“Hey. How was your weekend?” Stilly said, looking up when Nate entered the police station on Monday morning.

“Fantastic.” He threw his bag into a desk drawer, sat down, and logged into his computer. He looked up to see Stilly still staring at him. “Do you need something?”

“You look like shit, man.”

“Thanks a bunch. So do you.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t sleep. Got here early.”

“You still looking at the footage?”

Stilly’s mouth twisted. “The chief is saying to put this case on the back burner for now. He says he’s assembling a special squad to go after Sybill. I say he left his balls back at his mother’s house, but nobody cares what I think.”

“A squad?” Nate said nervously.

Stilly stabbed a notepad with the point of his pen, still looking sour. “He’s just bullshitting. He wants us to focus on the Miller case.”

“I thought that stalled weeks ago.”

“I did too, but apparently the mayor is pushing for a resolution since some of his daughter’s shit was stolen too. Basically the politicians have us by the short and curlies and the actual shit that matters gets put on hold. “

“Sounds about right,” Nate said, trying to keep the relief he felt out of his voice. If they weren’t going to look that closely at Sybill, that meant Felicity was in the clear too---at least for now. He wished she would call him. His anxiety was starting to have a physical toll on his body. He hadn’t been able to stomach any food for the last day and a half. The only thing that would stay down was gin.

“And to put a cherry on top of this shit sundae,” Stilly went on, “I’ve been assigned all the paperwork for the Miller case. So if you need me, too bad, because I’ll be over here trying to figure out the best way to hang myself from the rafters.”

“Sounds like a good use of your time.” Nate drummed his fingers against his desk for a moment. He waited until Stilly was immersed in his own work before he got online and began to search for his mother’s current whereabouts, glancing around every so often to make sure nobody was watching.

Nate hadn’t seen his mother in a long time. After the divorce, she had initially kept in touch through weekly phone calls. Then the calls turned into a card on the holidays. Then even the cards stopped coming. Over the years, he had ached for her almost as much as he resented her for leaving them in that house with their father. She claimed it was because she didn’t want to uproot them from their lives. But Nate had always suspected that she simply didn’t want anyone or anything around which reminded her of their father. Even her own kids.

Locating her was easier than he expected. There were several newspaper clippings about her professional life over the years. She opened a new mental health ward here, another one there, each one more successful than the last. Her focus seemed to be on rehabilitating mentally challenged criminals. Nate paused over the articles that detailed these experiments, reading them slowly. Based on what they reported, it didn’t seem like his mother’s subjects had simply been re-educated on how to walk through a crowd without sticking a knife in someone’s thigh; their violent tendencies had been totally eradicated. Nate’s eyes fell on one reporter’s particularly gushing account: “Now equipped with Arlett’s ground-breaking and utterly unique behavioral techniques, her rehabilitated inmates wouldn’t squash a cockroach.”

He thought back to the fight he’d overheard in the middle of the night all those years ago. Dad had accused Mom of leaving him to start her own side business. Perhaps both of them were involved in the same line of work (he thought of the room where he had been taken to recover after his attempt to break into the Institute). If they were, he willing to bet that Mommy dearest had had some help with this benevolent societal undertaking of redeeming hardened criminals. Perhaps a set of “special” employees, whose abilities she could exploit to advance her career.

He continued to scroll down the search page, pausing when he saw an article that spoke not of his mother’s business, but his father’s. It was on a blog that specialized in conspiracy theories, so his first instinct was to write it off. But one sentence on the post caught his eye: “Even after multiple calls were made to 911 from this facility, alleging heinous things, no action was taken by local police to investigate further.” Curious, Nate went into departmental records to see if the calls happened to be made to his precinct. His heart raced when he saw that they were, and he hastened to shove in some earphones and listen to the recordings.

The first file was dated August 12, 2012, at 2:14 p.m.:

--911, what’s your emergency?

--I’m at [inaudible] and I can’t [inaudible] please [inaudible] oh my God, please send someone!

--Okay, miss, try to calm down. What’s your name? Tell me where you are.

--I’m [crackling] getting closer---oh shit!

--Miss? What’s happening? Are you there? Miss?

--Please, please send someone! I just saw [inaudible].

--Okay. What’s your name, sweetheart? Talk to me. Can you describe where you are?

[heavy breathing]

---Hello? Miss?

[door banging] [heavy breathing]

---I’m sorry. This is a prank call.

---What?

---I thought it was funny. I’m sorry. I won’t call again. Everything’s fine.

---Miss? Is there someone with you?

[call ends]

The next transcript was dated April 3, 2013, 10:39 p.m.:

--911, what’s your emergency?

--Uh, yeah, hi, I---uh---I need an ambulance.

--What’s your location?

--Uh---well--- I don’t know exactly.

--Can you describe your surroundings, sir? Are you inside, outside…?

