There isn¡¯t anything.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I had wax in my ear. For a second there I thought you gave me your fucking opinion instead of what I asked for.¡±

    Nate sighed and went to fetch the footage from the files. He could see the images playing out once more in his own mind as he watched Stilly view it, his partner¡¯s face growing darker by the second.

    Shot after shot of an empty hallway. Then a shot of Sybill¡¯s cell and Nate coming by to let her out for her bathroom break. Then a shot of Nate standing in the hall, outside the door of the first-floor bathroom, for approximately fifteen minutes. Finally he knocked on the door, paused, and walked into the bathroom. He was in there for about ten seconds before he was seen sticking his head back out into the hallway and calling out. Some other officers could be seen running down the hall.

    There were no cameras in the bathroom, for obvious reasons, and so determining what had happened while Sybill was in there was impossible. There were no windows either---it was a single room with a toilet and a sink---and nothing to suggest that she had maybe escaped through the walls or floor somehow. She was simply gone. She had melted into thin air like smoke from a cigarette.

    Stilly shoved back his chair and grunted. A terrible scowl was on his face.

    ¡°I need to take a walk,¡± he mumbled.

    Nate watched him storm out the front doors and disappear around the corner. He leaned his face into the cool darkness of his hands and considered his next move. He had to find Felicity and see if she was safe and he knew only one person who could help him. The thought turned his stomach, but Felicity still wasn¡¯t answering her phone. He didn¡¯t know what else to do, and the hole that had been torn in his heart by her absence was growing excruciating.

    He drove up to the Institute the following Saturday. When the building came into view and he saw the familiar plaque gleaming on the massive gate, he fought the urge to turn the car around and drive it straight off a cliff. He still couldn¡¯t look at this place without feeling nauseous. It had taken his sister from him. It had devoured her within its dark belly and rendered her a half-digested, frightened shell of a person. The memories of those days still haunted him.

    He parked his car directly outside the gate. Then he leaned out the window and pushed the buzzer. He waited a few moments before a wheezy voice answered.

    ¡°Good morning. How can I help you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, hi.¡± Nate looked up at the security camera that was installed on top of the gate. He gave it a small wave. ¡°I¡¯m here to see Doctor Reynolds.¡±

    ¡°Do you have an appointment?¡±

    ¡°No, but---¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the doctor doesn¡¯t take walk-ins. Let me give you a number to call and we can schedule you for---¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m his son.¡±

    ¡°Is that right?¡± the wheezy voice said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. ¡°Well, like I already said, we have a num---¡±

    Nate had heard enough. He got out of the car, turned, and took a running leap at the gate. The voice on the intercom began to squawk in protest, but he turned a dumb ear as he shimmied up the iron bars. After it became clear that Nate was ignoring any warnings, the intercom went dead. Which meant security would be out any second now. Excellent, he thought. Come and get me, you fuckers.

    He dropped to the ground on the other side of the gate, staggering and falling to one knee. He had hated growing up in the country, but at least it had taught him how to climb. Other than some mud on his jeans, he didn¡¯t have a scratch---

    That was the last conscious thought he knew before he felt an explosive pain in the back of his head. Everything went dark.

    When he opened his eyes again, he saw a giant white blur hanging over his head. He blinked; the blur sharpened into a burning fluorescent light fixture. He heard a door open and he turned his head, wincing at the subsequent pain that shot through his skull. A man with pale hair bustled in, wearing scrubs and a sour expression. He checked the bag of fluid suspended near Nate¡¯s head, poked it, frowned, scribbled something on a clipboard, and bustled back out before Nate could even ask where he was. Once the door closed, he carefully raised his head and looked around.

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    He was in a claustrophobic room with about as much eye appeal as a pile of dog shit. It looked like it hadn¡¯t been in use for a while. The walls were decorated with tacky purple flowers and more than a few questionable stains. There was a supply cabinet in one corner---padlocked for the moment---and a window that was so high up any light filtering in was practically useless anyway. There was no furniture other than the bed he was lying on. Actually, it felt more like an operating table than a bed. He reached down and wiggled his hand under the thin blanket that was spread beneath him. His sweaty palm made contact with cold metal.

    The door opened again. The blonde nurse shuffled in, followed by Doctor Reynolds. Nate¡¯s body instinctively went rigid as his father turned to the nurse and said: ¡°I¡¯ll take it from here. Thank you, Tony.¡±

    The nurse nodded curtly and strode out, slamming the door. The doctor stood by Nate¡¯s bedside, his hands clasped behind him. He was smiling.

    ¡°How are you feeling, Nathaniel?¡±

    ¡°How long have I been out?¡±

    ¡°Two hours. You have a concussion, but I¡¯m glad to see the damage wasn¡¯t nearly as---¡±

    ¡°Right, well, nice to catch up.¡± Nate swung his legs over the side of the bed. ¡°I¡¯m here for a reason.¡±

    ¡°Well then. By all means.¡± His father made a sweeping gesture, still wearing that insufferable smile. It was like a gash carved into a piece of dough, a mere imitation of human warmth.

    ¡°Is Felicity here?¡±  He expected a full denial and was already formulating his next question. But his father shocked him with an unusual display of candor.

    ¡°Not here specifically. But I do have her in custody, yes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see her.¡±

    ¡°Surely you know that¡¯s not possible?¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let you keep her here,¡± Nate began hotly, but his father held up his hand to silence him.

    ¡°Nathanial, given your chosen employment, you know even more than I do what consequences will befall your sister if the authorities were notified of her actions these past few months.¡±

    ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re---¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re both aware of at least one murder under her belt, not to mention the fact that she broke out of a mental health facility with another inmate who could hardly be described as stable. But I¡¯m sure your knowledge of her actions in between her escape and now greatly outweighs my own. Maybe you could fill me in.¡±

    ¡°I have nothing to say to you.¡±

    ¡°She must have put you in a tricky situation. I can only imagine how difficult it must¡¯ve been for you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me about my fucking sister.¡±

    ¡°Language, please.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    He was shaking with rage, and his heart was pounding so hard he could barely breath. This was not how he had planned on carrying out their conversation. But it was hard to maintain any semblance of rationality around his father. The sound of his voice, the smell of his sweat mingling with that cheap cologne, the way his smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes----it all dug up memories he had worked very hard to bury, like a rotting corpse being unearthed from a grave.

    ¡°I think you should go now, son.¡±

    ¡°Not without Felicity.¡±

    ¡°Nathaniel,¡± his father said gently, ¡°I would rather not escalate this.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Your sister is unwell, but what about you? I know you¡¯ve been her accomplice all this time. I would rather not have to report you to your colleagues. Isn¡¯t this best left as it is? Please. For your sister¡¯s sake.¡±

    Nate stared at him, speechless. He had to admit it was a ballsy move. Threatening to turn Nate into his own colleagues could very well expose the doctor¡¯s own Institute and the questionable treatments that went on there. But he also knew that if he told the police about Nate, whatever Nate may or may not say about the facility wouldn¡¯t matter. He would be branded a traitor and a liar and locked up without hesitation. And a cop in prison would fare about as well as a cockroach at a crowded bus station. For your sister¡¯s sake. This fucker. It was for nobody¡¯s sake but his own.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Nate said through his teeth.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad can come to an understanding,¡± said his father. ¡°Though we could¡¯ve decided as much with a phone call. You hardly had to climb over my gate¡­¡±

    ¡°Is Sybill at the Institute too?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just curious.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t follow.¡±

    ¡°What, you¡¯re gonna seriously act like you don¡¯t know who she is?¡± His father continued to stare at him. Nate heard his voice rising. ¡°Felicity broke her out of jail. Did they come here together?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know about that young lady¡¯s whereabouts. Perhaps she got out of town.¡±

    Nate seriously doubted he was as ignorant as he claimed, but he decided not to press the matter. ¡°Where are we?¡± He gestured around him. ¡°It looks like you hijacked an abandoned pediatrician¡¯s office.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not at the Institute,¡± the doctor said. ¡°I took you to a more secure location after you attempted violent negotiations with my gate. You made such a scene. I didn¡¯t want to upset my patients.¡±

    ¡°So where am I?¡±

    ¡°A private rehabilitation facility.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Who runs this one?¡±

    ¡°An old friend.¡±

    His father seemed uncharacteristically flustered as he looked towards the door and adjusted his tie. ¡°I¡¯ll let you rest now, Nathaniel. You should be able to go home soon, but as I mentioned before, you have a bit of a lump on your head. I¡¯d like to monitor you for a few more hours if---"

    ¡°Do I get a phone call?¡±

    ¡°You aren¡¯t in jail, son.¡±

    ¡°Can I at least talk to Felicity? Just for a little bit.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not possible right now.¡± He dropped his voice. ¡°However, there is a matter of some urgency that we ought to address while you¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s about the incident at Union Station. I¡¯m not sure to what extent you¡¯re involved in that case, but I want to assure you that I have taken every measure to ensure her safety. There is nothing to incriminate her. And if you really want to help your sister moving forward, keep your colleagues away from my facility. They¡¯ve been nosing around a lot.¡±

    Taken every measure? Nate¡¯s mind raced. The only ¡°loose end¡± to Felicity¡¯s crime had been the gun she¡¯d used to kill Coppula.

    ¡°Is this room secure?¡± he asked after a moment¡¯s pause.

    His father looked at him with some surprise. ¡°There are no cameras in here, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡±

    ¡°Or audio devices?¡±

    ¡°Of course not. What---¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re telling me you confiscated the murder weapon? That¡¯s what we¡¯re talking about here, right?¡±

    His father patted him on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll send someone in to escort you off the premises. Rest now.¡±

    He turned and strode out of the room. Nate heard a lock turn in the door. Asshole. He could never just be straight about anything. He stared at the ugly wallpaper for what felt like hours. The purple flowers blurred together into a single bruised stain that stretched across his whole range of vision.

    As promised, he was released later, although it was hard to pinpoint how much time had passed since his admittance. Some lackeys came in and collected him, checked his head and vitals, made sure he had all his belongings, and then escorted him down a series of hallways, flanking him on all sides with such solemnity that Nate couldn¡¯t help but smile sourly. Guess his father expected him to make a break for it or something. But where would he go? He had no clue where he was even located. He dared to look around while they were walking him down a flight of stairs, but it didn¡¯t tell him much about where his surroundings. It all just looked like a largely abandoned corporate building.

    A car was waiting for him outside, purring against the curb like a sleek grey cat. One of his escorts opened the door for him, and as Nate ducked inside, he glanced up once more at the five-story building towering over him like a colossal grave. A figure was standing in one of the upstairs windows. It was the shock of red hair that sent the wind flying from his lungs. Felicity was here after all! She was being held prisoner in the upper rooms somewhere---

    Wait. No.

    The figure at the window was too tall to be his sister. Felicity was short, and her hair fell to her waist. This woman¡¯s hair was chopped off at the ears. He stared up at the stranger, squinting hard, and it was only when she turned away that the pieces came crashing together in his brain: he hadn¡¯t recognized the face right away, but he definitely knew her back. He¡¯d seen it plenty of times growing up, on those nights when he had crept into her room to ask what was wrong, only for her to snap at him to go back to bed while she hastily dabbed at the tears shining on her face.

    The car door slammed, plunging him into the velvet blackness of an obviously newly- vacuumed car. As the vehicle rumbled down the road, Nate twisted around in his seat in the hopes of catching one more glimpse of his mother. But they were moving too fast, and the building had already dipped out of sight.

 Monster

    Present Day

    Nate blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The room was dimly lit by the streetlamp outside his window. For a second he couldn¡¯t remember why he had woken up in the first place. In the darkness, he could make out the silhouette of his hamper, the dresser, and---he sat bolt upright, his heartbeat quickening. Someone was standing in the corner---no, not someone. She was flickering. A¡­hologram? What the hell? He stared at it tensely for several seconds, but it didn¡¯t seem interested in hurting him---or even moving. Nate swung his feet over the side of the bed, stood up, and took a few steps towards it.

    Help.

    He froze.

    Help me, Nate. You dad---

    It vanished. Nate blinked, staring at the dark and now-empty corner. The girl¡¯s face had looked familiar. He thought hard, his brow furrowed. A memory was tugging at the corners of his mind, a whisper of something he could not quite grasp. How did this girl know his father? And how did she know who he was? Or where to find him? How did she project that thing into his room? What had it even been? Maybe he was still asleep.

    He sat back down on the bed and dropped his head in his hands. He drifted in and out of consciousness. He must¡¯ve fallen asleep in that position because the next thing he knew he was squinting in the bleached light of early dawn. His neck was on fire.

    That wasn¡¯t the last time he saw the mysterious hologram.

    The next night Nate stayed up late, chugging coffee and energy drinks just to stay awake, eager to see if it visited again. Hours went by. Just when he decided to throw in the towel and lay down, the hologram appeared in the same corner. It was around two in the morning.

