She must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing she knew she was blinking in the amber sunlight. She sat up and winced. Her muscles were stiff from being on the floor all night, and when she stood up, her knees cracked and groaned. She shuffled to the tiny bathroom and thought about pissing all over the toilet just to cause problems for that snooty nurse lady later. But it was a passing fantasy. In the end, she resigned herself to going to the bathroom like a human being.

She caught a glimpse of her face in the bathroom mirror when she went to the sink to wash her hands. Giant purple bags hung like satchels under her eyes, and her face was blotchy from crying. Her hair was a dark thicket of wild curls and haywire frizz. She spotted a brush on the back of the toilet and attempted to re-establish order on her head, but it got stuck in the tangles, and she threw it back down in frustration. She decided to use the teeny shower instead. She didn’t know if there were technical “bathing hours” or whatever, but---well, she didn’t give too much of a shit, if she was being honest. Let the water bill run through the roof. She peeled off her filthy clothes and tossed them into a corner.

The soap and conditioner managed to detangle her hair, and she smelled a lot less like death and more like a human being when she stepped back out onto the cold tiles. She had lingered for what felt like at least a half hour, feeling a little better as she washed away a few days’ worth of grime. Dripping and shivering, Sophia walked back into her room to paw through the bag of clothes left behind by that bitchy nurse.

It was full of five different sets of the same outfit: loose cotton pants and a matching short-sleeved shirt. Both were pale green, and they smelled like lavender. She also spotted a pair of tan slip-on shoes by the door that she hadn’t seen the night before. They were fuzzy on the inside and felt nice on her aching feet. She tried the door and found that it was still locked. Motherfucker. Guess the overlords hadn’t decided to let her roam yet. She went over to the bookshelf and squatted down to check out its contents. It had a lot of art books. She pulled one out and flipped through it for a few minutes. It was full of paintings of fruit, flowers, and fields. The stillness and peace in each piece looked unnatural. It made her nervous. She had just managed to slip it back into its place on the shelf when she heard the lock on her door click and the door swung open.

A man entered. He looked like he was in his late thirties to early forties. He was tall and very thin, with an unusually long head. He had thinning ginger hair and a matching beard. His eyes were full of what Sophia would have once called kindness, but now she wasn’t sure. He was wearing scrubs that were the same style as her own, but sky-blue instead of light green.

“Good morning, Sophia,” he said. “I’m Larry. How’d you sleep?”

“On the floor.”

“Is the bed too soft? Or too hard? We can change the mattress out for you.”

“So are you my new babysitter or something?” she demanded, ignoring the question.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Do you prefer Hazel?”

“God no.”

“Good, because you’ll be seeing more of me anyway.” The smile widened into a grin. “Hazel will be in group therapy and around during social events, but that’s pretty much it.”

“Group therapy?” Sophia repeated, horrified.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. We just like to give our residents multiple options when it comes to coping with their condition.”

“My condition? It’s not syphilis.”

“Right. You’re---what was it---” He consulted a clipboard he had in his hand. “A mind gobbler?”

“Is that what it says?” Sophia said, outraged, but then she saw him smiling again.

“Look, I just want you to know you have a wide range of options here, okay? I’m not going to drag you kicking and screaming into group sob fests if you really don’t want to go. I’m just here to help you find the path that’s best for you.”

“And what would you know about any of this? Do you have a power?”

“Wanna see?”

“Wait---really?” Sophia said, startled.

Larry set his clipboard down on her bed. Then he drew himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders, and theatrically cracked his knuckles. Sophia watched, a skeptical eyebrow raised. Then she gasped.

Water droplets had materialized around her, frozen in midair like someone had paused a rainstorm on a screen. The sunshine falling through the window became tangled in each drop, causing the whole room to transform into a dazzling show of silver and white and gold. Then they all evaporated. Several seconds of silence ticked by. She was speechless. Larry saw her expression and laughed.

“It’s pretty cool, right?”

“What---what exactly was that?”

