“This is it, anyway,” Jack says. “The place where you fade and get your new identity.”
Those words make something tighten in me. I don’t want a new identity. I want my old life back. I want some answers too. Right now, of course, it looks like the only way I’ll get either is by going along with this as far as it goes. Jack drives right up to the hangar, stopping the car just outside a nondescript door on the outer wall. He clambers out of the car.
“Come on, Celes.”
I decide not to argue. Better to get this over with quickly. I stumble a bit as I get out of the car-I’ve been sitting still for so long that my legs are asleep-but I follow Jack around to that door. It’s only as we get close that I notice the sophisticated electronic lock on it. Jack has to key in a code while looking into some kind of scanner before we can step inside.
There’s a corridor on the other side of the door, which swings shut behind us as soon as we step inside. The walls are whitewashed, while there are strip lights set into the ceiling. They light up as we walk beneath them, fading away again behind us. With that, it’s hard to avoid the feeling that someone somewhere is watching us. Either that, or the security in this place is high-tech enough to amount to almost the same thing.
It all reminds me of some kind of military installation. The kind that you see in movies, which don’t officially exist, but do always seem to have secrets lurking in their depths. The kind that are very well-protected indeed. Briefly, just briefly, it occurs to me that I couldn’t leave here even if I wanted to. It’s enough to make me freeze in place. Then Jack puts a hand on my shoulder and I keep walking.
There’s an elevator at the end of the corridor. The buttons in it don’t have any markings, but Jack knows which one we need. We head… I’d guess down, because there isn’t enough of the building for us to go up that far, but it’s hard to be sure. The doors open, and we step out into a circular room that is dimly lit and empty. It kind of reminds me of a movie theatre in the seconds before the movie starts, only with just Jack and me there. A second later, I find out what a good guess that is, because a movie starts playing. It’s on all the walls of the room simultaneously, so that I’m surrounded by the images. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted. And the weird thing, the
really
weird thing, is that I seem to be the star of the show.
Most of them look like home movies, only they aren’t any home movies I remember. We don’t go in for that much in my family. Somehow, though, there’s grainy footage of me as a little kid playing with my parents. There’s film of me riding my bike for the first time, making a mess trying to help my mother bake when I’m only a few years old, going to birthday parties. It’s like a montage of my whole life, strung together from pieces of footage I didn’t know existed.
There’s even footage of me from just yesterday, when my family disappeared. Me running around the house trying to find my parents, my brother. Me calling for help. Me collapsing after the telephone call in the living room.
“What is this?” I demand of Jack. “What’s going on?”
In answer, he just points up to a section of tinted glass above the section where the movie is playing. I realize then that someone is watching me even now. Someone is sitting behind that glass and… what? Making notes?
“What’s going on?” I repeat, directing my question at the glass this time.
“Hello, Celestra Caine.” The voice comes from speakers I can’t see. It’s strong, male, distinguished. “Be welcome. We have been expecting you. Mr. Simple has done a good job in getting you here safely, I see.”
I nod. I guess
almost
being shot by goons back at the apartment doesn’t count. That nod seems to be enough for whoever is behind the glass.
“Good, then we will proceed.”
The screens change then, and I realize that they are glass panels too. They are clear, and behind them, I can see people. Some are busy at work, while others are staring through at me and Jack. At me. For a moment, I feel like something on a glass slide under a microscope. Then the voice from the speakers continues.
“Celestra, as you can see, you came to our attention some time ago.” The voice sounds matter of fact, as though its owner is reading all this from some kind of file. “You were found shortly after your birth in a dumpster, without any recognizable identity.”
“That’s not true-” I start to say, but Jack’s hand is on my shoulder again, squeezing in a way that is clearly a warning.
The voice from above doesn’t seem to mind. “As I said, a police officer found you abandoned. You were given into the care of Children’s Services, while initial attempts were made to find your parents. When it was clear that they would not be found, you were put up for adoption. The couple you believe to be your parents, the Caines, adopted you right away. That is to be expected. A newborn baby was just what they could have hoped for, in the circumstances. You had no history to overcome, no problems to deal with. You were just their sweet little girl.”
One fragment of the glass walls starts playing the movie collection from before, as an illustration to the unseen speaker’s words.
“For a long time, it seemed that you were no more than a normal girl. Maybe a little prettier than average, but nothing out of the ordinary. You had friends, you joined activities and sports at school, you were a good daughter and sister. From what we have seen, your boyfriend Grayson adores you, and your teachers, would easily recommend you for that scholarship to Georgetown University you want.”
What hurts is the casual way all this is tossed out, as though none of it really matters. As though it is just a collection of observations, rather than my
life
.
“Why are you doing this?” I demand, shrugging off Jack’s hand. “Why are you telling me all this? Why have you been
watching
me?”
The voice doesn’t hesitate. “As I was saying, you were, to all intents and purposes, a perfectly ordinary teen. Circumstances, however, have led us to believe that might not be the case. That you are in fact much more. Are you, Celestra?”