--I’m at the Reynolds Institute---I dunno the exact address. Please, I need an ambulance right now.

-- I’m trying to pinpoint your location right now, okay? Who’s hurt?

--Me.

--Where?

--I’m bleeding. Please hurry.

--We’re coming, sir. Just stay with me. Where are you bleeding from?

--They hit me.

--Who?

--I tried to run so they hit me and gave me something. They [inaudible].

--Sir? Could you repeat that?

--[inaudible slurring]

--Sir? Hello? Are you still there? Sir?

[rustling]

--Hello? Who am I speaking to?

--This is 911, who is this, is everything alright?

--I’m terribly sorry. One of our patients had an episode. He gets rather sporadic when he’s in these moods. Everything is fine, though. Terribly sorry he wasted your time, ma’am.

--It’s no trouble at all. Please feel free to call anytime. It’s what we’re here for.

--Absolutely. Thank you so much.

[call ends]

Nate moved on to the final transcript dated July 7, 2016, at 3:13 a.m.:

--911, what’s your emergency?

--Hi, um, I think I need the police please.

--Okay, honey, tell me your location.

--Um, I’m at—Reynolds Institute. My friends are hurt.

---Hold old are you, sweetheart? Are there any grown-ups around?

---Six. And they’re the ones who hurt us. Please send help.

--Where are you right now?

---Behind the desk. They’re [inaudible whispering]

--Hello? Sweetheart, you still there?

--Yes.

--What’s your name?

---Sam.

--Okay, Sam. I’m trying to pinpoint your location now, stay with me. You said you’re at Ray—Reynolds?

--Reynolds Institute. It’s a hospital. I haven’t seen Momma in weeks. Can you call her?

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

--Where’s your Momma now?

--At home. She--- [sharp intake of breath] [crackling]

--Hello? Sam, are you there?

--They’re going to stick me in the fridge too. Please help me---no! Wait! Don’t--- [screaming] [scuffling] [inaudible noises]

--Hello? Sam?

[call ends]

There was a follow-up report attached to this transcript. A car had been sent to the Institute to investigate the call. The officers found no patient named “Sam” or the slightest indication that any other residents were in danger. Nate leaned back in his chair, frowning as he mulled all this over. He wondered if his mother knew anything about police visits to the Institute. Was she still involved in that part of the business, or had she washed her hands of it entirely when she went off to do her own thing? He went back online and tracked down the name of his mother’s most recent mental health facility. He managed to get hold of an office number for St. Julian’s Health and Holistic Center, a drug rehab facility on Duquesne Avenue. Nate dialed in and held his breath. He talked to the man at the front desk for a few minutes before asking to be connected to Doctor Camilla Arlett.

“Certainly, sir,” the man said brightly. “Who should I say is calling?”

“Nate.” He hadn’t even thought about giving a fake name. The man asked him to please hold, and the line gave way to annoyingly upbeat instrumental music. Then there was a click, and the contents of his stomach folded ten times over when he heard her voice:

“Nathaniel?”

“Hey, Mom.”

There was a long pause. Nate allowed himself to not ruin it by talking.

“How have you been?” she said at last.

Nate tightened his grip around the phone, his knuckles whitening. “Great.”

“So why are you calling? I have patients waiting.”

Yeah, and fuck your own son, I guess. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them and took a deep breath to steady the angry pounding of blood in his ears. He didn’t call to fight.

“Um…so…” He cleared his throat. He hated how his palms were sweating, and the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. “I need your help with something. I know that you and Dad work with mutants. I need to---”

“Please don’t say that.”

“What?”

“Don’t refer to them as ‘mutants,’ Nathaniel. It’s offensive.”

He blinked, stunned that she was choosing to focus on his lack of political correctness at a time like this. She went on:

“The individuals at the Institute are referred to in our profession as Variants---or Defectives, depending on who you’re talking to, I suppose. The ones I work with at my practice like to be called Adroits.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Variants can’t control their abilities.”

Nate rubbed his temples, scowling. “I didn’t know there were enough of these people to warrant separating them into categories. So which one is Felicity?”

“Did you call me to talk about your sister, then?” Her voice was growing impatient.

“No. It’s about a patient at the Institute. At least, I think she’s a patient.”

“What?”

“Can we meet somewhere?”

There was a brief silence as she considered this. “Okay,” she said finally. “Does noon today work?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll text you the address of a nearby coffee shop. I just need your number.” It was like she had kicked him right in the chest. But he recovered quickly and gave it to her. “Great,” she said. “I’ll see you soon then.”

Nate hung up, swallowing a lump in his throat and furiously blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes.. Stilly looked up from the folder he had been flipping through on his desk.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be stepping out for lunch,” Nate said, forcing a smile.

“Hot date?”

“You could say that.”

“Oh to be young again,” Stilly said with a sigh.

