Niche took one look at her and sighed. “Wait here for exactly four minutes then make your way to the kitchen’s back door. I’ll be waiting for you with a car. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Will you stay with me and my family?”
“I will drive you to them. That’s as much as I can offer right now.” He nodded once and tightened his lips with resolve before turning to leave on stealth feet. “Four minutes,” he looked down at his watch, “starting now.”
Meg watched him close the door on silent hinges and glanced at the clock. It was fast approaching 2am.
Her body knew what she was going to do before her brain caught up. She grabbed the small paring knives she’d stolen from the kitchen days ago and slipped them into her boot then opened her door and set her sensors on high alert. She had one more thing to do before she left this place.
16 Fly, Fly Away
Her footsteps were naturally light and agile. She ran through the corridors as though she had memorized their every nuance years ago. Her senses were heightened to the point that she could even feel the presence of the rats scurrying between the walls, scratching their way to their next morsel of food. She could imagine where each dank, acidic smell originated and tried not to breathe through her nose for fear she’d get sick from the sulfuric assault.
Just one more right, then a left and I’m there, she prodded herself.
She felt every bit like a rat herself scurrying between the cement walls on either side of her. She rounded the last corner with less than three minutes to spare. Down the dimly lit corridor she saw what she knew to be the locked cells of those poor souls “in training.” In her mind, she let herself feel their despair to fuel her rage. Her psychokinesis was a newer aspect of her gift. She hadn’t tried to control so much mass since accidentally creating a psychic tornado in her room all those months ago.
She stood in the middle of the hallway, five door handles down to the east, five to the west. She stood feet shoulder’s width apart, raised her arms and released a silent scream so powerful the air around her shook, the rats froze in the walls. Everything vibrated under the extreme fury she unleashed. The doors didn’t just unlock, they shattered off their rusty hinges, smashing into the dank walls opposite them. Meg crouched for a moment, willing herself to calm down and her equilibrium to right itself.
She waited for the children to come pouring out of their cells—to run for their lives. But there was only the sound of silence. The only movement came from the dust settling back to forgotten corners.
Standing cautiously, Meg ran to the room nearest her. What she saw inside would haunt her all her living days. A child was strapped to a bed. Torture changed the look in the girl’s eyes as she stared at nothing, unmoving. The skin on her chest had been removed in places.
Skinned, they skinned this poor little girl! Meg swallowed the lump of bile rising in her chest.
She ran to her and worked on her straps. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you out of here,” she whispered. The girl stared at nothing and lay completely still. Meg knew she wasn’t going to move on her own, as she tested the girl’s emotional psyche carefully.
“I’ll just carry you, sweetie,” Meg started to say when the girl opened her mouth and began to scream like a banshee. She hit with her small fists and scratched at Meg’s face, desperate to be let go. Meg was sure that her cover was beyond blown when she felt the alarmed emotional signatures of guards who had seriously slacked off on their duties. She tried not to panic.
With a broken heart, and the girl’s blood staining her black clothing, Meg carefully put the child down. Meg was crying when she ran to the next room only to find the boy screaming just as violently.
Oh dear God, they’re too far gone. Meg ignored the tears streaming down her face as room after room confirmed her worst fears. They were all in the process of being tortured one way or another, but all of them screamed like sirens when she approached to try to rescue them.
All except the last room. She found a little boy, whose eyes were closed, his body still, curled in a protective fetal ball in the corner of the room. He was covered with feces and urine, but Meg didn’t care. She yanked the soiled sheet off the bed and wrapped the emaciated child and waited for him to wake screaming like the others, but he didn’t.
“You’re coming with me, little one,” Meg spun and bolted from the room, back down the corridor, across the opulent foyer, down another two corridors until she found the kitchen. She heard voices barking angrily over the sound of the screams that echoed ear-piercingly through the asylum.
They would be on her at any moment.
She ran to the back door and blew it wide open with her mind, easily finding the rage inside to fuel its destruction. True to his word, Niche was waiting for her with a black sedan idling quietly.