by C. C. Lynch
I hated the fact that I was just a lab rat at the “tree house.” I chose to let the thought of my being medicated to ferment and focused on Erik. “You’re eating like you haven’t had food in a week. Are you getting starved too?”
“I’m a growing boy,” he leaned back and patted his stomach. “Eat up, princess,” he pointed his fork at my plate, “you’ve got a long day ahead of you.”
I rolled my head back and whined, “Hasn’t today been long enough?” I crossed my arms and pouted. “You are obviously held in a high regard here. Can’t you just observe me or whatever it is I have to do today?”
Erik shook his head and gave a distant smile. “Nope. I’ve got a lot of work I need to get done today.”
No matter how angry and disgusted I was with Erik for betraying me, I was lucky compared to the drugged population in the cafeteria. Of the complete list of medications I had consumed unaware since I had been captured was unknown, but I had a full range of emotions. That was far more than the zombies surrounding me could say.
Erik’s involvement in Jeremiah’s plans seemed deep enough for him to have sway over my fate. It begged the question as to why he had that much power. Once I was nearly done with my lunch I finally asked the question that had been weighing on my mind. “What exactly is your position here?”
A gleeful chuckle escaped. “A helping hand, of sorts. My dad and Jeremiah worked at Hagan together. When Jeremiah got the boot, my dad began working with him in a very clandestine manner. I was raised at the tree house, really.”
My stomach twisted into a sick knot. If Erik was brought up at the tree house, then he probably thought the research being done truly was benevolent. He wasn’t truly sick, only a product of a poor upbringing.
Pushing deeper into the life of Erik, I asked, “Hagan Think Tank, like where Osiris and Jeremiah worked together?”
“Yup, that’s the place.” He leaned forward and played with the label on his water bottle then with a sudden smirk he added, “That’s actually how I came to know Draxe and Vlaine. Our dads were friends and we pretty much grew up together. My dad left Hagan a few years after theirs and went to work at Intervael.”
Was Osiris involved as well? Surely he must have known what was going on with his friend. If the man had allowed his sons to grow up with Erik then he had to have been privy to what Erik’s dad was doing on the side.
I had to do all I could to keep my facial expression neutral. “Intervael is the one in Oregon, right?”
“Yup,” he nodded slowly, “but I still saw the Josnic kids every month when the schools had their meetings.”
“How did your dad still work at the Think Tank if he was working with Jeremiah? Wouldn’t they have known? And is he still at Intervael and working here? How does that happen? Why did you go to Valdor if your dad was working at Intervael? Does Osiris know your dad is involved with the tree house?” The spew of questions came out so quickly that they sounded part of the same sentence.
“My dad is the best mental manipulator around. He can trick anyone into believing anything. But,” he grabbed my plate and stood up, “it’s time for you to go back to work.”
I tried to answer the questions on my own as best I could just to save myself from ignorance induced insanity. It would make sense for Erik to go to different academies so that he could scout gifts from the inside. He was not needed at Intervael if his father was there. The man was most definitely working at both Intervael Academy and Replyx. How he got away with both, I had no idea.
I expected the rest of the afternoon to be filled with torture from both Jeremiah and Slade, as it had begun that way. Instead of meeting with the two caitiff men I found Beatrice sitting alone in the office. It had been decided that an afternoon of expressing my feelings with the local therapist, that being Beatrice, was in order.
I sat in the office tight-lipped as possible while she asked me questions about my entire life. Though I trusted the woman, I did not trust my psychoanalysis in the hands of Replyx. My answers were vague, short, and devoid of any emotion.
After the session with Beatrice I was sent back to my room where I sat in silence until Erik finally visited me later that evening with my dinner. I accepted the meal graciously and remained as kind as possible, but asked him to leave before any conversations began. As he closed the door behind him I let the pain of the day come out in loud, choking sobs. Seeing my father for the first time, getting drugged, having Vlaine so close only to lose hope, and feeling hatred for the first time were fears I had never known to exist until that day.
The following morning I awoke to the door opening and the smell of cigarette smoke wafting through.
“Is that the palladium wonder I smell in my doorway?” I turned to face Luther who was standing there passively with his poison of choice hanging from his lips.
He touched his hair mocking self-consciousness. “Poke fun all you want, but my mum says I was born with silver hair because I’m so precious.” His deep voice was playful.
Trying to hide the chuckle that threatened to escape, I turned away and took a fresh Replyx sweat suit from the dresser. The color palette of clothing was limited to grey, white, and navy blue. I shook my head at the extent of detail that Jeremiah integrated Replyx into everything in the “tree house.”
I glanced over to Luther who was flicking his ashes onto the floor of the room. “Your hair is like metallic and not grey. How old are you anyway?”
“Thirty-four,” he scowled, pretending to be offended. “You don’t see me going around asking about your poop hair,” he grumbled looking at the floor.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” I exhaled, “I’m just curious.”
“And I’m bored.” His thick English accent was laced with ennui as he flicked the cigarette butt into my trash barrel. “Come out when you’ve finished dressing.”
