The next time Meraine woke she was not alone. She feared she never would be again . . . here in this hell now revealed as such and so uniquely qualified for the title. So many voices. Layers upon layers constantly sorting and endlessly so. This was her world . . . Meraine’s world. If anyone on the face of this accursed planet felt not a moment of solace, it was her. It was something she was used to. She found a way through the mire and coped. So why then? Why were the voices that now surrounded her so intrusive?

It felt even deeper than that. It felt like a violation of a kind far more intimate than all the perversions and acts of love she’d heard about, read about and even once witnessed, but never actually felt. Now she wasn’t at all sure she ever wanted to. This much she felt keenly and it was wrong on a level she couldn’t find and never even knew existed. This was rape of the mind . . . her secret place invaded, imploded and ripped wide open for all to see.

She’d scream if let to, but somehow that wasn’t allowed. Not the scold of disobedience if she did, but simply and infinitely impossible. Her eyes roamed in a vicious panic. Fear seeped in when the one weapon that she had left was being blocked if not stolen. She knew. She had to. She tried too damned hard to inflict eternal death on all those around her, but nothing worked. Suddenly she knew why. Beyond unnatural, these people, these voices, these thoughts, every last one of them, save one, were all here for just that reason . . . to stifle her, all of her and utterly.

The one that remained needed no introduction. Lori picked her name well . . . Dr. Monster. She was that and more. She was just finding out firsthand what Lori already knew, but then how could Meraine have known? These things were so well hidden from her. It was a practiced kindness that must’ve felt like wearing the clamminess of someone else’s dead skin . . . that of someone honest, sacrificed on the altar of power. All except for the fact that it fit so perfectly, not a wrinkle askew or color faded.

*** Then the monster spoke, because that’s what this was all about or mostly . . . to have a conversation as herself, but without the threat of death. That was pretty well secured. It wasn’t three people who held her in check this time, but six. Meraine found she couldn’t fight six. Everyone else found it shocking she could fight three. They all wondered amongst themselves . . . what was this thing pretending to be a girl? Then the ultimate question . . . how can we become it?

“Good morning.” The words were spoken with a lofty grin awarded to a victor handicapped with a lack of humility. “I want you to know that I know some of what you two talked about and I’m not Dr. Monster. Or at least I don’t have to be. This can be easy or this can be hard. I know that’s so cliché and said millions upon millions of times before, but that doesn’t make it any less true. People would stop saying it if it wasn’t. I know you can’t talk. That’s by design. Don’t worry. You don’t need to. Just blink once for yes and twice for no. O.K.? That’s simple enough, right?”

“Now I’m going to be up front with you. I know I wasn’t before. My apologies. But it’s always easier when the patient goes along with the treatment, wouldn’t you say? Oh, don’t answer. That’s a rhetorical question. I am, let’s say, ambitious. It pays to be ambitious in a world that knocks you down before you’re even born. I’d probably be dead now if I wasn’t. We all have to make the hard choices and if we choose wrong we die. I’ve made mine, now it’s time to make yours.”

“I’ve been studying you and Lori ever since I noticed you were both, well, special. But you already know that. Lori up and spilled the beans on that one. She slipped one past me because I didn’t know exactly what she could do at the time. But I’m a fast learner. It didn’t take me long to figure it out. And once I did, I let her continue. I had to get you mad, you see. I had to see just what you could do. And you did great. Just great. It was what much more than I hoped. Stupid me. You know? I actually thought three people could subdue you. Well, I learned my lesson, didn’t I?”

“You’re probably wondering why Lori never saw any of this, or maybe like everything else, you thought she was lying or made a deal or something. You know, because she had nothing else to offer. Well, for what it’s worth she wasn’t lying. Well, not much. You caught her in a few, didn’t you? But no. As you already know Lori can’t read minds, so she was easy to deceive. I just planned everything to happen in a certain way and hid my true intentions. It was harder than it sounds. I had to completely fabricate two whole weeks of events. That takes some planning. Of course she knows better now.”

“And you. Well, you were easy to fool. There’s so many hard cases in this dump that anyone who comes on with a bit of sugar is immediately loved and trusted. Oh right, you read my mind a couple of times. You don’t know why you didn’t see it. Well I do. You didn’t want to. At the time I was all you had. And even after you found Lori, well, you two did fight quite a lot. I didn’t fight with you until just recently. Of course you were getting smart, but we fed Lori a future bad enough to warn you to back off. It worked beautifully, if I do say so myself.”

“And if you think otherwise you truly are deluded. I know you can block thoughts, but your injuries were real. That will weaken anyone’s resolve. You left many gaps open at many times. How much privacy do you really think you could have in a hospital full of mind readers? I had patients who had nothing to do with this reporting you and Lori to me. They wanted me to call the police because Lori had so blatantly, obviously implicated herself on many occasions. And they weren’t the only ones who noticed.”

“You have no idea how hard it was for me to calm all these people down. Of course I didn’t do it myself. Lori would’ve seen that event. I wrote simple little notes in shorthand that were actually orders to my aids. Lori could see what I was writing, but she can’t read shorthand. That and she didn’t seem terribly concerned with the future events of anyone but you and I. So I had free reign to doll out all kinds of orders.”

“I had to convince everyone who made you two their business that you were in shock because your father just died and Lori was just downright crazy. Not that she hadn’t done all these things. But that her treatment required psychiatry, not the criminal justice system. Eventually everyone let it alone. Some even felt sorry for you two. I may have even shed a tear or two. I do have a heart you know. But duty called and I couldn’t ignore it forever.”

“The contribution to science that you’ll both make . . . it just outweighs your personal concerns. And if you really want to push the issue, it’s downright selfish of you both to have kept this hidden from the world for so long. You were both only concerned about yourselves. But you are both very, very special and the world has a right to know. Science has a right to know. And it’s my job as a servant of science to give the world what they want. And what do they want? They want to be just like you.”

“So I will do whatever I have to do to make all their dreams come true. Imagine if every seedborn humatran could have enhanced abilities from birth. If no one had to train their minds for years upon countless years. It would speed everything up. And our whole society would become so much stronger. Yes, I know you’re thinking it . . . and I would become so much richer. True. But that’s not why I do these things. I know it’s hard to believe but I’m a lot like you. I have a need to find answers. You two girls were just dropped into my lap. And what are you both really, but two answers to the question ‘How can we be more than what we are?’”

“As a servant of science that’s a question I’ve been asking myself for many years. You see, I’m just a normal humatran. I’m not enhanced. I have no abilities. And I really don’t think it’s fair that there’s no way I can get them just because I wasn’t born that way? How is that my fault? Really? I didn’t ask to be born and I certainly didn’t ask to be born with such a large fucking handicap! So I’ve had to work twice, if not three times, as hard as everyone else just to get where I am now. Did you know that ability laden people are literally given jobs of my status and higher? Did you know that I’m one of only three or four other normal humatrans in the world to have reached my status in the field of science? But I’m smarter than them. I had to be. I have a fucking handicap!”

