Dancing In The Wind E-Book

Sandra J. Jackson

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

April and her family have returned to the place where her nightmare began. It’s bad enough that she feels trapped by a building, a virus, and the upcoming winter, but the indistinguishable whispers in her head hold her captive as well.

For April, remembering is reliving the events in her life every day - good and bad. When she discovers that the voice in her head is Cecil’s, she turns to her parents for a solution. Somehow, he implanted secrets deep in her subconscious. April suspects they are clues to solving the virus he created. 

But someone else knows about the secrets trapped in April’s head, and they have a plan of their own. Will April’s parents get to the information, or will someone from April’s past get there first? And can April learn to cope with these memories, or will they drive her crazy?

Leseprobe

Dancing in the Wind

The Escape Series Book 3

Copyright (C) 2020 Sandra J. Jackson

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Dedication

In loving memory of my father

Acknowledgments

Once again, a big thank you to my family, particularly my husband, for putting up with my absence when I was still physically in the room. And for helping me to figure out if certain positions were physically possible.

Thank you to my beta reader, Leslie Brown, whose opinions and suggestions are always appreciated.

To my Creative Editor, Ron Bagliere, whose 30 plus years of writing and editing experience gives me the confidence that I'm putting out the best book I can. I thank you for all your support and encouragement.

A big thank you to my readers who have waited patiently for this final installment of the trilogy. I'm sorry it took me so long to get this finished.

And finally, thank you to Next Chapter Publishing, for your effort in getting Next Chapter Authors and their books noticed. I continue to look forward to this and other published works.

One Back

There were no curtains or blinds decorating the rectangular window in my room. A piece of duct tape secured the nylon string of a crystal suncatcher to the frame. It hung in the middle of the glass and refracted the afternoon sun. The double-paned, fixed-glass centered on the back wall allowed light and nothing more. Positioned below it was my single bed covered in a green, queen-size blanket which draped to the floor.

I kneeled on the end of the bed, leaned forward, and touched my cheek to the smooth glass. The action sparked the memory of gazing out another window. For weeks that window was the only link to the outside for my sister, Beth, and me. Behind it, we'd planned our escape and dreamed of freedom. But we also wondered about the condition of the world and what lay beyond the forest surrounding our prison. Fuzzy recollections of the last five years filled my head interspersed with the odd detailed memory, but it was different for my sister. Beth remembered little, and I feared she would not regain what she lost.

A wave of tiny bumps rose on my bare arms and travelled up to the top of my head. I shivered and replaced my cheek with my hand. The window from my memories faded as I returned to the present.

A single snowflake drifted toward the ground in a graceful dance against the blurred backdrop of dim reds, burnt oranges, and pale yellows of the distant trees. My gaze broke from the intricate ice crystal and concentrated on the outlying forest edge. Random flakes fell and melted the moment they touched the ground. If you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes and it will change, my father's voice repeated inside my head.

Within seconds, the grey sky morphed into blue. Treetops brightened as sunbeams stretched out from behind the fading clouds and kissed the leaves, turning the dim to vibrant, burnt to fiery, and pale to bright. The forest edge erupted into blazing colour as if someone set it on fire, reminding me of campfires from both years and only weeks ago. The snowflakes disappeared with the clouds. It was mid-October, and while the temperature had dropped, it would be another month before the snow fell and stayed.

A large raptor soared on chilled air currents, searching the ground below for its next meal. A V-shaped formation of southbound geese moved in perfect synchronicity across the ever-brightening sky. The corner of my mouth tugged into a half-smile as two stragglers hurried to catch up to the flock.

Oh, I wish I were a bird. As free as a bird, my father liked to say.

A flash of light caught my attention. I focused on the rows of photovoltaic power stations in the large clearing outside my window as sunlight reflected off the black panels. Months ago, someone had disconnected all but one from the grid. Marigold, one of the engineers who maintained them, explained the single station had its own meter and combiner boxes. This system provided localized power to the facility until the engineers reconnected the breakers and battery bank. Now the entire solar panel system worked to provide power to the entire building.

I closed my eyes. “This is real,” I whispered and swallowed the pain rising in my throat. This wasn't the only world catastrophe I lived through, though it was the worst. Ten years ago, the first pandemic to attack the earth in a hundred years, brought about fear and change. I had just turned ten, and life twisted upside-down. There was no school, we quarantined, stayed away from others. wore masks, and did what we could to stay healthy. Despite the losses, the world survived and normality eventually returned. But from that moment, anxiety took up residence in my head.

