

# Come Play Studios

_Almost Brave_ website: www.southlouisianahighschool.weebly.com
Table of Contents

Title Page

Books by E.J. Mara

Quote

Prologue

Part I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Part II

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Epilogue

What's next?

Copyright Notice

#

The South Louisiana High Series

**Identity - The Origin** **Story**

Karen, Nathaniel, & Tessa's Story

**Almost Friends - Book One**

Mia, Kyle, & Elizabeth's Story

**Almost Twins - Book Two**

Andy, Gia, & Via's Story

**Almost Famous - Book Three**

Drew's Story

**Almost Brave - Book Four**

Gina's Story

**Almost Human - Book Five**

Lanie's Story

For more information about the South Louisiana High book series, visit

www.southlouisianahighschool.weebly.com
"Il coraggio è concepito nel cuore e viene a nascere nelle mani."

#

Five Years Ago

April, 2010

"Bravery starts with imagination, which explains why little kids are so brave." I paused and lowered my notes.

Nonno was seated on our living room couch in front of me, waiting to hear the rest of the presentation I'd written for English class. He raised his thick white brows as if to ask, "Why did you stop reading?"

As a man of few words, he didn't actually say this out loud. The only sounds in our living room came from the whirling ceiling fan above our heads and the sizzling sausage Mimaw was frying in the kitchen.

I sighed and plopped down on our coffee table. It emitted a low creak. Nonno's gaze went to the ancient piece of furniture as he broke the silence. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"Do you think I'm flaky?" I looked down at my schoolbag and gave it a kick.

"Gina!" Mimaw hollered from the kitchen. "Did I hear my coffee table creak? You best not be sitting on it!"

I slid off the table and onto our old brown couch.

"She's on the couch, Mona," Nonno said, his dark eyes assessing me.

Every time I looked at my grandpa, I saw my eyes staring back at me; the exact same oval shape and chocolate color. Maybe it was a little narcissistic of me, but I liked looking at him and seeing myself.

He winced and rubbed the crook of his left arm as he leaned forward. "So, what do-"

"Okay then!" Mimaw hollered from the kitchen, inadvertently cutting him off. "Now y'all come get breakfast before Lyla come to pick Gina up for the school. She can't be late. She got that report today."

Nonno rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, Mona, we know," he said. "Thank you, my love."

We shared a look and chuckled. Laughing at Mimaw for her thick Cajun accent - which sounded very different from the way my New Jersey-born grandfather spoke - and overly anxious ways was another thing we had in common. Thankfully, Mimaw was as sweet as she was strong, and our teasing never bothered her.

"Back to your question," Nonno said, a hint of concern in his eyes. "What do you mean by flaky?"

I glanced at my notes, which were scrawled in black sharpie on the index cards I'd thrown down on the coffee table. My thoughts went back to the expression on my best friend Lyla's face last night, as she'd read the very end of my report and then burst out laughing.

I toyed with my bracelet. "Someone read my report and they..." I hesitated and Nonno leaned forward expectantly.

"And they what?"

"And they laughed at it and said none of it was true because I'm -" I lifted my hands to create air quotes. "Flaky. Like, I don't stick with things."

I glanced at Nonno to see whether he'd agree with Lyla's assessment of me. He didn't usually agree with Lyla's world view, but this was different. Deep down, even I sort of understood what Lyla meant about me being "flaky."

"Why do you think this person said that?" Nonno crossed his arms.

"Um, maybe because-"

"Y'all coming for breakfast?" Mimaw called.

"Just a moment, my love," Nonno said before nodding to me. "Go on, because what?"

"Maybe because freshman year I was really into cheerleading and I told everybody I was going to be a professional cheerleader. But then I got into acting and theater and forgot all about cheering, and then in eleventh grade, I started getting more into film. So now, some people don't think I'm serious about film." I shrugged. "But, they don't understand. I've always loved movies. This isn't just 'a phase.' I seriously want to be a director and make movies when I grow up. I just want people to understand that."

Nonno scowled and clamped his hand around his left arm, giving it a squeeze.

I touched his arm. "What's wrong? Is your arm bothering you?"

"I slept on it funny." He sighed, but his eyes softened as he returned his attention to me. "Gina, you're a very special kid. Just like your mom was. When you put your mind to something, whatever it is, you focus on it until you get it right. If you ask me, that's genius to be able to do that."

I couldn't help but grin at his praise.

He scratched his ear. "But there is one thing I think you could focus less of your attention on." His tone grew gentler as he continued, "You care a lot about what your friends think. They say you ought to have a boyfriend, so you get one. They say that boy isn't good enough, you should be with some other one. So you get some other one, and then you get another..."

My cheeks warmed and I glanced down at the charm bracelet my most recent boyfriend had given me the other day.

I knew exactly who Nonno wished I'd go out with: Luke Kennedy.

To be honest, I wished it too.

But Luke was one of my best friends. And more importantly, he'd just broken up with my other best friend, Lyla. So there was no way I could go out with Luke. Not unless I didn't mind turning my life into a soap opera with me playing the part of the boyfriend-stealing villain.

"...they accuse you of being flaky and it crushes you," Nonno continued. "It's good to care about your friends, but there's a limit to how much you should let their opinions matter. Don't let them define you. Be brave enough to be who you want to be. Even if that means changing your mind about whether you want to be an actor, a film maker or a...well, hopefully not a cheerleader." Nonno wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I don't let my friends define me," I said. "I just want them to understand me, which means I have to be more like them. That's the only way they'll even want to understand me."

He made a face. "So, you're saying you want to be understood by kids who don't have any interest in the real you?"

"No, that's not-" My phone, stashed in the front pocket of my school bag, vibrated.

At the same moment, Mimaw shouted, "Gina, Lyla's in the driveway! You going to have to bring your breakfast with you. And ask Lyla if she want some grits. She so skinny..."

While Mimaw went on about Lyla's need to gain weight, I turned to my grandpa. "So, do you think I'm flaky?"

He smiled. "Gina, I think you're perfect exactly the way you are."

I rolled my eyes. "I knew you'd say something like that."

Nonno chuckled and planted a kiss on my forehead. "I love you, kiddo. La mia stella più bella."

"I got the 'I love you part,' but you lost me at the Italian..." I grabbed my bookbag and Nonno collected my index cards from the table.

Lyla honked from the driveway.

"Time to skedaddle," he said, handing me the cards. "I'd tell you good luck on the report, but you don't need luck. Your film's great and I'm sure the report is too. Go get 'em, kiddo."

"Thanks." I gave Nonno one last kiss and scurried off.

AS LYLA PULLED out of my neighborhood, the tires of her Corvette squealed, which I'm sure my neighbors loved at 6:45 in the morning.

I maintained a careful grip on the warm plate of grits and sausage in my lap as I looked around and sighed. "I want to marry this car." I ever so briefly released my plate of grits and sausage to run one of my palms along the black leather passenger seat. I took a deep breath, drinking in the new car scent.

Lyla glanced at me. "And that's not weird at all."

