Pace.
It's what I do all night long in my room. I go back and forth until I'm too dizzy to stand upright. Ultimately, I crash on my bed—but I don't sleep. I stay up thinking. Considering my options. I can't escape. I can't leave. I sure as hell don't want to stay, but there's no way they'll take me back home. I don't see why, but they need me. They wouldn't go through all this trouble if I wasn't important to them, would they?
As I battle out my thoughts about this place, I can't help but think about how horrifying Travis appeared on the screen. He was emaciated. Tired. Filthy. His eyes were sunken, his face haggard, his body weak and broken, and he was certainly not at the shelter anymore.
I hate the new image of him in my head. I wish it could disappear.
Weirder yet, is the fact that these people are tracing him. How did they find him? Why are they doing this? What could they possibly want from Travis, when he has nothing to do with any of this number superpower crap?
I'm too frustrated to cry. Plus, I'd expended most of my tears thinking about Katie's death.
Part of me thought Katie and Travis were both..gone, and I had nothing left to hold on to. Now that I see he's there, alive and hurting with no one, I...I'll do anything to get back.
A beep at my doorway makes my ears perk up. A triple beep follows it. What is that, some kind of doorbell?
As I get to my feet, a voice comes in through a small speaker. "May I enter?" Number One asks, his tone even and calm again. When has he ever asked to come in, ever?
I'm suddenly confronted with a new problem: how do I respond? I glance down at the buttons next to the door and analyze them. There's one large white one, a small red one, and a medium-sized green one with the word OPEN stamped on top of it. On a whim, I click and hold the red one and talk through a tiny speaker like a walkie-talkie. At first, I want to deny his entry, but I feel like he'll barge in here either way.
"Yes...you can." I reach for the open button, but before I hit it, the door glides open. He must've clicked it from the outside. Just when I thought he was being polite.
He saunters in, one hand carrying a white case similar to the one my nurse brings me, and the other holding a dozen luscious, red roses. I can't take my eyes off of them. Why the hell does he have those?
After staring at them for a solid minute without receiving an explanation, I finally pipe up, "Do I really have to ask?"
"I have concocted a serum in the lab that I hope will better serve your body than the liquids you have been given previously," he explains.
I frown at his mention of the word I. He hopes nothing. He doesn't care.
"You know that's not what I was talking about," I say. Still, what he says does throw me off of the rose situation briefly. I guess I'll ask about them after he informs me of all the other stuff.
Number One pulls open the case, revealing its inner contents. Two syringes and multiple vials of liquid with a hue similar to blood, sit within it--seven red, and one that is completely clear. I can't help but ask about the oddball.
I point to it. "What is that one?" It's slightly smaller than the others, too.
"Well, before you transition to the red, your body will require a detoxification shot first," he clarifies. I don't like the idea of more injections, but I understand why it is necessary.
"Fair enough," I say shortly. We're still not on good terms. Perhaps that is why he came waltzing in here with roses in his hand. To offer a truce. To say sorry. Something stupid and meaningless like that. Who knows? "So am I going to get it now or what?"
He shakes his head. "You don't need it yet."
I huff, agitated. Does he enjoy wasting my time with his futile presence?
"So, what are the roses for? Is it your sad attempt at sorry? Trying to offer some kind of truce? Because I don't accept it."
He sets the flowers down on the side table, next to the wilting wildflowers, and crosses his arms. "Actually, they are a gift from Stella. She thought you would enjoy the change. A thank you would be nice," he growls.
"Why didn't she bring me them then? You her messenger now? Is she forbidden to visit me or something like that?"
His turquoise eyes jar me. "Quit babbling."
"What do you want with Travis?"
He pauses, taken off guard. "What?"
"You heard me loud and clear. Now answer. Why are you people taping him? Why won't you help him? How do you even know who he is?" I demand.
Number One crosses his arms. "Why does it matter? There is nothing you can do about it. It is not your business."
"As a matter of fact, he is my business. What do you want from him? He's not like us, you know--he's completely normal--so leave him the hell alone or help him for crying out loud. You know he's suffering."
He scoffs and swats at the air like I'm not worth talking to. "I am not going to stand here and listen to this. It's not why I'm here."
"Well, then take me home if you don't want to hear it," I snarl, and set my hands on my hips defensively.
"I see you have made your choice," he states flatly, no emotion whatsoever.
"Of course I have! I want to go back to him. Take me! I don't care if I somehow manage to catch the virus and die with him. He needs me, Number One. I hate to break it to you, but staying here was never an option."
He shakes his head. "You really don't get it, do you? You cannot get the infection. You are immune to it! How else do you think we f—" He stops and grabs his hair to refrain from saying the rest.
Found me?
Now Travis—but why? Is he immune, too? Is he...one of us?
Number One takes a step toward me with caution and speaks in almost a whisper. "Perhaps the cell was the right place for you after all."
"No!"
I kick at him as he struggles to get a firm grasp on my arm. "So dramatic," he grumbles deeply. He shoves me away and I fall to the ground, smacking my head against the marble floor. I hear a crack but try to ignore the instant pain. It will be over, I convince myself. I'll heal quickly.
"All this time!" I shout. "All this time you have been recording him! When exactly did you plan on stopping, when he dies? Did you record Katie, too before he dug her grave?" I exhale with one giant whoosh. "Why are you letting them die? Tell me what the hell is going on!"
Number One comes at me and forces me against a red wall. I draw in a sharp breath and cringe as he pulls out a syringe from his zippered pocket. It's filled with clear liquid: the detox. It's only the detox, I tell myself. Still, the way he holds it is menacing.
"I have to tell you nothing!" he bellows. He stabs the needle into my neck like a knife, and it stings like a wasp. Next, he turns and takes a few steps away from me as my eyesight begins to blur, signaling my knees to crumple. When I hit the floor, it's lights out.
~
My eyes flash open, and I'm instantly puzzled. Why am I on the floor?
I sit up and faintly hear scrambling a couple feet from me. A man stands at the doorway with a gorgeous bouquet of red roses in his hands. The scent fills my nose and draws me up to meet him. Who is he? Where am I?
"Hello, Aurora," he says, smiling. His eyes are crystal blue and glittering. Mesmerizing. His voice is smooth and crisp and deep all at once. Wow, he is one attractive human being—though the suit is a little odd.
I'm unsure if I should return a grin or not, so I remain content. "Hi, who are you?" I ask, but feel very stupid doing so. Shouldn't I know the name of the guy holding flowers for me? At least, I think they're for me.
The guy chuckles in a silly way, not in a way that makes me uncomfortable. "Aurora, how could you not know the name of your own boyfriend?"
I sense my blush warming my cheeks. Now I really feel dumb. "Sorry, I guess I can't re—"
He shakes his head, stopping my words. His hand then reaches out to me to introduce himself, but I find the gesture awkward if we've already met, which we clearly have. He called me his girlfriend after all.
"Don't worry about it. My name is Brink."