by JL Spelbring
He beamed. “It was nice to meet you, too.” He held out his hand. “My name is Peter.”
She grasped his hand with false enthusiasm.
“Maybe we will run into each other soon?”
“Maybe.” She turned and escaped through the door marked, FEMALES.
Disinfectant hovered in the air of the immaculate restroom. Shining white tile gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Eggshell sinks hung on the right, and beige stalls stood to the left.
Ellyssa moved to the last stall and locked the door behind her. She placed her shoulder bag on the floor and shrugged out of the coveralls. She withdrew a plastic bag with hair accessories and makeup.
The door opened with the soft whisper of the hydraulics. She froze. Shoes clicked on the tile as the person went into the first stall. Picking her bag off the floor, Ellyssa sat on the porcelain seat and waited. After a few minutes, the toilet flushed, and the stranger exited after washing her hands.
She peeked out the door to make sure the bathroom was empty, then went to the mirror to straighten her crumpled white blouse the best she could. Wrinkles still gathered at the bottom, but the collar looked fine.
She twisted her bangs into small braids and pinned them back with two grey barrettes, then applied a soft, rose-colored lipstick and added some length to her eyelashes.
Satisfied with her appearance, she threw everything back into her bag and went to the door. She paused and listened with her ears. Mumblings from hundreds of people whispered. She swung open the bathroom door and made her way to the ticket counter.
A man with black-peppered hair stood behind the glass barrier. Like all workers within the travel industry, he wore a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with a blue cap.
She glanced around. Nobody stood directly next to her, but several patrons sat on benches or milled around nearby. Too many actually, but she chanced it anyway. She lowered her shield just enough to take a quick peek inside the director’s head and saw the notes of some old tune. From what she could tell, he hadn’t been alerted. If she was lucky, maybe none of the normal citizens had been warned. Her father, Dr. Hirch, must have been confident that she would be captured.
Shoulders back, she walked to the counter and handed him the forged papers. He glanced at the credentials, took her false credits, and handed her a ticket with a polite smile.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded.
She sat on a wooden bench in the Great Hall with all the other passengers, most wearing the same clothes as she, and waited for the eight o’clock train. It was seven-forty, now. Except for the run-in with the detective, the morning had gone relatively smoothly. Everyone would board in another ten minutes, and she’d be on her way.
Unfortunately, her ability didn’t include precognition.
2
Men wearing black trench coats and Swastika bands zigzagged among the benches. Some checked people’s papers, while two Gestapo approached the ticket agent and showed him a photo. Fear burst inside Ellyssa’s chest. Her instincts screamed “run”, her head said “sit”. She kept calm and twisted her face into a look of anticipation and curiosity, just like everyone else was doing, as she watched the secret police.
The man behind the counter looked at the picture, then scanned the waiting room. His gaze passed over her more than once before his eyes locked on her. He pointed in her direction. The two men separated and walked on both sides of the benches toward her.
Heart thrumming, muscles bunched to run, it took all of her self-discipline not to burst off the bench like a scared rabbit from the brush. Ellyssa touched her bag in preparation to either escape or to show the faux papers, but the Gestapo passed her section and walked six rows behind her. Relief swept through her as she turned in her seat.
The two Gestapo approached a female in a white lab coat who wore her pale yellow hair in a long finger wave like Ellyssa had before she’d cut it in the park. The wrongly identified female’s eyes widened in shock as the men stood on each side of her. They spoke to her in German, their voices authoritative and harsh. She shook her head, clearly unable to understand them. The shorter one on the left reverted to English. She reached into her attaché case and withdrew blue papers.
The taller of the two snatched the papers out of her hand and shook them in her face. She flinched while her lips moved rapidly. Her voice was high, stressed with frantic tones. As she talked, the shorter one placed his hand under her arm. Given little choice, the woman stood and went with the police as they escorted her down the row. The other secret police met them in the center aisle, and they left with the innocent female.
Ellyssa faced forward and melted into the wooden bench. She couldn’t believe the trained eyes of the Gestapo couldn’t tell the difference in hair color, much less the color of the poor female’s eyes.
A deep, throaty voice emitted from the PA system. “All aboard for St. Louis connecting to Kansas City. Please have your papers and tickets ready.”
Ellyssa jumped up with her bag draped over her shoulder and went to the platform where the conductor stood. She handed him her papers.
Smiling, he punched a hole in the ticket and handed both documents back. “Enjoy your trip.”
Relieved the conductor spoke with a pronounced German inflection, Ellyssa answered, “Thank you. I will.” She glanced over her shoulder, halfway expecting the Gestapo to come storming back in, their mistake discovered.
“You look a little nervous.”
She felt like kicking herself. Since childhood, she’d perfected a mask to display, emotionless and deadpan. But with all the sensations roiling inside her at once—anxiety, fear, excitement—she was wearing them on her sleeve. Of course, she’d never thought she’d be using her skills to flee. She pulled at the hem of her blouse and concentrated on smoothing her demeanor.
“Don’t be,” the conductor continued. “Trains are a wonderful way to travel.” He reached behind her to take papers from another passenger.
