Into the Shadows (3 page)

The cards kept changing. They became more specific. Sometimes I was instructed to look into her future at 3:00 PM that day or at 1:00 AM the next. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. When it worked, I wouldn’t lie to Peter. I would tell him what I saw.
 

“At 2:30 this afternoon,” I said one day, “a guard is going to tie Amber up and beat her with a whip.”

“How many times will she be hit?” he asked.
 

“Seventeen,” I said. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, especially when a smile formed at the corner of Peter’s mouth. I no longer thought of him as a nice guy. I saw him as cold and callous. He didn’t care about Amber or me. He looked at us as little more than lab rats. It was unbridled science to him. The experiments were endless.
 

I look at the mirror in front of the faucet and I feel shame. There are no bruises on my face—no lashes on my body. I don’t feel pain. My brown hair falls neatly into place because none of the guards have shaved my head like they did Amber’s—just so they could observe me trying to see it in her future. Shadowface must be an animal.

Every day, they plan to do something torturous to Amber just to see if I can predict it. Sometimes they will let her rest, but that is seldom.

Lately the testing I undergo has become more than just predicting the future, but also changing it. Peter will often bring me into a room and set up several scenarios. There will be people in the room that I have never seen before who have a plan of action. Yesterday it was a man and a woman. I was instructed to see into the woman’s future just a few seconds ahead and try to change what was supposed to happen.

When I touched her, of course I tried to see a future that might benefit me and my eventual escape attempt, but Peter had been smart. He brought these people in because they had nothing to do with me and would have no effect on my future specifically. Not to mention, I had no idea when my escape attempt was supposed to happen so it was impossible for me to see the woman’s response to the situation. So, I changed my thinking and viewed only a short time into the future. The man was going to come up to her and slap her across the face. It was my job to make sure that didn’t happen. I was to quietly tell Peter what I saw, and then tell him how I was going to stop it.
 

The man walked up to the woman, brought his hand up in the air to slap her, but I shoved her out of the way in the last second. Peter stared at the scenario for a long moment without saying anything, and then began to write vigorously.

“I don’t understand,” I said as the two of us and two guards walked together back to my room.
 

“What’s that?” he asked.
 

“I understand that I can change what I see, but why don’t I see the change in the first place?”

The look he gave me begged an explanation.
 

“I mean, if I really saw into the future, wouldn’t I have seen myself getting in the way rather than the man slapping her? Because the true future was where I stopped him, but that’s not the vision I saw.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion that what you see isn’t the true future, Waverly,” he said as we neared my door. “I think your gift as a Starborn reveals the
intended
future rather than the
actual
future. Left unchanged by you, the future will play out as you saw it. The moment you decide to interfere, is the moment it changes.” He sighed as one of the guards opened the door for me to enter my room. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you about this, but I just find it so fascinating.”

Try living it,
I thought.
 

But as I stand in front of the mirror now, I start to feel that the power I have isn’t so bad if I can control it. Now that I understand that I’m seeing the intended future, and all I have to do is figure out a way to change it if I desire, then the concept is much more clear. Of course, real situations are not so easy. My thoughts go back to when I had first seen a vision of Ethan getting shot in the street. Because of Mitch’s control over me, I was unable to change the vision. Situations do not always present a way to change something. Knowing the future so I can be prepared is a blessing. Not knowing how to change what needs to be changed is a curse. Today, as I get ready for breakfast and another meeting with Amber, I feel cursed.

A guard takes me to the room where we have breakfast as he has every morning for the past month. When the monotony of each day gets to me, I sometimes try to make conversation with him, asking him personal questions that would make no difference to me, but he never answers. He doesn’t even look at me. He just walks behind me with a hand rested on his pistol in case I ever try to make a move.

When the exact same scenario happens every single morning, it’s easy to spot what is different today. Today, he’s not resting a hand on his pistol. I’m not sure if that means he is becoming more relaxed with me, or if he is getting lazy, but it tells me that he doesn’t see me as a potential threat. Nor should he. I don’t plan to do anything. I don’t even plan to try and escape even though I know at some point I’m going to find myself in the sewers of this place, guards shooting at Amber and me.
 

The hallways we walk through are dark but for a few soft lights that illuminate our path. It gives me the feeling of being on the inside of a Navy boat or submarine, but I know that isn’t the case because I’ve never felt any swaying. I always look at the doors we pass, wondering what might be behind them. It makes me wonder what else goes on around here. Are there others being held against their will? Are they Starborns? Am I Peter’s only subject? I’ve already decided that these observations are coming close to an end. I might have a couple of more weeks left, but soon they will discover that my power will go only so far. Then they will kill me. They’ve already taken my blood. I suppose Shadowface is waiting to see if my blood is worth injecting. Jeremiah had told us that taking the blood of a Starborn is potentially dangerous. The effects cannot be measured.

The guard and I finally make it to the end of a long hallway where I always have breakfast. There is another guard waiting outside the door and he opens it for me to enter.
 

Just like my bedroom, and in stark contrast to the hallways, the breakfast room is a brilliant, polished white. The floors, the walls, everything shines like someone waxes every inch daily. The lights in here are not soft, rather a bright florescent white that shows every detail of the person that sits across from me. As I sit across from Amber, I can see the red rope burn around her neck where the guards hung her in her room for about thirty seconds. There are a few spots on her face where blood vessels popped from the pressure. The sight of her brings tears to my eyes almost daily, and this morning is no different. But I don’t let them fall down my cheeks. The feeling of guilt I have outweighs the feeling of sympathy. It’s because of me that she’s being tortured. She and I both know it. But Amber knows that I have no way to stop it, doesn’t she? I hope she doesn’t blame me for this.