My no-longer-forgetful mind had returned as hyperthymesia made it possible to recall events in my life as though it just took place. The smallest memory always triggered an unstoppable need to reflect on the past and remember everything with precision. I gave up trying to fight it and allowed my thoughts to wander back to the last few weeks of summer.

Noah, a young man who seemed immune to the Butterfly Flu and whom my parents happened upon after escaping the fire at the compound, had helped to save us. It was his drone that had located my siblings, Marcus, and me wandering in the forest. We hiked the trails aimlessly; held there by mind-control games and the subliminal messages they'd subjected us to when we lived at the Contagion Eradication Centre for Intelligent Life. It was no coincidence the acronym C.E.C.I.L., used to refer to the compound, spelled out the name of its narcissistic creator, Cecil. And while the subliminal message compelled Beth, Caleb, and others to wander through the forest, it did not have the same effect on me. My reason to stay was because of them, and I could not leave, though I tried.

Our rescue and subsequent reunion with our parents answered many of the questions we'd had regarding Cecil, the compound, and the virus. When Beth produced the manifesto she'd found, we learned so much more. Four days later, living in a strange house in a virtual ghost town with personnel who'd escaped the fire, I was ready to search for the lost. August was nearing its end, and time was not on our side.

“I'm going with you.” I grab my backpack from the closet and toss it on the bed. The brown teddy bear with the purple bow sits on my pillow, indifferent to the commotion.

“But April…” Mom places her hand on my shoulder.

I shrug it off and turn to face her. “No! I'm going.”

“What's going on?” Dad says from the doorway to my room, a room I'd occupied for less than a week and once belonged to someone else, a child—a stranger.

Mom folds her arms. “April wants to go on the search.”

Dad nods, slow and contemplating. “Av,” he uses my nickname, short for Avril the French word for April, “don't you think it's too soon? The others–”

I glare at my father. “No, I am not like the others.” I sound childish, but I don't care. “Yes, I agree Beth, Caleb, and Marcus are still drawn to those trails and must stay here, but I'm fine. The subliminal messages didn't work on me. I'm helping you find the other… Butterflies.”

We called those still wandering in the woods, Butterflies, as Cecil had in his manifesto. Like Beth, my brother, Caleb, and me, they too had a small tattoo of a butterfly on the nape of their necks just at the hairline. The tattoos marked us as special. It was a complicated mess. But in summary, Cecil planned for years to gather gifted and intelligent children, wipe out civilization with a virus he created, and start anew.

I stopped ruminating. It was crazy. Cecil was crazy. And now I feared I was too. My stomach turned at the thought of him, and I vowed at that moment not to speak his name again. Another memory came to mind, and the fine grip I held on the present slipped, returning me to the past.

We were a rescue group of eight, my parents, four other former employees from the Contagion Eradication Centre for Intelligent Life, Noah, and me. Noah, having not been a resident at C.E.C.I.L., hadn't known what transpired there, nor had he experienced the effects of the hypno-drug. The drug Cecil used to keep us under his control. But he suffered as much. He'd seen everyone he loved die from the pathogen Cecil created. Noah was the sole survivor of his community. Like Marcus, who had happened upon C.E.C.I.L. a year before our escape, Noah was immune to the virus nicknamed the Butterfly Flu because of its constant mutating. Though it was no flu. While the eight of us set out on a mission to search for the lost, Beth, Caleb, and Marcus had stayed behind in Kearney. For three months the small town housed the staff who'd escaped the compound after the fire, and it was now our home too.

Our search led us on kilometers of trails I'd hiked before and a few new ones. The smell of death, brought to our noses on the wind, followed wherever we went. Animals, birds—people, remains in varying stages of decay scattered the trail and the bush. The unfortunate critters appeared to be victims of the virus that still infected the living, but many survived. Like Marcus and Noah, they had a natural immunity. For everyone else, the vaccine my parents created while at C.E.C.I.L., continued to ward off illness.

“Come on, it's this way,” I say, stepping over the skeletal remains of a squirrel in the middle of the trail. An hour earlier, Noah's drone sent back live video to the controller, and we saw a group of three headed in our direction. The plan was to reach the small clearing in their path first and leave food. Then we would watch them for a time before approaching.

The drone hovers overhead and Noah lands it safely on the ground. “April, hang on a sec.” Noah picks up the drone.

“We have to get there first,” I say, walking ahead.

“Yes, I know that, but we don't have the food.”

I sigh and train my gaze beyond Noah as my parents and the others round a bend and come into view.

Dad wipes his brow with his forearm. “April, can you do us a small favour and slow down a bit?”