“So you and you’re little friend Lori are going to help me change all that. I won’t lie to you. It might kill you both to get the desired results, but I promise you I’ll do all I can to prevent it. You have no reason to trust me, I know, but I don’t want either of you damaged. You both know that. And if you do die, it’s all in the name of science. It’s all in the spirit of righting the savagely unfair wrongs in our hallowed society. That’s something to be proud of, don’t you think?”

“So you have a choice. Help me and maybe live through this as a hero to the underdog. Or fight me and be used as nothing more than a really powerful lab rat. What’s it going to be? I’ll give you some time to think about it. Let’s say an hour? Not that you deserve it. I’ve lived through 103 years without what you were just given at birth. But just call this proof that I do indeed have a heart.”

Then she turned to the six straining to hold the mental chains together and said, “Seal her.”

Meraine didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she could guess. She could struggle, but then she’d already been fighting this entire time. She was finally starting to make some progress, but only because of all the effort it takes to maintain a mental lock. Well for anyone but her. She had the mental stamina. Dr. Monster was right about that . . . it came naturally. So while they were all weakening, she was not. Even though there were six, she was starting to break them all down. She couldn’t believe how much power she had. She’d never thought to try such a thing. She’d only done so because she was pushed to it. Dr. Monster would regret that and soon.

Nothing was that simple. Not even for her. Someone else walked in the room. It was at that moment Meraine realized Dr. Monster wasn’t talking to any one of the six telepaths. She was a bit busy at the moment but still got glimpses from the man of tormented thoughts and memories of forced unorthodox surgeries. Then she turned back to Dr. Monster who was still in the room.

“You want to know what’s going on, don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you. You don’t trust me. I get that. But tell me why should I trust you? I’ve already done a number of experiments on this subject. I’ve made something of a breakthrough. I’ve learned that after laser surgery, I can insert a needle past the skull and into just the right spot on an enhanced humatran’s brain. If done right it serves as a blockade sealing off their abilities. If done wrong it can result in a comatose state or death.”

“It took some time to figure out just where that spot is on your brain. And of course I can’t be certain until it’s tried. So you might die. Believe me I don’t want to do this. I don’t want you or Dr. Carlyle to die. You already know your value, but Dr. Carlyle is my best surgeon. He has the most expertise and the steadiest hands. I know he doesn’t look it. He’s EA19. But he’s older than I am.”

“It’s all trial and error. He killed a few people and that made him young. But now he’s run out of chances. You’re AA13, so if he fails again he’ll be reduced to EA6. Not much we can do with that, so let’s hope he doesn’t fail. Of course he’s nervous. He’s gotten damn good at sealing enhanced humatrans but you, well, you’re a different animal entirely. The rules have changed. We do hope we’re right about this, don’t we doctor?”

Dr. Carlyle just nodded nervously.

“Don’t worry. I’d be stupid to permanently seal off your telepathy. That would undermine everything I’m trying to do. This operation is completely reversible and you won’t feel much pain. But that’s why your head is in those clamps. This is an extremely delicate operation. We can’t have you moving around. And we certainly can’t forego the operation, because we can’t trust you not to try and kill us all. Aside from the fact that you’d DOE, I really don’t think any of us wants to die.”

It seemed she meant to say more, but she was interrupted. One of the six lost consciousness and collapsed to the floor. And the others weren’t looking so hot. They were however in varying degrees of fatigue. Gradually Dr. Monster understood.

“So you’re learning, are you? Interesting. You can take three out all at once but not six, so you concentrate on one at a time, like picking a lock. Very smart. But you don’t have the time. You already have a hole in your skull. That part of the surgery was done before you woke. Now all we . . .”

She was interrupted again as another telepath fell to the ground. Her mood quickly changed. She turned to Dr. Carlyle and said, “Hurry. I don’t know if she can survive another shock treatment. Her mind may be strong, but her body is weak. So fucking hurry!”

That was the last thing Dr. Carlyle wanted to do. If he hurried he might fuck up. He’d rather died than fuck up. There’s nothing good about being six years old. He really didn’t have much of a choice. Even though the pay was good he didn’t do these surgeries for the life threatening rush it gave him. No. His whole family hung in the balance. At his age, it was a large family indeed. If nothing else he agreed with the idea of Dr. Monster. Then a third person fell.

“Hurry the fuck up, doctor! They’re falling like flies!”

Meraine was enjoying this immensely. It was the very first time she saw Dr. Monster lose her cool. But it was more than that. She was scared. That fear was leaking out and it was the sweetest smell Meraine ever inhaled. It made her nearly need to kill the bitch. But she’d already learned her lesson from earlier. To avoid their deaths, she shut down all control of the telepaths the second they lost consciousness. She couldn’t kill Dr. Monster if she went DOE on even one of her underlings.

Dr. Carlyle was in position when the next one fell. Since Meraine could obviously multitask she’d meant to take control of the two doctors as well, starting with Dr. Carlyle who, whether he meant to or not, was the biggest threat, but things changed. Dr. Monster picked up a scalpel and screamed.

“You know I can’t have you die! But I’ll be damned if I let you kill me! You drop one more of my telepaths and I’ll end you! I can hold your youth easily! So DON’T fucking test me!”

Meraine didn’t need to. All she needed to do was take control of Dr. Monster. It should be easy, not having abilities and all. It was. Dr. Monster screamed, “What the . . .”, but it was all she could get out before her face started contorting with pain. She was physically trying to stop herself from aiming her scalpel at herself. She was losing that battle.

“Y . . . You . . . fuc . . .bit . . . Y . . . You . . . can . . . s . . . sw . . . sway?!!!”

Meraine had no idea what that meant, but nor did she care. Then without hardly even trying Dr. Monster’s hand tightened around the tiny blade as she thrust it into her own upper right thigh. A satisfying scream resulted. Especially when she twisted it.

Dr. Carlyle should’ve wanted this. Technically he did. He harbored no love for Dr. McPhereson and he didn’t know this girl well enough to understand her intentions. All he saw was an incredibly powerful but utterly insane girl who wouldn’t stop until she painted the walls with everyone’s blood . . . including his. How could someone like that make distinctions? His own terror flooded the room with the scent of flowers coated in sugar. It was next to impossible for him to focus, but he somehow managed.

Right then three things happened. First, the second to last telepath crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Second, Dr. Monster let go of the scalpel still stuck in her leg, curled up a fist and slammed the hilt until the blade poked out the other side. And third, Dr. Carlyle inserted the pin into Meraine’s fragile brain . . . a bit too hard.

Suddenly everything stopped. The last telepath, though not overcome, fell out of sheer mental and physical exhaustion. Dr. Carlyle did much the same, though remained conscious on the floor. Dr. Monster kept right on screaming. Though the electric pain coursing through her head was subsiding, she too fell to the floor having officially lost control of her right leg. The fall didn’t help her situation.

And Meraine, well, Meraine fell into a coma.

