Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (26 page)

Mercer Island, Washington State

O
n his bed, and bored completely out of his mind, Fillion decided to hack into Messenger Pigeon on a spare Cranium device he kept around. He was curious if he could find any old video footage of his mom and Joel before communication was cut off by New Eden Township seven years ago.

He felt safe, knowing his dad would not report him at this point. Despite Fillion’s known black-hat operations, the whole arrest and trial was simply a plot point in the game Hanley was weaving. Hanley knew Fillion would never go to New Eden on his own accord, so he had to force his hand, a betrayal Fillion would never forgive. One day he would reverse the tables. He would outmaneuver his dad. Until then, he was stuck on a path once again chosen for him, the resentment brewing and storming inside his chest.

Typically he was sleeping off a night of work and play at this hour, but his schedule was off. By Tuesday night, he had been awake around thirty-five hours. He crashed hard, but woke up early in the morning, his body’s internal alarm clock refusing to hit snooze. Last night, he went to bed around 11:30 p.m. after being up for nearly twenty hours. His body’s clock had stopped, finally allowing him to sleep through the night. Fillion’s brain felt fuzzy when he woke up, disoriented and out of place, especially as the dark walls of his room absorbed any light that seeped in around the black curtains.

Awake now for an hour, he sat up in his bed. A small chill blanketed his bare skin as he read through the archived notes attached to each video. Fingers swiped the air, stimulating his brain with something meaningful to do. God, he hated being under house arrest. Maybe working in the dungeon wasn’t so bad after all. At least there he could sort of escape his family and hang at The Crypt, unlike now. A new video screenshot appeared in the air, and his thoughts jumped from his present problem to a completely different one. He skimmed through the notes for any useful data to store in his brain’s hard drive, hoping his mind remained sharp should he need to recall any info while sealed inside an insane asylum full of space-age medieval LARPers.

A few minutes earlier, he received an alert that The Aether had signed into Messenger Pigeon and was available to chat. He knew the chat feature was too advanced for whomever sat opposite of him in cyber space, as the button was hidden compared to the email features. So, he chose to send a traditional email message instead, allowing the recipient to think he was Hanley. The alert ticker motioned that a new message appeared in his dad’s inbox, and Fillion swallowed back the nerves. Slowly exhaling, he readjusted his position to lie down on his pillow, and then selected the new message, reminding himself to keep breathing as he did so.

“9:24 a.m. – the aether’s sibling is reporting for duty.”

Fillion smiled. His morning just became exciting, boredom fading away into the black coffin of his room. Green eyes floated back into his memory as he thought of the mischievous look on her face when she reminded Leaf of her preferred name. She was a character, and Fillion decided he wanted to message with her as the Dungeon Master, to spar words and to get to know the ghost that was determined to haunt his life.

“9:27 a.m. – Is the sibling a Maiden?”

He pushed send, fingers tingling as he resisted another stupid smile in the dark. There was something about Willow, beyond his strange and ridiculous boyhood connection to her memory. Fillion found himself drawn to the empathy she expressed to him, her eyes and smile communicating an understanding that puzzled him. A message entered the inbox, and this time, he didn’t resist smiling.

“9:33 a.m. – am
i speaking with hanley nichols?”

“9:34 a.m. – No, this is Master Fillion. I am intercepting messages today on Hanley’s behalf, daytime duties over communications.”

“9:40 a.m. – yes, the sibling is a maiden. please do not share with the aether that i have activated the scroll. my actions would displease him to no end.”

“9:40 a.m. – Your secret is safe with me.”

Fillion paused, trying to think of something to ask her, suddenly overwhelmed that Willow was exchanging emails with him. His thoughts spun in nauseating circles, and he felt a rush of adrenaline in this surreal moment as their words were held suspended into the air of his room, mere inches from his face. Did they have the Scroll all along, or did she just find it? He lifted his fingers reflexively to tuck his hair behind his ear before remembering that it was cut off. Incensed with the state of his hair, he swiped onto the touchable hologram the first question that came to his mind.

“9:43 a.m. – Are you the exchange?”

“9:44 a.m. – no, sir, i am not.”

He was unsure of how to read her last note, wishing he could see her face. Was she upset with his question? Or simply providing an answer? Regardless, Fillion felt relief. She would be in New Eden, and he would definitely meet her face to face, confirming her true existence. Another message popped through, grabbing his attention.

“9:50 a.m. – do you work around the clock, master fillion? i feel surprised at always connecting with you whenever i accidentally turn on a portal device. are you not on leave?”

“9:51 a.m. – No, Maiden. I never work days. This morning is a rare treat, because I should be on leave and here I am, conversing with you. I’ve thought of you often. Have you thought of me since Tuesday morning?”

He sent the message, knowing it sounded sappy, not exactly what he wanted to convey. Often? Did he really just say that he’d thought of her often? “God, I’m a cretin,” he muttered to the silence, rolling his eyes. Still, he was curious.

“9:57 a.m. – what shall i think of you, sir? everything about you is so vastly different than my own world. i fear that my thoughts never know where to begin, and therefore, have yet to embark on such a perilous journey.”

“9:58 a.m. – And here I had hoped that you were beginning to fall for me, absence making your heart grow fonder.”

“10:01 a.m. – i am not fond of trash.”

“10:01 a.m. – Pity.”

He sat up straight against his headboard, enjoying their flirtatious banter and smiling into the darkness. God, she was spunky, and she didn’t even have a clue to his real identity. Unlike most girls who only wanted him for fame or connections, she was rejecting him. Chances were she would treat him different as soon as she knew he was Hanley’s son. For all he knew, his dad was a deity they worshiped inside New Eden.

