The van rattled down an unseen road. Sophia clung to Sybill’s body; she felt like she was drowning and her sister’s cold flesh was a lifeboat. This didn’t feel real. What she had just witnessed, Sybill’s death, her mother’s death, everything that Jack and Felicity had done to her…it was a nightmare realm. She was asleep. Surely, she was asleep.
“Sophia.” Felicity’s voice was closer than expected. “Is…is Sybill….”
Her words trailed off and vanished in the cavernous darkness. Sophia didn’t respond for a long time. Then she said in a hoarse whisper:
“Yes.”
She hoped that voicing her hideous new reality would provide relief, but it didn’t; the weight on her heart only increased. Her arms tightened around the corpse.
“I-I’m sorry,” Felicity said, her voice thick with tears. “If you need---”
“You knew.”
“What?”
“What happened to my mother. You knew about everything this whole time. You…it was your idea.”
“I never---”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Felicity stopped talking---wise choice. One more word and Sophia might’ve lunged at her, just to have somewhere to direct the pain that was filling her heart.
After what felt like hours, the van finally came to a halt. Doors slammed. Footsteps pounded on unseen concrete, and then the door slid open. Her surroundings ignited into white fire, and Sophia blinked rapidly in a dizzying wash of sunshine.
“Exit single file,” said a gruff female voice.
Felicity and Jack obeyed, but Sophia didn’t move. The woman looked expectantly at her, and Sophia stared back defiantly, still clutching Sybill’s body. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that the stranger was middle-aged, as thin as a stick, and all angles. Her eyes were as white and glittering as glaciers, and she had streaks of magenta in her lank brown pixie cut.
“You come with me,” she said in a clipped voice. “And one of my other associates will take care of that.” She gestured dismissively at Sybill’s corpse.
“I’ll pass.”
“You don’t have any leverage here, kid. Get out of the damn van or I’ll make you.”
“I’d like to see you fucking try it, lady.”
The woman opened her mouth angrily, but suddenly a bulky shape appeared at her side. It was Doctor Benjamin Reynolds. He laid a big, thick hand on her shoulder.
“Take both of them inside, Constance,” he said softly. “Barney.” He turned to someone outside of Sophia’s line of vision. “Remove Sybill from the car and take her to the infirmary. They will be able to find her a bed until other arrangements can be made. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be careful.” He looked at Sophia again. “No harm will come to her. I promise. Now please come out.”
Something in his eyes made her soften, and she let Barney---a portly blonde man---scoop Sybill into his arms. She wondered where the tree-man had run off to. She would’ve liked to rip his throat out.
She climbed out of the van and looked around. The first thing she saw was a polished plaque on a tall iron gate that read: The Reynolds Institute of Health and Healing. The building behind the gate was a stone monster, stacked several stories high and pockmarked with hundreds of windows. Snaking across its facade were thick tendrils of ivy. The landscape surrounding the Institute was smooth, green, and bare, apart from the enormous trees lining the pebble path which led to the front door---a path that took them several minutes to walk. The front door was made of gleaming dark walnut, fitted together with heavy iron hinges. It looked like it would take at least three men to budge it, but Doctor Reynolds pushed against it easily and waved Sophia over the threshold. She heard the door swing shut behind her with a final, deafening boom.
She followed him down a shadowy hallway. When they came to a fork, he indicated that she should follow him instead of Constance, who was already herding Felicity and Jack in the opposite direction. Sophia watched them go with some trepidation. She certainly had no warm feelings towards either of them, but she felt vulnerable when left alone with Reynolds.
He led her into a dark office and waved her into a chair while he maneuvered his solid bulk around the room, turning on lights; a warm glow illuminated glossy wood furnishings and an ornate red carpet that looked like it cost more than a mortgage. After he had finished with the lights, the doctor settled into a voluminous red chair behind his desk. She stared sullenly at him for a long time. Finally, he seemed to understand that she wasn’t going to speak first; he smiled and said:
“Welcome back to the Institute, Sophia. Your mother would have---”
“Don’t,” she said sharply.