<><><><>

Next Meraine woke. Next she woke? She didn’t wake next. Nothing was that simple anymore. She hadn’t simply blacked out, but in a way nothing could be simpler. For all intents and purposes, Meraine was free from all the shit that plagued her other life. Not entirely though. Her memories remained and more than just of what had come before. New memories. Horrible ones.

Dr. Monster didn’t die. Far from it. She recovered. There was some semblance of inquiry into what happened, but her influence was broad. As if that even mattered. What mattered was what she was doing. What mattered was results. She could be replaced. This was the ultimate consensus . . . to put someone else on the project. In fact, they already had during her hiatus with a Dr. Melissa Criptana, who better represented what was trying to be gained. Namely, she was enhanced.

Dr. Criptana was missing some valuable research. It was work Dr. McPhereson had done. She was holding it ransom and using it as blackmail in trade for reinstatement. That wasn’t going to happen. She was determined far too unstable. Her lack of abilities didn’t help. There existed a certain, but very real, prejudice against normal humatrans in the upper crust of society in which she dwelled. So they forced her out. Truth be told they never wanted her in the first place and were in the process of removing her when Meraine and Lori showed up. The girls were effectively Dr. Monster’s last bid at salvation.

Now she was trying to turn the tables. They wouldn’t have it. They brought down court orders for all she owned. Still nothing turned up. Search warrants were issued. None of it was legal, but when they found out the gold mine she’d been sitting on, none of that mattered. Both girls and the research surrounding them were now prime real estate and public knowledge in the inner circles of high society, which normal humatrans called The Sect. Laws were bent, broken and shattered just to get at it all.

Dr. McPhereson saw it all in a different light. If it mattered, then so did she. They even tore through her mind to find it, but it wasn’t there . . . memories blocked by scientific means. She couldn’t tell them what she couldn’t remember. There were ways around that. There were always loopholes if one knew where to look, but these things took time. Time was something they didn’t have. Those who mattered in society needed to be appeased and these were not patient people. Bad things happened when they grew tired of waiting. Very bad things.

So there was the attempt to do two things. First duplicate the data. That was easier said than done. Lori was dead. She’d been dead for nearly a year. She died only a few days after the incident that sent Meraine into a coma. Records showed this wasn’t due to evasive research from Dr. Carlyle, Dr. McPhereson or even Dr. Criptana, who hadn’t yet entered the picture. No one killed her on purpose or by accident. She’d killed herself.

In a strange, warped way it was even approved of. Not that anyone who cared about this research wanted her dead, but it was a necessary thing. Not her death, but the way in which she died. Someone had to die. They just wished it hadn’t been Lori. No one else knew, as focus had shifted to Meraine. No one else was even paying attention. The incident involving Meraine’s epic struggle overshadowed all else.

Meraine’s life was in immediate danger. Not from her coma, but from someone else’s. Three other people to be exact. The original thee telepaths Meraine humbled and nearly killed. They were each thrust into their own incurable comas . . . each in similar fashion. Meraine was directly responsible for all three and each one of them were dying. Some deteriorated faster than others, but all were doomed. When it was finally over, death knew exactly where to look. Lori saw this before it happened . . . in vivid detail.

Everything changed for Lori the moment Meraine was taken away by Dr. McPhereson. Everything she saw was different. Everything she thought she knew was a lie. Dr. Monster played her. She’d made the poor girl believe she was going to die just past the two week range of her foresight. She hadn’t actually seen her death the way she’d made Meraine believe . . . the final lie hidden for the purpose of protection. Despite this, Lori sincerely believed she’d soon die. More than this, she thought it was unavoidable, so why give her friend hope where none existed?

Still, she wondered how it was she didn’t see the events that actually did take place. This was a mystery she never did solve and did wonders to help destroy her already low self-esteem. After the incident she already knew she couldn’t rely on anyone, but now she couldn’t even trust her own visions. It wasn’t her fault as was later discovered.

With fewer barriers, Dr. McPhereson spent more time probing the inner reaches of Lori’s particular gift. She’d made a breakthrough. Or at least she thought she had. Everything here was new and untested. As usual the risk of failure was permanent damage or death. As before she had Dr. Carlyle perform the procedure to place a partial block on Lori’s foresights. The operation was a success to the point where Lori didn’t even know anything had been done to her outside the usual inhumane testing.

Areas were blocked. Certain visions of reality had been hidden. Everything here involved great risk, but Dr. McPhereson knew this unbelievable opportunity stood as her final chance to either prove herself or lose everything. She’d made her plans. She’d planned her fail safes. She knew she was dealing with people who didn’t understand the word tolerance or forgiveness. So she played her game cutthroat. Lori was a pawn. Lori was a casualty of science. After all the lies came to light she was left to fester in her own doubts.

If there existed only one foresight she could truly believe, it was her friend’s death. After all she no longer saw her own aside from it. She was free, or could’ve been. Two things held her back. First, by now she was so enamored with the inevitability of death that she didn’t really know how to live. To be honest, it wouldn’t have even mattered if Rick never existed. Her “gift” caused her nothing but pain. She wanted it all to end. Second, now her death could serve a noble purpose . . . to save her first and only friend.

It didn’t matter that Lori was still a guinea pig. It didn’t matter that Dr. Monster was no longer tormenting her. If it could be believed, the future had changed. There existed a lull between the incident and the Sect’s recognition of the importance of her existence. This meant during this time few noticed she was even alive. She’d already seen a number of futures that allowed her to escape back into the unforgiving world she didn’t miss. This time without her father or anyone else who actually cared about her. With nowhere to go and the eventuality that the Sect would come looking for her, all futures looked bleak. This was true whether she chose to trust her visions or not, but tragedy lent to their believability. Nothing that ended well for her could possibly be real.

Still there existed one worthy purpose for escape. It was the same one that ended her life as noble as possible. Not as easy. Not as painless. She couldn’t think of a single easy death that held any real meaning. Fate still had a plan. No one as menial as Dr. Monster or even the Sect could alter it. Fate was never wrong. Nor could it be deceived the way she’d been. Fate existed as the only thing left in her life she could still trust. It was telling her that her friend, Meraine, needed to live. It was telling her that both fate and the future had plans for her. So there was nothing left. She would die to save her friend.

She’d chosen the path that led to both escape and Meraine. It wasn’t difficult. Locks shoddily observed. Eyes looking the other way. Cameras too. A gun missing from a holster. The pieces were coming together just how she’d chosen them to. So she worked her way to the room where the three comatose telepaths lay. They weren’t alone. She didn’t care. She supposed she should’ve been surprised, but she’d already seen this. Dr. Monster was here and she was awake. Fate had a wicked sense of humor.

One of the two girls who were supposed to save her dying career was about to die right in front of her. It was no different than putting a nail in her coffin, which was a bonus, but that’s not what this was all about. This was about leaving one final message. This was about forgiveness. That wasn’t something Lori could do, but fate knew better. Fate saw a future where the monster had tamed. Fate saw hope where Lori saw nothing but death. Fate more than believed, but rather knew Dr. Monster would one day lose the anger to become Dr. Sarah once again.

