PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Okay. To grandma’s house we go.” Robin smiles in an attempt to lighten the mood. As usual, it’s hard to resist smiling back.

  “Thanks, Robin, for bringing me with you.”

  “Thanks for trusting me,” she says.

  The next few minutes are quiet. I watch the houses go by, feeling a sense of loss as we leave the neighborhood I have spent the last twelve years in and venture into a new part of town. This is a chance for answers that have plagued me since the night my family died. I almost expect the air to change as we get farther from Olivia. It seems like the world should be different so far from her side, but block after block appears to be perfectly average, mundane.

  Robin signals for a left turn. The sound startles me, and I look over at the building unable to breathe. Plain in its appearance, with cream colored walls and light pink trim, the nursing home seems to emanate a sense of foreboding. It isn’t about trust. It’s fear.

  “Mason?” Robin says softly.

  I don’t answer. I can’t.

  The touch of Robin’s fingers sliding into mine startles me into looking at her. Her breathing catches at the sight of my panic. “Do you want to go home? We don’t have to do this.”

  “We do,” I croak. “I need to know. I have to find out why my family was murdered.”

  “Why?” Robin asks.

  Her hand tightens on mine as if she fears the answer. She should. “Because I think it’s going to happen again.”

  Robin’s head dips down. “The dreams?”

  I nod. “They’re too real. After the break in, it’s hard to deny they’re more than just nightmares.” I shake my head. “Not that they’re prophetic or anything—the dreams didn’t play out exactly how I saw them—but it’s clear they’re a warning. There’s something more behind this than me being an Aerling.”

  “I think you’re right,” Robin says quietly.

  “You do?” I ask, not surprised she agrees with me, but curious about her reasoning.

  Leaning back against her seat, Robin sighs. “Aside from what happened to your Caretakers, which seems like proof enough, there’s Olivia. She shouldn’t be able to see you. Nobody can see Aerlings but Caretakers.”

  “Why? What makes you guys so special?”

  Robin tucks her bottom lip between her teeth as she considers her words. “It’s an ability we’re born with. There are stories about the origins. They sound ridiculous, things like eating an apple from wherever Aerlings come from, some kind of god-given blessing, intermixing of species, stuff like that. I have no idea whether any of them are true. I don’t know if anyone does. I just know that this is how we were meant to be.

  “And as much as the Sentinels don’t want to admit it, they’re in the same boat. It wasn’t just luck that they were born with the ability to feel Aerlings. Someone or something wanted it that way. They hate Aerlings because they aren’t human and they don’t think they belong here, but it’s not like they’re pure either.”

  Shaking her head and sinking down in her seat, she stares at the doors of the nursing home. “If you’re right about the Sentinels coming after Olivia and the others, we need to find out why.”

  “I know,” I say, “but I’m afraid of what she’s going to tell us.”

  Robin snorts. “Well, there’s no guarantee she’s going to tell us anything, but if she knows something that could help . . . ”

  “That’s not why I’m scared,” I blurt out, regretting it almost instantly.

  As Robin turns in her seat to face me, my head dips in shame. Her fingers press lightly against my cheek. She tries to make me look at her, but I can’t. “Why then?” she asks.

  “What if it’s my fault?” I demand. “What if there is something about me that isn’t good, that has to be killed? Who knows who my real family is or why they sent me here. What if I’m dangerous or . . . or I’ll hurt people . . . Olivia. What if your grandma tells me that I’m the problem? What if Olivia finds out who and what I really am and it changes the way she looks at me?”

  This time, when Robin pushes me to look at her, I don’t resist. Her smile is warm and kind, confident. “Nothing my grandma might tell us will change the way anyone feels about you. I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Why don’t we just go see what she has to say and then figure out how to deal with it?”

  My head starts shaking, but Robin releases me and steps out of the car. She waits, holding it open for me. I get the impression she will wait as long as it takes and I sigh. When I slide out of the car, her pleased expression is more kind than gloating.

