I glanced down the corridor to my left and right. Every door had similar designs and were spaced evenly on each side. On the opposite wall the doors were staggered from the wall I was facing.
I could tell this floor had recently been built. Director Ward mentioned in the auditorium his “sincerest apologies for making some of his guests share rooms for 6 months while the new residentials were being built,” though I didn’t hear any sincerity in his words.
My attention back at my own door, I scanned my thumb and turned the handle, and walked through the threshold. My jaw dropped, and I stood frozen in awe. By the way Dalton had described the “nook”- if you could call it a nook- I figured it would be a minuscule room with a bed and, maybe, a couch. However, standing in the entrance I let out a small laugh.
More like a-
“Condo?” Somehow, someone had snuck up behind me without my noticing, and decided to play his good ole fashion “finish-your-sentence-for-you-so-you-can-shit-bricks” trick.
“Gah!” I nearly jumped out of my skin as I spun around to find- who else but- Dalton Branson.
“Jesus fuck, man. Learn to give a man a warning before making him shit his pants!” He looked hurt from these words as he looked down from the scolding.
“Sorry,” was all I could come up with to make up for the harsh words, but it seemed to have worked, for he responded with a warming grin.
“I know. It’s more than you expected, but I wanted to let you experience the same wow factor I had when I first got my place.”
I didn’t want to kill the conversation, so I invited him inside my new place, rather than stand outside in the corridor.
As we walked in through my doorway, I noticed how familiar,- and warming- it felt. The smell, it was as if I were back at grandma’s place. The smell of freshly baked cookies, apple pie, and-
Oh, no way. The furniture was exactly that of which I would long to see every Saturday, the couch being the best since it was extraordinarily cozy. The couch- love seat, actually- was exactly how I managed to remain fully rested. I would, as soon as I had the door opened and my bags unpacked, flop myself flat on the sofa and drift away to my dreams with the lovely aromas still filling the air.
“Some crazy coincidence, huh?” I couldn’t believe that these people knew exactly where I felt most comfortable. Dalton’s remark, however, made me like the place even more.
“No such thing as a coincidence.” I looked up to see him, as well, taking in the surroundings and livelihood of the atmosphere.
For the first time, I noticed some of his features. Blonde hair, short yet long enough to cover the upper half of his ears. Blue eyes and a nose shaped almost like that of Owen Wilson. His face was somewhat chubby and round, giving him a “baby-face.” He looked around the age of 15 or 16, but he had a good bit of height at around five-ten, maybe five-eleven. His arms and legs, too, were long, making him look frail, since he had little-to-no muscle.
“I’m seventeen, actually.”
I was surprised. “Huh? I didn’t- Oh.”
I’d already forgotten his greatest feature; he can read minds.
“You’ve really got to stop doing that. It’s kind of freaking me out.” I chuckled a bit to let him know it was more of a joke than a serious complaint, yet still leaving a sense of constructive criticism. “How would you like it if we sat and had a chat about what it is I should expect out of this place?”
I sat at the sofa, and he sat at the recliner across from me. I crossed my right leg over my left knee and leaned back with my arms crossed, my chin resting in my hand, thinking of a good way to start the conversation. A question had crossed my mind, one that I had earlier when I first met Dalton.
I waited to see if he would allow me to speak, or if, since he already knew what I was about to say, he would answer the question. It looked to be the former rather than the latter, as he gestured to me with a nod. “If this place is under government protection, then how is it that, like you said earlier, they have not the slightest clue about us or this place, or base, or whatever it is they call it?”
He replied with, “Enhanced Individual Research and Development facility, EIRD for short. However, as far as the deal with the controversial governmental stance, the only thing I know is that the only people who know about us are a private pool of investors who pay for everything, and certain people within the military. I picked it up off of a new serviceman in the morning while he was still waking up, getting his morning cup o' coffee one day after I got here.”
“Ok-” I was interrupted as an intercom buzzed, and a man with a deep, rich voice- sounded like that of a southern United States accent- spoke, but sounded frightened.
“Attention all residents, report to your dorms and remain there until further notice. If you are already in a dorm, even if it is not yours, stay there. We are locking down. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”
Dalton and I both looked at each other, his face bore that of utter terror.
“What’s wrong? What's happening?” I began to panic on my own, just from witnessing him turning pale.
“I- I don’t know. This has never happened before.” As he finished this sentence, I heard explosions as if bombs were going off. They did, however, sound distant.
No, wait. They were getting closer.
■
“Macy!” Dalton ran toward the door, slinging it open, which slammed against the wall as it swung around. Rushing through the now wide open door, he took a sharp right turn. I’d never seen anyone move as fast as Dalton was, not even in my days of police-busted parties full of drunk and high underage teens.