So there was a message to deliver to be held on to for later use. It wasn’t written. It was told. This was to be an impressionable event . . . one that, though denied endlessly, would be both remembered and heeded when the healing had begun. This was necessary because right now hate had built a mountain over and around the tiny little piece of Dr. Monster that would one day grow and give a damn. It was simple too . . . just seven words.

“Remember, the firstborn is coming for Meraine.”

The words were said in this cryptic way for a reason. They were to fuel the memory down through the years that Meraine mattered and was forever linked to the future . . . and the firstborn. There was nothing said of helping him or being helped by him. Even Lori believed this was an ill omen, but then she’d never heard of the Firstborn Prophecy and for all her inadvertent influence in the matter, she never would.

Then without further ado, Lori placed the gun at the temple of the first telepath and pulled the trigger. Dr. Mcphereson was startled at the sound. It rang through the room like an echo and she stumbled back as if the bullet was meant for her. It was an easy thing to believe, so came the shock. Knowing that DOE would soon take Lori didn’t help matters. That was a tragic thing. Lori couldn’t die! Lori was too damned important to her research! None of that seemed to matter much when compared to the fact that the good doctor was still alive. She would’ve even breathed easy . . . if there’d been time to. There wasn’t. Lori staggered a bit with the force of the discharge, but within seconds she saw Lori turn, aim and fire the gun again . . . this time splattering the melon-like head of the next telepath.

She’d been using both hands the second time, but Lori still fell backwards from the force of it. Suddenly fear leapt into Dr. MePhereson, believing the whole room had been targeted. Not that anyone but herself mattered. Not one of the female telepaths garnered any real degree of respect from her. Hell, she didn’t even remember their names, if she’d ever known them. She’d probably been introduced, but who had time for such things? Certainly not her. Now it wouldn’t matter.

Dr. McPhereson was watching in slow motion. She was moving not so much to hide as to escape . . . a bullet would find her anywhere she went in the small room. There was no way out except past the insanely suicidal girl with the gun. Her fear seemed pointless though. She could see the pain setting in. It was decidedly difficult for her to get up. In fact, she couldn’t without climbing. She was groping onto dead legs draped with white sheets now slippery with blood. Still she somehow managed.

Nothing was so easy. The gun had flown free with the second shot. It seemed an accident, but it wasn’t. How was that even possible? Dr. McPhereson knew what Lori was all about. She was some freakishly young master of foresight. She must’ve foreseen this. Why did she climb back up without her gun. What the hell was she doing anyway? Was she done with her senseless carnage? What was the point to it all? She didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

Pain tore through Lori. She began convulsing with it, but still managed to hold onto the wooden frame at the end of the bed. It was fairly clean of blood so a decent handhold could be found. Dr. McPhereson could see the exquisite torture in her tender face. She could see her practically begging to scream. God knows she would‘ve. Everyone she’d ever seen always had. Death was coming. Why hold it in? Why miss her last chance to curse oblivion for her sad fate? Yet, Lori was looking directly at her with pleading in her eyes. Then came the one prolonged word shaking as if from her own personal earthquake.

“H . . . He . . . H . . . H . . . Hel . . . P!”

Dr. McPhereson could see she had to contain herself just to get that much out. Then Lori looked down. The doctor followed her eyes to the floor. There lay the gun. Suddenly Dr. McPhereson understood, or at least she thought she did. There was no way in hell she was going to do it. She said as much despite the controlled fear in her voice.

“No. No way. No. I am NOT going to kill you. I am NOT going to end your pain. You chose this. You pay the price.”

Then more shook from tortured lips. “M . . . Mrrrr . . . Mrane . . . W . . . w . . . wi . . . W . . . lllll . . . D . . . ddddddd . . .” She nearly lost control as searing pain caused her head to jerk back unnaturally. Dr. McPhereson was shocked her neck hadn’t snapped. Then with the motion the final word was thrown from her. “DIE!!!”

Suddenly the good doctor knew what was going on. Lori wasn’t committing suicide at all. No. She was saving a life . . . trading one for another . . . and at the cost of three. So these three must’ve already been dying. It was the only way. Lori must’ve seen it. If even one of them died from what had put them in a coma then Meraine would die. She was the cause. Death would find her. It didn’t care how long it took. Her days were numbered. This was the only way to save her. But no. That WASN’T going to happen!

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“FUCK!!! I DON’T fucking care, bitch!!! I am NOT going to kill the fucking telepath. I don’t know anything about the bitch! I don’t know how old she really is! I could DOE! No! I fucking WON’T! It doesn‘t matter anyway. Everybody heard those shots. This room will be swarming soon.”

That’s not what Lori wanted her to do either. She proved it by opening the fingers of one hand. She barely held on with her other. With her free one she reached as if begging for the gun. Then she closed a few fingers until her hand mimicked a gun. Then she jerked her way over to the third telepath. It was enough to get the message across. She wanted Dr. McPhereson to help her kill the third telepath.

Lori suddenly convulsed in the throes of a violent seizure. Disturbing as it was, it wasn’t all that uncommon. Lori lost her handhold as she involuntarily smashed her head against the left shin of the second dead telepath. Then she fell backwards with an audible thump that pushed the two beds further apart. She was still conscious, Dr. McPhereson knew because she’d begun thrashing against everything.

Then footsteps could be heard. People were running, but they should’ve been here sooner. Either time flew or they took theirs with two lumps of sugar. How else to make time sweet? It didn’t matter. The door was flung wide as security charged the scene. They were hit by waves of once muted screams that gave them all pause. Even so this was not new. These were not idiots in uniforms. They’d dealt with this more often than some by being assigned to a hospital. However, such things were usually planned. Some incurable young thing would willingly give the gift of youth to a father, mother, friend, etc. Or it would be decided for them if they were too far gone. Then the screams of the recipient would echo down the halls. The hospital sported a couple soundproofed rooms just for such occurrences.

This was different. Once uncorked, nothing prevented the screams from spilling out as far as possible. Even so, screams were heard all over the city every day and more at night. It really wasn’t all that bad. The times of silence sometimes had more sway, but it was common enough and everyone who still breathed had gotten used to it. Not everyone was used to being present at ground zero. People tended to gravitate away from the screams. The three guards didn’t have that luxury.

There was nothing much for it. The pain of youthing, DOE or not, couldn’t be eased in any way that mattered. Except for death, but no one wanted to go through what they were witnessing. There were ways of course. Meaning suicide, but many feared death would find them for helping one commit it. That all depended upon how involved they were. Handing someone a gun or a knife wouldn’t backfire in such a way, but nothing was so simple. Who suffering the youthing had control enough over themselves to pull the trigger or even hold a knife? So more help was often required. It was a tricky thing to help but take no part in the final act. Most people weren’t willing to try. Then there were pills specially designed for suicide, filled primarily with cyanide or other such deadly things, but the doomed party would sooner sever a tongue or a finger before being able to swallow anything. Liquid forms were tried and sometimes worked, but were always messy. There really wasn’t much else to do but to let the pain run its course.

