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As we exit the car, I follow James, paying close attention to my surroundings. Bright lights shine overhead, revealing the most pristine parking area I’ve ever seen. There are no oil marks on the ground and no smoke stains or grime on the walls. Everything looks as if it’s just been scrubbed with a toothbrush. There are cameras in every corner. The Porsche license plate reads “IgNiTe.”
When we reach the elevator at the far end, James presses his thumb to a small pad and gets a face scan.
“Mr. McCray,” says the computerized voice, “it looks like you have a visitor today.”
“I do. Her name is Marcela Guerrero.”
I’m staring, dumbfounded by all the high-tech security measures. Impossibly the questions inside my head multiply. In the end, they all boil down to one: who in the world is James McCray?
“Would you mind stepping up to the scanner, Marci?” James asks.
I hesitate. “Um ...”
“It’s the only way you’ll be allowed entry, if you come by yourself later,” he explains, eyebrows raised. “You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable. But think about it this way, I trust you enough to bring you here.”
“Honestly, James. I don’t even know what this place is, or who you are. So forgive me if I’d rather not leave any identifying information behind.”
Besides, what makes him think he can trust me? He really doesn’t know much about me. How can he be sure I’m not a ... real Eklyptor? I’m about to ask him when he gives me a wry smile.
James chuckles as he rubs his thumb and forefinger together. “You already gave me some. Fingerprints in the car. Blood on the spiked ring. But no worries, you’ll change your mind later.”
I feel like an idiot, but I stubbornly stand my ground. His cocky certainty rubs me the wrong way.
James talks into the small microphone. “Allow guest entry.”
“Access allowed,” the computer voice says.
The elevator door slides open. Inside, the panel has only three buttons. Two to either open or close the doors, and one that reads “Alarm.” The door slides shut and the elevator starts moving on its own. A downward arrow appears in a small rectangular screen. We’re already three floors below ground level and we’re going further down? I run a hand across my forehead, feeling claustrophobic.
“Some place you have here,” I say, trying to appear calm.
“You’ve seen nothing yet,” James says with a wink. I’m taken aback by this light mood. The menacing aura I’ve associated with him since I first met him is replaced by a natural confidence. He loosens his silky blue tie and removes his jacket. His chest rises and falls with ease. There’s no visible tension across his shoulders. He’s relaxed. It helps me relax a little too.
“So who are you? What do you do?” I ask.
“I own this building, and the business that operates here.”
Wow, that has to mean he has serious money.
After what feels like many, many floors, the elevator dings and the doors slide open. We step out into a narrow hall fronted by a glass wall. James walks up to it. I follow hesitantly and stop after two short steps. I look to the sides. To the right, there’s a dead end. To the left, the top of a staircase leading downward.
“What do you think?” James asks, looking beyond the glass wall.
I join him and follow his gaze. My jaw falls open at the sight of the place. We are overlooking a large, open area, as big as two basketball courts. Below, the rectangular floor plan is surrounded by white walls and divided by clear partitions into four quadrants. Everything looks pristine, even under the halogen hanging lights.
In the top left quadrant, there is an assortment of laboratory and medical equipment. A redhead sits on a stool, her eyes pressed against the viewer of huge microscope. Under that quadrant, computer equipment fills the space. Racks with servers in every slot, cables, laptops, handheld devices, motherboards and more. My mouth waters. A dark-haired man, wearing what looks like a lab coat, is working in front of six computer monitors, analyzing graphs and a vast array of images I can’t quite make out from here.
In the top right quadrant, a young woman in gray coveralls stoops over a small engine. A motorcycle sits propped on a stand, gutted like a fish in Pike Place Market. Next to it, the van we drove to the party rests atop a hydraulic lift. The rest of the area is occupied by spare tires, massive red and yellow toolboxes, motor-oil containers, everything a regular auto-repair shop could need. I look around, trying to figure out how they got the van down there, then notice a massive metal door in the far corner.
The last quadrant on the bottom is a gym, outfitted with all kinds of workout equipment: mats, benches, free weights, knotted ropes that hang from the ceiling, medicine balls, treadmills, elliptical machines, all brand-new and expensive looking. No one is in that area.
“So? Do you like it?” James asks.
My eyes return to the man with all the monitors. “I’m ... wow ... it’s very impressive, especially the computer area.”
“We call the entire area ‘The Tank.’ Those four sections down there are the fish pods. So that would be the computer pod.” He laughs. “Rheema’s idea to call them that,” he adds, pointing to the girl in the “auto-repair pod” or whatever it is. “She says she feels like a stupid goldfish when someone watches from up here.”
At that moment, the redhead at the microscope comes away from the microscope and notices us. She waves and says “Hi.” The faint sound of her greeting reaches us. The young girl and the man at the computer turn from their work and look up, too.
“Is that Aydan?” I ask, surprised.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I thought you said he worked for—”
“He used to, until he joined the crew. Sylica Rush is his cover story, now.”
Aydan dismisses us and turns back to his computers. Nice to see you, too. What a jackass!
“So the others don’t know about this place?” I ask, wondering how many more secrets James is keeping from everyone and fearing the ones he’s keeping from me.