He looked at her for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a cooler, more professional tone, as if he was interviewing her for a job.
“It’s my impression that you are somewhat fuzzy on the details of this past week. Do you need me to fill you in?”
“No. I just saw it all.”
“Excuse me?”
“In Sybill’s memories.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course.”
Another silence. Then:
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“Will the freak who killed my sister be held accountable?”
“I will speak with him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I assure you everything will be taken care of, and you’ll be provided for here. I’m not sure if you remember your mother’s last will and testament, but she entrusted me with---"
“I just told you I saw it all.”
“You did. But I wasn’t sure to what extent Sybill would recall---”
“She recalled everything.”
Sophia felt herself deflating like a balloon. She sagged even lower in her chair. Reynolds went on:
“I will ensure that Sybill has a proper burial, Sophia. She will receive the best we can provide---”
“Stop. I don’t care. I can’t---I don’t want to talk about that.”
“What do you want to talk about, my dear?” he asked.
His voice was not unkind. But Sophia couldn’t bring herself to speak, or even look at him. Another silence lapsed between them. Then the doctor said:
“I don’t pretend to know what transpired this past week or why you ran away. It was quite unexpected; you seemed more than willing to come and live at the Institute the last time we spoke. I have a feeling that perhaps your sister, forgive me, was not honest with you---about me or about this place. So let’s make a deal: I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, anything at all. In return, I would like to know why you decided to leave and what you’ve been up to this past week.”
His voice was still very gentle, almost paternal, like he was trying to talk a sulking child into coming downstairs for dinner. Sophia didn’t have much interest in the Institute right now---or anything at all, really. But she wanted to distract herself from what had just happened. So she said dully:
“What is this place? I know it’s for kids with superpowers or whatever, but why did you start it?”
“The residents here possess defective abilities which operate at the expense of other people. It’s dangerous for them to be around the general public.”
“What do you mean by ‘defective’? You mean there are powers that aren’t?”
“Of course.” He looked at her strangely for a moment.
“What?” Sophia said irritably.
He leaned back in his chair, a cavernous crevice forming between his bushy brows. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
Sophia stared at him, then sighed and slumped a little lower in her chair. “I don’t remember. I only know what Sybill did because I saw her memories. There are…gaps.”
She was hesitant to tell him the source of those gaps. Would spilling the beans about Jack and Felicity, and the role they had played in their escape, do more or less damage in the long run? How would he react if he knew his own daughter had had a hand in his partner’s death?
“I see. Very well,” Reynolds said. “I don’t mind going over this again. Perhaps it will help jog your memory. So yes, people with powers aren’t new. You just don’t know about the functioning ones because they lay low and don’t cause any trouble.”
“What’s the criteria for deciding who’s dangerous? What about Felicity?”
Doctor Reynolds raised his bushy eyebrows. “What about her?”
“She doesn’t seem to have any kind of dramatic power. Nothing that would launch a nuke or end the world, anyway. So why is she in here?”
The doctor smiled. “Defective abilities take many forms. My daughter is what we could classify as an empath, but she drains and manipulates a person’s emotional core rather than merely experiencing it. Any ability has the capacity to be flawed. Take you, for example. Rather than simply having a mental connection with others, like a normal Telepath, your physical well-being relies on sucking the memories, the very life of the brain, away from someone else. It’s genetic Russian roulette, really. For every ten people who are born with powers, there is one who is born broken. Those are the Defectives. Those are our patients.” He flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve.
“Felicity mentioned some other patients here. Kids.”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“We have many children, yes.”
“She said there’s a little girl here who is doped up and chained in her room, living in her own piss and shit. And she mentioned some brothers who you put in a freezer or something and then planned on lobotomizing.”
The doctor looked at her pityingly.
“My daughter is very sick, Sophia. I’m sorry if she frightened you. The brothers she referred to are Max and Mason Richardson. They’ve been here a while and yes, we have them confined. But those boys tear blood from a body with about as much forethought as you would give to dumping water from a bucket. It’s not like in the movies, with neat little puncture wounds and lingerie and velvet seduction. They almost killed your mother once, you know. They tried to latch onto her like leeches. Fortunately, Evelyn was never one to let her guard down, even around the young ones. She invented the drug we now use to keep them sedated around the clock. My point is that the children we have at this facility are dangerous, and sometimes that warrants extreme treatments, including quarantine.”
