The Circle- Taken Page 8

  Before he steps back, I grab his shoulders and drive my knee into the juncture of his thighs. His grunt of pain is music to my ears. “I didn’t say yes.” I hobble out of range before he can retaliate. “Why do they hate the Circle?”

  His paralysis proves momentary. He straightens, takes two steps forward, and hits me in the ribs. “That one would have hurt more if I wanted,” he warns as I double over. “You should have stepped back before I made contact.” He considers me. “The answer to that question is above your pay grade. Try again.”

  “Why do people die during the Evaluation?”

  Securing both my hands in his, Ryan forces me backward until I hit the wall. I white-light the pain, desperate to keep it at bay. “Because they’re not strong enough. My turn. How do you know how to fight? The truth.”

  “The Orphanage.” Keep your secret. Too weak to conjure more of the white light, pain permeates every bone and cell in my body.

  “No reader fights like you do – not without training.” When his hands tighten on mine, I push him off and start to walk away. He pulls me back gently. “Stop lying to me.”

  “You’re training to survive in the field?” Faces of people I once knew float around in my head. I reach for the memory, but it stays out of reach. “I lived in the field. That’s how I learned to fight.” I laugh, bitterly. “If you don’t trust me, why keep me here?”

  “Because you have no place else to go.” The truth renders me silent. I head toward the door, done, when Ryan points to the crumbs. His voice softens, and there is an unexpected concern. “There’s enough food. You don’t need to hide it.”

  I pause, embarrassed. “Not where I come from.” I walk out on his silence.

  ELEVEN

  SERAFINA

  The ocean laps lazily against the shore. All the senior leaders gather together for the ceremony to mourn those lost on the Night of the Escape. Scattered in the back are a few younger members who lost family that night.

  Celeste, one of Serafina’s closest friends, lays a wreath over the ocean water. Next to her, Michael does the same. Though neither lost family members, both lost friends. Other senior members join in laying their wreaths atop the water and watch as the waves wash them away. Over the years, Serafina has refused to lay a wreath.

  Around them, the solemn silence speaks of the loss suffered. No one gives a speech or says any words to commemorate the occasion. Instead, they watch silently as the wreaths float away with each crest of a wave until they are no longer in sight. Only when every wreath has disappeared, do the members head back toward the building.

  Serafina stands in place, staring into the ocean’s depths. Michael and Celeste, both Council members and her close friends, stand with her. “Sixteen years lost.” When the waves start to pound against one another, Serafina turns toward them. They watch her, their faces neutral. “Alexia couldn’t control the pain. Trying to read me was too much for her to handle.”

  “The pain proves she’s a descendant,” Celeste murmurs. “It is the signature of the receiver.”

  Serafina thinks of the hundreds of members at the Circle who aren’t descendants but still have the ability to read. They don’t feel pain, but their powers also aren’t nearly as strong. Nonetheless, they are valued members.

  “She could be a danger to us.” Though Celeste defended Serafina at the Board meeting, she doesn’t hold back now. “If she’s a member of the Resistance…”

  “Julia wiped our databases of DNA before leaving,” Michael reminds them. “Even if Alexia is a descendant of the Resistance, we have no way of knowing.”

  Celeste considers the situation. “She could also be innocent. She could be a child of a reader who has no connection to the Circle or the Resistance.”

  “What if she is innocent? Her pain when reading another reader could be a fluke.” Michael’s silver hair falls past his shoulders in a braid. Two black hoop earrings adorn his ears. Beaded leather bracelets circle his wrists.

  “Then we have a duty to protect her,” Celeste answers. “Offer her refuge.” She glances at Serafina with resignation. “But that’s not your plan, is it?” Nearly pleading, she says, “Tell us the truth, Serafina. We can’t support you unless we know.”

  “That night, I lost everything.” Lost in her memories, Serafina stares at the passing clouds. “Everyone.” Afraid of betraying any more emotion, she reigns in her thoughts. “If Alexia is a member of the Resistance, then I have to do what is needed.”

  “Use her to find him?” Michael confirms.

  “‘Him’ is my son,” she reminds Michael. “Sixteen years, I have searched.” Her voice catches on the emotion she had just suppressed. “Sixteen years, I have lost. Alexia may be the answer I need.”

  “How?” Michael asks.

  Serafina’s face hardens, and her spine straightens. Her face shows the long years she has searched for her child. “If she is one of them, they will come for her. Or she will lead us to them. Either way, I will be ready.”

  “You would sacrifice her for yourself?” Celeste shakes her head in disappointment.

  “For my son,” Serafina reminds her. “As the leader, Julia would have made the decision to take my son. He is the victim in this.” She barely keeps her anger in check. “If Alexia is one of them, she will have to pay the price for her allegiance.”

  “What about Harrison?” Michael asks. “How will you do this without him knowing?”

  “Harrison is not my concern,” Serafina reminds them. “It is long past time he answered for his crimes.”

  TWELVE

  I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The disappointment from yesterday lingers until it is all I can feel. I failed in fighting. The Evaluation is my only escape. If I am not ready for it, then I lose everything.

