Truth Be Told Behind Enemy Lines I
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I try to keep in control of myself.
Everything is pitch black and I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I try to move but my hands and feet are tied with thick, rough rope. I hit my hands against a small roof-like piece of hardened plastic, trying to break free. I give up after a few seconds, realizing I’m not getting anywhere. My hair falls onto my face so I try to move it away, but a piece of hair gets stuck on my earring. Just when I was about to give up, something annoying shines in my eye.
I find the source and look through a small key hole. The road whips beneath me. I hear the tires sharply rub against the pavement. My vision turns haywire.
The road transforms underneath me into a forest war zone. Dead bodies lie among the ground scattered with fragments of metal. Soldiers lie on the dead bodies as they fire bullets. The dirt is overturned to make trenches. Bullets fly past me. The trees burn the color of sunset, while troops in fireproof suits march on towards them. A man in front of me points his rifle at me. His dark olive face is covered in fear, and turns into a ghostly shade of white while his eyes are sunken in to the point of death. A bullet pierces through my stomach.
Refocusing, my body shocks back into the trunk as it is thrown away from the light. I hit my head on the back paneling. I let out a soft cry of pain. Then, that awful silence comes back, the type where someone has heard you but they’re waiting for you, instead of replying to make sure that you find them. The car then starts again and I get thrown to the left. I feel something slam up against me. It was a cold limp body, wrapped in plastic. I want to panic and scream, but I try to breathe. There was no heartbeat, no sound, just as I found him with his throat slit. Just as I drew him in my room days before.
“Don’t panic.” I whisper to myself. Then, I make my way to the keyhole again and see that the car has turned on a side deserted road. The grass has started to take back the space where the gravel has grown thin.
The car stops. Silence. The same silence I heard before. Before I knew he was dead. Before I knew he would die. I shut my eyes, afraid. The trunk opens.
I sit on the hard plastic chair swaying my legs back and forth in the dark hallway as I try to keep myself occupied. My legs can’t even touch the ground. The nurse, Ms. Anderson, has taken me out of class and now I’m sitting outside the principal’s office. I told her something would happen. They never believe me. I try to catch what they are saying.
“What are we supposed to do?” Mr. Acosta says to Ms. Anderson in a nervous tone.
“I don’t know. I was just told to bring her here.” Ms. Anderson says with a certain shakiness in her voice. “I mean, I didn’t want to tell her.”
“I dont-” Ms. Anderson’s voice starts to stutter.
“We’ll just wait ‘til they get here.” He scolds her then sighs. “Okay…What’s the matter?”
“Well…” Her voice fills with concern. “She told me about this.”
“About..” His voice turns serious.
“This. Us. About what happened.”
“She’s probably just seeing things again.”
“She told me a lady is coming for her and now social services are coming.”
“I wouldn’t believe-” Mr. Acosta tries to dismiss it.
“She drew me a picture.” I hear the opening and closing of a cabinet and turning through pages. “Here.”
“Wait. That’s-” Mr Acosta says bewildered.
“-Us. I know.” Ms. Anderson tells him. “And that lady, that’s probably the social worker.” A lady, who is about 5’7’’, walks down the hall, her heels clicking as she steps towards the principal’s office. Her charcoal hair is tightly pulled back into a classic sleek ponytail that travels down to her waist. She holds her head high and her chin clenches tighter with every step. Her black coat goes down to her mid thigh. She keeps to herself. I want to say something to her, but she doesn’t know me yet. I forget sometimes.
Her sunglasses not only hide her eyes; they are a reflection of me. I look at myself through her. My soft sunny beach curls try to hide my face, but my brown eyes are wide and they long to discover everything and they spark with the first sign of curiosity. Imaginative, my mother would tell me.
The other kids at school laugh at me because of that imaginative side. That side that wound me into trouble. I wish I don’t remember it clearly.
I pull on the edge of the counter and try to climb up the cabinets. My hand skims across the smooth white granite countertop in the lab, trying to reach for my cup.