Coming to my senses and deciding I should follow, I sprinted in his tracks, and rounded the corner just in time to witness him rounding a left turn at an intersection in the hallway, still screaming that name, “Macy!”
The halls were vacant, except for him running rampant and me following his path.
“Macy!” Who was this? Who was so important that he would possibly risk his life?
He suddenly burst through another door while simultaneously hollering, “Macy!” A short moment of silence elapsed before a, “Dalton?” was returned in response in a muffled, terrified girl’s voice.
“Thank God. She’s safe.” He sighed and walked- still with a decent, rushed pace- to a door beside the entrance to the kitchen. Grabbing the doorknob, he twisted and pulled. As the door opened, a beautiful girl, about seventeen, exited and immediately wrapped her arms around Dalton. I could tell she had started sobbing slightly, “Dalton, I heard explosions. They said I’d be safest here.” She spoke, holding back sobs. Dalton tried to speak, but stopped and shook his head; he just stood there, holding her until she had calmed down.
I cleared my throat, not because I had something stuck, but because I wanted my presence to be known. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt. But, I was just wondering-”
“Oh!” Dalton perked with surprise. “Sorry, I sort of forgot. Um, Macy, this is Kenyan Mariner. He’s a new friend I met today at work. And Ken, this is Macy, my sister.”
For some reason I felt relieved when he said she was his sister. “Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand and shook hers. Her hands were soft, gentle. They were warm, and they fit perfectly in my hand.
Dalton cut in. “Macy, I’m sorry. Ken and I need to go check something and talk.”
“We do?” I had no idea what he was talking about, but he had already started for the door to the hall. I followed, but stopped and turned back to Macy, grinning. “I guess we could visit later?”
“Sure.” She narrowed her eyes, then smirked with a giggle before turning and walking away.
I smiled and turned back to exit and saw Dalton standing in the doorway, waiting for me. I shrugged and continued walking, glancing at the dorm room number- I guess it’s a dorm since the announcement had stated that they were dorms.
- Got to remember that.
As I got outside the dorm, I noticed Dalton looked sheepish. His face was still pale.
There’s more to the story isn’t there?
“Absolutely.” I was ready this time for his mind reading, expecting it actually.
“Then break it down for me.” I was curious, but I was ready for whatever was to come.
He was still calming down. He hesitated, but managed to speak with little shakes in his voice. “The explosions everyone heard were not from someone attacking us from the outside.”
My blood froze in my veins. The hairs on my neck stood straight.
“You- You mean to say-”
“Yes. It was someone from inside the compound.” He said this with certainty. However, his ability to finally relax helped me to calm a little more. “I heard an officer a couple floors above us thinking about how it was one of the new patients who woke up.” With this I immediately knew who it was. Without another word I sprinted towards the stairs to get to the hospital wing with my heart racing. Dalton was in a position to keep up, partially because he knew what I was doing from his power, but mostly because of his tall figure and longer stride.
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Flying past doors from how fast I was running, I still managed to read all of the signs on each of the doors.
- 799. 800. 801. 802. 803. Stairway!
“Here!” We climbed the stairs as fast as we possibly could, and entered the stairway on sub-level 39. I stopped in the middle of the stairway, realizing I didn’t know which level the hospital wing was on. Before I could get a word out, Dalton had already answered, “Sub-level 36! We need to go up 3 levels!” I guess it is a good thing to have a friend who can read your mind. We raced up the 3 flights of stairs.
Bursting through the door for the hospital wing we came across a scene which made me want to turn away, and not a second later were slammed to the floor with a powerful force, locking me to where I had no choice but to look. Two of the nurses who had dealt with me, before Martin decided I was safe, lay dead on the floor only feet away from me. A pool of blood under both bodies had coalesced into one and began draining toward the center of the room where the Mystery Patient stood, lifting a third nurse by the throat, though I couldn’t see his face. Almost as if the pull of gravity in this particular area had been multiplied by a hundred, I could feel my ribs cracking under the pressure, the breath leaving my lungs quickly.
All of a sudden, the pressure had been lifted but we were instantly grabbed by our throats and lifted against the wall. Dalton and I both gasped and winced in pain. The person who had lifted us was most definitely the patient I had seen in when I first woke after arriving here. This time, however, he was very much awake. He was screaming at us, “Where the hell am I! Where is my army!” This guy was certainly crazy, but he was capable of killing us in an instant. I didn’t know what to do, I was afraid. Terrified. I could feel my heart racing faster and faster. More rapid by the second. He tightened his grip on my throat and, out of reflex, my hands clasped around his arms.