“Here we classify what you saw as an Elemental Exhibition.” He put air quotes around the term and rolled his eyes. “Mine is water. It’s easier to manifest when the element is directly present.” He nodded at a glass of stagnant water sitting on her bedside table; she hadn’t noticed it until that moment. The nurse must’ve left it there the night before. “But if I really tried, I could pull water from the atmosphere, too.”

“Wow, that would come in handy...” Sophia said, half to herself. Control the ocean. Provide water to destitute areas. Maybe even control people? If humans were mostly made of water, wouldn’t a person with such an ability hypothetically be able to---Larry’s voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

“I once used it to cheat in a swimming contest. You could say I had my priorities right from a young age.”

Sophia laughed reluctantly. Larry picked up his clipboard and gestured towards the door.

“I’ll tell you more fascinating life stories on the way to breakfast.”

“I can’t eat real food,” she began, but he waved his hand dismissively.

“I know, that’s in your file. But it’s part of the grand tour, and maybe you’ll meet your new best friend. I met mine in detention back in fourth grade.”

He continued to talk as they made their way down the corridor to the dining hall. Once he had shown her around, he pointed her towards the line and suggested she take a tray and attempt to mingle with her peers.

“I have some other things to attend to this morning, but I’ll be back when the breakfast period ends,” he said. “Try to get acclimated.”

He hurried off before Sophia could protest. She was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling like the new kid in school.

Her first instinct was to throw such an awful tantrum they would have to carry her back to her room, where she could spend the rest of the day trying very hard not to deal with her recent trauma. Then reason kicked in, and she begrudgingly decided it might be easier to follow Larry’s advice. She went and collected a food tray, which was laden with egg salad sandwiches, a small salad, and a bowl of soup. An odd menu for breakfast, she thought. She was almost sorry she couldn’t sample any of it as she scuttled off to an isolated corner. She noticed that every resident she passed was dressed in different scrubs: she saw some people wearing the same green color she was, while others were clothed in buttery-yellow, heather-grey, or lavender.

After she had taken a seat, she realized with a pang of awkwardness that the table already contained an occupant: a girl around her age. Her hair was soot-black and hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. She had angular, razor-thin eyebrows drawn over sullen, lapis-blue eyes, and skin so pale that Sophia could see veins lacing across her neck and bare arms. She was wearing lavender scrubs.

“Sorry,” Sophia muttered, starting to rise, but the girl waved her back down. The air stirred from the movement, and Sophia caught a whiff of a gentle, husky odor that made her think of the woods in spring. It had a calming effect. She felt the knot that had been in her chest since yesterday loosen up a bit.

“No worries. I’d appreciate the company,” the girl said. “They keep telling me to make friends here. Like it’s anyone’s damn business. Hey, let me ask you something. Since when did reading by yourself in the corner become a psychological disorder? Psychology is a huge scam, don’t you think? Just one more thing society has come up with to make you feel bad about yourself, like diets and those stupid twisty things on bread that are impossible to untie, right? I swear to God, since when did having toast require a degree in rocket science? So. Who’s yours?”

“What?” Sophia said. Her brain was still struggling to process this onslaught of new information.

“Your counselor.”

“Oh, I-I don’t know. Hazel, I think?” Had they even been talking about counselors?

The girl stared at her for a moment as she chomped down on her egg sandwich like it was her last meal. “Oh. I get it. I was wondering why I didn’t recognize you. When did you get in?”

“I’m, uh---” Sophia was trying hard not to stare at the girl’s zealous chewing. “Last night. I’m Sophia.”

“I’m Valerie Dupeneti, but just call me Val. Valerie was my grandma’s name and she was a crusty old bitch.” She swallowed and began to work on another sandwich. Halfway through her third bite, she paused to glare down at her salad as if it had insulted her, then she went back to devouring her sandwich. “I can’t believe there’s olives on this . Who likes olives, anyway? They look like big boogers and they taste like rusty pennies. I would know. I used to lick them as a kid. The cake here is usually okay, especially the chocolate. Oh, but just so you know, the slices they pass off as raspberry are actually red velvet, so don’t fall for that shit. And why can’t we ever have bacon for breakfast? I have so little to live for, do I really have to live without pork too? Sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Sophia. Sophia Montgomery.”