“Don’t touch.” Mom tells me as she shoos me away from the table.
“Water.” I tell her as she pours a red liquid into a container of a clear blue liquid. She hands me the cup, on the edge of the table, away from the chemicals.
“Here. ” She shoves the cup in my hands and water almost splashes out of it, “Now, go sit down. I’ll be done soon and then we’ll go home.” I look up at her. Her hair is tucked back into a sleek bun and her fudge colored eyes are covered by chemistry goggles. The countertop goes up to her waist and she double checks all of her measurements before she mixes anything. I lean the cup against her leg. As she turns to tell me no, the water splashes all over her. “Katerina!” She yells and grabs my cup and puts it back on the counter. “Great. Just great.” She walks away to clean herself up. I’m still thirsty. I climb the counters finally reaching the top and sit on the edge. Test Tubes line a part of the table with different colors. Reds. Blues. Opaques. A plastic protector covers up a small portion of the table. Two red plastic cups are on the protector. I hold my head over the two cups and see inside that they are both clear. There is something black on the outside of one of them, but I don’t know what it means. I grab the cup with black writing and sniff. Nothing.
“Hmm.” I hold it up to my mouth and take a drink. It tastes like water. As I continue to drink, Mom comes back in the room looking at files with the letters CIA on them.
“Now what did I tell you about-” She looks up and sees me drinking, drops everything and runs towards me. “Oh my god!” She rips the cup from my grip and her eyes are filled with a panic state of regret and fear. “Oh My GOD!” Her voice is so loud and fast, it could wake up a full city. “Someone get in here now!” I start to feel really cold in my fingers and toes and I start to shiver. Men in hazardous suits come into the room instructing Mom to leave. I start to shake uncontrollably. They have to force her off of me and drag her out of the room. I hear her screaming as the room goes black.
Snapping out of my thoughts, the lady walks out of the principal’s office and crouches in front of where I was sitting. She rests her hand on the side of the chair. I smile at her. I know of her golden badges on the side of her waist, one CIA and the other KGB, and of her gun hidden under her simple white blouse.
“Hello.” She says to me in a Russian accent. Her smile attempts to be heartwarming but it still gives me the chills.
“I’m Kat.” I look at her shoes. Her boots go up to her knee, hiding a strap that has a small dagger.
I saw her throw it at them, Mom and Dad. The dagger stabbed him in the throat. He fell backwards and his head cracked open. She ripped the knife from his throat and blood splattered all over the carpet in the living room. Then, she threw it at Mom and it landed in her shoulder. She caught up to Mom, who was on the ground writhing in pain, crawling to get to the phone. She stepped on the knife making Mom scream out. She pulled out the gun from under her blouse and screwed on a silencer. Mom rolled to her side and looked at her.
“Stop.” Mom ordered her. “Don’t do this.”
“Well, I was given my own orders.” She explained as she pointed the gun at her.
“But you don’t have to finish it, the mission.”
She laughed. “Oh this was only half of it.” Mom’s eyes filled with realization as the bullet went through her skull. “You see, both of my employers need you to be gone.” She put her gun back, and a CIA clean unit walked in the house.
“Oh.” She looks at me confused. “Did someone tell you?”
“No. I just know.” She tilts her head in amazement.
“Really?” She pushes up her sunglasses.
“Yeah.” My heels hit each other.
“Am I in trouble? My mom told me to tell her if I was in any trouble.”
“But you knew her didn’t you?”
“No, I’m from social services.” By the tone of her voice, she knew that I knew she was lying.
“Your parents went on a vacation-”
“They wouldn’t go anywhere without me.” I cut her off and cross my arms.
She sighs. “I know.” She places her hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. “They’re gone. They told me to find someone to look after you.”
“No, they told you to not do it.” I give her attitude and tears fill up in my eyes.
“Hey, It’s okay.” She dismisses what I said. “ I need to take you home to get your things.”
“I don’t wanna.” Mr. Acosta walks out of the office.