Red and sweaty faces turn in my direction. “Sure, sorry.”

Dad touches my shoulder. “It's okay, we just don't know these hiking paths like you do, and we can't become separated. How's the power holding up?” Dad says to Noah.

“About half.”

“If we can convince this bunch to come with us, we'll head back today and recharge the battery. This will be a slow process,” Dad says.

Sometimes we spent a few days in the bush looking for the lost, other times we got lucky and returned to Kearny within hours, the newly rescued in tow. There were periods when we encountered groups from five to more than a dozen cognizant hikers. But others weren't so fortunate and they lived inside their heads, roaming on auto-pilot by themselves or as stragglers among the consciously aware. Most of these larger groups formed when smaller clusters merged, and the cognizant hikers took longer to convince they needed to leave the trails and the forest. But after gaining their trust, they told us their stories and what they remembered. They told us about those who perished, not from the flu but for other reasons, according to the ones who witnessed their deaths. Their companions dragged their remains into the trees and covered them with whatever they could find. The dead included the lucid and the catatonic—death did not discriminate.

I left my ruminations and thought of poor Shaun and Caia, once a part of my group when I wandered the trails. But now they were dead, their bodies buried beneath rocks and branches. And then I thought of The Collector, a psycho who stalked us while we roamed the forest. When he caught up with us, he shot Caia as Shaun, who had just come out of his drug induced stupor, launched himself at our attacker. The two of them fell over a cliff to their deaths. Beth had grown fond of Shaun, taken care of him, and it was she who searched for his body. When she found him, she covered his remains with broken branches and rocks. And she did it on her own, not wanting my help. As for The Collector, Beth glimpsed him too, but rocks and underbrush blocked most of his body from view. We left him to the elements and wild creatures; he deserved nothing more.

I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck as images of Shaun and The Collector falling over the cliff played like a movie. “Enough,” I said, recalling the final day of our search and rescue.

“That's it then?” I say to my mother as we climb into the rear seat of the old pickup truck. It is the middle of September, and we haven't found signs of anyone in several days.

Mom reaches up and plucks a twig caught in my father's hair as he sits ahead of her in the driver's seat and starts the engine. “Yes, I think so. According to the manifesto, process of elimination, etcetera, we found all those who escaped and survived.”

We'd rescued thirty-one survivors ranging in age from twelve to twenty-two and confirmed their identities from photographs and statistics discovered in the manifesto.

The pickup rumbled and as we pulled away from the side of the road, the wheels stirred up dust. There was a knock on the rear window. I turned to see Noah sitting in the truck's bed with three others, neither of whom started with us at the outset of the rescue mission. The first three, engineers at C.E.C.I.L. when it operated as a research facility, abandoned the mission after four days. They had more urgent affairs. At the time, I didn't know what that was, but learned later about their vital tasks.

In three weeks, the population of Kearney grew. While the town had enough housing for everyone, those in charge, my parents among them, announced we would soon be under one roof. With winter coming, they decided it was essential we be together. Those who had undergone months of brainwashing and subjection to the hypno-drug were unfit to be on their own—even me. When the new location became inhabitable again, we'd packed up the few vehicles and over several days, moved everyone into the renovated home.

The glass made a dull thump as I rested my forehead against the window at the thought of a day I wanted to knock from my brain. My search for home did not end the way I'd planned. Home is where the heart is, my father had said. And though we were together, my parents' decision to return to this place angered me.

I slapped my palm against the window while my other hand curled into a tight fist. Blood warmed my cheeks, and I clenched my jaw.

“Are you ready, April?”

Noah's voice startled me, and I spun around; my heart thudded as my blue eyes melted at the sight of his chocolate ones. His week-old haircut suited him. But I missed the soft waves of longer light brown hair at his neck though there was still some length at the front to remind me. Dressed in blue jeans and a black fitted t-shirt that showed off his toned physique, he looked as though he stepped from the pages of an online catalogue.

“Sorry, I knocked.” He smiled and jutted his thumb over his shoulder to the door behind him that had opened and closed without me noticing, “But I guess you didn't hear.”

Probably because I was rapping my skull off the window, my cheeks flushed with my thought. “That's okay.”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “So, are you?”

My stomach rolled, and I nodded, forcing a smile.

“Sure about that? Cause your eyes contradict your grin and not-so-convincing nod.”

I plunked onto my bed. “That obvious?”

Noah held out his hand, and I groaned with apprehension as I stood and crossed over to him. Strong fingers entwined with mine and he kissed my cheek; the blush returned.