Val nodded and tapped the side of her skull. “Sorry. I’m lousy with names. And remembering things in general. You’ll have to repeat yourself a few times before anything sticks. Side effect.” She grinned, and when Sophia stared blankly, she added: “Of my power.”

“Oh.”

“Every time I use it I get gaps. They tell me I’ll probably reduce myself to a human vegetable before I’m thirty, but for now I can still wipe my own butt, so I figure I’m doing okay so far.”

“How long have you been here?”

Val screwed up her face for a minute, her brow wrinkled in concentration. “Since I was a kid, maybe? It’s hard to keep track. So what gift did the gods curse you with, Sophia Montgomery?”

“I---” Sophia paused, trying to figure out how to best summarize her ability. “I absorb the memories of people after they die. It works like nourishment. I can’t actually eat real food. So help yourself.” She gestured at her tray.

“Cool. I suck souls.”

Sophia sat in silence, unsure how to react to this. Val didn’t seem to notice as she chewed thoughtfully on her fork.

“How…how does that work, exactly?” Sophia said faintly.

“Well…let’s see. Instead of escorting souls to the afterlife, like a normal Reaper, I try to absorb them. I’m like some kind of energy magnet. And whenever they fight back and break free, my soul is reduced because they take some of my essence with them...or something. It means I won’t live long, I guess. The doctors here have explained it over and over, but I can never remember the particulars. Actually, between you, me, and this crappy salad, I don’t think they really know how it works. They’re just blowing steam out their asses until the check clears. Anyway, not like it matters. One day I’ll just---poof! Like smoke. And no poor soul will have to worry about me ever again. Can I have your cake?”

She spoke of her gradual existential reduction with the same dull, flat tone another person might use to read a label on a food jar.

“What do souls look like?” Sophia asked, pushing her cake towards Val’s grasping hands.

“Reflections in a pond.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Sophia. She went cold and then hot, and her hands began to shake a little. She clenched them into fists and put them on her lap so Val wouldn’t notice.

“So do the souls of everyone in the world come to you?”

“No, thank God. Just the ones in proximity.”

“Did you see a girl recently?”

Val bent down to sniff cautiously at the cake slice. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“It would’ve been a blonde girl with glasses.”

Val straightened up and shoved the cake away, wrinkling her nose. “This smells like feet. Better not risk it. Do you see the little flecks in here? What the hell is that? Looks like salmonella to me. Anyway. What were you saying? Oh, yeah, so blonde and glasses... let me think.” She screwed up her face again. “Yeah...come to think of it, someone like that came last night. She practically made me shit my pants because she looked so rough. Bleeding everywhere.”

“Did she...do you know if she...found peace?”

“Sorry. I never know what happens to them once they leave me.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll tell you this, though. She put up a hell of a fight when I tried to absorb her. I mean, I’m used to that, but this girl was intense. She put me on my ass for a whole day.”

Sophia laughed weakly, keeping her eyes on her tray. She felt hot, stinging moisture gathering on her eyelashes. She could feel Val’s sympathetic gaze, and she hated it.

“What was her name?” Val asked quietly.

“Sybill.”

“Friend?”

“My sister.”

“I used to have a sister. She got run over by a drunk driver,” Val said. “She was the first soul I tried to eat.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Sophia looked up at her in shock. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Did you---how did you learn to live with it?” Sophia whispered.

Val chewed thoughtfully on her fork again as she stared vacantly at a spot over Sophia’s head.

“According to Dan, I haven’t. But it’s not like grief is a cold. You can’t just ‘get over’ it. At best you learn to walk with it.”

“Who’s Dan?”

“Oh. My therapist. Did I not mention him? Honestly he’s a nice guy and everything but I don’t know how he gets any air with his head so far up his own ass. Don’t worry, though, you shouldn’t get him. He’s reserved for the lost causes, like the Basement kids and girls who see dead people everywhere.”

“Basement kids? You mean the ones in the Basement Complex?”

“Well somebody clearly paid attention during orientation.”

“Doctor Reynolds mentioned it earlier,” Sophia muttered. “What sorts of patients are down there?”