“That’s correct. What goes on here is too important to risk telling too many people.”
“You’re telling me, and you barely know me,” I challenge.
“I know all I need to know about you, Marci. Everyone here is like us. Everyone here wants to find a cure.”
“A cure?” My heart does a weird flip and my voice holds the hope of a thousand condemned death-row inmates. There’s nothing I want more.
“Yes, a cure. It’s not an easy task and it won’t happen any time soon. But we’re doing everything we can.” James gives me a tight-eyed glance, one that says “don’t get your hopes too high.”
Something breaks inside of me. It won’t happen any time soon. The words ring in my ears, breaking my hope, smashing it into fine dust.
“Don’t look so sad, Marci. Everyone wants a cure. But you’ll come to terms with the fact that it may not come soon enough for our benefit.”
What is he? Nuts? Who could ever come to terms with that?
“C’mon, let’s go down there.” James ushers me toward the staircase and we descend. At the bottom of the steps he takes a right. I stop, take a deep breath and try to push my disappointment aside. Looking around, my eyes focus on a dimly lit corridor to my left.
“Are you coming?” James asks.
My head snaps back. I squint at the bright lights. “What’s that way?”
“Sleeping quarters,” he says. “Everyone’s been burning the midnight oil for the past year or so. This is a big place. There’s more. Hospital wing, kitchen, conference rooms. I’ll show you around later. Follow me.”
As I turn and face the large open space to my right, I’m overwhelmed by the sight once more. I face clear cubicle partitions. Through them, I can see all the way to the opposite wall. The openness and the lack of privacy are a bit unsettling.
For the first time, I notice oil paintings hanging on the outer wall. Their frames are gilded, their images glossy and depicting landscapes, portraits, flowers and vegetables. Really? How weird! They look entirely out of place inside the modern space.
“They’re part of my collection,” James says when he notices me watching. “I have a weakness for classic art.” He should be embarrassed—instead he looks proud.
Whatever.
He turns and walks toward the lab pod. I follow and try not to stare at the redhead as we make our way toward her.
“Hi, Kristen,” he says.
Kristen turns her stool toward us and gives James a huge smile. He beams back at her. I stare at the polished wood floor and pretend not to notice their over-happy greeting.
“I brought you someone,” James tells her. “Marci, this is Kristen Albright. Kristen, Marci Guerrero.”
She rolls my way on her stool, right hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you.”
As we exchange a firm handshake, her light green eyes take me in. My head buzzes and our chests rise and fall in unison as we take deep, calming breaths. We exchange a knowing smile.
“Kristen has been doing a lot of research,” James says. “She’s trying to understand how Eklyptors take residence in the human brain, and also what makes it possible for people like us to resist them. She’s a biologist and a medical doctor. A very smart lady.”
Kristen pushes stringy bangs away from her green eyes. Her hair is a sharp shade of red in a pixie style that screams high-end salon. Her slender, delicate features are not beautiful, but her face is pretty enough, made more so by a certain confident air, much like James’s.
“Are we immune somehow?” I ask, immediately interested in Kristen’s research and what it could mean for the discovery of a cure.
“I wish I could say we are,” she says. “That would make my life a lot easier, because then I could find a vaccine, like those for polio or tetanus. But no. We’re not immune.”
“Yeah, I guess not. That was a stupid question, given we’re under constant assault.”
Kristen nods. “Yes, sadly, we are infected. But there’s something that allows us to fight back, to control instead of being controlled. I’m trying desperately to understand what that is.”
“Control?” I ask, looking from Kristen to James. I feel anything but in control.
“Yes, control,” James confirms. “Believe it or not, even if you feel under constant threat and barely able to keep your agent at bay, you’ve learned to control it and take advantage of it.”
“Agent?” I echo.
Kristen explains. “That’s what we call the organism that lives in our brains—much like a virus is called an infectious agent. They’re not exactly viruses, though. They’re far more complex, like a combination of a parasitic and viral infection. They’re unlike anything known to us.”
“What do you mean I’ve learned to take advantage of it? You’re kidding, right? I’m the only one being taken advantage of here,” I say, bewildered.
“You’re wrong,” James says. “Take your elevated IQ, for instance.”
“What?” I shake my head in disbelief at the implication.
“Or your mastery of martial arts and the tremendous agility it requires. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Xave brags about you all the time.” James chuckles and sits on a stool.
I ignore the tidbit about Xave bragging. I’d like to hold on to that piece of information and imagine what it could mean, but, instead, I find myself livid about the first part of James’s spiel. He’s got to be pulling my leg.
“What are you saying exactly? That without this thing inside my head I would be retarded and clumsy?” My voice is strained, barely disguising my outrage.
“No, I’m saying you would be average,” James says.
“Is this your idea of a joke?”
James shakes his head. “No. I have no doubt you’ve learned to take advantage of your agent’s positive qualities.”
“Positive qualities? There’s nothing positive about this.” I tap my head with one finger. “There’s a parasite living in my freakin’ head! I’d rather be average, if what you’re saying is true. I’d like for my only concern to be whether to wear lipstick or lip-gloss.”
