THERE I STOOD, unopenable doors to my front, the sound of Zoe screaming overhead, my heart assaulting the inside of my chest. My soul was ripped in half as the tortured pain of the only person I really cared about pierced the barricade that kept me from being able to stop her suffering.
I dropped to my knees, sweat running down my face, my fingers bloody on the ground, my nails mangled and peeling back. I should feel the pain racing up my arms, but I felt nothing.
Because they aren’t really my fingers. A small voice had started talking to me, one I knew was my own. It whispered through the chaos. Right, I agreed with the voice, because this is in my mind. When I wake up, my fingers won’t be bloody.
I knew there was truth there that might help me break down these doors, but I couldn’t focus on it long enough to figure out how. I tried blocking out Zoe’s screams, but even when I succeeded, sounds of my past rushed in to assault me again.
Another thing I’d discovered: the hundreds of sounds, playing all at once on full volume, were from the past. I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I did. As if the sounds themselves had a familiar signature that felt comfortable and known.
But it didn’t help me get through the blockages that kept me from seeing what I needed. If I could just get one door open.
Open the doors, Number Nine.
I gritted my teeth. My throat burned from spitting at the doctor, and it was getting me nowhere. She was running the show. Zoe and I were just pawns. Powerless pawns.
Not true, the small voice said. The doctor can’t open the doors.
“Neither can I!” I slammed both fists against the black ground, another wave of screams rippling above. There was no solution. I couldn’t go under the doors, I couldn’t go around them. I tried going over to no avail. I was stuck, and Zoe was paying for it.
Remember, Lucy, this is your mind. You’re in control.
Those words were familiar because Zoe had said them to me over and over. Had I believed them once? Was that how I had broken out of the glass box?
What if the water is air—remember?
“You don’t think I’ve been trying that?” I wanted the voice to stop. It seemed to mock me now. “Don’t you think I’ve tried everything?”
Stop trying, the tiny voice hummed. Just be.
Now the voice was crazy. Frustration and terror in equal amounts yanked at my chest.
What if the water is air? The voice rushed through my gathered emotions, unfazed by the way it was making me feel.
I took deep breaths, tried to control the welling of tears threatening to engulf me. I stood, looking at the wall of doors. Thick, solid, locked doors. I could hear Zoe’s cries, feel her pain in my bones, Dr. Loveless’s voice always directing and eating away at my brain.
What if the water is air? The small voice, relentless.
I exhaled, stepped forward, and placed both my hands on the nearest door. I closed my eyes and tried to picture it as malleable. Something other than what I knew it was. I stood, whole seconds passing. Let it be an archway, a tunnel, a cloud, anything I could pass through.
I opened my eyes. It was a door. I swore. The stillness around me popped like a balloon, with the thunderous sounds of my past rushing over me in waves. I dropped my forehead against the wooden surface and cupped my palms over my ears to wait it out. The sounds always washed away nearly as quickly as they came. As soon as they passed, the reminder of what was being done to Zoe reentered.
“Please,” I cried out to whoever was listening. “God, please leave her alone. I can’t get through. I can’t!” The tears I was holding back pushed through and found paths down my cheeks.
Open the doors, Number Nine.
I lifted my head off the door, anger my only sensation. I yanked with all my might at the knob, kicked and pummeled the door with my feet. Pounded with balled fists, screamed my lungs out, then returned to the place I had started, with my forehead resting against the surface, crying through my hopelessness.
Stop trying, just be. The small voice was back.
“I don’t know what that means,” I whispered.
Nothing responded. I pulled my face from the door and sniffed back my despair. Again I placed my hands on the surface and closed my eyes. I tried to imagine it different from what it was. I tried to tell myself that I was in control, that this was my mind. I took several deep breaths as I began to gain control of my emotions. Just be, I thought.
The room started to quiet, and the moment what was happening outside faded, the noise of the past came rushing back. I flinched to react as always but stopped myself. Just be. So I let it wash over me without resistance.
The weight of it felt as though it were pushing me backward, like a strong wind nearly knocking me off my feet. It hurt, the volume of the sound, shaking my deepest insides, threatening to crumple me. But still I let it all come. Every sound, every moment.
The small voice returned, louder and closer. Just be. Remember, Lucy, this is your mind.
Then it all went silent. I heard only the sound of my breath, my heart, my pulse. Calm and comforting. I opened my eyes, and the black room with its impenetrable wall was gone.
Now it was all white everywhere I looked, and the only other thing present was a little girl. Not the one with the unicorn T-shirt, but a little girl I knew.
It was me. Standing a few feet in front of me, dressed in a simple blue uniform. Staring at me. I tilted my head to the left and she mimicked my movement, then right, and she followed. I raised my right hand, and like a mirror she did the same. Then the left hand.
She winked at me and giggled, and I chuckled back. She stepped across the space that separated us, and I couldn’t help but smile. I was gazing down at her, now just inches from her, when without warning she drove her hand into my gut.