    Help, it moaned, locking its translucent eyes onto his. Help me. Nate noticed that its lips weren¡¯t moving, and yet somehow he understood what it was saying.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± he said loudly. All the sugar and caffeine he¡¯d consumed over the last few hours was buzzing behind his eyelids. The hologram blinked at him. He couldn¡¯t tell if it understood or not. But then it whispered:

    Sophia Montgomery.

    ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Using me.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    And Felicity...she¡­

    ¡°What? Wait!¡±

    The hologram had started to fade. Panicking, Nate jumped off his bed and ran towards it, as if he meant to take it in his arms and hold it there for just a second longer. ¡°What about Felicity? What¡¯s ---¡±

    It vanished before he could finish. Furious, Nate grabbed an empty can of energy drink from the crumpled bedsheets and chucked it at the corner.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    He began to pace around the room, his mind racing. Sophia Montgomery. Wait. The girl on the footage from Union Station! The one who had been there when Felicity shot Coppula. If she was with his father, that meant she was probably at the Institute too---a patient, then? Someone with powers, no doubt, judging by the weird projection she was chucking into his room every night. What in God¡¯s name was his father up to in that hell hole?

    A rock dropped into his stomach when he realized what his next move had to be.

    There were only two people who could explain why a teenager with superpowers was appearing in his bedroom in the middle of the night. The first was Doctor Reynolds, who had already proven to be as helpful as a fork up the ass. The other was his mother.

    Nate went and got a bottle of gin out of the fridge, then sat down in the armchair by the window. He unscrewed the bottle and took a long swig. It burned like rubbing alcohol, but that was inconsequential at this point. He just wanted to stop feeling things for a while.

    Silence and solitude brought back memories. As Nate sat at the window, his demons came back to him with brutal clarity, thrusting their way like steely knives through his alcohol-soaked brain.

    ***

    As a child, Felicity had been rambunctious and adventurous, born with a spirit far more interested in seizing the moment than considering the consequences once that moment had passed. Nate, on the other hand, had been far more reserved and unsure. He viewed everything and everyone with suspicion and unease. While he over-analyzed and fretted, asking the particulars of who, when, why, and how, Felicity plunged headfirst into everything and only asked, ¡°why not?¡±

    Once she saw a cartoon character on T.V. jump off a cliff with a sheet and land on the ground unharmed. That afternoon, Felicity climbed onto the roof and tried the stunt herself. She broke her leg and earned a severe scolding from their mother. Dad was little more understanding, petting her hair and worrying about whether or not she had enough pillows under her leg. But even he grounded her in the end.

    None of that deterred her from being reckless in the future. On the contrary, she seemed to develop a passionate attraction for things that could hurt her. Like rollerblading down Canton Avenue---one of the steepest hills in the United States---while it was pouring rain outside. Or doorbell ditching in the dead of winter while wearing nothing but her underwear.

    At his sister¡¯s instigation, Nate did things he never would¡¯ve done if left to his own devices. He snuck into a movie theater he hadn¡¯t paid to see. He climbed over the park fence at night to go skinny dipping in the duck pond. She even got him to try a cigarette with her once; they were both violently ill afterwards. After the fourth trip to the bathroom, Nate suggested confessing to their parents and facing the music. Felicity just laughed. ¡°Why should we waste this golden opportunity? We¡¯ll say we have the flu and get out of going to school.¡± They did---and they got to spend the day on the couch, sharing a big fuzzy blanket while watching old movies and drinking Sprite.

    Felicity was like a comet, sparking brilliantly against the dull tapestry of everyday life, doing whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with an almost desperate enthusiasm.

    It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when the comet fizzled out. By the time he realized that something awful had crept into her soul, burrowed in, and bled her out, it was already too late. Felicity was gone.

    There were a few concrete incidents that alerted him to her new state.

    Like that autumn morning when the two of them were playing alone in the backyard. Nate was trying out his new digital camera and taking photos of anything he thought was interesting---while fearfully maintaining a respectful distance between himself and nature. When he glanced up from snapping a shot of a lazy squirrel, he saw Felicity standing under a tree. The leaves swaying above her were as red as her hair, and the sunlight falling through formed buttery stripes on her head. He thought she was the most beautiful sister in the world. ¡°Hey, over here,¡± he called, raising the camera to his eyes as she turned towards him.

    Click.

    Felicity¡¯s face changed.

    ¡°What are you doing?!¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    She rushed towards him, her face twisted with fury, and began to strike him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± he cried, holding up his arms in an attempt to shield his face from her blows. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! Ow, stop! Please, Felicity, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d care, I---¡±

    One of her flailing hands hit him in the nose. There was a crunch and Nate fell back with a scream. The camera flew from his hand. Blood flowered out of his nostrils. Felicity¡¯s fist froze in midair. The wild look in her eyes faded, replaced with horror and shock. His nose ended up being broken. When their parents asked him what happened, Nate said he¡¯d climbed a tree and fallen off. It was the first lie he told for her.

    Then there was that night the following winter. He went down to the kitchen for a glass of water and found her hunched at the table. She didn¡¯t move or even blink when he turned on the light. She simply sat there, staring vacantly at no one and nothing. On another occasion, he woke up to find her standing over his bed. When he asked her in a voice thick with sleep what she was doing, she whispered: ¡°Do you think she can breathe underground?¡± The tone of her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Then she turned around without further comment and walked out of the room.

    Was all of this around the time she started going to those checkups with their father? He found out later that she was going to the Institute. She would be gone for a few hours twice a week, and whenever she came back, she would lock herself in her room and not talk to anybody the rest of the day.

    The Institute. That fucking place. The memory of that place lived on and festered in his heart like maggots.

    He never did learn the particulars of Felicity¡¯s power. When she told him she was going to their dad¡¯s hospital because of her strange abilities, he asked what she could do. She told him she was empathetic, and when he asked what that meant, she just shrugged and said: ¡°I guess it means I feel stuff more strongly than other people.¡±

    ¡°How is that a superpower?¡± he asked, puzzled.

    ¡°Honestly it¡¯s more of a pain in the ass,¡± was her response, and they dropped the subject.

    He learned more from the visitors that would come to the house. Dad would have people over for mysterious meetings about three times a week. Felicity said they were future patients. Usually the visitors were children accompanied by worried-looking parents. Dad would take the families into his office for hours, and Nate would eavesdrop on their conversations from outside in the hall, his ear pressed eagerly against the door. Lots of words were thrown around that he didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Escalation¡± and ¡°adroit¡± and ¡°molecular structure.¡± It all sounded like a boring textbook. Once, though, the door was slightly ajar and Nate peeked into the office and saw a sight that he would never forget.

    There was a girl standing in front of his father¡¯s desk. She was hovering several feet off the floor, her head thrown back and her eyes rolled up into her skull so that only the whites were showing. Her mouth was agape in a silent scream.

    Was Felicity going to be around freaks like that? The thought filled him with horror. Could Felicity float too? No, she could¡­what was it? ¡°Empathic.¡± That¡¯s what she¡¯d said. He began to think about it more seriously in the coming days. Strangely enough, his sister had always been compassionate. It was an interesting contrast to her general recklessness, one of the many assets of her personality that fascinated him. There were times when she seemed drawn to suffering, like a walking antenna that was tuned into the grievances of anyone or anything in her proximity. Sometimes she would stop in the middle of a game they were playing and run off, only to return hours later with some stray animal that their parents wouldn¡¯t let them keep. ¡°How do you always know where they are?¡± Nate grumbled, feeling slighted that she¡¯d abandoned him in the middle of yet another game.

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    ¡°They call to me,¡± she said.

    It wasn¡¯t just animals, either. She always rushed to the aid of any kid on the playground who was being bullied. She would charge forward with her fists raised, bellowing foul language at the perpetrators. Sometimes she was successful, and she rescued someone. But most of the time she had the shit kicked out of her.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you let people fend for themselves?¡± Nate asked her once while he was tending to her wounds in their bathroom. He was cleaning a cut on her forehead. A big black bruise was blooming over one of her eyes.

    ¡°They¡¯re too weak.¡±

    ¡°Gimmie the peroxide over there. I¡¯m gonna have to put more on this cut.¡±

    ¡°Okay. But only if I get a hug first.¡± She leaned forward and wrapped him in her arms before he could say anything. She smelled like earth and grass---which made sense. The bullies had pinned her down in the track field and pummeled her for a while before a teacher finally intervened.

    ***

    As Felicity¡¯s check-ups at the Institute increased, Nate grew more curious about what happened during them.

    ¡°It¡¯s pretty boring, really,¡± Felicity said. They were in the kitchen late one evening, finishing some leftover pie that had been in the fridge for the last few days. The house was dark and silent, both parents having gone to bed hours ago. ¡°They give me some medicine to keep my powers under control and then I talk to a therapist.¡±

    ¡°Your powers are out of control?¡±

    ¡°I guess?¡±

    ¡°But feeling too much isn¡¯t dangerous, right?¡±

    ¡°I dunno.¡± Felicity bit down on her fork as she stared off distractedly in the distance. ¡°Dad says it could be.¡±

    Nate took a large bite of pie and chewed it thoughtfully for a few seconds. Then he swallowed and scowled. ¡°Why give you medicine for something that could be bad but isn¡¯t yet? That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what doctors do? Anyway, I think Dad just likes an excuse to get out of the house. You know things aren¡¯t great with him and Mom lately.¡±

    Nate¡¯s eyes went round. ¡°Really?¡±

    Felicity laughed and shook her head. ¡°Haven¡¯t you noticed all the yelling?¡±¡±

    Nate sullenly stabbed his pie with his fork. ¡°Sure, but isn¡¯t that normal?¡±

    ¡°Not the way they do it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re exaggerating.¡±

    ¡°Nu-uh. I can feel the way they hate each other.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna talk about this anymore.¡± She sighed, then reached across the table and pulled his pie plate towards her. ¡°Hey!¡± he protested. ¡°I wasn¡¯t done with that.¡±

    She stabbed a piece and then held the fork up to his mouth. A teasing smile crept across her face. ¡°Here then.¡±

    Nate raised his eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯re weird,¡± he said, but he leaned forward and let her gently slip the fork between his lips. That piece tasted sweeter than the others had.

    ***

    The gin was blurring the edges of his vision. Nate slumped in his chair, his eyes drooping. His body was numb, his brain growing fuzzy with impending sleep---hopefully a deep, dark, alcohol-induced slumber that would be undisturbed by dreams. He drifted in and out of consciousness, hoping oblivion would come quickly.

    ***

    The first time she kissed him was when he was thirteen.

    They were walking home from school together and they decided to take a shortcut through the park because it looked like it was going to rain. As they wandered alongside the pond, Felicity stopped to look at some ducks drifting across the water¡¯s surface.

    ¡°They look happy,¡± she said.

    ¡°How can you tell?¡±

    She turned towards him. ¡°I just can.¡± She reached out and brushed the side of his face with her palm. ¡°You feel warm.¡±

    ¡°Well it¡¯s hot out.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She continued to stroke his cheek, gazing at him intently.

    ¡°What?¡± he said nervously.

    ¡°You have Dad¡¯s eyes.¡±

    ¡°I do?¡±

    ¡°But yours are kinder. And a little lighter. Like chocolate syrup.¡±

    ¡°Well yours are like Mom¡¯s.¡±

    She withdrew her hand and scowled. ¡°Gross.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I hate that bitch.¡±

    ¡°Felicity!¡±

    ¡°What? I don¡¯t have to like her just because we¡¯re related.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your problem with Mom?¡±

    ¡°She lets dad do whatever he wants. Haven¡¯t you noticed? Even when he¡¯s mean to her. She just sits there and takes it.¡±

    ¡°Did you hear them yelling last night?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I couldn¡¯t sleep.¡±

    ¡°I wonder what they were fighting about?¡±

    ¡°Who knows? It¡¯s always something. What¡¯re you doing?¡±

    Nate had stooped down to look at an array of flowers blooming in the grass around their feet. ¡°The tulips are out,¡± he said excitedly.

    ¡°Yeah, nerd, I hear they do that every year.¡±

    Nate stuck his tongue out at her, then bent down and picked a red tulip. He held it out to her, smiling. ¡°It¡¯s the same color as your hair.¡± He tucked the flower behind her ear. When he went to lean away she suddenly leaned forward, and their lips met.

    He was startled at first. Then the alarm curdled into something else, a hot, previously unknown sensation that curled around his insides and squeezed the life out of him. It was almost like he was being invaded by a foreign entity. He pushed her away, panting. He was trembling.

    ¡°Why¡¯d you do that?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you like it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he said, his voice wavering.

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    ¡°Stop messing around. Let¡¯s go home before it starts raining.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for this,¡± she said, smiling as she adjusted the tulip nestled behind her ear.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a flower,¡± he mumbled, hurrying along the path, his eyes downcast and his face flushed.