I grinned and returned both of my hands to the plate, reaffirming my grip on it. "Yep. A hundred percent normal. I still can't believe your mom bought this for you. It's like heaven on wheels."

Lyla's mom, Dr. Nora Oni, had surprised her with the pretty silver sports car exactly two weeks ago. It was Lyla's early graduation present.

"Yeah, to make up for the fact that she's choosing to go away on vacation with her boyfriend during her only daughter's high school graduation," Lyla muttered.

I ditched my smile and glanced at my bestie. Lyla's green eyes darkened as she pursed her lips and stared at the road ahead, shifting gears with the ease of an expert. Lyla had been a quick study when it came to learning to drive a stick. She'd tried to teach me, but when I nearly drove her brand new car into my grandparent's mailbox, we'd looked at each other and mutually decided to leave the driving to Lyla.

"Why are you staring at me?" She arched one of her perfectly shaped brows.

"Your mom does love you, you know," I said.

Lyla shrugged.

I fidgeted with my plate, my bracelet hitting its edge and emitting a clink. "I know she's got a funny way of showing it."

"I wouldn't call never talking to your own daughter 'funny.' And, Gina, you don't get it because your grandparents actually listen when you talk to them. My mom doesn't even understand the concept of a conversation. A car can't make up for that." Lyla slowed for a red light and took a deep breath as we came to a stop. "But I'm used to it. I don't even care anymore, so it's fine."

My heart sank.

I could see where Lyla was coming from about me not being able to wrap my mind around her situation. As much as I admired her fancy car and drool-worthy wardrobe, I wouldn't trade my grandparents for any of it.

Dr. Oni had recently bought a huge house in Swamp Rose's most exclusive neighborhood. But after a rough day at school, a big empty house couldn't wrap Lyla in its arms for a hug, bake her favorite cookies, or give her a listening ear. I think that's why Lyla usually came home with me after school. She even spent most of her nights in our ratty little house. Besides, at that point it had only been a month since she'd broken up with Luke. And I suspected that was a big part of why she felt even lonelier than usual.

I looked out of the window as I wondered what I could possibly say that would cheer Lyla up.

Lyla pulled through the now green light. As we sped past a wooded area on Highland Hills Road, I finally said, "You have me. I listen."

She chuckled and turned to me, her dark curls bouncing with her every move. "If you get any sappier, you're going to give us both diabetes."

I returned her smile. "You like sappy. That's why we're friends; you need my sappiness."

"Whatever. Anyway, are you nervous about your report and showing everyone your movie?"

"A little." I squinted at the sunrise ahead and let my gaze wander across our small town's pretty, yet somehow stale, landscape. The cookie cutter homes with their fleur-de-lis flags and matching mailboxes, the clusters of oak and magnolia trees, moss hanging from their limbs - it was very picturesque, but also very expected. To live in a city where every morning delivered unexpected noise and sights would be a dream come true.

In fact, that dream fused the initial bond between me and Lyla. Back when we met in middle school, we both agreed that as soon as we finished high school, we'd hightail it out of Swamp Rose and move to New York City. We'd be roommates at NYU and explore the city together.

"Girl up, Gina," Lyla said, glancing at me. "You can handle it. You're brave."

I nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"BRAVERY STARTS WITH imagination, which is why little kids are so brave." I paused, looking up and squinting into our classroom's florescent lights. And then I sneezed for the bajillionth time.

Sniffing, I faced the eight rows of students in my English class and found myself glaring at the one classmate responsible for my sinus attack: Crystal friggin Lovett.

Usually, I left the glaring at Crystal to Lyla. But that morning, it was my turn to eye our class scapegoat with unrestrained contempt. Crystal was lazily examining her numerous split ends as she sat in the front row, completely oblivious to the fact that her cheap body spray was causing my sneezing fit. For the past few minutes, I'd been trying not to dramatize the fact that she'd doused herself in what smelled like off-brand roach spray because I didn't want her to get teased. But at this point, the overpowering smell was practically ruining my report.

"Bless you again," Lyla chirped from the back of the classroom. Her sentiment was swiftly echoed by a few of our closest friends.

"Thanks, y'all." I gave The Groupies - I never called them this to their faces, of course - a grin and the three of them, Mindee, Tammie, and Katrina, beamed. They were a sweet bunch...somewhat herd-like, but sweet.

"All right, Gina," our elderly English teacher said with a smile. "Snot-free and ready to proceed?" He'd been sitting on the edge of an empty desk in the back of the classroom, quietly listening to our 'I Believe' presentations all morning. With his chocolaty brown skin and hazel eyes, he looked nothing like my Nonno, but personality-wise, the two men reminded me of each other.

I nodded and resumed my report. "Thrust from the womb and into a foreign world, kids not only depend on their five senses, but their imaginations to decode their new environment. Surrounded by the unknown, they could easily fear every new encounter. Instead, with their imaginations as a buffer, they aren't afraid of what they don't understand - they're simply curious."

Another whiff of Crystal's body spray snuck into my nostrils. This time, instead of sneezing, I proceeded to hack up a lung.

While I had a fabulous time dealing with my massive amounts of phlegm, Brad - a boy I'd gone out with for a minute in ninth grade - shouted, "That's hot!" and punctuated his sarcasm with a wolf whistle.

"Brad," our teacher warned.

I ignored my classmates' snickers, cleared my throat, and continued. "Unfortunately, bad things do happen, and the longer we live, the more bad things we experience, meaning we become more fearful. It's as if cowardice grows with age and, by the time we're adults, it's overtaken us with a vengeance. It leaves us imagination-less and thoroughly afraid of the unknown. This is where storytellers like me save the day."

The classroom's AC came on and it carried Crystal's scent my way. I cleared my throat. Once the itchy, I'm-going-to-sneeze feeling passed, I returned my attention to my index cards. "Storytellers, like children, are completely in touch with their imaginations and are, therefore, immune to cowardice. Fortunately, we don't hoard our bravery. We share our gift by writing and producing stories the way Habitat for Humanity builds and gives away homes. Every time our characters slay a literal or metaphorical dragon, the people who watch our movies and read our books live through these heroic characters and grow a little braver themselves--"

"Conceited much?" Crystal muttered.

I lowered my index cards and glared at Crystal. "Stink much?"

My classmates laughed and Crystal's cheeks turned bright pink. She looked down at her desk. I glanced at my teacher. As our eyes met, he frowned and slowly shook his head.

My cheeks burned with shame. I'd disappointed him, which was much worse than being yelled at.

I mumbled, "I'm sorry," and returned my attention to the last of my index cards. I forced perkiness into my tone. "I want to make our world a braver place by telling my stories through film. So, after I graduate, I'm moving to New York where I'm going to study screenwriting and filmmaking at NYU. My name is Gina Russo, and I believe in bravery."

The class applauded and, despite my temporary distress at the look of disapproval from my favorite teacher, the sound sent a delicious surge of euphoria straight through me.

I was still grinning as I raised my voice above the noise and announced, "Wait, everyone! My report isn't over yet. There's a second part - a short film I made."

My teacher's eyebrows went up. "Impressive. Go ahead, Gina."