“Are you okay?” He asks me. “I know it is hard, but-”
“She doesn’t want to go.” Cara tells him..
“I’ll try to get her to go to the car.” She nods, gets up and walks down the hall. “Come on. It’ll be okay. You be with other kids and you can come back here.” Mr. Acosta tries to comfort me.
“You all think I’m crazy.” I mumble.
“That incident was nothing.” He itches his nose and rubs his eye.
During the beginning of kindergarten, in the middle of class, I saw the twin towers get blown up by two airplanes. I saw the people falling from buildings to escape the collapse, but they would die that way too. I saw the panic of people’s faces as smoke rose of the building like a chimney during the winter months. A thick cloud of black smoke. I randomly broke out into tears at class and was sent to the nurse’s office. She told me it was nothing, that I was just imagining things. To prove her wrong, I drew her a detailed picture of the first building up in flames and the second airplane traveling towards the second building. A few days later..the building came down and the country went into a panic hysteria.
“You’re lying.” I confront him.
“You’re lying and you don’t believe me.”
“You didn’t have to.” I get up. He didn’t say anything else after that. I looked at Cara while she stood at the door. She is even taller than I thought. I maybe come up to her hip. She could just grab me like a football and take me past the goal line. I don’t like my chances either way. I realize, I can’t let them find out what I can do. In desperation to pretend to be normal, I head towards her. She holds the door for me and I walk outside like a puppet with no control anymore.
Her car pulls up to my house. She puts the car in park in the driveway.
“Do I have to go in?” I mention.
“Well, do you want anything?. I would suggest you do.”
“But I would have to go where they died.”
“I’ll go with you, if you want.”
“No. You did this.” Tears well up in my eyes. I get out of the car and head inside to get some personal belongings.
Then, she brings me to a house with children’s toys scattered across the lawn while the house’s outside has been faded and worn with years of abusement.
“You’ll be staying here.” She tells me from the driver seat. “It’s a foster home.”
“You’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” I get out of the car.
Inside, there is a sink loaded with dishes. There are dishes strewn along the counter as well. The stains have long begun to fuse with the flooring, and pieces of food scatter on the walls. The table is covered with wrappers and fills the house with the stench of rotten food.
That house got closed down a few weeks later after. Every couple months, a new home, new parents, and a new school. The only thing that I have left to comfort are my sketches. Hundreds of drawings of events through history, that I lock away in my a folder and then it eventually led to a drawer filled to the brim. Everywhere, I sketch. During school, it’s the hardest. Something will trigger it, whether it be yelling or a laugh, I will be in a trance until I come across a piece of paper and a writing utensil and complete the cycle. During tests, that will happen and I will have to explain to the teacher that I will need to make it up because I drew all over my test. It never goes well.
Other kids stole my stuff while I kept moving from place to place. I became distant from everyone in order to hide my condition from them.
Nowadays, I live with Claire and Oliver O'Connell. I get to go to a school that offers art classes and I found something that interests me as well as hides the fact that I might not be drawing from my free will. Some teachers here and there notice my sketches while only few will question me. When it’s someone dead, unknowingly I discover they notice, and then I’ll have to come up with an excuse for drawing such things as the immense detail scares them. I dream of the other kids as I see them get picked up by their parents in their minivans as they are picked up from school, while I would have to trudge the lonely three mile trek to a place so unfamiliar where Claire would just stare and yell at me if I was a few minutes late and Oliver would just ignore my very existence just to type on his computer of his and lock himself in his study for days on end. I was lucky enough to get my own room, even my own foster parents. They told social services that they couldn’t deal with more than one child at a time because they want to teach the child self-discipline. I am supposedly a psychotic break waiting to happen. Yea, I‘m in and out of trances drawing pictures of dead people. Of course, I believe I’m crazy too. I try to keep myself under control, but I’ve been losing control over years and I keep standing there doing nothing as helpless people get hurt.
