Authors: Cindy
Helga Gottlieb smiled.
Ivanovich reached a hand down for me, my blood on his knuckles. I pulled back, but he forced me to stand.
“Are you certain your name is, ah,
Jane Smith
?” Helga asked quietly.
From the periphery of my vision, I saw the guard pull back as if to punch his ring-clad knuckles into my face again.
I swallowed hard and whispered, “Yes.” Locking eyes with Helga, I braced, waiting for the man to strike. The hand around my arm tightened, but the blow didn’t come.
“We’ll just check your story, shall we?” Helga pulled up the corners of her mouth. It didn’t look like a smile.
She strode to a door and pressed on a thumb-pad. The door unlocked silently and
remained open. “Ivanovich, Jameson, seat her in there.” She pointed inside the closet-sized room. “I’ll look up student records for
Jane Smith
.”
The guards pulled me into the small dark room. While one held my struggling form, the other swiftly and efficiently locked my ankles and arms into restraints attached to something that reminded me at first of a recliner. Then I realized it was actually more like the chairs at my dentist’s office.
Sweat pooled under my arms, locked into place beside me. My heart, already beating fast, increased its pace and I felt an icy-prickling sensation in the pit of my stomach. I gazed down, hoping that somehow my mid-section had begun to ripple, but I was solid. The cold stabbing feeling in my belly had nothing to do with invisibility.
What would they do to me when they discovered I’d lied about my identity?
I felt beads of perspiration forming above my lips, along my hairline. With each intake of breath, I caught a rank odor rolling off of me.
This is what fear smells like.
The bleeding in my mouth had almost stopped, but the scent of my sweat combined with the metallic blood-smell turned my stomach. No way could I ripple in this state. Although I wouldn’t want to ripple in front of people like this in any case.
Helga returned. Her thugs drew themselves to attention.
“Jameson,” she murmured, “return to your duties patrolling the halls. Advise me at once if you find anyone else lurking about.”
Helga stared at me; although her lips turned upwards, her eyes did not smile. The frosty orbs of palest blue unnerved me further, but I felt a flickering of resistance warming the ice-cold band around my stomach.
“You’ve lied to me, girl. I intend to discover the truth. I will ask you questions. Every time you choose to withhold the truth, Ivanovich will remove one of your teeth. We’ll start in back to give you a chance to keep that pretty smile, shall we?” Again, she flashed her teeth at me. It was the feral grin of an animal hungry to kill and devour. “This procedure is normally performed with a painkiller, of course, but I believe we’ll dispense with needles. For the present.”
I tasted bile. Vomiting sounded like a good option at the moment; it might slow things down. But of course once I
wanted
to throw up, I couldn’t. Moisture tickled its way from my armpits down across my sides and back. My hand flicked automatically to brush at the wet irritant causing the restraint to bite into my wrist. I realized something important. These cuffs were intended for someone with a larger frame than a running-addicted teen. I felt a flutter of hope that I could free my hands.
“Tell me your name.” Helga’s voice shattered the hopeful feeling.
Ivanovich picked up a sinister-looking instrument.
Pliers,
whispered some part of my brain. I opened my mouth to lie and realized I was screaming. Ivanovich’s thick fingers, rough like sand paper, grasped my face and dug into the exquisite core of pain that was my jaw. He gripped harder, attempting to clamp the tool around a back molar. Trying to turn away increased the pain, so I stopped, tears streaming down my face as I squeezed my eyes tight shut.
There’ll be lots more blood,
I thought.
Then Ivanovich removed his hand abruptly, and I opened my eyes to see that the man I knew as Nat Wilke entering the room.
“Ah, Helga. Always such a pleasure to see you hard at work.” His tone was calm.
She seemed pleased to see him, murmuring, “Lieber Hansi,” and running her hand
affectionately across his face. He smiled pleasantly at her and then turned to stare at me with curiosity.
“Hans, you can assist me.” Helga smiled at the flashlight man.
I felt the nausea returning along with the stabbing cold in my belly. Saliva formed in my mouth at an insane rate.
In a minute I’ll drown in my own drool
.