"I won't show the entire film...just a clip." I set my index cards on the podium and clasped my hands together before diving into my well-rehearsed intro. "We all know that Swamp Rose is a mysterious town, full of myths and rumors. There's the tale of Unseen, an invisible man who averts disasters and robberies--"

"Shout out!" yelled a boy named Jeremy. He'd claimed that Unseen had rescued him from a car accident last year.

Personally, I had my doubts about Jeremy's story. If he'd been held at gunpoint and rescued or pulled from a burning building, that would have been believable. But a car accident? What kind of superhero goes around rescuing people from fender benders?

Despite my doubts, I smiled at Jeremy. "There's also the tale of the ghost who haunts Serenity Bayous. And today we're going to take a look at the 'true' story of this ghost and his origins in a film called 'Adam has Autism.' You can watch my film in its entirety by clicking on the YouTube link Lyla's sending to your phones right now..." I paused and glanced at Lyla. She gave me a thumbs up and less than a second later, every phone in the classroom began to vibrate.

"And now," I continued, "please direct your attention to the television in the back of the classroom for a five-minute clip from my movie." Unable to stop grinning, I watched everyone turn around and face the TV.

My phone, stuffed in the left pocket of my skirt, began vibrating. I reached for it as someone turned the classroom lights off. While my film's intro music filled the room, I glanced down at my phone.

Mimaw: Lyla's mom is picking you up shortly.

Confused, I reread my grandma's text. Why would Mimaw ask Lyla's mom to pick me up in the middle of a school day?

"Gina?" My English teacher's voice startling me, I looked up to find him beside me. He wasn't smiling. In fact, his mouth had the pinched look it often got when a kid disrupted class. "Would you get your things and step outside?" he quietly asked.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"We'll talk in the hallway. Get your things."

"Okay." I started for my desk.

The class laughed as the film opened with one of my title characters - an overworked Serenity Bayous orderly, played by my friend Darrell - coming face to face with "the ghost" and promptly passing out.

While I made my way to my desk at the back of the classroom, I tried to figure out what was going on. Had there been some kind of accident involving my grandparents? After all, they were getting older and Mimaw's doctor had just called last night to say he wanted to see her this afternoon ...

The class laughed again. Despite my curiosity about what was happening at home, their laughter sent a wave of pride my way.

"They like it," Lyla whispered from her desk, which was just beside mine. She lifted her fist expectantly and grinning, I bumped it with mine. A compliment from Lyla was high praise.

Still smiling, I grabbed my backpack. Just under the sound of everyone's laughter, I heard Lyla's phone vibrate. While she reached for it, a ray of light cut into the dark classroom and landed right smack in my eyes. I squinted and turned to the source.

The light was coming from the classroom doorway where my English teacher stood, already waiting in the hall.

"Yo, can we close the door?" a boy in the back row called. "There's a glare on the TV."

Our teacher said nothing in response - he only lifted his hand, beckoning me.

I made my way towards him, stepping over backpacks and feet as I crossed in front of my classmates.

I passed April, the class nerd, and she whispered, "Great movie, Gina."

I turned back to her and grinned. "Thanks, April."

April blushed and returned her attention to the television. I glanced at the brown Lord of the Rings t-shirt she wore. On the front was a picture of Gandalf.

"I like your shirt," I whispered. "Gandalf's my favorite character." Hoping no one else had heard me, I hurried away.

Back then, at South Louisiana High, it was perfectly acceptable to say you loved Iron Man or Batman, but admitting to being a Lord of the Rings fan was social suicide. Don't ask me why. I didn't make the social rules, I just followed them.

I finally slipped through the doorway and stood before my English teacher where I searched his eyes. Minutes ago, they'd been full of good humor, but now they were full of distress.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my nerves resurfacing. "Is something going on?"

"Come on into the hallway completely so I can shut the door."

I did as told and he closed the classroom door behind us.

South Louisiana High's linoleum floors must have recently been buffed because they shone brightly beneath our feet. They acted as mirrors, reflecting the hall's fluorescent lights above.

I watched my teacher turn to face me, his expression grave. "Gina-"

The classroom door swung open and we both jumped, startled, as Lyla burst through. Her long dark curls trailing behind her, she shut the door and faced me. Lyla's green eyes were wide and without a word, she grabbed my upper arm.

At this, my heart began to hammer in my chest and I turned to my English teacher. "What's going on?"

"Gina," he spoke softly. "Your grandmother contacted me, she..." He took a deep breath. "She wanted me to prepare you for what's happened. There's been an emergency."

"An emergency?" I repeated.

Lyla tightened her grip on my arm.

"Your grandfather had a heart attack and he was rushed to the hospital. But I'm afraid he didn't make it." My teacher paused. "I'm so sorry, but he passed away."

"What?" I looked from Lyla to my teacher. "I don't... wait. What?"

While my teacher repeated himself, my brain expanded and then constricted. I guess this was because the whole world sort of shifted. Everything went blurry. I closed my eyes and I didn't notice when Lyla pulled me into a hug.

I'm not sure how long she held me, but I remember that she smelled like expensive perfume, hairspray, and the faintest hint of cigarettes.

Eventually, beyond her arms, was the sound of muffled applause.

I opened my eyes and my English teacher came into focus, the classroom door just behind him. I realized the applause was coming from behind the door, which my teacher turned to open. He asked everyone to please quiet down.

Crystal Lovett, however, did not comply. In fact, she seized the opportunity to shout, "Your movie sucked, Gina!"

Lyla released me and growled, "I'm going to kill that girl."

But Crystal's insult didn't matter. Neither did my movie or my "I Believe" report.

I stared down the locker lined hallway, trying to make sense of what was happening. But, I couldn't. My grandpa couldn't be gone. How could that even be possible? I'd just seen him a few hours ago. He had to be okay. He couldn't suddenly be gone.

Lyla pushed past our English teacher and ran into the classroom. "No, Lyla!" he exclaimed, starting after her.

Crystal Lovett's earsplitting shriek was followed by someone yelling, "Fight!"

I turned away from the noise, started down the hall, and headed to the school parking lot.

Once there, I sank to the cement curb, completely numb. I sat there until Lyla's mom picked me up.

In retrospect, I see now that in that moment, something in my brain must have literally short-circuited. I think sometimes that's what grief does.

Now, five years later, I still don't feel quite right. That overwhelming sense of confusion, and of living in a world that's a bit too tilted on its axis, still hangs over me like a fog.

In my "I Believe" report, I called myself a storyteller. I spoke about my future with unwavering certainty. But the moment Nonno died, my big plans and I began to unravel.

I miss him, and I miss being the brave kid who made him proud.

#

Monday, February 26, 2015

Gina & Lyla's Apartment

"Make a wish, Gina Russo." Seth sets my eyelash on the back of my left hand and I grin, despite the dull ache that's settled around my forehead.

"When did I tell you my last name?" I ask with a laugh.

Oh, God. Laughing only makes the headache worse.

I ditch the laughter and smile into Seth's pale blue eyes. He leans towards me and a strand of his long hair falls forward. It rests on my nose while he brushes his lips against my cheek.