Once the school bell rings, I grab my single strap black bag and try to walk out of the school as fast as a convict escaping from prison. All I think is, “Leave, be free. Be free of everything holding you back.” Constantly, I look over my shoulder as I feel like I’m always being watched. The use of cameras keep me at a certain uneasiness. I glance to make sure my combat boots are tied and I dodge the people in the halls. I get outside to the football fields. I quickly put on my backpack, tie my hair up and speed up my pace to a run. I inhale the fresh air and then break out into a sprint. I keep running until the trees welcome me with their presence. I run through the forest preserve skipping and twirling past the colorful leaves on the ground and in the trees. I slow my pace and sit down deep in the heart of the preserve. I feel the ground, the wind flow around me, the sky above me. I see the butterflies fly away to freedom. It’s calming and peaceful.
The trees turn into buildings, tall and burning down to the ground. Women in hijabs clutch onto their children as they run for dear life. Bombs go off in the forum destroying the road and the people in them. Teenagers run to shelter as tanks stroll the streets occupied by terrorists, who covered their faces with bandanas. They rip away children from their mother’s arms. The mother tries to grab the child, but another terrorist comes forward and points his gun at her, leaving her helpless as her baby girl gets dragged away. Women are shaking in terror. So are my hands. I snap out of it.
My hands are shaking. My throat is closing. My stomach is knotting. My head is pounding. The noise of a bomb is engraved in my head as it screeches and I scream in fear. My vision becomes blurry. My head bobs slowly. I sit there for a long while wishing this could stop.
Getting up, I look at the time and see I’m late and I run all the way to the street of my so-called house. My breath grows heavy. I see the cookie cutter houses of blue and white down the street. The simple two story buildings with the kitchen, front room, study and bathroom on the first floor, the bedrooms and an extra bathroom on the second floor and the den in the basement are stamped over and over. The white picket fences separating the house disgraces my upbringing , but I ignore those emotions of wanting my old simple life and walk through enemy territory. I can’t wait to see what Claire will do when I get there…wait!..It’s Wednesday. I smile to myself. It’s her book club day. I wonder how Oliver will act. He’ll probably won’t even notice. I open the door and place the keys in the tray.
“Oliver. I’m home.” Usually I hear the keys on the keyboard typing away or the occasional, “Leave me alone, I’m busy.”, but all I hear is the grandfather clock ticking back and forth in the living room. I slowly take off my boots and put them next to the other shoes. I walk in the kitchen, place my phone on the counter, and grab two apples. “Hey Oliver, you want food?” Nothing. He never skips out on the opportunity to have food delivered to him. I bite into the first cold crisp red delicious apple. I set it down next to my phone and walk down the hall then stop. The door to the study is open, wide open. Papers are all over the floor covered in footprints and stains of dirt.
“Oliver? You in here?” It is silent. Eerily silent. I walk in the room and set the apple on the edge of the desk. The computer is still on. I look at the monitor. It looks like a profile screen.
Information about me is all over the page. Where I’m from, where I grew up as a young child, details of the accident in my mother’s lab, and where that adventure took me. A link to daily logs of observation catch my eye. I took a hold of the mouse, but I feel something slimy and draw my hand back. I look at my shaky hand and see a red liquid. My heartbeat rises as I look over the desk. Oliver, in his black and white suit, is covered in blood. His blue eyes have sucked the life from them. Don’t panic. My chest collapses in fear. I can’t take it, I take a step back and walk into someone’s arms. Chills run across my skin. Someone grabs onto me from behind and I try to scream. A hand covers my mouth with a cloth filled with an intensive smell. My head throbs as I try to break free, but I grow weaker with every movement. The world turns black.
The trunk opens. A black cloth bag gets placed over my head and someone lifts me out of the trunk and onto the ground. I try to stay standing, but something hits the back of my knee, making me fall to the ground.
