I choose left, and I’m…left. Well, I’m deposited into a beautiful suite unbefitting my current state of dishevel. The beams of remaining daylight play peek-a-boo, each gust of air flapping the curtains enough for them to shine through. I lazily make my way to the gigantic open window, pushing them aside. The full force of the wind, combined with the intoxicating view, steals my breath away. Blooming jacaranda trees line a long sidewalk. The buzz of traffic and passersby reminds me I’m no longer isolated from civilization. Nor am I protected by the surrounding Tetrad forest.

Dragging my eyes from the sight before me, I turn to survey the room. It’s elegant, yet inviting. A sitting area connects to a kitchenette with no wall separating the two. Gliding toward it, mesmerized, I see an open door at the side. A bathroom. Exactly what I need. The promising smell of soap pulls me in. I’m not disappointed. Two options exist—I’m noticing a theme here—a shower stall and a deep, jet-driven bathtub. I opt for the shower, lingering longer than I should.

Pulling a white cotton robe around myself, I saunter back to the bedroom, wrapping it tighter as I pass the window. Creepy peepers are indiscriminate with their peeping. If I could so easily see out, someone could just as easily see me. I’m not in the mood for a peep show. There’s going to be a show, though. Full-on dramatic arts performance, no doubt. Small mercies, I won’t have to stare their disapproval in the face with a phone call.

It’s rude of me not to let them know I’m safe and sound. They’ll have been worrying for hours. Why am I procrastinating? Am I afraid of getting in trouble? It’s more than childish fear. It’s knowing if I call them, they’ll somehow manage to manipulate the location out of me, then they’ll come to retrieve me against my will. I’m not ready to go back. I’ve rarely been around humans. Grandpa and Vera, yes, but they’re my solo human connection. I wouldn’t really call Grandpa a shining example for the species, either. In terms of innately human curiosity, he’s sorely lacking. He likes routine, stability, and simplicity. Things move for him in a straight line. He says little. From what I’ve witnessed, there are no excess thoughts bubbling over from his lack of words. He isn’t unintelligent by any means. He just lives a tranquil existence. He’s content with only that. My greatest hope is to find a similar level of contentment at the end of my self-discovery process. I need some sense of balance, instead of the up and down rollercoaster I’ve been riding. Even the strongest stomach gets motion sickness after a while. But his life? It’s boring. I want more than that for me.

So, if Grandpa isn’t normal for a human, what’s normal? What defines normality? I have no way to make a valid comparison as to normal humans or normal phasers. There are no referenced memories tucked away in my bottomless brain well. All I’ve got are my own experiences, where I dabbled in humanity during pubescence. Not a fun time, to put it mildly. Was it truly unpleasant? Or was I just confused? It’s easy to dislike what you don’t understand. That understanding is what I need to make an educated decision not swayed by temporary inconvenience. Hotel Stained Glass offers me human knowledge in abundance. Rather than being creepy peeped, I can become the creepy peeper. Probably a bad analogy, but it tracks.

As for that phone call, they’ll find me whether I call or not. It’s only a matter of time. I can wait it out, soaking in as much human experience as possible until this freedom ends, or I can cut it short and hope coming to my senses awards me some type of slack…eventually. The former seems the most logical recourse.

Jarek must be busy, particularly with Mom and Dad. While Dad’s undoubtedly leading the search party, Mom might be enjoying her solitude. No, she isn’t good with being alone. She doesn’t crave it the way I do. She could spend every waking second of every hour of every day with Dad, without even that being nearly enough. I totally relate to the draw Dad has. His subtle intrusion puts him in a unique position to please, generally. He doesn’t make wrong assumptions. He knows. Dad handled my mental astuteness with the most ease, constantly reminded of my status by the thoughts invading his brain like jackhammers. I was relentless. He was never condescending. Never spoke to me with the baby talk others couldn’t refrain from using. I gave him a miracle he hadn’t thought to ask for, a child, yet I couldn’t let him appreciate it in the way the others did. They saw what they wanted to see, for the brief time they were able to see it. I didn’t allow him that luxury. Someone had to see beyond my incongruity. Despite being able to show everyone else, the visions still came from the eyes of a child, so they were distorted somehow. I made him hear me. Too bad I couldn’t make him listen. The reality is, since he wouldn’t listen before, there’s zero percent chance he’ll listen now. Guess that settles it. I can’t call them. There’s no way they’ll let me stay. I feel guilty over it, but not enough I’m willing to risk this opportunity.

My burning lungs remind me there are more immediate things to address than my guilt, energy replenishment being the main one. I explore the kitchenette, annoyed when the only options are human food. Vand’s aware of my uncommon requirements. Maybe his sister isn’t, and she’s the one who prepared the room. Rooms, actually. I wonder what’s in the other room? Canned air, perhaps?

