“No,” I say. I cannot be back in this helpless situation again.
But I am. They have me. It’s impossible to keep my eyes open. I try to struggle, but my body is already weak. I feel someone lifting me, and then I’m stretched out on a table. My wrists are untied and then my arms, heavy and limp, are strapped down to the table.
The last thing I hear is Jules’s voice.
“How convenient. She still has a port.”
13
INVADED
WHEN I WAKE, groggy, I’m in a small, underground cell on a clean, narrow cot. A soft blanket covers me, and I’m dressed in green scrubs. My mouth tastes bitter, and my left cheek hurts. As I slowly roll over, every muscle aches, like I’ve been beaten up from within, and I’m so hungry I could eat a goat. Carefully, I sit upright and hug my knees to my chest, letting my balance settle. I curl my toes in my socks. Something inside me is different. Partly, it’s the normal sludge-brain I always have when Berg mines me, but now I also feel a faint tingle at the base of my skull. It’s like an expectation. Like today’s my birthday, only it’s not.
I blink hard and shake my head. The tingling sensation dims.
A dozen small lights gleam in the rugged stone around me, and it’s so quiet, the walls seem to reflect back the sound of my own breath. Lifting my hand, I feel for the soft lump under my skin on my chest, and find my port is still there. I’m not surprised. Gently, I touch the back of my left ear, where I find the crust of a scab. Of course.
I have no idea how much they mined from me, or how long I’ve been here. My fingernails are a little longer than I remember, which could mean a couple of days have passed, or more time if they’ve been trimmed. I step across to the main door, which has a narrow window looking onto a hallway. When I try the knob, the door’s locked. A second door leads to a tidy little bathroom. I do my business and wash my hands. A fresh toothbrush and small tube of paste are there for the taking, and as I brush my teeth, I glance into the mirror.
A flurry of surprise skitters around in the back of mind, as if a thousand tiny stars are lighting up at once. I spit into the sink. I frown, doubtful, and lean nearer to inspect my sore cheek in the glass. It’s a nasty, bruised purple from where Jules smacked me, and tender to the touch. I meet my own gaze, assessing. My hazel eyes are still large and steady, my eyebrows dark. I touch the waves of my dark hair, which feels clean and soft, as though someone’s washed it lately. My lips look as dry as they feel. My teeth, clean now, have the usual gap in front. I angle my chin to see my jaw has the same, familiar contour. My complexion’s paler than usual, but my acne’s about the same, with one old zit healed and a new one getting worse. Two days, I’d guess. I’ve been down here about two days.
It’s not a happy discovery, but in the back of my mind, that sense of tiny stars zips around in wild delight. I take a deep breath, dreading what I have to do.
Who’s there? I ask cautiously in my mind.
I haven’t heard an extra voice since Thea left me. I listen carefully now, but there’s no reply. Still, I’m distinctly aware of something new inside me, a feeling that doesn’t fit. I gaze at my reflection, puzzled, while this strange, eager delight plays at the edge of my consciousness. It isn’t me. It couldn’t be, because I have nothing to be joyful about. And yet it’s there, as clear and vibrant as warm sunlight would be on my open palm.
I look down at my hand and turn my palm up, half expecting to see sunlight on my skin. The presence in the back of my mind twirls with silent glee.
“What’s going on?” I ask aloud. “This isn’t funny.”
A shot of adrenaline bursts through me, and my heart races. But no answer comes. What did the doctors do to me?
I pad in my socks over to the main door and peek through the window at the hallway.
“Hello?” I call. “Is anyone there? I need some food.”
Listening for a reply, I hear only stone. I check my room for camera lenses but can’t find any. My heart keeps pumping, go, go, go! Then it does a little flip on itself, and I’m suddenly breathless and exhausted. I lean over and brace my hands on my knees. A flashing heat wave spreads out from my chest to my extremities, followed by a chill that seems to pull my blood toward the floor. Light-headed, I slide down to sit on the floor before I faint, and I lean my face into my shaky hands.
I take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady myself, and then, without warning, through no effort of my own, my vision is filled with an open, pearly sky and the wild, fragrant grass of the prairie in springtime. The horizon stretches into the deep distance, and I breathe in the fresh, cool air of dawn. Each tall, leaning blade of grass shimmers with an added glow, a piercing vividness. It’s more than a memory, more than a daydream, and I turn slowly to find Linus standing beside me. His eyes are grave, his mouth grim. He’s wearing his familiar black jacket, and when a breeze blows up his collar, I recognize this precious, poisoned moment.
It’s the morning after Thea had her baby. We’re standing on a secluded knoll a few miles from the school, and we’re facing the likelihood that Linus has a camera in his left eye. The clear, caramel color of his iris shows no hint of a foreign lens, but I can’t think of any other explanation for how Berg had a film of me in Linus’s bed. The truth is inescapable. It kills me to know Linus has brought a spy along with him every time we’ve been together, for every glance, every conversation, every uncertain kiss.
Don’t look at me like that, Linus says, pleading. Believe me. I didn’t know.
If this vision were pure memory, I would kiss him next, but it isn’t. Instead, I lift my right hand to cover his camera eye. He lets me, and I feel the warmth of his forehead under my fingertips. Sunlight slants across his lips, and his eyelashes blink a faint brush against the life line of my palm.
My vision holds there, caressing the poignant details.
This is my hand over Linus’s eye, proving that I left him because I couldn’t get past how he was part of Berg’s web. This is Linus holding still beneath my hand, helpless, furious, unhappy. This is me, wanting him and hurting him and failing to see how badly he needed me.
Please stop, I tell my vision.
My soul aches with regret. I want Linus, wherever he is, with whatever heart I have.
When the vision finally drains away, I’m slumped on the floor. Cold invades my extremities until I’m shivering. My heartbeat is a sluggish throb. My breath hurts in my lungs. What’s happened to me? I swallow over a dry throat and push myself up heavily to sitting. This keen sense of longing is like a knife between my ribs, scraping at each breath. I don’t like it. I don’t want my memories co-opted and corrupted.
“Who are you?” I ask.