PARTURE
16 years old
The slot slams shut, metal clinking against metal, as brown eyes disappear behind it. The whip cuts through the air and imbeds itself into my skin. I scream, unable to stop myself. I know my mistake will cost me another lashing, one more brutal than the last. Still, I cry out in overwhelming agony—over and over, the whip only licking deeper into my already bleeding wounds. If I don’t scream, the whip will stop, but I can’t stop screaming.
“Summer! Summer? Hey!”
Her lungs heave, gulping down oxygen with all their might. Her eyes fly open, and the room’s dark. One of the walls begins to faintly glow, and in the dimness she can make out Gage’s distressed expression. She’s confused by her location, but her mind eventually begins to align with reality. There’s a blanket over her and Gage who has a crease on his face from sleep. She doesn’t remember falling asleep and takes deep, shuddering breaths as many scenarios play out in her mind.
“You screamed,” says Gage softly, tension straining his voice. His hand rakes through his hair, and Summer recoils, waiting for him to lash out for her mistake. He freezes with his hand on his neck, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “I was worried,” he whispers, his words hesitant, like he’s unsure if it’s the right thing to say.
Summer searches his face for any lies, but can’t find anything hidden in the depths of his eyes. Her heart slows as the dream’s effects wear off, and she falls back toward the bed, her whole body shaky and sweaty. Gage, still sitting up, gazes down at her, his eyes an emerald fire in the dark. “I guess we both fell asleep. I’m . . . sorry.” His voice is low and soft, like velvet caressing her skin.
Silence wraps around them, though it’s comfortable and strangely inviting. It’s one of those moments where the man is supposed to slowly bend over and place a kiss on the girl’s lips. At least, that’s how it happens in books (and movies). She actually anticipates it, but Gage is too apprehensive when it comes to her. There are triggers that he hasn’t figured out yet. She hasn’t figured them out yet, either. Barely touching her back made her break down in his arms in the cave. She understands his hesitation, but just this once she wishes that he would throw caution to the wind and just kiss her already. But it doesn’t happen.
He sweetly brushes hair from her slightly sweaty face and smiles shyly at her. “What was your dream—nightmare about?” His lips turn down as he becomes serious. He holds out his palm, and this time he’s the one that’s tentative about it.
She slowly, and carefully, writes into his palm, “A memory.” She doesn’t look up to see his reaction as she decides how to explain this to him. He already knows how scarred she is, how badly she was tortured. But really, no one truly knows. Not until they are tortured too, do they understand the full ramifications of what it means to be tortured, what the psychological damage really is. Cameron may talk about it, she’s even right about most of it, but it’s still all talk. The outside scars are only superficial; no one can comprehend just how deeply those scars run into her veins and poison her mind and body. She may never be able to act like a normal girl again, and she hates that.
She pauses for so long that Gage presses the subject by asking, “A memory?” You can see the fear filter into the lines of his face as the color drains from his cheeks. If only he could understand the absolute fear she feels. Every time he reaches out, every quick or unexpected movements has her stomach twisting into knots, her arms begging to raise to protect her face for the blow that’s surely to come. And no matter what she knows about Gage, or how gentle, sweet, kind, and tender he is to her, she will still have the overwhelming, absolute need to recoil, duck, and protect herself. Even then it only makes her anxiety coil with tension at what the consequences of protecting herself might be.
“When I was four,” she begins to write slowly, “I was whipped until I didn’t make a sound.” She decides to leave it at that—Jaden explained it better on the beach. The dream-memory’s still fresh in her mind, like an open, pulsing wound. There is no reason to pour and grind salt into it.
“Oh.” The word is so quiet, yet it manages to echo in the room, almost tauntingly. “I wish I could erase those memories from your mind and heal the scars that contaminate your skin.”
She wishes he could too.
A minute ticks by, their eyes locked. Now the silence is like a growing tumor, painful in its escalation. The question hangs in the air, almost visible between them. Should he stay, or should he go? It’s Summer that makes the final decision and beckons him forward. The shy smile is back as Gage lowers himself to the bed and automatically pulls her against his body. After a few deep, steadying breaths, she lets him comfort her instead of letting those memories of Jarvis taint their moment. He gently strokes her back until she falls back into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep. Gage is quickly becoming her sanctuary.
The next morning Summer wakes to find Gage missing and breakfast waiting for her. All of the gifts he brought for her are packed back into the bags next to the chair, and her roses, some of them wilting, are on the table next to the door. She’s curious as to when this was all done and amazed it didn’t wake her. She’s usually a light sleeper. Even though she had a locked door on the ship, she still felt like she always slept with one eye open, waiting for the next form of punishment to come if she didn’t wake in time to start her daily duties. Several times in the past two weeks she has woken in a state of panic, thinking she had overslept and that the Captain would have one of his crew come in at any second with his belt ready, or worse, a cigarette in hand.