  I trail behind her through the parking lot, focusing on the patches and lines of tar as we walk. Looking up at the building is too daunting. Coming here seemed like a good idea when Robin first mentioned it. I try to remind myself of that now. Robin is right. Nothing will change the way Olivia feels about me. I came here as a baby. What could I have possibly done in my first home that would be so terrible?

  Robin reaches for the door, but it swings outward at the same moment and slams into her forearm. The guy that comes barreling out barely pauses when he sees Robin stumble and rub her elbow. His muttered “sorry” draws an annoyed huff from Robin. She isn’t one to hold a grudge, though, so a few seconds later she’s back to smiling when we approach the surprisingly classy looking reception desk. I feel like I’m about to check into an expensive hotel.

  “Good morning, Robin,” a middle aged woman says with a friendly smile.

  “Hi, Lola. Would you happen to know where my grandma might be right now?”

  Lola gestures down the stately hall. “Resting in her room. She just finished a game of checkers with Arnold. You know that always tires them both out.”

  For some reason, Robin cracks up. She thanks Lola, still laughing, and heads down the hall. Hurrying up next to her, I ask, “What’s with the checkers?”

  “Grandma is very competitive, and she’s also not all there half the time, so it usually gets pretty interesting. Last time I watched her play, halfway through the game she thought she was shelling peas with her mom, and every time Arnold tried to pick up a checker she’d slap his hand and tell him to keep his mitts off the peas. He didn’t appreciate that and started swearing at her.”

  And Robin really thinks her grandma will be able to help us? I groan inwardly thinking this may turn out to be a huge waste of time, but what other option do we have?

  Robin slows next to a half open door and calls out rather loudly, “Knock, knock!”

  The sound of shuffling echoes around the room. “Robin, dear? Is that you?”

  Grinning, Robin pushes into the room. Her grandma is half up from her plush arm chair and sits back down heavily when she sees her granddaughter. Her face lights up with joy. “Robin! I’m so glad you came today! How are you, dear?”

  “I’m just fine. How are you?”

  Her grandma shrugs and makes a few noncommittal gestures. She looks to be on the verge of speaking when her eyes land on me. The recognition in them startles me even though I knew she would be able to see me. Even more than that, I’m shocked when her face screws up in fear.

  “Close the door!” she demands. Robin seems startled as well, but jumps to do as her grandma asked.

  Closing the door, but finding no lock, Robin turns anxiously back to her grandma. She doesn’t even get a second to explain anything. Her grandma points a trembling hand at her. “What are you doing with him?”

  The way she says “him” sets me on edge. Does she know me? Is everything I feared about to be revealed? The sudden weakness in my knees begs me to sit down. Aside from the floor, the only option is the bed. I grip the lip of the pale pink wainscoting surrounding the room instead.

  “Grandma, do you know him?” Robin asks with wide eyes made even bigger by her glasses.

  “Of course not!” her grandma snaps, “but I know what he is. Where did he come from? And why would you bring him here? You know better than to contact Aerlings after having been marked, child. You
are putting him at risk!”

  Robin stumbles to explain. “But, it’s not like you’re thinking! I bumped into him, literally, and I . . . he needs help. Answers. He needs someone to tell him. Explain. And I don’t know enough. Please, Grandma. Just let me explain before you freak out or tell Mom and Dad.”

  That may not have been the best thing to say. Her grandma’s eyes become big and fearful. “Your parents don’t know about this Aerling?”

  “I couldn’t tell them. Please, Grandma, just listen. Please, I’m begging you.”

  “Please,” I beg, startling them both.

  Robin’s grandma stares at me, piercing everything and scouring me from the inside out. I don’t know what she sees. Desperation, maybe? Hope? Whatever it is, her menacing glare softens just a bit. Her eyes slide away from me and fasten onto Robin. She waggles a finger at her with a frown.

  “This story had better be worth the heart attack you nearly gave me.”

  “It will be,” Robin says, “I promise.”

