by Melissa West
Zeus turns, the half smile returning to his face. “Your analysis begins today. Should your brain resist—as I suspect it will—you will come again and again to the blue room until you surrender. I told you when you arrived that I would break you. Today, prepare to receive the first crack.”
For a split second, I want to run. I want to run as far away as I can and hide. But there is nowhere to hide here, no one to shield me. And so I do what I have been taught to do—I go, prepared to face whatever he can throw at me. Besides, I was trained by my dad, one of the most ruthless trainers to exist. How bad can the blue room really be?
The healer leads me to the stairs and down a floor to a room that feels like an isolation chamber—like the Ancient testing chambers back home, where they tortured Ancients just to discover the best way to kill them. The walls and floor and ceiling are all glaringly white, almost reflective. The healer doesn’t enter the room with me. Instead, she shuts me inside, and I walk around the empty square area, studying the walls as though I can find something in them that tells me why this room is called the blue room. After several seconds, I realize there is nothing here, only the white and me. I walk to the center of the room, waiting for instruction, and then a blue beam shoots down from the ceiling into the space beside me, then another and another until ten beams of blue light encircle me. I press my hand forward, but I’m unable to reach outside the blue, the beams like bars, caging me in. The bars begin to move, spinning around me, and then a bright white light shines down over me, through me. I have to force myself to draw deep, settling breaths because I can feel my heart hitting in my chest, warning me of danger.
And that’s when I hear the healer’s voice. Calm your mind, she says. Not from a speaker or somewhere in the room, but in my mind. The realization is so unsettling that I grab my head with my hands, eager to push her out.
Settle down, child.
“What are you doing to me?”
My name is Lydian.
“What do you do?”
I torture.
The words churn through me, sending chills down my spine.
I clear my throat. “I can take whatever you plan to do.”
“We shall see. I will ask you a question, then project images into your mind, one after another until you supply the answer,” Lydian says, this time aloud.
I steady my gaze on her. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Where is the entrance?”
What? What entrance? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Very well.”
What entrance? I pick my brain apart, searching for random conversations, anything, that she could be talking about, and come up empty. I would never tell her, regardless, but it’s unsettling to think she knows something that’s happening on Earth and I don’t.
I ready myself for whatever she might throw at me. It’s just an image after all. An image. What she doesn’t tell me is that the room will project the image from my mind onto the walls, the ceiling, all around me, then suddenly the spinning stops. I’m in a dark room, a single lamp offering the only light. I inch further into the room, my senses telling me that something is wrong there, very wrong. I push open a door in the back of the room and see Gretchen, my best friend, tied to a chair, her right arm strapped to a table beside her. A man stands before her, hunching down so they are eye to eye. He asks her a question, but I can’t hear the words, all I hear is Gretchen’s breathing, ragged and afraid.
The man asks the question again, and then slices off her pinky finger.
She screams out, I scream out. And then suddenly I realize, with horror, that this might be really happening. Someone could have Gretchen, torturing her, until I answer instead of torturing me. No, she’s on Earth. Jackson said she’s on Earth.
Beads of sweat drop down my back as I try to push the image away, close my eyes, block it out, but there is no escaping it. My mind can only see.
The man presses down on Gretchen’s wound and speaks again. This time she cries back, and I can tell by the way her mouth moves that she’s screaming, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” The man steps away from her, speaks again, and then slices off the rest of her fingers. I feel my legs go weak below me, nausea swirling through my stomach. I reach out and something shocks me back into place.
Where is the entrance? A voice says to me, and I’m yanked from the scene, back in the blueroom, but I’m no longer standing. I’m kneeled on the ground, my cheeks wet from tears I hadn’t realized I’d spilt.
I glance up at Lydian. “I don’t know.”
Zeus joins her in the glass room, his look some combination of curiosity and annoyance. “That will do for today,” he says, and the blue beams around me disappear. He leans in closer to the glass, his eyes so close to madness that I wonder if he’s on something. “You will do well to remember where you are, who you are, else I will see to it that you are destroyed. You will tell me where to find the entrance.” He starts for the door.