“Not sure. I just know you have to be a major shithead. I knew one guy a few years ago who was pretty fun, but I get why they had to confine him.” She picked thoughtfully at a spot on her chin. “He was sort of a dick. From what I remember, he---oh hey, Larry.”

Sophia looked up, startled, and saw Larry standing over her shoulder.

“Get enough to eat this morning, girls?” he asked, smiling.

“Whatever happened to eggs and bacon for breakfast, Larry?” Val said. “Do you see what this is? This is lettuce, Larry. Did the cook get lazy or am I a fucking rabbit?”

“We had a lot of dinner leftovers,” he said, grinning. “I’m going to borrow Sophia now, if that’s okay.”

“Steal her you mean, and does it matter if I think it’s okay? Guess it’s time for her first Zen squat already. How times flies.”

“My what?” Sophia said, puzzled.

“Meditation class,” Larry clarified.

“They’ll make you kneel on a pillow next to a fountain,” Val said. “It’s supposed to be relaxing, but it just makes me have to pee.”

“Great,” Sophia said, reluctantly standing up. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Maybe,” Val said. When Sophia looked confused, she gestured at their different colored scrubs. “I’m in the Lavender Ward. But I’ll probably catch you during mealtimes. It was nice meeting you, Sophia.”

She actually looked like she meant it.

***

Sophia did end up having to pee, but she managed to hold it for the duration of the class.

The meditation instructor was a pale, languid woman named Dee, who referred to the classroom as the “Sanctum.” Her heavy ash-blonde hair hung down her back in loose braids, and she wore loose-fitting yellow yoga pants and a baggy green tee shirt. Several rosaries dangled from her neck. Or maybe they were mala beads. It was hard to tell.

The Sanctum was a cool, dimly lit room full of shadows, incense, and a baffling amount of plants. Sophia had never seen so many crowded together in one area. Some were quite large, extending all the way to the ceiling, while others snaked up the walls and crept along the baseboards. There were dozens of thick blue mediation cushions scattered across the floor, and the windows were framed with blackout curtains. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood.

After settling onto a cushion at the front of the room, Dee instructed the rest of them to sit in silence for forty minutes and count their breaths. If they had trouble with that, they could practice “mindful watching” instead, which involved counting a specific object in the room, like the tiles on the ceiling or the number of plants. Both practices---according to Dee anyway---gave your brain something to focus on, a mantra of sorts that enabled the “monkey mind” to become quiet. Once the forty minutes were over, she rang a couple of gongs, chanted something in a language nobody understood, and then assigned them homework: befriending their thoughts and practicing their daily affirmations of choice.

Sophia found it all a bit overwhelming. By the time Dee dismissed the class, she was feeling light-headed---and hungry. How exactly was she supposed to eat around here, anyway? Reynolds had said something about selecting memories, but how long would that take? She voiced these concerns to Larry when he came to escort her out of the Sanctum.

“That’s something that will actually be addressed at our next destination,” he said, leading her down the hallway. “I’m taking you to your first Mastery Session now. You’ll be with Doctor Clara Vendra. She’s a Telepath as well. She’ll be able to answer any questions you may have about the memory selection process.”

Sophia followed him down a flight of steps and into another hallway. There were noticeably fewer windows here, and the doors lining either side were fashioned with heavy padlocks. They passed one with five different kinds; from within it came an eerie groan that made her shudder. Thankfully, they passed by and stopped before a door at the end of the hall. It only had one padlock. She felt the tension in her muscles ease slightly.

Larry took a moment to rifle through his key ring; then he unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to allow her to enter first. Sophia hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “He’s properly restrained.”

“What?” she said, startled.

“Go ahead,” he said soothingly.

Sophia swallowed something in her throat and obeyed. The first thing she saw was a woman sitting in the corner with a clipboard poised on her knee. She was squat, bespectacled, and middle-aged, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders and into her sharp, feline eyes. She wasn’t in scrubs like everyone else; instead, she was wearing a navy pantsuit.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sophia realized there was someone else in the room too. A figure was lying on the bed in the corner, their arms and legs secured with iron chains. It was a boy. As she approached, her nostrils were assaulted with the charred odor of something burning; it took a moment for her to realize that his body was covered in smoking burns, and that what she was smelling was his smoldering flesh.

