'Are you okay?'
"No, not really. Whoever burned down this studio turned my dreams to ash as well. I mean, I still have school, but without my art...."
A flash of emotion seared me, and a memory stormed my senses. The taste of the sea, the feel of the sun and wind, the surf under my board... wait, not my board, Drake's. I'd never been surfing, but in that moment I knew exactly how it felt to ride a wave and let go of all the pain and fear, all the social expectations and the need to hide my true self in public.
In one blow, that dream died as they dragged me—him—away.
A tear slid down my cheek. I wasn't the only one mourning the loss of a dream. "I'm sorry."
'You're not alone, I just wanted you to know that. And someday, when I have my powers back and am free, I'm going to do some serious damage to the people who've hurt you.'
His words released in me a primal urge to feel safe and protected, to belong to someone in a more intimate way than I'd ever experienced before. Still, in that moment he was just a voice, and I had to do this on my own.
I opened the door and stepped in. Raw pain filled me at the sight of my painting.
'Show me what it looked like, before the fire.'
His request surprised me, but I did as he asked. With eyes closed, I projected the exact details of the painting I had poured my soul into. Just as I had experienced his love of surfing in a visceral way, he shared not just the visual beauty of my work, but the love and passion with which I had dedicated myself to it.
'Thank you. Now, it will never truly be gone.'
I choked back a sob and went to Mr. K's office. I pulled my sketchbook out of my book bag and ran my hand over the cover with the gold emblem, then opened it to the sketch I'd drawn from his mind the last time I'd seen him.
The box had been important. It had to be here somewhere.
I searched his desk, his cubby and his metal filing cabinet, but found nothing of note. His office had survived the fire with less damage than the studio, but it didn't reveal any secrets that would help. Frustrated, I fell into his chair and put my head on his metal desk. That's when I noticed the painting on the wall. It had been moved and hung slightly askew.
No way. That was too clichéd even for Mr. K. But... what if?
I went over and moved aside the painting. Sure enough, he had a safe.
Now what? What combination of numbers would be most important to Mr. K? I thought back to all the times I'd read his mind for assignments. Piece by piece, I recalled numbers that stood out. 4-15-70, the date he'd lost his wife and child in a freak accident.
The safe clicked open and inside sat my box.
I ran my hands over the delicate detail of the carving; he'd done the work himself. Grief threatened to overcome me. I missed him so much. No one had ever understood me or my passions the way he had.
The box didn't open on the first try. It had been locked, but I couldn't find a spot for the key. The box didn't have a keyhole, but an emblem—fit to complement the one on my journal—adorned its front.
Using a metal letter opener from the desk, I pried the emblem off my sketchbook and inserted it into the emblem on the box. With a firm twist, it opened. I held my breath in anticipation of what I would find.
Nothing. The box was empty.
I turned it upside down, as if gravity would magically spill the secrets I'd hoped it would contain, but of course, nothing fell out.
Crushed, I couldn't contain the tears anymore. Sobs tore through me and I unleashed all my rage and fear and grief. I nearly threw the box across the room, but stopped myself in time. Mr. K had made this; it was all I had left of him.
"What am I going to do, Drake? I can't live with the loss of both Mr. K and my art."
'We'll find a way, Sam. I promise. Have you checked for any secret compartments in the box? When I lived in foster care I had to hide things important to me, and that's how I did it.'
Excitement overcame me and I looked on the box with new eyes. The inside didn't seem as deep as it should have been. Using the same letter opener, I loosened the bottom on all sides until it popped off.
A letter lay in the compartment, and it had my name written on it in a familiar scrawl.
~~~
Sam,
If you're reading this, I'm gone. Please know I would never leave you here alone, which means I didn't leave voluntarily. There are deep secrets at this school, and I've only scratched the surface. One of my students disappeared after she left. She's not where Higgins said she'd be. I fear a worse fate for you. Get out, Sam. However you can, get out. Someday, if I'm still alive, I'll find you.
You were the best of them all.
Mr. K
P.S. I made this box for you. Keep your own secrets in it.
~~~
What had Mr. K discovered that scared him so much, and what did they do to him?
"Drake, did you see?"
'Yes. Do you believe me now? They kidnapped me, Sam. They didn't save me from shit!'
"I don't know. Yes. Maybe. It's all so much. I wish I knew what to do. I wish Mr. K was still here."
Luke and Lucy needed to see this. I put the letter back and sealed it, then slipped the box into my bag.
I left Mr. K's office and walked right into Headmaster Higgins.
"Sam, what are you doing here?"
"I came to see if any of my art survived. The first time, I was too upset."
His face softened. "Of course. Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. The clinic is looking for you. It's time for your vitamin shot and checkup."
"Right now?" I had a standing appointment every three months for that, and this was odd timing.
"Yes, they've revamped the vitamin cocktail, and we need to make sure all the students get it. There's been a nasty flu going around and it'll help keep you healthy."
'Need everyone healthy. Healthy and happy.'
"Okay, I'll head there right now."
"Great. Oh, and did you find anything?"
"Not really. Everything's pretty much destroyed."
"I'm sorry, Sam. I really am."