I can't believe he's being so sweet...

Warmth flooding my face and neck, I try not to let my surprise show. My one-night stands aren't usually the type to gently kiss a girl on her cheek the next morning. In fact, by this time, they're typically gone, which is fine by me.

But there's something different about Seth. I actually wouldn't mind him sticking around for a few more minutes.

"You said a lot of things last night," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear while he plants another kiss on my neck.

In the next room, Lyla's shower starts to run.

I turn to the noise. Lyla's room is just on the other side of my closet and sometimes I forget how thin our apartment's walls are.

"I hope we weren't too loud last night," I say. "Or this morning. Or whenever it was that we got in."

"You were loud." Seth snorts. "But who cares? Hey, come on, you're not in a wishing mood anymore? You were last night."

I turn back to him and at the sight of his pretty eyes, I nearly forget about my headache. I glance at the eyelash he's placed on my hand. "Was I?"

Seth's long legs are entwined with mine as he moves to rest on his side, his chin in his right palm and those piercing blue eyes of his peering back at me.

Last night it was those eyes that caught my attention all the way from across the club. I'd elbowed Lyla, pointed to the blue-eyed stranger with the long dark hair and whispered that we were definitely going to have a guest tonight. Lyla laughed and said okay... but come to think of it, there was something about the way she looked at me that kind of, like, threw me. And I know I didn't just imagine it because at that point, I'd only had two drinks. I still can't put my finger on what Lyla's pinched mouth and intensely narrowed eyes meant. All I know is it made me wonder if I had something in my teeth or pit stains on my dress.

"Last night you asked me to grant you three wishes." Seth flashes a smile that's so perfect, he could literally be cast in a Crest Whitestrips commercial. "Apparently, you thought I was your personal genie."

I roll my eyes, which adds a bitter ache to my headache. "There's no telling what goes on in my head after a few drinks."

"You fell asleep before you could tell me your wishes." He points to the eyelash. "Now's your chance, Gina Russo. One big wish."

"Well in that case, hmm..." I take a dramatic deep breath and let my gaze rove to the ceiling, making a show of how hard I'm thinking. Seth chuckles and I return my attention to him.

I wonder how long he's going to be in town. I definitely wouldn't mind hanging out again.

"This is serious." I put on a grave expression and nod to my eyelash. "I only have one wish. That means it has to be good."

"So make it count." Seth's dark eyebrows dip in mock sincerity. "What have you always wanted?"

Under my bed sheets, one of his feet moves up and around my calf, sending a teasing tickle across my skin.

I grin and say the first thing that comes to mind. "Bravery."

As the word leaves my lips, I blink in surprise and then giggle nervously, "I wasn't expecting to say that. I don't even know where that came from."

It's weird, the things you say when you're not thinking. It's like your subconscious completely takes over.

Seth smiles. "Good. That means it came from an honest place." He then sits up and blows the eyelash off my hand. "Gina Russo." He plants each of his palms on either side of me and leans towards me, which makes my bed emit a noisy creak.

I laugh. "Yeah?"

This dude makes me so shy it's crazy. And I am so not a shy person, like, at all. But ever since last night, I've been blushing and giggling like a thirteen year old. Usually, I drink because it feels good, but last night I'm pretty sure I drank to cover my unexpected timidity.

"You now have bravery." Seth meets my lips in a lingering kiss.

I close my eyes, savoring it.

I swear to God, I actually taste mint on this man's morning breath - how is he so perfect? His flawless factor is actually beginning to scare me. Not in a, "Er maw gwaad, is this man actually a cyborg?!" way. But in an, "Uh-oh I'm going to start liking this dude way too much meaning it's really going to suck when he doesn't call" way.

Last night, when Seth said he was from out of town, I wasn't surprised. Not only was his southern twang a dead giveaway - people around here have Cajun accents, not southern twangs -but Swamp Rose doesn't produce men like Seth. There's something almost European about his clothes and longish hair. Whatever it is, I like it. It's unique.

Seth eases out of our kiss and tucks his dark hair behind his ears while I exhale. My gaze goes to his mouth, hoping he'll kiss me again.

But Seth backs away from me and glances around my room. With this, he peels my sheet from his body and, suddenly appearing quite alert, frowns at the morning light streaming in through the slats of my blinds. "Gina, are you sure it's only seven?"

He slides off my bed and I try not to let my disappointment show. "Yeah, I always automatically wake up at seven to get ready for work because I have to be there at... uh, at eight..." My voice trails off while I follow Seth with my eyes.

Nude and totally nonchalant, Mr. Perfect parades around my room on a quest for his underwear. His rock-hard abs and toned physique are lovely and I can't help but stare at his butt while he stops in front of my computer desk, where both of our clothes have been haphazardly strewn.

I bet this guy, like, goes on 3 mile runs every morning and then ducks into the gym every evening. That's way different from most of the men around here. The average Swamp Rose man considers hunting and fishing once a month "exercise," and it shows in his beer belly.

Seth grabs his briefs from on top of my hard drive and, putting them on, points to my tricked-out computer with its monster-sized dual monitors. "You a gamer, Gina Russo?"

I blush and shake my head.

I love how he always says my full name as if it's one word.

"No, I, uh, mess around with editing short films and wedding videography, stuff like that." Self-consciousness spills all over me like a bucket of cold water and I actually shiver. I laugh out loud at myself.

"Dude," I say. "I don't know why, but you make me so nervous! Can you hear it in my voice? I swear, I'm not usually like this." I flop onto my back and frown at my ceiling as it occurs to me that maybe it's not just Seth that's making me nervous. Maybe it's my looming job interview this afternoon. I always blow interviews. And I have a feeling I'm going to especially blow this one because it would mean the world to me for it to go well.

That's the story of my life: every time I really want something, I screw it up. And I've wanted a lot of things in life. That is why I am now, The Queen of Screw Ups.

Seth chuckles. The sound breaking me out of my thoughts, I return my attention to him.

"So, if you're not usually like this," Seth says while he flips his hair out of his face and tugs on his pants. "Then tell me who you really are. What is Gina Russo like?"

I smile and shrug. What am I like?

He shoots me a grin before pulling his undershirt on over his head.

He has a wide mouth with long thin lips and when he's not smiling, between that mouth and his high cheekbones, he looks a little menacing. But when he smiles, it's like... I don't even know, maybe it's kind of like the sun peeking out from behind a gray cloud. It's beautiful. I also don't even know how to answer his question. If I say "I'm fun," that'll sound hella lame ... and sadly, that's the only adjective I can think of at the moment.

"Fun?" I giggle. "I honestly don't know how to answer that."

"Well, I know that you're A. Sexy," Seth says. "B. Did I mention sexy, and C. You wish you were braver and... let's see, what else?" He looks me in the eye and I blush. He laughs. "Am I making you blush?"

"No," I lie.

"Right." Seth grins. "What else is there to know about Gina Russo? That she's fantastic in bed. That I don't make her blush. Come on, tell me more. Who is this mysterious woman?"

