brush a strand of hair from my clammy cheek.
“Shh . . . you’re safe.” A
woman’s voice.
“Mother,” I whimper.
“Mother, is that you?”
I feel a stray tear dash
from my eye. I’m afraid, and despite everything that’s happened and everything
my mother has done, I want nothing more than to be in her arms. To feel her
reassuring embrace. To feel protected from everything that still threatens to
consume me.
Safe. This woman, whoever
she is, says that I’m safe . But how can I be? The State is after me,
along with the DSD, and now I have the added problem of PHOENIX thinking I’m
their enemy.
How can I ever possibly be
safe?
I’m suddenly reminded of
the events that transpired at The Vega . It’s all a bit unclear, shrouded
in the pain-filled fog of blood loss. But through it all, I remember one thing.
I see it now as if it’s
still happening before me.
His hazel eyes—the way they
bore into me.
The hatred there.
The distrust.
My eyes squeeze shut, but
more tears break through. I feel so alone—so separated from everything and
everyone around me.
“Mother,” I whimper again.
“Mother . . .”
I take comfort in the feel
of the stranger’s hand against my skin. Regardless of who she is, she’s
offering me the reassurance I need right now—even if I can’t fully comprehend
it in my current state. I don’t need to know why she’s doing this or even where
I am.
I just need not to feel so
alone.
All too quickly, that hand
is gone.
“What are you doing in
here?” A different voice now. A male voice.
“She needed medical
attention,” the woman answers.
Footsteps fall against what
sounds like concrete, bringing him closer to me.
“What she needs is to
wake up and answer our questions.”
“She’s not our enemy,
Ezra,” the woman mutters under her breath.
Silence for a moment. I can
sense a strange tension as it floods the room, even though I’m not conscious
enough to see it.
“How can you be so sure?”
he asks her.
Silence again. Then a heavy
sigh. “She cut the tracking chip out of her own wrist. Why would she do that?
Why would she risk her life if she was one of them ?”
I’m not one of them, I try to say. My voice
fails me.
“Maybe that’s what they
want us to think,” he grumbles. “Some elaborate ploy to gain our trust.”
No, that’s not true!
“Believe what you want,”
the woman growls back at him. “But I think she came to us because she needs our
help.”
He laughs—not in humor, but
in disbelief.
“What makes you think
that?” His voice is full of doubt.
“Look at her,” she begs.
An ominous hush fills the
room, and I feel her warm hand once again press against my face.
“I know I’m not a doctor,
but I know enough to see when something isn’t right. Look, she has track marks
up and down her arms. Someone’s done something to her. Trouble is . . . I can’t
figure out what.”
For another long moment,
neither of them say anything. I don’t try to speak either, knowing full well
that my voice won’t allow me to anyway. I wait, listening as intently as my
ears will allow.
“When will she wake up?” I
hear him say.
“Don’t know. She’s
delirious at the moment, running a high fever, and on top of all that, she’s
severely dehydrated. Not to mention, malnourished. Plus, there’s the risk of infection.”
She pauses, and I can hear
the rustle of movement as she shifts in her chair.
“I’m doing everything I
can,” she whispers. “But I’ll make sure you’re the first to know when she
does.”
It’s only now that I notice
the uncertainty in her voice.
She doesn’t think I’ll
survive.
Maybe it would be better if
I don’t, I
tell myself.
A door slams shut, and my
eyes flutter open. However, the darkness has returned, pulling me under the
incoming wave of unconsciousness. I succumb to it, too tired and weak to fight
any longer.
I fall into its depths,
knowing full well that the feel of the woman’s hand is the one
“Shh . . . you’re safe.” A
woman’s voice.
“Mother,” I whimper.
“Mother, is that you?”
I feel a stray tear dash
from my eye. I’m afraid, and despite everything that’s happened and everything
my mother has done, I want nothing more than to be in her arms. To feel her
reassuring embrace. To feel protected from everything that still threatens to
consume me.
Safe. This woman, whoever
she is, says that I’m safe . But how can I be? The State is after me,
along with the DSD, and now I have the added problem of PHOENIX thinking I’m
their enemy.
How can I ever possibly be
safe?
I’m suddenly reminded of
the events that transpired at The Vega . It’s all a bit unclear, shrouded
in the pain-filled fog of blood loss. But through it all, I remember one thing.
I see it now as if it’s
still happening before me.
His hazel eyes—the way they
bore into me.
The hatred there.
The distrust.
My eyes squeeze shut, but
more tears break through. I feel so alone—so separated from everything and
everyone around me.
“Mother,” I whimper again.
“Mother . . .”
I take comfort in the feel
of the stranger’s hand against my skin. Regardless of who she is, she’s
offering me the reassurance I need right now—even if I can’t fully comprehend
it in my current state. I don’t need to know why she’s doing this or even where
I am.
I just need not to feel so
alone.
All too quickly, that hand
is gone.
“What are you doing in
here?” A different voice now. A male voice.
“She needed medical
attention,” the woman answers.
Footsteps fall against what
sounds like concrete, bringing him closer to me.
“What she needs is to
wake up and answer our questions.”
“She’s not our enemy,
Ezra,” the woman mutters under her breath.
Silence for a moment. I can
sense a strange tension as it floods the room, even though I’m not conscious
enough to see it.
“How can you be so sure?”
he asks her.
Silence again. Then a heavy
sigh. “She cut the tracking chip out of her own wrist. Why would she do that?
Why would she risk her life if she was one of them ?”
I’m not one of them, I try to say. My voice
fails me.
“Maybe that’s what they
want us to think,” he grumbles. “Some elaborate ploy to gain our trust.”
No, that’s not true!
“Believe what you want,”
the woman growls back at him. “But I think she came to us because she needs our
help.”
He laughs—not in humor, but
in disbelief.
“What makes you think
that?” His voice is full of doubt.
“Look at her,” she begs.
An ominous hush fills the
room, and I feel her warm hand once again press against my face.
“I know I’m not a doctor,
but I know enough to see when something isn’t right. Look, she has track marks
up and down her arms. Someone’s done something to her. Trouble is . . . I can’t
figure out what.”
For another long moment,
neither of them say anything. I don’t try to speak either, knowing full well
that my voice won’t allow me to anyway. I wait, listening as intently as my
ears will allow.
“When will she wake up?” I
hear him say.
“Don’t know. She’s
delirious at the moment, running a high fever, and on top of all that, she’s
severely dehydrated. Not to mention, malnourished. Plus, there’s the risk of infection.”
She pauses, and I can hear
the rustle of movement as she shifts in her chair.
“I’m doing everything I
can,” she whispers. “But I’ll make sure you’re the first to know when she
does.”
It’s only now that I notice
the uncertainty in her voice.
She doesn’t think I’ll
survive.
Maybe it would be better if
I don’t, I
tell myself.
A door slams shut, and my
eyes flutter open. However, the darkness has returned, pulling me under the
incoming wave of unconsciousness. I succumb to it, too tired and weak to fight
any longer.
I fall into its depths,
knowing full well that the feel of the woman’s hand is the one
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