    His confusing feelings ebbed as they walked, and by the time they got home he was feeling much better. She had probably been joking around. He was sure she¡¯d already forgotten about it.

    ***

    The fighting at home escalated shortly after that strange incident in the park. Their parents were like two wild animals forced into confinement together, and they took every opportunity to go for each other¡¯s eyes. On more than one occasion, family meals turned into war zones, with plates shattering against the wall and cups being chucked across the room. Felicity was once hit in the eye by a freefalling fork. She was lucky she escaped with nothing more than a scratch on her eyelid.

    Nate would often be kept up at night by their screaming. He stuffed a pillow over his head and hummed as loud as he could, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to pretend that he was in a bad dream. When those methods failed, he would tip-toe across the room, pull open his door, and listen to their voices drifting up the stairs from the living room, trying to guess how much longer it sounded like they were going to fight. Sometimes Mom would be crying, which meant it was almost over. But most of the time she would be screaming at the top of her voice, and there was no telling how long that would go on.

    One night, Nate listened to an argument that went on for at least forty minutes.

    ¡°For Chrissakes, Benjamin!¡± Mom yelled. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be a little more discreet next time---oh, don¡¯t you dare give me that look! Do you take me for a fucking idiot? Are there truly no boundaries you won¡¯t violate?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare talk to me about boundaries, you hateful bitch!¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°That new side business you¡¯re starting with that starry-eyed brat from accounting! Did you plan on leaving me high and dry with all the bills while you skip off into the sunset with some kid who hasn¡¯t even sprouted his dick yet---¡±

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t you dare---don¡¯t you dare compare me to you!¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it! I have a modicum of respect for the people I do business with, you cunt---¡±

    There was the sound of glass breaking, a pregnant pause, and then a swell of more cursing and yelling. Nate closed the door and crawled back into bed, stuffing his head under a few more pillows.

    Maybe all the trouble with Mom is why Dad started to hit them.

    The first time for Nate was in late spring, and it was around eight o¡¯clock in the evening. He was in his room, cramming for an upcoming exam, when his father walked without announcing himself.

    ¡°Nathaniel, why didn¡¯t you clean up after dinner? There¡¯s a pile of filthy dishes in the sink.¡±

    Nate looked up from his book, blinking. ¡°It¡¯s not my turn.¡±

    ¡°You turn?¡± His father¡¯s lip curled. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have to ask you to help out. A decent child would just know when to step up.¡±

    Nate felt his ears reddening. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll go do them now.¡±

    ¡°Your sister is already doing them, no thanks to your negligence.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair,¡± Nate said, shutting his book and getting off his bed. He¡¯d meant that it wasn¡¯t fair to Felicity, but before he could clarify, Dad¡¯s face darkened and he snarled,

    ¡°Fair?¡±

    Nate heard the whoosh of his father¡¯s fist moments before it collided with his face. He fell down with a startled cry. Dad turned and left the room without another word, leaving Nate sprawled on the carpet.

    Sometimes it was worst for Felicity---although whenever Dad hit her, she always got an apology afterwards. Nate once witnessed him slap her clean across the face and then take her in his arms mere seconds later, murmuring ¡°sorry sweetie¡± and nervously stroking her hair.

    ¡°What are you standing there for?¡± he had snapped at Nate from over her shoulder. ¡°Get your sister an ice pack.¡±

    ***

    Eventually, Nate and Felicity went out of their way to avoid interacting with their parents altogether. They opted for the bus to school rather than take a ride, and they refused to go down for dinner. Instead they would hide in Felicity¡¯s room, waiting for the arguing to end before sneaking out later in the night to steal food from the cupboards downstairs. Whenever they finished eating, Felicity would read aloud to him to pass the time or let him lay in her lap while she stroked his hair and sang lullabies to help him fall asleep. Nate knew he was too old for such things (he was fifteen at this point), but he liked being coddled. Their mother hadn¡¯t sung to him, or even hugged him, in what felt like years. His loneliness was soothed by Felicity¡¯s attention---though he knew it wasn¡¯t just her attention he wanted.

    He was becoming increasingly aware of a growing need that went beyond motherly comfort, something that had taken root inside his heart ever since that day in the park. He found himself staring at her a lot during the nights they spent hiding in her room, provoking her on more than one occasion to laugh at him and say, ¡°You wanna kiss?¡± He always denied it, scarlet-faced, and she would laugh again and return to whatever she was doing. Sometimes, though, she would come over and kiss him anyway. He would always weakly push against her shoulders and tell her to stop. But she would just grin wickedly and shove him down, pinning him against the carpet and kissing him until he started to shake.

    If he hadn¡¯t walked in on her changing one night, perhaps kissing is as far as it would have gone.

    A surge of confusing feelings had rushed upon him when he saw her standing in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but loose sweatpants and a lacy green bralette. Her hair was down, tumbling in a riot of fiery waves over the top of her white breasts.

    ¡°Oh, sorry, I---¡± he stammered, feeling the blood rush to his face as he started to back away, but she had beckoned him inside, and when he closed the door, she walked towards him in the dimly lit room with a look on her face that made him feel like he¡¯d swallowed a carton of eels.

    ¡°Mom got this for me today,¡± she said, tugging at one of the green bra straps. She left it hanging off her slim, pale shoulder. Nate stared at it, unable to tear his eyes away. ¡°You like it?¡± she said, smiling.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He laughed, too loudly, then cleared his throat and started to back towards the door again.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m your brother. It¡¯s---I dunno, it¡¯s weird,¡± he said lamely. ¡°Who cares what I think?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± she said softly, her eyes simmering beneath her half-shut lids. The air stirred as she moved closer, bringing with it the gentle scent of lavender soap. ¡°Come here.¡±

    He obeyed, and the room blurred into a haze of desire and confusion. For a long time he knew nothing but heat and darkness.

    A monster was born inside his body that night.

    There were other nights like it after that----though sporadically, and always at Felicity¡¯s instigation. During high school, throughout his time at the police academy, and once after he made detective. That one had been particularly memorable. Probably because they had both assumed their freedom was at hand, and they were high on adrenaline and possibility. He finally had enough saved and a steady job to support them. Felicity was going to drop out of college and they were going to go live together. They were finally going to get out of that house.

    Had their father suspected their plan? Is that why he¡¯d enrolled Felicity full time at the Institute, shortly after Nate¡¯s promotion? He¡¯d always had some kind of sick fascination with Felicity¡¯s power, a need to keep her to himself that had, in later years, made Nate¡¯s skin crawl with disgust and anger. The day she vanished from his life was burned into his brain; he still had nightmares about the feeling that had come over him when he came home from work to find her room empty.

    ¡°Where the fuck is she?¡± he bellowed, bursting into his father¡¯s office without hesitation. The fires of anger incinerated any timidity or fear left in his body from years of abuse at his father¡¯s hands. His father was sitting at his desk, and he looked up indifferently at Nate¡¯s noisy entrance.

    ¡°Your sister has been taken to the Institute,¡± he said calmly.

    ¡°When will she be back?¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t. It will be her full-time residence from now on.¡±

    Nate felt an abyss open at his feet, and he fell straight into the dark jaws of nothingness. He stared at his father, unable to speak, for a long time.

    ¡°Did you need anything else, son?¡± he asked, not bothering to look up from the papers he was reading.

    ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°You have no right to take her!¡± Nate yelled, advancing into the room, fists clenched.

    His father looked up, an amused expression on his face. ¡°I do, actually. I am her father, after all.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a legal adult.¡±

    ¡°Who is committed to a mental hospital. I know what¡¯s best for her. Get out.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    The amusement slid off his father¡¯s face, replaced with a look that would have made Nate quake if he¡¯d been capable of feeling anything but anger.

    ¡°I won¡¯t ask again,¡± his father said. He stood up and came around the desk.

    ¡°If you hit me, I¡¯m going to break your jaw.¡±

    His father paused, tilted his head to one side, and seemed to size Nate up for a moment. Nate knew his father was stronger, but he also knew that he was no longer a child. He was a grown man, and his training at the academy had made him formidable.

    ¡°You will leave this house by the end of the week,¡± his father said.

    ¡°Gladly,¡± Nate spat, turning on his heel. ¡°And don¡¯t even think for a second that this is over.¡±

    ¡°Leave well enough alone, Nathaniel.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    He slammed the office door as he went out.

    ***

    Nate lifted the bottle of gin to his lips and found it was empty. As he sucked what little alcohol there was left on the rim, he wondered why he was he thinking about all this now.

    The answer came to him at once. It was because he missed her. They had never been apart for this long, and his monster was growing impatient. He could feel it rearing up on its hind legs, trying to claw its way out of his body and into her soft white arms.

    Nate tried to stand up, but the room immediately turned upside down, and he fell heavily back into his chair. He leaned his head in his hand and closed his eyelids. He fell asleep at last.

 A Cup of Coffee

    ¡°Hey. How was your weekend?¡± Stilly said, looking up when Nate entered the police station on Monday morning.

    ¡°Fantastic.¡± He threw his bag into a desk drawer, sat down, and logged into his computer. He looked up to see Stilly still staring at him. ¡°Do you need something?¡±

    ¡°You look like shit, man.¡±

    ¡°Thanks a bunch. So do you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well, I couldn¡¯t sleep. Got here early.¡±

    ¡°You still looking at the footage?¡±

    Stilly¡¯s mouth twisted. ¡°The chief is saying to put this case on the back burner for now. He says he¡¯s assembling a special squad to go after Sybill.  I say he left his balls back at his mother¡¯s house, but nobody cares what I think.¡±

    ¡°A squad?¡± Nate said nervously.

    Stilly stabbed a notepad with the point of his pen, still looking sour. ¡°He¡¯s just bullshitting.  He wants us to focus on the Miller case.¡±

    ¡°I thought that stalled weeks ago.¡±

    ¡°I did too, but apparently the mayor is pushing for a resolution since some of his daughter¡¯s shit was stolen too. Basically the politicians have us by the short and curlies and the actual shit that matters gets put on hold. ¡°

    ¡°Sounds about right,¡± Nate said, trying to keep the relief he felt out of his voice. If they weren¡¯t going to look that closely at Sybill, that meant Felicity was in the clear too---at least for now. He wished she would call him. His anxiety was starting to have a physical toll on his body. He hadn¡¯t been able to stomach any food for the last day and a half. The only thing that would stay down was gin.

    ¡°And to put a cherry on top of this shit sundae,¡± Stilly went on, ¡°I¡¯ve been assigned all the paperwork for the Miller case. So if you need me, too bad, because I¡¯ll be over here trying to figure out the best way to hang myself from the rafters.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a good use of your time.¡± Nate drummed his fingers against his desk for a moment. He waited until Stilly was immersed in his own work before he got online and began to search for his mother¡¯s current whereabouts, glancing around every so often to make sure nobody was watching.

    Nate hadn¡¯t seen his mother in a long time. After the divorce, she had initially kept in touch through weekly phone calls. Then the calls turned into a card on the holidays. Then even the cards stopped coming. Over the years, he had ached for her almost as much as he resented her for leaving them in that house with their father. She claimed it was because she didn¡¯t want to uproot them from their lives. But Nate had always suspected that she simply didn¡¯t want anyone or anything around which reminded her of their father. Even her own kids.

    Locating her was easier than he expected. There were several newspaper clippings about her professional life over the years. She opened a new mental health ward here, another one there, each one more successful than the last. Her focus seemed to be on rehabilitating mentally challenged criminals. Nate paused over the articles that detailed these experiments, reading them slowly. Based on what they reported, it didn¡¯t seem like his mother¡¯s subjects had simply been re-educated on how to walk through a crowd without sticking a knife in someone¡¯s thigh; their violent tendencies had been totally eradicated. Nate¡¯s eyes fell on one reporter¡¯s particularly gushing account: ¡°Now equipped with Arlett¡¯s ground-breaking and utterly unique behavioral techniques, her rehabilitated inmates wouldn¡¯t squash a cockroach.¡±

    He thought back to the fight he¡¯d overheard in the middle of the night all those years ago. Dad had accused Mom of leaving him to start her own side business. Perhaps both of them were involved in the same line of work (he thought of the room where he had been taken to recover after his attempt to break into the Institute). If they were, he willing to bet that Mommy dearest had had some help with this benevolent societal undertaking of redeeming hardened criminals. Perhaps a set of ¡°special¡± employees, whose abilities she could exploit to advance her career.

    He continued to scroll down the search page, pausing when he saw an article that spoke not of his mother¡¯s business, but his father¡¯s. It was on a blog that specialized in conspiracy theories, so his first instinct was to write it off. But one sentence on the post caught his eye: ¡°Even after multiple calls were made to 911 from this facility, alleging heinous things, no action was taken by local police to investigate further.¡± Curious, Nate went into departmental records to see if the calls happened to be made to his precinct. His heart raced when he saw that they were, and he hastened to shove in some earphones and listen to the recordings.