I look up at the glass blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course, we have already established that you might not. Even we only know some of it, but still, taking you underground… fading you, was deemed to be the correct option. The safe option. You see, Celestra Caine, we have reason to believe you may not be from around here at all.”
“You still haven’t told me what’s going on.” I look over at Jack, hoping that he will make more sense than whoever is speaking, but he just looks back at the dark glass of the observing room above. I do the same, and as I do, the glass clears, letting me see through to where a middle aged man in a dark suit stands. He has a kindly look to him, like someone’s rich favorite uncle, with hair that has just started to Gray and features that seem open and inviting. Yet there’s a sense of authority that rolls off him as he stands there.
“I am Sebastian Cook. I head this group of scientists, researchers, and other leading minds devoted to research in areas that are, let us say, not entirely normal. We believe that you are very special, Celestra. Specifically, we believe that you have abilities dormant in you that could yet prove to be phenomenal.”
“Abilities?” It’s hard not to scoff at that. “What am I, some kind of TV psychic?”
The middle aged man’s face creases into what’s probably a smile. “Something like that.”
“What is this? Some kind of joke?”
“It’s no joke, I’m afraid.” Suddenly, he’s serious again. “We have only caught glimpses of what might be possible, Celestra, but until you are able to control what you can do, we will have to be very careful with you. You could potentially be a danger to many people, including yourself.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “It sounds like you’re planning on locking me away down here.”
“You already know what we plan,” Sebastian Cook says.
“You want me to fade?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“Because we’re not the only ones who have noticed your potential, Celestra. And we’re not entirely sure others would want to keep you alive.”
FIVE
W
hile I’m still trying to make sense of what Sebastian Cook has just said, up there in his box, the glass walls around me and Jack slide away to allow through a team of men and women in sterile white clothing that makes them look like they’re ready for some kind of medical procedure. I take a step back automatically.
“There is nothing to worry about, Ms. Caine,” Mr. Cook says. “The people here are merely going to make it easier for you to fade. It is a necessary step to protect you from those people who would harm you for what you are.”
“Who are they?” I demand, still unwilling to believe most of this ludicrous story of his. Well, who
would
believe it if someone just told them that they were meant to have some kind of special powers. Only the sheer scale of the place I’m in, and the amount of trouble that Jack has gone to over me so far, keep me from laughing at it outright. From calling it all a joke.
Because it can’t be a joke. No one would build a whole military base for a joke, or send men after me with guns, or have me do Jack’s “test” back at the diner on the way. I shiver as I realize that no joke would include surveillance on me for so long, or my family disappearing like that, or my phone being cut off. But that leaves only one possibility: that this is real. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.
“Who are they?” I repeat. Even though the people in white look friendly enough, I’m not letting them touch me until I get some more answers. I’m not some little kid to be pushed around. At least, I hope I’m not.
“We call them the Others,” Sebastian Cook says. “We don’t know much about them, except that they will be looking for you, and that they will not want you to live. When they found out about you… well, given how different you are, we had to act.”
“That’s not an answer.” I see Sebastian Cook’s expression darken slightly, and I know how I must sound to him. Like some kind of petulant, ungrateful child. “Look, Mr. Cook, I’m sorry. I appreciate you sending Jack to help me escape those men who went after me, but right now, I’m completely confused. Can’t you tell me more about what is going on? You haven’t even told me why you’re so convinced that there’s something odd about me.”
That seems to please him, and he nods. “I can try,” he says. “Ms. Caine, we have… sensors here. I guess you could think of them as a kind of radar. They detect the unusual, the different. Things that go beyond the normal in some way. Most of those signals are weak. When we intercepted yours, we thought it had to be a mistake, or an indication of some kind of forgotten lake monster. Those are large enough to put out that kind of response.”
Great, so now I’m the Loch Ness Monster. I look around at Jack automatically, not knowing why it
is
automatic for me, but looking anyway. I guess I want to know why he didn’t tell me this on the way, or just find out how much he knew. He stands there totally impassively, of course. No, that isn’t right. Not totally impassively. He’s just trying to give that impression. Somehow, I know that, if he could, he’d be comforting me right now. Reassuring me that I’m not some kind of freak.
I have to admit, that’s a good thought. I don’t know why it matters to me what Jack Simple thinks of me; after all, he hasn’t exactly been the best of company on the way over, but it does. Maybe it’s just that, in this strange place, being told these impossible things, he’s the closest thing to a friend I have. Then again, maybe it isn’t.
I force myself to look back up at Sebastian Cook. “So you’re saying that, not only am I some kind of freak, I’m one of the biggest freaks you’ve spotted?”
He shrugs. “If you want to put it that way.”
“No, I don’t want to put it that way! I don’t want to put it any kind of way! I…” I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what to believe. I do know that suddenly, I’m crying, and I hate it. I hate that I’m crying in front of this bunch of strangers, when I should be standing up tall and facing them down. I hate that I suddenly don’t know what’s going on in my life, or even what kind of life it is, given what Sebastian Cook has just said. I hate what has happened to my family, to me… all of it.