Fillion looked around in his blackened room for her ethereal presence, feeling spooked as if she was next to him. She was alive, and having a private conversation with him. And he was flirting with her. Was he crazy? Had his rage hit a point of delusion once again? Just confessing that he used to fantasize about her resurrection was grounds enough to prove that he had lost his mind.
He whispered, “What the hell,” and closed his eyes, lightly thunking his head against the headboard. He knew it was real, but he felt guarded, afraid of what her sudden presence meant, and what it would do to his psychological state.

A notification dinged, redirecting his thoughts.

“10:11 a.m. – i need assistance deciphering a picture. my family came into possession of a piece of paper the size of a playing card, depicting a white candle recently snuffed out with wispy smoke. the wax drippings appear as if blood the color of black. are you able to assist me, sir, or do you only run as deep as flirtatious taunts and an overconfident ego?”

Fillion was thoroughly amused by her wicked sense of humor, laughing out loud. He had kept his “flirtatious taunts” mild. And that wasn’t so easy. But she radiated an innocence and femininity he found alluring. And strangely, it made him feel protective. He didn’t want to be the asshole that ruined her. Maybe he was trash like she suggested.

Reading her note again, goose bumps fleshed out over his arms and bare trunk. A white candle with black wax drippings that looked like blood? The image was creepy. Fillion creased his brows and chewed on his lower lip, reading over her words one more time. The part about being recently snuffed echoed in his mind, and he felt his stomach tighten.

“10:13 a.m. – Where did you find this picture?”

“10:17 a.m. – the aether discovered the card upon joel watson, earth element, as he was laid out prior to the cremation processional to the funeral pyre.”

His eyes widened, and then darted around his shadowed room as if the corpse of Joel Watson belonged to the coffin of his blackened room. Fillion was now properly spooked. A shudder convulsed his frame as a chill ran down the entire length of his body, curling his toes. She seriously watched her dad’s dead body burn to ash? “That’s demented,” he whispered to the inky walls of his room. A long and shaky sigh escaped, and his breath provided a moment of warmth as it brushed against his bare skin.

Without any research, Fillion knew that their dad was marked. And the killer wanted the siblings to know Joel’s death was not of natural causes. What would Willow do with this information? Feeling a strange sense of protection once again, he decided to share with her in person when Leaf was present. By then, he could do research and provide the Watsons a more solid answer. He would be at New Eden Biospherics & Lab on Friday night and would demand a last shift, telling his dad that he was scheduled to see them again if necessary.

“10:19 a.m. – Will I see you Friday night or Saturday morning?”

“10:23 a.m. – i shall hope to see you, sir. will you decipher the picture then?”

She hoped to see him? Fillion blinked, and tried to ignore the warmth he felt with her words.

“10:23 a.m. – Yes, Maiden. I look forward to seeing you again, too.”

“10:24 a.m. – until then, master fillion.”

“10:25 a.m. – Until then, fair Maiden. May your mind begin that perilous journey to savor every thought of me.”

He bit his bottom lip, knowing he was bad, but he was working so hard to be good. God, he loved flirting with her. Willow’s intelligence drew him in, and he kept forgetting that she was a medieval hippie, something he supposedly despised. His heart rushed in anticipation of her reply, strangely aware of her despite the machines that connected them from hundreds of miles away, worlds apart. If he was crazy, he would enjoy this psychotic episode as much as possible. There was not much else to enjoy in his life.

“10:27 a.m. – my thoughts have decided that you, sir, are too perilous a journey for their preference, and a disgusting pig. they have refused to savor any further thought wishing to rest upon you. good day, dungeon master.”

Laughter filled the silence of his bedroom. He couldn’t help himself. She was such a brat. Willow was teasing him—not in a flirtatious way, but as another who also enjoyed a battle of wits. Somehow he knew this, and this understanding made his entire system come alive for a brief moment. His boyhood fantasies had incomprehensibly bled into reality, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He closed his eyes and allowed an odd sense of wonder to wash over him. Finally, someone who didn’t want a piece of him. Someone who played to his humor.

An image of the picture they had found on their dad flashed in his mind, and a chill interrupted his eerie happiness. Not only were they in potential danger, but so was he as an outsider joining their established group. What if the killer discovered that he was Hanley’s son? Did his dad know of this danger, sending him in anyways?

With a start, he opened his eyes, desperate for his conversation with Willow to continue. Why did he let her sign off so easily? He wasn’t ready to let her go yet, wanting to chat longer with someone who got him but didn’t want him. Fillion shook his head and gave a humored smirk. He was so weird.

“10:29 a.m. – You’ve made my day with your spunk and humor. Good day and happy thoughts … of me.”

He waited ten minutes, staring intently at the holographic screen as it cast a bluish light on this skin, willing her to email him back. He looked down at his shirtless form. Fillion’s eyes rested on the winged broken heart tattoo inked onto his upper chest as a reminder of his nervous breakdown at age fourteen, feeling a sinking disappointment when no further reply entered his dad’s inbox. Willow had clearly logged out. He was such a stupid idiot. Why did he let her end the conversation?

For the first time in his life, Fillion felt a morsel of real excitement in entering New Eden. She was there, and she was alive. So were Leaf and Laurel. The very idea still made him instantly hot with anger, but through their exchange he experienced a sense of relief from the ever-building pressure. The transition from his world to New Eden was tiring.