FADE (Kailin Gow's FADE Series: Book 1)

by Kailin Gow

  Most of them look like home movies, only they aren’t any home movies I remember. We don’t go in for that much in my family. Somehow, though, there’s grainy footage of me as a little kid playing with my parents. There’s film of me riding my bike for the first time, making a mess trying to help my mother bake when I’m only a few years old, going to birthday parties. It’s like a montage of my whole life, strung together from pieces of footage I didn’t know existed.

  There’s even footage of me from just yesterday, when my family disappeared. Me running around the house trying to find my parents, my brother. Me calling for help. Me collapsing after the telephone call in the living room.

  “What is this?” I demand of Jack. “What’s going on?”

  In answer, he just points up to a section of tinted glass above the section where the movie is playing. I realize then that someone is watching me even now. Someone is sitting behind that glass and… what? Making notes?

  “What’s going on?” I repeat, directing my question at the glass this time.

  “Hello, Celestra Caine.” The voice comes from speakers I can’t see. It’s strong, male, distinguished. “Be welcome. We have been expecting you. Mr. Simple has done a good job in getting you here safely, I see.”

  I nod. I guess almost being shot by goons back at the apartment doesn’t count. That nod seems to be enough for whoever is behind the glass.

  “Good, then we will proceed.”

  The screens change then, and I realize that they are glass panels too. They are clear, and behind them, I can see people. Some are busy at work, while others are staring through at me and Jack. At me. For a moment, I feel like something on a glass slide under a microscope. Then the voice from the speakers continues.

  “Celestra, as you can see, you came to our attention some time ago.” The voice sounds matter of fact, as though its owner is reading all this from some kind of file. “You were found shortly after your birth in a dumpster, without any recognizable identity.”

  “That’s not true-” I start to say, but Jack’s hand is on my shoulder again, squeezing in a way that is clearly a warning.

  The voice from above doesn’t seem to mind. “As I said, a police officer found you abandoned. You were given into the care of Children’s Services, while initial attempts were made to find your parents. When it was clear that they would not be found, you were put up for adoption. The couple you believe to be your parents, the Caines, adopted you right away. That is to be expected. A newborn baby was just what they could have hoped for, in the circumstances. You had no history to overcome, no problems to deal with. You were just their sweet little girl.”

  One fragment of the glass walls starts playing the movie collection from before, as an illustration to the unseen speaker’s words.

  “For a long time, it seemed that you were no more than a normal girl. Maybe a little prettier than average, but nothing out of the ordinary. You had friends, you joined activities and sports at school, you were a good daughter and sister. From what we have seen, your boyfriend Grayson adores you, and your teachers, would easily recommend you for that scholarship to Georgetown University you want.”

  What hurts is the casual way all this is tossed out, as though none of it really matters. As though it is just a collection of observations, rather than my life.

  “Why are you doing this?” I demand, shrugging off Jack’s hand. “Why are you telling me all this? Why have you been watching me?”

  The voice doesn’t hesitate. “As I was saying, you were, to all intents and purposes, a perfectly ordinary teen. Circumstances, however, have led us to believe that might not be the case. That you are in fact much more. Are you, Celestra?”

  I look up at the glass blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course, we have already established that you might not. Even we only know some of it, but still, taking you underground… fading you, was deemed to be the correct option. The safe option. You see, Celestra Caine, we have reason to believe you may not be from around here at all.”

  “You still haven’t told me what’s going on.” I look over at Jack, hoping that he will make more sense than whoever is speaking, but he just looks back at the dark glass of the observing room above. I do the same, and as I do, the glass clears, letting me see through to where a middle aged man in a dark suit stands. He has a kindly look to him, like someone’s rich favorite uncle, with hair that has just started to Gray and features that seem open and inviting. Yet there’s a sense of authority that rolls off him as he stands there.

  “I am Sebastian Cook. I head this group of scientists, researchers, and other leading minds devoted to research in areas that are, let us say, not entirely normal. We believe that you are very special, Celestra. Specifically, we believe that you have abilities dormant in you that could yet prove to be phenomenal.”

  “Abilities?” It’s hard not to scoff at that. “What am I, some kind of TV psychic?”

  The middle aged man’s face creases into what’s probably a smile. “Something like that.”

  “What is this? Some kind of joke?”

  “It’s no joke, I’m afraid.” Suddenly, he’s serious again. “We have only caught glimpses of what might be possible, Celestra, but until you are able to control what you can do, we will have to be very careful with you. You could potentially be a danger to many people, including yourself.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. “It sounds like you’re planning on locking me away down here.”

  “You already know what we plan,” Sebastian Cook says.

  “You want me to fade?”

  He nods.

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re not the only ones who have noticed your potential, Celestra. And we’re not entirely sure others would want to keep you alive.”

  FIVE

  While I’m still trying to make sense of what Sebastian Cook has just said, up there in his box, the glass walls around me and Jack slide away to allow through a team of men and women in sterile white clothing that makes them look like they’re ready for some kind of medical procedure. I take a step back automatically.

