Chapter 3

I think I’m wrapped in a blanket made of actual sunshine. Everything is so light, and soft and warm. I don’t want anything to separate me from this comfort, but I feel the

pull of consciousness trying to take me away. I don’t remember what I am running from, but I somehow know that there’s something I want to forget.

“Ri?” I must have stirred, because someone knows I’m awake-ish. I open my eyes to find Morris standing there, looking down at me. I notice now that I am on a makeshift cot, with the softest sheets I have ever touched wrapped around me. I am supposed to be angry with Morris, but for the life of me I can’t remember why.

“Give me a few more minutes,” I beg. He looks at me with such regret that I can’t bear to hold his gaze.

“This can’t wait. I need you listen.” I hear the desperation in his voice, but can’t bring myself to care. There’s a disconnect between me and the world that I don’t have the energy to repair or even try to understand right now.

“Yes, I’m listening.” I sound more annoyed than anything else. “But could you hurry? I’m tired.” He is noticeably conflicted, even more so at my responses.

“After what I have done, I understand that it’s hard to believe me, but you need to anyways. You have to get away from these people. I’d stay until you’re well again and find you some place safe, but Cassie needs me more right now.” There’s a sound somewhere in the distance, which makes Morris jump. He’s anxious to get out of here, and rushing to get whatever is on his mind out. “When you come out of this – whatever he did to you - you’re going to remember what happened, but you won’t remember it right. It...” He pauses, struggling to articulate whatever thoughts and emotions are warring within him. After a long pause, he leans down and strokes my hair. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I try to remember what he’s talking about, but it hurts too much to think. He seems to know I won’t respond, as he quickly leans down and presses his lips to my fingers and then give me a gentle squeeze. I suddenly want to beg him not to go, inexplicably desperate not to lose his company. Instead of words, I let out what sounds like a strangled gasp, and a faraway voice beckons me back into a slumber. At first, I want to refuse, needing to understand, but I’m being enveloped in warmth and comfort and I can’t remember why I was fighting against it anymore. With nothing left to cling to, I happily give in to the desire to let the world fade away once again.

I don’t know if it’s been several hours or several days, but when I wake, I am alone. I faintly remember Morris being here, and that he had a warning, but every time I push to remember the conversation, the dull throb in the back of my head intensifies. I sift through the backpack and pull out the med pack, hoping to find a shot that will free me from the pain.

It must be my freaking birthday, because there is a small vial full of the pain-relieving liquid that I so often use for headaches, belly pain, or pretty much any minor nuisance. I take the recommended dosage, and return the vial to its place in the medical container, noting that he also packed a vial of medicine for more dire situations, where the pain level is too intense to be taken care of by a minor injection. I also find stitch glue and healing gel. I silently thank dad for being so prepared for something I would have thought was impossible to prepare for. I try once more to remember the conversation with Morris, but the pain threatens to return, so I let it go. Still, there’s something begging to be remembered, and I have an ache in my chest that I can’t explain. I try and shake it off while running my fingers through my hair, partially out of nervous habit, and partially as an attempt to make myself as presentable as possible before searching for signs of life. Looking around, I see that I’m in the living area of the cabin – and that nobody else is here. The place is dead quiet. I check the bed and bathroom just in case, but nobody is there. Part of me refuses to believe that Cass would leave without an explanation, or at least a note – but after tearing through the place, I still find nothing; no sign that they were ever here at all. Curious – more precisely, terrified – to find that I’ve been completely abandoned, I head outside in hopes that everyone is just eating or something. I hear no human noises, though, and I know before I even open the door that nobody is around. Still, I step out into the cool morning air, clouds obscuring the sunlight, and look around. First, I’m confused. Then, I crumble.