He tucked a piece of my brown hair behind my ear. “A lot has changed,” he said and squeezed my hand.

“How would you know? You didn't live in this place.”

Noah shrugged. He opened the closet, took out a red jacket, and handed it to me. “So, I've been told. Why don't we check it out, and you can see for yourself?”

“Do we really have to?” The coat was a little too big as I poked my arms through the sleeves. I straightened out my purple t-shirt and zipped up the jacket.

He winked, took my hand, and led me toward the door. It slid open, quiet and effortless. The silence unnerved me. In my head, it always made a whooshing sound and that was what I expected.

No matter how much they cleaned the compound, I could still detect the faint odour of smoke from the deliberate fire set almost six months earlier. The fire had granted us our freedom from C.E.C.I.L. but it also caused other forms of captivity. For Beth and I it was another imprisonment and for the others who'd fled, the forest enslaved them. The smell made my nose wrinkle. It's all in your head, my father told me, and he was right. It was ALL in my head. Every. Single. Bit.

We stepped out into the hallway. The beginnings of colourful murals now adorned the once-white walls.

I was back—returned to the one property I vowed never to see again. And no matter what they did to change its appearance, underneath the façade it was still C.E.C.I.L., and once again I felt trapped.

Two Real

Small paintings dotted the white corridor that stretched out in front of me. While the colourful murals softened the stark walls, they didn't conceal where we were. Behind the mask, this was still C.E.C.I.L.

I tried to keep my focus straight ahead, but as usual my gaze wandered to the drop-tile ceiling. Not yet removed from its mount, one of a few remaining security cameras aimed down the hallway. Although inactive, I worried the device would suddenly power-up and follow my movements with its red eye and mechanical whine. For so long, the intrusive objects had monitored my activities, and it was hard to shake the paranoia that someone still watched.

I shook my head at the absurd notion. The motion detecting cameras no longer operated, and when they had, they made no noise. I had imagined it all as the hypno-drug wore off and changed my perception, affecting every sense. Distortion was the worst effect I'd suffered. The sliding pocket doors never whooshed as loud as I'd thought. There was only a faint airy sound heard in the quietest of moments.

Thinking about the distortion reminded me of Jasper, my caretaker. Jasper had reduced the hypno-drug that led to the return of my conscious awareness. And it was Jasper who set the fire that ultimately freed everyone.

As Noah and I continued along the hallway in silence, the recollection of altered realities transported me to the past.

I push the button on the bathroom wall and pull the door open. The warning alarm buzzes as the five-second countdown begins. I step over the threshold into my room, and the door closes behind me. An audible hissing sound travels through the door, and I know scalding hot steam is filling the small room on the other side.

The vision faded, and bitterness replaced it. The exaggerated hissing of steam heard behind closed bathroom doors was a figment of my imagination. My fingernails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists.

As I regained control of myself, I struggled with the accuracy of my memory. Although hyperthymesia allowed me to remember everything, I'd recently learned some memories were false, and Beth suspected it first. She'd suggested a while back the possibility that someone planted the memories in our heads. Her suspicions had been right. Not all our recollections, or at least how I remembered them, were correct. The drug changed them or Cecil did.

For instance, the first meeting with him in our home and later encounters weren't exact. By confirmation from our parents, we never called him Uncle like he said we had, rather we addressed him as Mr. Banks. It relieved me to know he'd never been Uncle to us and concerned me that outside influences could so easily alter my infallible recall. What else within my psyche had changed?

“Ready?” Noah's voice interrupted my thoughts.

We stood at the end of the corridor. Sheets of plywood replaced the glass walls damaged from the blaze that ravaged this part of the building five months ago. In the centre of the solid wall was a wood door. Behind it, a stairwell led down to the first-floor rooms.

With his hand on the handle and the other gripping mine, Noah gave a small tug as he turned the knob.

“Noah, wait!” I cried, stopping him. “Give me a moment.” The knot in my stomach rose into my chest.

“April, you've had days to prepare. This is not a surprise.”

“Yes, I know, it's just…”

He cocked his head to the side.

My shoulders slumped. “Fine,” I said, stepping forward and allowing Noah to lead me through the exit.

We walked down the stairs; our footfalls resonated in the stairwell. At the bottom we had two choices, continue down another flight of stairs to the basement or pass through one of three doors. The exits to the left and right led to the first-floor hallways, and the exit straight ahead, to what remained of the forest simulation room. For years residents used the room for daily exercises all the while undergoing thought control. Subliminal messages whispered through speakers, veiled by the sounds of nature. As inhabitants conditioned their bodies, he conditioned their brains. The directives to stay on the trails in the nearby woods were fail-safes. Should someone ever escape, he'd be able to locate them.