“She’s up.” I overhear someone saying. I can feel someone’s hand grabbing onto my inner elbow. My body tenses. They pull me towards the wind. I hear multiple footsteps as my feet drag on the ground. My socks kick up gravel into my feet until they slide against a smooth unsettlingly cold surface. The air has grown stale and I hear a set of heels clicking along with the sound of rubber squeaking against tile. Doors open and close and voices mumble out of my reach. Then a voice shouts.
“Stand down.” A deep husky voice shouts at someone else. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“They were getting too close.” A feminine voice too close for comfort yells back and I get pulled closer to the sound. Too close for what?
“Yet…you killed him?!” He says in disbelief as I get pulled closer towards the feminine voice. It sounds concerning.
“They were too harsh on her.” She seems protective. Why are they doing this?
“No, they weren’t.” A sigh escapes the male voice. “Again… Agent stand down.”
“Did you see what they did?” She spoke with irritation in her voice.
“We had everything under control.” I heard a shift in the way someone held themselves.
“Are you sure?” So many sounds that comes through my ears. It’s overwhelming, “Take a look at their system.”
“The situation was fine. Hell, you were the one that did anything harsh anyway.”
“Really,” My breath goes heavy. “I wouldn’t hurt her. I know how much she means to the company. I just don’t know why she means so much. ” Another hand grabs me defensively and my feet barely scrape the floor now.
“I didn’t know that. You had her in your trunk bound next to Agent Sommers.” His voice gets louder. “How did I know she was fine. She could’ve been dead for all I know.” Agent? What?
“Just look at this.” She ignores him. "Agent Sommers was undercover within the agency. He was going to extract her himself.”
“We didn’t see anything like that. You shouldn’t have meddled. She was fine to be extracted at seventeen!” He threatened. “You need to be careful.” I hear murmurs from a distance. They are probably trying not to interfere. “Well, at least we have her now.” A sigh escapes someone. What are they going to do with me? I don’t remember anything about Oliver, or if that is really his name…
“It’s alright at seventeen. She will be scarred, is that what you wanted to happen?”
“I didn’t think about that.”
“Exactly, and now I have to clean up your mess.”
Well, I didn’t just grab her, I downloaded his file on her and something flagged on it. She’s a G.M.C.
“Yes.” Silence spreads through the room.
“I also have all of her sketches.“ I heart drops. I start to panic.
"Ahh… We will discuss this later.” The male voice quiets and rings softly. “Someone has feelings for them.” The voice comes close to my face. I get pulled off the ground and forced to a stand. The bag gets pulled over my head. Light blinds me. Then hair covers my face. “Well, hello there.”
A large muscular hand flips away my hair. His hair reminds me of a spruce tree: dark, almost black in color with streaks of melted chocolate while his electric blue eyes pierce me, trying to mess with my head, toying with my mind as his smile slides up one side of his face. One of his eyebrows raise as we hold eye contact.
“Her sketches?” His stare intensifies. “You draw?” His voice becomes a smooth pieces of caramel, wanting to hang onto every word. He places his massive hand gently on my shoulder.
Behind me, a voice answers, “Her sketches are filled with immense detail. Her craft-”
“Did I ask you?” He leaves my gaze. “Prep the room.“ I stand there in silence, shaking. "Let’s talk, shall we?”
Trees line the horizon along a twisted road. I try to fall asleep against the door of the black suv. The window darkens the sun that’s at its peak. He’s there in the backseat too.
“You’ll love it.” He smiles at me, but turns as voices pick up through his earpiece.
“I thought I was safe, Demetri.”
“You are. Just more safe.” He pats my leg. The driver sees this out of the corner of his eye and laughs.
“Agent Blackburn, please, stop picking up the ladies.” I start to laugh.
“That’s not funny.” He scolds us.
“Oh, yes it is.” I say. Looking out the window to catch my breath, I see a man covered in all black for a split second. I stop laughing and turn to look back at them.
Demetri’s face fills with concern when he sees mine.
I cut him off, “I just saw something out there.”
Immediately he calls the base, lifting his wrist to his face.
