I was back in the train station, but it was brightly-lit. I heard Mum call out to me. Marie, don’t dawdle, the train is here. Except she didn’t say all that, only part. She got so far as “train” before the next part turned into a surprised grunt as the man in the black coat shoved her in front of the train that was to take us to Knightsbridge. I went to cry out, and in my dream I did cry out, but in truth there was already a rough hand on my shoulder and a rag at my face.
No one saw because they were all looking at the woman that had just been run over by the train that was screaming to a stop. It was screaming, the people were screaming, the whole world was screaming except for me, and I was the one that wanted to scream the most. The hand clenched tighter against my face as I was pulled back from the platform to the edge of the steps. I could feel myself slipping away now, my legs were jelly and I needed to breathe and fight and scream, to get away and see what happened to my mother, but every breath sent sharp prickles down my throat and pushed the world farther away. Whoever held me had turned me toward them now, pressing my face against their coat, acting as though they were consoling me or shielding me from the horror, all the while hiding the rag and my terrified face from any passerby.
The last emotion I had was clear and singular. Hatred. Hate for whoever had hurt my mother and was keeping me from her. Hate for the man that was now carrying me up the steps as the last of my consciousness slipped away. And most of all hate for the dull chime echoing from my core, singing that this was nothing, this was a blessing and a dream compared to what was still to come.
I woke up occasionally over the next few days. In a car. Then a room that swayed like we were at sea. Then another car. A train. Just snatches of sensation and light that burned my eyes when I tried to force my too-heavy lids open. Strangers looking down at me with hooded eyes as they called for someone with a needle full of another day or two of darkness.
When I was finally allowed to wake fully, I was in a bedroom. It was decorated very similarly to my room at home, though everything was new and slightly off from my real stuff. There were no windows here, and a door on one end led to a bathroom, while the door on the other was always locked except for when someone came to bring me food or books or take me for tests.
For the first few days I cried and begged whenever someone opened the door. Was Mum okay? Could I please go home? What were they going to do with me?
They were never rough or angry with me, but they ignored my questions just the same. And when I started the tests, those people were no different. They just wanted me to wear wires, draw pictures, tell them what popped into my head, things like that. Once they brought in a metal box with several glass openings and asked me to touch it. The box began to tremble and they immediately took it back without another word. Another time they showed me a picture of a key, a very old and strange-looking key, and asked me what it made me think of. I told them it made me think of nothing, and at first they seemed angry. I could tell they didn’t understand. So I told them in a different way. Told them I could see the shape of a key, but that it wasn’t really a key. It was a mouth. A hungry mouth that wanted to eat everything.
The woman holding the picture paled at that and they took it away too. After that the tests began to change and there was a new man watching now. When we finished the next session, he introduced himself to me as Dr. Grigori Kalinsky. He was a small man with thinning brown hair, his eyes wide and watchful behind grey wire-rimmed glasses. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper, with a slight, trembling stutter as though he was afraid of disturbing the air.
“Marie, you are a very special young girl.”
“Please sir. I’ve done everything they’ve asked. Please let me go home.” I’d given up on hearing anything about my mother or father by that point. I assumed she was dead and that he had no idea where to find me. My begging now was purer and more desolate. I just needed to get away before things got worse.
Kalinsky gave me a nervous smile. “You have, you have. B-b-but there’s much more to do. I first learned about you from an article in one of London’s papers. M-maybe the Evening? About how you and your father left that store right before the fire last year.” His smile widened, curdling my belly. “You told the reporter an angel had w-warned you, yes?”
I felt tears springing into my eyes. “Yes, sir. That’s what happened.”
His own eyes widened. “Oh, I believe you, dear. We checked on you for months after that. We’re always looking for s-s-special people, but so many turn out to be ordinary. It was only after we found out about what had happened at school and when you were a baby that we decided that we needed to meet you in person.”
Glaring up at him, I tried to keep my voice steady. “Did you kill my mother?”