“I’ll be back for you in ten minutes, Sophia,” Larry said. He backed out and shut the door. The woman in the corner stood up.

“Hello, Sophia.” The sharp voice slipped into Sophia’s ears like a cold switchblade. She felt the hairs on her arm stand up. “I’m Doctor Vendra---or Clara, if you like. Come over and we can get started.”

Sophia didn’t move. Clara raised an eyebrow.

“Your file said nothing about you being hard of hearing,” she said.

“What am I going to do to him?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t hurt him.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I won’t let you.”

Sophia looked down at the unconscious boy, and then back up at the doctor. “Does he even know what’s happening?”

The doctor stared at Sophia like she had just taken a shit on the floor. “Did Larry tell you what ward this is, Sophia?”

“No.”

“This is the lowest wing of our infirmary. The residents here have burned themselves out and there’s nothing we can do for them anymore. This one has done it quite literally.”

Sophia looked at the patches of torched flesh on the boy’s arms and legs.

“He did that...to himself?” she whispered.

Clara nodded. “The Defectives here have minimal levels of consciousness. Their minds are a wasteland of disjointed thoughts and memories, which makes them ideal fodder for you. You just have to slip in, take one of those thoughts, and slip back out. They won’t even notice.”

“Who is he?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

It seemed to Sophia that it did---a lot--- but Clara didn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation. She motioned for Sophia to come and stand next to her.

Sophia obeyed. Clara placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be your anchor,” she said. “If I feel like you’re losing control, I’ll give you a squeeze---” she demonstrated by gripping Sophia’s shoulder with surprising strength--- “to break your concentration and bring you back. But before we begin, I need to know a little more about you so I can figure out the best way to help you master this technique.”

Sophia was growing more agitated by the second. None of this felt right. Carving out pieces of a stranger’s mind while they were unconscious seemed violating. Was there really no other way for her to gain sustenance?

“To what extent have you explored your abilities? Have you tried projection?” Clara asked.

“What?”

“Have you attempted to enter another person’s consciousness?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

“Describe what you did.”

Sophia tried to recall what she had done when she was practicing creating the lookalikes in “Mary’s” kitchen. “Well, I…I propelled myself through all the signals in the consciousness field…that’s what I call it, I dunno if you have another name for it here… until I found the signal I was looking for, and then I just sort of...grabbed it.”

Clara nodded, apparently satisfied with this clumsy explanation.

“Great. That’s cuts our session in half. So you’re just going to do the same thing here. Project yourself into this boy’s mind, but rather than grabbing the whole signal, this time I want you to concentrate on taking a single memory.”

Sophia stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When the doctor stared back with cold expectation, Sophia said slowly: “How do I do that?”

“It’s simpler than it sounds,” Clara said coolly. “Trust your instincts.”

Sophia was at a loss for words. Stirring someone’s brains up like soup and then hoping for the best didn’t sound like much of a plan. She stared down at the boy on the bed. Despite the burns, he looked well-nourished and clean. His dark red hair, spreading across the clean white pillow like spilled merlot, was rather long; if he had been sitting up, it probably would’ve reached his shoulders. He barely looked thirteen.

Clara’s hand tightened encouragingly on her shoulder. Starving, guilty, and more than a little doubtful about her ability to pull this off, Sophia took a deep breath and shut her eyes.

She was engulfed in disorienting noise. It hadn’t occurred to her before entering that she might have to brace herself, seeing as she had to navigate through a jungle of other Defectives’ signals. The quagmire she found herself in was like nothing she had ever experienced before. It was even worse than “Mary’s” signal had been.

She waded through the tangled yarn of collective consciousness for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the boys’ mind so she could slip inside of it. Just when she was beginning to despair, she saw what she was looking for. She eagerly took hold of his signal and attempted to focus on the individual memories that held the thread together.

She had never examined one up close before. It looked like a honeycomb. Each glittering sphere contained swirling images of a life that was not her own. After staring at them for a moment, she saw that a web of fissures extended across each memory, like cracks inching across the surface of a marble, warping the image within. She tentatively selected the nearest one.