"Me too."
I left before he could question me more, and headed to the clinic.
'Don't let them give you any drugs, Sam. Vitamins my ass.'
"I don't have a choice. There's nothing I can do about it."
He sighed mentally but didn't say anything more about it.
As I approached the clinic, Luke and Lucy walked past me. "Hey, where are you two going?"
They both smiled with glazed expressions that contained no hint of personality. "Just back to our room. See you around," Lucy said.
I couldn't hide my exasperation. What was going on? "Wait, what did you find out?"
Luke slugged my shoulder. "Oh, Sam, you worry too much. Everything's fine. They're waiting for you in there, and we have to go."
They walked away and left me stunned.
'Your friends have been compromised.'
"They're like pod people. I'm scared, Drake."
'Me too.'
But what could I do? I couldn't hide or escape, so I walked into the clinic and spied on every mind I could find, fighting a mounting headache the whole time.
***
My trepidation mounted when the doctor with the gold tooth walked into my room. "Hello, Sam." He flipped through a chart. "Looks like it's time for your vitamin dose. This is an enhanced version and will give you added health benefits as well as strengthen your powers."
"Who are you?"
"You are a direct young lady, aren't you? I'm Dr. Pana. I created this new serum and am overseeing the distribution of it."
'Sam, that's the doctor who treated me.'
"I know."
"Please hold out your arm and lie back. You might get dizzy or even fall asleep for a time. That's completely normal."
'Sam, don't! Please.'
"I have no choice."
My arm shook, but I offered it to him like a sacrificial lamb. For all my newfou
nd courage, I still just let myself be pushed around. I'd never had any real power over my own life, and I realized I never would.
"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second."
The prick came, and my body filled with a warm glow as I slid into oblivion.
Drake's voice touched at the edges of my consciousness. I reached for him, but he slipped farther and farther away, until he was gone and I was alone.
***
The little boy sits on the bed once again and waits. When New Daddy gets home, he's going to be ready for him this time.
New Mommy gets older every day and her skin wrinkles and sinks into itself in a yellowish muck. Drake won't hurt New Mommy, even if she does let New Daddy beat him.
New Mommy hurts herself enough for them both.
But New Daddy, he won't be allowed to do this anymore.
The door slams open and the little boy waits, quiet as a dead mouse.
Then New Daddy is standing over him, a gun in his hand.
The blow lands before Drake can move, but Drake's been practicing.
He pushes New Daddy's weak mind. He pushes harder and harder—with each bashing from the pistol, he pushes.
This beating hurts more than the rest. The metal from the gun breaks open his skin and bone. He might not heal from this, but he doesn't care as long as New Daddy doesn't either.
As Drake fades into darkness, as he becomes truly as quiet as a dead mouse—as a dead boy—he pushes one last time.
He hears the gunshot and feels New Daddy's brain and blood hit his face.
New Daddy shot himself.
***
The nightmare woke me from my drugged stupor. A deep ache built in my womb and pulsed through me. I calculated my cycle, but no, I still had a few weeks for that. Still the cramps burned inside me, as did the memory of that dream.
Of Drake's dream.
Drake's memories.
My breath hitched at the realization that all of my nightmares recently had been his. This was his childhood—his inner child, not mine.
I cried for him and called out to him in my mind.
'I'm here. Are you okay?'
"Are you? I saw, Drake. I saw what happened to you."
He grew quiet and I feared he'd left.
'Do you hate me?'
"What? Why would I? You were a child trying to protect yourself. But what happened after your foster father killed himself?"
'I was in a coma for a week. Once I recovered, the orphanage took me back, and my foster mother was put on trial for abuse and negligence. I spent the next several years in and out of foster families until I finally ran away and moved in with my best friend Brad.'
My mind tumbled around as it tried to process what kind of life Drake must've had.
'How do you feel? You don't seem as drugged as your friends.'
"I don't feel that different. A little loopy and very achy."
I placed my hand on my abdomen. Sharp pain shot through me every few minutes. Maybe I had the flu. I did feel flushed. It could also be a side effect of this new "cocktail" they'd given me.
When Dr. Pana came into my room, I did my best impression of how Luke and Lucy had acted, and the doctor released me with instructions to rest for the remainder of the day.
If only a nice nap could have solved all my problems. I had to find a way to save my friends.
Chapter 13 – Sam
"Luke, Lucy, open up!" I rapped on their door again and tried the knob, as if it would magically unlock for me.
They'd never locked me out before.
Fear pricked my chest. I scanned for their mental signatures and reeled back in shock. Their minds had a weight and sluggishness to them that I'd never felt before.
My voice hitched with unshed tears. "Open up, please!"
Luke finally came to the door, and I hugged him hard. "What's wrong with you?"
"Don't know. Feel weird. Tired. Maybe we caught that flu."
I pushed my way in and felt his forehead. "You don't have a fever. Where's Lucy?"
"In bed sleeping."
I peeked in on her and then curled up on their couch. "Can I stay the night?"
Luke shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'm going to bed."
I wrapped myself in the throw blanket and reached out to Drake.
'I'm here.'