Security would’ve, but this situation garnered the words “extenuating circumstances”. Namely, it wasn’t something they could just ignore. That’s why they were here . . . they had a job to do. That job only made sense when it came to helping the living. The dead and the dying were generally on their own. Of course that often meant keeping the noise down . . . as heartless as that was, but what else could they do? What was done was done and nothing more was going to happen but a viciously long and practically orchestrated death scene. No single actor from any Shakespearean play from any era in the whole canon of theater could’ve done better, but then this was no act. This was terrifyingly real.

The security team was only the first tier of that audience. Naturally that included the good doctor and the final telepath, but she didn’t seem to mind much at all. Dr. McPhereson minded a bit more. So did many others . . . especially after the door was flung open. The screams seemed stuck in a bottle, though it wasn’t a sound proofed room. They were free now. They traveled as if guided by echoes that had no end. It seemed every ear in the hospital could hear them. That wasn’t true, but it might as well have been for the sheer level of disturbance it caused.

What of it? So it was loud. So it was real. It was still nothing new. This shit happened every day. Everyone was used to it. Dr. McPhereson was too, but that went only as far as the death throes and the incessant screams. The situation itself was quite a bit more unique than usual. She was never so intimately involved aside from the times she’d supervised a planned death, which happened little more than once or twice a month.

This was far more personal. Aside from the direct involvement, this time it hurt more. This time the good doctor could feel Lori’s pain as if it were projected, which was something horrifyingly new. Then a sudden terror hit. Was that what was happening? She didn’t know enough about either girl! Was the bitch now dragging her down with her?! All because she wouldn’t voluntarily fuck herself! She couldn’t just do that! She couldn’t just aid in some insane death!

It wasn’t like Dr. McPhereson wanted Meraine to die. Fuck no. She needed at least one of the girls alive. If Lori was gone and she would be . . . there wasn’t any saving her now, she needed Meraine. Even so, how was she going to do that without fucking herself in the process? She liked to think of herself as a professional. There were rules to follow here. Any chance at her redemption would be utterly destroyed by getting involved, but only a moment later she realized she was already involved. One of the guards noticed where the gun lay . . . at the good doctor’s feet.

The man in charge was named nothing more exciting than Henry, but he liked it that way. A low profile kept him sharp and in the game. Henry took his job seriously and in that regard he noticed everything . . . or damn close to it. He felt observation was a necessary element for any and all people who weren’t enhanced . . . especially in security.

Dr. McPhereson hardly even noticed Henry, even though his team already came through the door. She was fixated on what she could still see of the spasming girl youthing at her feet . . . and for her age likely dying. That was what fear did. It was a selfish little thing that jumped up and down screaming “Look at me! Look at me!” The moment you paid attention nothing else mattered. Henry just didn’t think the doctor was still capable of experiencing it. He was obviously wrong.

Right now what Henry noticed most wasn’t the gun, but the fact that Dr. McPhereson had no interest in it. There was the occasional quick glance down, proving she knew it was there and within easy reach, but she looked away just as fast. Though it lay between her legs, she seemed to spread them further apart as if the thing were poisonous.

Henry knew Dr. McPhereson hadn’t done this, but then she wasn’t the one suffering the youthing. The question was what would she do now and that too seemed obvious . . . at least to him. Nothing. She wanted no part in any of this mess, but she was trapped somehow and had the rabid eyes of an animal that knew her time tested cage had no flaw. Those eyes . . . he’d seen them before. They signified a wild card, if nothing else. Meaning she may still pick up the gun if only to free herself, but her desperate desire to be clear of every part of this would make it a last resort.

Lori saw death coming for herself and the telepaths . . . all three of them. Lori saw Meraine saved in the process, but she hadn’t seen herself killing the last of telepath. It was a sequence of ordered events. She needed to beg Dr. McPhereson for the gun. The act incited fear, which would soon be needed, because Lori wasn’t the only one who’d seen the third telepath’s death. No. Her son, Perry, had seen it too.

Things happened very fast after that. The rear guard was shoved from behind. His gun in hand, safety off, fired in the stumble forward. The bullet lodged fairly perfectly into the left heel of another security guard. He didn’t take well to it. His screams were lost among the jungle of Lori’s, discerned only by the tone of his voice. Then he fell, unable to maintain his balance.

It was all very distracting. It was a distraction Dr. McPhereson didn’t really need at that point. She suddenly broke through whatever doubts she may have had and grabbed the gun. Damn the future. She wouldn’t have a future to defend if this went down the way it seemed it would. Death gave little recourse. She’d never handled one before. She never had the need. She had other people for that. Hell, she had other means to reach her ends. Guns had less importance in this brave new world, but not right then. At that moment they’d wrenched back all the power lost to the ability laden and wielded it in revenge.

She closed her eyes before she fired and was thrust back by the unlearned force of it, dropping the gun in the process. The bullet seemed to have a purpose of its own. It hit a trigger happy guard, in the right shoulder. It spun him just as his unsignaled shot rang free. It was meant for the good doctor. It was meant to wound her, her legs being the target. No one wanted to kill anyone.

That wayward bullet hit the third telepath. It tore her jaw off. Though not dead, it was a mortal wound.

There were no more shots fired. There didn’t need to be anymore. That’s not to say the violence stopped. No. That only escalated. Perry was not unarmed. Perry had a knife . . . a butcher knife.

Not that it was much needed in the prepackaged shit hospitals still served, but there were times such as at Thanksgiving. Perry worked in the hospital cafeteria. It was a perk job gained by his affiliation to the hospital. Namely his mom got him the job. So he had access to the makeshift weapon, meant only for dead things, not to make things dead. At the moment he didn’t really care and said as much as he indelicately placed the blade against one of the guard’s throat.

“God damn it! I didn’t cause this! I didn’t! There was no avoiding it!!! I looked, mom! I tried! I tried to save you! But there was no way! Everything ended in your death! EVERYTHING!!! But you’re dying anyway! God damn it!!! They all tell me how sorry they are! And I’m just supposed to pretend it’s all O.K.?! Well, I fucking can’t!!! I’ve seen enough!!! I know who killed you, mom! I saw it! It wasn’t the girl! She was just defending herself! It’s that god damned doctor! The one who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything! I WANT HER DEAD!!! But I can’t! It just doesn’t work out that way, mom! I’m so damned sorry! But what else could I do?! I fucking feel you! They say you can’t feel anything! But I know better! I know you’re in agony! I had to end it, mom! I had to end your suffering! And this was the only way to do that! I’m so fucking sorry!”

It was uncertain who exactly had heard over the joint screams, but he seemed sure his mother had and that was the only one who mattered. Having used his hostage to speak his piece . . . his final lament to the mother he loved, Perry let the guard go and thrust the butcher knife up into his brain from beneath his chin. He slumped to the floor. Death took him after a few involuntary spasms. Few knew, but this was about far more than his mother. Perry was one of the many enhanced who couldn’t cope with the pain fate callously and constantly showed. What better way to end everything than in easing his own mother’s torture? Sure, he could’ve just killed her himself, but this way the bitch ass doctor might hear his plea. This way she might understand all the pain she’d inflicted and suffer for it. He regretted all the rest, but it no longer mattered. He was waiting for his mother to join him and she soon would.