I could see fear in his eyes as something remarkable happened. I could feel my power kick into gear. My vision shifted to seeing his point, too, but I could see from my own eyes as well. Not only could I see from his eyes, but I was also capable of controlling his thoughts and actions, but I could feel his wrath beneath my own conscience, fighting with a fervor to rival a lion. With a simple thought of my own, I was able to have him release hold of both Dalton and I, but the nurses and officers were still held up by the invisible force. With another thought I had him faint, the rest of the hostages collapsed to the ground, finally.
Even after what he had just done and caused, I was still compelled to go touch his arm. I found myself striding over to him. I knelt by his side, and grasped his arm once more.
■
The scene was new. I had never seen what stood before me. A mansion-no- castle looming atop a mountain while a fierce storm was brewing above. The bricks which held the foundation together were weathered, possibly from many years withstanding the elements. The front door was large, double doors each about ten feet in height, and burgundy in color. The sky was blacker than pitch with a howling wind which blew against, and nearly tearing from the ground, the gigantic oak at the fa?ade of the castle. Lightning struck and thunder boomed periodically, but rain did not fall yet, as if the storm were awaiting a command to attack from a source of authority.
With my attention focused upon the doors, a young man approximately 19 years old, came bursting through the doors. He was screaming and cursing; between the shrieks and sobs, I could barely make out the words, “I hate you,” before he slammed the door with surprising force.
As he darted past me, I came to a sudden realization of who it is I was witnessing. This was the man who attacked me in the facility, just younger. He sprinted down the driveway, onto the road and started down the hill. As he reached the end of the driveway, a woman opened the front door with a furious look upon her face.
“Don’t you ever come back, Zeta! You will never be welcome back to the Vale family!”
I’m guessing this was his mother, and his name is Zeta Vale.
I saw a bright flash of lightning followed by a loud rumble. Just then, I felt a tug as if someone were pulling me by my shoulders. I looked around, noticing no one else around me. Suddenly, I began to be dragged just above the ground, but not touching it, following the same path this Zeta Vale had taken along a winding series of paths and staircases before coming upon a paved road.
As I came upon the scene in which Zeta was standing in the middle of the road, a downpour of rain had started, followed by a loud horn and a screeching of tires.
CRASH!
As soon as I heard the crash, I knew what had happened not only because I saw it, but I could feel it as well. He was dead. What stumped me was that there was no possible way he could be dead, as he had been alive and well when he was trying to kill me.
He was dead. Definitely dead.
As I came upon the scene, I wanted so badly to look away, but was compelled to look on. The scene in front of me was filled with gore- blood, guts, and his head was gone; cleanly ripped off with a puddle of blood quickly growing, surrounding his torso in dark red, almost black, fluids.
I suddenly began to feel warm through the freezing rain, and witnessed a man drifting from the sky directly to Zeta. One arm reaching to Zeta, the other holding a staff with a glowing orange crystal sat atop it. Looking around, I saw that no one else was paying any attention to the man coming for Zeta, acting as if he were not there.
Perhaps he wasn’t there. At least not for the others, as if he were an Angel.
When the man reached Zeta’s mangled body, he whispered something in his ear and, surprisingly, I could hear it as clear as he were whispering in my own ear.
“Zeta, wake up. You have been chosen. You must lead us to victory against the demons. Rise, and lead!”
For a second I was thinking to myself , God, this guy is crazy!
But my mind was quickly changed as I witnessed his blood miraculously moving back to within his body. His skin began to glow, and his severed head inched closer to his mangled neck, which too was healing. The small crowd began to gasp and hush each other as Zeta’s body began to rise in the air, and mend itself, with a minuscule hum radiating from him. The crowd was nearly silent except for the heavy breathing and pounding rain, then he inhaled and sighed.
I stood wide-eyed and dumbfounded as to how exactly someone could rise from the dead, even from a mangled body, and fully heal almost instantaneously. I sat there, staring him in the eyes and wondered to myself, “Who the hell is this guy?”
This vision faded out, slowly meshing with a timeline of memories. I was unable to tell one from another, almost like a slideshow moving too fast for the naked eye, then the visions slowed, leaving one standing from the rest. Certainly the next one, and felt like the last as well since I began to feel sheepish. Maybe I was just dreaming really hard.
■
A battle field is what the vision consisted of, but no ordinary battle field. This was one of… superhumans. The screams of those killed with no mercy; the blood running thick upon the boulders into the tall grass, staining it dark red; the undeniable, extreme waves of pure power flowing throughout the field like water, or waves of the ocean- each of these combined with an open plain, on a cloudless day sent chills down my spine. The mix between beauty and chaos with the sun beating down, shadowing birds peacefully gliding above the chaos ensuing below.