I push to my feet. “I’m not afraid of dying.” The words slip out before I can catch them.
Zeus turns back, a devlish grin on his face. “It isn’t your life I would take. No, I will slowly take the lives of everyone you know until you are alone, begging for death.”
Chapter 9
I wait until Zeus and Lydian are both long gone before leaving the blue room. I don’t want them to see how shaken he’s made me. I don’t want to admit that I’m afraid. I close the door, just as Jackson exits a door across from mine. He doesn’t notice me at first, and I’m about to call out to him, when he slumps against the wall, his head in his hands. He mumbles something to himself, and I see a dark gray aura swirling over him. He’s completely off his guard and he’s never off guard. I watch him, knowing I should let him know I’m there or do something to help, but I’m in a trance, mesmerized by how someone can act so in control but inside be so…gone. Finally, he kicks away from the door and hescans the room before landing on me.
“Ari…” he says. “I was just…”
I shake my head and meet him in the middle of the open foyer. “Me, too,” I say, hoping he knows what I mean, that he doesn’t have to explain. If his last hour was anything like mine, I get it. And now I feel more than ever that Vill is right. Maybe the Jackson I thought I knew is really nothing close to who he is and maybe the real Jackson is everything I had hoped he would be.
I link my hand into his, as friends because that’s what we are, and we leave Zeus’s building without talking. It isn’t until we’re outside that I glance down and notice the bottom of his shirt is smeared in blood. I scan his face, his arms, his hands, but there is no sign of a cut or wound. Where was the blood from? Reaching out to touch the shirt, my eyes lift to his. “Are you all right?” I ask.
His glance drops to the shirt and his teeth grit together. “Perfect. It’s part of my training. Zeus’s plan to mold me into a ruler, but really what he wants is for me to become a carbon copy of him.” He looks up, his eyes searching mine. “But I can’t do that. I could never be like him.”
“I know,” I say. “Look, we don’t have to talk about what happened if you don’t want. I know my side was nothing I want to rehash, and I’m no where near as important to Zeus as you.” At this Jackson laughs sarcastically. “What I’m trying to say is, we don’t have to talk about the bad stuff…if you don’t want to. As long as you promise to tell me if it gets to be too much. And I’ll do the same.”
His body relaxes a little as he takes me in. “You’re okay with that? I mean, after everything, I thought you wanted full disclosure.”
I tug on his hand and we start back walking down the main street of Triad. “I want you to tell me the important stuff. I want you to trust me enough to tell me the important stuff. But I don’t want you to relive something horrible just so I know what’s going on. Trust me, I’ve experienced enough in training to know that not everything needs to be discussed. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” As soon as the words leave me I
wish I could take them back. Not because they’re untrue, but because it hints at feelings I’m not ready to explore.
“Okay.” Jackson smiles a bit as he squints up at the sun. “Are you hungry? We can grab something to eat back home. And speaking of eating, how was your visit with Emmy?”
I grin up at him. “So food makes you think of Emmy, huh? Is she a good cook or something?”
He laughs. “Probably, but I wouldn’t know. She’s a healer, so I automatically think of them when I think about food.”
I remember what Emmy told me and how she made the dying flower come back to life. I wonder if she can do that for people, too. I find Jackson watching me and realize I’ve waited too long to answer his question, and feel torn between telling him the full truth or part of what Emmy told me. Sighing, I decide that if I expect him to be honest with me, then I need to be equally honest with him. “Emmy told me there are very few healers left and if we can’t get off Loge soon, we’re all going to die as quickly as the rest of your planet.”
He considers what I’ve told him for a long time before replying. “She asked for your help?”
“Yes.”
His face crinkles up like it does when he’s worried or in deep thought. “That’s not good.”