"Oh em-gee, I don't know!" I laugh and watch Seth make his way to the small oak nightstand that my grandpa made for my fifteenth birthday. Stationed to the right of my bed, it holds my lamp, my "Random Ideas" journal, and an Anna Maxted book I've almost finished reading. I love, love, love Anna Maxted's characters. If I were a real filmmaker, I'd beg Anna Maxted to turn one of her books into a script and then I'd film it for her. It would win us a butt-ton of Academy Awards and-

"You get lost in thought a lot, don't you?" Seth's laughter breaks me out of my Anna Maxted fantasy.

"Sorry. Yeah. I am incredibly A-D-D."

Seth grabs his phone from on top of the book and says, "So, that's one thing about you. Adorably A-D-D. What else? I really want to know." He glances at me and as our eyes meet I feel another blush take hold of my face.

I clear my throat. "Okay. Well... I, Gina Russo, was born in New Jersey. Right after I was born, my grandparents moved here because this is where my Mimaw's from, or was from. Um, I'm a receptionist at an insurance company, which is incredibly boring. Uh, what else? I share this apartment with my friend, Lyla. Although, Lyla doesn't actually live here anymore because she's in school at NYU, so the place is kind of mine, I guess. Um... what else? Oh! Like everyone else in Swamp Rose, I'm a huge Unseen fan. He's, like, so awesome. And, well, I think that's about it."

I squint, wondering if I should tell Seth about my job interview this afternoon. Would that make me sound more interesting?

"Not everyone's a fan," Seth quietly says. I glance at him. He's staring at his phone, a slow frown making its way to his brow.

"Not everyone's a fan of what?"

"Of Unseen." He slides the phone into his pocket, his scowl vanishing as swiftly as it appeared.

"Dude! Have you noticed all the 'Unseener' bumper stickers on the trucks around here? You do know what those mean, don't you? It means the person driving the car, like, loves Unseen!"

"I know that." Seth wrinkles his long nose and shrugs. "But he's got haters too."

I scoff. "Yeah, like the criminals he puts in jail."

"No, I'm not talking about them." Seth picks up my Anna Maxted book, scans the title and then sets it back down. "Think about it. He's invisible and has superhuman abilities; he's a living, breathing weapon. That makes him the target of some of the richest and scariest people in this country." Seth's gaze dances across my room, checking out every inch of my messy little sanctuary.

"Yeah." I laugh. "If reality were a comic book that'd be true, and Lex Luthor would totally be out to get Unseen. But in real life, most rich people don't believe in the existence of invisible superheroes. And I'm sure they think anyone who does should be locked in Serenity Bayous with the rest of the crazies."

"Hey, I don't know if you realize it, but --" Seth pats the top of my head, grinning as he looks down at me. "It's not seven, it's ten minutes to nine."

"Holy crap on a stick!" I bolt from my bed, nearly knocking Seth over as I run to my closet.

My head throbbing, I come to an abrupt halt in front of my closet. I race back to my bed and stoop to grab my purse, which has been thrown on the floor beside last night's shoes. "My boss is literally going to kill me. I'm so dead," I mumble while I grab my phone and stare at it.

Seth chuckles while he makes himself comfortable on the edge of my bed.

I have two missed calls from my boss, Mr. Nellit, and another missed call from my friend Luke. Luke's also sent me a text. Cursing under my breath, I read his text.

Luke: Mr. Nellit's asking for you. I covered and said you were sick. You okay?

"Thank God for you, Luke," I mutter and call him.

With his phone ringing in my ear, I peer down at myself and realize how crazy I must look running around naked while screaming about my imminent demise at the hands of my boss.

I glance at Seth.

He's eyeing my boobs and grinning as he plops one of his long legs atop the other. "You're already late," he says. "So why not take the morning off? Then we can argue about Unseen over breakfast."

I blink back at him, my mouth falling open.

"You... you want to have breakfast with me?" I stutter.

Seth nods, meeting my eyes. Butterflies form in my stomach. All I can do is stare back at him, barely aware of my headache or of Luke's voice coming from my phone.

I know I should go to work this morning. I've got no sick days left and it's already bad enough that I'm planning to duck out early to go to my interview, but Seth wants to have freaking breakfast with me! How often does a drunken one-night stand turn into actual conversation over breakfast?

My gaze not leaving Seth's, I smile and say, "How about La Petite Maison? They have a good breakfast menu."

"Gina?" Luke's voice sounds in my ear and I flinch, realizing the poor guy's been repeating "hello" in my deaf ears for God knows how long. "Can you hear me?"

"Luke, I'm so sorry..." My voice trails off as my breakfast date eases up from my bed.

Seth heads to my door and calls over his shoulder, "Let's do it. I'm going to make a call out here."

"Who," Luke says, his voice lowering, "is that?"

"Nobody, sorry," I say, distracted while Seth slips through my bedroom door and gently shuts it behind him. Even the way he closes a door is sexy. It's insane!

"What happened to you this morning?" Luke's voice pulls me back to the present and I try to focus on what he's saying. "I thought your interview at Coffee Etc's wasn't until this afternoon."

"Yeah, it is this afternoon. I overslept." Cringing at my thoughtlessness, I scurry to my closet and step into the darkened room. I've been meaning to change the light bulb in here since forever and dear God, please let me by some miracle actually have clean underwear. "I don't know what I'd do without you; thanks for covering for me. Was Mr. Nellit mad?"

I open my top dresser drawer and my last clean pair of panties stare back at me. Thank God.

Grabbing them, I step into the underwear, listening as Luke says, "Well... yeah."

I groan, close my dresser drawer, and grab my nearest sundress from its hanger. "Figures. But that's okay. I'll just come in early tomorrow morning and have a talk with Mr. Nellit to explain... no, actually, I don't even need to come in early. I'll just wear something short and see-through and smile at him a lot. That's always worked before, right?" I laugh and slip the sundress on over my head while Luke's end of the line goes silent.

"Luke? You still there?" Struggling to right the dress around me, I hurry to leave the closet, forget that the door is half closed, and run into it, nose-first. "Crap on a... ouch. God! I'm such an idiot!"

"You okay?" Luke asks.

"Yeah, just being attacked by my own closet." My nose stinging, I open the door and make a beeline for my shoes. "How come you never laugh at my jokes? You used to. Am I not funny to you anymore?"

Luke offers a weak chuckle. "Trust me, I'm always laughing at you."

I pause mid stride, wincing at the throbbing in my skull and considering the tone of his laugh. It actually sounded kind of irritated.

I glance at the bulletin board near my computer desk. "Luke, are you, like, mad at me?"

I've had that bulletin board since I was sixteen. My plan was to bring it with me to NYU, to give me something to look at when I got homesick. It's got photos of my grandparents, Lyla, and a few other friends from high school. And, Luke Kennedy, with his sheepish smile, is in every one of the pictures.

"No, course not," he speaks quickly and someone in the background shouts, "Where's the mail cart?"

It sounds like he's busy. Maybe that's why he seems irritated.