Perry’s final words weren't even spoken. How could they be? He was already dead. However, duct taped to his chest was a final message printed in bold capital letters. Though, all who chose to could see, they were meant for the good doctor. They were simple and to the point. “WATCH ME, BITCH!!! WATCH ME DIE!!! WITNESS WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!” How else to force home how he really felt? Words vanished once spoken; this message would linger.

It seemed only moments later that she passed. The guard who accidentally shot her began to feel his just reward for playing hero. He was too young. DOE would find him just as death had. The screams reverberated in the room and down the halls and everything, absolutely everything came to a stop because of them. They paid tribute to their curiosity, if not a lament for the deaths, which few actually gave a damn about anymore.

Regardless of the collective shock, nothing could really be done. Lori and now a guard were youthing terribly, but more than this, both were dying. Neither could hold the years they’d stolen, so they’d both DOE. Anyone who paid heed knew this. Yet no one did. No one could. The screams tore through the hospital wing and ripped through Dr. Monster’s head.

So time took them. Both were young children in the end and horribly contorted in death, but finally still. They were finally free. Lori was barely an adult at 13 and now she was gone. She’d sacrificed herself for her only friend, and Meraine wouldn't even know about it until two years later.

<><><><>

Advanced science or not, humatran or not, little more was known about the brain than before the Atra war. Humatrans could do remarkable things that were now considered normal, but didn’t in any way mean they were understood. Such was the reason why the anomaly, Meraine, was so incredibly valuable. However, this was also the reason why her coma was a mystery; like a puzzle with twenty missing pieces.

Nor could they explain just exactly why she’d come out of it ten months later, though they did try and in the end pretended they could explain it, with or without foresight. To make matters worse, they'd also pretended the explanation was far too complex for anyone else to understand, so why bother trying? Either way, the Sect knew the moment their little prize had awoken. They'd claimed her the moment they knew what she could do and had put her on the back burner until, well, now.

Now was the time for new experiments to begin – not that they'd ever really stopped. Hell, even Dr. McPhereson first began delving into Meraine’s complicated mind while she was unconscious, but certain brain activity couldn’t be properly tested in a dormant state.

The Sect forcibly employed the efforts of Dr. Carlyle to garner this much information. It proved promising. Dr. Criptana worked with him during this phase, but was more or less both Dr. Carlyle’s boss and student. She wasn’t versed in this kind of medicine. Very few people were. So though, she basically drew her paycheck from the Sect to oversee Dr. Carlyle, she was also learning the ropes. After a while, the weak willed Dr. Carlyle was considered expendable. Though brilliant, his theories were now her theories.

It was altogether possible Dr. Carlyle might’ve discovered new things now that Meraine was awake, but the Sect grew tired of his whining only one month into her coma. The only reason he still drew breath was out of pure necessity. The Sect happily adopted Dr. McPhereson’s blackmail over his family, but not even that could keep the little bitch from whining about what they made him do. So, whether he knew it or not, one more word, no, one more thought against the Sect and he’d disappear.

Dr. Carlyle was a loose end and he knew it. Unlike his former master, he was enhanced and could both read minds and see into the future, but neither ability was trained. Back in his day that wasn’t part of formal schooling. Though the importance of it was obvious, he’d chosen a different route, that of medicine. It was his first love and still was. The science of the humatran mind fascinated him, so the anomalies, Lori and Meraine, were a gold strike. Even so, he had his limits. He never approved of cruelty or the cutthroat mentality of getting results at any price.

Both Dr. McPhereson and the Sect could agree that was a problem, but past a certain point his expertise was no longer needed. Though his abilities were unpracticed he’d managed to glean this much for himself a few months into Meraine’s coma. Not that it mattered. The Sect hadn’t hidden this fact. They figured he’d already known there wasn’t anything he could do to prevent it. Dr Carlyle was a coward. He wanted to keep breathing for as long as possible, but that didn’t mean doing so quietly. Every attempt to weasel out of the next invasive test was pathetic and sick days weren’t offered under the blackmail clause.

The rules changed once Meraine woke. The Sect made it clear Dr. Carlyle’s usefulness had officially come to an end. They’d end him regardless of what he did or didn’t do; his family notwithstanding. This wasn’t even as simple as letting his family live if he cooperated. No. They’d made it clear they wouldn’t tolerate any loose ends or future vengeance. His family also had to die . . . without exception, every last one of them. His only choice was how . . . quick or skinned alive.

The coward chose quick with the explicit understanding that it meant no more bitching. It wasn’t quite that simple. If not before, he now had a damned good reason to bitch. Hell, expendable or not, at least Dr. Monster wouldn’t have murdered his family. The Sect was fucking evil. Still, he kept his mouth shut. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of his thoughts, which were easily read. So the Sect sent thoughts back.

These were future visions of four unrecognizable “things” hanging from hooks. Blood gushed from each upon what appeared to be piles of clothes, but somehow weren’t. What was worse, the “things” were still twitching with life. Rats had burrowed inside the corpses, gifting them with a horrible imitation of life. Dr. Carlyle suddenly screamed. He didn’t have the ability to block one iota of the vision and closing his eyes only served to enhance the scene. The decision had been made, as if any other outcome ever really existed.

<><><><>

Meraine was finally awake. Though she’d been healing for months, her head throbbed terribly. It was an understandable side effect, as the invasive tests never really stopped. She felt stiff all over. Her muscles had begun to atrophy from lack of use. Nurses turned her to prevent bed sores, but paid no real mind to any sort of rehabilitation. She’d fought her restraints from the moment she’d come to, no matter how feebly.

It didn’t help that Dr. Carlyle stared idly back at her. His youthful, but somehow ugly mug was the last thing she’d seen. She’d woken confused; uncertain what happened the last time they’d met. She’d had no concept of how much time had passed, thinking it merely a few minutes. Even so, she loathed this man, coerced or not to do Dr. Monster’s bidding. Her immediate response was panic and attempted to, what was it called, sway? She was rewarded with a sharp pain, as if her very brain had run a marathon and was sore from the strain. Dr. Carlyle stared on, utterly silent with the bedside manner of a mute.

Meraine’s peripheral vision told her something, no, everything else had changed. This was a different room. The telepaths were no longer present, sprawled unconscious on the floor or otherwise. Even her clothes were different. In a moment’s clarity, she figured they must’ve subdued her somehow, but assumed only a day had passed. Bound, she couldn’t even wrap her fingers around his throat to squeezed the life out of him. She could’ve done it too, since somehow her and Dr.Carlyle were the only two present in the room, but a weakness overtook her.

All she could do was observe in much the same manner as Dr. Carlyle was doing, because even talking hurt. Her voice wasn’t what it once was or she would’ve strung together miles upon miles of curses and death threats. Instead all that came were memories of the all too familiar chalky taste and the fact it was back . . . the residual effects of the endless tests. This was accompanied by a soreness with every dry swallow, as if her tender teenage mouth were viciously raped from the moment she lost consciousness. What she couldn’t know was how much time had actually passed. They’d just figured once she was in a coma there existed no more need to be careful.

