The Tower (5 page)

“What is this?!” I heard Cindy shriek from the bathroom later that evening.

Alia was bathing with her so I easily guessed what Cindy was freaking out about. I called to her from behind the door, “I think it’s called a tattoo, Cindy.”

“P-46?!” Cindy shouted again. “What is this?”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you on the bus,” I said. “We were marked when we arrived at the research center.”

“You have one too?!”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t have the heart to tell me on the bus, but you could let me find out like this? Oh, I could kill you, Adrian! I almost had a heart attack.”

“Sorry, Cindy,” I laughed. “I just forgot about it. Honestly!”

Through the bathroom door, I could hear Alia laughing like crazy too.

“Alia, it’s not funny!” cried Cindy. “As soon as we can, we’re going to get this removed.”

Just another detail.

Chapter 2: Problems with P-46

“Morning, Cindy,” I said, yawning loudly as I walked into the dining room the next morning. I had overslept, and Alia had dragged me out of bed just as Cindy was finishing setting the table for breakfast.

“Good morning,” Cindy said pleasantly. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Sort of,” I muttered.

Actually, it had been a horrible night. First off, the pajamas Cindy had bought for me turned out to be, of all colors, bright pink. Pink! I couldn’t believe it. Alia couldn’t stop laughing for nearly ten minutes. Then it took an hour or so just to reacquaint my body with the idea of lying in bed alone. I remembered how awkward it had felt when I first shared a bed with Alia back at the research center, and was surprised at how much I had become used to sleeping with her arms wrapped around me. Alia looked like she was having some trouble sleeping alone too, tossing and turning as she tried to get comfortable in her new bed, but I wasn’t about to invite her over. She eventually settled for her big unicorn, pulling it up into her bed and going to sleep hugging it tightly. I felt sorry for her, but Alia wasn’t the only one feeling insecure in the dark. When I finally managed to fall asleep, I entered a long and painful nightmare about a certain Nightmare, which woke me twice during the night. Alia had a habit of murmuring incoherently into my mind while she slept, but that was the only good thing. I had gotten so accustomed to it that it actually soothed me and helped me get back to sleep.

“Alia said she had a bad dream,” said Cindy, pouring me a glass of apple juice.

“She often has bad dreams,” I replied. “Ask Mr. Koontz to help.”

Mr. Malcolm Koontz, the dreamweaver we met in captivity, not only helped significantly in our escape, but was also the one who cured Alia of her bedwetting by pacifying her recurring nightmares about Ralph.

“What about you?” asked Cindy, peering into my eyes.

“What about me?!” I said, annoyed.

“You didn’t have any nightmares or anything?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Cindy smiled. “I heard you cry out last night. Once on the bus, too.”

“Okay, fine!” I snapped. “I had a nightmare. So what?”

“It’s called PTSD, Adrian. Post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

Cindy said gently, “It means you had a rough time, and you need to work through your feelings. We could have Mr. Koontz–”

“No!” I cut across her. “I don’t want anyone messing with my head just for nightmares.”

I wasn’t sure why I felt so strongly about that. After all, I had willingly let Derrick control my dreams for weeks back when we were planning our escape, and I also knew how much Mr. Koontz had helped Alia. But somehow this was different. I wasn’t sure exactly why, but I just didn’t like the idea of getting help for a few bad dreams. It made me feel weak.

“Okay,” said Cindy. “Well, there are certain medicines you could take to help you sleep better.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re a nurse,” I said. “Sorry, Cindy, but no controllers and no drugs. Frankly, I don’t see the difference.”

“The difference, Adrian,” Cindy said with infinite patience, “is that you wouldn’t be so cranky in the morning if you slept better.”

“I’m okay, Cindy,” I insisted. “Really!”

“Alright, if you say so. Here, let me see that tattoo again,” said Cindy, trying to pull up my left pajama shirtsleeve.

I jerked my shoulder away. “Could I please eat first?!”

Cindy laughed. “Cranky!”

“I am not! Here,” I said roughly, telekinetically lifting the sleeve so she could see the P-47 stenciled into my skin in black ink.

“Same size as Alia’s,” remarked Cindy, frowning at the number. “I called up a tattoo removal shop last night. It turns out that black is actually the easiest color to laser away, but it still takes a long time. The man said it could take ten sessions, with six weeks or more of healing time between each, which means more than a year total. But I think with Alia’s healing power, we could manage it in a shorter time. I’ll make an appointment today for the both of you, okay?”

“I don’t want this removed, Cindy,” I said, lowering my sleeve and bracing myself for the argument I knew we were about to have.

“Why not?!” demanded Cindy, her tone sharpening considerably.

“I don’t know, exactly. I just don’t want it removed.”

“It looks ridiculous, Adrian.”

“I know,” I said. “But still, it’s a part of what happened.”

Cindy stared at me. “Are you collecting battle scars, Adrian?”

“Of course not, Cindy! But this is different.”