"Hey, Gina, I'd better get back to the mail," he says. "But I'll talk to you soon. Good luck on your meeting this afternoon. You're going to kill it."

"My meeting," I repeat as I bend down to put on my shoes. "I like that word better than 'job interview.' It's less nerve wracking. Thanks, Luke, I'll talk to you soon."

We hang up and once I've gotten my shoes on, I put on some deodorant, a hint of body spray, and head to the den.

Seth's sitting on the couch across from Lyla. She wears a long white robe and her short hair, which has been slicked back, is still wet from her shower.

"... little town called Peake," Seth is saying in a deep voice.

I smile at the sound. I think this is the voice he uses when he's trying to make a good impression. It's how he sounded when I approached him last night.

Lyla's eyes narrow as she crosses her thin arms. "I've never heard of Peake. Where in Alabama is that?"

Uh-oh. It sounds like she's grilling him. I bite down on my bottom lip.

"It's way north, near Tennessee. Most people haven't heard of it; it's even smaller than Swamp Rose," Seth replies.

I clear my throat, loudly.

Lyla's gaze meets mine and her eyes widen in... shock? Nerves coursing through me, I smooth down my dress and glance at it. Does it have a stain or something?

"Wow, Gina," she says, her eyebrows going up. "So, you're just not even going to try and comb your hair."

I feel myself turning the color of a stop sign as Seth gets to his feet and makes his way towards me. He smiles and says, "I like it. It's like a shout out to Marge Simpson."

"Thanks." I force a grin, though I can feel embarrassment staining my cheeks. "That's what I was going for, obviously. In any case, I'm glad you guys are officially meeting. Seth, this is Lyla, my ex-best friend who left me for college in New York and--"

"And who is still Gina's best friend, considering that she also left Gina her entire apartment to live in for free," Lyla cuts in, arching an eyebrow at me. "So there's that."

I smile and shrug. "Yeah, she makes a good point there. So, Lyla Oni-Karlsson meet Seth, um... Seth... what's your last name?"

"Scardina," Lyla and Seth say in unison.

"Right, you told me that last night." I snap my fingers and point to him. "Seth Scardina. He's from out of town."

"From Peake, Alabama," Lyla says in a tone that adds an unspoken, "shouldn't you know more about him than I do?" to her words.

I smile and toy with the hem of my dress, hoping I don't look as annoyed as I feel.

"So, I'm going to show Seth around the awesomeness that is La Petite Maison's breakfast menu and um, yeah." I grin nervously and start nodding for no apparent reason. "So, yeah."

Seth chuckles like I've said something adorable. Lyla gets to her feet, her sharp eyes humorless as they dart to him. "Seth, I'm just curious. Swamp Rose is a long way from Bama. What brought you here?"

He's still grinning as he slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close. He plants a kiss on my forehead and looks into my eyes while he says, "I'm thinking maybe destiny."

Like the Wicked Witch of the West in a rainstorm - which is actually a horrible analogy for a moment like this - I m-e-l-t.

"Aw, Seth." I smile up at him, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest.

"How sweet," Lyla says, her voice dry. With this, she starts for her room. "Before you go, Gina, why don't you let me help you with that hair?"

I laugh and give Seth's arm a squeeze. "Lyla's right. I don't want to embarrass you."

"Impossible," he murmurs and looks at me so sweetly that another stupid blush creeps into my face and neck. My thoughts turning to mush, I nearly skip to Lyla's room.

"Close the door," she whispers as soon as I step inside.

I do as told and start for the large vanity near her window, but Lyla grabs my arm. "Gina, that guy out there is carrying a gun. Did you know that?"

I blink, staring at Lyla as her words slowly register.

"What?"

She releases my arm and looks at me through grave eyes. "He left his jacket in the den last night. I happened to see it this morning, went to move it, and a gun fell out. Why does he have a gun?"

I glance at Lyla's door, my heart sinking.

"I don't want some psycho in my apartment," Lyla continues. "You need to find out why he's carrying. And if his answer doesn't include the fact that he's a cop, then he needs to get out of here. We can't have some thug from Alabama..."

She's talking so fast, I barely have a chance to think, let alone respond.

"Lyla," I finally say. "I don't think it's that big of a deal. This is Louisiana - lots of people carry concealed weapons. You're freaking out for no--"

"I'm not freaking out," Lyla cuts in. Annoyed, I purse my lips and watch her scowl at me as she continues, "I'm merely saying that if this guy is not an Officer of the Law, then you need to get him and his gun out of my apartment."

"You're being weird." I cross my arms. "Why?"

"This isn't being weird. This is being logical!" She looks at me like I'm insane. "And if you can't see that, then you're even worse off than I thought."

"Worse off than you thought?" I repeat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lyla shakes her head. "Just get him out of here."

I bite down on my bottom lip, watching her. A drop of water falls from the tip of one of her perfectly trimmed locks and lands on the shoulder of her white robe.

"Fine, we're headed out anyway." A nagging feeling turning my stomach, I quietly add, "And I'm not stupid, Lyla. I can tell when someone's hiding something, which Seth isn't. He's a genuinely nice guy."

Lyla sighs and points to her vanity. "Let me help you with your hair before you go."

"Thanks." Hesitant, I offer her a smile and she nods with an unspoken, "We're okay now."

I follow Lyla to her vanity where her perfumes, hairsprays, and various types of brushes are all neatly arranged in their respective homes. I sit down and absently pick up one of her brushes, my thoughts returning to Seth.

"So, anyway, back home, my friend Jill is having this huge art show in May and I think you and Luke should both finally come up to visit. Oh, I left my comb in the bathroom, hang on..."

While Lyla heads to her bathroom I glance back at her bedroom door, my thoughts returning to the man on the other side.

It doesn't bother me that Seth owns a gun. Lots of nice, southern folk own weapons. But something is bothering me- why did he make the choice to bring it into my apartment instead of just leaving it in his car? Should I be worried about his intentions?

#

Swamp Rose General Hospital

I should just drop it. It's not my place to ask...

Realizing that I'm clutching my bag of apple and cinnamon scones way too tightly, I loosen my grip. As soon as I hand the bag to Ms. Della, she'll take a look at the hand indentations and say, "Who were you thinking about choking?" Ms. Della may be close to eighty, but nothing gets past her.

I move swiftly down the hospital corridor and pass a conversing doctor and nurse, both of their eyes glued to a patient chart in the doctor's hands.

... it's not my place to ask, because it's none of my business who Gina sleeps with. Her mistakes are her mistakes.

I grit my teeth and try to disregard the twinge of jealousy in my gut. But the truth is, Gina's sex life would be a million times easier to disregard if she'd quit throwing it in my face. I know she doesn't do it on purpose, but there it is - TMI on my doorstep every day and it's torture. First, she calls me and there's some guy's voice in the background. Then, I try to help her out at work and she insinuates that she doesn't need my help because all she has to do is flirt with our horndog of a boss. It's starting to become more than just annoying.

I wipe a film of sweat from my brow and glance at a clock on a nearby wall.

11:40. Twenty minutes before I need to be at Corner Bakery.