  Through the thin walls, I hear the bathroom door open, then the shower start. If I close my eyes, I can see the children at the orphanage as they get ready for the day. Imagine their fear when I didn’t return. Agatha would have told them nothing could be done. She would have then ordered Jenna to gather my things and throw them away. My shoulders suddenly heavy, I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

  The knock on my door startles me out of my thoughts. I jump out of bed just as Ryan unlocks and throws open the door. “No glass?” Ryan glances at my empty hands. “That’s a step forward.”

  “What do you want?” Wary from our interaction yesterday, I stand on the threshold and refuse him entry. “I’m busy.”

  He looks past me into the room. “Doing what exactly?”

  Not wanting to admit the truth — that I was sitting in fear of my future — I say, “My hair.” In reality, I could care less about my hair. My body is a landscape of black and blue bruises. My lower lip is swollen, and my jaw aches.

  He glances at it. I imagine it is pointing in three different directions. “I’d keep working on it if I were you.” He tosses me a towel, but I miss the catch. Instead, it hits my chest then drops to the floor. “You need to get showered and dressed.”

  “My trainer and personal groomer?” I ask sweetly. “Will you read to me before bedtime next?”

  He raises an eyebrow as he bites back a smile. An odd emotion I can’t define flows through me at his reaction. Annoyed, I suppress it.

  “Serafina wants to see you,” he says. “Go like this or shower — your choice.” He gauges our proximity then steps back into the hallway. “Which is it?”

  Subtly I inhale the clean scent coming off him. Water drips from his freshly washed hair.

  “Are you a dog?” Ryan asks when he catches me sniffing.

  I ignore him. “The water,” I wonder aloud, “is it…?” At the orphanage, I showered daily under a cold spray. There was never enough hot water to go around.

  “Is it…?” he prompts.

  “Never mind.” I reach for the towel, but he grabs it befo
re I can and holds it out of reach.

  “Don’t leave me hanging, Edmonds,” he says when I stretch for it. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

  “That simple to kill you?” I return. “Wish I had known earlier. Would have saved me some trouble.” I gesture toward my bruises.

  He tosses me the towel then heads toward his room. “You have five minutes.”

  “Or?” I ask, pushing him.

  He glances at me, then the bathroom door. “I come in after you.” He points to his watch. “Four minutes and thirty seconds.” He goes into his room then slams the door shut.

  ***

  The bathroom is spacious and new — a far cry from my room. Alongside the shower stall and toilet closet are two sinks. I quickly undress then turn on the faucet. The steam rises and fogs the glass door. The heated water hits my muscles and massages the ache out.

  I lean back against the shower tiles. As the water flows over me, my mind wanders to the last twenty-four hours. Everything is different. For years I hid the truth of what I could do. Now, with every new memory of a past I am unable to remember, I have to hide who I am.

  I start to replay the drifting memories in my head. I put them together like pieces of a changing puzzle. I struggle to remember the details of the boy and the knives. But every time I turn toward him, his face gets shrouded in fog. I try again, coming into the memory from a different angle. Nothing. Frustrated, I hit the shower wall with my fist.

  I drop my head, ready to give up, when I get a flash of a black string around his neck. Dangling at the end of it is the same ring I wear on my toe. I grip the image in my mind — who is he, and where is he?

  THIRTEEN

  I follow Ryan blindly through the halls. My mind keeps circling around the revelation in the shower. With every step, I try to bring up the boy’s face or his voice, but the memory slips further away.

  “Problem, Edmonds?” Ryan asks, breaking through my thoughts.

  “No,” I answer, half-heartedly. “Why?”

  “You sighed. Really loud.” He spares me a glance. “I thought I would be polite by asking.”

  “Just breathing through the pain,” I murmur, pointing at my bruises.

  He turns away, but not before I catch his smirk at my comeback. His harshness from yesterday has softened. Though I wonder why, I know better than to ask. We travel a route I have not been on before. On alert, I start to focus. I memorize each turn and detail of our surroundings. As we get deeper into the building, the doors are more heavily secured. Guards stand at attention along the corridor. They greet Ryan but ignore me.

  The hallway curves into a narrow, windowless passage. Cameras on the walls mark our progress. At an unmarked door, Ryan scans first his hand on a security reader on the wall, then his eye. A green light flashes as it reads his retina. The door unlocks.

  I follow Ryan into an oversized office. Serafina, standing next to a large desk, motions us in. My gaze catches on the scene behind the desk — a floor-to-ceiling window reveals the ocean as it laps against the shore.

  Mesmerized, I take a few steps toward the window before Ryan steps forward. I push at his restraining hand when Serafina tells him it is all right. He drops it but stays next to me.

  Serafina glances out the window then at me. “Is it the first time you’ve seen the ocean since you were found?”

  I’ve exposed myself — a mistake in any battle. Disappointed in myself, I regroup. “I haven’t been outside in a while. That’s all.”

  “I see.” Serafina studies my appearance. I fidget under her perusal. My hair hangs in wet strands around my face, and the clothes fit haphazardly over my shape. “Training went well?”

  “Why am I here?” I ask instead.

  “You don’t seem very happy,” Serafina says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Let me go, and we’ll call it even,” I return.