I stared at the entrance in front of me. Bile rose in my throat as the grisly image of a gnarled and charred hand sticking up from the ashes forced its way out from my memories. The unfortunate soul burned along with the contents of the simulation area, and it had been my misfortune to run across the remains several weeks afterward.

Noah's thumb brushed over the back of my hand. “Okay?”

I bit my lower lip and nodded.

Noah reached out for the doorknob of the steel entry and pulled. Bright sunlight made me blink as a cold breeze fluttered my hair. I zipped my jacket all the way up, tucked my chin inside, and stepped outdoors.

Noah was right. The simulation room looked nothing like before, not when fake trees, winding trails, and recorded bird songs filled the space. And not when it was a blackened mass of molten plastic and ash.

The renovations began just after Beth and I had left the compound we'd rediscovered after our escape from the old house. Had we stayed for another day, the reunion with our parents would have taken place sooner.

Marigold and her team of engineers worked many long hours to make this facility inhabitable again. Two backhoes and a loader had pulled down a section of the far end wall and the pitted steel door and replaced it with a wide metal gate. The longer side walls survived, and the rubble was long gone. While not finished, the objective was to turn the large outdoor space into a courtyard.

I turned a slow circle and examined the area. Blistered paint was all that remained of the forest mural that once covered the now blackened concrete walls. They'd removed the concrete slab from the centre, leaving the rest around the perimeter to form a walkway. A wood bench rested against the rear wall with a view of the clearing and the rows of solar panels beyond the gate.

I stepped toward it; Noah trailed. When I approached the seat, I shivered.

“The bench is a memorial,” Noah said.

I bent forward and read the names engraved into a metal placard attached to the backrest. My finger traced over the etchings, and my eyes stung as I read Jasper, Shaun, and Caia. The plaque, while not big enough to list everybody, mentioned the other eighty-four residents who'd lost their lives. Twenty-nine test subjects exposed to the virus during multiple vaccination trials, and the fifty-five who perished or disappeared without a trace on the trails. There was no engraving of Cecil's name. No recognition to those who helped him, had approved of his plan, and died or escaped and never returned.

I sat and stared out toward the field and the distant multi-coloured trees. “What did they do with the rock?”

Noah wrinkled his brow. “Rock?”

“The huge boulder. It was…” I scanned the area, “over there.” I pointed.

Noah shrugged. “Probably melted like the plastic trees and they scooped it up with the rest.”

“No, it was real.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “I thought everything in this room was a fake.” Noah swept his hand through the air before wrapping his arm around my shoulder. We had grown close over the weeks since my rescue.

As he pulled me near, I sighed, breathing out all the stress and tension I held in my body. “No, it was real,” I whispered and rested my head on Noah's shoulder.

The rock had to have been real. But then I wasn't so sure what real was anymore.

Three Noah

Noah had saved us. Without his drone we would still be on the trails, walking endless circles. He had saved me. Without him, I would have lost my mind.

Seated on my bed, I stared at the black leather cover of Jasper's journal resting in my lap. Inside it, he had penned his experiences at C.E.C.I.L., how he'd come to learn of the plan, and what he personally suffered. On his deathbed, Jasper told me where I would find it and that it held answers to my questions. Apart from my memories, the journal was all there was left of Jasper's existence. His employer, the man whose name I wouldn't say or think upon, had destroyed any other personal belongings he'd had at the compound. But there was more than just Jasper's words written inside, I had added my own thoughts. The idea seemed absurd now. My brain was my personal journal, and I could flip back to any moment and recall the events. Yet I contemplated reading my scribbles as I thought of that particular day.

When my parents had announced the plans to spend the colder months at the compound, I lost control. I was like an inconsolable two-year-old throwing a tantrum. No one else reacted the same way. Then again, no one had my memories—real, imagined, or altered. My arguments claiming the building was uninhabitable were futile as the structure underwent weeks of renovations. C.E.C.I.L.'s reunited inhabitants boarded over broken windows, washed walls, and cleaned out debris. They'd fixed what was necessary to make it safe for the winter, and they collected supplies and furnishings from homes and shops in Kearney. A few rooms suffered minimal damage, and their restoration was quick. Like a phoenix, C.E.C.I.L. rose from the ashes, repaired, sustainable, self-sufficient, and inhabitable. I refused to believe and refused to go.