    The first file was dated August 12, 2012, at 2:14 p.m.:

    --911, what¡¯s your emergency?

    --I¡¯m at [inaudible] and I can¡¯t [inaudible] please [inaudible] oh my God, please send someone!

    --Okay, miss, try to calm down. What¡¯s your name? Tell me where you are.

    --I¡¯m [crackling] getting closer---oh shit!

    --Miss? What¡¯s happening? Are you there? Miss?

    --Please, please send someone! I just saw [inaudible].

    --Okay. What¡¯s your name, sweetheart? Talk to me. Can you describe where you are?

    [heavy breathing]

    ---Hello? Miss?

    [door banging] [heavy breathing]

    ---I¡¯m sorry. This is a prank call.

    ---What?

    ---I thought it was funny. I¡¯m sorry. I won¡¯t call again. Everything¡¯s fine.

    ---Miss? Is there someone with you?

    [call ends]

    The next transcript was dated April 3, 2013, 10:39 p.m.:

    --911, what¡¯s your emergency?

    --Uh, yeah, hi, I---uh---I need an ambulance.

    --What¡¯s your location?

    --Uh---well--- I don¡¯t know exactly.

    --Can you describe your surroundings, sir? Are you inside, outside¡­?

    --I¡¯m at the Reynolds Institute---I dunno the exact address. Please, I need an ambulance right now.

    -- I¡¯m trying to pinpoint your location right now, okay? Who¡¯s hurt?

    --Me.

    --Where?

    --I¡¯m bleeding. Please hurry.

    --We¡¯re coming, sir. Just stay with me. Where are you bleeding from?

    --They hit me.

    --Who?

    --I tried to run so they hit me and gave me something. They [inaudible].

    --Sir? Could you repeat that?

    --[inaudible slurring]

    --Sir? Hello? Are you still there? Sir?

    [rustling]

    --Hello? Who am I speaking to?

    --This is 911, who is this, is everything alright?

    --I¡¯m terribly sorry. One of our patients had an episode. He gets rather sporadic when he¡¯s in these moods. Everything is fine, though. Terribly sorry he wasted your time, ma¡¯am.

    --It¡¯s no trouble at all. Please feel free to call anytime. It¡¯s what we¡¯re here for.

    --Absolutely. Thank you so much.

    [call ends]

    Nate moved on to the final transcript dated July 7, 2016, at 3:13 a.m.:

    --911, what¡¯s your emergency?

    --Hi, um, I think I need the police please.

    --Okay, honey, tell me your location.

    --Um, I¡¯m at¡ªReynolds Institute. My friends are hurt.

    ---Hold old are you, sweetheart? Are there any grown-ups around?

    ---Six. And they¡¯re the ones who hurt us. Please send help.

    --Where are you right now?

    ---Behind the desk. They¡¯re [inaudible whispering]

    --Hello? Sweetheart, you still there?

    --Yes.

    --What¡¯s your name?

    ---Sam.

    --Okay, Sam. I¡¯m trying to pinpoint your location now, stay with me. You said you¡¯re at Ray¡ªReynolds?

    --Reynolds Institute. It¡¯s a hospital. I haven¡¯t seen Momma in weeks. Can you call her?

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    --Where¡¯s your Momma now?

    --At home. She--- [sharp intake of breath] [crackling]

    --Hello? Sam, are you there?

    --They¡¯re going to stick me in the fridge too. Please help me---no! Wait! Don¡¯t--- [screaming] [scuffling] [inaudible noises]

    --Hello? Sam?

    [call ends]

    There was a follow-up report attached to this transcript. A car had been sent to the Institute to investigate the call.  The officers found no patient named ¡°Sam¡± or the slightest indication that any other residents were in danger. Nate leaned back in his chair, frowning as he mulled all this over. He wondered if his mother knew anything about police visits to the Institute. Was she still involved in that part of the business, or had she washed her hands of it entirely when she went off to do her own thing?  He went back online and tracked down the name of his mother¡¯s most recent mental health facility. He managed to get hold of an office number for St. Julian¡¯s Health and Holistic Center, a drug rehab facility on Duquesne Avenue. Nate dialed in and held his breath. He talked to the man at the front desk for a few minutes before asking to be connected to Doctor Camilla Arlett.

    ¡°Certainly, sir,¡± the man said brightly. ¡°Who should I say is calling?¡±

    ¡°Nate.¡± He hadn¡¯t even thought about giving a fake name. The man asked him to please hold, and the line gave way to annoyingly upbeat instrumental music. Then there was a click, and the contents of his stomach folded ten times over when he heard her voice:

    ¡°Nathaniel?¡±

    ¡°Hey, Mom.¡±

    There was a long pause. Nate allowed himself to not ruin it by talking.

    ¡°How have you been?¡± she said at last.

    Nate tightened his grip around the phone, his knuckles whitening. ¡°Great.¡±

    ¡°So why are you calling? I have patients waiting.¡±

    Yeah, and fuck your own son, I guess. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them and took a deep breath to steady the angry pounding of blood in his ears. He didn¡¯t call to fight.

    ¡°Um¡­so¡­¡± He cleared his throat. He hated how his palms were sweating, and the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. ¡°I need your help with something. I know that you and Dad work with mutants. I need to---¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t refer to them as ¡®mutants,¡¯ Nathaniel. It¡¯s offensive.¡±

    He blinked, stunned that she was choosing to focus on his lack of political correctness at a time like this. She went on:

    ¡°The individuals at the Institute are referred to in our profession as Variants---or Defectives, depending on who you¡¯re talking to, I suppose. The ones I work with at my practice like to be called Adroits.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡±

    ¡°Variants can¡¯t control their abilities.¡±

    Nate rubbed his temples, scowling. ¡°I didn¡¯t know there were enough of these people to warrant separating them into categories. So which one is Felicity?¡±

    ¡°Did you call me to talk about your sister, then?¡± Her voice was growing impatient.

    ¡°No. It¡¯s about a patient at the Institute. At least, I think she¡¯s a patient.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Can we meet somewhere?¡±

    There was a brief silence as she considered this. ¡°Okay,¡± she said finally. ¡°Does noon today work?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll text you the address of a nearby coffee shop. I just need your number.¡± It was like she had kicked him right in the chest. But he recovered quickly and gave it to her. ¡°Great,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon then.¡±

    Nate hung up, swallowing a lump in his throat and furiously blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes.. Stilly looked up from the folder he had been flipping through on his desk.

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll be stepping out for lunch,¡± Nate said, forcing a smile.

    ¡°Hot date?¡±

    ¡°You could say that.¡±

    ¡°Oh to be young again,¡± Stilly said with a sigh.

    Nate ignored him and tried to get some work done, but he was distracted. He didn¡¯t know why he had allowed himself to hope that she would be happy to hear from him. When the clock finally struck noon, he hurried out, his heart pounding so hard he felt like it would break out of his chest.

    The coffee shop his mother had directed him to was small and busy. He found a table in the corner by the window, and absently ordered a black coffee when the waiter came up to ask him what he wanted.  He only waited a couple minutes before the door opened and a cool, rain-scented breeze swept in, carrying his mother with it.

    Her walk from the door to his table seemed to happen in slow motion. Hair like gleaming garnet, a complexion of alabaster and roses, every line and curve of her body fitted snugly into a dark green dress with a low neckline. When she sat down across from him, the air shifted with the scent of her perfume: apple and something floral. Peonies, maybe?

    ¡°You look well, Nathaniel,¡± she said, smiling. Her lips were like strawberries. Nate looked down at his coffee, wrapping his hands tightly around the hot ceramic cup and ignoring the way it burned his skin.

    ¡°You too, Mom.¡±

    Her presence scattered every coherent thought he had in his head. He was horrified to feel his monster rearing up inside of him. Was it because she looked so much like Felicity?

    ¡°So what can I do for you?¡± she asked.

    Nate couldn¡¯t restrain a loud, disdainful snort. ¡°That¡¯s it, then?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you in over a year.¡± Jesus. He sounded like a toddler bringing home a sticky art project and presenting it to mommy for a gold star.

    ¡°Oh, honey.¡± She leaned forward and stroked his hand. The gentle pressure of her cool fingers made his monster pace about with feverish impatience. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ve just been so busy. I did try to send you a Christmas card, but it came back.¡±

    ¡°I moved.¡±

    ¡°Well you never told me that, dear.¡± Her voice had taken on a gentle, reproachful tone that made his ears burn. He was feeling ashamed, and then angry. Wouldn¡¯t a normal mother have reached out? Oh, right. She didn¡¯t have his number. She¡¯d never bothered to find that out either.

    ¡°Well it doesn¡¯t matter now,¡± he said, blinking hard as he continued to stare down at his coffee cup. His mother removed her hand from his and settled back in her char.

    ¡°You said you wanted to talk about a patient at the Institute?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I need to ask you something first.¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Did you know that multiple 911 calls were made from that place over the last couple of years?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The patients sounded like they were being hurt. You said before that Variants can¡¯t control their powers. What does the Institute do to help them with that?¡±

    She didn¡¯t speak for a long time. Nate finally looked up from his coffee and fixed her with a hard, unflinching stare. She was staring down at her hands, one of her thumbs picking at the nail of the thumb on the opposite hand. Then he heard her take a deep breath.

    ¡°The treatments can be harsh at times, but they¡¯re necessary for damage control.¡±

    ¡°What sort of treatments do they do?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s confidential.¡±

    He raised his eyebrows. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound suspicious at all. Can you at least tell me why the Variants are at the Institute in the first place? What makes them dangerous?¡±

    She was silent again. Nate thought he saw her eyes fill with tears, but it was probably a trick of the light. Tears would imply she had genuine human emotions. ¡°The Variants at the Institute were placed there because of our mistakes,¡± she said softly.

    ¡°Mistakes?¡± he repeated.

    ¡°Yes.¡± A look of shame flitted across her delicate features.

    In her low, musical voice, his mother detailed the history of his parents¡¯ work. She told him about Project Camilla, the latent gene, and of the children they used to discover it. Nate forgot to drink his coffee as he listened. The muscles in his back tightened as he hunched forward. His shock gave way to curiosity, and then curiosity flared into anger.

    They had done this to Felicity.

    ¡°¡­we experimented with a variety of treatments,¡± his mother was saying. Her hands were clasped tightly on the table in front of her. ¡°When we triggered the latent genes, some of the subjects became...destructive. Eventually, there were so many defective subjects that we had to separate them from the successful ones.¡±

    ¡°Are these experiments still going on?¡±

    ¡°Not to my knowledge.¡±

    ¡°So wait,¡± he said, frowning as the thought occurred to him. ¡°Who did Felicity inherit her power from? Mom, are you¡­?¡±

    ¡°No, your father. Wait. He never told you?¡± The note of surprise in her voice was genuine. Nate stared at her for a moment, thunderstruck. Then he leaned back in his chair, running a bemused hand through his hair.

    ¡°What can he do?¡±

    ¡°He can create hallucinations from a person¡¯s strongest emotions.¡±

    Nate stared at her, paling a little. ¡°That sounds like a nightmare.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well.¡± Her rosebud mouth pursed.

    ¡°But Felicity is an empath.¡±

    ¡°Your sister¡¯s power manifests in emotional rather than visual illusions---at least, that¡¯s how they developed alongside the experiments. If we had left her alone, she might have simply been a bit more compassionate than other people.¡± She shook her head ruefully. ¡°We should¡¯ve let her be.¡±

    Nate sat very still. He felt the blood draining from his face. All sensation left his body.

    ¡°You mean she can¡­make people think they feel things?¡±

    His mother bit her lower lip thoughtfully. ¡°It would be more accurate to say she takes pre-existing emotions and uses them to her advantage.¡±

    With a trembling hand, Nate pushed away his coffee mug. He felt sick. His mother looked at him with a concerned frown on her face.

    ¡°Are you alright? Is this what you wanted to talk about in particular? Felicity?¡±

    ¡°N-No.¡± He tried to re-focus. His stomach was churning. ¡°I just wanted a bit of background because I¡¯ve been having¡­visions, I guess? Of one of the patients at the Institute.¡±

    His mother raised her eyebrows.

    ¡°Visions?¡±

    Speaking in a low voice, Nate told her what he had seen the last few nights. Her expression went from dismissive to alarmed.

    ¡°That sounds like projection. It¡¯s a common ability of Adroit Telepaths. I¡¯ve never heard of a Variant one doing it, though¡­and to project from such a distance...it¡¯s remarkable. And she didn¡¯t say what she wanted?¡±

    ¡°No. She just keeps begging me for help.¡±

    His mother traced her lips with one finger, looking thoughtful. ¡°Did she tell you her name?¡±

    ¡°She said it was Sophia. Sophia Montgomery.¡±

    His mother froze. Her face was very still, and there was a cobra-like gleam in her eyes that made him instinctively draw back.

