AMANI: Reveal (18 page)

              We fell into an uncomfortable kind of silence, all staring at Xander as the darkness in his eyes faded. Michelle could not see him, though, so she was the first to break the stillness.
              “I agree with Xander. It wouldn’t help your sister to give yourself to the Rascals. We will find her, Amya. It hasn’t been a week yet; you said—”
              “I said a week before I knew a Rascal could feed on
youth
! She is seventeen! How old will she be when we finally find her?”
              “Honestly, I don’t think they’ll try to hurt her…”
              “But you can’t be sure! No one can, and I’m stuck here, unable to help my little sister. I tried to distract myself; I’m having fun and all, but it’s still driving me mad! Delilah is missing, my father is a Rascal, my mother needs comforting, and it’s all happening miles away, out of my reach, out of my control.” With a lump in my throat, I had to look away and think of something else before I burst out. “I’m tired,” I added. “I need to get some sleep.”
              “Karl,” Michelle said before we hung up. “I sent a team of Canadian Protectors to guard the house, but you will have to be very careful. If you are correct, the Rascals might try a move on Amya sooner than we thought. We saw what happened at the Headquarters. They let no obstacle get in their way.”
              “We’ll be vigilant,” Mr. Jensen said in a soothing voice. “You do the same, would you?”
              We prepared for a good night immediately after they hung up. Madame M. gave me some sort of screaming device that I should press in case someone were to try and kidnap me, even though Xander was sleeping right beside the couch and Mr. Jensen and Madame M. had left their own bedroom doors open.
              It took me at least one hour to clear my head, and when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt the same repetitive dream haunting my nights, over and over, as if my brain was trying to tell me something. Me leaving the center for Jews on Princeton campus and hearing Wyatt speak to a man. Then Wyatt chasing after me and finally catching up and sending me into a coma.
              After the third time, I woke up sweaty and panting. I’d never put much thought into this, but who had been that man giving orders to Wyatt?

Ian Cohen

I had been surprised when Michelle had told me I was doing a good job so far. Obviously she had no idea what was going on at Headquarters. My dad had decided to occupy one of the few spare bedrooms on the second floor, and he’d agreed to use Michelle’s office until she returned; I hadn’t yet figured out what to do with Amanda, so I’d had to lie to her parents, saying she was staying at my place, and I’d had to tell our colleagues she was sick; and above all others, Meo hadn’t given me any news for more than a day, and I was burning with questions. Had he found Amya? Who was the man they’d been looking for in England? And what did the Rascals need from him?
              Everyone at HQ was asleep, except for a few night guards and Max, my personal bodyguard, who would be awake until three in the morning, when his replacement, Dick, would take his night shift. This meant I had to wait until either needed to go to the bathroom to place pillows under my bed sheets and Travel to Red.
              Luckily, around one-thirty in the morning, Max’s bladder was full of coffee he’d drunk all evening to keep himself awake. I sneaked out of Amani quickly and climbed the stairs two by two, to where I’d hidden Amanda in the deserted, unfinished building parallel to HQ. It had changed since I’d last come yesterday. Most of the tinted windows were installed, walls were up, the staircase was not as scary to use, and—
              And Amanda was gone.
             
GONE!
             