“Thank you.” She stepped onto the platform.
The few people who had boarded before her milled down the narrow hall, searching for their compartments. Ellyssa quickly moved to her designated slot before more boarding passengers could crowd the cramped walkway and went inside.
Compared to her sterile room at The Center, the compartment seemed almost homey. The mahogany paneled room held two berths, dressed in ivory satin comforters that matched the lace curtain covering the small window. A thin, silver table, decorated with a menu holder and a small vase of yellow daisies, sat directly under it. Mounted on the wall to the left, a flat-screen television and a radio with two sets of headphones offered entertainment she had never been allowed before.
Ellyssa pulled back the curtain and peered outside, wondering if anyone had found the hidden file. All seemed normal, people wearing business attire and none wearing armbands of red signifying authority. Apparently, the Gestapo hadn’t discovered their mistake, yet. For the first time since she’d fled, her mind felt at ease.
Loud thrumming vibrated under Ellyssa’s feet, and the train started to rock gently from side to side as it slowly pulled away from the station. Ellyssa left her compartment and walked five cars down. Using her gift, she peeked into each space until she found one that was empty. She glanced down the aisle before slipping inside the vacant room.
Settling onto the berth, Ellyssa drifted into a restless sleep.
3
Dr. George Hirch watched over Leland’s shoulder as his assistant scrolled through pictures. The Center’s data files had thousands of employees across the world. None shared the identical hair and eye color of his soldiers. They were the purebloods of scientific research.
“Is it possible that she deleted all references to herself?” the doctor asked, trying to maintain his dwindling patience. He ran his fingers through his thick, silver hair.
Leland dropped his hand away from the mouse and turned to stare at George. “I’ve already explained to you that yes, it i
s possible,” he said irritably. “I’m trying to locate anything she might’ve forgotten. I realize you’re anxious, but breathing down my neck is not helping.”
George’s brow furrowed as he looked at Leland with contempt. Leland, a child of The Center, but a genetic foul-up with wavy golden hair and pale powder-blue eyes, had the nerve to talk to him with disdain. If not for Leland’s somewhat above average intelligence, he would’ve been socialized into the general population, taking some insignificant job.
Leland was not like George, who had been one of the first purebreds, seventy years ago. Platinum hair, eyes the color of the sky on a clear day, pale flawless skin, handsome, the doctor had been the poster child of Hitler’s vision.
At the age of five, George had had the fortunate opportunity of meeting the aging visionary when the Führer had visited The Center. Hitler had explained to George and the other subjects the meaning of his visions. It had been the most exhilarating moment of the young doctor’s life, only surpassed when he’d discovered and learned to manipulate the genetic coding of perception. From there, his soldiers were born.
His mind wandered back to the inferior Leland, and anger burned through him. “Just find her,” he snarled.
Leland shrugged and spun around in the computer chair. His fingers clicked across the keys. “This process of scanning pictures one at a time is going to take awhile. You might as well sit down.” The younger man leaned his head toward the computer as people’s faces flipped across the monitor.
Frustrated, George glanced at the screen. The familiar face of a female who worked on the second floor flashed, quickly replaced with some other woman who worked in the London facility.
Throwing his hands in the air, he returned to his executive-style desk and began analyzing Ellyssa’s psychological profile, yet again, to compare her to her siblings. Her personality tests had all returned without any wavers within the boundaries. Her physical and emotional tests exceeded the scope of established parameters. She even surpassed her siblings in martial arts and weapons training.
Where did things go wrong?
“What have you found?”
Concentrating on Ellyssa’s tests and profiles, the doctor started at the unexpected voice. Detective Angela Petersen, head of The Center’s Kripo unit, stood at the front of his desk, peering at him with questioning eyes. A twig stuck out of her disheveled hair, and dried blood was smeared along her cheek. As if nothing was wrong, she smoothed her rumpled skirt and shirt before sitting in the guest chair directly across from him.
Angela was living proof that, after the initial tweaking of man, nature would’ve eventually weeded out undesirable traits. Besides being beautiful, with angular cheeks, bright eyes—although a little too small and the wrong color—and unlined skin, the detective was highly intelligent, physically toned, mentally stable, and proud of her abilities. Close to having the required qualities without modification but, unfortunately, still lacking.
“Ah, Detective. Your German is improving,” George responded in his visionary’s native tongue. “What happened to you?”
“Your precious daughter is what happened,” she snapped.
He straightened in his chair, his lids widened minutely. “She attacked you?”
“Yes. It seems she is not as docile to authority as you thought.”
After grabbing antiseptic from the top drawer, he walked around the desk and examined the gash on the detective’s head. It was a small laceration, but deep. He soaked a cotton ball with the yellowish liquid. “This may sting a little,” he said as he blotted the wound. “Tell me what happened.”
“As we thought, she was heading toward the station, but at the last minute she crossed the street and went into Hitler Park.”
“The park?”
“Yes, she said she was going on a walk.”
The doctor chuckled while he dabbed the ointment on Angela’s head.
“What?”
“She knew who you were.”
“I was careful to keep my mind clear.”
“An impossible task. But to be on the fair side, Ellyssa’s powers are astoundingly developed, even beyond my expectations.”