  “As I said before, I would be happy to. Shall I tell the government this didn’t work out?”

  We are in a game of chess. Both wait for the other one to make a move. I barely blink as I consider Serafina then Ryan. Both refuse to reveal their thoughts. “Train here or be killed by the government? Not much of a choice.”

  A glass of juice sits atop a coaster on the cherry wood desk. Condensation drips off the edge of it and rolls, like a teardrop, down the side. A large potted plant overflows in the corner. The leaves are as green as the trees outside. Framed pictures line the marble counter. A quick scan reveals Serafina is not in any of them. A crystal paperweight holds down a stack of loose papers. Books line the shelves against the walls. In the back corner, a small conference table sits empty. At the opposite end, pushed against the wall, sits a rumpled sofa littered with books and a jacket.

  Serafina leans against her desk and watches me. “Ryan tells me you’re a stronger fighter than you let on.”

  I lock my gaze on Ryan, but he doesn’t react. “I’m surprised he found time to report in between beating on me and monitoring my shower.” I smirk when Serafina glances at Ryan in question. He replies with a roll of his eyes. “As I said, I learned in the orphanage.”

  “Interesting. Because when we contacted the orphanage’s caretaker” — Serafina grabs a sheaf of papers off her desk — “she made no mention of your skills.”

  My breathing slows, and then speeds up. I force myself to remain calm. “Did you tell Agatha I was alive?” If yes, then maybe Agatha would have told Jenna and the other kids. They would know that someone else in their life had not died.

  “No,” Serafina answers. “She assumes the government handled you.”

  My fury rises, and with it, the desire to attack. I barely temper my reaction when I sense Ryan’s gaze on me. “The kids all lost their parents.” Serafina and Ryan have no idea of the pain the kids have endured. For the kids to believe they lost someone else… “Jenna and I are —” I pause, then correct “— were the oldest. They looked to us. Now she’s all they have.”

  The younger children will cry. Huddled together, Jenna will comfort them as best she can. Overwhelmed by the image, I push it away but not before my face grimaces in heartache.

  “You cared about the kids,” Serafina says, catching my reaction.

  “No.” I deny her and myself at the same time. My first rule of survival in the orphanage was always to put myself first. It was the only way I could keep my secret. I never swayed from it and cannot do so now. “They don’t have anyone else. That’s all.”

  “Like you,” Ryan says.

  Sure he is criticizing me, I ready to retaliate when I see the sympathy in his eyes. Taken aback by it, I wonder about his constant changes in demeanor. Before I can question him or react, he turns away, and it is gone.

  “Why am I here?” Wanting to change the subject, I gesture to the office.

  “There are some people who would like to meet you.” Serafina heads toward the door. “Shall we?”

  “Who?” I stay in place.

  “You’ll know when you meet them.” Serafina walks out the door.

  I refuse to follow her. Ryan comes to stand next to me. “Should I carry you? In a body bag,” he clarifies. “Makes it easier.”

  “You train me to survive one minute, threaten death the next. I’m getting dizzy.” I follow Serafina out the door and into the hallway. Ryan trails close behind, keeping a watchful eye on me. Guards line the hallway. “Afraid I’m going to attack her with company around?” I whisper conspiratorially. “You don’t give me enough credit.”

  He glances at all the guards then gives my bruises a cursory glance. “Good point. I was probably giving you too much credit.” He moves past me to walk alongside Serafina.

  I follow them through the hallway and down a set of wooden steps that lead into a dark room filled with old crates and boxes. Spiders spin elaborate webs in molded corners. Pipes run across the open ceiling. I co
ver my nose against a foul odor emanating from a drain.

  In the small corner, barely visible in the dark, stands a door large enough to fit one person. I follow them through it into a brightly lit hallway with modern light fixtures and potted plants. Framed art hangs off the walls. A few steps later, we enter a grand boardroom.

  Leather chairs surround an oak-wood conference table meant for twelve. Portraits of people I don’t recognize cover the immaculate cherry-paneled walls. Lush white carpeting warms the room. A crystal chandelier drops down over the table. The men and women seated around the table watch me closely.

  “Hello, Alexia.” The woman seated at the head of the table stands. Tall, like an Amazon, she towers over the group. Her cropped blond hair accentuates her dark tan, muscular body. “Welcome.” She gestures around us. “We are the Circle’s Council members. My name is Rochelle.” She points to the others and lists their names. I barely hear her as I analyze the room, trying to make sense of the situation.

  “What is the Council?” I ask.

  “We have been assigned to oversee the decisions that affect all the trainees and members of the Circle.” The man named Kenji motions for me to take a seat.

  I refuse his offer and stay in place, studying the group. They watch me as I watch them. “You’re Serafina’s bosses?”

  Rochelle lifts an eyebrow. “You could say that.” I picture her in a different place and know she would elicit fear. “Serafina tells us you have no memory of your past.”

  Like a caged animal, I consider them. From their voice fluctuations to mannerisms, I try to decipher who they are.

  “The details are in my file,” I say.

  “But no mention of your gift,” Kenji says. “Why?”

  “It didn’t come up in conversation.”

  “Difficult decision for a child to make,” Kenji returns.