Furious, I kicked a piece of paper hanging on a chair and punched a nearby wall.
              Just yesterday, when I’d brought her food and water, she’d been tied to the top-floor balcony. She’d been sunburnt and her clothes had been drenched by the rain, but she’d been
right there
!
              Had the workers freed her? I didn’t think so. During different missions for Michelle, I had had to deal with people living in Red, and I would have bet my arm they were the kind who minded their own business.
              Only a few hours had passed since my last visit, which meant she couldn’t be far.
              The sky was dangerously gray, and lightning bolts kept shooting across the dark clouds, but I had to go after her nonetheless.
              I sprinted down forty-nine floors and emerged, breathless, on a street full of odd-looking people. Five men wore only towels around their waists and twirled around in circles while a woman in a wedding gown was walking six electronic ferrets… She almost bumped into me, as if I was invisible. A coupe was singing a song I’d never heard on the corner of Corn and Cherry; a bird made of metal and wires was arguing with an equally manmade squirrel; and three adolescents sped their bikes, one nearly crushing a ferret.
              I could never get used to this Dimension. People were insane and thought only of themselves.
              I needed to focus. Where would a desperate woman go? During missions for the Protectors I had come across a club down on Cherry. Maybe Amanda would seek refuge in a crowded place. But she had never Traveled before, so she wouldn’t know about the club. A restaurant surrounded by thousands of royal-blue light bulbs grabbed my attention, and I decided to start from there since Amanda hadn’t eaten for almost eight hours. It was only logical she would go for some food first if she planned to run away.
              My feet hadn’t hurdled the doorframe before a fist found my nose with a crunching sound, sending me straight back onto the street.
              “How dare you treat a woman like this?” I heard as my eyes filled with water. My ears started buzzing and my sight blurred, though it didn’t matter. I would have recognized this voice amongst millions.
              My father’s.
              Clutching my nose as blood spread around my fingers, I said, “What are you doing here?”
              “
I
will speak while
you listen
, you unworthy child,” he spat. “It is beyond me where you found such an idea—to tie your fiancée to a pole. For TWO DAYS!” He kicked my shoe and I flinched. “I never raised you to be such a coward! Haven’t you learnt AT ALL while I’ve been gone? Haven’t you become a man? At the age of ten, your sister was more of a man than you’ll ever be! I cannot believe this. I followed you; that’s why I’m here. I followed you and found poor Miss O’Neil’s hands tied up like an animal! Don’t you have any RESPECT for women, Ian? And she told me everything!”
              His screams gathered a small audience of blurry faces.
              He knew about Meo. What was I going to say to defend myself? If I hadn’t felt so dizzy, I might have killed him right there, in front of these people. All the anger I’d experienced in my life was nothing to the fury, the indignation, the hateful rage that made my nails dig into my palms just looking at him. How dared he mingle in my private life now when he’d been absent for most of it? How dared he shame me because of something I’d done to a stranger, when he’d never been able to take care of his own son?
              But I could say none of that. I was left lying in the middle of a crowd of monkeys disguised as humans, all clapping and cheering for the fight to go on.
              “Get up.”
              I gathered all my courage and shook my head indignantly. “Why would I? You’re just going to send me right back to where I am,” I replied. “I’ll pass, thank you.”
              “Choosing to be polite now? Wipe that smugness off your face or I’ll make you regret you were ever my child.”
              “Never needed your help for that.”
              We each held the other’s gaze for a moment. There was such disgust and fury in those light-brown eyes, but also pity and despondency, which—and I would never admit it to anyone—hurt my very core.
              “Fine,” he finally muttered, backing away from me. “You see all these people? I have a feeling none of them will stop me if I lay a hand on you again.” A loud roar agreed with him. “But I was never a violent father.
I
have values, see.” He paused, shaking his head slowly. “I tried, Ian. I tried when you were younger, but you never understood. That’s the reason why I left. You were a lost cause then, and you haven’t changed a bit. Maybe this will teach you.” The blue lights behind him blinded me and soon I could only discern his shadow among the hungry crowd. “Keep him alive,” were his last words before a herd of animals threw themselves at me from all directions.
              I shrunk into a ball, put my arms over my head, and waited for the hits to cease. At some point, I heard the voice of a woman cry my name, but it was promptly muffled and then it was gone.
              My father and Amanda had left me to the starving lions.

***

“How long has he been out?”
              “Four hours and twenty-seven minutes.”
              “You should leave him alone. He doesn’t deserve your pity.”

***

“How is he doing, Goldbridge?”
              “Not good, I’m afraid. A solid hit to the head, he got. He’s lucky to have been found by medics in Red, though. The rest of his fractures have been taken care of. Solid technology they’ve developed there. Wish I could bring some of it here.”
              “You know we’re not supposed to bring inventions from other Dimensions into our own. If we did, the world would want to know where we found them. Unless it’s for the Protectors’ use only, like the coop-holes or the memory serum. Then no one has to know.”
              “We could save so many lives…”
              “Let me know when he wakes up.”