Kalinsky’s smile fell away. “In a way, yes. The men that took you are very good at their jobs, and they probably saw her as an obstacle or a necessary casualty. I don’t know the d-details. But it doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and this is where you will stay. We will be your family. We will love you and take care of you.” I went to respond when he held up his hand. My heart started to pound at what was laced between his fingers. A golden chain, and suspended from it, Mum’s locket. “If you are good, you can keep this as a keepsake. A tether to your old life and self. She would want you to have it, after all.”
I pulled it from his hand gently and clutched it to my chest as I began to weep.
There was a bit of blood in the seams of the locket. They had cleaned it before Kalinsky gave it to me, of course, but not well enough. There was a little spot near the hinge where the locket opened to show pictures of me on one side and my father on the other. The speck of red haunted me, and over the next few months I began to picture it more and more whenever they tested me. It made me angry, made me hate them even more, but I didn’t care. All I had left was my hate anyway.
They assured me that my father was okay and would be safe so long as I cooperated, so I still played their games. They brought me more objects and pictures. Many were just regular things, but some were special in one way or another. Some made me see or feel things, others made me oddly happy or terribly afraid. My sense of things, that had just been feelings or glimpses when I was younger, was becoming stronger and clearer. By the time I turned ten, I was hungry for the testing every day. I’d fixated on the idea that if I got strong enough, I could find a way to get free, but more than that, if I got really strong, maybe I could find something that would kill them all.
Because I had no illusions about the things I was seeing and the things that I’d learned--they were all real. And much of it wasn’t normal. Talking to creatures that shouldn’t exist, knowing things I shouldn’t know…It was scary, but it made me feel powerful and important. It also made me ashamed. Because to my disgust, I realized that as much as I hated him, I also felt a stir of pride and happiness when Kalinsky offered me praise. And on the rare occasion that he gave me one of his strange gifts, I always kept them.
“This is a stone from America. T-that doesn’t make it special in itself, but this little stone is from the banks of a place called Mirror Lake. And that place is very special.”
I eyed the small purple rock before frowning up at him. “It isn’t right. I can tell it isn’t right.”
Kalinsky smiled. “It’s certainly not normal, no. You see, I went to great pains to not only get this rock but to get it carried to a place much closer to here. A magic bowl that sometimes fills up with m-m-magic water that…”
“I can see it. It’s underground. They’re building a city above it, but most of them don’t know what’s underneath. They’re going to call it…Plipplop?” I looked at him questioningly as he chuckled.
“Close. I think they are talking of naming it Pripyat. But very good. We’ll have you journal what all you can see tonight. But for now, take your present. It’s for you.” His hand squeaked slightly from the thick rubber glove he wore on the hand holding out the rock.
It wasn’t the first time they’d protected themselves from something they asked me to hold, but Kalinsky had never done it with one of my gifts. The china dog, the small metal spinning top, the brass bell, none of them had ever been handled like poison before. Still, despite everything, they’d never actually hurt me other than making me briefly sick with some of the stuff they brought in. And I didn’t think they wanted to kill me. They valued their tests too much. So swallowing, I reached out and touched the rock. It was smooth and cool, but otherwise it felt like any other rock. My stomach clenched as I saw visible relief on Kalinksy’s face.
“G-good, very good. I knew it would be okay. I knew it would be okay for my special girl.”
“Why are you scared of it?”
The question seemed to catch him by surprise, but after a moment he gave a small nod. “Well, because for most people the water from that bowl can be very dangerous. I had good reason to think it wouldn’t hurt you, especially soaked into that rock as it is, but I still worried. I should have known you could handle it. And I’m so proud.”
My chest clenched painfully as I gave him a smile.
“But it also means we’re ready for the next stage of our work here.” He glanced up as a severe-looking woman stepped into the room. “Mrs. Bergensohn? Marie is ready for you now.”
I felt a chill as the woman stepped closer and offered me a thin smile. “Hello, my dear. I’ve heard so much about you.”
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Credits
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