"I can't sleep."
'Neither can I. I'll stay up with you.'
And he did. When the sun came up, I finally fell asleep to the sound of his voice as he described Venice Beach.
The next morning, Luke and Lucy seemed less affected, but I woke up with a fever.
When I fell over while trying to stand, Luke picked me up and carried me back to the clinic. My weak protests did nothing to stop him.
"You're sick, Sam. Really sick. Like, 103-degree fever sick. You're going to the doctor."
I wanted to say, "The doctor that made me sick." Instead, I said something like, "Gumma mum ack," then threw up on Luke's chest and passed out.
***
I woke up groggy and in the Clinic. My head screamed at me to chop it off and put it out of its misery. My body clearly had been weighted down with lead.
"Good morning, sunshine." Dr. Sato, all five feet and ninety pounds of her, leaned in close.
Relief poured through me. Better her than Dr. Pana. "How long was I out? What happened to me?" My voice cracked, making me sound like a shipwreck survivor. I tried to lift my head. Bad idea. Sorry head.
"You get sick on boyfriend. He bring you here. You been unconscious. High fever."
"He's not my boyfriend." Mistrust tickled the back of my brain, and I instinctively reached for her mind to fill in the missing pieces of the story.
I'd been studying her dialect for weeks, but still hadn't learned enough to make sense of her thoughts.
A spasm in my abdomen wrenched me from her mind. I rested a hand on my stomach and tried to breathe.
"Are you all right? You hurting?"
"Just cramping. What am I sick with?"
"Likely flu. You be okay, just rest and fluids. Keep you here until you a little better."
I noticed the IV in my arm for the first time. "Can I go back to my room now?"
"Not yet. If you stay better and keep food down, you go to room and rest there."
"I am pretty hungry. Can I get something to eat?"
She nodded and left to get me lunch. Or dinner. I wasn't sure of the time.
After I downed a cold, limp turkey sandwich and green Jell-O, Dr. Sato declared me fit for bed rest in my own room. She unhooked me from the IV and went to sign me out.
My knees wobbled a bit as I began to dress, checking my body for anything abnormal. Nothing.
The walls kept me steady as I made my way through the Clinic. Just as the starch had returned to my legs....
'Sam! Sam! Where are you?'
"I'm here, at the clinic. I got sick. You feel so close. I want to be near you, in person, not just as a thought."
'Me too. Someday soon, I promise.'
I started following the sound of his thoughts, wandering through the halls, but the secure-password/scan-protected door stopped me short. Only certain staff members had clearance into that section of the Clinic.
But he was in there.
If anyone found out about this, I would be in trouble. But how would they know? They couldn't read my mind. Or could they? I put my hand on the forbidden door, trying to get closer to him. I needed to see him, to touch him and feel him.
'You shouldn't put yourself at risk. Don't get caught.'
"I just need to find you. Maybe I can get the drugs out of your system, and you can escape."
'Not without you. I'd never leave you here.'
My body melted against the door. I would have given anything in that moment to have Luke's powers. I could just walk through everything that stood between me and Drake.
"Sam, what are you doing here?" Dr. Sato stood behind me, fists on slight hips, glaring at me.
"I don't know. I'm sorry. I started feeling dizzy and got disoriented. I was just looking for a place to sit down." A simple lie made possible by a lifetime of acting.
Her composure softened. "You should have waited for the guard to escort you back to your room. Maybe you stay here is better."
She helped me up and guided me to her office. I sat down on her love seat, fighting waves of nausea but trying to hide it.
"Here. Drink."
I took the juice and drank greedily. My energy surged as the sugar hit my system.
I sighed and set the empty cup on the coffee table in front of me. "I'm feeling better. You said it's just the flu, right? My fever broke. There's no reason I can't recover in the comfort of my room."
"Yes, okay, but come back if you feel dizzy or nauseous, or if any other odd symptoms persist."
"I will."
She picked up her phone, and a moment later, a guard—It's Gar!—came in with a wheelchair. I groaned, just wanting to get home, but I felt better knowing Gar would be my escort.
***
Once we made it past prying ears I twisted to look at him. "Did you get demoted? This hardly seems a fitting job for one of your skill."
He didn't make eye contact with me. He didn't so much as twitch his face, but his voice hit my mind with force.
'I'm just here to keep you safe. That's my job.'
I pried deeper into his mind and saw that he had developed a soft spot for me after our assignment. It looked like I had my own guardian angel.
He dropped me at my dorm, walked me to my room, and then left without saying another word.
I dressed in my flannel pajamas and crawled into bed before I tried contacting Drake again.
On the one hand, a constant telepathic connection with him created a deep emotional intimacy. On the other hand, I needed him to be real and tangible, not just a voice.
"Drake, can you hear me?"
'Yes, what happened?'
I told him about my new friend and the trip back to my room. "Want to see something?"
'Sure.'
I'd been able to project the image of my painting to him; maybe I could do the same now. My tidy room, my closet with the door hanging open, the oak dresser and matching desk, a MacBook sitting on top of it—I imagined my mind as a computer, sending every captured image via email.
The Forbidden Trilogy Page 9