"Dr. Ramachandran, please report to room 202. Dr. Ramachandran..." The hospital's overhead intercom announces.

The nurse's station looms ahead, bustling with the noise and movement of the many plump and white-haired ladies who wave to me as I lift an arm in return.

Oops. I meant to bring them scones too. This will be the second day in a row I've forgotten about them.

"What about us?" One of them, Cathy, points to the Corner Bakery bag in my hand and feigns jealousy. "We're hungry too, you know."

"I know, I know." I grin and reply over my shoulder, "Sorry, Cathy. Next time, I promise."

A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead and onto my left earlobe as I stop in front of Ms. Della's half-opened door. Behind me, I hear one of the newer hospital volunteers - I think her name is Greta - loudly whisper, "Such a nice young man. Is he straight?"

My face grows hot and I sigh as I knock on Ms. Della's door.

Seriously? Greta barely knows me, and she assumes I'm gay?

I clear my throat, knock more assertively and lower my voice as I say, "Ms. Della? It's Luke."

I roll my eyes at myself. What am I doing? My tone of voice and the way I knock on a door have nothing to do with my sexuality.

"Come on in, Luke," Ms. Della calls.

I push through the door and step into the small hospital room that Della Watkins, my old high buddy's grandmother, has been occupying since her hip surgery.

Thin and sickly, but smiling broadly, Ms. Della sits up in bed. As always, her dark eyes are alert, and she's got a nice cheerful red robe thrown on over the dingy hospital gown Swamp Rose General makes their patients wear.

"It's so sweet of you to keep doing this," Ms. Della says. Her gaze goes to the bag in my hand and she mutes the television. "And in between running from one job to the next. You don't have to do this for me, you know."

"Course I do." I smile and, approaching her bed, set the bag down. She bats her lashes like a young coquette. I chuckle and lightly kiss her on the cheek, getting a whiff of cocoa butter and baby powder. "Ms. Della, you're the best thing about my mornings."

If Gina would actually show up for work every now and then, this would be a flat-out lie. But since Gina Russo has, as of late, become the worst version of herself, a 78-year-old woman with a bum hip and a charmingly frank communication style, really is the best thing about my every morning.

I take a step back and point to the scones. "I made them this morning and re-warmed them in the microwave before I left work just now, so hopefully they're hot enough."

Ms. Della's gray eyebrows go up as she assesses me from head to toe.

Self-conscious, I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

"Thank you, sugar. Speaking of hot, why are you so sweaty?" She looks at me expectantly. "Is it that hot outside or did you just have a conversation with Gina Russo?"

I laugh even as the warmth of a blush creeps into my face and neck. "It is hot out... and, uh, it sounds like Darrell told you about Gina?"

"You know that boy of mine; he's worse than a girl when it comes to gossip." Ms. Della grabs the Corner Bakery bag and starts to open it. I realize that I forgot to bring napkins for her and, briefly scanning the room for anything that will suffice, make my way to a box of tissues on a nearby counter as Ms. Della continues, "He says you've been in love with Gina since high school. That true? Or is he exaggerating? Sometimes Darrell exaggerates."

I pull several thick tissues from the box and, considering how I ought to respond, hand them to her.

Ms. Della takes the tissues and looks at me with wide brown eyes that I'm just now noticing have a light blue hue around the edges, as if she might be developing cataracts.

"Well?" she urges as she uses one of the tissues to grab a scone from the bag. "Or am I getting too personal? You can tell me if I am."

I offer her a rather pathetic attempt at a smile and find myself inching towards a nearby seat.

I don't have much time. I really shouldn't sit down...

I collapse into the seat and run a hand through my hair, which is damp with sweat.

I hope I don't stink. Sometimes I can't smell myself. It's strange. I can smell everything else with perfect clarity, but I can rarely tell what I smell like.

"I'm sorry," Ms. Della says. "I'm asking too many questions."

"Of course you're not," I quickly say.

She takes a bite of her scone.

"I should change the subject," she says and a crumb falls from her bottom lip. I smile at the sight. My mom used to eat like that, without a care in the world, eating and talking and laughing, not at all worried about looking prim and proper.

I shrug. "Nah, it's okay. You don't have to."

"Well, I am." Ms. Della arches an eyebrow at me. "I'll harass you about something else I've been meaning to get after you about. That's what we mama bears do to our kids. You know that, don't you?"

I laugh, but an unexpected warmth unfurls around my heart.

Startled by the emotion, I shift in my seat and look up at Ms. Della's television, blind to whatever's happening on screen. Why is the same warm, homesick feeling I get when I'm cutting into a perfectly baked apple pie suddenly beginning to surface in my heart?

"You know you're like a son to me," Ms. Della says.

The warmth intensifies. It becomes a blush that travels to my neck and cheeks. Unable to continue pretending I have any interest in what's on television, I look at Ms. Della.

She's chewing slowly and holding what's left of her scone as she watches me, worried affection written all over her face. It's a look I know all too well, because it's the same way my uncle looks at me when he thinks I don't notice.

I gulp and consider telling Ms. Della I'd better go.

"So, I worry after you the way I do Darrell. And you know what I tell him?" she asks, taking another bite of her food.

I shake my head. "No, ma'am. But I bet I will in a moment."

She laughs, mouth open, see-food all over the place.

I grin.

"You know that's right, sugar." She nods. "I told that boy if he took another semester off to stay here and help me, I'd send him to the swamp and feed him to the gators. I will kill him if he keeps missing school for me and my dud of a hip."

"But he likes taking care of you," I point out. "And--"

"No, no, no." She shakes her head and waves one of her index fingers back and forth as she briefly closes her eyes. "He loves me and that's wonderful, but God didn't put my baby on this planet just so he could love his grandma. Darrell is an actor, right?"

She looks at me and I nod quickly.

"I always tell him, 'You have to do what God put you on this earth to do.' So no more semesters off for my sake." Ms. Della pauses, shoots me a pointed look and then pops the last of her scone into her mouth. "What about you, Luke? Did God put you on this earth to work in your uncle's bakery for another five years?"

Blinking quickly, I return my attention to the muted television.

Is helping Uncle Joe the sole purpose of my existence?

I frown at what appears to be a soap opera. Some over-dressed man is walking in on a kissing, and similarly over-dressed, couple who hurriedly end their embrace.

Maybe that is what I'm supposed to do with my life...help my uncle.

At the thought of another five years behind Corner Bakery's counter with a forced smile on my lips while some customer asks why we stay open so late, the warmth surrounding my heart goes black, and making like a tourniquet, it begins to squeeze the life out of me.

I take in a gulp of air and sit up straighter. Once I've caught my breath, I say, "I'm not sure."

"Let me put it this way, sugar." Ms. Della clears her throat. "Are you happy at the bakery?"

I glance at her and she's watching me with blatant curiosity. I avert my eyes to the very edge of her white sheet, which has slipped off her bed and hangs below the bedrail.

"Well." Lowering my gaze to one of my shoes, I choose my words carefully. "I like helping my uncle, but it isn't the most challenging job in the world."

