Chapter 49
Conin
The admissions process into Proctus is lengthy.
Their security is no joke, and while I appreciate it, the questions feel like unnecessary probing after a while.
The Angelic sitting on the chair opposite the metal table starts with the basics, dragging the questions on in a monotonous drawl.
My patience dissolves the longer we do this.
“Full name, please.”
“Conin Conroy Bresshet,” I say and peer into the camera, watching my reflection stare back. “Is this necessary?”
They cast their gaze away from the clipboard and frown.
“Yes,” then proceeds with, “Where are you from?”
“Ogden, Utah.”
“Were you in school?”
Were. No longer.
“Yes. Ogden High,” I answer, clipped.
They move down the line of questions with the tip of their pen.
“What year?”
“Senior.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
They jot something down.
“Do you possess transcendental abilities?”
No mention of recidivists. No mention of the Angelics.
“No.”
They jot another slew of words.
“Does the person you arrive here with possess transcendental abilities?”
“Yes.”
“What’s their name?”
“Ezra Gray.”
“Relation?”
Relationship? What are we? We confessed our feelings for one another, said, “I love you,” and even made love . . . so what does that make us? Partners? Boyfriends?
“He’s my significant other,” I settle on.
They quickly write that down, then move to the next question without hesitation.
A blanket’s been lifted, or a weight I hadn’t realized was there, but it’s suddenly easier to breathe.
My stomach isn’t churning like it was before.
With such a prejudiced world, why wouldn’t it be easier to be ourselves here?
Question after question after question. They become so mundane, so invasive, I have half the mind to flip the clipboard from the Angelic’s hand and storm out of the room.
I don’t because they’d view me as hostile, and I’d rather not jeopardize our shot here, or Ezra’s safety.
I’m expecting another pointless question next when the Angelic mixes things up.
“How did you come in possession of the Glock-19 stashed in your backpack?”
The gun.
My things.
I don’t have them.
Leeanne’s crew must’ve stripped me of them when they discovered what my backpack contained. I can’t imagine they’d want someone walking around with an unregistered handgun, would they?
“I stole it from a mercenary pursuing Ezra and me,” I reply, brief, deliberate.
The Angelic finally looks up.
“Which mercenary?”
Were they not told?
“Mara Barclay, of the Barclay Network.”
The Angelic blinks, then rapidly puts ink to paper.
“What happened?”
“She was apprehended by the Angelics in Eureka.”
“Is this where you came into possession of the gun?”
Don’t lie. Don’t give them a reason not to trust me.
“No.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Is it pertinent information?” I ask sarcastically. “I’m sorry, I don’t see how any of this is necessary.”
“The more we know about you, the better,” they say, yet elaborate no further. So, I reluctantly retell the story, from the encounter in the motel to the events on the highway. They write studiously in their notes, as if trying not to leave out a single detail.
“Alright, we’re finished here. I’ll pass you along to Katherine for orientation and room assignment. She’ll give you back your stuff, but the gun will be held at Headquarters.”
“Thank you,” I lie and wait to be escorted out.
I’m led to a meeting room in the vast warehouse where the Angelics are keeping us.
Neither Ezra nor Atlas have been seen since our interaction with Leeanne, which deeply unsettles me.
The room’s vacant when we arrive, and I’m told to sit down anywhere in the rows of fold-up metal chairs.
These chairs remind me of the many times Mom and I were late to church, subject to sitting in the overfill for latecomers at the back of the hall.
I choose a seat at the back of the room, an eye on the only entrance and a solid wall behind me.
I’m dressed in clothes I wasn’t wearing in the suite.
If memory serves me well, I wasn’t clothed before succumbing to sleep—limbs twisted with Ezra’s, his head propped underneath my chin.
Next, we were in this warehouse, and I was clothed in a shirt and sweatpants kept in my backpack.
Ezra appears across the threshold, gaze transfixed on me. My worries dissolve at the sight of him. Atlas trails behind, seeming a little worse for wear.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to Ezra.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Yeah.” I close the space for a kiss.
He wasn’t expecting the move, so he and I get an awkward peck on the edge of the lips. His smile’s coy, while I brush it off with some playful laughter. Atlas is dormant next to us, staring at the carpeted floor. I feel a sense of loss for him.
A lady enters. Her eyes pan from the front of the room to where our trio sits, as if she were expecting us to sit closer. I have no plans to satisfy any request to move, not while this wall is at my back. “Ah, I see you’ve all survived our extensive questioning,” she says to brighten the room.
None of us laugh. Atlas looks as if he’s seen a ghost. Ezra and I hold hands, myself watching her in reproachful disapproval. She grins awkwardly and moves for a chair, grabbing its back, then shuffles over to sit close. She clasps her aged hands above her kneecaps.
“I’m Katherine,” she sighs, “but let’s cut the pleasantries.
You three have been through a lot. I’d rather not have you sit through another hour or two of orientation you’ll be dreading the entire time.
So, how about this? We get you some food, I’m sure you’re starving.
Then we’ll take you to your assigned rooms so you can get settled. Here—”
Katherine groans and walks to the front, where she grabs three large packets. She returns and hands us each one. They’re intimidating, binder-thick. Katherine nods gravely.
“You read these at your leisure. No rush, but these packets are an entire rundown on Proctus and its comings and goings. Do make sure you read them at some point, however. They are important.
“Alright. Let’s get you fed and then show you where you’ll be living during your time here in Proctus.”
She tells us to wait here while she returns with food. It’s another ten or fifteen minutes before Katherine arrives again with another Angelic in tow. They carry trays of food for each of us and hand them off, waiting in front of the room while we eat.
The food on our plates is fresh, which is surprising. Fresh-grown vegetables, cheese, and a nicely put-together sandwich. I’m finished in minutes. Ezra, on the other hand, eats half of what’s on the tray, but I’m glad to see he’s consumed something of substance.
“Finished?” Katherine asks.
“Yes, thank you,” I say.
“Thanks,” Atlas mumbles.
Ezra nods.
“Shall we show you to your places?”
She introduces the other Angelic: Bobby, who sports a long pixie cut in a vibrant purple, with faux gold glasses to match.
They smile and wave, a gesture that eases some rooted tension since waking in the warehouse.
When Ambrosia said we needed to cooperate, I didn’t have sedatives and bonds in some warehouse in mind.
Bobby’s assigned to Atlas. Me and Ezra, however, are with Katherine. We say strained goodbyes with Atlas before parting our separate ways. Ezra appears crestfallen, then tries to mask his expression with a more upbeat, positive one. I don’t buy it for a second.
Katherine shuffles into a room housing our backpacks. She acts ignorant about the Glock’s disappearance, but I decide it best not to pry any further. I suppose the gun isn’t needed anymore, anyway.
The warehouse is near the location of the place we’ll be staying, so we don’t have much walking to do.
We’re on the main street at the heart of the town, passing through old brick buildings with a nostalgic feeling I love.
It’s homely, to a certain degree. Katherine rummages for the keys in her pocket and unlocks the door to a set of stairs leading up.
We climb after her, the steps groaning beneath our feet, but the noise is comforting, in a way.
“You have the entire apartment to yourselves. It’s a one-bedroom, newly renovated and furnished. Esther is ensuring we make every occupiable space feel new and homey.”
A random surge of excitement blooms in my chest.
“Welcome home,” Katherine says and unlocks the door.