“Echo base, do you-” A bomb goes off. The car flips over and rolls. A box in the passenger seat hits the driver in the head and opens up. Paper fly everywhere. Demetri smashes his head on the window. The windshield shatters. The car stops.
Hanging from the seatbelt, I hang upside-down. Blood and glass line the ceiling of the car.
“Demetri?” I stutter slowly. Warm liquid runs up my forehead and drips. Blood. My vision starts to blur. The side door opens. Turning towards the light, a figure becomes outlined in the golden glow.
He unbuckles me and I fall into their arms. I hear a crumbling of a paper.
“NO!” I hear the scream of Demetri.
I fall to the ground shaking in fear.
“Hey, Hey, Hey.” The man catches me as I fall.
“D-Demetri Blackburn.” I stumble on my own words.
“How did you-” He stopped himself already knowing the answer.
“No…,” I gain sense of my surroundings “No, No, No.” My voice intensifies as I try to push away from him, but he tightens his grip trying to calm me down.
“We need to get her in a room. Now!” He yells at agents standing in confusion next to us. ***
“No. I don’t want it to happen.”
“Want what?” He picks me up and cradles me against his chest.
“No. I can’t. I don’t. I won’t let it.” I fight him to let me go, but he just keeps me in his arms. This feeling overwhelms me in fear.
“Sir, it’s ready. In door three.” An agent down the hall yells and holds the door open for us.
He places me down in a chair; I panic and run into the corner. I look around a small room that has too bright of a light and a pane of glass that was supposed to be a mirror but I figured it couldn’t be. My eyes dart and see two chairs across from each other with a table in the middle and a twin size bed with sheets in the other corner. Everything is in a shade of grey, so monotonous and drained from life. The walls feel as though they were closing in on themselves and they whisper at me, magnifying with each second.
“No one can harm you anymore Ms. Walker.” His voice echoes through the room. I look at him. He looks in his early twenties. He adjusts his tie and his rolled up sleeves and laces his hands on the edge of the table. My eyes dilate and try to focus around the room. My hands clench as I try to calm myself and I tap my foot on the ground from anxiety. “Katerina Walker?” He tries again.
“Your name’s Katerina, right?
"No. It’s Kat. I got it changed. It’s what my mom used to call me.”
“No, it’s not. That’s the name I was born with.”
“It’s Walker.” He grabs the file on the table and starts to flip through the pages. “It’s your name on the file. It’s your actual name.”
“No.” He pushes the file into my chest. ‘My name is Kat Faucher.” I tell him in disbelief.
“Look.” He points to the top of the page. It says Katerina Walker. “See?” ***
“No.” I push it away. “That’s not true. Leave me alone. I can’t. It’s not real!” My voice loudens. My body shakes with fury. I can’t back away any further. I scream from anxiety. The mirror cracks from the center. Cups filled with water shatter. The man holding the door yells in pain as his glasses shoot the glass into his eyes. They bleed down his face. Everyone has become scared, like I’m a rabid dog backed into a corner and I have nowhere to run. I look at the mirror, cracks running through my ruined reflection. My lip is split open. My sunken-in blue eyes are overwhelmed and dried tears cover along my cheeks. My blonde hair is half up and full of flyaways as it has fallen out of my mid high ponytail. I see myself in shock and I don’t want to even look at myself. My knees come to my chest and I wrap my arms around them. For a moment, I see a face flash before my eyes, staring at me.***
“Someone please get him out of here.” A man comes through the doorway and says it into his earpiece. Another person walks in and escorts the guy screaming in pain away. “You too, agent.” He looks at Agent Blackburn and nods his head to the behind him. I see the moment of opportunity. I run towards my escape but Blackburn scoops me up by my stomach as I try to flee out of fear. “Woah. Close the door!” The older man runs inside and relieves Blackburn from his duty. He grabs ahold of me.
“You need to leave.” The older man said to him.
“But…” He wanted to stay.
“Go to the overview, then. Why do I care.” The man tells him.