The stresses of the previous day were obvious from my puffed eyelids. I looked terrible and the last thing I wanted was to do was enhance my wan appearance with Replyx logo loungewear. I counted to three, allowing myself to sulk, then did it again so I could become upbeat. It was impossibly difficult to try and force optimism in my mind when despondence weighed so heavily.
Luther led me down the elevator and to a completely new room. The place was set up like a carnival fun house. Mirrors created a maze and a crude wooden platform looked down upon it.
“A lot of accidents can happen from teleportation.” Luther lit another tobacco stick. “See if you can make your way through without getting yourself cut in two by a mirror.” To the look of dread and hesitation that I was giving him, he cocked a brow. “You’ve experience in a mirror house, yeah?”
“It’s the ‘cut in two’ part I’m still stuck on.” I swallowed and tucked my fingers inside the sweatshirt sleeves.
“How about I give you three hours an’ if you can’t do it by then I’ll send in Slade for some motivation.” He stood stolid before adding, “Right then. See you in a few hours.”
Without any real training, beyond figuring out replication for myself, the idea of teleporting through a maze was utterly formidable. I had never before considered the repercussions of landing somewhere a solid object had existed. Morbid curiosity led me to wonder what exactly would happen if such a thing were to occur, but self preservation kept me from finding out.
Luther wanted me to teleport through the maze. Assuming that simply landing on the other side would not be satisfactory, I began memorizing the labyrinth itself. My first attempt was a complete failure. I could not tell by staring at the floor where the glass panels were and I had tried the trick of placing my hand on the glass and turning right only to smash my face on three separate occasions.
The memorization of the general patterns and number of steps took a solid hour. Teleportation was a replication weakness, one that kept me fearful of my failure. Knowing that the fear could only be combated by successes, I decided it was time to begin my attempts at the maze.
“Here goes,” I
mumbled as I sat on the floor, preparing to replicate Luther’s gift a foot at a time.
After practicing on the outskirts of the room there was only half an hour left before Luther’s return. I still had not tried to complete the task seeing how my finesse was clearly lacking. Without further ado, I sat on my rear facing the entrance and began my challenge. Missing my mark by half a foot, my first attempts were shaky at best. Each turn came with more precision, increasing my confidence.
At one point the confidence overruled memory and I mistook a left turn for a right one and found my knees inches away from one of the mirrors. A bizarre scream-yelp escaped when I realized the tip of my sneaker was missing and part of my foot was pressed against the mirror. Assessing my foot, I found that my toes were still there but part of my shoe was back where I had been sitting before attempting to teleport. Luther had been serious about being split into two pieces.
I met my own gaze in the mirror before me and studied myself. Dark circles underlined the turquoise and aqua swirled eyes that were hooded by puffy sallow eyelids. My long hair hung down in messy waves from not being brushed or cared for and my cupid’s bow was hidden by a sullen pout. I forced myself to smile in the mirror and then to laugh. A memory of doing the same thing at Lance’s house before Vlaine knocked on the door while emulating Nicholas flashed in my head. The thought of Vlaine made me smile, a genuine one. I decided at that moment I was going to perfect my teleportation replication and get back to him.
Sucking in a shaky breath and pushing off the fear bubbling in my chest, I continued on with the maze. Upon completion Luther walked into the room, something that I believe was too perfectly timed to be a coincidence. He gave a quick nod indicating that I had to perform the same thing, only for him to witness. As I was preparing to go through the maze Luther’s hand brushed past mine long enough for him to communicate telepathically. Space and time are transcendent and your mind can be as well.
It was clear that if he was communicating via telepathy there were eyes on the room. I kept my expression stoic and tried to figure out what he had meant. Was he trying to help me by telling me to clear my mind? It was something I would have to ponder later because at that moment I needed to complete my task in the hope I would be finished with Jeremiah’s games for the day.
I began slowly as I had before, taking care not to chop off any extremities. Luther stood on the overlook, watching my movements carefully. I had made it several turns before he lost patience.
“Oh bloody hell, it’s just not that difficult.” His yell was reminiscent of a comedian’s when they’re trying to get their point across to an audience.
“Easy for you to say,” I sneered. “Teleportation is your gift, not mine.”
“You’re thinking about the objects too much. Just imagine you’re swimming from one point to another, not jumping.” He glided to the left while instructing me then ended his instructions with a little kangaroo jump. Frustration boiled and he pumped his fist into his hand, “you’ll get to a point where you can visualize the solid matter in your mind before you teleport. Just stop thinking about it so much.”
His expressions constantly reminded me of a troublesome teenage girl speaking exasperatedly to her mother. Luther vocally displayed an impressive amount of patience and even a bit of humor, but his expressions were anything but.
“Unless you’re willing to give me a few moments of practice ‘swimming’ through the maze, I’m just going to go ahead and do what I’ve been doing to avoid being cut in half, as you so delicately put it earlier.”
“Carry on.” He puffed out a cloud of smoke.
I survived the maze while keeping my limbs and shoes intact. Without a pat on the back, I was released to join the other detainees for lunch, which was an equal amount of torture. Beatrice was my babysitter for the day and accompanied me to the room. I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with anyone out of the sheer guilt I felt seeing my drugged peers.