Back at the research center, I had hated this tattoo. Much like the control bands I had to wear on my wrists, the P-47 tattoo was the mark of my imprisonment at the facility. It was proof that we were, as Dr. Denman had said, not human, but merely lab rats. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to keep the tattoo now, but somehow it made sense. It was a reminder of Dr. Kellogg, who I now believed to have known of our escape. Dr. Kellogg may even have deliberately given me information about the facility, and when Dr. Denman took Alia from her room, Dr. Kellogg gave his life trying to stop him. The tattoo was also a reminder of my own stupidity for letting Alia and me be captured in the first place. Perhaps it was, as Cindy said, a battle scar, like the bullet entrance and exit scars on my back and stomach, and the thin line along my left forearm where the researchers had experimented with Alia’s healing in Lab A. I wasn’t proud of these things. But they were a part of me.

“I still think it looks ridiculous,” said Cindy. “And you know it’s going to be a hot summer.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, so what?”

“Planning on going swimming at all?”

“I’ll put a Band-Aid over it.”

Cindy sighed. “Okay. I won’t force you to remove it, Adrian. But if you change your mind, just say so.”

“Sure,” I said, relieved that I had gotten through that so easily.

“But you,” said Cindy, turning to Alia, “are going to get yours removed as soon as we can.”

Alia shook her head, saying something to Cindy.

Cindy shook her head back at Alia. “Yes, you are, sweetie.”

Alia kept shaking her head, but so long as she was speaking telepathically, there was no way for me to tell exactly what she was saying. I could guess, of course, that she wanted to keep her tattoo as well. I couldn’t figure out why though. Cindy had to tell me.

Cindy fixed me with an accusing stare as she said, “Adrian, Alia doesn’t want her tattoo removed unless you get yours removed.”

“That makes no sense, Cindy,” I said.

Cindy held up her hands and said, “Hey, don’t tell me. Tell her.”

Turning to Alia, I said firmly, “Listen to Cindy, Ali. You have to get your tattoo removed.”

Alia frowned at me, saying equally firmly,
“No, Addy, I want to keep mine too.”

“Well, that’s not for me to decide,” I said.

“Please, Addy. I like it. Tell Cindy to let me keep it.”

“But why?” I asked. “It looks ridiculous, Alia!”

“My sentiments exactly,” Cindy whispered into my ear. I scowled at her.

“You’re keeping yours,”
argued Alia.

“I have my reasons.”

“Well, I have my reasons too,”
Alia said angrily.

“Hey, don’t tell me. Tell her,” I said, mimicking Cindy.

Talking with her mouth full was one trick only Alia could manage, and all through breakfast she continued pestering me to help her change Cindy’s mind, but I was on Cindy’s side for this one. Later that morning, Cindy called up the tattoo removal shop again and set up an appointment for Monday of the following week. It was still Friday, so Alia would have a few more days to protest this hypocrisy. She started by marching into our room to sulk. I left her to it and helped Cindy load the dishwasher.

“I’m guessing Alia just wants to be like you, Adrian,” said Cindy as she turned on the machine. “She really loves being your little sister.”

I had been pondering going back to Mr. Baker with my unasked question when Cindy said that, and I snapped at her, saying harshly, “Alia isn’t my sister, Cindy!”

“You know what I mean, Adrian.”

“Whatever,” I said, returning to my thoughts.

Once the dishes were underway, Cindy sat down on the living-room floor to begin placing her hiding bubble over New Haven. She sat working her power in quiet concentration all the way to lunchtime.

Alia didn’t come out of our room for the rest of the morning, and when I visited once, she ignored me and continued playing with her toys.

“Come on, Ali, don’t be angry,” I said, giving her a gentle hug from behind.

She didn’t even acknowledge my presence, so I whispered, “Fine. Be angry. See how long you can keep it up.”

During lunch, Alia resumed her argument with Cindy, but no longer tried to enlist my help, for which I felt both grateful and a little betrayed. Alia didn’t help in the cleaning up after lunch either, quickly disappearing back into our room, but Cindy didn’t complain.

“It’s not easy making a large hiding bubble here,” Cindy said to me after lunch. “There’re too many high-rises. Too much metal. I’ll need more time.”

While Cindy continued working her power in the afternoon, I sat beside her and meditated, remembering Mr. Baker’s demand that I continue working on my power balance. I had no reason to believe that, after nearly a year of failure, I was about to get any better, but what else could I do?

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Alia continued to ignore me during and after dinner, which I couldn’t understand because as far as I could tell, her primary upset was with Cindy. Of course Alia felt betrayed because I had sided with Cindy in the morning, but I wasn’t the one demanding that she give up her stupid tattoo in the first place. What was Alia so upset with me for?

Though Alia and I shared a room, we fortunately no longer shared bedtimes. Cindy tucked Alia into bed at around nine. Then Cindy and I meditated in the living room again.

But for once, it was Cindy who was having trouble concentrating. Sitting next to her, I could tell that her focus wasn’t nearly as deep as usual, but still I jumped a bit when she suddenly said, “You know, Adrian, Alia wouldn’t care about her tattoo at all if you were getting yours removed as well.”

Not again
, I thought. “Cindy...”

“I know I’m not your mother, Adrian, and I can’t force you to get rid of that horrible mark on your arm...”

“Cindy,” I said as patiently as I could, “you’re as close to a mother as I have now, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just lay off the tattoo thing. I just don’t think you understand it.”

“Well, that may be,” said Cindy, opening her eyes and looking at me, “but I understand one thing that you don’t.”