For two days, I stayed in the purple bedroom of the house we inhabited in Kearney and wouldn't speak to anyone, leaving my room only to use the bathroom. Confinement would be on my terms. For two days, Noah brought food and spoke through the closed door even though I wouldn't respond. And on the third day he sat outside my room, played his guitar and sang.

I opened the journal and flipped to the last quarter where I had scrawled my thoughts on the blank pages.

Noah has a beautiful voice. I didn't know he could sing or play the guitar. He sang a song called Butterfly by an artist I'd never heard of before but it was beautiful. It made me wish I was a real butterfly.

Inside my head I heard Noah's voice singing, and I closed my eyes.

“Is that yours?” The bedroom door squeaks as I open it.

Noah stops playing and looks at me. For the first time, I notice the depth of his brown eyes. “The guitar?” He holds it up and nods.

“And the song?”

“No.”

“Who sings it? Sang,” I correct, not knowing if the artist is from years ago or more recent and whether they had survived given the world's latest history.

“Lisa Loeb,” he says.

“Never heard of her.” I confess.

“Lisa was one of my mother's favourites, and she loved that song.”

“The lyrics, tune, are pretty.” I sit on the floor, and he starts again. I touch the back of my neck, imagining a butterfly flying away. At that moment, it's what I want.

I closed the journal and stuffed it between the mattress and box spring, too tired to read anymore, too unfocused to write. A jumble of memories, imaginings, and lies played in my mind. I needed air and an escape from the constant racing thoughts. The door slid open, and I took a deep breath before stepping into the corridor. My footsteps echoed in the hallway. A weak smile crossed my face as I greeted others.

Noah's room was halfway up the long hall. He stayed in one of the windowless accommodations, the same kind Beth and I shared when we'd lived here under the control of the hypno-drug. A muffled reply answered my knock, and I stepped closer, activating the door.

Once inside, I focused on the far corner of the room. The bracket was all that remained of the surveillance system. Below the bracket, and above the head of the bed, was a poster of a lynx taped to the white wall. Noah lay curled on his side on top of his poorly made bed with his head propped on his hand. A tuft of synthetic filler stuck out from a slight tear in the rumpled blue comforter beneath him. A wayward piece of brown hair hung in his eyes, and he swept it aside as he turned the page of an old book.

“Can we go for a walk?”

Noah looked up from the novel and smiled; his cheek dimpled. “Sure.” He closed the book with a slap and tossed it on a small table beside his bed. He pointed at me. “Maybe it's warmer than this morning, but not warm enough for short sleeves.”

I thought of our visit to the courtyard earlier that day and glanced at my purple tee. “Yes, I guess you're right.” The weather had been so erratic, one day called for a sweater and the next a t-shirt.

“Here, put this on.” Noah tossed me the red hoodie lying on the end of his bed.

The sleeves were soft and warm as I stuck my arms through them. “What about you?” The hoodie smelled of a blend of sweet and spice, and I breathed in the light and fresh scent.

“No worries.” He smiled and took a black sweatshirt from a dresser across from the foot of his bed. A framed picture of his parents sat on the top. He rolled down his blue shirtsleeves, covering his toned biceps and the compass tattoo on his right arm, and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. “Anyway, you look good in red.”

My cheeks flushed like they always did when he paid me a compliment.

“Let's go then.” Noah led the way out of his room and down the hall toward the front entrance.

Inside the compound's vestibule, hidden from peering eyes, Noah grabbed my hand and led me out the door and along the side of the building. We crossed the lawn and stepped into the woods.

“Same?” Noah said.

Tears threatened to escape if I opened my mouth, so I nodded instead and squeezed Noah's hand.

We walked in silence on a trail we had carved out over the past few weeks. Leaves fluttered to the ground from the fiery canopy overhead like the snowflakes had earlier that day. When we reached the wall, we followed its length until we arrived at a ladder. Noah had constructed it on our second outing to the wall using two small trees he'd cut as the rails and scrap wood for the rungs. Although we were free to roam, it was only within the ground's boundaries. We were not to venture outside of the enclosure. The ladder was my salvation from the trapped sensation that accompanied me everywhere. Once over the cement fence, I collected colourful leaves as early fall flowers were much harder to find.

Tucked in among the trees, a small shed came into view. Caleb had hidden inside the rickety building for twenty-four hours when he first escaped the old house. My grip tightened on Noah as we neared. The house had not only been Caleb's prison, but served as one for Beth and me. Jasper had thought we would be safe, bringing us to shelter there the night of the fire. But he was wrong, and our haven turned into a house of horrors.

