Stray (22 page)

Again, it’s like watching a dozen televisions at the same time, with the volume at maximum. Images chase away images, fast and vivid – a sensory assault. Faces. So many faces. People struggling, fighting. Details get ugly, as though my mind zooms towards violence, breaking bones, flooding wounds, gunshots, flashing knives, then worse, glimpses of confronting intimacy, naked limbs, mouths, hands and hot skin.

Recoiling, I shake my head but one magnetic scene fills out.

In the memory, I’m standing in the ReProg room by the suspended chair, observing a young man strapped beneath tight bonds, dark hair plastered to his handsome but agonised face, sweat gleaming on his heaving chest as he strains against the bindings, moaning but trying not to moan. At first I think I’m Harvesting Felicity’s memory again – but I turn my head and find Counsellor Knox’s reflection looking back at me.
This
Robert is young, his face thinner, the cleft pronounced, no silver in his hair. I look back at the young man, growing more aware of my feelings, or lack of them; I’m unmoved by his agony. I’m simply waiting for him to break, confident it will happen soon. A cry of anguish erupts from the tortured young man. “
Ich werde nicht töten!
”

It shocks me out of the memory, back into the present and I shake myself, my throat hoarse and my ears ringing with the sound of my own voice. I shouted it?
Ich werde nicht töten
.

“I will not kill?” Counsellor Knox’s voice fills the room and I look up at him on the metal platform where he stands in the middle of the group. “Good God, is she Harvesting?” He glances to the left, where Tesla stands at the end. “Now that
is
an old memory. What an impressive reach.”

My pulse kicks at the sight of Tesla. I want to call out, beg him to speak to me alone but I know that’s not going to happen and I remember his fury in the operating room. He must despise me, whatever his warnings about keeping secrets. His stone-hard eyes bore into mine, his knuckles whitening over the handrail … It was him. In the chair. Certainty forms like ice inside me as the tortured young man from the vision blends with his older self. It makes no sense … why did I cry
his
words when I was experiencing the memory from Knox’s point of view? And how can he bear to stand with his ex-torturer? Was he reprogrammed? Brainwashed into compliance?

My mind replays what I’ve just seen, zooming in on Tesla’s shoulders, gleaming with sweat, the broad stretch of heaving chest, the clench of rippling stomach muscles – a lot of focus on his mouth and jaw. A mix of desire clanging against a distinct sense of wrongness or violation, and then a stirring of my own Jamie-related memories. I grunt and shake my head, disturbed, confused. The images fade, the feelings lift but my face burns. Did I Transfer that? Did Tesla see it? I can’t look at him.

I realise then, Davis is holding my legs, Benjamin restraining my shoulders.

“She’s ETR sensitive,” Felicity says, hovering as though she might throw herself on me too. “Everything is amplified in here.”

“How unusual,” Knox says, “in one so young.”

“I’m okay, I can handle it.” Though the scramble of signals fills the bandwidth, I focus on the pain in my body. Like an anchor, it helps me to resist the current.

Benjamin and Davis release me.

Up on the metal platform Knox leans his forearms on the rail and cocks his head. The woman next to him whispers, “A Conductor?”

“She’s something.” His mouth curves up in the corner. His gaze stays riveted on me. In the line-up he’s a head shorter than Tesla, who seems huge, staring down at me. Tesla and Knox are the only men. An older woman stands between them. Her resemblance to Felicity is uncanny, though her hair is lighter and her mouth harder. Felicity’s sister? On the right of Knox are two women who can only be identical twins. Both have chestnut hair parted in the middle. One wears hers pulled back in a bun, the other wears hers down. I can’t guess their age – they seem almost airbrushed – but if this is the Executive, they can’t be young.

“How’s the pain?” Knox asks. “Only, we rather need you in that fancy chair.”

I sit forwards and fire licks my spine. I fight to keep my expression even, but it’s an effort not to cry out when Felicity swings my legs over the side of the bed. The paper gown rustles with my trembling and I slide off the edge till my feet find the cold concrete. I don’t want to appear weak, but passing out could stall the proceedings, buy me some time – maybe a chance to speak to Tesla, a chance to see Miriam?

One glance at the drain puts me off the idea. I don’t want to see it up close. The walls either side of me are solid black, reflecting into infinity the scene within like a psychotic funhouse. I don’t look because it makes me dizzy.