  “There is nothing to worry about, Ms. Caine,” Mr. Cook says. “The people here are merely going to make it easier for you to fade. It is a necessary step to protect you from those people who would harm you for what you are.”

  “Who are they?” I demand, still unwilling to believe most of this ludicrous story of his. Well, who would believe it if someone just told them that they were meant to have some kind of special powers. Only the sheer scale of the place I’m in, and the amount of trouble that Jack has gone to over me so far, keep me from laughing at it outright. From calling it all a joke.

  Because it can’t be a joke. No one would build a whole military base for a joke, or send men after me with guns, or have me do Jack’s “test” back at the diner on the way. I shiver as I realize that no joke would include surveillance on me for so long, or my family disappearing like that, or my phone being cut off. But that leaves only one possibility: that this is real. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.

  “Who are they?” I repeat. Even though the people in white look friendly enough, I’m not letting them touch me until I get some more answers. I’m not some little kid to be pushed around. At least, I hope I’m not.

  “We call them the Others,” Sebastian Cook says. “We don’t know much about them, except that they will be looking for you, and that they will not want you to live. When they found out about you… well, given how different you are, we had to act.”

  “That’s not an answer.” I see Sebastian Cook’s expression darken slightly, and I know how I must sound to him. Like some kind of petulant, ungrateful child. “Look, Mr. Cook, I’m sorry. I appreciate you sending Jack to help me escape those men who went after me, but right now, I’m completely confused. Can’t you tell me more about what is going on? You haven’t even told me why you’re so convinced that there’s something odd about me.�
��

  That seems to please him, and he nods. “I can try,” he says. “Ms. Caine, we have… sensors here. I guess you could think of them as a kind of radar. They detect the unusual, the different. Things that go beyond the normal in some way. Most of those signals are weak. When we intercepted yours, we thought it had to be a mistake, or an indication of some kind of forgotten lake monster. Those are large enough to put out that kind of response.”

  Great, so now I’m the Loch Ness Monster. I look around at Jack automatically, not knowing why it is automatic for me, but looking anyway. I guess I want to know why he didn’t tell me this on the way, or just find out how much he knew. He stands there totally impassively, of course. No, that isn’t right. Not totally impassively. He’s just trying to give that impression. Somehow, I know that, if he could, he’d be comforting me right now. Reassuring me that I’m not some kind of freak.

  I have to admit, that’s a good thought. I don’t know why it matters to me what Jack Simple thinks of me; after all, he hasn’t exactly been the best of company on the way over, but it does. Maybe it’s just that, in this strange place, being told these impossible things, he’s the closest thing to a friend I have. Then again, maybe it isn’t.

  I force myself to look back up at Sebastian Cook. “So you’re saying that, not only am I some kind of freak, I’m one of the biggest freaks you’ve spotted?”

  He shrugs. “If you want to put it that way.”

  “No, I don’t want to put it that way! I don’t want to put it any kind of way! I…” I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what to believe. I do know that suddenly, I’m crying, and I hate it. I hate that I’m crying in front of this bunch of strangers, when I should be standing up tall and facing them down. I hate that I suddenly don’t know what’s going on in my life, or even what kind of life it is, given what Sebastian Cook has just said. I hate what has happened to my family, to me… all of it.

  I feel arms around me. One of the technicians, maybe? To my surprise, I find that it’s Jack. Just Jack, pressing me against the fabric of his suit and letting me cry on his shoulder while one hand runs through my hair.

  “Hush, it will be all right. I promise.”

  I want to rail at those words. How can he even begin to say them when things are so very far from all right now? Yet somehow, said in those calm, certain tones of Jack’s, I find myself believing them. Normally, no one other than Grayson can calm me down like that. Normally, I won’t let them. Except with Jack, it just feels natural. I pull back then, unwilling to stay there with everyone watching me and probably thinking what a foolish little girl they have to look after. I won’t have them thinking about me like that.

  When I look round, I see that Sebastian Cook has come down from his control room, and is walking in through the glass partition.

  “You’re wondering exactly what you are,” he guesses as he comes forward.

  I nod. “I mean, you make it sound like I’m the yeti or something, Mr. Cook.”

  “Call me Sebastian.”

  I catch Jack’s look there and I get the feeling that his boss doesn’t allow many people to be on first name terms with him. I nod. “Okay.”

  “The truth is, Celestra, that we just don’t know who or what you are.” He looks uncomfortable at admitting that, as though the idea that he might not know everything irritates him. “That’s part of why we want to help you so much. We want to find out. We also don’t think that the Others should destroy someone as potentially important as you just because they let their fear of the unknown override their common sense.”

  “Why would anyone be afraid of me?” I ask. After all, it isn’t like I’ve been doing anything that people should be afraid of. I’ve been going to school, running track, and all the things every other girl my age does. None of them ever gets whisked off to secret locations for their own protection. At least, none that I know of. “I’m not anybody.”

  “As I said,” Sebastian Cook points out, “there are the readings to consider. You have to understand, Celestra, that some of those things that have produced even much lower readings have been able to do quite a bit of damage. The Others presumably assume that you would be able to do exponentially more.”