Nate ignored him and tried to get some work done, but he was distracted. He didn’t know why he had allowed himself to hope that she would be happy to hear from him. When the clock finally struck noon, he hurried out, his heart pounding so hard he felt like it would break out of his chest.

The coffee shop his mother had directed him to was small and busy. He found a table in the corner by the window, and absently ordered a black coffee when the waiter came up to ask him what he wanted. He only waited a couple minutes before the door opened and a cool, rain-scented breeze swept in, carrying his mother with it.

Her walk from the door to his table seemed to happen in slow motion. Hair like gleaming garnet, a complexion of alabaster and roses, every line and curve of her body fitted snugly into a dark green dress with a low neckline. When she sat down across from him, the air shifted with the scent of her perfume: apple and something floral. Peonies, maybe?

“You look well, Nathaniel,” she said, smiling. Her lips were like strawberries. Nate looked down at his coffee, wrapping his hands tightly around the hot ceramic cup and ignoring the way it burned his skin.

“You too, Mom.”

Her presence scattered every coherent thought he had in his head. He was horrified to feel his monster rearing up inside of him. Was it because she looked so much like Felicity?

“So what can I do for you?” she asked.

Nate couldn’t restrain a loud, disdainful snort. “That’s it, then?”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen you in over a year.” Jesus. He sounded like a toddler bringing home a sticky art project and presenting it to mommy for a gold star.

“Oh, honey.” She leaned forward and stroked his hand. The gentle pressure of her cool fingers made his monster pace about with feverish impatience. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy. I did try to send you a Christmas card, but it came back.”

“I moved.”

“Well you never told me that, dear.” Her voice had taken on a gentle, reproachful tone that made his ears burn. He was feeling ashamed, and then angry. Wouldn’t a normal mother have reached out? Oh, right. She didn’t have his number. She’d never bothered to find that out either.

“Well it doesn’t matter now,” he said, blinking hard as he continued to stare down at his coffee cup. His mother removed her hand from his and settled back in her char.

“You said you wanted to talk about a patient at the Institute?”

“Yeah, but I need to ask you something first.”

“Yes?”

“Did you know that multiple 911 calls were made from that place over the last couple of years?”

“What?”

“The patients sounded like they were being hurt. You said before that Variants can’t control their powers. What does the Institute do to help them with that?”

She didn’t speak for a long time. Nate finally looked up from his coffee and fixed her with a hard, unflinching stare. She was staring down at her hands, one of her thumbs picking at the nail of the thumb on the opposite hand. Then he heard her take a deep breath.

“The treatments can be harsh at times, but they’re necessary for damage control.”

“What sort of treatments do they do?”

“That’s confidential.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound suspicious at all. Can you at least tell me why the Variants are at the Institute in the first place? What makes them dangerous?”

She was silent again. Nate thought he saw her eyes fill with tears, but it was probably a trick of the light. Tears would imply she had genuine human emotions. “The Variants at the Institute were placed there because of our mistakes,” she said softly.

“Mistakes?” he repeated.

“Yes.” A look of shame flitted across her delicate features.

In her low, musical voice, his mother detailed the history of his parents’ work. She told him about Project Camilla, the latent gene, and of the children they used to discover it. Nate forgot to drink his coffee as he listened. The muscles in his back tightened as he hunched forward. His shock gave way to curiosity, and then curiosity flared into anger.

They had done this to Felicity.

“…we experimented with a variety of treatments,” his mother was saying. Her hands were clasped tightly on the table in front of her. “When we triggered the latent genes, some of the subjects became...destructive. Eventually, there were so many defective subjects that we had to separate them from the successful ones.”

“Are these experiments still going on?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“So wait,” he said, frowning as the thought occurred to him. “Who did Felicity inherit her power from? Mom, are you…?”

“No, your father. Wait. He never told you?” The note of surprise in her voice was genuine. Nate stared at her for a moment, thunderstruck. Then he leaned back in his chair, running a bemused hand through his hair.

“What can he do?”

“He can create hallucinations from a person’s strongest emotions.”

Nate stared at her, paling a little. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“Yes, well.” Her rosebud mouth pursed.

“But Felicity is an empath.”

“Your sister’s power manifests in emotional rather than visual illusions---at least, that’s how they developed alongside the experiments. If we had left her alone, she might have simply been a bit more compassionate than other people.” She shook her head ruefully. “We should’ve let her be.”

Nate sat very still. He felt the blood draining from his face. All sensation left his body.

“You mean she can…make people think they feel things?”

His mother bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “It would be more accurate to say she takes pre-existing emotions and uses them to her advantage.”

With a trembling hand, Nate pushed away his coffee mug. He felt sick. His mother looked at him with a concerned frown on her face.

“Are you alright? Is this what you wanted to talk about in particular? Felicity?”