***

“Ian? Ian, can you hear me? I’m so sorry I told your dad. I was so angry at you. I didn’t think straight. Please forgive me…”

***

A blinding light peeked through my eyelashes as I tried to open my eyes—or more precisely eye, since the left one seemed to be glued to my cheek. I grunted.
              “Oh, Mr. Cohen, take it easy. Take it easy,” Dr. Goldbridge advised. I grunted once more in response as I brought my hand to the left side of my face. “No, no! Don’t infect the lesion. You almost lost your eye there, you know. If it weren’t for those sensational surgeons in Red… Well, all is fine now. Just leave your face alone for a bit, would you? Can you hear me properly?”
              “Mm-hm.”
              “Wonderful. Now, are you able to lift your right arm?” I did it quite easily. “And your left?” he added. As soon as I’d made the smallest movement, he gasped. “Brilliant! Absolutely miraculous. You see, the X-rays indicate that your left elbow was broken, but the doctors repaired it. It now looks as though it was broken six months ago.” I heard him scramble sheets of paper frantically on my right. “I need to find out how they did it. I must—” He whispered the rest to himself, scrawling something down on a notepad.
              Goldbridge then did a couple of tests to confirm I would recover all my senses, including the sight of my left eye. Meanwhile, I was able to sit down and take a look at the damage. Several bruises painted my skin blue, maroon, green, and yellow; I had a large scar close to the elbow Goldbridge said had been broken; three of my nails were missing; and at least two fingers were bent a little backward, as if fractured as well.
              I silently fought against the image of my father looking at me like a vermin; otherwise I might have accidentally hurt my doctor.
              “How long have I been unconscious?” I asked.
              Goldbridge brought a small, piercing light up to my eye and squinted. “Eight hours at most. As I said, you were very lucky. That your father thought of looking for you in Red was a pure miracle. What were you doing there anyway?” It had been a rhetorical question, I assumed, because he did not wait for my answer. “Dick and Max almost went nuts when they found out you’d gone. Threatened several colleagues who’d been wandering in the halls.” Stepping away from my bed, he looked around his office, which seemed more messy than usual, and scratched his balding head. “Must have forgotten your medicine somewhere. I’ll go and find them. Also, your father wanted me to report to him as soon as you woke up, so I’ll have to go fetch him as well. Wait for me, would you? If you leave without your pills, I assure you, you will be in a lot of pain in”—he checked his watch—“forty-six minutes.”
              I grunted, not in the mood to see my father at all. Maybe I could get my medicine and take off before he arrived? I’d have to be quick, of course…
              A sudden realization hit me: I was wearing a hospital gown and I was barefoot; the device by which Meo could contact me was nowhere to be seen. I instantly got up, pushed aside a shot of pain in my hips, made sure the three other beds were vacant, and started looking for my clothes.
              Every drawer was packed with files and bandages and tools I wasn’t familiar with. The cabinets brimmed with pills of all colors and names I couldn’t pronounce. And finally, the top of Dr. Goldbridge’s desk was so full of papers and documents, I wondered how he could work in such chaos.
              Despite a growing headache, I started rummaging through his papers, in case he might have found the device and hidden it somewhere…
              I was on the verge of giving up when my eye caught a name on one of the files.
             
Jim Bianchi
.
              There were photos of him lying in his own blood, defeated against the wall in the restrooms. My heart beat fast against my chest, thinking back to that day I’d killed my friend. It had been an accident, of course, but I still hadn’t fully forgiven myself. I kept skimming the report, wondering why Dr. Goldbridge still hadn’t put it away into one of his drawers, when I caught sight of the name
Jonathan
.
              Had they filed evidence that Jonathan had killed Jim, even though he was innocent? Intrigued, I read what looked like a series of notes.
             
Jim Bianchi’s vital injuries: multiple fractured ribs + a fragment of mirror was found in his chest.
              Severed artery.
              Murderer unknown.
             
Jonathan Cohen, accused of murdering Jim Bianchi on the third of October, was admitted to prison.
              There is no evidence that J.C. killed J.B, except for his own confession.
              J.C. presents signs of a mental illness. Delusion? Schizophrenia?
              J.C. started scraping his own skin. Attempting suicide? Guilt?
              A partial fingerprint was found on the mirror fragment.
              After questioning J.C. further, I found out he doesn’t remember the exact details of the killing. Amnesia? Lie? Possible trauma.
             
Then the color of the writing went from blue to black and I assumed it was because it had been a considerable amount of time before Dr. Goldbridge had written about the case again. But there it was.
              J.C. was put down after he escaped his prison cell. Stabbed in the chest with an envelope opener by Ian Cohen.
              No autopsy can be performed on J.C. due to religious preferences.
              Note to self: Due to the angle of the wound on J.C.’s chest and the bruise surrounding the injury, there are two possible theories in relation to J.B.’s case.
              1) The killer of Jim Bianchi had similar strength and height as the killer of Jonathan Cohen. Will need to verify Jonathan and Ian’s height later today.
              2) Both victims were murdered by the same person.