[3] Castiel and Thora
Father’s words instantly strip me of my false confidence. The very thought leaves me cold and exposed. With one last look of utter disgust and disappointment, Father strides out of the room, his personal army of Officials lapping at his heels. One breaks away from the crowd and lingers by the door towards the stage. He fiddles with the brim of his white washed helmet and nervously clears his throat before exclaiming, "W-we should get going."
The sound of his quivering tone brings a small smile to my face. Once I'm finished changing back into my mundane, plaid gown, the Official shakily reaches for my arm and opens the door to the far too familiar white hallway.
Fathers that love their daughters would congratulate them and perhaps take them to a dinner of some sorts. Fathers that love their daughters would tell them such a thing.
My father is sending me to my own personal prison.
And yet somewhere in the deep corners of the heart in my chest there is still a shred of love and respect. Perhaps it was all a part of MUTE, an undeniable loyalty to the sole man that is responsible for all of Syrus. On the other hand, maybe Nature is responsible for the fragile thread that connects us both.
I push the thought aside and mentally scold myself. Father is a brilliant man and brilliance comes with a price. I was convinced years ago that love was an emotion he could never bring himself to experience, no matter how hard I tried to impress him or make him proud.
I nearly laugh out loud at myself. Love and many other things were stolen from me a year ago.
"That was a luh-luh-ovely speech Miss Draco," stammers the Official, his gaze still focused ahead of him. His statement catches me off guard and I look up at him with a cloud of suspicion. A few moments later, when an awkward silence has settled between us, I scrounge up the courage to say thank you.
"Y-You're mighty welcome, Miss." The Official lifts his shaded visor from his eyes and smiles. "The name's, Issac."
I have the sudden urge to pinch myself to make sure I'm still awake. Never in a million lifetimes would an Official reveal their identity, it is an unspoken law. He looks down at me with warm, brown eyes and faint smear of a smile on his lips.
"Put your visor back on," I whisper, tearing myself away from his gaze with a burning sensation on my cheeks. "You'll find yourself in loads of trouble if you don't."
Issac reluctantly complies and shields his eyes. The only reasonable explanation I can conjure is that Issac must have just finished his training and has not adjusted to what it truly means to be an Official. My first instinct is to alert a higher ranking officer as soon as we reach the Incubation Center, but his brief, public expression of sincerity sends fiery tingles down my arms as we walk throughout the underground tunnels of Syrus.
When I was younger, Father once told me the tunnels were alive. Each one of them was unique. Each one of them knew what you were doing at all times. Looking back on it now, I finally understand the ominous aura the tunnels hold.
The same voice that sings sweet lullabies in the Incubator returns slyly in the back of my head, spewing out letters. "C-U-R-I-O-U-S-I-T-Y."
Subconsciously, I stretch my hand out to my fingers graze against one of the white tiles. The tile convulses under my touch and disperses into a raging sea of pixels. A sharp jolt shoots up my hand and stabs my chest. Instantly, I pull back and stare at Issac in horror.
"Hasn't anyone told you the tunnels are alive, Miss Draco?" he echoes.
My stomach twists and churns and I choose to remain silent. My feet instinctly rear away from the concave walls that gleam at me with a triumphant smirk.
What was that?
Curiosity is a word I haven't heard since grade school. It's a dirty word that people rarely use and when they do, a dramatic reaction follows. Curiosity leads to chaos.
We continue our sluggish pace, Issac's firm grip my only sense of direction, that is until he stops short.
Several seconds later, he mutters, "Where are we?"
I fight the foreign urge to laugh or scream at him. Instead, a blazing anger reveals itself. "What do you mean 'where are we?' Don't you know? Isn't it your job to know?"
"R-A-G-E," whispers the voice.
Even from beneath his helmet, Isaac's bright blush is visible. "I c-can never get anything right, Miss Draco, I'm so sorry."
I immediately bite down on my lower lip till a stale iron taste enters my mouth. My cold statement repeats itself over and over again like a record player. Guilt crashes over me and I keep chin tucked in the frayed safety of my collar.
"I'm sorry."
"R-E-G-R-E-T."
I want to reach into my brain and shut it off, shut it all off.
"U-N-P-L-U-G-G-E-D."
Despite my previous warning, Issac removes his entire helmet and casts a disapproving glance. Blond hair tumbles in every direction, caressing his forehead. A fading scar travels the length of his left cheek and falls short just before the curve of his lips. Self-consciously, Issac puts his helmet back on says, "You du-don't have to ah-apologize, Miss. You're right."
I'm always right according to everyone that surrounds me with the exception of Loki and my father. The very thought makes my stomach churn.
The remainder of the trip is spent in silence. Even the taunting voice in my head decides to take a break. After innumerable amounts of twists and turns, Issac leads me back into the Incubation Center. Doctors immediately rip me away from him and strap me to an examination table. Needles and tubes of all sizes invade every single spot on my body as foreign faces tower over my restrained figure with surgical masks. In the background, there's a faint beeping. Nothing like the savage beeping that controls our every movement, no, it's a comforting beeping that drags me to a different world away from reality.