“Who are you to decide which powers are broken?” Sophia said. Her skin was beginning to prickle with anger. All of this was starting to sound like some kind of bullshit mad-scientist manifesto. “How do you know suppressing them won’t just make them worse?”
“Of course we’ve considered that,” the doctor said with maddening patience. “It’s a nice idea. But we don’t work with ideas, we work in reality. You mentioned a little girl before. I believe you’re talking about Samantha Houston. Did Felicity tell you what she can do?”
“She says she…strips flesh,” Sophia said grudgingly. ‘But that still doesn’t mean you have the right to---
The doctor cut her off.
“Samantha is a Defective shapeshifter. Rather than creating an illusion, which is what functioning shapeshifters do, she has to physically consume the flesh of her victims. However, she can only wear the flesh of people her own age. Otherwise, as she says, the skin ‘doesn’t fit.’ Do you know why she was dropped off at this facility in the first place? It was because of what happened at her school up in Arlington, Virginia. An entire class of third graders was found dead and skinned one morning on the playground during recess. It was an act of random, horrific violence that nobody could understand. There was only one brave little survivor.”
He folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, his eyes burning with an intensity that made Sophia feel like she was sitting under a spotlight.
“Her parents almost threw her like a football through my front door. And who could blame them? They were scared to death of her.”
“I---” Sophia swallowed. The words stuck in her throat.
“Those are the sorts of residents we’re dealing with, Sophia. Yes, sometimes the treatments are a bit…unorthodox. But are you beginning to understand that sometimes, it’s the only option? That other boy you were traveling with ---Jack? He’s a Defective time traveler. When I first met him, he was busy killing off the senior population in Maryland. He didn’t even use their stolen time; he just liked collecting it. He did this for years until he was caught; a story broke that he had wiped out half the residents at a senior home in New Cumberland. The public thought he was using some kind of poison. He was going to be tried for insanity. But the chief of police is an old friend, and he recognized what Jack was. I got the call 24 hours after they apprehended him. My point here is that I don’t quarantine people for my own amusement, my dear. I’m not a sadist. I do it to keep innocent people safe.”
Sophia stared at him. She disliked this man; she disliked his cold smugness and his arrogance and the fact that he was part of the reason her sister was dead. She wanted more than anything to call him a liar, but something about his words rang true. Maybe that’s why she’d agreed to go to the Institute the first time around. Deep down, perhaps she had agreed with him: that she, and people like her, were monsters who needed to be contained. If it were possible to sink any lower in her chair, she would have.
“Sophia,” Doctor Reynolds said gently, “do you mind if I ask some questions of my own now?” She gave a half-hearted shrug. He went on: “In Sybill’s memories, did you see how your mother truly died?”
“What?”
“The official cause of death was a fatal allergic reaction. I want to know if that’s really what happened.”
Sophia’s field of vision seemed to shrink into a pinprick. For a moment Reynolds stood out as the only clear thing in a world of darkness and confusion.
“Why do you ask?” she said in a shaky voice.
“Ah.” He smiled slyly. “That would be a yes, then.”
“It’s not a yes,” Sophia snapped. “It’s not anything. I just want to know why you’re sticking your nose into it.”
“Because I find her official death extremely unlikely.”
“Well jokes on you, because Mom did die of an allergic reaction.”
He looked at her silently. She met his gaze with a wrathful stare. She hated how loyalty to Sybill came to her automatically, no matter how undeserved. Still, the fact remained that she didn’t know Reynolds at all. What would he do with the information? Go to the police? Refuse to bury her sister? Try to pin the crime on her instead? For all his bullshit about helping society and protecting people, she didn’t really know his true motivations.
“Please let me help you, Sophia,” he said.
“I don’t need your help. And I don’t want to talk about Mom anymore.”