Immediately the other bubbles broke from the thread and swarmed her.

She was inundated with noises and colors. Everything around her became so loud she couldn’t tell if the screaming was coming from one of the memories or her own mouth. She tried to detach, to break free, but they pulled her in every direction---

“Sophia!”

Her eyes snapped open. She was panting, sprawled on the floor, the side of her face pressed against the cold tiles.

“I---took---too---much,” she gasped.

“How are you feeling?” Clara asked, kneeling next to her.

“They---just---swarmed---”

“Count your breaths. That’s it. Good girl.”

Sophia struggled to sit up and looked over anxiously at the boy in the bed. He appeared unchanged.

“How many did you take?” Clara asked, following her gaze.

“I dunno,” Sophia said uncomfortably. “A lot.”

“His vitals remained the same and everything was functioning normally. Whatever you did doesn’t seem to have caused much trauma.”

“Am I just going to pick him clean until he’s brain dead?”

“Of course not. We’ll provide you with new nourishment every day so that no long-term damage is inflicted on anyone.” Clara stood and helped Sophia to her feet. “There’s plenty of subjects on this floor. By the time you get through them all, you’ll have your absorbing abilities well under control.”

“And this just goes on forever? What happens when the patients run out?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. No need to get ahead of yourself,” Clara said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “ The goal now is to perfect the selection technique, alright?”

“Sorry if I’m missing something here, doc, but this doesn’t seem like the greatest alternative to what I was doing before.”

“I agree,” Clara said coolly. “Unfortunately, Defective Telepaths are relatively rare. As such, we haven’t had much of an opportunity to explore their dietary needs. I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with this for now.”

She left it at that, and Sophia knew that arguing would be useless. What was she supposed to do, starve? She hated everything about this. She wanted to go home.

But this was her home now.

Larry came to fetch her a few minutes later, and after exchanging some small talk with Clara, he led Sophia back up into the main corridors.

“Next is your recreational period,” he said. His voice was so breezy and casual that it disconcerted Sophia. It was like they were coming back from the grocery store, rather than returning from a scene which had consisted of her peeling back another person’s brain and devouring the thing that made them a person. “I’ll take you down to the lobby. I’ll be back for you in about an hour, okay? Try to relax and mingle with some of the other residents.”

A rock dropped into her stomach. “Do I have to?” she asked pleadingly.

Larry smiled down at her as he led the way into the Meadow Ward lobby. “Don’t worry,” he said. That seemed to be his mantra for the day. It was starting to annoy her. “It won’t be that bad.”

He left her to Hazel’s simpering pleasantries. Sophia managed to put up with an onslaught of cheerful small for about two seconds before excusing herself for being tired. She collapsed into the armchair furthest from the door. She slumped down as low as she could without actually falling off the chair. Her mind was teeming with questions she knew nobody would care to answer for her, and so she settled with glaring at the people around her.

It wasn’t long before her glare turned into wide-eyed fascination.

There was a host of bizarre characters strolling around---the girl standing across the room, for starters. Instead of hair, she was sporting a dancing bonfire on her head, and her entire body was smoking. After a few moments, she lost interest in whatever she was looking at on the front desk; she turned and moved across the room, leaving smoky footprints on the floor behind her. They steamed for several seconds before evaporating.

Then there was the boy on the window seat. His skin looked like it was glittering with thousands of tiny diamonds. Upon closer inspection, Sophia realized he was actually covered with glass shards; they were sticking out of his epidermis like needles on a porcupine. His every movement was mesmerizing. Sophia had to force herself to look away, blinking spots from her eyes.

There was an equally weird display going on by the fireplace, where a group of boys was sitting. With no warning, a few of them disappeared, only to materialize in random places at different points in the lobby. It took Sophia a moment to realize she was looking at the same person; he was producing copies of himself out of thin air. Two---four---six---and then it wasn’t boys anymore, but just parts of one. A leg was kicking one of the chairs across the room; two arms were wrestling one another on the coffee table; a grinning head popped into view on the mantle; an eyeball appeared behind the shoulder of a nearby blonde girl, who screamed and ran away. One of the staff members---a woman with emerald slits for eyes---called out: “Dillon,” in a voice of deep maternal disapproval. The limbs and body doubles vanished, replaced by a single sheepish-looking boy who slumped down in his chair with an air of defeat.

