Chapter 67
Conin
The space is not a welcoming one; white painted cement walls were an attempt to brighten the room, but only worked in making it more unsettling.
The floor’s gray, the metal table centered in the middle is gray, and I sit there with my leg jumping in place, waiting for the next set of arrivals to question.
Leeanne and her crew have brought more and more people in since the rise of trafficking networks and the fall of recidivist protection laws.
Recidivists vs. Buford Elementary sparked an uproar all over the country. The court case created an unnerving surge of pandemonium. We may be isolated from the rest of the world, but that fear is still very present in our hearts.
And, of course, I’m one of the several selected to question these frightened refugees ever since I was critically injured at the warehouse nine months ago.
The news of my injuries infuriated many of the people here without special abilities. I placated them by saying it was my choice that I went. It was a sacrifice I needed to make to ensure Proctus’s prosperity.
Now I’m no longer allowed outside these walls.
A knock sounds at the door—dull, almost muted, but I’ve picked up on its noise over time.
Matt walks in with fresh faces. They’re a couple, perhaps somewhere in their late thirties.
I hope the questioning will go by quickly, but two identical children trail after them.
My heart plummets. It devastates me to see children affected by our world’s cruelty.
I blink away the well of tears, focusing on the cordial smile I’ve practiced.
The mother offers one back, but the father’s tense, stiff shoulders make me pause.
Meanwhile, Matt goes in search of additional seating.
“Hi, welcome,” I say. Remembering to stand, I outstretch my hand for them to shake.
“Hello, dear. My goodness, you’re young,” the mother says grimly, then pops up as she stretches over the table to take my hand. The father follows reluctantly. The children stay glued to their sides.
“Well, we all have a part to play,” I reply.
She nods gravely. Matt returns with two smaller chairs for the kids, departing with a half smile. The family situates themselves on the seats, but the male twin looms behind his father with a skeptical glare. I clear my throat.
“So,” I say, “my name’s Conin. I’m going to be conducting a survey I’ll need each of you to answer so we can get to know you well while you’re at Proctus.”
“The same shit the government pulls?” the father grunts.
“Adam,” hisses the mother.
He smooths his features, though he stays rigid. I’ll have to be careful around him.
“We want to make sure we can accommodate everyone. The more we know, the better we can fill your needs. And, of course, we won’t have you wearing those nasty Scarlet ‘R’s’ around here.
The Angelics want to see their people grow and thrive.
They named it Proctus because it’s a derivative of the word ‘proctor.’”
I study the kids’ dubious expressions.
“A proctor is someone who watches students during a test or examination to make sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to.
Now, you four are not here to be tested or examined, but we like to carry that same principle in how we conduct ourselves.
Instead, our goal is to promote growth and not discipline, though we do expect everyone to follow our rules for safety purposes.
Don’t worry, it’s not too overbearing. We really just want to ensure happy, full lives.
Lives that were stripped from you in a world that doesn’t understand people like us.
So, we called our little safe haven Proctus.
It felt fitting,” I recite. None of it sounds natural, but I hope the point gets across.
“I like that,” the mother says.
Adam’s loosened, as if I knocked one of his walls down.
“Wonderful. Shall we start?” I ask.
“Hold on, dear,” the mother interrupts. “I don’t mean to intrude . . . you said people like us? Matt said you were normal . . . like myself and Adam.”
I cringe at the word normal. The term implies anyone with special abilities is not like everyone else and, therefore, outcasts.
“We’re a family here, whether or not you possess powers.”
“Of course. My apologies, Conin. We’re tired from the trip.”
Sedatives. Waking in a cold, dark warehouse. Leeanne better not have subjected this family to the same shit as when we first arrived at Proctus.
I don’t ask.
“I understand.”
“And goodness me! I forgot to introduce ourselves,” she says, looking pointedly at Adam. I won’t mention I was about to ask them to state their full names, but this works too.
“I’m Beth Pershing. This is my husband, Adam, and our two children, Reece and Rebecca. They possess special abilities. Came as a shock to Adam and me when they grew into their powers!”
The Pershing children are so young. Atlas’s abilities manifested when he was eight and Ezra didn’t even realize he had any until the age of eleven. I study Reece and his twin counterpart, Rebecca, perched on her mother’s lap.
“I have super speed!” Reece exclaims suddenly.
The parents startle. Beth’s about to scold Reece when I feel the sudden, instinctive urge to intervene. “Super speed, huh?”
The boy grins and before I know it, he’s poking me on the shoulder from behind—there one second, gone in the blink of an eye, reminding me too much of Atlas.
“Oh wow,” I gasp, “you are very fast.”
Reece giggles—I’m glad I got through to him. It must feel liberating to use powers in the open without the need to hide. I gauge the parents’ reactions; Beth is all teeth and praise. Adam has the beginnings of a grin creeping over his mouth.