The morbid scene in front of me unfolds, bringing back every second of what I have done. There are too many bodies to count. Staggering back to my feet, I approach them hoping to find some alive, as improbable as that may be. Some of them almost look like they’re asleep if not for the bluing lips, and lifeless eyes. Some are barely recognizable as human, viciously torn apart, or stabbed so many times that the meat that was once tucked beneath their skin is now dangling from their torn flesh. Others are laying there, spread over the ground at an awkward angle, bones shattered to bits. I pass them, almost in a daze, until I reach an elderly man, maybe in his sixties, with hair as white as snow. He stands out even amongst all of those whose lives I know I took. I’m left leaning over the person who had a gun pointed at my dad against his own will, being controlled by a man who takes pride in playing with the minds of others. The expression on his face, though, isn’t one of rage or contempt. It’s of absolute terror. In his last seconds alive, it wasn’t Marcus who was invading his mind and body. It was me.

“I’m sorry.” I cry, looking around at the devastation I caused. The grief overtakes me as the full realization of how many lives I took comes crashing down. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, over and over until the sobs mangle my words, choking me, and I can no longer speak.

I hear a soft rustle; someone is approaching from the tree line. His foot steps are so soft in the grass that they are barely audible at all. The stealthy demeanor is familiar to me already.

“Go away.” I choke out, not even needing looking his way to know who it is. The footsteps don’t retreat, but instead keep coming towards me without even a pause.

“It’s not your fault,” Corey says, walking until he’s right behind me, and then placing a large, callused hand on my shoulder. The words tug at my memory, telling me there’s something I wasn’t supposed to forget. “He gets in the heads of almost anyone – even our own kind. You couldn’t stop him.” I want to believe him, to take this guilt out of my heart and blame it all on Marcus. I want to be able to spit out his name and call him devil – but doing so won’t erase the images of my hands carelessly guiding these people towards the sky, or take away the feeling of cold satisfaction when I heard their bones crunch against the dirt. I can’t say these things to Corey, for fear that he’ll see just how terrible I really am. In the moment, I enjoyed how powerful it felt to throw people around like they were nothing more than toys, to play with or dispose of how I pleased.

“If he gets in the heads of so many people, why weren’t you out here dropping innocent people from the sky?” I don’t know why I’m directing my anger at Corey, but I can’t control myself. I have so much of it inside of me that it has to go somewhere. His sympathetic expression instantly turns into one indignance.

“Innocent? These people hunt us! They keep looking and killing and they won’t stop until we are all dead. Is that innocence to you? What Marcus did may have been wrong, but if you were properly trained like you should have been, it never would have happened. I don’t know what they were thinking placing you in the most hostile city, in the care of those useless subsids. It was a mistake on your parent’s part – leaving you so unprotected, but Marcus saved you. He saved me, and your precious ‘siblings’, too. This is going to be hard for you to live with for a while, and its unfortunate that it happened with someone as inexperienced as you around – but you were told to stay inside. People like him are the sort of people we need to win this war. He’s strong, and he isn’t afraid to fight back. We can’t just let ourselves be hunted to extinction, Riley. You were raised in a Subsid family, protected from the truths of this world and I don’t know if in the end that makes you lucky or unfortunate – but either way you don’t know what it’s really like for us.”

“Why. Weren’t. You. Affected?” Punctuating every word, I glare as hard as I can into his eyes so he knows that he can’t distract or avoid me this time. It’s an odd question given the circumstances, but one I needed an answer to. Why was I so strongly affected while he stood there on the sidelines? He takes so long to answer that it makes me want to scream, probably trying to find the nicest way to word his response. I’m not in the most stable of emotional states, after all.

“My ability isn’t used that way. I have no aptitude for offensive maneuvers.” He says it like this was some coordinated attack; as if this isn’t the first time a person has used their ability to cause this kind of carnage. The thought makes me, if possible, even more sick. “Even if it was,” he continues, “there are ways you can train your mind. It takes a while to perfect, but it will allow you to keep yourself from feeling other people’s emotions at will. It also keeps even the most powerful Cogs from having control over you” he says, pity written all over his face. “All of us Intrinsics, especially the empaths, are strong at this skill. I can teach you, and if you can make a strong enough block, nobody will be able to control you.”