  Her grandma still seems rather unconvinced, but Robin’s smile is slowly creeping back onto her face. At least she’s confident. I’m beginning to think Olivia was right about this. Robin walks across the tile and pulls me toward the bed, which appears to be a regular bed until I see the controls hidden away on the side. We both sit on the edge of the mattress and face the old woman glaring at us.

  Not sure how to approach her grandma, I’m happy to let Robin take the lead. As she speaks, I’m not the only one drawn in by her words. I knew Robin was smart, incredibly intelligent even, but I had no idea she had an artistic side as well. My story flows from her lips as if she lived it herself, capturing fear in the beginning, hope at the sight of Olivia, and the turmoil the past few weeks have inspired. No one utters a word as she spins the story of my life into a tapestry that seems to envelope the whole room.

  “His dreams seem to be warning him that the Sentinels will try again and will hurt his family in the process,” Robin says as she begins to wrap up her tale. “We need to know why so we can stop it from happening.”

  Robin’s grandma unfolds her arms from across her chest, and I notice for the first time that she is quivering. Given her strength when we first arrived, I worry that it is fear and not age causing the tremors. Seeing her tremble sends a sharp stab of fear straight to my center.

  “They aren’t his family,” her grandma says.

  Robin and I look at each other, confused. “Huh?” Robin asks.

  “The people you live with, they aren’t your family,” she repeats.

  “They’ve loved and protected me for twelve years,” I say, trying very hard to keep my tone polite. “I don’t care whether they’re Caretakers or not. They’re family.”

  “Caretakers weren’t your family either.”

  A rigid anger spreads through my body. “Then where is my real family? Why am I not with them? Why am I here?”

  “Your real family is where they are supposed to be, in their own world. You are here because they had no choice. They sent you here to be protected,” she says calmly.

  “Didn’t work out so well, now did it?” I snap.

  She shakes her head slowly, the trembling increasing. “Too often, no, it does not work out as we would want. There are too few Caretakers left, too many Aerlings to protect.”

  “How would the Sentinels have found Mason?” Robin asks. “It sounds like his Caretakers kept him pretty secluded.”

  “There is no way to know,” her grandma answers sadly.

  “Why would they kill my fam . . . my Caretakers?”

  This is something that Robin is absolutely certain is out of character for the Sentinels. I’m not sure if I want to hear her grandma tell me that it happens all the time, and my story is not nearly as unique as I might think, or if confirmation that there is indeed something about me that inspires such violence is the real truth.

  Robin’s grandma clasps her hands together. “I don’t know why they would do such a thing. As vicious as the Sentinels are, they do not harm Caretakers. The Sentinels rarely do something without a good reason, though. If they attacked your Caretakers, there would have been justification for the decision.”

  “Justification?” I snap. “What could possibly justify them killing a loving mother and father and three children?”

  “They justify killing innocent Aerling children every day,” she says with equal heat behind her voice. “I’m sure it wasn’t as hard as you think for them.”

  Smoothing her hands along the material of her housecoat, Robin’s grandma breathes in and out slowly. “On occasion,” she says, “an Aerling will come to this world that is considered unique. Special. He or she may possess abilities that would be considered very important to their kind. I have no way of knowing, but I could imagine that if the Sentinels found one of these Aerlings they might push the limits of their usual laws in order to see that Aerling dead.”

  “But, I barely have any abilities at all,” I argue.

  She shrugs. I expect her to continue . . . but a strange glassiness fills her eyes. Her lips turn up in a sweet smile that hardly seems to fit the tenor of our current conversation. I hear Robin sigh next to me. About to ask her what is going on, I jump when a set of cold fingers land on my wrist.

  “Rodney,” she croons, “I’m so glad you stopped by today. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other and I was beginning to think you had forgotten me here.”

  Not sure what to do and thoroughly creeped out, I turn to Robin for help. She looks severely deflated, but offers no help other than to mouth, play along. I don’t know what else to do.