Suddenly a young girl walked across Sophia’s line of vision, breaking her focus on the multiplying boy’s antics. At first Sophia gave her only a hurried glance---but then she couldn’t stop staring. The girl couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but there was something ancient and haunting about the look on her face. She was covered in a series of grisly wounds: her forehead was punctured by two deep, dark holes; there was a long, jagged puncture wound right over her heart; and around her neck was a ring of purple bruising that looked like the impressions of a rope. Sophia watched in fascinated horror as the girl raised her arm to scratch her scalp. The sleeve of her shirt fell back, revealing a bicep pockmarked with dozens of tiny holes.

Finally Sophia redirected her gaze to the sun-dappled carpet, deciding she’d had enough of the freak show. But apparently, the freak show was not quite finished with her yet: she had only been sitting there for a few minutes when she realized that the carpet was looking back at her. She blinked; the eyes on the floor mirrored her. Sophia gasped and jumped to her feet as a human form materialized within the sun patch. It was like watching a chalk outline at a crime scene come to life.

The entity was the exact same color and texture as the carpet. As it stood, it left behind a bleached, human-shaped spot. Then a head materialized in midair: a boy with long sandy hair, gathered into a sloppy ponytail at the nape of his neck. His upper half was wearing the same purple scrubs Val had worn; the bottom half was still camouflaged, giving him the eerie appearance of being legless. He had arms as skinny as spaghetti.

“Jude Fitzpatrick!” Hazel had come running over, her voice heavy with playful disapproval.

“Sorry. I fell asleep in the sun again,” said the boy, smiling sheepishly.

“Honey, you know you’re not supposed to nap in the lobby. We’re going to have to re-dye the carpet again, and we don’t have the budget for that right now, especially after Gerry’s little mishap.”

“You’re right, as usual.” Despite his expression of angelic chagrin, Sophia thought she could detect the slightest note of sarcasm creeping into his voice. His legs were slowly re-materializing, and she could see that they looked like just as scrawny as his arms. He was also quite tall. “I feel just awful about this, Hazel.”

Hazel smiled sweetly. “There, there, dear, there’s no need for that puppy dog face. I’m sorry if I got cranky. Now, why don’t you sit down like a good boy and get to know Sophia here? She’s new and I’m sure she could use a friend. I’ll be right over there. Remember, I’ve got my eye on you!” She winked jovially, and Jude gave her another flat smile as he obediently sat across from Sophia. As soon as Hazel bustled off, however, the smile dropped from his face. He turned to look at Sophia with a sour expression.

“Hi, Noob. Nice to meet you. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna sit here for five minutes and then I’m pissing off. No offense, but it’s been a long day and I don’t feel like babysitting.”

“Does it have to be five minutes? Feel free to piss off any time---no offense.”

The boy sat up straighter. The bored look had vanished from his face.

“What was your name again?”

“I already said you can go. We don’t have to be friends.”

He grinned. “But now I think I want to.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m Sophia Montgomery.”

“Jude Fitzpatrick.”

“Yeah, I heard Hazel earlier.”

“Everyone hears Hazel,” he grumbled.

“Why are your scrubs different than everyone else’s?”

“Because this isn’t my floor. I was visiting a friend.” He stood up. “Well since you’ve denied the titillating pleasure of my company, I’m gonna go ahead and sneak out. See you around, Sophie.”

“It’s Sophia.”

“Maybe I’ll shimmy out across the ceiling,” he said, ignoring her. Or maybe he hadn’t even heard her. The latter was somehow more distasteful to her than the former. “I haven’t done that in a bit…she wouldn’t be expecting it...”

“Nice to meet you, then,” Sophia said coldly as Jude began to move away.

“You got that right,” he replied.

She watched in speechless outrage as he leaned casually against the wall, and in moments he had completely disappeared. She tried to detect his movements, but it was impossible. Once she thought she spotted him in a corner, but for all she---or anybody else---knew, it was nothing but a passing shadow.