    ¡°Do¡­you know her?¡± he asked hesitantly.

    ¡°Not personally. I knew her mother, though. She¡¯s since passed away, but she made your father Sophia¡¯s legal guardian.¡±

    Nate gaped at her. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it was a surprise to me too. I found out after the fact, though your father had apparently agreed to it years ago.¡±

    ¡°But---why?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Evelyn had her reasons.¡±

    ¡°What was the relationship between her and dad?¡±

    ¡°We all worked together at the beginning,,¡± his mother said, still with that unnerving look in her eyes. ¡°Sophia¡¯s mother and your father were thick as thieves. It was one of the reasons---well, never mind. Perhaps it would help to get more details from Sophia the next time she comes.¡±

    ¡°You think she will?¡±

    ¡°If Sophia has any of her mother¡¯s tenacity, she¡¯s unlikely to quit after just a few attempts.¡±

    They stared at each other for a while longer. His mother¡¯s face was carefully arranged into an indifferent expression, but something in her eyes told him it was best not to pry. However, he made a mental note to check up on this Evelyn Montgomery once he got back to the station.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to be there the next time Sophia visits,¡± his mother said finally. ¡°I might be able to help you more if I saw firsthand what you¡¯re dealing with.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    There was another silence. It seeped into his bones and pooled around his feet.

    ¡°I guess I should go,¡± she said at last. ¡°I have a lot of paperwork to get through back at the office.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to text me your new address.¡±

    She was halfway to the door before he could answer. A breeze swept in as she exited the coffee shop. Nate shuddered, absently throwing back a mouthful of his ice-cold coffee.

    When he returned to the station, trying hard not to pass out from the onslaught of emotional turmoil he was currently experiencing, he logged back onto his computer and looked up everything he could find on Evelyn Montgomery. He found her obituary, articles about her clinical work, and a newspaper clipping dating the disappearance of her two daughters: Sophia and Sybill. The sensationless feeling returned to his body; the words on the screen blurred together. His brain went into cop mode, breaking the information up into digestible bullet points that could fit onto a single sheet of paper:

    Felicity was Sybill¡¯s friend.

    Sybill was Evelyn Montgomery¡¯s daughter and Sophia¡¯s sister.

    And Sophia¡­

    She had seen Felicity shoot Francis Coppula. Maybe Sophia had threatened his sister, told her she would go to the police unless Felicity helped Sybill escape from jail. Or maybe Felicity had broken Sybill out just because they were all old friends---though that seemed like a weak theory. Did Felicity owe the Montgomery sisters a favor?

    His thoughts returned to Evelyn Montgomery. He recalled what he had just learned from his mother: that the abilities triggered by the latent ¡°mutant¡± gene were hereditary. Did that mean Sophia¡¯s mother had also had powers? Shortly after her demise, Sybill and Sophia disappeared. That seemed way too convenient. Actually, Felicity had broken out of the Institute around the same time the girls had disappeared.

    He picked up his phone and rang his mother¡¯s office again.

    ¡°Nathaniel? Is something wrong?¡± she asked after the front desk had put him through.

    ¡°What did Evelyn Montgomery do at the Institute?¡± Nate said bluntly. ¡°I mean specifically?¡±

    There was a long pause. For a moment Nate thought they had been disconnected. Then she said: ¡°In addition to contributing to research, she was in charge of security.¡±

    His heartbeat quickened. ¡°In what capacity?¡±

    ¡°She used her gifts. She was a Telepath like Sophia, but¡­well, frankly, I didn¡¯t know anyone else like her. She projected a wall of psychic energy around the Institute so that none of the patients could endanger themselves---and to minimize outside intruders, of course.¡±

    ¡°She kept them inside,¡± he said, half to himself. A nauseated feeling was creeping into his stomach.

    ¡°Yes, I suppose you could look at it that way.¡±

    ¡°So if she stopped casting the barrier, anyone could come and go as they pleased?¡±

    ¡°Well, yes, I suppose. What are you getting at?¡± When he didn¡¯t respond, his mother grew impatient. ¡°Did you need anything else, dear? I¡¯ll be by tonight to help you, like we discussed, but at the moment I¡¯m rather busy.

    ¡°Okay. Thanks.¡±

    He hung up and then leaned back in his chair, staring at the glowing computer screen. Felicity had never given him the details about how she escaped that place but he¡¯d always assumed a sympathetic nurse or security guard had helped her out. He¡¯d never suspected anything like this. He sat at his desk for a long time, feeling like he¡¯d just been hit in the chest with a sack of concrete.

 The Messages

    His mother came to his apartment that night with a small overnight bag at her side. The two of them camped out in his bedroom for hours, watching the corner for any sign of the Sophia-hologram. They didn¡¯t talk much as they waited. Nate was aware of the uncomfortably loud pounding of his own heart. She sat so close to him their legs touched, and her scent was seeping into every crevice of his bedroom.

    At around three in the morning, when he was nodding off, she suddenly gripped his arm.

    ¡°Nathaniel!¡± she whispered.

    The hologram-Sophia---or projection girl, or hallucination, or whatever the hell she was making him see---reacted with some surprise when it saw his mother.

    ¡°Sophia, this is my mom, Camilla Arlett,¡± Nate said, feeling like he was at an absurd dinner party.

    Hi Camilla. I¡¯m familiar with your work.

    His mother looked surprised. Nate was pretty shocked himself, not only at the fact that it knew his mother, but that it sounded a lot more lucid than last time.

    ¡°Can you tell me what¡¯s going on?¡± he asked. ¡°How do you know who I am?¡±

    Felicity showed me your picture and I found your signal from there.

    He didn¡¯t bother asking what she meant by ¡°signal.¡± They had bigger fish to fry, although his stomach clenched into hot knots at the mention of his sister¡¯s name.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Is someone hurting you? What about Felicity?¡±

    Reynolds is doing these experiments---got me locked in----Vendra and---psycho---Felicity¡¯s not---

    She was breaking up like a bad cell phone signal. The hologram was starting to flicker in and out of focus. The next words out of her mouth made him go cold all over.

    Really hurt.

    You or Felicity? Before he could voice the thought out loud, the hologram reached out both arms to him in a sudden desperate motion, as if it meant to pull him into whatever ethereal realm it occupied. Then it was gone, and Nate and his mother sat in stunned silence for a solid ten minutes. Then they turned and looked at each other. He saw his own anxiety mirrored in her eyes.

    ¡°Is she normally so brief?¡± his mother said.

    ¡°Yeah, any idea why that might be the case? This is your area after all.¡±

    She frowned thoughtfully. ¡°She probably can¡¯t hold the connection. Like I mentioned before, projection is a hard skill for any Telepath. For a Variant, that effort would be tripled. Plus, she has to cast the projection some distance¡­it¡¯s truly remarkable. She must be in a dire situation to even attempt it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what I can do for her,¡± Nate said, frustrated. ¡°I can¡¯t go as a cop because I don¡¯t really have probable cause. I can¡¯t just kick down the door and say, ¡®a magic vision told me to come here.¡¯ Believe it or not, that won¡¯t hold up in court. Oh, and I would be fired.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you wait a few more nights and see if she provides you with more detail? Perhaps there will be something tangible you can use,¡± she suggested.

    ¡°What experiments was she talking about anyway? You said those were over.¡±

    ¡°I thought they were. Perhaps this a new endeavor of your father¡¯s.¡±

    Nate was silent. He wondered if there would ever come a time when his father wouldn¡¯t outdo himself in terms of being a psychopath. He seemed to constantly raise the bar. His mother stood up and stretched.

    ¡°Shall I take the couch then? Wake me if she comes back tonight. I¡¯d like to hear more of what she has to say.¡±

    ¡°Oh---no, wait, you can stay in here. Let me just---¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly.¡±

    She smiled as she grabbed one of the blankets from the bed and strode out of the room. Nate watched her go, helpless and confused and still grappling with the monster that was coiling in his stomach. He had offered her the bedroom because he knew wouldn¡¯t be able to sleep in this bed; it smelled too much like her. Like Felicity. It was unbearable. He¡¯d never be able to relax.

    He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he scowled at the carpet. His monster was pacing and snarling, making his blood boil and his skin feel hot. When had Felicity become a physical necessity? The way he craved her went beyond lust or even love. It was like she was the air in his lungs and the blood that kept his heart beating. Everything hurt when she wasn¡¯t around.

    She takes pre-existing emotions and uses them to her advantage.

    Nate put his face in his hands. He thought about the time she had kissed him by the duck pond. Had the strange feelings that had stirred inside of him even been his own? Or was it just her power entering him? Then he remembered the night he had walked in on her changing. Most sisters would¡¯ve thrown a shoe at his head and shouted at him to get out. How long had Felicity stood by that mirror, half-dressed and waiting for him to come in? He felt like he was a rat who had lived in a cage its whole life and was only just now becoming aware of it.

    As he sat on the edge of his bed, watching moonlight creep into the room, a new feeling took root inside of him: it was hatred, and by the time morning arrived, it was just as strong as his monster.

    ***

    The Sophia-hologram came by every night after that. The illusion she was projecting into his room grew clearer with each visit, and by the time the week was over, she had told him everything that was happening to her at the Institute. The cocktails his father was making with the residents in order to sell off to anybody who could pay. His accomplice, Clara Vendra. The torture Sophia was enduring in the Basement Complex. Nate half expected her to yell ¡°GOTCHA!¡± at some point because this grotesque story couldn¡¯t possibly be real. But a pit widened in his stomach as he listened, and it filled up with a thick, sick feeling the longer Sophia talked. He remembered the way his father¡¯s eyes had looked whenever he hit them: flat like a rattlesnake¡¯s. Those eyes were capable of a lot of things.

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    His mother sat by his side, listening and occasionally asking a question. He noticed she took extensive notes too. He supposed it was a good idea to keep track of the details, but he resented her for it. How could she listen to these horror stories with such an impassive face, scribbling into her notebook like they were attending a college lecture and she didn¡¯t want to miss out on anything that might be included in the final exam?  It seemed so¡­clinical.

    But he wasn¡¯t really any better. He listened to Sophia with the ears of a cop, and one thing quickly became clear: getting physical evidence to corroborate anything she was saying was going to be difficult. Everything she had witnessed had been through the minds of the other residents---which wasn¡¯t something that would hold up in court. Even if the other patients could back up her story, it sounded like all of them were underage and at the Institute per the wishes of their parents, who had signed off on all the ¡°treatments.¡± It didn¡¯t matter if that was shitty or not: it was legal. Even the 911 calls he¡¯d found a while ago weren¡¯t much to go on; they had already been investigated by authorities and nothing of note had turned up.

    What about the notebook? Sophia asked one night when he had done his best to explain this unfortunate reality to her.

    ¡°What notebook?¡± Nate asked.

    Doctor Reynolds gave me an old notebook of my mom¡¯s. I don¡¯t understand a lot of it but it looks like notes about the experiments. There¡¯s also my therapy journal. I¡¯m sure I¡¯m not the only one that¡¯s been assigned that kinda thing. The other residents might have written about all the shit they¡¯ve gone though.

    ¡°Yeah, maybe. But you would need a subpoena to get ahold of those kind of things,¡± Nate said slowly. ¡°I¡¯d need a specific reason to ask for that.¡±

    You mean the word of a talking hologram isn¡¯t enough? I¡¯m shocked.

    He smiled reluctantly. He could have sworn the flickering image returned it, but it was hard to be sure. She went on.

    So what I¡¯m hearing is that you need to actually get inside this place and find something incriminating. Like if you just happened to be here when a crime took place, that could get the ball rolling, right?

    A tense silence followed this suggestion. Then his mother said, looking up from her notebook.

    ¡°I understand that you must feel frustrated right now, Sophia, but there¡¯s no need to do anything¡­rash.¡±

    No offense, Camilla, but rash is the only card I have left to play. I¡¯m assuming you know the sort of guy I¡¯m dealing with here.

    ¡°I do, which is why I advise we proceed with caution.¡±

    ¡°What were you thinking about doing?¡± Nate asked carefully. His mother shot him an alarmed look. ¡°I¡¯m not saying she should kill anybody,¡± he said impatiently. ¡°I¡¯m just saying we need something solid if I¡¯m going to break down the door with a bunch of cops. I can¡¯t go there with obvious intent to find anything incriminating either. That would look like entrapment.¡±

    Why don¡¯t you come to visit Felicity? Whatever happens after that could just be a nice coincidence.

    Another silence. The thought of his sister made his stomach writhe with an unpleasant combination of lust and hatred.

    ¡°My father would never let me anywhere near her room,¡± he said bitterly.