As he leaves, I panic, “No. I can’t be here!” I try to break free from his grip as I kick him from behind.
“Can someone please.” He pulls me close to him.
“I need to leave!” I try to shove my elbow in his chest.
“Please. It’s gonna happen. You don’t understand. Please, Demetri. I need to leave!” I scream out as the door finally comes to a close.
The man tries to ignore what I have been saying, but I see his temple start to twitch as I say his name. His jaw clenches and his grip tightens as the door reopens and I see a lady that looks very familiar come in with a chair with handcuffs on the legs and a pair of handcuffs to lock my hands down on the table. “What’s going on?” I look back and forth between them. She sets the chair down, grabs my old chair and places it next to the chair across the table and takes a seat. The door closes. He slowly lets go of me and I scramble into the corner. He sighs. She leans on the table in amusement. On the pocket of his black jacket, the name, “W. Maxwell.”
The name, why it is so chilling?
“We are going to need to talk eventually.” He tries to come near me.
“I don’t wanna talk to you.” My voice wobbles. I try to ignore him.
“Why not?” He crouches down and looks at me.
“Just leave me alone. Things will happen.” I try to look away, but he grabs my chin. He forces me to hold eye contact with him. His face is so stern, and I glare at him.
“No.” He tries to calm me down, but I try to shake him away. “They won’t.”
“But you don’t know what’s going to happen?” I tell him. He pulls me up by my chin, trying to not be phased.
“Take a seat. You can tell me.” He tells me in a honeyed voice. He takes ahold of my arm trying to get me to sit down in the chair.
“No.” Those handcuffs don’t look normal. Nothing about this is normal. I just want to go home. “I don’t even know.” My voice turns to a whisper as I fiddle with my shaky hands.
“It’s okay.” He gave me a look. “Come on.” He drags me away from the corner of safety.
I slightly see the reflection of Agent Blackburn in the mirror, his face is concerning, yet he looks like someone I’ve seen before. It wasn’t him, but possibly someone that is close to him.
“You have a brother.” I blurt out without realizing.
“What?” He holds a firm grip. I see the reflection fade away.
“A brother.” His grip gets tighter. “Ow.”
“Stop it.” The man whispers in my ear, twisting my arm back. “ You shouldn’t know about that.” His face turns into a serious shade of ghostly white.
“How shouldn’t I?.” He put his anger towards me. He slams me up against the table, slamming my head on its face.
Blackburn’s face blurs through the window and he can’t get through. his face is filled with an anger type rage that cannot be described, yet a hint of sadness runs through his face. My head feels swollen. “Stop… please..” I try to fight back, not wanting to take a seat in that chair, intertwining with new technology, yet I can’t get my arm free. I feel the pain from the side of my temple stretch out to the other corners of my head. I see my blood on the table from the impact.
He pulls me to the chair, kicking it out. I freeze and plead as I can feeling the chair against my legs.
“His name is Nick.” My voice panics, turning high pitched. For a split second, he stops. I push against him seeing my moment of escape, but the lady pushes the table into me and I lose my balance. I fall into the seat.
“William, take it easy” The lady calls out to him. It hits me. That accent. It’s one I will never forget. The one who murdered my parents. A bottomless pit opens in my stomach. I let my hair fall in my face. I glance up at him. He seems frozen in place, like trying to hold on to a certain memory. One too painful for any sane person to comprehend. I try to move away, but I can’t get up. My ankles are held down by a glowing beam like rope. “It’s okay, just ignore her. She’s not thinking straight.’ I know I wasn’t crazy. I attempt to pull at the barriers that hold me down, hoping I can get free. Then feeling the fear devour my thoughts, I go into this shaken state as I hold my hands in my lap.
“What are you going to do with me?” I mumble from under my hair. My feelings have been bottle up more and more. They are at their breaking point.
“How do you know his name?” Agent Maxwell’s eyes sunk in and jaw becomes more defined.
“Are you going to kill me?” I look at her. “Like you did to my parents?”