We stopped by the weathered tool shed for a moment. A fly buzzed, caught in a web woven inside a hole in the wood cladding. The insect struggled. I poked my finger through the silk trap, freeing it.

“Ready?” Noah said.

I nodded. My focus trained on a window at the rear of the house across the overgrown lawn. It looked ominous, and I almost expected to see Jasper's ghost waiting for us to emerge from the bush. I squeezed my eyelids and replaced my imaginings with the memory of sticking my head out that window. Sunshine warmed the top of my head as I inhaled my first breath of outside air in a long time. The orange and yellow scrap of cloth used to cover my nose from the putrid odour of death hung from my neck.

As we stepped out from the woods and into the neglected yard, I shifted my gaze to the clearing among the stand of pines.

Goosebumps covered my arms as we approached; wooden crosses grew larger the closer we got. I shuddered, and Noah clutched my hand. No matter how many times I walked the same path, I would never get over imagining Cecil's white-haired phantom watching me from the kitchen door with dead grey eyes. A sneer pasted to his face.

We stopped at the edge of the small cemetery. “Okay?” Noah said.

“Ahem, yes.” My voice cracked, but I stayed strong.

At each wooden cross I placed a colourful bunch of leaves and a few wilted blooms, saying a prayer as I did. When I reached the last one, I allowed my tears to fall. The grave was Jasper's resting place. I set the remaining bundle of autumn foliage next to an older bouquet of dead and faded flowers and whispered one last prayer.

“Are you ready?”

I wiped my tear-stained cheek and smiled. “Yes.”

“So, where to now?”

A sudden breeze fluttered my hair. “You know where.”

Noah draped an arm over my shoulder and we walked through the pines to our special place. The late afternoon sun stretched its rays through the trees like long golden fingers. Leaves crunched, and twigs snapped beneath our steps. The slow climb was easy until we reached an outcropping of large rocks. Here, we had to be careful as we hiked to the top.

The view was spectacular. The sunlight bathed us in its warmth as we rested on a flattened rocky area and stared out at the landscape.

Noah gathered me into his arms, and we sat still and quiet. I leaned into him, enjoying his body heat. “I wish we could stay here,” I whispered.

“You say that every time.”

I straightened and turned to him. “But it's true. I don't want to go back.” My vision blurred, and my throat ached. The thought of returning to the compound caused my anxiety to heighten.

Noah held my face between his warm hands, and he rested his forehead against mine. “Av, it's only temporary,” he said. He had taken to calling me by the nickname only my family used.

“But I…” Noah's lips cut off the rest of my words. My body melted into him, and he held me close.

He eased me down onto the rock, keeping one hand behind my head and protecting it from the hard surface. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me. In his arms I was safe, I was happy—I was free.

Four Beth, Marcus, & Murals

The room was spacious. LED lights hung from the ceiling and cast a sterile glow over the entire area. Partial murals adorned the once-white walls, much like the hallways of the first and second floors. Four rows of five rectangular tables, each seating up to a dozen people, filled the space. Neat stacks of black plastic chairs with shiny metal legs rested against part of the back wall.

The cafeteria wasn't just for dining, but supplied a spot for group and private meetings. It was where the aware discussed the next plan. Where the cognizant helped those still in semi and complete unresponsive states. And where the brainwashed came for psychotherapy and reprogramming. It was a safe place where we examined problems with our memories and fears. Since returning, I made my discontent with the living arrangements known and argued with my parents often, hoping to convince them to allow me to spend the winter in Kearney. The small town was about a forty-five-minute drive south of the compound and centred between two small lakes. I would have threatened to leave, but I learned they would reinstall the cameras, so I yielded and kept my hope of escaping to myself.

From inside the entrance, my gaze swept over the people scattered in the room. When I spotted my target, I crossed the floor.

Beth occupied a table at the far end of the lunchroom. The multi-coloured sweater she wore blended with the mural on the wall behind her, making her almost invisible.

“Hi,” I said to my younger sister as I pulled out the chair across from her. The felt-covered feet slid silently over the pale grey tile.

“Hey,” she responded without even a glance in my direction. Her focus was on a large text. An awkward silence descended like a thick fog hanging in the air.

“What are you reading?” My voice parted the white haze. We'd spoken few words to each other since returning to the compound.

Beth picked up the volume and showed me the cover. I nodded, not surprised by the grip the medical tome had on her.

“What do you want?” Beth said. The move back to C.E.C.I.L. hadn't halted the progress she'd made regaining her identity. Her to-the-point, say-what-you-mean, feisty-self was still intact. Even the stutter that appeared as the hypno-drug wore off faded, but for the occasional relapse.