There's one word that remains in the forefront of my mind.
Unplugged.
Someone finally hooks me onto anesthesia.
There's a man taking notes when I wake up. He's a ginger with freckles scattered all over his face, the complete opposite of Dr. Weiss. I struggle to string words together. My throat is dry and my eyes water as I clumsily twist and turn for something to relieve the pain. The doctor squeaks and scurries over with a glass of cloudy liquid. I snatch it out of his hands and gulp it down while he rattles on about my vital signs. 'Dr. Feirhr' is stitched in bright, red letters on the front of his lab coat.
"Honestly, Miss Draco," he drawls, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You're a walking miracle. It's so inspirational to be in your presence. Being unplugged, and surviving? I've never heard of such a phenomenon. Are you noticing any changes? Your wires, your heart perhaps?"
Words sit on the end of my tongue, and I almost confess to Dr. Feirhr about the voice in my head. He waits patiently for my answer, his narrow green eyes searching my face. In the end, for my own sake, I shake my head. "Where's Dr. Weiss?"
Dr. Feirhr pauses and grips his clipboard. A dragged out sigh passes from his lips and his pasty skin turns bright pink. He sincerely contemplates not telling me, it's evident in the way he squirms under the question.
"Are you sure you don't feel any side effects?" the doctor squeaks, sidestepping my question. "I should probably prescribe more medication now that I think about-"
"Where's Dr. Weiss?" I repeat, my tone more threatening than before. Rage, that's what the voice before called it. Rage is the frustrated, contained emotion begging to be freed. Rage is what's tempting me to punch the doctor in the face.
My eyes wander down to my clenched fists. The new emotion confuses me, startles me and intrigues me all the while. I know for sure Loki has never experienced such a thing.
The doctor rattles off a prepared excuse regarding the whereabouts of Dr. Weiss, but I already have a sense of where he could be. It's Dr. Feirhr's last words that snag my attention.
"-and, I have specific instructions to introduce you to your new mentees."
My brows mash together with confusion as I stare down the doctor. "Mentees?"
Dr. Feirhr slaps a hand over his heart and entertains me with an erratic display of facial expressions. "I'm surprised you don't know, after all you are the President's daughter. MUTE is expanding, Miss Draco! We're recruiting a much younger crowd, dare I say for the better. The wonders of this program are finally reaching out to eleven year olds."
The doctor leans in and grins as if he's about to disclose a deep, dark secret. His teeth are stained yellow and he smells like anti-bacterial soap. "Between you and me, I think it's the best thing ol' Caiaphus has done his entire term," he whispers, referring to my father. "Before you know it, we'll be carting them in the day after they're born."
Dr. Feirhr tosses his head back and cackles. "Gosh, I do crack myself up. Imagine that, little baby Mutes!"
For a brief second, my imagination reigns and I do think of what the entire scene could possibly look like. In my mind, a tiny newborn is screeching for its mother as it's carelessly tossed into one of the Incubators. The metal arms tears the feeble little body limb by limb.
I cringe.
In a loud, booming voice, the doctor orders everyone to safely power down the Incubators. I soon found out that I am not the only one with newly assigned mentees, everyone sixteen and up has been assigned an eleven year old to take care of.
Twisting around, I catch sight of Loki stumbling out of his Incubator with a hazy look in his eyes. Our gazes lock and he frowns for a moment before falling into step with a uniform line of boys. I propel myself off of the examination table and squeeze myself into the line of girls. One of them, a brunette, has her hands clapped over her ears in sheer pain.
Slightly puzzled, I tap her shoulder and ask, "Is the alarm on?"
She turns around, her flat face twisted into a fierce scowl. "You don't hear it?"
Truth be told, I don't but just for the moment, I cry out in pain and plug my ears. Once the girl in front of me returns to her spot, I stop and look blankly at the people around me.
I don't hear the alarm. I don't hear the alarm.
For the first time in a year, I am able to decide where I'm going. I can feel my legs moving beneath me and I bounce on the balls of my feet just because I can. My face cracks into a wide smile as I silently rejoice this newfound freedom. But, I know it's safer to conform and follow everyone to the adjacent conference rooms where the lines split up.
"Name," drones the lady at the metal desk, her hair tied in a sky-high knot.
"Cor Draco."
"Room 3."
Coincidently, Room 3 ends up being behind the lady. Pushing past the doors, I instantly take in the ornate chandelier and the clothed tables. Kids barely tall enough to see over the table sit in velvet chairs with their hands folded in their laps and fear swimming in their eyes. I casually peruse the room, checking each name card on the table. Some of the kids bend over backwards to whisper to one another. The point at one of the propaganda posters on the wood paneled walls and then point at me. Several minutes later, I actually lift my head to see an identical girl in a picture, smiling in a beautiful dress.