“Why? I was actually wondering if she could help us with our plan. I don’t know how yet, but watching her work life back into the plants in Juniper Garder made me wonder if that ability could be used…for other things.”
Jackson looks over at me, his expression full of alarm. “I don’t know. The healers don’t ask for help, they give it. For her to ask…” He trails off, deep in thought as we make our way back into the house. “I need to think. I’m going to grab a shower. Meet you back out here in fifteen?”
“Where are we going?”
He glances at me. “We’re going to see Cybil.” Then he turns and is gone out the back door before I can ask why he’s suddenly so rattled.
I decide to go change before leaving. I may not be bleeding like Jackson, but I still feel overwhelmed and exhausted from my torture session with Lydian. I head to Jackson and my room and slip inside, instantly feeling more relaxed. Something about being away from everyone else, behind closed doors, brings comfort. I sift through the clothes in our closet and spot Jackson’s shirt in a pile on the floor. I glance back out into the room and listen for any hint of incoming footsteps. Once I’m sure it’s safe, I flip the shirt inside out and hold it in front of me, examining each inch to see where the concentration of blood could have come from. The front is all but clean, only showing a splotch of blood here or there, but then I turn it over to the back and my mouth drops open. There are splotches of red all over the shirt, some darker than others, and the inside bottom of the shirt is so red it no longer looks like a blue T-shirt at all.
I slump back into the chair beside the closet with the shirt still held tight in my hands. What happened to him back there? And why wouldn’t he tell me? This is different than hiding something from me. This is a means of protection, like he’s trying to shield me from whatever horror awaits him each day with Zeus. But I don’t want to be shielded. I want to help him or comfort him or do whatever he needs to let him know that it’s okay; he doesn’t have to be strong all the time.
After returning the shirt to its crumpled position on the floor, I pick out another pair of black pants and a long sleeve black T-shirt, before going to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I stare at my reflection as I pat my face dry, not seeing myself at all, only the blood on Jackson’s shirt and what it suggests. If Zeus is willing to torture Jackson, what would he do to the humans here?
Suddenly a sick feeling circles through my stomach, and I’m out of the bathroom and back to my room, eager to question Jackson about what I’m about to see. But as I step into our room, my thoughts cut short. Jackson is already there, and I find myself stuck, watching, as he slips on a shirt similar to the tanks the Landings boys back home used to wear in the warmer months. He smiles up at me and brushes his wet hair out of his face with his hand. I’d forgotten how unbelievably fit he is, and it’s a strange thing to see him looking so strong and healthy, when just a while ago he looked like a broken little boy. I feel something tug in my stomach as I lift my eyes to his, some pull that instantly wants to protect him from whatever has him so afraid.
His smile slowly fades as he watches me. “Don’t do that. Not you. Don’t stare at me like I’m some mental case. I don’t care what Vill told you—I’m fine.”
And the look on his face, like he’s somehow convinced himself of this or that he’s repeating something that’s been told to him again and again is enough to pull me from my trance. I grab his bloody shirt from the floor. “Yeah, because this looks fine.”
“It was from training. I told you that. It isn’t the first time I’ve left there bloody, and don’t tell me that you never once left your trainings with a little blood on your shirt.”
I flip the shirt inside out and toss it at him. “This isn’t a little blood. What did he do to you, huh? Why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you let me help?”
Jackson straightens. “This has nothing to do with you, that’s why. And I can handle it. I have always handled it, and I don’t need you or anyone else getting involved.”
“That’s not the point. You don’t have to handle it on your own. After everything we’ve been through, haven’t you at least figured that out? We don’t have to do this on our own. We can lean on each other, help each other. We can be there for—”
His releases a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, because you’re just dying to be there for me, right? Was that before or after you agreed to be just friends?”
“I—”
“It doesn’t matter. We need to go.” He starts for the door, and then turns back with a sad smile. “I want you. In every way. In any way I can get you. And if that means being your friend, then that’s what I’ll be. But don’t expect me to open up about the worst parts of my life when I am next to nothing to you now.”
