of the fluorescent lights overhead and shook his head as if he found something profoundly disappointing in it.
Twig took a deep breath and looked around. “I want you to know I’m sorry. Sorry I doubted you when you first told me about all this. I had to learn the hard way I guess.”
“Me too,” James said, turning the thimble in front of his eyes, admiring it like a diamond.
“I don’t suppose you have a tunnel going, or some brilliant plan to get out?” Twig asked, folding his arms on the table and burying his head in them.
“No just this.” James laid his palms on the monopoly board and swept them gently over it, as if it was some precious heirloom.
Twig looked at one of the doorways where a guard stood. There was a thick metal door with a complicated locking system behind him. Through the Plexiglas window on the door he could see trees. An exit.
“That door. Who carries keys for it?” Twig asked his father.
“Anyone with the right fingerprint,” he replied.
“I can’t stay here dad. My friend has been taken by them. She…is turning.”
“She is gone then,” his father said dryly.
“I need to know something. The liquid sunlight, is it real?”
His father seemed to concentrate. “Yes…yes,” he finally answered.
“Yes what? Where did you hide it? It’s important dad…”
“Somewhere safe,” he murmured. Twig put his hand on his father’s shoulder and turned him towards him, forcing him to face him.
“Where dad? Tell me where.”
His father looked at him with his sad and tired eyes. “I had to protect you from them. It never goes away, never…” he said finally.
“Where?” Twig repeated.
His father’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I put some in your blood. And hid the rest.” He grinned widely and slammed the thimble down on Baltic Avenue.
“You did what?” Twig yelled, catching the attention of a few old ladies who told him to keep it down.
“It was the only way to be sure they would never get to you. That you would never become one of them,” his father said sullenly.
“Well, I guess I understand,” Twig said reluctantly. “But you have to tell me where the rest is, because if I ever get out of here I am gonna need something stronger than wooden stakes to take him out.”
His father looked around and leaned in to whisper. “I can’t tell you. Not here. They listen to everything.”
Twig felt helpless and frustrated by his father’s cryptic responses. He stood up and walked around the table a bit, noticing that both orderly’s eyes followed his every movement. He could see how someone could get a little paranoid living in this place. He wondered what time it was. There wasn’t a clock anywhere in the room.
Zara…where are you, he thought.
20.
Zara took her phone out of her pocket. The others had left her at the thumb-screw exhibit when she began feigning painful cramps. This had annoyed Drake to no end. “I had my change in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by Turks,” he said, and with the mention of war, he and Micah began exchanging grisly war stories. They had to explain the wounds they suffered as they had no scars to show for them. To them, war had been a game. Zara watched them talk with fascination. All those years of life…centuries even, and they still talked and acted just like the guys from her campus. Maybe it was their perpetual youth that kept them like that—preserving their hormones and testosterone like some vital component of their being.
She sat on a stiff wooden bench now. She supposed Micah wasn’t worried that she would run. Where could she go? No matter where she ran she would soon change, and then her blood bond with Micah would be unbreakable and she would be powerless
Twig took a deep breath and looked around. “I want you to know I’m sorry. Sorry I doubted you when you first told me about all this. I had to learn the hard way I guess.”
“Me too,” James said, turning the thimble in front of his eyes, admiring it like a diamond.
“I don’t suppose you have a tunnel going, or some brilliant plan to get out?” Twig asked, folding his arms on the table and burying his head in them.
“No just this.” James laid his palms on the monopoly board and swept them gently over it, as if it was some precious heirloom.
Twig looked at one of the doorways where a guard stood. There was a thick metal door with a complicated locking system behind him. Through the Plexiglas window on the door he could see trees. An exit.
“That door. Who carries keys for it?” Twig asked his father.
“Anyone with the right fingerprint,” he replied.
“I can’t stay here dad. My friend has been taken by them. She…is turning.”
“She is gone then,” his father said dryly.
“I need to know something. The liquid sunlight, is it real?”
His father seemed to concentrate. “Yes…yes,” he finally answered.
“Yes what? Where did you hide it? It’s important dad…”
“Somewhere safe,” he murmured. Twig put his hand on his father’s shoulder and turned him towards him, forcing him to face him.
“Where dad? Tell me where.”
His father looked at him with his sad and tired eyes. “I had to protect you from them. It never goes away, never…” he said finally.
“Where?” Twig repeated.
His father’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I put some in your blood. And hid the rest.” He grinned widely and slammed the thimble down on Baltic Avenue.
“You did what?” Twig yelled, catching the attention of a few old ladies who told him to keep it down.
“It was the only way to be sure they would never get to you. That you would never become one of them,” his father said sullenly.
“Well, I guess I understand,” Twig said reluctantly. “But you have to tell me where the rest is, because if I ever get out of here I am gonna need something stronger than wooden stakes to take him out.”
His father looked around and leaned in to whisper. “I can’t tell you. Not here. They listen to everything.”
Twig felt helpless and frustrated by his father’s cryptic responses. He stood up and walked around the table a bit, noticing that both orderly’s eyes followed his every movement. He could see how someone could get a little paranoid living in this place. He wondered what time it was. There wasn’t a clock anywhere in the room.
Zara…where are you, he thought.
20.
Zara took her phone out of her pocket. The others had left her at the thumb-screw exhibit when she began feigning painful cramps. This had annoyed Drake to no end. “I had my change in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by Turks,” he said, and with the mention of war, he and Micah began exchanging grisly war stories. They had to explain the wounds they suffered as they had no scars to show for them. To them, war had been a game. Zara watched them talk with fascination. All those years of life…centuries even, and they still talked and acted just like the guys from her campus. Maybe it was their perpetual youth that kept them like that—preserving their hormones and testosterone like some vital component of their being.
She sat on a stiff wooden bench now. She supposed Micah wasn’t worried that she would run. Where could she go? No matter where she ran she would soon change, and then her blood bond with Micah would be unbreakable and she would be powerless
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