The argument I had with Beth weeks earlier filled my head. “To apologize.” I closed my eyes for a moment, struggling to keep my composure, which crumbled with my words.

Beth broke away from reading. Her gaze softened, and she reached out and touched my hand. “No worries,” she said.

My eyes burned, and I wiped the tears before they trailed down my cheeks. “Thing is…” I stopped as I struggled to explain. “I thought I was over it.” Marcus' face flashed in front of me and with it, the memory of my jealousy over his relationship with Caia.

“It's good to see you, Caia,” Marcus says, picking up the rocks from around our fire pit.

“You know each other,” I say out loud, confirming what I'd suspected.

Beth gapes. “Do you?” she says.

“She was in my group before.” Marcus lifts another rock and adds it to the two he cradles in his arms. His biceps flex under the load.

“We got separated,” Caia adds.

“Have you been alone all this time? What have you been doing?” Marcus says to Caia. His question softens her tough-girl act and Caia nods; her eyes brim with tears. Marcus smiles, leans forward, and kisses her tenderly on the cheek. For a split second, I wish it is my cheek he's kissed.

The memory faded as quickly as it had started, and I finished my apology. “Not that we ever had anything. What I felt was one-sided. He didn't have a clue about my growing feelings for him. Then Caia showed up, and it was obvious they had something. And then later you and Marcus were… anyway, you grew close and I… well, I'm sorry. The entire situation was my fault, and my reaction was childish.”

“Really, it's okay, I understand. Marcus helped me deal with Shaun's death. We've supported each other. And anyhow, he's got five years on me.”

“Closer to four and a half.” I shrugged, Marcus was the same age as Noah, two years older than me. “Anyway, I wouldn't care if you and…”

“Friends, April. And Mom and Dad probably would care.” Beth smiled, and she returned her attention to the book. After a few moments, she flipped the page of the text.

“Why did you use your hand?” I questioned. Beth had a telekinetic talent that she'd rediscovered while we wandered the forest. Though not perfected, she showed it to me one day by flipping through the pages of a nature book she'd found.

Beth closed the volume, ending my recollection. “I've given that up.”

“But I thought you were strengthening your skills so you could move bigger and heavier things. Don't give up!”

Beth shook her head. “That's not what I want anymore. I want this.” She tapped the book. “I wish to help people and save them from illness or injury. Telekinesis will not do that. And developing some silly ability was what… Cecil wanted.” She hesitated on the name that made me cringe. “This is what I choose,” she reiterated and tapped the book again. “Anyway, my talent was one reason for this mess.”

I nodded. If only I could give up my memory recall as easily.

“Everything okay?” Marcus appeared behind Beth. His muscles flexed as he folded his arms.

“Sit,” Beth commanded, and he peered at her with one eyebrow raised. Beth sighed, “Please.”

Marcus smiled and sat next to her. “I'm trying to teach your sister manners, you know.”

“Good luck with that.” My mouth contorted into a half-smile.

Beth turned her glare onto me, then laughed. “Ya well, what can I say.” She shrugged.

Marcus' his hand rested on the table beside Beth's, her white skin looking even more pale in contrast to his brown. I smiled, happy that my blue eyes were no longer tinged with green.

“So, everything's okay?” Marcus repeated.

Beth grinned. “Av just came to apologize.”

Marcus pointed a finger back and forth between us. “So, we're good?” he said.

“Yes,” I chuckled. “We're good.”

We chatted and laughed for a while as we enlightened each other on what we'd been doing since the move. The mood was light. The awkward fog lifted.

“So,” Beth said, her voice rising. “Are you ever going to finish any?”

My brow creased, but I rubbed the tension away with my fingertips as my blank gaze drifted between Beth and Marcus. The vast beginnings of what would be seascapes, landscapes, and cityscapes on the walls that surrounded us caught my attention, and I understood what my sister meant. “How did…”

“Everyone knows it's you, Av,” Beth said.

“I'm not the only one painting.”

“True, there are some smaller paintings and drawings from others, but yours are the only ones that are unfinished.”

The painting started the first night of our return to the compound. Visions of stark-white corridors had invaded my dreams. Unable to sleep, I'd confiscated paint and brushes we'd brought from Kearney and placed in a room we used as storage. Every night, I covered walls until I could no longer see, and exhaustion replaced the restless thoughts that prevented me from sleep.

“I don't think I can,” I admitted.

“Why not?” Marcus said.

“Because of all the things trapped inside my head, these are the ones I can't remember, don't know. I'm not sure what the world looks like anymore.”