Helga spoke again. “Ivanovich? Check that the security system is functioning properly and then rejoin Jameson.” My tormentor dipped his head and left the room. I followed him with my eyes towards the outer door. He didn’t use a card-swipe to leave.
Nat
or
Hans
, whoever he was, touched a finger just below my right eye. Although his hands were softer than Ivanovich’s, his touch lighter, I flinched.
He pressed cruelly, smiling, and then withdrew the finger. “And who is this?”
I shuddered. His nonchalance was even more frightening than the animal-like ferocity of the woman.
“
Jane Smith
, she says,” replied Dr. Gottlieb. “I haven’t yet determined her true identity.”
“I don’t suppose you have any identification hidden in that, er, running outfit?” asked the man.
I stared at him, remembering suddenly where I’d seen the names “Hans” and “Helga”
paired before: the cruel children from the black book
scenarios
. Were these cold adults their descendents? My legs began to shake violently.
“I hadn’t thought to remove her clothing,” admitted Dr. Gottlieb. “She certainly used something to get past my card-swipe system.”
“Yes, well, best to be thorough,” the man said, nodding thoughtfully. Then he turned his full attention to Dr. Gottlieb. “I’m relieved to find you here. I
really
must speak with you. In private.”
“Help me finish up with the student. Then we can talk.”
“I would love to, but Father is expecting me to report back to him, and you know how tight a schedule he keeps.”
“Phhht.” She looked annoyed and anxious at the same time. “Of course. My private
office, then.” They crossed out of my sight and I heard a door open and close.
My heart pounding, I pulled hard at my wrists. The cuffs bit into my hand, scraping my knuckles, but both hands came free. I exhaled and reached down over my legs to yank off my running shoes in case I could wriggle my feet free. My legs felt jittery, but with excitement, not fear. Cautiously, I pointed my toes like a dancer and slipped one foot and then the other through the cylindrical shackles. Tucking my shoes under one arm, I eased myself off the seat, now slick with my sweat.
Hans and Helga remained behind her solid office door; they couldn’t see me. Launching myself towards the door of the main room, I tried to do like Coach always said and channel my nervous energy into
speed
. Silently, I opened the door into the hallway. I eased it shut, cringing as it squeaked and clicked, and then I started down the hall searching for a bathroom to hide in and calm myself enough so I could ripple. This time I snuck a look before turning any corners. Around the second corner, I located a ladies’ room and let myself inside.
The door closed, leaving me in darkness, safe and alone. I had way more questions than answers at this point, but of one thing I felt certain. I would
not
be hanging out here for Dr.
Evil to strip-search me or finger-print me or pull out my teeth. I took several slow breaths to calm myself down.
As my eyes adjusted, I realized I could see enough from the exit-sign lighting to make out a sink.
Water!
I felt hope increasing. Slipping my running shoes back on, I then crossed to the water source and turned it on, letting the soothing sound relax me. I eased an injured hand into the stream of water. I thought of Will. Of his lips inching towards mine, of the bliss of the moment I’d thought he loved me. But then reality intruded; Will wanted friendship.
Just friends.
I returned my focus to the steady rush of water, clear, lovely water, until I realized I couldn’t feel the
wetness
or temperature or anything else. I looked down for my hands and found they were gone. So was all the pain I’d been feeling.
Bonus!
I passed invisibly through the screech of the bathroom wall—cinder block—and into the lighted hallway. My eyes didn’t need to adjust, I noted.
Of course not. You don’t have eyes at
the moment.
The thought made me smile. Well, think of smiling anyway. At both ends of the long hall, I saw signs indicating exits. While I considered which to try, I heard the voices of Hans and Helga once more. I stood to one side as they strode past me, speaking together about journals.
“I shouldn’t have left them in the car,” Hans said.
“My brother does have careless moments, after all,” Helga said.
Brother?
I followed them.
She continued. “Father will forgive you anything, you know. He’ll probably say it was divine intervention that kept the girl alive.”
“Perhaps he’s right, in a manner of speaking. Her genetic material is invaluable.”
“No more than mine,” she said, sulky.
“Father does not see it that way.”