  “And because of some sensor result, I’m meant to be a threat?” It seems a bit like SATs. One test, and somehow, everyone thinks they know everything about you. Only I don’t remember getting to study for this one.

  Sebastian Cook shakes his head. “Not just a threat, Celestra. An international threat.”

  There’s an edge to that I don’t like. “You sound like you almost agree with these Others.”

  He shakes his head then. “No. I want to keep you safe. They just want to kill you. But I’ve seen those readings too, and we can’t afford to take chances. Particularly not now that the presence of the Others will make the situation worse. Until we have some better answers, you need to fade, and you need to keep Jack near you at all times.”

  “Why Jack?” I ask.

  “You have an objection to Mr. Simple?”

  I shake my head. “No, he’s good.”

  “Oh, he’s better than good,” Sebastian Cook shoots back. “He’s one of our best Faders. I think you won’t mind his company too much either.”

  He doesn’t exactly wink at Jack as he says that, but he certainly comes close to it. I decide to ignore the implications. It’s not like I really have time to consider them in any case, because at that moment, the people in the white outfits move forward once more.

  “Come on,” one of them, a woman, says. “It’s time we got to work.”

  She takes my arm, leading me out of the room with all the glass. Since Jack is just behind us, I let her. I don’t know why it should matter so much to me that he’s there, but it does. The room the woman takes me to is small and brightly lit, with a large chair at its center, surrounded by all kinds of implements and mirrors. For the briefest of moments, I think that I’ve been tricked, and that this is all some kind of interrogation room. That’s what you’re meant to have in secret government bases, after all, and I’m wound so tight by now that it just leaps instantly to mind.

  But then I recognize some of the things around the chair. They’re the kind of things you might find in a beauty parlor, not in some hidden torture chamber. I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Were you expecting something different?” Jack asks, moving up beside me.

  “I…” I nod silently. “What is all this? I mean, what is it all for?”

  The woman with us smiles over at Jack. “Like he’d know what half of this is for. He’s all natural charm and boyish good looks.”

  “Why, thank you, Marlene.” Jack preens theatrically for a moment, and it’s nice to see behind the mask, if only for an instant. Then it’s back to business as he looks at me. “They’re going to change your appearance, Celes. It’s an essential step in the process of fading.”

  “Change my appearance?” I repeat, with another look at the chair. Some of the things poised on angle arms around it look vaguely surgical.

  “Relax,” Jack says, and I’m surprised to find that I do. “They aren’t going to do anything permanent to you, and it probably won’t hurt. It certainly won’t leave you looking hideous, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just think of it like a really good makeover, and you might find yourself pleasantly surprised.”

  Marlene the technician leads me to the chair while Jack stands by. He’s obviously not going to leave. “Jack’s right, for once. Just sit back, relax, and pretty soon, you’ll be saying hello to a whole new you.”

  SIX

  The next part takes literally hours. Hours of plucking and teasing and dying. Hours of doing things to my teeth and my skin, hours of procedures that, while they stop short of full surgery, are clearly designed to radically change the way I look. There are never fewer than two or three of the technicians working on me at once, while at some points, there are as many as six, all far too busy to answer questions from me about what
they’re doing. After all, it’s only my body they’re doing it to, right?

  My hair is the first radical alteration. They dye it, changing it from its usual shining blonde to a brunette shade that’s so deep it’s almost black. They know what they’re doing, too, weaving in highlights and lowlights until the results look, not just natural, but spectacular. With that done, they hand me a set of contact lenses, telling me to get used to wearing them. They’re brown tinted, obviously designed to disguise my natural eye color.

  “Though with the identity we’ve chosen, it won’t matter so much if someone notices them,” Marlene promises. “In fact, we’ll give you a couple of spare sets in different shades, and you can change them out regularly. That will keep people guessing, and they’ll think it’s the kind of thing someone like you would do anyway.”

  “What?” I start to say. “I don’t understand.”

  By that point, though, there’s one of them working in my mouth, adjusting my teeth to what he assures me will be movie star perfection. I thought they were pretty good anyway, but apparently, ‘pretty good’ isn’t good enough for whatever they have in mind. Other people go to work on tiny imperfections on my skin that I’d never even noticed before, using laser treatments I’ve never heard of to get rid of them. They also hurt a lot more than Jack suggested they would.

  Jack is there constantly. I’m sure there’s no need for him to be, because this has to be the one place where I’m likely to be completely secure, but he never leaves my side. I guess it’s meant to be comforting, and truthfully, I’m grateful for it, but there’s nothing that can make some of the things they do to me in the name of changing my identity any less invasive. They even go so far as to change my fingerprints, which I didn’t know was possible, making me put my hands on two pads, which burn new patterns into the pads of my skin with yet more lasers. It’s probably the worst thing so far.

  Not that they’re trying to make things unpleasant for me. They give me plenty of breaks from it all, but those are short, and even the time away from the chair often features something just as difficult to get through. There’s a whole hour spent with some kind of posture coach, for example, learning to change the way I stand and walk. Then there’s the time spent being lectured on fashion, being told what I should wear and what I shouldn’t. I’m as into clothes as the next girl, but the woman who goes through all this with me treats it like it’s a matter of life and death.