    The Sophia-hologram looked at him for a long minute. It was impossible to determine the expression on its face.

    Last I heard she was in the infirmary. That was weeks ago and I haven¡¯t seen her since.

    ¡°The infirmary?¡± his mother said; her professional demeanor broke for just a second and an expression of what could be considered maternal concern rippled across her face. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Again, the hologram was silent. Nate felt like he was drowning in freezing water.

    I probably shouldn¡¯t tell you too much, right? I think if you just come to check up on her, that might give you---what did you say? Probable cause ? There¡¯s nothing sketchy about a brother checking in on his sister.

    Nate was starting to feel like the butt of a hideous joke. What was Sophia hiding? Jesus Christ, what had happened to Felicity?

    ¡°Did she get sick? Or was she in some kind of accident?¡± he pressed, but his mother interjected before the hologram could answer.

    ¡°She¡¯s right, Nathaniel. We shouldn¡¯t know too much going in. Let¡¯s see. Tomorrow is Saturday and I don¡¯t need to go into the office. Are you available? We could leave first thing in the morning.¡± Her voice had resumed its clinical crispness.

    ¡°We?¡± he repeated, startled.

    ¡°Of course I¡¯ll be coming with you.¡±

    ¡°Whoa, wait a second. Won¡¯t it be hard for you to see Dad again? Besides, it could be really danger----¡±

    ¡°Believe it or not, your father and I get along better than ever now that we aren¡¯t living together.¡± She laughed. ¡°Besides, I do have a vested interest in making sure everything at the Institute is above board. I¡¯m still an investor.¡±

    This surprised him, and then he felt his stomach swell with anger. The fact that she could still be a part of that business, even after the experiments, struck him as grotesque. But after a moment of reflection, he pushed the feelings down. Maybe it would be easier to get something useful out of his father if his mother was there. Experience had already shown that going in alone wasn¡¯t productive.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he said reluctantly. ¡°We can go tomorrow then. Thanks.¡±

    Camilla.

    They both looked at the hologram. For a second, Nate had forgotten she was still there.

    ¡°Yes, Sophia?¡± his mother said.

    What¡¯s in your husband¡¯s locket?

    ¡°What? Did you say his locket?¡±

    Yeah.

    His mother paused, as if waiting for a more detailed explanation regarding this strange request. When the hologram didn¡¯t provide it, she said slowly: ¡°I have no idea. He¡¯s had that for years. I assumed it was a gift from---¡± She stopped again, then said coolly: ¡°Why do you ask?¡±

    The hologram gave a jerky motion. Nate realized a second later that it was a shrug.

    Felicity once said I should ask him some day. So I was just kinda curious.

    ¡°Felicity?¡± His mother repeated blankly.

    The hologram stared at the two of them again. It looked from Camilla to Nate and then back again.

    Nathaniel, I think it¡¯s best if you go into this knowing all the details.

    Well that was foreboding. A cold caterpillar crept up his spine. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    Did you know your dad¡¯s my legal guardian?

    ¡°Yeah, I heard that. My condolences,¡± Nate said dryly.

    The hologram looked at his mother again, like it was waiting for her to say something. When Camilla was silent, Sophia continued:

    Do you know why that is?

    ¡°Um¡­well, our parents worked together, right? They were friends. I guess I just assumed your mother thought my dad was the safest person for you.¡± Doesn¡¯t say much about the judgment of your mother, but what the hell do I know? he thought.

    It¡¯s more than that. It¡¯s because he¡¯s my father.

    ¡°Who?¡± Nate asked, convinced that there was a glitch in the signal again and that he hadn¡¯t heard that correctly.

    Doctor Reynolds. He¡¯s my dad. I didn¡¯t ask Felicity to show me your picture just because I knew you were a cop and you might be able to help me. I wanted to see what my brother looked like.

    There was another long silence. Then Nate gave a breathless laugh, similar to the sound someone would make when they had been kicked in the stomach. Unbelievably, that wasn''t the most shocking thing she had to say:

    And he¡¯s not making cocktails to sell off to the highest bidder. That¡¯s just what Clara thinks he¡¯s doing.

    ¡°What in God¡¯s name are you talking about?¡± his mother asked; her face was pale and her voice sounded high and tight.

    He¡¯s trying to bring my mom back. He has her corpse here. I saw it. He dug it up from the cemetery and fucking dragged it here and he¡¯s trying to bring her back.

    The loudest silence of his entire life filled the room for what felt like an eternity. Then his mother made a retching noise. Nate didn¡¯t even look over at her, didn¡¯t ask her how she felt, didn¡¯t bother comforting her. Because it didn¡¯t matter. He felt like he had been turned inside out, emptied of all his guts, and then stitched back together again. The thing sitting on this bed was a hollow flesh suit which felt nothing and cared about no one.

    Then something seized hold of him, a manic feeling of absurdity and horror that he couldn¡¯t contain. It spilled out of his mouth as he collapsed back onto his bed, laughing hysterically as tears ran down his cheeks.

 Benjamins Locket

    The sun darted across the windshield as Nate drove down the road. There was nothing around other than an endless wilderness of trees, and conversation between him and his mother was pretty scarce. She spent most of the drive staring out the window or fiddling with her seatbelt. He had no distractions and therefore plenty of time grapple with the unpleasant mixture of emotions there were piling up in his guts like garbage in a dumpster.

    Anxiety. Other than giving Sophia an estimated time of arrival, their plan was rather ill-defined. He had no idea what they were going to do if his father simply turned them away. Sophia had said she would keep tabs on where they were located in the Institute based on Nate¡¯s signal, but other than that, he had no idea what she was planning. He understood that they needed to be kept somewhat ignorant so they couldn¡¯t be accused of entrapment later on---but that made him exceptionally nervous. He was just supposed to let this horror show play out?

    Guilt. Knowing that in addition to telling him everything she was enduring in the Basement, Sophia had been upfront with him regarding Sybill¡¯s involvement in both Evelyn Montgomery¡¯s and Xavier Coppula¡¯s death. She must know that her knowledge could incriminate her later if he ever managed to bring official charges against his father. She must be truly desperate, and what bothered him was that he hadn¡¯t returned her candor. He had yet to tell Sophia that Felicity was the one at the station that night. That she had killed the other Coppula. Though perhaps she already knew.

    Anger. There was still a pathetic, needy part of him that wanted to protect Felicity and earn her approval.

    Desire. The monster inside of him was relentless. It wanted to touch his sister¡¯s sweet flesh again regardless of what she had done---or what it might do to him.

    Fear. He was terrified of what he might find when he saw Felicity again at the Institute. Why was she in the infirmary? What hadn¡¯t his father told him or his mother about it? Had she been hurt during his sick experiments? His head was filled with possibilities and theories, and each one made him feel more nauseous than the last.

    When Nate finally pulled up to the Institute, he felt so sick that he opened the car door and dry heaved into a bush for a solid ten minutes. His mother got out and leaned against the side of the car, impatiently waiting for him to be finished. She didn¡¯t pat his back or ask him if he was okay. She just watched. It made Nate feel like a pet instead of a person, and he was ashamed by how much her indifference hurt. He should be fucking used to it by now. When he was finished, his mother walked up to the gate and pressed the intercom with the tip of a perfectly manicured nail. There was a buzz, and after a few seconds a crisp voice came through:

    ¡°How may I---oh! Hello, Doctor Arlett.¡± The voice took on a note of delighted surprise.

    ¡°Good morning, Saul,¡± his mother said brightly. ¡°Will you please tell the doctor that Camilla and Nathaniel are here to see him?¡±

    ¡°Certainly, ma¡¯am,¡± said Saul. ¡°Come on in.¡±

    The gate swung open, and Nathaniel followed his mother down a long path and up a flight of ivy-covered stone steps. The front door opened of its own accord and they walked into a brightly lit lobby furnished with gleaming mahogany furniture. There were other residents milling around, as well as several doctors. After a few minutes, there were footsteps in the hall and his father entered. If he was surprised to see them both, his face showed no sign of it. He bowed in his ex-wife¡¯s direction and then grasped Nate¡¯s hand warmly---like they were friends. Nate resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

    ¡°What a pleasant surprise,¡± he said. ¡°How are you, Camilla?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to just drop in like this, Benjamin,¡± she said. ¡°I haven¡¯t paid an in-person visit for a while. I was hoping I could get a look at last month¡¯s reports.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Also, Nathaniel and I were having lunch the other day and do you know what we realized? We haven¡¯t seen Felicity in such a long time. I wanted to catch up with her while I was here.¡±

    His father turned towards Nate with a coldly polite smile. ¡°Unfortunately, Felicity isn¡¯t up to receiving visitors right now.¡±

    ¡°Still?¡± Nathaniel demanded, not bothering to keep the hostility out of his voice. ¡°You said that weeks ago. Is she okay?¡±

    Why is she in the infirmary you asshole?

    ¡°Are you here on official business, son?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m here as a brother who¡¯s become pretty fucking concerned.¡±

    ¡°Please. Language. We have young residents.¡±

    Nate wanted to kick him into the wall and punch him until he stopped moving. Language? He was going to start screaming things that would make a grandmother¡¯s toes curl if this psychopath didn¡¯t take him to his sister. He was done with these games. He was sick from fear and anger; he could feel himself shaking.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that our little girl is feeling under the weather,¡± his mother was saying; Nate suddenly noticed that she had placed a hand on his arm. He swallowed. She gave him a bracing squeeze. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡±

    ¡°Nothing to warrant any concern,¡± his father said breezily. ¡°I think she caught a bug going around.¡±

    ¡°Well if it¡¯s all the same to you, I think I would like to see her anyway.¡± His mother flashed a big shiny smile. ¡°Maybe I can cheer her up.¡±

    The doctor smiled and placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly. ¡°That¡¯s very sweet of you, Camilla, and normally I would have no objection. But we¡¯re still running tests. I¡¯m not sure if what she has is contagious, so I would feel better if we kept you away from her for now.¡±

    ¡°Wow, sounds like quite the bug,¡± Nate said. ¡°How many residents have come down with this by now? You might have a pandemic on your hands. In this kind of enclosed environment, that could be pretty dangerous. Have you reported this to the families? Is this place currently under quarantine?¡±

    ¡°Quarantine?¡± His father gave him a small smile. ¡°The situation is hardly that dire.¡±

    ¡°But you just said you¡¯re still running tests. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re dealing with, right? Better safe than sorry.¡± He met his father¡¯s cool gaze with a glare. ¡°Or you know, you could also be full of shit. Sounds to me like you just don¡¯t want us seeing her. Now why would that be? Did you beat her up?¡±

    ¡°Nathaniel, I will ask you to leave if you continue to make such disgusting accusations.¡±

    ¡°Oh, now it disgusts you?¡± His temper was boiling to the surface, rage tearing at his insides like white-hot cleavers. ¡°You had no problem doing it when we were kids.¡±

    There was a short silence. A look of panic rippled through his mother¡¯s eyes; his father¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, though Nate saw a vein twitch in his jaw.

    ¡°Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office,¡± he said finally, glancing around. He turned without waiting for them to respond and began to walk towards the door. Nate and his mother followed him. They didn¡¯t look at each other. Nate didn¡¯t trust himself to look at anyone; if he detected even a glimmer of pity or condescension from either one of them, he was certain he would tear them both to pieces in a blind fury. Every crevice of his brain was crammed with images of Felicity in pain. He could barely draw breath as he followed his parents into a dimly lit room that was bigger than his entire apartment.

    He stared around in awe at the polished furnishings and sarcastically wondered how much of the Institute¡¯s budget was allotted to maintaining this luxurious office. There were more than a few exotic plants in the windowsills, and the fireplace looked like it was made of real marble.

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    ¡°Please have a seat,¡± his father said, waving them into two chairs.

    He sat down in the one behind the desk, neatly folding his hands in front of him. For a moment all three of them stared at each other in silence . Nate felt like they were cowboys locked in a deadly duel, waiting to see who would draw first. Then his father cleared his throat.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Felicity isn¡¯t going to be up and about for a while. She had a run-in with another resident.¡±

    ¡°Run-in?¡± his mother repeated, alarmed. ¡°You mean they attacked her?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The nurses took some visual documentation if you would like to see. Where did I put it¡­¡±

    The doctor pulled open his desk drawer and rummaged around for a minute before extracting a large photo. He held it out. There was a short pause. Nate and his mother exchanged nervous looks; neither of them was keen to see whatever it was in that photo. But finally Nate stood up and walked around the desk, taking the picture from his father. It showed someone sitting upright in bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages. It could have been Felicity. It could have been anyone.

    ¡°Was she burned or something?¡± he asked stiffly as he slid the photo across the desk towards his mother. She leaned forward in her chair, glanced at the it, and then leaned back again, her face pale. His father pushed back his chair and stood up. He walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, positioning himself so that he was directly across from his ex-wife. His back was to Nate.