“He risks a great deal, letting her live. I can dispose of her anytime, you know. I am so much closer in location than the rest of you.”
“No!” Her brother’s voice sounded angry and harsh. “Don’t even jest about it. You
survived your last action of this sort only because I pleaded for you myself. I persuaded him you saw the error of your ways, Helga.”
“There was no error. I did what you were all too afraid to do. I did what needed to be done!”
“Your actions have raised public awareness of the disease at a time when Father wishes to suppress this awareness.” He spoke calmly, as though to a child.
“We need to suppress the
gene,
Hans, not the public’s knowledge of it.”
“Father now questions the wisdom of eliminating all carriers of the chameleon gene. Fritz advises him that the genetic advances we had hoped to have in place by now are still a decade away. He will be very glad to learn that the daughter of Elisabeth’s line has survived after all.”
“I say our father doesn’t know what’s in his own best interest,” said Helga. She lowered her voice, smiling. “You know I am right, Hansi. I could do it and make it look like an accident. No one but you would ever know.”
“No!” he said sharply. “He’s forgiven your other murders, but you wouldn’t survive
killing her. Do I have your word you will not harm her?”
Helga glared and then sighed. “You have my word.”
The siblings approached the car.
“If there is an
accident,
I will not forget our conversation.” Hans stared at his sister. “Do you understand?”
“You think he is right about her value?” she asked.
Her brother nodded.
“And he would truly kill me?” she asked quietly.
He spoke gravely. “We leave the girl until such time as Father is ready to act.”
“Phhht. That could be decades.”
The man shrugged. “Years, decades, it is not your concern. Or mine.”
“Very well.” Helga didn’t look pleased as she agreed.
The man unlocked his car and retrieved the black books from the back seat. Helga took them carefully.
He stared at her, his head tipped to one side. “As for the intruder in your laboratory—
nothing messy, sister dear. Be discreet. Pin the blame on one of your thugs. Allow one of them to defile her; it will look more convincing. Then kill him afterwards. Nothing flashy.”
Helga smirked, not meeting her brother’s eye.
“Your position here is no laughing matter. Do nothing further to draw Father’s wrath. He is still very angry with you for causing such an uproar last August. We were flooded with media attention.”
“He’s forgotten I exist. I’ll go mad if he leaves me here longer. Hans, you must convince him to forgive me and let me return to headquarters.”
“He will forgive you—as long as you do nothing more to upset him. I’ll speak up for you when I’m sure he’s in a good mood.”
“He’ll be in a very good mood today. When you admit to him that you ran over the
wrong girl nine years ago. You do admit I was right? You will tell Father that I was the one who said that
Samantha
survived?”
Me!
The thought ricocheted through my brain.
The man gave a single quick nod.
“Ha!” she said. “I was right!”
“And I will listen to you more carefully in the future because you were right. But now you must listen to me.
Do not harm
this descendent of Elisabeth.”
Helga frowned as Hans climbed in the car and drove away.
Did they mean Kathryn Elisabeth? Who were these two:
Helga and Hans
?
Could they be the actual children from the black book?
Hans and Helga.
They looked too young. Or did they? What if they had Rippler’s Syndrome: then, could they be the same Hans and Helga?
The idea terrified me.
What do you know for sure?
I asked myself.
The angel from my childhood memory had vanished before my eyes, like a rippler might do. And whatever Hans might be, he had definitely not been an angel come to gather Mom and Maggie’s souls. It hadn’t been drunken Harold who killed my mother and best friend: it had been murder. It had been Helga’s brother: Hans.
The truth seared through me, more painful than anything I’d received in Dr. Gottlieb’s laboratory. Instinctively, I found myself running down the road as I fled this new reality.
My mother was murdered. My best friend was killed in my place.
These truths tasted like something bitter in my mouth, something I couldn’t spit out or swallow away. My legs carried me down the road and I did the only thing my body knew how to do.
I ran.
I needed a long run, and I had one ahead of me. But the crazy-fast glide of running invisibly didn’t feel right. I slowed myself along the long, flat stretch out of Merced and beyond Planada. Cars flew past me at a regular speed again. Familiar. Comforting.