She still wears the clothes from yesterday but doesn’t want to take them off. They are the single nicest thing she has ever owned—or remembers owning. So she takes a shower and uses the products the hospital provides to get cleaned up and hangs her clothes in the bathroom so the steam will hopefully unwrinkle them. When she steps from the shower, her clothes are neatly folded and clean. She can’t help but glance around the bathroom, wondering when someone came in and how they had the time to actually clean her clothes. Things in the future work differently than what she’s used to, and you never know what to expect from day to day. Every time the Doctor or a nurse throws gloves in the trash, and they get sucked away, she jumps in surprise.
When she’s finally dressed, she steps outside her room to see several members of the Canadian League. She freezes, knowing that today she’s to be escorted to one of the Outlander camps, but not positive if this is why everyone gathers in her room. Gage is talking swiftly with one of the soldiers she hasn’t seen before. He appears to be older than Gage, but not by much. He has short brown hair and baby blue eyes. He’s not as tall as Gage, but is much taller than Landon’s five foot eight. His smile is bright when he sees Summer for the first time.
“Ah, so this is the young lady who has broke our Lieutenant?” he says brightly. “I didn’t realize you’d be so small.”
Summer doesn’t know how to feel about the situation around her. There are too many people, and she only recognizes Cameron and Gage. She begins to tremble and back away.
“Don’t crowd her, guys,” says Cameron quickly when she catches Summer’s frightened blue eyes.
“Flower, you didn’t eat your breakfast,” teases Gage disapprovingly.
Summer flushes a brilliant red at him calling her “Flower” in the middle of all the big soldiers. She looks down in embarrassment for the nickname and shame for the uneaten breakfast. She’s not used to eating so much, and the hospital staff makes sure she eats three times a day. Three times! Gage carefully makes his way over to her and takes her hand. She lets him without flinching and secretly pats her back at how well she’s doing. Though, when the new guy comes closer to introduce himself, she actually attempts to hide behind Gage and use him as a shield.
“Hi, Summer.” The man chuckles. “I’m Ethan.” He holds his hand out for her to shake. Summer recoils at the same time her heart skips in her chest. She swallows thickly and attempts to melt into the floor so no one
can see her.
“All right, Ethan. Let’s leave the poor girl alone,” Gage reprimands. “Summer?” he questions and turns toward her. “How about you eat breakfast while we explain your transport to the Outlander camp, okay?”
She nods as he leads her to the table and chair. Cameron sits on the bed while Gage stands like a sentry next to her. She feels like she’s a prisoner and a princess all at once. Maybe they’re the same thing.
“Everyone, this is Summer Waverly,” introduces Cameron. “She’s a sixteen year old girl from the past. We found her shipwrecked on the beach. From what we’ve found out, she was a slave and has been through a great deal of torture.” Her voice amplifies with authority. “She doesn’t speak and does not deal well with people touching her, especially males.” She points at a few of them, and from Summer’s point of view, it looks like she’s stabbing them.
Summer takes a bite of toast while eyeing the soldiers. The taste is absent, her mind not focusing on anything except those around her.
“Summer?” Cameron turns to her, and she freezes mid-bite. “This splashy piece of work is Hunter.” She gestures toward a man with russet hair and stormy grey eyes. His skin is dark with a red tint, as if he’s been burned by the sun. He’s incredibly physically fit, and his face is hard like a soldier’s, but the hard lines soften around his eyes. He gives her a small wave of his hand. Summer’s thankful he didn’t attempt to shake her hand like Ethan did.
“And this is Emma and Zoe,” says Cameron as she points to two girls in the corner. Their looks are the opposite, one with blonde hair, the other with dark brown, though their mannerisms are identical. They both also give a small wave in greeting. Summer glances down, taking another bite of her tasteless toast.
Cameron continues, “Just so you Leaguers can understand Summer better, she has been ‘trained,’ if you will, using negative reinforcement to respond differently to movements, gestures, objects, etcetera, than you or I would.”
“You’re speaking gibberish,” Ethan calls out, a chuckle still edging his voice.
Cameron lets out an exasperated breath. “It means she doesn’t speak, because in the past she learned that if she didn’t make any noise the punishments would stop.” Incoherent mutterings break out through the room, and Summer catches many of their faces looking pitying at her. “It also means that sudden movements usually correlate with being hit or whipped for her.”
Summer hates that she’s being talked about like she isn’t even in the room, but she’s so used to it that it doesn’t even affect her anymore. She takes another bite of her tasteless toast.
