by Aella Black
And an explanation.
I didn’t know why she chose not to tell me she knew my dad was gone, but I didn’t care right now. I trusted her a whole lot more than Mr. Fletcher.
She was probably with her children, as she should be. If I was alive and well—mostly well, anyway—then surely they were too. But where were they?
Panic seized me as an IV was stuck into my arm, and these strange paramedics with black uniforms began taking my blood. Someone shined a bright light into my eyes, and then the oxygen mask was ripped off my face. Finally!
Now I could ask the most pressing question on my mind. “Are they okay?” I gasped. “The twins. Are they all right?”
“They’re fine,” one answered, and I swore I could breathe a thousand times better. “You did good. Now lay back and relax.”
“But—”
Someone reached over with gloved hands and pulled another mask over my face. I frowned. This wasn’t the oxygen mask. And I needed more answers!
My thoughts raced with what could happen when my parents didn’t show up at the hospital. Would they tell the authorities? I’d worked so hard to keep my head down.
And now this.
My mind started to slow. The edges of my vision blurred. Then, for the second time tonight, everything went black.
5
I woke, groggy and dying of thirst. My eyes blinked open. I found myself staring at a flat, white ceiling. A light was on, emitting a low buzzing sound. I shifted, my body informing me that I lay on top of a thin, lumpy mattress.
Turning my head, I looked around. I was in a small, austere room, another bed against the opposite wall. It was empty. A small door was left cracked open, revealing a toilet and tiny sink.
Definitely not the nicest hospital I’d been in. Not even close.
I continued my perusal until my eyes landed on something I’d never seen in a hospital room before. There was a reason. Hospitals didn’t have bars.
My heart leapt into my throat, and I quickly sat up. I immediately regretted it as a dizzy spell rushed through me. When I could see straight again, it was everything I could do to calm my galloping heart.
A prison cell.
I was locked up. But why? Did they think I started the fire?
Fear clawed at me. Maybe the hospital had already figured out I’ve been on my own. Maybe they were holding me here until they could find out what to do with me. But why a prison?
“Hello?” I croaked.
Silence.
“Hey! Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
Footsteps echoed down the hall. I swung my legs over the bed and tried to stand, swaying as I did so.
A man appeared on the other side of the bars. Dressed in a navy blue suit, his silver hair slicked forward, he said, “Whoa, sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.” There was genuine concern in his voice.
I plopped back onto the mattress. “Who are you?”
“William Brady.” He smiled. “I’m the warden here. But you can call me Warden Will.”
My stomach plummeted. A warden. I really was in jail.
“Why am I here?” A sliver of fear snaked down my spine. “Did something happen to the twins?” Maybe they’d died after all, even after the paramedics told me they were fine.
The warden held up his hands. “No, no. They’re fine. They were taken straight to the hospital and treated for smoke inhalation. Those children were lucky you acted quickly.” He paused, looked strangely proud. “You saved those kids’ lives.”
If a body could sigh with relief, mine just did. “Then where am I? And why am I here?”
For a second, I could have sworn Warden Will looked sad. But if he did, he recovered quickly. So quickly that I thought I must have imagined it. “You are at Leavenworth Penitentiary.”
Leavenworth. I’d heard of this place, but— “I thought it was a federal prison,” I said slowly.
“Not anymore.” The warden clasped his hands behind his back. “Leavenworth now houses individuals under the age of eighteen who have, shall we say, unique abilities.”
What? This guy wasn’t making any sense. “Such as?”
He pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked my cell. My heart picked up its pace, and a surprisingly strong fight-or-flight response kicked in. But I knew better than to try to fight my way out of here. That would only land me in more trouble. Plus, I could barely stand without falling over.
No, I needed to keep playing by the rules, as I had done all my life. There wasn’t a rebellious bone in my body. My mother, in particular, had ingrained in me a solid sense of obedience.
Warden Will opened the cell door and stepped inside, closing the bars behind him. “Thirsty?” he asked.
I nodded. He opened a small cabinet inside the closet-sized bathroom and retrieved a small paper cup. After filling it with tap water from the sink, he offered it to me. I took it gratefully, downing the contents in one gulp.
The warden sat on the smaller-than-a-twin bed across from mine. He had forgotten to shave today, as evidenced by the gray whiskers along his jaw. Somehow that made me less wary of him.
He clasped his hands in his lap. “Phoebe, did you know you had the capability of dying and coming back to life?”
Was this a trick question? “Um, no. How would I if I’ve never died before?”
“Excellent point.” He smiled. “And that’s what happened tonight. Paramedics at the scene pronounced you dead the moment they dragged your body out of that house. And, according to my sources, you drew breath again a full forty-five minutes later.”
We stared at each other in silence for a moment. I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. I’d heard this before, but I still didn’t know how it was possible. And I had no clue what brought me back. I did, however, know for a fact that I never wanted to be that close to not breathing again.
When I didn’t respond, the warden continued. “Something like that doesn’t happen to normal people.”