“N-No.” He tried to re-focus. His stomach was churning. “I just wanted a bit of background because I’ve been having…visions, I guess? Of one of the patients at the Institute.”

His mother raised her eyebrows.

“Visions?”

Speaking in a low voice, Nate told her what he had seen the last few nights. Her expression went from dismissive to alarmed.

“That sounds like projection. It’s a common ability of Adroit Telepaths. I’ve never heard of a Variant one doing it, though…and to project from such a distance...it’s remarkable. And she didn’t say what she wanted?”

“No. She just keeps begging me for help.”

His mother traced her lips with one finger, looking thoughtful. “Did she tell you her name?”

“She said it was Sophia. Sophia Montgomery.”

His mother froze. Her face was very still, and there was a cobra-like gleam in her eyes that made him instinctively draw back.

“Do…you know her?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not personally. I knew her mother, though. She’s since passed away, but she made your father Sophia’s legal guardian.”

Nate gaped at her. “What?”

“Yes, it was a surprise to me too. I found out after the fact, though your father had apparently agreed to it years ago.”

“But---why?”

“I’m sure Evelyn had her reasons.”

“What was the relationship between her and dad?”

“We all worked together at the beginning,,” his mother said, still with that unnerving look in her eyes. “Sophia’s mother and your father were thick as thieves. It was one of the reasons---well, never mind. Perhaps it would help to get more details from Sophia the next time she comes.”

“You think she will?”

“If Sophia has any of her mother’s tenacity, she’s unlikely to quit after just a few attempts.”

They stared at each other for a while longer. His mother’s face was carefully arranged into an indifferent expression, but something in her eyes told him it was best not to pry. However, he made a mental note to check up on this Evelyn Montgomery once he got back to the station.

“I’d like to be there the next time Sophia visits,” his mother said finally. “I might be able to help you more if I saw firsthand what you’re dealing with.”

“Sure.”

There was another silence. It seeped into his bones and pooled around his feet.

“I guess I should go,” she said at last. “I have a lot of paperwork to get through back at the office.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll have to text me your new address.”

She was halfway to the door before he could answer. A breeze swept in as she exited the coffee shop. Nate shuddered, absently throwing back a mouthful of his ice-cold coffee.

When he returned to the station, trying hard not to pass out from the onslaught of emotional turmoil he was currently experiencing, he logged back onto his computer and looked up everything he could find on Evelyn Montgomery. He found her obituary, articles about her clinical work, and a newspaper clipping dating the disappearance of her two daughters: Sophia and Sybill. The sensationless feeling returned to his body; the words on the screen blurred together. His brain went into cop mode, breaking the information up into digestible bullet points that could fit onto a single sheet of paper:

Felicity was Sybill’s friend.

Sybill was Evelyn Montgomery’s daughter and Sophia’s sister.

And Sophia…

She had seen Felicity shoot Francis Coppula. Maybe Sophia had threatened his sister, told her she would go to the police unless Felicity helped Sybill escape from jail. Or maybe Felicity had broken Sybill out just because they were all old friends---though that seemed like a weak theory. Did Felicity owe the Montgomery sisters a favor?

His thoughts returned to Evelyn Montgomery. He recalled what he had just learned from his mother: that the abilities triggered by the latent “mutant” gene were hereditary. Did that mean Sophia’s mother had also had powers? Shortly after her demise, Sybill and Sophia disappeared. That seemed way too convenient. Actually, Felicity had broken out of the Institute around the same time the girls had disappeared.

He picked up his phone and rang his mother’s office again.

“Nathaniel? Is something wrong?” she asked after the front desk had put him through.

“What did Evelyn Montgomery do at the Institute?” Nate said bluntly. “I mean specifically?”

There was a long pause. For a moment Nate thought they had been disconnected. Then she said: “In addition to contributing to research, she was in charge of security.”

His heartbeat quickened. “In what capacity?”

“She used her gifts. She was a Telepath like Sophia, but…well, frankly, I didn’t know anyone else like her. She projected a wall of psychic energy around the Institute so that none of the patients could endanger themselves---and to minimize outside intruders, of course.”

“She kept them inside,” he said, half to himself. A nauseated feeling was creeping into his stomach.

“Yes, I suppose you could look at it that way.”

“So if she stopped casting the barrier, anyone could come and go as they pleased?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. What are you getting at?” When he didn’t respond, his mother grew impatient. “Did you need anything else, dear? I’ll be by tonight to help you, like we discussed, but at the moment I’m rather busy.

“Okay. Thanks.”

He hung up and then leaned back in his chair, staring at the glowing computer screen. Felicity had never given him the details about how she escaped that place but he’d always assumed a sympathetic nurse or security guard had helped her out. He’d never suspected anything like this. He sat at his desk for a long time, feeling like he’d just been hit in the chest with a sack of concrete.