Chapter Six
Caius
“D oes Dad know you’re bringing your sister to work?” Theo jerks a thumb toward the back seat of his vehicle. “Does she even want to go?”
I ignore both questions as I memorize our route toward the facility. Theo, clearly used to my asshole behavior, sighs in resignation.
It doesn’t matter if Calista wants to go or not. I need her close to me, and without Dad here, I feel like it’s best she comes along for the ride. I’m on edge and prickly awareness is beginning to blow the dust around in my head. The story they fed me about the bump on my head is flimsy.
I’m pretty sure my mind is being manipulated.
I just can’t figure out how.
Hopefully, at the facility, things will become clearer for me.
The facility is nondescript. Other than being tucked neatly in the woods, unable to be seen from the main road, the building is a typical one. Brown brick. Three levels high. Parking lot with a sparse number of cars.
Theo pulls into one of the reserved spots. We all climb out and I note that I’m not the only one who’s feeling unnerved by what’s to come. Calista frowns at the building with her thin arms crossed over her chest.
I walk over to her and pat the top of her head. “I won’t let anything happen to you, kid. Got it?”
She jerks her head to meet my gaze. Finally, she nods, relaxing. I may not know what the fuck is going on right now, but I do know I’d do anything to protect my sister.
We follow Theo up the steps and to a keypad at the door. He inputs a series of numbers that I easily memorize: 567321. I don’t know if I’ll need it, but I’m not taking any chances. It feels good to actually exercise my fatigued brain.
Just a bump on the head.
Liars.
They did something to me.
Probably did it to Calista too.
Not anymore. I’m going to find out what the hell is going on around here and then I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. She’ll be safe with me.
Theo guides us inside. He waves to a few people inside a lab through the windows. Inside, the scientists or doctors or whoever these people are work busily, eyes glued to their notes or microscopes or laptops. Only one man looks up long enough to return Theo’s wave.
My brother takes us to a stairwell. Once on the second floor, he strides over to another keypad by a door. This room has no windows.
“The subject is in her holding room,” Theo explains as we enter the large, warm room filled with servers and computers. “We can look over some of her stats before I check in on her. She’s several weeks in the CUP program, so she’s nearly ready for movement.”
I don’t know what any of this truly means, but I nod as though I do. Calista stays glued to my side. If I weren’t so uneasy about this whole work trip, I’d be inwardly celebrating this small win with her. It feels like I’m getting my sister back.
Back from what?
That part, I have no clue.
I’m going to find out, though.
“You like to sit at that desk over there,” Theo says, pointing to a sparse one in the corner. “It’s okay if you can’t remember.”
I don’t.
No fucking memory at all.
So frustrating.
“I’ll get there,” I say, believing every damn word. “Where do you sit?”
Theo grins at me. “Tech was always Gareth’s and your thing. I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy. Third floor is where I like to work.”
“Are you going there now?”
He chuckles. “No. I can’t leave you here alone. You might break something. Dad will kill me.”
I’m not a toddler.
“Maybe I might prefer floor three too.” I shrug as if that’s an option. In my gut, I know he’s right. I’m clearly a tech guy.
“Right,” Theo agrees, smirking at me. “Okay, grab a seat and I’ll show you how our subject is doing.” He shoots a look Calista’s way. “May not be suitable for young eyes.”
I share a weighted, silent look with Calista. Somehow, she understands that I need her to go sit somewhere out of earshot. She holds up her iPad to indicate she’ll be drawing. I flash her a quick smile.
Theo takes me over to “my desk” and then pulls over another chair for me to sit beside him to watch. As he fires the computer to life, several monitors blink on. He enters in a different code, this one that he types too fast to memorize, and then has access to his files.
What is he about to show me?
His files are sorted by month and year. The newest one is on top. Subject Olivia 3.
“There have been three Olivias run through this program?”
Theo snorts out a laugh. “Three attempts, same person. Third time’s the charm, though.”
A woman with shoulder-length light brown hair comes into view. It’s a photograph. She has sores on her face, bags under her eyes, and her hair is matted to her head.
“Homeless and fucked up on drugs,” Theo explains. “Our buyer wants someone who won’t be missed. He’s been through, uh, issues in the past. We’re going to make this one perfect.”
Sweat beads on my upper lip. It’s hot as fuck in this room with all the motors on the servers running. The creepiness of this whole situation, though, is what’s making my skin flash hot. I have the urge to take my sister and bolt. Something’s off about this shit. It’s not right.
And you used to be an active participant.
I have a hard time believing that I was a willing participant to the blatant human trafficking that’s being alluded to here. There’s more to why I’d be a part of this. I know it.
“That was on day one. Once she got past the drug withdrawal, we worked to eliminate the addictive cravings almost immediately through extensive programming therapy. I can guarantee this woman won’t even know what meth is by the time she’s complete.”
How can Theo be so blasé about essentially making a robot to be sold to a buyer?
I’m thankful Calista can’t hear all this. I’m fucking ashamed to be a part of it.
“This was from yesterday,” Theo says, popping up a new window. “She’s obsessed with makeup.” He chuckles and points to her cheek. “Works magic with that shit. Chicks really are artists when it comes to makeup.”
He’s right.
The woman with the pretty, demure smile, beach wave curled hair, and dark lashes looks nothing like the homeless addict from the first picture.
“We’re helping people become their better selves,” he says, almost as if he were programmed to say those words. “I’d say we’re doing our job.”
“How does she feel about being held prisoner?”