What was he hinting at? “I am normal,” I said dully. “Maybe the paramedics made a mistake?” But even as I said this, it didn’t ring true.
He shook his head. “I want you to understand something, Phoebe. You’re not alone.” In any other situation, I would have laughed. I was about as alone as any person could be. “There are people out there—you included—who have special gifts and abilities. Most of these abilities are harmless. Yours, for example, won’t hurt anyone. Others are more dangerous. Regardless of threat level, you must all be kept under observation. I hope you understand.”
Too much information was being thrown at me at once. “Wait, what do you mean under observation?” My voice had hitched up at least an octave.
They couldn’t keep me here, could they?
The warden stared me down. “Phoebe, this will be your home until you turn eighteen. There’s no need to worry. We will keep a close eye on you and make sure you have everything you need.” He pulled out a laminated sheet of paper from an inside pocket. “Here is the schedule—”
“Until I’m eighteen?” I choked. “That’s over a year away!”
He sighed. “I understand this is difficult for you. But you don’t have a home to return to. Your parents are gone.” How did he know that? “I’m sure you’ll make friends with the other supernaturals.”
“Supernaturals? That’s what you’re calling the kids here with… with…”
“Unique abilities, yes.” He pointed to the badge on his jacket with the letters “SCC” stamped across it. Exactly like the paramedics. Although now that I thought about it, those people probably weren’t paramedics at all. Was I just kidnapped? “Supernatural Containment Center,” he said, tapping the letters. “That is the program we’re running here.”
My head spun. “You’re telling me there are people here with superpowers? Like flying? Invisibility?”
“Yes. Although, to my knowledge, no one can fly here.” Warden Will handed me the laminated paper. “And Phoebe, you may as well get used to the
idea that you’re one of those people with superpowers.”
I looked down at the paper he handed me, unable to wrap my mind around what the warden was saying.
“Lunch is in the cafeteria in an hour. Right now, our other guests are at The Quad.” My head snapped up. “That’s what we call our recreation yard. They’ll be returning shortly.”
“Guests? If we’re guests, we can leave whenever we want. Can we?”
“I’m afraid not. And I have to be going,” he said quickly. Then he stood, straightening his jacket and smoothing down his pants. “I’ll leave you to look over your daily schedule. If you have any questions or need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. We want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Was he joking? Who could be comfortable in a prison? And though he hadn’t once called it like it was, we were prisoners. Inmates. Convicts who hadn’t been convicted of anything.
As the warden opened the cell door and began to leave, I realized I still needed answers. So many answers.
“Wait!” I called. Warden Will paused. I shuffled through the many questions I had until one rose above the rest. “What happens when I turn eighteen?”
He pressed his lips together in the same way Mr. Fletcher had the last time I saw him. Which reminded me, he was someone else I wanted to ask about.
“It depends, Phoebe,” the warden said with a shrug.
“Depends on what?” I asked.
And then he walked away without answering.
Panic gripped my chest. I hopped up from the bed and ran over to the door as fast as my Jell-O legs could carry me. Curling my fingers around the bars, I shouted, “Depends on what?”
But he was gone.
6
My biggest fear this past year was being thrown into foster care. This was way worse.
I paced in my cell, trying to come to grips with what was happening to me. I’d always been a rule follower. I’d never even cheated on an exam in school. There was no reason I should be held here against my will.
And, apparently, I wasn’t the only one in this situation. The warden mentioned other “supernaturals” with special abilities. Were they being held against their will, too? Did their parents know they were here? Was this whole operation even legal?
There were too many questions and no one around to answer them.
I finally sat down and looked over the schedule. Morning exercise, followed by breakfast at seven sharp. Recreation time. Lunch at noon. More rec time. Dinner at six. Lights out by ten. There were spaces between, which I assumed meant we were in here, and “special activities” listed on various days and times. Nowhere did it say what those activities were.
I scowled at the piece of paper. This wasn’t the life I wanted. Sure, things at home were less than ideal, but at least I could follow my own schedule. At least I wasn’t being treated like a criminal. And what about school?
The door opened, and I looked up. A girl walked in, casting a frown in my direction. She had straight dark hair pulled back into a sleek high ponytail. She wore a gray jumper and had large arms laden with muscle.
Without a word, she plopped down on the other bed, pulled a magazine out from under her pillow, and began flipping through it nonchalantly.
I cleared my throat. “Um… hi?”
The girl didn’t respond, just continued flipping through the magazine.
National Geographic. Interesting choice.
“I’m Phoebe,” I said.
“Don’t care.” Flip.
Great. This prison life was starting off really well for me. “Sorry if I’m bothering you, but I’m new here.”
“Obviously.”
I grit my teeth. “Problem is, I have no idea why. How long have you been here? Do your parents know? Are you a…” I lowered my voice, feeling weird even saying it, “supernatural?”
The girl closed the magazine with obvious irritation. “You ask too many questions.”
I waited patiently. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do.
Her eyes cut to me, and she gave me a thorough once-over. I looked down at myself. This was the same outfit I was wearing when the Fletchers’ house caught fire. I probably reeked of smoke.