Kristen watches our exchange with a combination of amusement and sympathy.
“You don’t really mean that.” A simple statement from James.
I try to protest, to deny his words, but I can’t. I don’t want to be average. Still, I refuse to believe the agent plays any part in who I am, in what makes me Marcela Victoria Guerrero.
“I understand how you feel at the moment,” James adds. “I see that—for you to believe everything—it’ll take even more proof than I’ve already given you. Remember I said you were special? Well, this is the reason. It’s why I brought you to Elliot’s house. So you could see with your own eyes what it is you’re keeping under control. So you could understand how strong you are. That risk is minor if I can recruit more people like you. You’ll come to grips with it soon and you’ll also come to appreciate the meaning of the word symbiotic.”
“I don’t think so.” My teeth are a cage, making my words a hiss.
“Then let’s agree to disagree ... for now.”
He’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
“I believe a little bit of training might be in order, James,” Kristen says, watching me from under raised eyebrows.
“Yes, it’ll help her see clearer,” he says.
I clear my throat. “Listen, I’m tired of you making all these choices for me. I’m not a puppet.” I keep my voice level as I say this.
“Of course not, Marci. I’m sorry if that’s the impression I’ve given you. I was hoping you’d be my pupil.” His eyes are full of understanding and patience as he says the words.
Suddenly I feel like a brat.
“But I realize that for things to work, I need your trust. And that’s why you’re here. That’s why I’m showing you all of this.” James’s eyes make a wide circle around the place.
Great, now I’m embarrassed by his apology and the fact that he’s not pointing out what a brat I am.
“What goes on in this place is a secret to everyone, except the few you see working in here. I brought you because I know you’re ready to join our tight circle, because there are so very few like us. You’ve been looking for answers, and I can offer some. I can help you make the most out of your situation. You’re hiding the truth and fighting alone.” He pauses, leaves the stool and looks me in the eye. “I stand—here and now—to let you know that you don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to do it alone. You can fight with us.”
There’s a knot in my throat and my eyes burn as if someone’s put lemon juice in them. I swallow, hold James’s gaze, bravely. He smiles, puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You’re courageous. You will find it’s refreshing working with ... like-minded individuals.” He chuckles.
I nod once, an acceptance to his offer to join him.
“I have so much more to share with you, but there never seems to be enough time.” He sighs. “But we’ll get there. Patience is key.” James removes his hand from my shoulder. His voice grows serious, his face stern. “Do I have your trust?” he asks. “I will require it. Unconditionally.”
The fear that this may be a mistake gnaws at my bones. I’m at a clear disadvantage. James holds all the cards, and I have little to offer. But I’ve got no one else to turn to. It’s not easy to relinquish my independence and put my trust in someone. It never has been. Still, I nod again.
“Great!” he says. “Kristen will require your cooperation, now. I have things to discuss with Aydan. Expect an email tomorrow with details on your training.” James takes a step back, looks at Kristen in an intimate way. Something passes between them that I can’t understand. The air is loaded with their silent exchange. I feel like a third-wheel and fidget until James whirls and walks away.
Kristen gives me an appraising look. I feel like a piece of paper inside a scanner. Without the weight of their wordless conversation, however, I can stand taller. I examine her in turn. Her serious expression changes in a split second. A huge smile parts her lips, revealing a set of teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial.
“I like you, Marci.” Her grin grows impossibly wider.
I feel like she’s making fun of me, though she seems genuine.
“But ...” she adds, her smile shrinking a bit, “you’re going to have to lighten up a bit. It’s not like you have terminal cancer. Look on the bright side.”
“Seriously?” If she grew a second nose right now, it wouldn’t seem any weirder than her comment. “We’ve got real-life monsters walking around. Excuse me if I don’t see the bright side of that.”
She shrugs. “We, humans, have grown used to being on top without being challenged. Now we have to prove that we really deserve it. Only good things come out of a little competition.”
“This is not economics, lady. This is live or die.”
“Yeah, and it makes the former more fun for me. Don’t you like a little challenge every once in a while? And by the way, you can call me Kristen.”
“All right, Kristen. Well, I do enjoy a good challenge, but I’m not suicidal.”
Kristen laughs, a hearty chuckle that borders on being contagious. I work on deepening my frown.
“Ready for some more tests?” she asks when her laughter finally dies down.
“More tests?”
“Yes, I tested the blood on the ring already. Made sure you aren’t a full-fledged Eklyptor.” She winks.
“Oh,” I say lamely. I don’t like the sneaky way James got my blood, but I guess I can’t really blame him. He had to make sure before bringing me here. “You mean there’s a test?”
“It’s not conclusive, but most Eklyptors have elevated levels of melatonin and hCG. It depends on how long they’ve been infected. It’s part of my research. Maybe it’ll lead somewhere.”
I can do nothing else but nod. I have an idea of what melatonin and hCG are, but science has never been my forte.
“So, ready for more?” she asks again.
“Okay.”
“First, I need some more blood. Then we’ll do a CT scan and a few other things,” she says with another friendly wink. I walk behind her as she leads the way.
A crooked grin shapes my lips of its own accord. Maybe I’ll come to like Kristen, after all.