Meraine noticed Dr. Carlyle’s fear was gone, or hidden, with the faint smell of it lingering in the air, as if the memory of a scent. She inhaled what she could and reveled in her meager victory, all the while hoping to enhance the odor with all the ferocity of a trapped animal. It wasn’t working as she hoped. Despite Dr. Carlyle’s presence, Meraine blamed most of her troubles on Dr. Monster, to whom she’d no idea was “no longer affiliated with the hospital”.

She was grateful when Dr. Carlyle stopped his daily visits after merely a week. She’d been told he’d moved on to something better. In reality he pretty much had; even he would’ve attested to it if he still could. So now he was gone. Of course, nothing was so simple anymore, or rather everything was. Time passed as it must, and Meraine learned to her shock exactly how much.

Her ability, her telepathy and all her newly budding powers . . . were gone. With this knowledge a deep sorrow overcame her. No one told her as much, but they didn’t have to. She was inundated with silence, with not a peep from any other mind within the hospital, as if she were there alone. She’d so loathed her powers and the new ones, well, they terrified her. Now she missed them, as if a dear friend had died. Worse yet, she’d been told unceremoniously that they hadn’t been suppressed, but were simply gone, permanently. Though she despised Dr. Carlyle, she kept in mind he was likely the only one who could’ve reversed the damage, so she regretted his absence. Her hope was fading along with the rage. She was falling apart.

She more than missed her abilites. Nearly since birth, they’d been her lifeline. They’d guided her in how to live. They’d endangered her countless times, but they’d also quite literally saved her life on multiple occasions. As accursed as they were, how in the hell was she supposed to live without them?! For this, her depression deepened, making all the tests, even the painful ones, so much easier for the doctors.

She knew what they were doing too, no telepathy required. They were trying to find out exactly what made her tick. Scratch that. They needed to know what USED to make her tick. Her brain was still the same. Every last ability was still present, but now forever locked away. This made the tests possible to perform, because history proved fighting them was fatal. However, this also made many of the procedures pointless, because her abilities could no longer be tested.

The Sect had already known this, but thought maybe things would be different once she’d awoken; that perhaps her renewed brain activity would spark something they could use. No dice. Their prize was now a dud. They’d kept her breathing all this time and all for nothing. Her back had even healed and if anything, it was better than new. The coma kept her immobile, aside from the duties the nurses has to perform. Namely, Meraine, herself couldn’t interfere with her own healing, so not one complication arose. Though, the brain was not the spine and couldn’t be treated in the same manner.

So they’d fixed her and now she couldn’t pay her god damned bill. The remarkable Meraine had become just as expendable as Dr. Carlyle. The only hope that remained for scientific progress lay within an autopsy and for that she would need to die. Ultimately, that wouldn’t be her fate. Just as Lori said, Meraine was born with a purpose. She was meant to do something great. Having her brain carved up wasn’t so great.

Not that she cared anymore. Her father was gone and she’d heard nothing from Lori and none had enlightened her as to her friend’s fate. Her questions would’ve been endless, had she been able to talk. Even if she could, this truth was forbidden. Every last nurse and doctor were made explicitly aware that sharing this rather public information with the coma patient would end very badly for them. In Meraine’s condition, talking was no easy task, but the word she managed to choke out most was “Lori”. Then, like clockwork, the depression would hit. They could dissect her brain and fucking play with it. What did she need it for anymore?

She’d lost everything. She’d assumed Lori was dead, but did it matter? Even if she were alive, she was still gone. Meraine was still all alone without the ability to fight back, escape or even make a new friend within her newly isolated ward. The utter helplessness of it all finally overwhelmed her. Her depression had graduated into catatonia. Whatever part of her that remained wanted to go back. Bring the mother fucking needle back! Bring a bigger one! Bring two! Jam them in both her eye sockets this time! Make her go away! Make her fucking forget again! Make her fucking dead! She didn’t care anymore!

Though, Dr. Carlyle still cared. Before his death, regrets overwhelmed him. He found he couldn’t save himself or his family, but there was one he could save. Under duress or not, he knew what he’d done to her. He never even knew her, aside from her name. Still what he’d done was absolutely horrific. He’d robbed her of all her abilities. In this day and age that was not done. Kill them, sure. Rip their youth away, why not. Yet leave their abilities alone. Personally, he felt what he’d done was sacrilegious, especially to a child! Didn’t children have enough to worry about? Most didn’t even know such a thing was possible, but he knew and did the unthinkable. It was no better than hacking off both arms and both legs, then saying “You’re all better now! Roll on home! Oh and here’s your fucking bill! Pay it quick! You’re kind of bleeding a bit.”

The remorse hit home even before Meraine’s operation. Dr. Monster forced him to do the same procedure to a few others first. It was temporary for them, but that didn’t matter. Being reversible didn’t make what he’d done any less of an abomination. He’d basically raped their very soul. You can’t do that and then just give it back, saying, “Sorry”. Though, with Meraine there wasn’t any choice in the matter. The needle had gone too deep. The damage was permanent. Sure, she was lucky to be alive, but then she wasn’t. Who could live like that? Even unpracticed he knew he couldn’t live without his own abilities. So he loathed the day she’d wake. Despite his cowardice, despite everything, he silently vowed to do something about it.

Not that the Sect hadn’t gleaned this personal torture. It was, if nothing else, amusing to them. They’d never really put any stock into it. Even if they had, what exactly could he do? His own testament claimed the damage as irreversible. She wasn’t going anywhere. The fucking moron couldn’t even save his own family, so what could he do for the little vegetable? Not a damn thing. That’s what. So they let his promise go. They really shouldn’t have done that.

Dr. Carlyle knew once in their sights the only way to escape the Sect was to die. So that was his gift to the little girl he’d so damaged. He’d kill her, but not so much. She only appeared dead. It’s what the injection did. Foresight wouldn’t preclude such a thing, as it was part of his job to stick her with his plethora of needles. Still, it took time. He knew he’d be dead before she faded, but that was the idea. It would remove all suspicion of his tampering. He’d already medically blocked his own thoughts with yet another injection. So his plan remained a secret while the tortured little girl passed silently in the night.

Be that as it may, foresight remained. The Sect could see many things, but escape was not one of them. Every last vision they’d had of Meraine ended upon the autopsy table, but then that too was by design. The supple 13 year old brain they’d seen Dr. Criptana carving up was that of different girl. Oh, but then, Dr. Criptana wasn’t stupid. Fortunately she didn’t need to be. This dead girl could’ve passed as Meraine’s twin and well, did.

Of course, Meraine had no twin or even a lookalike. This was the result of advanced plastic surgery and as healing took time, this was all planned long ago. Dr. Carlyle wasn’t quite as stupid as the Sect had assumed. Not that he’d done the job himself. No. The Sect would’ve known since they were watching him. He’d made such arrangements anonymously, via telepathy; medicinally blocked, naturally.