    ¡°Not burned, but she was beaten to a pulp,¡± his father said regretfully. ¡°There was a lot of bruising. The bandages are to keep the ointment on the wounds.¡±

    ¡°My God,¡± Camilla said. ¡°What about the person who did this?¡±

    ¡°They have been in lock down since the incident occurred. We¡¯re currently determining how long he should stay there. He¡¯s still quite violent.¡±

    Nate picked up the photo again and stared at it. Something didn¡¯t seem right. He brought it closer to his eyes and realized it was the hands. They were thick and coarse---the broad hands of a man.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t Felicity,¡± he said.

    There was a short silence. His father turned slowly around to face him.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Nate scornfully tossed the photo back onto the desk. ¡°Anybody who¡¯s ever been in a room with her for more than five seconds could see it.¡±

    The doctor continued to stare at him with those snake eyes. His mother¡¯s gaze wandered to her Nate then to her ex-husband, and then back to Nate.

    ¡°Benjamin, is that true?¡± she said finally, and then she uttered a startled cry and sprang to her feet. Even the doctor seemed surprised; his staggered back a few steps as a flickering image materialized in the room.

    Nate stared in shock at the Sophia-hologram, and for a moment it stared around at all of them with an impassive expression on its face. Then it pointed right at his father.

    Help me. He¡¯s crazy.

    As far as strategies went, it wasn¡¯t bad. Straightforward and simple. Nate did his best to sound surprised, like he¡¯d never seen this vision before.

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    Sophia Montgomery. Reynolds is abusing me. I¡¯m locked up in the Basement Complex. Please help me. And call the cops.

    ¡°Now wait a minute,¡± the doctor said coolly. ¡°Sophia, how are you doing that? That can¡¯t be good for you. You¡¯ll tire yourself out.¡±

    He didn¡¯t sound in the least bit concerned. It worried Nate.

    ¡°You need to take me to see this resident,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll need to question her.¡±

    ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t here as an officer today? Plus, she¡¯s on a lot of medications, Nathaniel. I daresay she isn¡¯t even aware of what she¡¯s saying.¡±

    The fuck I¡¯m not! snarled the hologram.

    ¡°She seems pretty aware to me,¡± Nate said.

    ¡°Benjamin, what the hell is going on?¡± his mother demanded. The alarm and anger in her voice sounded genuine; she was a good actress, although Nate wondered how much of the anger was actually a farce.

    ¡°I may not be working today, but I know plenty of guys who are,¡± Nate said, and that seemed to worry the doctor for just a second. His jaw tightened ever so slightly.

    In the silence that followed, Nate happened to glance down at the open desk drawer. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. The gun Felicity had used on Francis Coppula was wedged between a golden cigarette case and a book. Its black polished exterior gleamed with steely brutality.

    I have taken every measure to ensure her safety. There is nothing to incriminate her.

    Jesus Christ. Had the murder weapon just been laying here the whole time? Was his father keeping it around for blackmail? Then again, maybe he figured the safest place for it would be somewhere close to him. Nate stared at the gun until his vision blurred. Then he picked it up without really deciding to. He popped out the magazine and checked the rounds. He had only loaded five for her, and right now he was looking at four. Were these the original bullets then?

    ¡°Nathaniel.¡±

    His head snapped up. His father was staring at him, warily eyeing the gun in his hand. Time slowed to a crawl; the seconds seemed like hours and the room tightened into a single knot of focus. He forgot about Sophia and his mother. The only thing that seemed to exist was his father¡¯s cold black eyes, swelling to fill the whole world with unfathomable darkness, and the echo of Sophia¡¯s voice suddenly ringing out in his head like a bell in a church.

    ¡°What¡¯s in your locket?¡± Nate asked suddenly. He felt his tongue and lips moving to form the words, but the voice that came out didn¡¯t seem like his own. For one thing, it sounded unnervingly calm.

    The silence that followed his question was deafening, and it confirmed something Nate was still struggling to define. His brain moved slowly; something was taking shape inside his head, a silhouette emerging from thick fog, but he was having a hard time pinning it down. Then he saw his father instinctively clasp at his collar, and there was a look on his face that made a trapdoor open in Nate¡¯s stomach and all his innards fell through.

    Do you think she can breathe underground? His sister¡¯s high, frightened voice seared through his mind.  The silhouette loomed closer. It was something dark and huge, a monster he could not yet see.

    He started to walk around the desk towards his father. After a few steps he became aware of a heavy weight in his hand; he glanced down. He was still holding the gun.

    ¡°Nathaniel.¡± His father¡¯s voice was very soft. ¡°Easy.¡±

    ¡°Give me the locket.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to hurt anyone.¡±

    Nathaniel cocked the weapon and pointed it between his father¡¯s eyes. His mother gave a sharp intake of breath, but she didn¡¯t move forward to stop him. She was either too scared or too unconcerned with whether or not this psycho in a lab coat lived or died. The Sophia-hologram simply stood there, flickering and silent.

    ¡°You have three seconds,¡± Nate said.

    Doctor Reynold¡¯s held up both hands in surrender. His face was pale, and his eyes had a desperate, almost pleading, expression.

    ¡°Would you really kill me, son?¡±

    ¡°Yup. And I¡¯d sleep like a baby afterwards.¡±

    ¡°Nate. Please. This locket is very important to me.¡±

    His father¡¯s voice was high with something that sounded very much like panic. It shattered like glass against Nate¡¯s ears. Something inside of him was starting to scream as the light of comprehension sluggishly dawned across the dark landscape of his mind.

    Click. What are you doing?! Crunch. Blood spurting from his nose.

    ¡°I just want to see what¡¯s inside.¡± Nate¡¯s vision swam and his hand started to shake. ¡°Why don¡¯t you want me to see, Dad?¡±

    Tears started to slide down his cheeks. The screaming inside him was getting louder.

    His father scrambled for the necklace at his throat. ¡°Okay, here, take it, just---for God¡¯s sake, Nathaniel! Will you get that out of my face?¡±

    Nate lowered the gun but didn¡¯t put it down. He held out his other hand. When his father hesitated, Nate stepped forward and snatched the necklace from the doctor¡¯s slackened grip. He blinked to clear his vision; tears dropped onto the ornate silver sphere clutched in his palm.

    ¡°Before you look at that, you need to understand---¡±

    Without waiting to him to finish, Nate popped open the locket. He heard footsteps and the air stirred behind him, followed by the gentle scent of his mother¡¯s skin. Together they stared down at a photo of Felicity. She looked like she was around eight years old, and she was sitting on a mattress in a dark room. She wasn¡¯t wearing anything and the eyes looking at the camera made Nate feel like his body had just detached from the ground. Disjointed memories drifted through his brain and connected.

    Felicity¡¯s look of panicked furry when he had taken her picture that on afternoon. Her sudden departure from the house. The way she had become withdrawn and locked herself in her room so many times. The confrontations between her and their father, the beatings¡­the haunted expression that had entered her eyes and never left.

    He heard a choking sound. He looked up. His mother was staring at her ex-husband with popping eyes, her hands clutching her throat like she was trying to pull away the skin.

    ¡°You---¡± she whispered, her lips trembling. ¡°You---¡±

    ¡°Camilla,¡± his father said tenderly, taking a step towards her.

    ¡°No.¡± She began to shake her head from side to side, her face ashen.

    ¡°Please, it¡¯s not what---¡±

    ¡°Bastard,¡± his mother whispered. Then her voice tore through several octaves: ¡°You BASTARD!¡±

    What happened next took Nate many days to recall. Each moment dribbled back to him during the long hours in the interrogation room when he was left staring at the footage caught by the security camera in his father¡¯s office. On that small screen, he saw himself raise the firearm in his hand. He saw his mother look towards him and fling out her arm. Then he saw the body of Doctor Reynolds hit the floor. As he watched these images play out on the screen, other sensations returned to him: the smell of his own sweat, the thunderous crash of solid flesh hitting carpet, hot metal clutched in his hands, and the endless screaming. Even after decades had gone by, Nate couldn¡¯t recall if those noises had come from someone in the room or from his own mouth.

 Spring Morning

    Sophia was huddled on the front steps, wrapped in a blanket as the police swarmed the Institute. The sun was throwing slanting yellow lines across the steps; they mingled with the shadows cast by clouds passing overhead. Sophia watched the interplay of light and shadow dance across her feet, relishing the cozy feeling of the blanket tucked securely around her shoulders.

    Her thoughts wandered to what had transpired in the last hour. The cops were interviewing Camilla and Nate, and she knew it wouldn¡¯t be long before they¡¯d want to talk to her as well. That was going to be an interesting conversation. Maybe her story about being a Telepath would be more believable once they realized what sort of place the Institute was. Maybe she¡¯d have some fun and levitate a chair in front of them or something. How would that be for ¡°proof,¡± assholes? Took you long enough. How many kids had to suffer in the meantime because you couldn¡¯t be bothered to really look into anything?

    She rested her forehead on her knees, sighing. Exhaustion was starting to creep through her body. She wanted to collapse like a broken doll on these front steps and sleep for weeks. She still didn¡¯t know how to feel about what Nate had done. All she really knew was that a quick death for Reynolds seemed grotesquely unjust. Why should he get off that easily? A bullet between the eyes was nothing. He deserved to rot in jail for the rest of his life, to have the shit kicked out of him on the daily by some tattooed motherfucker named Bruno or Mitch.

    A shadow fell over her. The air stirred with a sweet and familiar scent, and she knew it was Jude before she glanced over and saw him sitting next to her. Sophia pulled opened her blanket; he scooched under it, his arm pressing against hers as she wrapped the cloth around them both. She leaned her head on his shoulder, appreciating the safeness, the warmth, the way he smelled like spring morning. They sat like that for a long time before he finally spoke.

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Figured. Do you need anything from me?¡±

    ¡°Just stay here a little longer.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, okay.¡±

    They watched a flock of birds rise up from the distant trees; they circled overhead for a moment before plunging back down into the hills.

    ¡°People inside are saying Reynolds is dead,¡± Jude said slowly.

    ¡°People inside are correct.¡±

    ¡°What happened, Soph?¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°What are people saying happened?¡± she asked.

    ¡°That he was shot. The cops wanna to talk to you, but we can just take off running if you like.¡±

    She grinned up at him. ¡°How far do you think we¡¯d get before they tasered us?¡±

    ¡°We could haul ass to the tree line at the very least.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve had enough of running, but thanks for the thought.¡±

    She stood up, shedding the blanket. Jude looked up at her, his brow pinched with concern.

    ¡°Maybe you should ask for a lawyer or something?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure. I have all those Harvard Law connections after all.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying, smartass.¡±

    She laughed weakly and then shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m done keeping secrets.¡±

    ¡°But everyone is entitled to a few.¡±

    A smashed pot of blood and potpourri seared through her mind. A dead homeless man in an alleyway. All the people she¡¯d exploited for food and lodging with her mental scrambling. She shook her head again.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see you later---hopefully.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m keeping your blanket,¡± he called as she walked back into the building.

    The lobby was a hive of activity. Sophia stood there for a minute, blinking and overwhelmed, before she spotted someone beckoning to her from across the bustling room.

    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Camilla asked when Sophia had reached her and a tall stranger standing next to the window. ¡°Do you need to be examined by a medic?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m okay for now. Who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Stilly,¡± said the stranger, turning towards her with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m a detective. I¡¯d like to ask you a few questions if that¡¯s okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to ask you one first.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s Nate?¡±

    Stilly looked at her for a moment. His face was impassive, but the shadows of a thousand emotions flitted behind his eyes in a matter of seconds.

    ¡°He¡¯s in custody,¡± he said finally.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t look good for him, does it?¡± Sophia asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Stilly said, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly beneath his baggy trench-coat. ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re his friend, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Are you reading my mind right now?¡± he said with a smile. When she looked startled, he laughed. ¡°I¡¯ve been having an interesting conversation with Miss Arlett here. I can¡¯t say I understood all of it, but I¡¯m a sucker for sci-fi stories and yours is pretty good.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I dragged Nate into this,¡± Sophia began, but Stilly held up his hand to stop her.

    ¡°Reynolds made his own decisions. Besides, if you hadn¡¯t reach out to him, God only knows what would¡¯ve happened to you and these poor kids.¡± He shoved both hands in his pockets and heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his stomach. ¡°Well then.¡± His voice became brusque and business like. ¡°Are you ready for me to take your statement?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll find you guys a quiet room so you won¡¯t be interrupted,¡± Camilla offered.