I gasped, not because it hurt but because it was such a shock to witness. Before I could respond any other way, she pulled her hand back out and held it up toward me. Her fingers clasped something, and when she opened her fist, I saw a small gold key.
“You are in control,” the little girl said. “Just be.”
I took the key and held it between my fingers. “What do I do with it?”
The girl pointed to something behind me, and I turned to see that the white room was turning black. All around, black tendrils were clawing their way over the bright, clean surface, turning it dark. The wall of doors reappeared.
I glanced back. The girl was gone. The white was gone. It was just blackness and the wall. Key in hand, I walked to the wall and made my way to one of the middle doors. The key slipped into the keyhole perfectly, and with a twist I heard the door unlock.
I stood for a moment, unsure of what might happen if I opened this door but knowing I wasn’t going to make any other choice. I turned the knob and cracked the door open. In unison all the other doors opened as well. In both directions, all the doors were open.
A surge of power ran through my veins as my eyes drank in what was playing out on the other side. It hit me like a warm breeze that wrapped itself around me and nearly knocked me off my feet. I saw it all. And as I saw, I remembered. I remembered everything.
HANDS GENTLY PULLED Zoe up to sitting, her body throbbing, her skin tender. They placed a thin plastic straw between her lips, and a low voice instructed her to drink. The liquid had a bitter taste and was lukewarm sliding down her throat. She was aware that she was unbuckled from her restraints, and a few people stood around. With enough force she could catch them off guard and make a run for it. It was a thought she was too groggy to turn into reality. The drugs swimming through her bloodstream snuffed out the idea of resisting.
They laid her back against the cold table and resecured her restraints. She turned her head to glance to where Lucy was lying, still under, deep inside her own mind. They’d only paused the torture to tend to Zoe’s nervous system and do a quick medical assessment, as they did every hour to ensure the pain lasted without killing her. The brief relief was its own kind of torture as Zoe braced for what was coming.
Someone stepped between her and Lucy, and Zoe tilted her eyes up to see Gina looking down with pity. The doctor accepted a report that was handed to her from the other side of Zoe’s bed and reviewed the information. She nodded, then gave the report back.
“She can withstand higher voltage if necessary,” Gina said. “I believe Number Nine is on the brink.”
Zoe’s life mattered so little. She knew this doctor would sooner kill her than risk losing the information tucked away in Lucy.
“You should feel proud,” Gina said, turning her attention back to Zoe. “You’re a part of something grand. You’re serving your country.”
Nausea rolled through Zoe’s gut, and she nearly tossed the contents of her stomach onto the doctor’s shoes.
“Dr. Loveless,” another voice called, “something is happening.”
Gina turned to Lucy, joined by two others in white coats, all staring at the readings on DOT.
Zoe moved her eyes up to the girl’s face, which was still and lifeless. Even here, she wanted to protect Lucy. She had failed.
“Are you sure this is right?” Gina said.
Lucy’s eyes snapped open. Zoe froze as the girl drank in the room for a long moment, her eyes darting over every surface faster than should be possible. And then things happened faster than Zoe could compute under the heavy dosage of drugs.
Lucy broke her restraints and freed herself from DOT just as the rest of the room was becoming aware that she was conscious. Performing a fluid dance, the girl moved with dangerous accuracy. Sliding down the table to the end, landing with both feet planted, swinging around to grab the medical tray from the nearest cart, colliding it with the first skull before her. The nurse dropped cold.
Two more approached, and Lucy flipped the tray sideways, using it like a blade, connecting the sharp side with one’s throat. He staggered backward, clutching his airway. Then she dropped to a knee, used her back as a roadblock, and forced the second attacker to topple over her crouched body. She wrapped her elbow around his neck and snapped it clean.
She shrugged him off, jumped up, and headed for the two nurses at Zoe’s bedside. A blaring alarm sounded, bright light flashing. The nurses scattered, but Lucy was out for blood. She dropped, grabbed a thick black cord from the ground, and yanked it from the outlet in the floor. Like a whip she snapped it forward, its thick plug striking the back of the farthest nurse. She fell while Lucy grabbed three syringes from another cart and tossed them at the other nurse.
Pop. Pop. Pop. All three needles stuck into the man’s fleshy neck. He cried out, stumbled, and Lucy was on him, pressing the weapons deep into his skin and injecting their poison. He fell hard, his face bouncing off the floor. Lucy strode to the nurse she’d struck with the plug.
The woman cried out for mercy, but Lucy had none. She wrapped the thick cord around the woman’s neck and twisted, the snap filling the room.
The doors on the far end slammed open, and armed agents, guns raised, entered in two clean lines.
Zoe yanked against her restraints. “Lucy,” she whispered, her voice weak.
Lucy looked back over her shoulder at Zoe, fire in her eyes, and moved to the thick electrical wires hanging above Zoe. She flipped the machine on, and the buzzing brought a shiver to Zoe’s bones. Lucy loosed one wire from the hooks that held it secure and swung it like an electric lasso, using a large medical tray as a shield. She looked like a superhero. Or a villain.