I stare at him, truly seeing him for the first time in the daylight. His hair is blacker than the night sky, and his eyes the color of a clear day. I notice that even his features, like the warring sides of his complicated personality, are a contradiction. His demeanor has softened during our conversation, and I think he has said more to me in the last few minutes than in the several hours before the attack – although who the real villains and victims are is not as clear to me as it is to Corey. I take in the strength in his arms and the hand he still has wrapped over my shoulder. He is handsome, and hardened, and sometimes cruel – but looking in his eyes, I know that he is more than that. There’s a kindness in him, a softness in his heart that I don’t think he wants anyone to see.

“Hey – what’s your ability?” I ask, partly out of true curiosity and partly to distract myself from his gaze. This is not the time to notice him in this way - sitting with tears streaking my face, faced with the terrible truth of what it really means to fight.

He seems surprised at the sudden change in topic, but doesn’t pull away.

“I am a telepath. I can hear the thoughts of those around me.” Seeing my look of horror and humiliation, he laughs and shakes his head. “I can’t hear you. Your thoughts are safe.” I like the way he laughs; it changes his whole face. The normally sullen expression makes him look years older, still handsome, but in a tragic way. When he smiles, I realize that he’s likely closer to my age – maybe early twenties. He has full lips, and dazzling teeth – somehow managing to stay perfectly white even living in a home that makes personal hygiene a chore. His beard is still overgrown and straggly, longer in some places than others, but even so – his smile is breathtaking and -

He drops the smile without warning, and the same haunted look is back in his eyes that I’ve seen since the night he rescued me. Something happened to him, too. Maybe I’m not the only one struggling to live with myself. I move my hand to cover his, now laying on the ground between us rather than resting on my shoulder, thinking he may be as vulnerable as I am. He sits with me like that for a few seconds, meeting my eyes before suddenly pulling away – practically scrambling to put space between us.

“Whoa. What was that all about?” I keep my voice light and teasing, but I’m surprised at his reaction. I thought he liked my hand on his - or maybe I was projecting, because I liked his in mine.

“Nothing” he says defensively. Just like that, the moment is gone. He stands up and walks away without another word, and I am alone to face my demons once again.

I spend the rest of the day building a fire to set the bodies ablaze – carefully checking that each one is actually dead before I start the process of dragging them towards it. I try not to count how many of them were my doing, but I do realize that more were my fault than weren’t. Burning them won’t undo what I have done, or bring any of these people back to life, but at the very least they deserve the respect of a proper disposal rather than being left to rot on the ground.

It takes longer than I thought it would. My back aches from the few I have managed to drag the distance to burn, so I take a short break, drinking in the results of what our abilities are truly capable of once again. Scanning through this time, I notice there is one body is separated from the rest, sitting against a tree a decent distance away from here – from the direction Corey came. He’s tall and blonde. Familiar. My heart stops cold as I stand and run to him, begging to please not be who I think it is, but as I close in on the tree he’s leaned on, my entire world crashes down. A man with Shaggy blonde hair, streaked with grey, and large green eyes - now lifeless but still dazzling - is staring up at me. His expression looks almost accusatory. I desperately scan the area for Corey, wanting to scream, or demand to know how - to force him to tell me it’s not him. It’s just a look alike, an illusion, my mind playing tricks on me in my emotional state. Something. Anything other than that this is my father, and he is dead. Whatever strength I still had left in me is drained, and I curl up next to him, mourning the loss of not just my dad, but of everything I took for granted. I beg whatever superior being that may exist to bring him back, to return us to a life that consisted of the same, repetitive, boring schedule every day. A life I knew where my mom and sister were, where Morris didn’t try to send me away without so much as a warning or explanation - to a life where I’d never have to see my father lying on the ground, left to rot here against a tree without a proper goodbye.