“Jackson…” I look away, wondering how the conversation turned south so quickly. I still can’t look at him when I speak, my voice so small that I’m not sure he can even hear me. “I want to trust you. Every fiber in my body aches to trust you. But…”
“Yeah, I know. You can’t.” He sighs loudly. “As I said, it doesn’t matter, and we’ve got someplace to be. So if you’re ready…” He rakes a hand through his hair and then over his face, and all I can do is nod because I have absolutely no idea what else to say. Surely he knows how this feels for me, too. It isn’t like my feelings just disappeared, which makes it all that much harder to watch him in pain knowing I can’t comfort him, not in the way I want.
I take a deep breath and follow Jackson outside, glad for the open air. Somehow intense emotions feel less empowering in the open. We walk back around the residences and cross the second bridge to the Vortex. I want to grab his hand, but I know that’s too much to ask of him right now, so I stare straight ahead, fighting my inner self to stay quiet, to keep my thoughts in check. I crack one knuckle after the other, and then glance over at Jackson just as he shakes his head in frustration.
“What?” he asks.
“Are you all right?”
He slows his pace. “Do you remember your first training with your dad?”
“I…” I fall silent at the look on his face, distant and angry, and say only, “Yes.”
“I remember mine with Zeus, too. I was five years old and he was testing my reflexes, tossing stuff around the room for me to grab before it hit the ground. He was so proud of me that he forced Mami to come watch us practice. Even to this day, that’s the best memory I have of him. Back then, he was kind. He would never have treated Mami or me the way he does now. But everything has changed—his mind, his outlook, even the way he carries himself is different, like he’s waiting for someone to deceive him. And right now, the person he trusts least on Loge…is you.” We’ve stopped halfway over the bridge, the
crystal water below swooshing against the bank. “So, yeah, don’t expect me to rope you further into Zeus’s madness. You’ve got enough of it with what everyone else is asking you to do.” “I’m not afraid of him,” I finally say, knowing the words are only half true, but I’ll never admit to fearing him, not when I know how much he enjoys invoking fear in others. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
Jackson starts back over the bridge. “I know, but just because you aren’t afraid doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason to be afraid.”
“Are you afraid of him?” I ask, knowing I’m treading in the danger zone of too personal information.
He stiffens. “Completely. But I’m not afraid of him hurting me. I’m afraid of him hurting others, those I care about. He’s like that, Ari. He will kill someone you love just to watch you squirm.”
I think to what Zeus said back in the blueroom, about how he would kill everyone I love. Silence settles over us, my mind on the impossible tasks set before me.
We enter the Vortex and head down a spiral set of stairs to the left. “You need to prepare yourself, okay? Lots of these people are still being acclimated, and as you can imagine, Zeus’s form of acclimation isn’t exactly humane. Just prepare yourself.”
“You act like you’re worried I might do something extreme.”
“Just try to behave. Remember, Zeus sees all. Don’t give him a reason to hurt these people.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard, as he opens the first door on the right and waits for me to step inside. The door leads to a wide set of stairs that drop down forever into a void of bright light. The stairs themselves are rough and cracked, as though they’ve been used many times and hardly maintained. I glance over at Jackson. “This way I’m guessing?”
“Just remember what I said,” he whispers, before starting down the steps. I stare after him, worried about what I’m going to see. For Jackson to be this concerned over my reaction it must be bad—very bad. I prepare myself for injured or sedated people, something that suggests they’re being mistreated, but when I drop to the bottom of the stairs, I see only dozens of curtained rooms, like the ones at the Panacea. Most have the curtains open and as we pass by each, I peek inside, again expecting something startling, but I’m almost more shocked by the normalcy. A pair of boys sits at a table in the first room playing a game on a small table. An older woman sleeps quietly in her bed in the second room. We pass more and more rooms, each with humans inside and not one of them acts in any way afraid.