When she looks at me, she doesn’t usually seem angry, just scared. My coming to breakfast means another round of torture that she doesn’t deserve. I don’t know why Shadowface or Peter have decided to do it this way. I don’t know why they can’t just ask me to predict what kind of food she’s going to get for dinner. It’s sick what they are doing to us and it makes me hate Shadowface all the more.
 

But today, Amber looks neither angry nor scared. In a stranger twist, she actually grins at me slightly, though it’s only for a brief second. Her eyes leave my face and we look down at the plate of food in front of us. Like every day there is a single fried egg, a piece of toast, and water. It isn’t much, but both of us eat it gladly each morning. My eyes move from the plate to the card. Peter has told us both that conversation is more freely allowed now that we understand our boundaries better. The cards are meant for suggested conversation unless there is something typed out in bold. Today there is no bold, but the conversation pieces include:
What is your favorite animal? Why is it your favorite animal? If you could be any animal, what would you choose? Shake Amber’s hand and see into her future for 10:00 PM.

“I don’t want to talk about these things,” Amber says to me. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Her desire to talk at all comes as a shock to me. Just because Peter said we could talk more freely didn’t mean that we ever did. I don’t even know what to talk about.

“Okay,” I say.
 

“What are some of your goals? Your ambitions?” Her voice cracks a little when she speaks, no doubt an effect from her punishment yesterday.

It’s an odd question, especially given the world we live in today. I would think that the answer is obvious. “To survive,” I say.
 

Amber shakes her head at me. “That’s not what I mean. One day we’re going to live in a world where the greyskins don’t exist. What do you want to be doing when this is all over?”

The question stumps me. It’s hard to think of life beyond the moment. A month ago my answer might have hinged on those that were around me, but for all I know everyone I cared about is dead. The outbreak happened at a point in my life where I wasn’t thinking about what I wanted to be or to do. I was just living my life, living in the moment—not much different than how I’m forced to live in this greyskin world.
 

“I don’t know,” I say. My answer depresses even me. If my hope is simply to survive, that isn’t much of a hope.

“There is more to surviving than simply staying alive,” Amber says to me. “I want to be a journalist.”

I turn my head a bit, confused. “A journalist?”

She nods. “That’s what I’ve always wanted to be, and soon, there will be a need for news more than ever. People will need to know what is happening in the rebuilding process. News from other towns and settlements will encourage others to continue the rebuilding process as well. Now, we have no way of transmitting information. But everyone needs it.” She shrugs as she cuts into the runny egg and takes a bite. “That’s my dream anyway. You should be thinking about what you want to do when this is all over.”

Having seen the way Amber is supposed to die, it’s difficult for me to hear about what she dreams of doing. Though I know I can see into the future and change it, sometimes change comes with the ultimate sacrifice. From what I’ve seen of her getting shot in the pool of water, it would seem that the only way I could change it would be if I took the bullets for her. I don’t want her to die, but I can’t say that I would sacrifice myself for her. I don’t like these thoughts. I feel so selfish, and they only add to the guilt that I already have.
 

We finish our breakfast in silence and it’s already time for me to take a short glimpse into her future. Before I reach out to touch her hand, I prepare my mind to look at her future specifically for 10:00 PM. I hate wondering what I’m going to see. It makes me want to kill the monsters that run this place.
 

My hand is in the air just above the table. Amber looks at it for a second, and the short grin returns. I’m pretty sure that I’m the only one that can notice it. Peter won’t see it behind the two-way mirror, but it’s like she’s trying to tell me something.
 

She reaches for my hand, and just before the familiar white light flashes in front of my eyes, I feel a small piece of metal placed against my palm.
 

It’s 10:00 PM and Amber waits in her room patiently. A guard walks in and he’s holding a club in his hands.

“I’ve been given free reign tonight,” the guard says. “You know it will be worse if you fight it.” He starts to unbuckle his belt as Amber stares at him nervously.
 

When he gets closer to her, she doesn’t look afraid. She doesn’t look anxious. She seems ready for something. She sits on the bed, one hand resting in her lap, the other behind her back.

“I won’t struggle if you promise not to hurt me tonight,” she says.
 

The guard hesitates for a moment, probably not expecting her to be willing.
 

“This doesn’t have to be a night of pain,” Amber continues.
 

The guard takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing and his mouth curving into a wide smile.
 

When he gets to the side of the bed, he grabs Amber by the shirt and forces her to her feet. He brings his face closer to hers. “Then kiss me,” he says.
 

“Okay,” Amber replies.
 

Her left hand goes to his neck gently, but her right remains behind her back. Her fingers clutch around a piece of sharp metal—not a knife, but a jagged piece from her metal bed it seems.

The guard closes his eye briefly to accept her kiss, but it never comes. With a tight grip, she swings the metal shard into the guard’s throat. Blood squirts all down the front of Amber’s shirt and arm as she takes a step back. The guard’s eyes are wide and he’s unable to scream out, producing only gargling noises as he drops to his knees. Amber sits back on the bed briefly, waiting for him to be still. Finally, within a few seconds, the guard is dead on the floor, his eyes staring into the ceiling.
 

Amber bends down next to his body and takes his club from him. Clipped to his belt is a taser, and she grabs that too. As she walks to the bedroom door, she tries to wipe the blood from her arms but quickly gives up. She takes one last look at the dead body on the floor before leaving the room into the dark hallway beyond.
 

When I let go of Amber’s hand, I grip the small piece of metal that she placed in my palm. At first, I think she’s giving me something to do my own stabbing with, but as I feel it under the table with my fingers, it’s just small and flat. It feels thin like I could bend it. I want to know what it is but I can’t look down at it. Not with them watching me.