Reynolds inclined his head politely. “Very well. Maybe another time. Let’s talk about you, then. We have an array of competent therapists and doctors who are ready to give you anything you may need. Most importantly, they will be able to assist you with your...diet.”
Sophia straightened up in her seat, her anger momentarily forgotten. “What? How?”
“Right now, you devour the memories of those who pass away. But there are ways for people like you to merely select memories, and you can do this while the person is still alive, at no harm to them. Granted, it’s not a perfect scenario. Once you devour the memory, it will leave a gap in your subject’s mind. But at the very least, you won’t have to chase corpses anymore.”
“A gap?” Sophia repeated.
“An insignificant memory lapse. That’s all.” He continued before Sophia could articulate her discomfort with such a notion. “Your mother is the one who spearheaded this technique. We always assumed such things were impossible for Defective Telepaths. That was one of the best things about her, you know. Her faith in our residents. I believe her interest in alternative treatment methods arose from attempting to understand her own powers---but perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Did your mother ever speak with you about her abilities?”
“I only learned of them recently,” Sophia said. She felt an eel of nausea unravel in her stomach at the memory of the barrier and what Sybill had done to their mother to ensure its fall.
“It was extraordinary,” Reynolds said softly. “Evelyn was truly amazing.”
Something in his tone made Sophia look at him sharply. But he was standing up, preventing her from analyzing his expression any further.
“We’ll take good care of you here,” he promised, smiling.
She sincerely doubted it, but she stood up and followed him out the door. He escorted her back through the hallway and down a flight of steps.
“You’ll be in the Meadow Ward,” he said over his shoulder. “The head counselor there is named Hazel. She’ll show you around. She’ll also be the one providing you with regular therapy and behavioral techniques.”
“Does she have powers too?”
The doctor nodded. “Most of the head counselors do. Your mother was one. She ran the Sunshine Ward. That’s where we keep the younger residents. She also treated many of the patients in the Basement Complex, which is a fortunately scarce floor…ah. Here we are.”
The doctor gestured at set of heavy wooden doors. He pushed them open and waved Sophia inside. She walked through slowly, feeling tense.
She found herself in a sunny, spacious lobby with several comfy-looking bean bag chairs scattered across the floor. A massive bottle-green couch sat across from a large white marble fireplace, and an air hockey table stood in the middle of the room. In the corner was a table sagging with an assortment of board games. There were no curtains on any of the windows; sunshine streamed into the room and splashed like golden flowers across the white walls. The thick carpet beneath her feet was the same color as the couch, and vases of fresh flowers sat on every free surface. Near the back of the room was another door, which swung open almost as soon as they entered. A woman came hurrying towards them.
“Hazel,” Doctor Reynolds said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. The woman shook it, beaming. Sophia, in no mood to be generous, callously thought to herself that this woman looked like a stump with lipstick; she had a shaved head and a short, dumpy stature. She was wearing tortoise shell glasses, and the eyes behind the frames were the color of wet concrete.
“This must be Evie’s little girl!” she exclaimed. “Nice to meet you, sweetie. Why the long face, hm?”
“My sister bled out on my lap less than an hour ago.”
Hazel blinked, her red, lipsticked smile frozen in place.
“Sophia will be residing here indefinitely,” said the doctor smoothly. “I trust you’ll make her feel welcome.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I knew your mother quite well, dear.” She spoke like this was supposed to impress Sophia, but when she remained silent, Hazel turned her frozen smile back onto Doctor Reynolds. “She’s in good hands, Ben.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Reynolds said.
Sophia sure did, but since that didn’t seem to matter to anybody, she crossed her arms and let her silence speak her displeasure. After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Hazel, Doctor Reynolds bid Sophia goodbye and walked out of the room.
“This way, sweetie,” Hazel said cheerfully, gesturing for Sophia to follow her. “All the residents in the Meadow Ward get their own rooms. Some of the other counselors think I’m crazy for allowing it, but what do they know?” She winked over her shoulder. “No suicides yet, and only a few murders. Oh, I’m kidding, sweetie! Such a long face! No, honestly I just found that when my patients were given their own space, their mental health was so much better. Happy heads make happy hearts, hm?”