    ¡°I can¡¯t promise anything, Sophia,¡± Stilly said, ¡°but I want you to know that if you tell me everything you know about the Coppulas, and about what you¡¯ve seen in this place, I¡¯ll recommend that the D.A. cut you a deal. You¡¯re still very young. And God knows you¡¯ve been through enough already.¡±

    He swept a hand through his hair and gazed around, muttering something under his breath that sounded like ¡°I mean Jesus.¡± She wondered what Camilla had told him about her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone doing me any favors,¡± Sophia said. ¡°But I¡¯ll tell you whatever you want to know.¡±

    ¡°Alright then,¡± said the detective, motioning for her to follow him.

    Camilla put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and together they followed Stilly out of the crowded lobby.

 Epilogues

    <u>SOPHIA</u>

    The weather was unseasonably temperate in the city that day. The sky was an inverted bowl of perfect blue, the breeze sweeping through the treetops carried the heady scent of summer flowers, and the sun spilled bars of gold across the sidewalks. Sophia, however, was unable to enjoy any of Nature¡¯s glorious bounty at the moment. The architects of Allegheny County Jail had clearly held the view that sunlight was for law-abiding citizens only; there wasn¡¯t a window or shred of natural light to be found anywhere in the prison¡¯s visiting room.

    She sat uncomfortably in a hard-backed chair, staring intently through the glass as she waited for Nate to appear on the other side. A guard who looked like a gorilla was prowling behind the visitors, grunting with every step. Sophia could feel his eyes boring into her back. She folded her hands on the little counter in front of her, wanting to show that she wasn¡¯t trying to hide any knives or tunneling spoons up her sleeves. The claustrophobic watchfulness of this place was giving her flashbacks to the Basement Complex. She felt herself breaking into a nervous sweat.

    After a few minutes, Nate finally emerged. He was flanked by two guards, and his wrists and ankles were secured with cuffs. He laboriously made his way over, metal bonds jingling as he sat down on the other side of the glass. He didn¡¯t look directly at her, but he picked up the phone on his side and pressed it to his ear. Sophia took that as her cue. She plucked her own phone from its receiver.

    ¡°Hi,¡± she said.

    Nate gave a loud sniff and nodded.

    ¡°I thought of a lot of prison jokes while I was waiting, but now they strike me as really inappropriate.¡±

    He smiled and raised his head. He looked thin. Shadows were smudged beneath his eyes, and it looked like he hadn¡¯t shaved in a month.

    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not really in the mood.¡±

    They stared at one another for a long minute. Sophia took a deep, steadying breath before she spoke again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you care at this point, but I came to give you some updates about Felicity. I¡¯m not sure what the papers have reported.¡±

    Nate leaned forward. The hunger that had leapt into his eyes at the mention of their sister¡¯s name made her instinctively draw back.

    ¡°I saw on the news that the jury found her not guilty on all charges by reason of insanity,¡± he said softly. ¡°Is that true?¡±

    Sophia nodded.

    ¡°It took a while for them to decide where to stick her, but in the end they ended up shipping her back to the Institute. I guess mutant-free psychiatric facilities were a bit nervous about taking her on.¡±

    ¡°They took her back?¡± he said angrily. ¡°To those quacks?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s under new management if that makes you feel any better. Some bleeding heart who worked with Camilla runs everything now. Her name¡¯s Martha.¡±

    In fact, Sophia heard through the grapevine that Larry had been promoted, and that he would be working side by side with the new management to ensure the transition went smoothly. She was glad that there were still some people out there who got all the goodness they deserved.

    ¡°Is my mother still involved?¡± Nate asked.

    ¡°Not so much anymore. She¡¯s currently being indicted for the part she played in those experiments. I think they¡¯re looking to set a trial date soon. Not sure how that¡¯s all gonna shake out.¡±

    Nate stared off into the distance for a moment, chewing his lower lip.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see Felicity during her trial,¡± he said finally. ¡°I guess recording was kept to a minimum. How is she feeling?¡±

    Sophia hesitated. What was the kindest way to let him know that their sister looked like a hundred-year-old raisin? That she could barely get out of bed? That her insides were practically dust, and the doctors said she only had a couple more years left to live at most?

    ¡°She¡¯s not going great,¡± she said lamely.

    Nate¡¯s face showed no signs of pain, or even anger. It was just an empty slate. She swallowed and went on:

    ¡°The court assigned her a couple of handlers. They¡¯ll be checking in to make sure she¡¯s being treated well.¡±

    So you don¡¯t have to worry about her. You don¡¯t have to worry about anyone in your family anymore. Everything will be okay. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn¡¯t make herself say them.

    ¡°She would have been better off in here,¡± Nate said with a twisted smile. ¡°In prison you always have the hope of being killed in your sleep.¡±

    They stared at one another through the smeared glass. Sophia wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the expression on his face. He was still smiling, but his eyes were soulless.

    ¡°How¡¯s it going in here? Are you still being protected?¡± she asked quietly.

    He shrugged. ¡°For now. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll be able to keep it up forever, though. A cop has a certain smell to these people. One of them will get me eventually.¡±

    There was no fear in his voice. Only a weary resignation.

    ¡°So, how about you? How are you doing?¡± he said, still holding that horrible smile on his face. ¡°Last time I saw you was¡­let¡¯s see¡­last month. You were on the news. Somebody got a shot of you coming out of a coffee shop. Real headliner stuff.¡±

    Sophia rolled her eyes. ¡°They¡¯ve been up my ass ever since the trial. I really owe your mom, you know.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± His face darkened.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°She¡¯s done a lot of shitty things,¡± she said quickly. ¡°I¡¯m not excusing any of it. But she got a lot of her employees to testify that my power was real. They never would have believed my stories otherwise.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure they were convinced after you made a chair levitate in the courtroom.¡±

    Sophia laughed. ¡°I¡¯m sure that helped. I do have some probation and court-mandated therapy to get through, but considering how it could¡¯ve gone, I guess I¡¯m pretty lucky.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you are. I¡¯m glad, Sophia.¡± His expression softened, and for a moment a tender look crept into his blank eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry there was no official closure for your mother¡¯s death though. I heard the grand jury didn¡¯t think there was enough to move to trial?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, guess the word of a deranged teenage Telepath wasn¡¯t enough to get a conviction. Who would¡¯ve thought?¡±

    Sophia tried to speak lightly, but the decision had been a bitter pill to swallow and she was still dealing with the disappointment. There hadn¡¯t been enough physical evidence to link her to their mother¡¯s death. There had been nothing but Sophia¡¯s testimony of what she had seen in her sister¡¯s memories. Turns out that didn¡¯t hold up in court. Even from beyond the grave, Sybill was still getting away with things.

    ¡°They didn¡¯t even care about Felicity¡¯s testimony? Or did she not testify at all?¡±

    Sophia looked at him for a minute. Then she said quietly: ¡°Felicity can barely talk, Nate.¡±

    Another silence lapsed between them. Then it was like something inside of him that had been tethering his body to the chair broke. He slumped down.

    ¡°Does Camilla come to visit you a lot?¡± Sophia asked, groping desperately for something that would make that horrid emptiness leave his eyes.

    ¡°Nope. Haven¡¯t seen her around.¡± He shrugged again. ¡°Nothing new about that though.¡±

    Sophia opened her mouth to express sympathy (although what the hell would she even say?), but he rushed on before she could get anything out:

    ¡°Do me a favor, Sophia. Make something good out of your life.¡± He suddenly leaned towards the glass until his nose was practically pressed against it. ¡°Promise me.¡±

    Sophia swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked hard. ¡°I will. I¡­I want to learn recollection reparation, Nate. I think the new people at the Institute could help me out with that and one day maybe I can work for something like Project Camilla. Do something useful with this power.¡±

    Her voice trailed away uncertainty. But Nate nodded, looking satisfied with her answer, and then leaned away from the glass again.

    There was so much more she wanted to say to him, and yet she found there were no words to adequately express the Calvary they had each walked. So she said nothing, and together they rested in silence.

    ¡°Alright, everyone! Time¡¯s up!¡± barked the guard. Sophia jumped. ¡°Back to your cells! Visitors, please exit single file to the door on your left!¡±

    ¡°Thanks for coming to see me,¡± Nate said as Sophia stood up, the phone still pressed to her ear.

    Sophia leaned forward and pressed her palm to the glass. After a moment, Nate raised his hand and placed it over hers. ¡°Thank you for coming when I called,¡± she said. ¡°Thank you for saving me.¡±

    She hung up before he could respond, but Nate continued to leave his hand pressed against the glass as she hurried to join the line of visitors filing out the door. In the bustling of bodies, he thought he saw a familiar flash of vivid red hair. His heart pummeled, his head swam, but then he realized a moment later that it was just Sophia¡¯s sweater. She looked over her shoulder at him before she hurried out the door, and there was surely no mistaking her for Felicity in that moment: the smile on her face was one of pure gratitude.

    <u>JACK</u>

    There was a lot of discussion about what to do with Jack. During the trials, his murderous history was splashed across every local newspaper, flaunting eye-catching headlines such as ¡°MASS MURDERER OF THE ELDERLY KEPT HIDDEN IN INSANE ASYLUM,¡± and ¡°ONE MAN¡¯S CONSPIRACY TO PROTECT A MURDERER.¡± Once the sensationalized reporting died down and people moved on to the next titillating bit of news, the world was simply left with a young man who was incomprehensible. And so the world did what it usually did with such people: hid him away in the hopes that someone else would deal with him. He was declared insane and sentenced to live out the rest of his days in psychiatric care. But the only place on earth that knew how to deal with a lunatic with superpowers was the same place that had created him.

    So he was shipped back to the Institute.

    Martha Luxley, the new head of the facility, shut down the Basement Complex and moved all the residents up to the main floors. They were given more freedom than any of them were accustomed to: they had visiting hours like everyone else, as well as recreational periods. Jack was placed in the Aster Ward, a new floor created for residents who struggled with long-term mental health issues. The other Aster residents were aware of his past, and no one attempted to befriend him. Jack didn¡¯t seem to mind, although it was very difficult to know what exactly he was thinking at any given moment. The most anybody could hope for was that he would keep out of trouble---which he did, for the most part.

    He rarely spoke to anyone except his personally assigned therapist, and his only real friends these days were the rats. They had snuck in through his bedroom window one day and Jack had started feeding them. He even set up some blankets in the corner for them to sleep on. When he told this to his therapist, she offered to speak to someone about removing them.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly,¡± Jack drawled, looking at her with an amused glint in his eyes. ¡°I like having them around.¡±

    ¡°Rats are filthy animals, Jack. They could harm you.¡±

    ¡°Funny. People say the same thing about me,¡± he said with a toothy smile that made his therapist feel a little sick to her stomach. ¡°I named one of them Jackie Junior. Cute, right? JJ, the Rat. Sounds like a band, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°One of them? How many are in your room?¡± his therapist asked, her eyes widening.

    Jack leaned back in his seat, his spidery limbs dangling over the edge of the chair. ¡°Just two,¡± he said, staring at a spot on the ceiling. ¡°I named the other one Francis.¡±

    ¡°After a friend?¡±

    Jack smiled. His therapist felt a worm of unease inch up her spine.

    ¡°Not even a little,¡± he said.

    He didn¡¯t elaborate. Their session ended early that day.

    FELICITY

    Felicity sat in her room---her cell, really, for all intents and purposes--- listening to the sound of distant traffic outside the window. She had endless hours of solitude at her disposal these days, and lately she¡¯d been reminiscing in between all the injections and pills. Mostly she thought about her childhood---no, just Nate. Her brother was the only thing from her past worth thinking about. He was the only thing that had ever felt like hers.

    She was grateful that he would never see her like this: a pathetic little husk of shriveled flesh and sunken bone. The doctors gave her three years left to live---tops. If there was a God, it¡¯d be a lot less than that. Then again, the existence of a deity would probably amount to the same result for her anyway. If God did exist, He had never done a single thing for her worth noting.

    In the days when their parents still took them to church, Felicity remembered hearing preachers yell from various pulpits that hell existed because God was merciful. He didn¡¯t want anybody to go there. No, people chose to go, and God was a good creator who respected free will too much to do anything about it. He wouldn¡¯t force Himself on anyone. Even as a child, this had struck her as grotesque.

    For example: for her tenth birthday, her father had gifted her a little porcelain-white doll. It wore a ribboned green dress and had red yarn pigtails. ¡°She looks just like my girl,¡± he whispered, bending down to affectionately nibble Felicity¡¯s ear. Whenever she looked at the doll after that, Felicity would feel her father¡¯s warm teeth on her skin.

    A few weeks later she took the doll into their backyard and buried it.

    There was a thunderstorm the same night. She remembered curling up in bed and listening with relish to the sounds of hard, steely rain lashing against the roof. She grinned at the idea of that pig-tailed monstrosity trapped beneath the moist earth, hopeless and rotting in its watery grave. Whenever she thought of God, she always thought about that doll. God might be a lot of things.

    ¡°Good¡± wasn¡¯t one of them.