  “Uh, no . . . Um, of course I didn’t forget you . . . ” What’s her name? I have no idea. I glance back at Robin again, but my eyes aren’t a good enough communicator to tell her what I need. She stares at me with a crooked eyebrow, her shoulders shrugging helplessly.

  “Rodney, you missed the social last week. Where were you? I looked everywhere for you, but I couldn’t find you.”

  “I, uh, was out of town? For work?”

  Thankfully she doesn’t seem to hear the uncertainty in my voice. Her grip tugs gently on my hands. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, I step closer. She tugs again and again until I am standing at her side. When her head leans against me, I’m begging Robin for help.

  Without any explanation or warning, Robin’s grandma straightens up, her hands falling back into her lap. She stares at Robin curiously. Me, she pulls away from as if I might be contagious. I need no further encouragement to go back to my seat.

  “What were you saying?” she asks Robin.

  “We were talking about Mason and why the Sentinels killed his Caretakers.”

  Her grandma’s head bobs seriously. “Yes, that’s right, but that’s not really the most important question, now is it?”

  “It’s not?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. Her expression is firm, but I swear I can almost make out the hint of a smile. “No, what you should be asking me is why Olivia can see Mason.”

  When silence falls over the room, Robin rolls her eyes. “So why can she see him?”

  Her grandma startles, taking a moment to come back to herself. “She can see him because she is his Escort.”

  Robin laughs, covering her mouth immediately after. “His what?”

  Yeah. My what? I stare at Robin’s grandma impatiently. The smile I thought I saw earlier widens.

  “It is rare to find an Escort so young. The two of you must be quite special indeed to have been led to each other as children.”

  I turn to Robin. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  Robin shakes her head. “I’ve never heard of an Escort before, but my training pretty much stopped after Eliana died. I know there’s a ton I didn’t learn.”

  She turns back to her grandma. “What is an Escort? What do they do?”

  “Do?” Robin’s grandma stares at her like she has just asked a very foolish question. I almost laugh, realizing t
hat’s where Robin got that look from. She shakes her head at Robin. “Escorts take Aerlings home.”

  “Home like . . . ” Robin leaves the question unfinished, hoping her grandma will continue.

  “Home to their own world, of course.”

  The wave of nauseating fear that sweeps through me nearly doubles me over. Digging my fingers into the edge of the bed is the only thing that keeps me upright. “What? I have to go home? Will Olivia come with me? Will I ever come back?”

  The questions shoot out of my mouth rapid-fire, but the glassy expression is back in her eyes. Her serious mood melts back into an innocent smile. “Can you please pass me the syrup, Clarence?”

  Too unbalanced to move, Robin steps in and hands her a bottle of lotion. I stare blankly at her as she dribbles lotion onto a piece of paper Robin stuck in her lap at the last second. The minutes tick by as Robin’s grandma remains lost in some memory of breakfast with her family. Fear and desperation sink in as she continues to live in her memories with no sign of coming back to reality.

  “Robin,” a voice calls from behind us, making Robin and I both jump. Robin lets go of the throw pillow her grandma is convinced is her infant son, Albert, and lets her rock it back and forth. She stands and turns to the nurse watching the scene with sad eyes.

  “Do you need her?” Robin asks.

  The nurse nods. “It’s time for her physical therapy session. I’m sorry, but I need to take her.”

  Robin nods, looking half relieved. Part of me feels the same. I have never had to deal with this before, but I’m desperate for answers as well. Robin must sense my turmoil. Her hand clasps mine briefly as she nods toward the door. Her goodbyes to her grandma are short, and then we are hurrying out of the room and back to Robin’s car.

  She handled her grandma so well, I didn’t realize how much she was struggling until she falls against the car and breathes out shakily. “She wasn’t going to come out of it any time soon, anyway,” she says.

  Her arms wrap around her body protectively. Approaching Robin slowly, I’m not sure what to do until she looks up at me with tears in her eyes. A moment later, my arms are around her, holding her.