Control Group 5

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The pain behind my eyes was sharp when I came too. My mind was foggy and I had no recollection of where I was. A steady drip brought me closer to reality and I lifted my head, opening my eyes, and saw that I was laying on the cold, concrete floor of the warehouse.

It all came back to me with a rush of red and the shattered image of my brother torn to pieces on the floor.

"Jordan," I whispered, pushing up onto my hands and knees and crawling over to the railing to look down at the main floor of the warehouse.

The transporter was gone, along with all traces of blood and my brother.

"Jordan!" I called, standing up. My head spun, but I pushed through, turning left and right, looking for my brother, hoping it was a dream, hoping that he would appear next to me and tell me that he was alright. Because if the mysterious company that we all tested equipment for had a machine that could transport people, they had to have one that could heal them - even bring them back to life. They had to.

"Raya." A heavy, calming hand landed on my shoulder. "He's gone."

I dropped my head and closed my eyes. He was gone. It hadn't been a dream. Tears streamed down my face but I made no noise. The silence spoke volumes: there was nothing to say.

"Raya, come on, we need to get out of here."

I followed the voice out of the warehouse, without awareness of whom I was following. Only when the cold, early spring air hit my face did I manage to stopper my tears and see that it was Dimitri leading me from the two-story, abandoned brick warehouse and toward a small, rusted, white Toyota parked in the gravel lot beside the road. Without thinking, I climbed into the car and before I knew it I was seated in a dark booth at the back of a local Greek restaurant, known more for the attached pub than it was for the food.

"Say something," Dimitri said.

I stared at my hands. Every line, every crease, was as interesting as a famous piece of art - I could get lost in the lines of my own skin if it meant that I didn't have to think about what I'd just witnessed. About Jordan.

"I'll get a coffee," I said the second the waitress stepped up to our table. I didn't look up.

"Just a coke for me. And maybe a plate of fries."

With a sigh of disappointment at our small order, which meant a small tip, the waitress scoped up our plastic covered menus and walked away.

"Say something else. Please, Raya." Dimitri reached his hand across the table, stopping once it was level with my water glass.

I looked up. His brown eyes were full of concern. The tips of his mouth were pointed toward his chin and a crease in his forehead ran from temple to temple. "Did it really happen?" The words came out tangled in emotion, and I wasn't even sure if he heard me. Maybe he didn't need to.

"Yes."

I sucked back a lungful of air to keep the tears away. "What now? What do I tell my mom? Do I say nothing? Do I tell her? Do I just wait for him to not come home tonight? To not come home again ever?"

"You can't tell. You know you can't tell. There's the contract." Dimitri withdrew his hand when the waitress brought us our drinks.

I reached for the cream and sugar, stirring in two packets of each. "The contract," I whispered, once the waitress was gone again. I hadn't thought of that piece of paper since I'd signed it a year previously. But I clearly remembered the confidentiality clause, because it was the one that said my life was forfeit if I ever spoke about the club. "So I pretend I know nothing."