“Here’s what the plan is, everyone,” says Gage, his voice commanding. “Transporting Summer will not be easy, not with the religious groups protesting in the streets. The reason why I have requested so many guards for her is the fact that she has been in the hospital for two weeks, and it hasn’t been a secret. You’ve seen the news—people are not happy that an Outlander is receiving treatment outside of the camps’ medical facilities. The last thing we need is to have an Outlander killed in transport due to our negligence.”
Summer chokes on her toast, her face turning red with each cough. Gage pats her back absentmindedly, and the action causes her to duck and hold her arm up, all the while choking. Kill? Did he just say kill? She shrinks down even lower as everyone stands around her, silent and unmoving. Gage’s hand is held in mid-air, not sure what he should do as Summer coughs and gags until she finally catches her breath.
“Summer?” whispers Gage while peeking at her under the table. Her arm’s still held over her head. “Flower?” His voice is gentle. He offers his palm to her and it’s like reality snaps back into place. She lowers her arm and takes his palm, her heart still vaulting like a gymnast.
She writes one word on his palm: “Kill?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you—especially that.” Truth resonates in his voice, and she can’t help but believe him. He hasn’t lied thus far.
“Wow,” says Ethan, his smiling, chuckling persona gone. “I guess I didn’t completely believe you until now.” He shakes his head. “Who would do something like this to someone so . . . small and vulnerable?”
“The splashiest piece of splash,” growls Gage angrily. He helps Summer from the floor—she doesn’t realize how far she has sunk until he’s practically pulling her out from underneath the chair. Once she’s seated again, Gage stands to his full height and says, “This is another reason we need so many guards. If anyone lashes out, touches her, or does anything to scare her, she . . .” he trails off, and Summer chances a glance up at his face. He’s glaring at the ground as if it has personally offended him, all the while rubbing his jaw in concentration.
“Any intense state of trauma can cause severe physical and mental damage to her,” Cameron continues for him. “She could have a heart attack, become catatonic, or could go into a state of shock. If the last happens, and she’s physically hurt, we might not know it, which can be fatal if we’re unaware.”
“Exactly,” agrees Gage. “This is not acceptable. Therefore we must transport her with the utmost care.” He reaches down into one of the bags next to her chair and pulls free a black shirt and green and black jacket. “To make our jobs easier, we will be placing her in military clothing. Because it’s illegal to impersonate a soldier, there are slight flaws in the jacket. Most people won’t notice her as an Outlander, especially with her neural implant, but all it takes is one person to point it out to the rest for things to go south fast. So let’s make this quick, and hopefully event free. The hovercar won’t be far from the entrance, but the media are staking out the place for a glimpse of this all-important Outlander. So we had to park it farther out as to not warrant attention. Doctor Rose has promised that no one knows today is her last, but as soon as people see her leave, they might immediately contact the media. We can’t have that—but it is bound to happen. Be prepared.”
“Yes, Sir!” they all chant.
Gage squats next to Summer, and their eyes lock. She reaches for the hand holding the black shirt and wraps her fingers around it. His lips twitch up, though he’s really trying to struggle to even attempt a smile, she notices. Something is upsetting him, and she hates that she doesn’t know what it is so she can fix it. “Take this bag here into the bathroom and get changed.” His finger traces her face, his frown only deepening. “If it were up to me, I’d hold your hand the whole time, Flower—but that will look suspicious. Are you going to be able to handle this?” His voice is full of sincerity.
She bites her lip and conveys with her eyes how unsure she really is about the whole departure.
“You owe me three hundred bucks,” twangs one girl to the other—Summer’s not sure which one’s Emma and which is Zoe.
“And everyone said no girl could break him,” sighs the other girl theatrically. Both of them have very thick, southern-American accents.
Ethan and Hunter exchange eyebrow raises and begin to laugh.
“Go on, get changed,” Gage says to Summer before standing and facing his comrades. Through the door Summer can hear them talking about her—though, surprisingly, none of them have anything bad to say.
“I really like her,” Ethan says, his voice boisterous and full of humor.
“Me too,” agrees one of the girls, twanging hardcore with her accent. “I’m just worried how she’ll react at the camp.”
“If it was up to me there would be no camps—the whole institution is just ridiculous!” rages Hunter.
“Trust me,” Cameron cuts in, “I think we all agree on the Outlander camp splash going on.” She sighs heavily enough that Summer can hear it through the door. “I’m just glad she’s doing better than when we first found her.”
“Oh, man,” says Gage dejectedly. “She giggled and thought I was going to beat her for it. I still can’t get that image out of my mind, her cowering in utter terror that any second I would strike.”
“Are you sure the camp
is a good idea for her?” one of the southern girls asks seriously. “I mean, isn’t there another alternative?”
“I’ve thought of everything, and all the options I want to choose are illegal,” explains Gage wearily. “And we know those aren’t really options anyway. At least not right now.”
Phantom Universe Page 24