The scene shifted to Zeta who, astonishingly, grew taller inside of his armor, with a pouch on the side. I noticed that he didn’t even wield any weapon. I looked at his feet to see that he was floating about three feet above the ground. I thought to myself in astonishment, “He has the ability to fly,” but found myself correcting myself.
“No, he controls the force and direction of gravity in his own area.”
This just keeps getting weirder.
Zeta seemed to be giving his army a speech. Something like, “They can kill us, they can torture us, but they can never be rid of our freedom!”
I swear, this guy needs to lay off the cheesy lines and give it to them real.
When he finished his speech, his entire army was cheering and screaming before running to battle with the rest of the blood and gore.
As the army charged, one remained behind. I had a different feeling about this man. He was kneeling with a black cloak and hood over his head, and what seemed like black smoke radiating from under his cloak. I had a gut feeling that something sinister was about to happen. He stood and slowly walked toward the charging army, who’ve already engaged in battle with many already lying dead. As he walked he flickered to and from different sides of the battle ground; teleporting. The only other thought I could clearly make was-
Demon!
He quickly gained ground on the charging army; the army which he was supposed to be fighting for! I don’t know how I knew it, but it felt as if it were true, a gut feeling once again. He flickered between his combatants until he came up behind Zeta. He drew out a long, black, metallic blade which looked as if it were made of smoke. Immediately, it felt as though time had stopped in the vicinity around the scene which was unfolding.
Just as the demon was about to swing, Zeta spun around on his heels, hands holding a small smooth stone, but relaxed when he had seen who was behind him.
Zeta sighed, then in a stern voice said, “You should be at the back of the third battalion, Rashaard. I know you worry of my safety, but-”
The blade cut so clean and slid with a metal-through-metal sound straight through Zeta’s chest. He fell to his knees, his eyes wide. “Why?” He spat blood as he spoke, grunting with every breath.
Those around him, still fighting their enemies, seemed not to notice the fall of their commander.
The demon, Rashaard, slowly stepped closer to Zeta, placing his left foot upon Zeta’s lower chest and placing his palm around the hilt of the sword once again and forcefully pulled the blade from his chest, leaving a cavity which had begun to turn black, as if cursed.
“You have grown too strong, my friend.” He spoke in a soft voice, like one you would hear when listening to an animal documentary, but it had a cold ring to it, sending chills down my spine. He spoke something I couldn’t make out, then vanished.
As Zeta lay on the ground, dying, a soldier finally spotted him, and yelled, “Fall back! The General has fallen!”
Zeta must have lost consciousness, because the scene immediately shifted to a bedroom; one fit for a king, although, I guess he was a king, sort of.
Zeta lay on the bed in the center of the room, his highest ranking officers surrounding him with one particular gentleman next to Zeta, talking to him while a woman glares nervously from the foot of the bed. “We must continue with the spell, my Lord. If we don’t, you will surely succumb to the sickness.”
Zeta struggled to make the words understandable, yet still speaking softly. “Then make it swift.”
With that the man stood and filled the gap and announced, “One more thing, my Lord! You must not go looking for your memories, for combined, they would create complete destruction!” After he spoke, he joined hands with Zeta and the woman, as they all began to chant a few phrases repetitively which I couldn’t make out, let alone understand the words.
That’s it. He can’t remember anything. I can’t let him remember anything.
■
I woke in the same hospital bed as my first day, except I wasn’t strapped to the bed against my will. I was given free control of myself. There was food waiting for me on the table next to the bed, however it wasn’t hospital food. I glanced across the room to find Dalton passed out in a chair, fries spilled over his lap and some hot sauce still around his mouth.
I chuckled to myself a bit. It was sort of amusing how, after what just happened however long ago it was, he was able to sleep so peacefully.
He moved a bit and twitched. I sat there frozen to see if he would wake up, but he just lowered his head again and began softly snoring, letting out a loud snort every so often.
I grabbed the food off the table and hesitated. I wasn't really hungry and didn't have any appetite.
I examined the food anyway and found, as I started to open the bag, that I was tremendously hungry. My stomach started rumbling and growling at the smell of the chicken strips and onion rings. Once my food was finished I felt a small sense of defeat. Still hungry, and out of food, but I could feel my eyelids begin to droop.
All of the lights were off and I didn't hear anybody moving around, so I laid back down. My vision got blurry and I felt dizzy, but calm. I rested my head on my pillow and was in a deep dream again.
This dream, however, was anything but a normal dream.
________________________________________