My heart was ramming against my rib cage, pumping gallons of blood through my body with such force. My fingers, toes, and eyes were throbbing with every beat. My mind fought to stay in the present, but the yelling and the sound of panic in Cy’s voice brought me back to the night when they’d murdered the people I loved most—including who I used to be.
I thought about how much fear I had seen in their eyes, and I knew it mirrored my own. I hadn’t been afraid like that since. Why would I? I couldn’t be killed. I had died with my eyes on my mother until my lids became too heavy to hold open. The men who had been laughing while doodling on my skin with the tip of their knives had faded to the background while my warm blood had spread out on the carpet beneath me. It had pooled, blanketing me and soaking my hair. The warmth had made it easy to let go, so I did.
After a time, I had awoken in a silent hotel room. No maniacal laughter, no sounds of sharp metal penetrating flesh, no crying or begging, no breathing—not even my own. When my eyes had opened, a curvy red pond lay between my mother and me. She hadn’t fallen asleep as I did. She’d died as she lived—with her eyes wide open, watching over me.
My breath had returned then. No one could explain it. Not even me. They’d said I must have passed out, that it was impossible that I had come back to life without medical intervention, and I’d just imagined floating over my own body, watching them carve me like a tree trunk. Even when they couldn’t explain how I’d lived despite losing a lethal amount of blood or how I had made it across the hall to call for help, they’d still refused to admit that I died. But I was dead, and then I wasn’t.
I leaned up to see Cyrus take a step back as a dozen or more men approached him slowly, wearing helmets, dark goggles, and bulletproof jackets, carrying guns straight from a war movie.
Cy struggled as they apprehended him, and then they took him away. One of the men stayed behind long enough to locate Dr. Zorba’s rock, and then he absconded with that as well. I heard Cyrus yell out in protest for only a moment, and then the lab fell silent.
A few moments later, the lights came back on. I stood up in the empty lab, in shock, afraid, but only for a moment. If someone had seen my family and me get taken away or heard our cries and helped, my parents might be alive today. Sydney might be experiencing KIT with me. She could have found a boyfriend, fallen in love, and gotten married. Because no one had helped us, the man she would have married would be kept waiting. The children she was supposed to have would never exist. An entire line of people was wiped out, descendants of one of the most amazing people I’d ever met.
Then, I wondered if that was ever her purpose. Maybe she was put on this earth to teach me to be strong, to show compassion for those who were victims of the same heartless sons of bitches that killed her, and to compel her brother, Sam—who was active military and a cop—to teach me how to defend myself, things he wanted to teach her but never made the time.
For years, I’d wondered, Why us? What about our happy, giggling family made those men choose us? What about us led to their plan to commit horrific violence that night? Another question I’d had for weeks came to mind. Why am I so drawn to Cy? I barely knew him. It had never made sense to me until that moment.
Sitting there, on the floor and alone, I finally had my answers. The deaths of my parents and Sydney left me with the guilt and grief that would empower me to get off that floor. I was drawn to Cy because he would need a savior, and I was the perfect person to save Cyrus. I had nothing to be afraid of. Death couldn’t touch me.
Suddenly, my feet were climbing the stairs, dashing down the hallway to the side door. Two black vehicles were flying out of the parking lot, heading south.
“Cy,” I whispered.
My eyes began to do something they hadn’t done in years. They filled with salty tears and spilled over my cheeks. I wiped them away, refusing to get emotional. Whoever had taken Cy possessed power beyond my own or even Dr. Zorba’s, and I had no idea how we could get Cy home, but I’d figure it out. I had to.
After a few seconds of feeling paralyzed from shock, I pulled my cell phone from my back pocket and scrolled through my address book for the professor’s number. Hesitation crept in before I dialed. Should I call him? Call the police? What could they do? Conspiracy theories and scenes from spy movies flipped like channels through my mind. Calling Dr. Z didn’t feel right. What if whoever took Cy is listening in on the professor’s calls? Would I just be setting my own trap? Calling the police didn’t feel right. Cy’s abductors weren’t worried about local law enforcement.
I shoved my phone into my back pocket and pushed open the door, looking for Benji’s car. The orange Mustang wasn’t anywhere to be seen. My entire body began to tremble as I tried to come up with rational reasons for his absence. I was late. Hopefully, he’d given up and gone home, but that didn’t sound like Benji at all. Maybe they had taken him, too.
Not again. I couldn’t let someone take away the people I cared about again. I sprinted across campus, passing the dorms and blasting past five blocks of apartment buildings, until I reached the home of Dr. Z. I’d taken that route many times when I felt myself breaking down and the memories became too loud to block out. This time though, I was running toward the nightmare.
Chapter Eleven
I WATCHED THE HOUSE for several minutes before finally deciding that no one was going to jump out and grab me if I walked up onto the porch. Knocking on Dr. Z’s large wooden door was painful with cold knuckles, but I tried four times. I was glad that I’d been going to The Gym with Benji, or I’d have really been hurting. Standing on the porch, shaking from the November night air, my heaving lungs were gasping for a sufficient breath. The cold burned my throat every time I sucked in, but all I could think about was Cy.
After a few moments and no sound, I pounded on the door again. Thunder rolled in the distance, and the sky lit up, signaling an approaching storm. The wind picked up, and the branches scraped above me. The sun wouldn’t breach the horizon for a few more hours, and I worried that Dr. Z was so fast asleep that he couldn’t hear my knocking.
I ran around the house, trying to decide which window might belong to his bedroom. All the windows were dark, lit only by the intermittent lightning flashes. “Dr. Z!” I hissed, peering into a window. I saw a bed, dresser…but it was too dark to tell if he was inside. I rapped on the window. “Dr. Z? It’s Rory! Please get up!”