Felicity swivels the suspended chair and lowers it for me. Its curved spine is almost reptilian, with divots and peaks formed by plugs and cords, an upside-down question mark able to extend and recline on a hydraulic neck. If not for the black chemical in the glass walls, I’d count it as the single most sci-fi looking thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t like turning my back on it to sit; my neck feels too exposed. Smooth moulded metal forms the icy seat. Felicity lifts my legs onto the rest. I lean back, gingerly, and when the seat rises up I clutch the sides to keep from lurching off onto the floor. Bands rise from the edges, practical and sinister, to clamp my hips, chest, legs and wrists.

I gasp, struggling to resist the instinct to strain against the bonds, fight and flight making me electric, my vision altering as my pupils expand. I want to close my eyes to hide them, as Felicity’s warnings sound in my head.
Stay calm or they’ll pacify you
. How can I stay calm strapped to a lizard chair, suspended over a drain, about to have my mind probed by a creeptastic kid in a goo-tank?

“Perhaps Evangeline needs help relaxing, Counsellor Allen?” Knox says.

Felicity gives me a warning glance and taps at a console on the side of the chair with her pale hand.

“I’m fine,” I say, panting. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anything.” I don’t want drugs. I need to keep my wits … but the head and armrests of the chair begin to glow. Calm slips over me, tension lifts from my muscles and a warm drowsy feeling settles, like I’m tipsy.

“Evangeline,” he says. “You are in pain from a traumatising medical procedure, disorientated by your environment and afraid of what is about to happen to you. These influences can muddy the results of the Harvest and prolong invasive intervention during the course of the interview. Calming your system allows us to begin at a base level so that our readings are accurate.”

I’m vaguely aware that “invasive intervention” should trigger a stronger reaction than I feel. “You ordered the traumatising medical procedure.” The words, loose in the air, surprise my ears – I hadn’t meant to say it. The thought had simply risen to an uncapped surface and my voice dipped it out.

Knox is the only one who smiles. “Even in an organisation as fastidious as ours mistakes can happen.”

“Robert,” my tongue says without my consent, “you’re a goddamn dinosaur.” I bite down on my lips. Why did I say that?

Knox is the only one to chuckle. “I can’t imagine where you heard that.”

My eyes move involuntarily to Tesla.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Am I trying to antagonise Knox?

Do I want to be tortured?

“Why are you here, Evangeline?” Knox asks.

“You want my secrets.” Shit. I should have faked passing out.

Knox looks pleased. “I do. Will you tell me your secrets?”

“Miriam said I will. So did Jamie.” I shake my head, upset at saying their names. I rock in my seat, restricted by the band across my chest.

Knox nods. “Your aunt and your lover.”

The need to correct the details rises inside me. She’s not my aunt – she’s my mother – and Jamie’s not my lover – we never had sex. One is a secret,
the
secret. The other is simply private and shouldn’t be said aloud to a room full of strangers, but I can feel the words pushing up and out; they’re almost through my teeth. “I keep saying things!” My voice reverberates off the glass. “Why do I keep saying things?”

Knox smiles. “Because it is the right thing to do.”

It feels like the right thing to do.

Why am I sweating so much?

There’s something I’m forgetting. Something that worries me … about my mother. “What have you done to her? To Miriam. You hurt her? Can I see her? What about Jamie? Is he okay?”

“It’s been a long day. Your aunt has made a choice to resist the Symbiosis and it has cost her, but you can help her by telling us the truth. You can be helpful like your boyfriend. Jamie has pleased me greatly and you can too.”

At first panic flares inside me but the chair glows brighter and my urgency fades. Another desire grows in its place. I want to be helpful too.

“I believe we’re ready for the Proxy,” Knox says.

It’s like swimming in a deep warm sea.

“Evangeline, you won’t be able to see us but you will hear my voice. I want you to relax and answer each question truthfully. Your honesty will be rewarded.”

My mouth says, “Okay.”

“Counsellor Allen.” Knox nods at Felicity.

“Activate Symbiosis,” Felicity says, her chin lifted to the room. Instantly the glass separating the Executive from the ReProg room fills with black liquid, rising from the bottom to the top just as quickly as it emptied. Their signals are cut off and the bandwidth clears. My ears pop. I see myself reflected in the shimmering glass, pale and heavy-lidded, my head lolling to the side.