Erik never came to visit that night. My longing for him to come by was surprising. Despite my current inward abhorrence for the man, his visits were probably the only thing to have kept me from going completely insane while I was in isolation.
9
The following morning I watched the shadows of the night sky fade through the window on the ceiling. Though it was serene to see the early morning light push its way through the darkness, I had been on the elevator enough times to observe a handful of floors above mine. The thought of someone controlling the image was a bit unsettling.
My mind wandered to the practical uses of my replication in an escape. I knew the faces of Erik, Beatrice, Jeremiah, Slade, and Luther well enough to emulate them. If I had a better grasp of Beatrice’s role at the tree house, she would be my first choice. Simply knowing Erik’s mannerisms made his face the ideal one to copy. Under any distraction I could easily disguise myself as him, find Nicholas, then teleport out of the building. I pushed my thoughts towards Vlaine in hopes that he would cause another distraction.
My scheming was halted when Erik entered suddenly with a robe in his hand.
“What is it?” I sat up in the bed, all too aware of the angst in his eyes. I had guarded my thoughts with the musical replication so there was no reason whoever was listening should have caught on to my deliberations.
Sucking in a breath then throwing a smile on his face he answered, “You’re going to relax by floating until tomorrow.”
I was slack-jawed and hurt. “Don’t try and sugar-coat it, Erik. I did nothing wrong. Why are you sending me to the sensory deprivation tank?”
“Well,” he sat on the bed next to me, “to make sure you don’t do anything wrong. You see my father is coming to the tree house the day after tomorrow and you’re going to have to be on your best behavior.”
“That all sounds a bit disheartening when Jeremiah is such a good guy and the tree house is so great.” I pulled my knees to my chest and pouted.
“I said Jeremiah was not a bad guy,” Erik leaned forward, “and the tree house is pretty great.”
“Then your father?” I did not particularly care to hear the answer to my question.
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s a very bad guy.”
Apprehensive nausea made its way into my torso. I did not want to meet the man whose spawn was Erik. I had faith that my father had some sort of plan prior to this meeting, but I needed to try and do something on my own.
I dug my heels into the floor. “Erik, would it be okay if I spoke to Beatrice?”
“Uh,” he sucked in a breath and furrowed his brows, “I’ll check.”
While he went to ask permission for my request, I planned a trial for a possibly gift. If Lacey was indeed a real person then I could replicate her gift. I would try it on something very small and insignificant to see if I could alter her memories of me. If I could, then I could possibly manipulate myself out of Replyx.
When Erik returned there was a smile of satisfaction on his face. “You may absolutely speak to Beatrice. Follow me to her office.”
Apparently her office was on the same floor as the demonstration room. It felt like a utility closet was transformed over a weekend to appease a worker. There was a tan Berber area rug covering white tile, a small wood desk with a swivel chair behind it, and a cloth chair next to the desk.
Upon entering the room Erik dragged the cloth chair to the opposite side of the desk. He motioned for me to have a seat before leaving me in the empty room. I hated the rooms at the tree house because I could never hear anything going around outside. No footsteps, papers being shuffled, just silence. Whatever they used to keep the rooms silenced was impeccable in design.
“Hello there, Abrielle.” Beatrice shuffled into the room and plunged into the swivel chair sending herself rolling backwards a couple feet. “What would you like to discuss?”
I leaned back with my head resting on my interlaced fingers looking up at the ceiling. “I think I’m going crazy.” I let out a defeated sigh and squ
eezed my eyes shut.
Beatrice took a deep breath to steady her breathing after rushing into the room and asked in a calm and caring tone, “What is making you feel this way?”
“I think,” I shook my head, “I feel like I’m missing chunks of time.” After that I thrust into her mind to find a recent memory of me. It was far easier than I could have imagined, eerily so. I was afraid to look into any more memories she had in fear that I would find out more about my time at Replyx than I cared to remember.
I studied the memory, assessed it, and figured out where it had taken place. It was short but vivid. She had been watching when I was speaking to Erik in the cafeteria. My leg was bouncing in the navy blue Replyx sweatpants and I was fidgeting my fingers in the white Replyx shirt. I decided to alter her memory ever so slightly. With a bit of imagination I switched the outfit to completely white. Once I felt like I had successfully changed her memory I slowly backed out of her mind.
“I have no idea how long I’ve been here, what day of the week it is.” I leaned forward and looked at her. “You know, I don’t even know what I ate yesterday or what I was wearing.”
Her lips were in a thin line and she offered no assistance with recollections.
“Beatrice, I’m not certain of anything right now.” There was a silence between the two of us that was strangely comfortable. I pulled my legs up and crossed them underneath my bottom. Leaning closer to the desk I whispered, “Will anything we discuss remain confidential?”
She pushed her glasses up the brim of her nose and adjusted her seating. “I will decide what stays confidential and what I share with Jeremiah.”
I could tell she was lying. Anything I said in there would be reported directly to the man if he was not hearing it at that exact moment. Either way, I was going to try and give them a confidence boost while learning if I affectively changed her memory.