“Me next! Me next!” Rebecca squeals and jumps off Beth’s lap.
She totters over to me, places out an expectant hand, confused at first when I don’t immediately react.
“Turn to me,” she commands.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
Once I’ve shuffled enough in my seat, fully facing the little girl, she closes the space between us and presses a gentle hand on my sternum.
The warmth of a summer day blooms somewhere deep within me, expanding, growing, and filling me whole.
Butterflies take flight and tickle every inch of skin.
At the forefront of these thoughts is a familiar face.
Someone who reminds me of home. Rebecca reveals a toothy smile.
“I can make people feel things,” she says.
An empath.
“You’re happy about something,” she adds.
Beth clarifies. “She can often tap into an emotion that’s already there and amplify it.”
“I am happy,” I admit.
The resurgence of tears, happy tears, wells sharp and quick. That familiar face. The feel of home.
“Why?” asks Rebecca.
“My mom finally gets to come home.”
Ambrosia waits for me at the end of the hall. Her lips are pursed as usual, her arms folded tight against her civilian attire, and her dreads fall to her shoulders, sporting a deep shade of purple. She appears tired—so tired I can see the bags under her eyelids.
“I see you changed things up,” I say jovially.
She peeks at the amaranthine dreads in disinterest, then redirects her insipid gaze to me.
New vocabulary. Nice.
“I’m so glad you went back to blonde. The red was hideous,” Ambrosia deadpans. A second later, she loses her composure, falling into boisterous laughter.
“You’re hilarious,” I say.
She gestures for me to follow as she lets out the last of her incessant giggles. We enter an alcove that separates in two opposite directions. Ambrosia steers me to the left, closing the office door after I enter the room.
Her aunt, the leader of the Angelics, appointed Ambrosia co-captain of the Angelic Guard.
Feels oddly reminiscent of my days on the football team.
Some would claim nepotism, others would fault her after the incident at the warehouse, but I think she’s deserving of such a regarded position.
She sits down on the leather chair and lounges her feet atop the desk, considering me.
“You okay?”
“Any news?” I ask instead.
Ambrosia frowns, but she doesn’t pry any further. I’m always appreciative of how she never butts in more than she should.
“It took us a while, but I think we finally waited out most of your mom’s unwanted attention. It’s safe to bring her to Proctus now.”
“When?” I shoot, excitement coursing through my veins.
“Soon. You and Ezra are officially declared dead, and everyone’s returned to their lives. The police no longer care for a mother in mourning, so their eyes are directed elsewhere now. We just need to find a team that can extract her.”
How morbid.
“My mom thinks Ezra and I are dead?”
“No. She’s aware you’re alive. We’ve been in touch.”
The relief that floods inside me is paramount.
Mom gets to come here, live with me and Ezra, and although I’m grateful Atlas’s parents finally concluded it was about time to see their son again, I have no idea how our living situations will work once they all arrive.
The MacPhersons have each other, but Mom has only me.
She can’t live alone in unfamiliar surroundings.
Atlas could continue to stay with us, but what if Mom doesn’t like him?
What if she doesn’t come to love him the way she loves Ezra?
Of course she’d love Atlas.
“Earth to Bresshet?”
Ambrosia uses my last name to get under my skin. It pulls me out of my reverie quite efficiently.
“Sorry. Thinking,” I quip.
“Yeah, I can see the smoke coming out of those cogs of yours,” she says.
Haha.
“Thank you for taking the time to do this for me. She means a lot to me and Ezra.”
“I know she does,” Ambrosia mutters. Her entire face scrunches in concentration and she mercilessly chews her bottom lip as she does when something is bothering her. I know this because she had that same look every day after I was discharged from the infirmary—every instance she saw me.
“What?” I say.
“How’s Ezra?”
“He’s fine.”
“That’s good.”
“Would you like to come to his performance Friday night?”
She’s reluctant, twisting her thumbs in awkward motions, permeating that awkwardness all over. She shakes her head quickly.
“I probably shouldn’t. He wouldn’t want me there.”
“Ezra’s moved on, Ambrosia. He won’t mind.”
“Really? Because the last time we talked, he said he’d never forgive me. It’s been nine months.”
A flare of heat, anger, and annoyance sparks simultaneously throughout my body.
“You know what? I don’t care. I want you to come.”
She glares. Drawing a bead of blood from where she ripped the skin off her bottom lip, she twirls her fingers for good measure and stares out the office’s window.
“Why?”
“Because how you were treated wasn’t fair. It was because of me . . . because I chose to be part of the Angelic Guard. Ezra will come through eventually.”
She thinks.
“Please come,” I whisper.
“Okay,” she says.
The silence that follows speaks volumes.