“I guess.”
“You are such a raincloud! Don’t worry. We’ll turn that frown upside down soon enough. Now, let me give you a basic run down of how things will go here, m’kay? There are social events every day in the lobby. We had a sundae bar yesterday, and everyone had such fun with it. Do you like ice cream, sweetie? What am I saying? Of course you do! The social events are voluntary, of course, though we do encourage you to go to at least three a week. They last all day in order to accommodate each resident’s schedule. Most attend during their recreational period---that’s when you’re allowed to do whatever you please for a couple hours. Of course, sometimes people choose to just stay in their rooms during that time, and obviously that’s fine, but…well, too much alone time can make a person a wee bit crazy, don’t you think? Our staff routinely checks on anyone who stays in their room during the recreational periods, just so you know. Nothing intrusive, we just like to make sure nobody gets lonely.”
Sophia was silent as she struggled to keep up with this deluge of chatter. Hazel led her up a staircase, continuing to blabber away.
“Let’s see, what else…oh, yes, so every day, you’ll take part in meditation exercises---that’s part of our overall commitment to wellness---and you’ll also have what we called Mastery Sessions, which are controlled environmental settings where we teach you how to suppress those destructive urges.” Another wink. “But that’s all in due time. Here we are!”
Hazel stopped at a wooden door stamped with the number “11.” She shoved it open; it swung back with a heavy creak.
It was like stepping into a cloudless sky. The walls, ceiling, and carpet were robin-egg blue, while the sheets and duvet on the twin-sized bed were white plaid. The dresser had a row of chubby blue pots resting on its surface, overflowing with various kinds of blue and green ivy. There was a reading nook in one of the corners: a white armchair, along with a blue footstool, sat atop a braided straw rug. Next to the chair was a small blue bookshelf stuffed with reading material. Off to the side was what looked like an open closet, but when Sophia took a closer look, she saw it was in fact a tiny bathroom. There was only one window in the room. It let in the light but was too high up for her to reach---or climb out of, she immediately noted. It was also secured with multiple locks.
“We added those ivy pots the other day,” Hazel sang. “Aren’t they adorable? They add a little something to the room, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Sophia said dully.
Hazel beamed.
“I’m so glad you like it. Why don’t you settle in, hm? I’ll have someone bring you fresh clothes. Tomorrow we’ll start your integration. For now you just focus on getting some rest, poor thing.”
She patted the top of Sophia’s head. Sophia resisted the urge to bite her finger off. Swallowing a lump of something in her throat, she instead asked,
“Reynolds said you guys could show me how to take memories from someone who’s alive. How will that work?”
The idea didn’t sound that great the more she thought about it. Sure, it sucked watching people die, but a dead person didn’t need their memories. A living one had a right to them.
“So many questions!” Hazel cried, laughing. “I promise we’ll answer everything soon enough. Don’t worry about a thing, sweetie.”
She had walked out of the room and slammed the door before Sophia could answer. She heard a lock click, and resentment swelled in her heart. Was she a patient or a prisoner? But now that she was alone, the last 24 hours finally caught up with her; she slid down the wall until her butt she hit the floor. She hugged her knees and stared at the opposite wall, grappling with another hideous revelation: for the first time in her life, she was utterly alone. She was falling down an endless black cavern, blind and deaf, with nothing and no one to help her.
Minutes, then hours, went by. She heard sounds on either side of her walls---other residents, no doubt. There was periodic banging, and once she thought she heard someone singing, but she couldn’t make out the words. Eventually a young woman wearing scrubs and a sour expression entered the room, carrying a bag of clothes. She ignored all of Sophia’s questions and left without uttering a word.
The shadows lengthened across the floor. When twilight came, the tears burst out of Sophia at long last, a hot, stinging deluge of loss and anger. She spent the rest of the night curled up on the floor, her body shaking with gut-wrenching sobs. At one point in the wee hours, she heard a shuffling in the hallway. A few seconds later she saw something white pop out from underneath the crack in her door. She crawled over to inspect it. It was a handkerchief.