Zoe heard a cry and saw that Gina had scurried under the table where Lucy had been tortured and was shaking like a leaf. Lucy had her eyes trained on the cavalry, and Gina tried to make a run for it.
Lucy saw. She let the doctor get a few feet, maybe to let her believe she was going to escape, then she let her electrified whip loose. It struck the doctor’s calves. Shocks rippled up the woman’s body, and she collapsed to her knees. Lucy retracted the weapon and let it fly again. The cord wrapped around Gina’s throat, and with a firm tug she yanked the doctor back, her cries sounding through the room.
Agents still filed into the room, but Lucy gave them no mind as she crossed to Gina, dipping low to grab a scalpel from a fallen tray. Zoe knew what was coming and thought to stop her. But then she remembered the electricity that had been pumped into her system, and she said nothing.
“Please, Lucy, please,” Gina begged as she tried to crawl backward, but Lucy didn’t slow.
She reached the doctor, raised her to sit, and drove the knife through the center of the woman’s chest. Gina gasped, tears rolling down her cheeks, and crumpled as Lucy released her. Gina heaved a few final breaths, blood dripping from the side of her mouth, and then she was utterly still.
“Number Nine,” a male voice called.
Lucy yanked the scalpel from Gina’s corpse and stood, facing the gathered agents, shield still in her left hand, knife in her right.
Director Hammon stepped forward with hands slightly raised. “Enough, Number Nine,” he said, his voice calm and steady.
“My name is Lucy.”
Two agents dared to move, and Lucy flung her tray like a Frisbee in a perfectly straight line at the first, hitting his gun and causing it to blast the ceiling. She used the distraction to roll and grab more scattered medical tools. With inhuman strength and precision she threw them at the two attacking men.
Two scalpels punctured the front man’s throat. Blood gushed out as he stumbled back. Long forceps landed in the second agent’s left eyeball. His screeching wails were enough to make Zoe cringe, blood pouring down his face.
“Don’t move! Don’t shoot!” Hammon yelled. “That’s an order!”
Lucy rolled forward, swept up the neck-scalpel agent’s gun, pushed up to standing, and aimed the weapon straight at the director.
“Do not shoot,” he repeated to the agents. Then back to Lucy, “Number Nine, this isn’t within protocol. Think about your purpose.”
Lucy cocked the weapon, but the director didn’t flinch.
“You murdered all the others like me,” Lucy said.
“Yes, I was following orders. You understand orders.”
“You would have murdered me.”
“So you wouldn’t have murdered them.” He tilted his chin to the bodies piled up around them.
Lucy eyed the fallen agents and medical team, one still whimpering for life, barely hanging on. “You made me this.”
Light danced behind the director’s eyes. “You remember.”
“I’m supposed to be a weapon for good.”
“There is no good. The best we can hope for is progress.”
Lucy shook her head. “No, I will be for good.”
Hammon dropped his hands, new confidence sparking in his face. “You will be whatever I want.”
“No,” Lucy said, but her voice had a slight shake.
“You will follow orders,” he said.
Lucy was shaking her head but saying nothing. Zoe needed to do something, but she was still strapped down to the medical bed.
“You will tell me where Olivia hid the files about Grantham.”
“I want to be more—”
“You are more, Number Nine,” the director started, taking a step toward Lucy. “Grown here, with unbelievable abilities, remarkable talents, fostered, trained, more skilled than most people can imagine. You can’t be anything other than what you are.”
The shiver in Lucy’s voice had moved to her fingers.
“You are the property of the Grantham Project,” the director said. “My property.”
“Lucy,” Zoe called out.
The girl turned at the sound of Zoe’s voice, and for a moment they shared a glance. Lucy, scared like a child.
Then before Zoe could realize what she had done, it happened. Director Hammon nodded to someone in the shadows, and pops from the darkness carried the same tranquilizers they’d used before.
One pierced Lucy’s shoulder. She tried to react and was stronger than she had been in the woods. She managed to swing her gun around and get one shot off. It hit the director in his upper leg, and he swore. Then Lucy wobbled, and five armed men rushed in, disarming her and taking her to the ground.
“Lucy!” Zoe cried out and yanked against her restraints. She knew it was in vain. The drugs still swam through her body, and even if she were free from the hold of her straps, she wasn’t sure she had enough strength to stand.
Others were assisting the director as he cursed through the pain, blood darkening his pant leg. “Get her to a cell,” he ordered, “and get me a doctor who isn’t dead!”
Agents moved on command. Zoe was helpless to do anything but watch. Then Director Hammon raised his eyes and landed on her.
“Take care of her,” he said to an armed agent beside him. “Make it clean. There’s enough mess in here.” The man nodded and signaled to two others.
The director’s words echoed through Zoe’s head as they approached. “Take care of her.” She thought to fight back, her instincts screaming for her to do something, but she was too numb. Too tired. So she just watched them come. Felt them release her and drag her away, one thought playing over and over through her brain.
She was going to die.