The unfortunate girl was no wiser and indeed thought of herself as very fortunate. It was as if she’d won some sort of contest and this was the prize. Not quite. The wait for the perfect match hadn’t taken long, but the wait for the perfect patient took longer. Dr. Carlyle couldn’t have anything as obvious as a contest, but plastic surgery wasn’t uncommon among the rich. This was especially true of rich kids targeted as pawns for revenge against their parent’s crimes.

Most of the wealthy got that way by first smashing the heads of other less fortunate people. This wasn’t much appreciated. What better revenge than to bleed the youth from their children? So anticipated, the wealthy took steps to make what was known unknown. This meant plastic surgery; detailed, exquisite and expensive. Some kids thought this a gift better than a new car.

It wasn’t as if Dr. Carlyle had that kind of money, but then he didn’t need to. He just had to offer up a face and Meraine’s would do nicely. Once she’d healed from her wounds, the girl’s “new” look was then passed on to those who needed to know so the death could still happen. It was all done in exchange for not harming the body. Not to mention a perfectly timed body dump. It was all done so that the next wave of dead arriving at the hospital for identification could coincide with Meraine’s timely demise. Then among the body bags an orderly was to switch the scannable information for a hefty fee. From there Meraine would be transferred to a processing plant to be, well, ground up into happy meals for other hungry humatrans. Such was the industry to recycle, yet Meraine would avoid that grisly fate. Her body bag was marked as “contaminated” and was unceremoniously rerouted to one of the many biological landfills. She wouldn’t make this rendezvous either, however.

Yet this was not Dr. Carlyle’s doing. His grand plan ended with her waking up from her temporary death and walking through the unimaginable to gain her freedom. Such was not the case. She’d be intercepted on arrival. It was night and the lone driver drove with weariness typical for such a job. He never looked forward to the all-consuming stench. He was in luck, sort of. He was about to die and this, if nothing else, would free him from the smell, all while becoming a permanent part of it. His murderer was fate, but the orchestrator was a doctor. No, scratch that. She’d lost that title. It was Sarah McPhereson who left him to suffocate within the rotting pit.

She’d been watching and waiting. She’d figured out Dr. Carlyle’s little plan. She was still a monster, but melting into something softer. Even so, Sarah didn’t do this out of the kindness of her heart. Meraine was her ticket back to the big leagues, or so she told herself. After all, who runs from the Sect? As covert as she was, as careful as she was, they’d figure it all out, but it would be too late by then. She and her prize would be standing on the shores of Europe by then. The Sect was powerful, but local. Their reach didn’t extend overseas.

Sarah was on the run, but still took pride in the fact she’d won. That is she’d already won, even without Meraine. What the Sect didn’t know was they’d already had all her data. Too much happened too damned fast. She was completely unprepared and actually wore a look of surprise when she found her office cleared out. Still, she had one thing left . . . her uncanny ability to lie her fucking ass off.

She’d managed to convince the Sect they’d missed what really mattered, but then they had. Meraine was what really mattered. Be that as it may, having them search high and low and even delving inside her mind . . . well, it all brought a smile to her face. It was her little secret.

It was, after all, her wild card. She needed it even now. The Sect may believe Meraine was actually dead . . . the idiots, but they were still keeping tabs on Sarah. They’d probably already known something was up, as intercepting Meraine threw off her routine. They were probably watching her right now with their eyes glazed over in second sight.

Yet she kind of wanted them to. She could’ve taken steps to avoid detection just like that poor, dead moron Dr. Carlyle, but she really wanted to stick it to them, right where it hurt. She even wanted them to see Meraine. Sure, it was dangerous, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t made arrangements to avoid them. They’d be out of the country and off of the continent soon enough. Even if they caught her, they couldn’t kill her. She still had that last vital piece of information hidden away. She’d hidden it deep up the Sect’s collective ass where not even they’d think to look for it. A wicked smile flooded her face.

Then she turned her head toward the still unconscious Meraine. She reeked of death. She’d been around it so long it was no wonder they’d been fooled. She’d clean her up, but not here and not now. She had to be presentable for what lay in store, but plans aside, the future was an open road. Sarah’s lack of foresight or telepathy made that possible. In fact, they were both kind of impotent now. A hearty laugh exploded from her throat as she started the van and drove off into the unknown.

<><><><>

Such was the way things were. Meraine’s memories of the event were naturally second hand. Sarah told her . . . her version. At that point and even today, sitting in the bitter snow with the firstborn, she still couldn’t tell whether or not it was all a lie.

Regardless, she never would’ve guessed it was Sarah, the fucking Dr. Monster, who’d replaced Lori as her only friend. True, it was Lori who’d put the ball in motion leading to this very moment, but it was Sarah who’d told her about the firstborn and set her on the long endless path.

Now, after so very long, new revelations were coming to light. Here in front of her, and unbelievably so, was the prophet! There existed even fewer stories of him than the firstborn. Whatever anyone thought of him, everyone, absolutely everyone, KNEW he was no more. Well, they were all wrong. Hell, she was wrong and she’d been sharing a camp with him for months!

She’d never paid him much mind before. She felt positively morbid about that now, but it was all by design. Takei Marada was supposed to be dead and his name forgotten by the annals of time. It was how the story went, so he could remain in the background of all things. It was how he was able to push events forward. It was the only way certain prophecies could fulfill themselves. Just as his resurrection was the only way the firstborn could survive to tell his tale. It was all understandable. Everything seemed so clear to her now.

The best part was she’d been relieved of command! That was never her forte. She’d never wanted it, but for the firstborn she’d accept the role and had if only for a short time. She was just as happy to hand the reins over to Takei as she was to learn that role was never meant to be hers. Unbelievably, she now knew what her role actually was. After so many years she silently said a prayer to Lori, whom she’d considered an angel, to thank her for her short, but incredibly important role.

She wished Lori could’ve been here to see what she was seeing. She thought to her long lost friend, her first friend, “I’m to be the firstborn’s protector! Can you believe that, Lori?! I never would’ve guessed such a thing! I’ve always known how to take care of myself, but I needed someone. I thought that person was my dad, then you, then Sarah, of all people. Then I was alone for so long . . . but now it all makes so much sense! You were so right! About everything! Nothing is random! Not at all! I was meant to be here now and it’s all thanks to you! God . . . I miss you. Take care. Um . . . Amen, I guess.”

Little time existed for all of this to sink in, but now was a time of rest. Jason couldn’t yet travel, but it was good to know he was going to live. They all would. Takei told them they were safe here for a time. None would come looking; not yet anyway. That was another relief. Of course, it was even better to know Jason really was the firstborn of prophecy. She wanted to take this time to ask Takei, well, everything, but he’d no tongue. It wasn’t so much a shock to her. The monks had no tongues either. Naturally, they’d adopted that practice from his example! Everything would come in time. Patience was the prophet’s main quality, but then she was well versed in that too. She could wait. Even now, when that was the last thing on her mind, she could wait. So she did . . . until sleep took her, cold, but peaceful.