“Um.. you have me mistaken.”
“A dagger to the throat..and a bullet to the head.” My mouth develops a mind of its own. My reactions are on a trigger point, from the fear they have given me.
“I don’t think I should be in here.” She responds.
“No.” Maxwell stops her. “She will talk to you.” He points on the table. “In her file.” He breathed intensely. “Pull out the agents that were assigned to her as a child.”
“I don’t think that would be the logical idea. You need to connect with the asset, not draw them away by telling her drastic content…”
“Wait, wh-” I am cut off as his voice fears me.
“I rank above you!” He shouts at her. His face fills with red like anger.
I flinch at his voice. All the yelling…
That yelling disperses through the trees. Blackburn’s voice slowly disappears as I am carried off. I am in and out of consciousness as I am rocked back and forth from running. Large hands cradle me in their arms and I lean against someone’s chest. I gaze up at him. The square jaw forms his face. The gray tee is like a cushion as my head feels heavy.
“Hey there.” I hear a voice as I try to keep consciousness. I try to speak but no viable words come out. “Sorry about that. It’ll be like that for a while.” Pain travels down my spine and I groan. “My brother doesn’t like when people run away, so sorry about that. I had to cut it out.” My breath speeds up in fear. “You are safe from him. You see, I’m just like you.” I see my name out of the corner of my eyes all over his arms. How is this possible? He smiles at me and continues running.
They both stare at me. My head bobs and I blink into consciousness. I still can’t control myself and shiver from what I just saw. No… Now’s not the time… It can’t be…
“What just happened?” He asks as he moves his hand across my face.
“She is in some sort of trance.” She tries to explain to herself in a mumble of disbelief.
“No one ever has been able to do that.” He grabs my ankles and locks them back into place.
“That wasn’t good. She needs to be cuffed and monitored.” She grabs my hand, checks for a pulse and puts it in the table. My forefingers move in a slightly circular motion, scaring her.
What is happening to her?” She gasped.
He clears the table and places down blank paper. “She is trying to draw… Give me your pen.” She grabs her black pen out of her pocket and hands it to him. He puts it in my hand.
I am able to stop my and for a second, I sadly cannot control it. It takes me hostage until the cycle is complete, and release me from its grasp. He holds down the paper as I start to fill it with separate lines. Lines layer and start to come together forming a chin and the smile that I can never forget as it scares me just as much as it scares him.
“No.” He utters. “Why? Of all the people, why 540?” I finish with the eyes that stare into my soul, understanding my pain. My hand stops and shoots the pen across the room.
I sharply inhale. Silence spreads. Blinking back into control, I am afraid to say anything. They just look at me and I try to dodge eye contact. I’m the runt pig as the farmers look at me one last time before they send me off to chop off my head. I’ve lost the battle. Maxwell pulls the chair around next to me.
“How do you know subject 540?” He whimpered. I try to say something, but my voice cracks. “How do you know?” His voice gets louder and he bangs his hand against the table.
“I don’t know him. It means… I will.” I flinch, but I can’t move.
“Calm down.” She says and attempts to keep him calm.
“I know.” She empathizes with him.
“Why did he come back. All these years of hiding from us, from escaping us. he decides to come back now?”
“You saw him?” He perks up. He seems determined to pull the answers from me. “Where is he?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” My pulse heightens, afraid of the pain that will follow. “I saw it. It’s coming.”
“We need you to cooperate.” His voice turns serious.
“It will change you. You try to avoid it, but it will happen anyway.” I say. I know it won’t work I know his face, I’ve seen it before. “You can’t stop it.” He never listens. They never listen. They will pry over and over again, trying to get answers. “No one ever can.”
“You will tell us eventually.” He handcuffs my hands to the arms of the chair. “Send her to down floor twenty one.”
“But, sir.” I hear voices coming through the intercom from behind the mirror.
“Its never been used before.”
“There hasn’t been a need for it…” He pushes me out of the room. “Now there is.”