“Maybe I’d have been better prepared if I had known of her ability before she’d escaped,” she hissed, jerking away when he applied pressure to the wound. “What are we going to do about her?”
“Well, Detective, you are going to capture her and bring her back home.”
“She is more dangerous than originally anticipated.” She pulled away from the doctoring hand and stood facing him. “You, yourself, said she would come willingly. That she would pose no problems. You were wrong.”
“What do you propose?”
The detective looked at him coolly. “Termination.”
Apparently listening more attentively than George realized, Leland swiveled around in his chair and stood. “The children are not rats to dispose of when one bites you.”
Angela ignored the tech and addressed the doctor. “They are bred for scientific research, born from genetically modified eggs and sperm in test tubes. She has proven herself a threat and is thereby dangerous.”
“There has not been a termination for over thirty years, and that was only under extreme circumstances. Ellyssa is the first of her type. It would prove detrimental to my work if she were to be terminated.”
“Have you thought of what could happen with her being free in the population?”
“I assure you she will not hurt any citizens.”
“You don’t know where her capacity for violence stops. You failed to recognize her ability to attack me.”
“Self-preservation.” He shrugged. “She must have seen you as a threat.”
“Nonsense. I offered to escort her home.”
“That is what you said verbally. Maybe you had other plans. Things she saw as threatening?”
“No,” she answered, stiffly.
The doctor studied the young detective. Her chin jutted out slightly, and her hands rested on her hips. Although Angela’s attributes would supersede those of many living outside The Center’s walls, her imperfections, especially the emotions, were all too noticeable to him.
“It is too bad your genetic deficiencies have rendered the training The Center has to offer pointless. That is something I will need to rectify,” Dr. Hirch pondered, his eyes settling to a point above Angela’s head. After a moment, he focused back on the detective. “Petty emotions like pride would not interfere with your judgment.”
Angela flinched as if he had slapped her. “Pride?” she said, through clenched teeth. “This has nothing to do with pride.”
“She challenged your authority. You are not accustomed to that.”
“Because of your reassurance, I was not expecting the attack. No fault of my own.”
“Detective Petersen,” he said, “you are exceptionally skilled at your job, but you have to realize that Ellyssa is a special situation. Besides her brilliant skill, her intelligence surpasses even mine, and her prowess is beyond the Renegades your job usually entails. A challenge for you. I will release her profile to you. Study it.”
“You’re making a mistake,” she said.
George moved closer to Leland. “Regardless of your opinion, Ellyssa will be brought home safely. She is…needed,” he said, while staring at a recognizable face hovering on the monitor.
The hair was different. Instead of long and flowing, like colorless ribbon, it was shorter, feathered along the sides of her pale skin, and slightly offset to the side. Her eyes were off, murky sea-colored rather than pure azure. Peering closer, he noticed the alterations she’d made to the photo. She must have been in a hurry, because the lines didn’t quite match. Good enough to pass inspection by ordinary citizens, though.
Even with the short hair, he would recognize the face of his daughter anywhere. Large eyes, which seemed defiant, as if taunting him, framed with long, dark lashes, shelved over a straight nose and angular cheekbones, stared back at him. Nex
t to the picture, written in black, read the name, Vada Owen.
“Besides, there she is.”
4
“Very nice, Ellyssa. Now, can you tell me what is on this card?”
As soon as Ellyssa closed her eyes, she reached into the head of the research assistant, Mrs. Tucker, plucking from it an image of the mountains with white, icy caps stretching across the limited borders of the rectangular card. She opened her lids and gazed at the assistant. Mrs. Tucker’s face looked excited, and expectation wavered within the depths of her imperfect blue eyes.
“The Rocky Mountains,” she answered.
Mrs. Tucker nodded, looking pleased, and Ellyssa smiled.
Then, Ellyssa’s father, Dr. Hirch, stepped up and slapped her. The unexpected impact whipped her head to the side, and she brought her chubby hand up, covering the place where he had hit her. The coolness of her palm did nothing to stop the growing heat, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, and hardened her face into expressionless stone.
“Remember, Ellyssa, certain emotions only bring pain and, possibly, death. They cloud the judgment and will render you useless when you need your wits about you,” he said. His expression was passive, but anger flickered in his eyes.
She nodded while he towered over her three-year-old body.
“We are done for the day. Go to your room.”
She obeyed.
Ellyssa heard people walking, their steps short and hurried, long before she opened her eyes. She heard snippets of conversations in her half-awake dreams; people with unknown faces flickered in and out of her mind, saying strange things like “dangerous female” and “security breach”.
It took a moment, but the meaning sank in and the haziness of disjointed images evaporated. Fully awake, Ellyssa jolted off the berth, her feet landing with a light thud.
She grabbed her bag and went to the door, pressing her ear against the thin paneling. Another person rushed down the corridor. Opening her mind, an image of her floated within a male’s thoughts. He was looking at a picture. The image was of poor quality, the colors blended together, but the words printed below gave an accurate description of her. She closed the link as the murmuring thoughts of all the passengers barged in and swept away the image she’d just held.