He snorts out a laugh as if we share some secret joke. I glare at him. Finally, he sighs. “Fuck. You don’t remember anything. Olivia isn’t being held prisoner. She signed all the proper contracts and is here of her own free will. Some people just want to get better, no matter how that comes about.”
I watch with a new clarity that I haven’t felt since before the “accident,” mentally logging each step of what he’s doing. There are case files, videos, pictures, social media links, a whole folder called “Rebirth.”
“Now,” Theo continues, “Olivia is going through our tried-and-true CUP program. It’s what Dad’s done all his life. It works.” He snorts again. “Well, mostly. There are people who are resistant to the therapies.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
“He’s trying something new, though,” Theo explains. “Putting up big money to fund a new tool called Stem Lock.”
“For the computer?”
“For the body’s computer.” He glances over at me and smirks. “Nano-tech for the brain stem. It’s incredible, really. Months ago, I got to see the tech firsthand. It’s remarkable.”
When he turns back to the screen, I touch the back of my neck, rubbing at a hairline scar I’d noticed when showering. It could have been from the head injury I supposedly incurred.
Or…
What if I’m a subject in this Stem Lock shit?
A flare of anger rushes hot through my veins. I want to grab my brother by his shirt and demand answers. Something tells me I need to tread lightly, though. If I want answers, I need to discover them myself. They’ve been lying to me thus far. Who’s to say they won’t continue to do that? I have no way to fact-check.
Right now, all I need is access.
It’s within reach.
“Since you’ve been unable to do what you typically do for us,” Theo says, opening the Rebirth folder, “I’ve had to take the reins on this one. I do okay, but you have a certain skillset that I do not. I’m looking forward to you getting back to this aspect.”
Inside the Rebirth folder are tons of assets. Photos, videos, documents. As he starts clicking through them, I realize they’re all for creating a life for someone, specifically for the internet via social media, emails, and web pages. There are hundreds of pictures of Olivia with what appears to be influential people and celebrities. It’s a far cry from the original picture Theo showed me.
“She met all these people?” I ask, eyebrow lifted in question.
I know the answer.
Deep down, it’s there. I can feel it.
“No,” Theo says softly. “We created this version of Olivia from nothing to something spectacular. Her life, when she graduates from our program, will change forever. She’ll never have to endure harsh elements or beg for food again. The cravings of her addictions are truly a forgotten memory. We’re saving the world one person at a time, Caius.”
The last sentence, again, sounds rehearsed as if he’s been programmed to say it. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Does she have the Stem Lock tech?”
“No. She won’t need it,” he explains. “Olivia is receptive to our techniques. However, there are others who need a little push in the right direction.”
“Are any of our, uh, client s, fitted with the tech?”
He shifts and shrugs, completely ignoring my question. “Once we finish with Olivia, she’ll be shipped off to New York.” He pushes away from the desk and stands. “Why don’t you browse through her Rebirth file and familiarize yourself with it since that’s your job? I need to run upstairs and check with Olivia’s handlers. Try not to break anything. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
I wait until he exits the hotbox of a room and then I move into his chair. Immediately, I scan through all the rebirth files, eyeing them closely. To a trained eye—which apparently I have—they’re all obviously fakes. The photoshop attempt is pathetic in my opinion.
I’m not here to review Theo’s work, though.
I’m here to find answers.
After locating the search menu, I search the name Romy Langston.
Nothing.
My fingers drum on the desk as I wonder how else to search for her. I type in New York next. This yields more results, all of which are associated with a Bastian L.
Langston?
There are two contracts associated with his name. When I open up the first one, Bastian L is the purchaser of a woman named Megan, a student from California. Their last names seem to be purposefully left out. I feel like I should know what all this means.
The other contract with his name is for Olivia.
I open a secure browser—something that appears to be an automatic skill for me—and search out Bastian Langston just to see what pops up.
Goldmine.
There are thousands of pictures, articles, and social media accounts, but the first picture I see is a man with a charming grin who stands beside the President of the United States. Clearly, this guy is well-connected. Does the leader of our country know his friend is purchasing a made-to-order human?
Disgusting.
Bastian Langston exists, no doubt. It can’t be a coincidence that he shares the same last name as Romy. Could he be her brother? They certainly don’t look alike. What if it’s her husband? She could be married since our time together. At least I’m pretty sure we were together. Again, though, nothing associated with her name pops up. I don’t have the newly created program on this computer to deep dive like I did on my phone before.
I close my search and delete the browsing history in case Theo looks later. Then I go back to my search.
Out of curiosity, I search for Calista.
Nothing.
Next, I go on a limb and type in Caius.
I find a file called Johnny C. McElroy.
I’m hesitant to open it for fear of what I’ll find. The first picture I see is of a young, teenage boy, pain haunting his dark eyes.
It’s me.
And then, like a dam bursting, a flood of memories comes rushing in.
Boys homes. Fights. A mental institution. Nurses who took joy in poking me with needles. A cruel doctor, hell-bent on warping my mind. Endless hours, days, weeks of torture via sounds, videos, sensations, and more—all in the name of rehabilitating my mind. Then there’s Dad—my new one. Orion Crowne. With him comes a new set of torture that includes being locked in windowless rooms and forced to come to terms with my new gilded prison.
Finally, I remember Calista, my sister.
Except, in my memories, she doesn’t have dark hair like now.
The little girl was blond then, with sad blue eyes, clutching her Barbie doll.
Romy.
Not Calista, not my sister.
Just Romy.
Now, more than ever, I have to find out who Romy is, where she is, and how to get her back.