“Child?” Felicity calls.

At once the black liquid loses its shimmer and swirling shadows fill each screen. I picture the girl in the tank. Is she here now, in my head?

Benjamin’s eyes widen, sweat beads on his brow, and Davis ducks, turning towards the sliding door. The two of them push the bed out into the corridor and Felicity follows. I watch the slider close behind them in the glass but I’m not afraid of being left in the room by myself. It’s quiet. No noise in the bandwidth. When the questions come it will be hard but I will be helpful and do the right thing.

“Very good.” Knox’s voice. “Evangeline, tell me, where is your brother?”

“I … don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“No … I don’t. I don’t know.”

“Did you help him escape the detention centre?”

Pressure in my chest. A bad feeling. Regret. “I broke a window. I hurt some men. Five men. They were scared. I frightened them. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but I had to get him out.”

“We’ve seen the footage.”

“I broke a mirror at the motel.” My mouth feels slow. “I didn’t mean to but I didn’t pay for it, either. It wasn’t a very nice place but … oh, I damaged the fence at – at the place. Aiden was too heavy for me to make the jump.”

“Never mind the mirror and the fence,” he says. “I’m sure you’re very sorry.”

“I am.”

“Did you do all this by yourself?”

“Only the bad things.”

“Did someone help you do good things?”

I get teary. “Kitty helped me.”

“The girl your brother was trying to kill? She helped you?”

I rock beneath the restraints. “I tried to make her leave after the allergy test.”

“You put your best friend – Jamie’s sister – in the same room as the boy who tried to kill her as an allergy test?”

I know I need to explain something, an important detail that will make my confession less shocking, but I can’t remember it. Heat washes up my body and a soft voice fills my head.
You put Kitty in danger like it was nothing. You’re selfish, ruthless, cruel. The Gallaghers trusted you and you betrayed them without hesitation. Jamie loved you and murmured the words of the sanction against your lips, words about choice and trust and belief – how could you do it to him?

All of these things are true, horribly true. Am I finally admitting what I am, what I’ve done? I start to cry hard, wrenching tears.

Knox lets me weep then finally he says, “Your grief gives me hope, Evangeline.” But the gentleness in his voice fuels my shame. I don’t deserve forgiveness and turn my head away.

“It shows me,” he says, soothing, “you know what you’ve done violates your core identity as a Shield. You were made to protect and defend, to lay down your life for the weak, and now you’ve endangered your friend, betrayed her family and the boy you love to release a killer into the world.”

I hate not being able to cover my face, hate losing it before an audience, and the voice whispers again,
That’s your sick pride, your arrogance. The same pride and arrogance that led you to act without Miriam’s knowledge, to scheme and skulk behind everyone’s backs because you thought you knew better. You, a seventeen-year-old girl, not even initiated, not even a proper Shield, counting your own ignorant opinion above everyone else’s. If you were a real Shield like Miriam or Jamie, if you had ever suffered the loss of a Spark, it would never have entered your head to do what you’ve done. Now you’ve threatened the secrecy of the organisation that exists to support and help you
.

How can I make up for it?

What is wrong cannot be made right, what is lost cannot be recovered
… I know those words – I know them. Then I remember, Jamie’s arms, the bands of ink around his biceps. How many times have I traced the Latin translation on his skin, murmuring the words?
Quid est iniuria fieri non posse jus. Illud Quod deperditur non posse eruit
. It always made me sad thinking of how he must have felt when he first Sparked, his hope for the future snuffed out, so resigned to his lot that he’d marked himself permanently with such cold, stoic words. Is he right? Have I acted for nothing? Am
I
lost? How can I make it up to him or his folks? How can I be part of the Affinity Project if they can’t trust me?

The arm and headrests intensify their glow and calm returns, a soothing wave of comfort. I slump against the restraints and my weeping subsides.

“I believe you’ve made a terrible mistake, Evangeline,” Knox says.

“A mistake.”

“If you had been properly educated, brought in upon Activation, taken through Orientation, I do not believe you would have made these mistakes. Your shame and regret are genuine and we share in it. The choices of those around you made room for this outcome.”