Mr. K's letter proved that. Other kids, they'd had going away parties. They'd been happy. We'd even gotten postcards from some of them.
I opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand and shuffled through some papers until I found what I needed. The Eifel Tower stood proud and glowing on the postcard, thousands of lights in the night. On the back, a postage stamp from Paris. Hey, Sam, wish you were here. You'd love the Sorbonne. Stay good and enjoy your time in New York. Love, Rebekah.
She'd been one of us. Now she was free. Or was she? Could it all have been faked? Would they really go through so much trouble to dupe us? If they had, then where were these kids? Where was Rebekah?
I projected my thoughts and the image of the postcard to Drake. I told him the story we'd been fed our whole lives—that Rent-A-Kid kept us safe, trained us and prepared us for the real world. Our parents had given us up to protect us.
'Sam, you know too much. Did all your parents give you up willingly? Why weren't they involved in your lives at all? Have any ever come to visit or interact with their kids? You don't think those postcards can be forged?'
"Our parents gave us up because they couldn't handle kids like us. They did what was best for us." It was true. It had to be true. I needed it to be true.
'Then why couldn't they at least stay in touch? Visit? Call?'
"I don't know. Probably for safety. We get to meet our families when we leave. Once we are safe."
'You keep talking about being safe, but they have rented you out since you were thirteen. You've been safe enough for clients for a long time, so why not let your family back into your life? Come on, Sam, you're a smart girl, but they've got you brainwashed to believe they are the good guys. They are not the good guys. They tracked me down, attacked me, and brought me here against my will. You and I both know they weren't saving me from anyone. Does that sound like something a good organization would do?'
My head pounded, the pain coming back full force, and I didn't want to deal with these questions.
I would figure it out later. "Drake, I admit that something isn't right here. At the very least, Dr. Pana is a problem, and someone's stealing powers, but that doesn't mean everything has been a lie. Look, I've been sick, and I'm crashing. Can we talk later?"
'Okay. Hey Sam....'
"Hmm?"
'Be careful.'
That night, stolen kids and heartbroken parents filled my dreams. I woke up more exhausted than when I'd fallen asleep, drenched in sweat, my heart racing.
Chapter 14 – Sam
Two days of forced bed rest left little room for fun.
After reading the first three chapters of every book in my possession, and countless hours studying Dr. Sato's dialect, I needed reinforcements.
Poor Drake had already put up with so much. "You must be so sick of my whining and moping and all my Japanese thinking. I'm sorry. I'm just so bored!"
'I'm not sick of you, and I can relate. I'm strapped down to a bed and powerless, after all. By the way, you're a freaking genius with language. I can't believe how much you've learned in just three days. How do you do it? I barely know Spanish and I grew up surrounded by it.'
His praise released a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Learning languages and reading minds wasn't nearly as exciting as hacking computers, walking through walls or kicking butts in martial arts. I loved that he thought my gifts were special. "I've been studying languages since I was two years old. It's always come naturally."
'How many can you speak?'
I had to do the math in my head. "Um, thirty or so, plus a few dialects."
'Holy crap! That's seriously impressive. When we get out of this mess, we totally have to travel all over the world. You'll be able to talk to everyone.'
My heart swelled with images of walking hand-in-hand with Drake through the streets of Italy, touring the great cathedrals in France, eating at a café and chatting with the locals.... But the best part—visiting all the greatest museums of the world. What I wouldn't give to spend hours at the Louvre and the Rodin Museum in France, the Van Gough Museum in Amsterdam, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art.... My mind trailed off into the lands of the greatest artists, and I "showed" Drake memories of my favorite paintings throughout history.
As soon as class got out, Lucy and Luke came over bearing gifts—flowers, a get well card, chicken soup, and a new DVD.
"You guys, I'm not dying. It's just a bad flu." I acted annoyed but appreciated the kindness.
Lucy handed me the soup and a spoon. "I know, Chica, but we figured you were bored out of your mind, and this might cheer you up."
I smiled. "It has."
Luke sat in my favorite chair, his long legs spread out before him. Lucy sat at the edge of my bed. They both seemed happy enough, but still not quite right. Their eyes looked glazed over, and they had an artificial calm to them.
"So spill it, what's going on with you and Drake?" Lucy asked.
"Nothing." I tried to look innocent as I sipped my soup.