Cor Draco wants YOU to join MUTE.
I try to hide my face in the collar of my dress for the remainder of the time. Maybe in this room full of people, I can just disappear. My attempts to be invisible fail when Loki plants his hands on my shoulders and scares the daylight out of me. He roughly spins me around and hisses, "What were you doing outside of your Incubator?"
Smoldering green eyes threaten my composure. He shakes me several times before I rip myself away from his grip and stumble backwards. "I'll tell you later."
I point my finger at the army of Officials guarding the door. He nods and exclaims in a louder voice, "Your table is right here, Miss Draco."
With one hand pressing against the small of my back, Loki pushes me towards the far end of the room. His lips brush against the curve of my ear.
"Promise you'll tell me."
Loki doesn't stick around to hear my promise. I spin around to look for him, but he's already blended in with the rest of the messy crowd. My attention flickers back to the table he's left me. My name is printed in carefully designed cursive on a small card. I glance at what I can only assume are my new mentees: A boy with stringy black hair and girl with a striking frown. Each of them wear their best clothing, frilly dresses with lace stockings and suits with polished shoes to match. It's a shame they won't be able to keep them.
"You don't look the same in the poster," the girl huffs, tugging at the ends of the table cloth. She glares at me underneath her thick frame of lashes. The girl flips to her side and nudges the boy.
"Look who we got, Cor Draco. Ya'know, the girl on the commercials and all."
The boy beside her picks his head up wearily and casts me a lazy glance with the most hypnotic blue eyes. The chatty girl begins to speak again.
"He doesn't talk much, 'fact he doesn't talk at all. He's funny that way, but I reckon I stick with him 'cause he saved my life," she boasts, wiggling in her seat. "I'm Thora by the way, Thora Braxton. This is Castiel Zathers."
"Sounds great," I say enthusiastically, making it my mission to keep these kids in the dark about what they're soon going to face. "Tell me Thora, did you get an itinerary or some-"
Thora's face wrinkles.
"-thing that tells you what we're going to do next today?"
"Oh that? Yeah, sure!" She digs into her small, pink handbag and pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper. "I think we're getting our surgeries today. I'm so excited, I can't wait."
Her dark fingers clasp together as she squeals. She's so innocent and naive; it makes me want to cry. I convince the two to get up and follow me to the surgical wing while Thora babbles on about her favorite kind of music.
"I like classical," she exclaims, hanging onto my arm for dear life. "Bach, Beethoven, Mozart. Mommy used to play it all the time."
Soon after she says 'Mommy', Thora sobs. "Miss Cor, am I ever going to see my mommy again?"
Tears are streaming down her face as she digs her heels into the tiles. All around me I hear kids asking their mentors the same question.
I stop in the middle of the hallway and tug Castiel to Thora's side so that the both of them stare at me wide-eyed and vulnerable. "Listen to me, of course you are."
I can't bring myself to tell them the truth. I'm not cold enough to crush a little kid's heart, but perhaps I have by lying to them. Hopefully, they discover it on their own that is if they survive this surgery.
Castiel looks up at me with eerie light blue eyes the pierce right through my facade.
I escort the pair to the medical facilities and leave them with hundreds of overbearing doctors that will guide them to the first step in the process of becoming a Mute. My head feels fuzzy as two miniature hands tremble in my own. Thora makes me promise that I'll be waiting for them afterwards. A doctor whisks her away before I time to respond. With my mentor duties momentarily relieved, I swivel around to walk out. Tears cloud my vision at the realization of what I've done. I've fed two innocent kids into a system they don't belong in, a system my father and I created. I would kill bring them back to their parents who would love them endlessly.
An ear shattering scream breaks the silence.
It's the kind of scream that never leaves you. The kind that challenges your morality and robs you of whatever mask you've maintained up until that point. Why don't you help me, it asks. It's the sound of a failed surgery. When I was younger, I was told that your souls lies somewhere within your heart. Since I don't have a real heart, I suppose that means I don't have a soul.
I turn on my heels as the tortured cries fall silent behind the sliding glass doors.
"R-E-G-R-E-T," sneers the voice in my head.
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A/N: I think I'm going to go back and add more detail to the last couple of scenes, but as for now, here it goes! Mute is in Watty Awards so I would appreciate some lovin' xD Muchas gracias to wendythestoryteller for the beautiful cover ---->
Also a shout out to Struggler, who has been my personal cheerleader/pest all day!
Lastly, to all of the readers so far that have been enjoying this. I hope you stick around 'til the mystery unravels.
Meh, I don't like long author notes, but just as a side thing, since Mute is a story based on music, don't be afraid to suggest any songs for the side. I'll be switching it up in the next couple of chapters and if I like something you suggest, maybe I'll include it in the playlist!
Status: Not edited. PM any mistakes you find, please and thank you!