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The cupboards and drawers, stocked as they are, boast no favourable results in the way of preferred sustenance. The wardrobe near the bed, however, is full of clothing. I make use of that, pulling on a pair of jeans and button-down dress shirt. Just my size. Upon survey, all the clothing is my size, which is a feat in itself. I’m long and lean. Not a standard shape. Grace complains about it constantly as it makes shopping a challenge for her. This indicates he’s been planning for my arrival a while. Not only that. He intends for me to stay a while. Who is this man? What does he want with me?

I’m not getting any answers holed up in this room. Time to test some boundaries. Test one, obviously, is leaving the room. Odds are good he locked me in here, not thinking I’d be brave enough to explore. I’m pleasantly surprised to be wrong, finding myself in the hallway across from the unchosen door. My fingers twitch, more curious than ever what’s in there. I try the handle. Of course it’s locked. The panel next to the door glows red when I place my palm on it. Conversely, my room door glows green when I mirror the action. Seems I’m free to come and go as I please. Point to Vand.

The reception desk is free of guests when I cautiously approach. Kella’s dutifully standing behind it. Not a blonde hair is out of place. I still feel woefully inept in her presence, though I’ve at least freshened up and am wearing shoes. She says nothing, plunking a corded phone on the counter in front of me.

I ignore the life line. “Could you point me to the nearest electronics store?”

“You chose left,” she mutters.

I consider, albeit briefly, following up with a litany of questions, the first one being what’s in the room on the right. If she’s anything like her brother, she won’t answer me anyway, so I opt for reiterating my initial question. “A map? Anything?”

She purses her lips. “You have no money.”

Crap. Hadn’t thought of that. I close my eyes and straighten my shoulders. I might be in a position where I have to beg, but I’m doing it with some dignity. A loud clunk has me snapping my eyes open. On the counter, next to the phone, is a container of canned air. I snatch it up before she changes her mind.

She eyes me warily. “Why aren’t you calling them?”

“I’m not ready,” I admit. There’s a quiver in my voice countermanding my words.

“You’re scared,” she unnecessarily points out.

“What gave me away?” I whisper.

She snorts. It’s not technically derisive. It’s more amused. “Your heart. You’re like a hummingbird.”

My brow furrows. “You can hear my heart from over there?”

Now her snort is derisive. “You can’t hear mine?”

I try. I fail. I should be able to hear it. The lobby is quiet, the open space producing an amplifying effect. There’s no reason for the maintained silence unless…

“Light water phaser,” she announces.

“Does that mean…” my voice trails off.

This is kind of a lot. More than I bargained for. To clarify, I don’t mean her being a phaser is a big deal. Yeah, it’s a nice side bonus. Something I’m familiar with. What has my knees shaking in an equal combination of fear and anticipation is if she’s a phaser, and she’s Vand’s sister, it means he’s like us. Specifically, he’s like me, hence the trill heartbeat I’ve consistently heard when he’s in proximity. Half phaser. Half human. I’m not alone.

Now she’s looking at me with pity. Why’s she looking at me like that? Isn’t this a good thing? “Why didn’t he just tell me? Why all the secrecy?”

Her long, manicured nails drum the desk surface. “He likes games.”

“This isn’t a game to me,” I remark defensively.

“And yet.” She bats long lashes over those beautiful blue eyes. “You’re playing, aren’t you?”

Do I have a choice? I want answers, now more than ever. “What does he want, Kella?”

She sucks in a breath, her pitying expression intensifying exponentially. “He wants to win.”

A shudder runs through me. Win what? What’s the prize? What happens to the loser? What are the rules?

“Can I offer you some advice?” she prompts.

I nod.

“Let him win,” she cautions me. “He doesn’t like losing.”

“Does anyone?” I contend.

“No, I suppose not,” she concedes.

I grip the canned air in my hand, eyeing the elevator and the exit in rapid succession. Something’s seriously off here, but I don’t feel I’m in danger. He assured me I’m not. What harm could come from playing his game with him? Even in letting him win, I’m still winning. He’s like me. The potential insight I can gain is worth exploring, my lack of appeal for the delivery system notwithstanding. Concessions. We all make those, right? It’s a fundamental part of getting what we want.

I lift a brow. “Can I use the phone later if I want?”

“Absolutely,” she agrees.

“He’ll let me leave if I want?” I push. I’d appreciate some confirmation on this point.

She sighs. Yeah, that’s not confirmation. I swallow hard, my eyes darting to the exit again. Maybe it’s best I head that way now.

“Let him win,” she repeats. “So long as he’s winning, you’re free as a bird.”

Her word choice isn’t lost on me. Not all birds are free. Wings or chains. Seems we’ve circled around to that choice, except I think cage is more apt in this context. Regardless, I can’t leave. Until this moment, I was alone on this fence, dreaming of setting foot on either lawn—human or phaser. I’m too curious to do anything but choose the elevator.