The girl stood and opened one of two drawers in the room. Cell, I corrected myself. Better to keep calling it what it was.
She pulled out a neatly folded jumper and chucked it at me. “Put that on before the guards see you.”
Clutching the thick fabric in my hands, I thanked her. Then I retreated to the tiny bathroom and began to strip off my shirt and jeans.
I heard the girl scoff. “Oh, they’re going to love you. Do you always do what you’re told?”
The tone in her voice told me this wasn’t quite sarcasm… nor was it a compliment. And I assumed it was a rhetorical question.
After folding my clothes and putting them in a pile on the floor, I stepped into the jumper and pulled up the zipper. Now I was officially an inmate.
In the tiny mirror in the bathroom, I looked at my reflection. It looked like I hadn’t showered in days. My hair drooped over my shoulders, and the area under my eyes was dark. I could have killed for a bit of concealer. Then again, the lack of makeup was the least of my worries at the moment.
Stepping back out, I spotted some ugly black shoes under the bed with a pair of socks rolled up inside. I slipped both of those on and turned to face the girl.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Rocky.” She didn’t even look at me—picking at her nails was obviously more interesting—but at least she answered.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.”
Well, she wasn’t going to be much help. I bit back an exasperated sigh. “Why are you here?”
Rocky lay back down on her bed, scowling at the ceiling. “I turn rocks into quartz.”
I stared at her, unsure how to react.
Her gaze turned to me, scathing. “Got a problem?”
I shook my head. “That’s… pretty cool.”
“I can turn a blunt, useless hunk of rock into a razor-sharp weapon. I wouldn’t get on my bad side if I were you.”
And there it was. My first threat in jail. By my own cellmate, no less.
I decided not to point out the fact that she could probably hurt me with a blunt rock just as effectively as sharp quartz. Regardless, my eyes quickly scanned the small area.
No rocks in sight, thankfully.
I gave up conversing with Rocky and copied her instead. Lying flat on my back, I could feel several of the springs poking through the thin mattress. With nothing else to focus on, the reality of my current situation really and truly set in.
I was a prisoner.
Trapped here until I turned eighteen, if the warden was to be believed. And as far as I could tell, there was no way out of this. No one who would search for me.
Sure, my teachers would notice I was missing from school, but when they weren’t able to reach a parent, they’d probably just give up. My boss at the diner would write me off as another unreliable teenager who decided to move on without giving notice. It had happened before.
The only ones who would notice my absence were the Fletchers. That said, judging from Mr. Fletcher’s reaction after the fire, he wasn’t going to help me. In fact, I had the sneaking suspicion he knew I was being sent here.
That thought opened up a whole flood of questions. Did he know I was a “supernatural?” The term was still foreign to me. Like something from a lame TV show. Not real life. And if he did know, how? How on earth would he know when I had no idea? Did he send the SCC after me? Did his wife know?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized I’d sunk my own ship. Since I’d purposefully distanced myself from everyone, not a single soul would come looking for me.
I was completely and utterly alone.
My only comfort was knowing the twins were going to be okay. Though I did wonder what Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher would tell them when I didn�
��t show up on Friday. Would they just hire a new sitter like I never existed?
I groaned at the endless questions tossing and turning through my mind.
“You’re not going to hurl, are you?”
“Depends,” I said. “How bad is the food here?”
“It won’t kill you.”
I glanced over at her, but there was no indication Rocky meant anything by that. She hadn’t asked why I was here, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her. Last thing I needed was for her to test out her superpower on mine.
Not that I thought whatever it was that happened was a superpower. And it begged the question… if Rocky could turn rocks into weapons-grade quartz, what could the other kids here do?
7
Noon hit and guards moved down the halls, unlocking the cells. Once ours was open, Rocky slid off the bed and walked out without looking back. Since I didn’t know where the cafeteria was, I followed close behind.
I would have figured it out. A stream of other teens shuffled down the hall, all heading in the same direction.
Curious, I looked around. It was a fairly even mix of girls and boys. There were some older teens who looked like they were on the cusp of eighteen. Most looked to be between thirteen and sixteen, but others were obviously pre-teens. I swallowed thickly, my eyes following one girl—she couldn’t have been a day older than twelve—as her slight body wove through the other kids.
She was a child. Who locked up a child?
As we entered what I assumed was the cafeteria, a few glances were cast my way. Some lingered, rudely staring. Guess they didn’t get new inmates often. But why did so many seem shocked to see me?
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms as I fell into the lunch line. Fortunately, it worked just like my school’s lunch line. Picking up a tray, I glanced around the cafeteria. Unlike school, there were a few TVs hanging on these dingy walls. Looked like a football game was playing on one. The others were tuned in to news stations.
A woman wearing a hairnet scooped watery corn and a slice of lasagna onto my tray. She didn’t look at me as she did so. In fact, I noticed all the cafeteria workers avoided the gazes of the inmates. Were they scared of us?