"So, go challenge yourself." She chuckles.

I smile and nod, tapping my fingers on my knee.

If only it were that simple. If only it wouldn't be the epitome of douchery to look my uncle in the face and say, "Hey, Uncle Joe, even though you took me in as your own and loved me like a father, I'm going to go ahead and move to New York City and leave you on your own. Have a great life!"

In the distance, some doctor is paged via Swamp Rose General's intercom and I glance at the hallway.

"I'd better get to the bakery." I stand.

"Oh, rats," Ms. Della says, her nose wrinkled and a scowl above her wide set eyes. "I've upset you."

"No, impossible," I assure her with a smile. Despite the strong possibility of my smelling like sweat, I lean towards the older woman and give her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be back tomorrow." I start to leave, but she grabs my hand and I turn back to her in surprise.

Ms. Della looks into my eyes. "Do what God put you on this earth to do." Her intensity is so startling that it sends a stilted funeral-smile to my lips, the kind of twitchy smile that, when suppressed, gets wider and turns into an outright laugh. Ms. Della chuckles, affection in her eyes, as she releases my hand. "Get on out of here, Luke."

I do just that, her advice bumping around the walls of my cranium as I wish, possibly harder than I ever have, that I had the courage to do what she's suggested - the courage to challenge myself.

#

Alyssum Studios

The theater's lights go down and I lace my hands together, discreetly observing from my position in the back of the auditorium.

The small room is filled to capacity, each chair occupied by a subject who is medicated and strapped to their seat. Just as I've directed, the subjects have been fitted with transcranial magnetic stimulation coils and remote-control Oxytocin nasal-spray devices.

From all appearances, this batch is prepared for the initial stage of The Metamorphosis.

Still, a part of me wonders if I've chosen poorly... if what I'm doing is wrong.

I sigh, irritated by the doubt that's barged into my thoughts.

To doubt myself on the grounds of "morality" is a waste of energy.

I straighten my spine and force my attention to the auditorium's special-made theater seats as they rock each subject in a gentle motion, swaying them from left to right.

I move forward and slowly make my way in between the aisles, observing each subject. Their eyes are wide, staring transfixed at the screen ahead.

I come to a halt beside an attractive twenty-something who resembles a wannabe actor with his trendy haircut, tight V-neck t-shirt, and chiseled jaw. Oblivious to my presence, he stares at the large theater screen, his eyelids fluttering like he's on the verge of sleep.

I rest an arm on the back of his seat, allowing myself a smile as I watch him.

The rocking seats coupled with the diluted liquid dose of MDMA I've had administered are designed to thrust my subjects into a heightened state of relaxation. Clearly, the combination works well.

I lean against the young man's seat and watch him succumb to the truest form of peace.

We humans - if I can still count myself as such - are fascinating. We're most vulnerable when we're either in a heightened state of relaxation or a heightened state of anxiety; opposing conditions that result in the same outcome.

These subjects will be exposed to both extremes as this will ensure the collapse of their self-identity. And once their personalities have been erased, they'll be ready for service.

They have no idea what's in store for them.

I toy with my cat's eye ring and follow the young man's gaze to the theater screen ahead. The darkened monitor fills with circles that expand and contract at dizzying speeds. The sporadic motions of the kaleidoscopic shapes ever so gently begin to pull me into their dance and it takes a surprising amount of willpower to tear my eyes away from the screen.

Well, apparently, I am still human enough to fall into my own trap.

I glance at the young man beside me and his bloodshot eyes are now opened wide, fixed on the screen, mesmerized.

His lips part and his chest rises and falls in quick succession.

I unclasp my hands and bring my ring to the curve of his cheek. I trace it across the scruff on his jaw and down to his chin.

I know what he's feeling - the satisfaction of letting go. He's losing his identity and gaining so much more. Years ago, I did the same. I abandoned the girl I once was, and it was the wisest decision I'd ever made.

A few hours from now, this young man will be an entirely new person. His memories will be spliced and interspersed with a recently conceived devotion to me. This devotion will grow at an astonishing rate, and eventually, his every word, movement, and thought will succumb to me.

I run the stone of my ring across his bottom lip, careful to avoid the saliva that's collected in his opened mouth. In a moment, it'll spill from the corner of his lips.

Some people would see this as a crime. They'd accuse me of ruining this young man's life. But my mission is one of purity. If anything, I'm his savior. I'm giving him, and all of these people, the one thing every human craves and is too cowardly to reach for...

I can't help but smile as I quietly say, "I'm going to make you brave."

#

Coffee Etc's

I grip my steering wheel, stare at Coffee Etc's front door, and mentally prepare myself for the fact that I'm going to screw up this job interview. After all, how could I not screw it up? I really want the owner to let me shoot and direct a commercial for this place, but it's me, Gina Russo, the Duchess of Disaster! Every time I really want something, I do something to hinder myself from getting it.

I shake my head.

OK. I might as well just go ahead and get this next failure over with.

Sighing, I grab my purse and hop out of my car.

I've barely taken two steps when my phone vibrates with a text.

My heart skips as beat as my thoughts go to Seth.

I grab my phone and immediately lose any iota of joy as I read Lyla's text:

Lyla: Did u ask Seth about that gun yet?

"Why is she being such a pain about this?" I mumble as I type a quick reply.

Gina: Not yet. Right now I'm headed into Coffee Etc's for my interview. TTYL!

With this, I roll my eyes and throw my phone into my purse. A rustling noise sounds above and I glance up to catch sight of a squirrel jumping down from the branch of an overhead oak tree. The manic fuzz ball scampers across Coffee Etc's parking lot, its brown tail bigger than the rest of its body.

Usually, the sight of a hyperactive squirrel is enough to make me chuckle, but at the moment, it doesn't even elicit a smile.

I remove my sunglasses and shove them into my purse as I continue my trek to the small coffee shop's front door.

Yes, the fact that Seth brought a gun into our apartment is unsettling, but what's more upsetting is Lyla.

First, she keeps looking at me like I'm a freaking jar of mayonnaise that's spouted lips and somehow begun to speak and then she says, "You're even worse off than I thought."

I know I need to sit down with her and find out why she's being so weird, but I hate confrontation. Especially with someone I care about.

I open Coffee Etc's door and step inside. The familiar aromatic blend of coffee and pastries makes its way to my nostrils, but for once, I don't pause to take a greedy deep breath. Usually, the smell of this place fills me with insatiable hunger. Today, it only adds to my dread.

I fall in line behind a short blonde guy who hands my favorite barista, Kayleigh, a wad of cash in exchange for his order.

When I was in high school, I'd camp out here to work on my screenplays. It was next to impossible for me to concentrate on my writing at home. I eventually wrote every last one of my nine screenplays here.

Now, I readjust my purse on my shoulder as Mike, a barista with long brown dreadlocks, slides the short blonde guy's completed order across the white quartz countertop and shouts, "Caramel frozen coffee!"

Nerves coursing through me, I try to review what I'm going to say when I meet Coffee Etc's owner, Alan Freeman.

I actually have Luke to thank for this meeting with Alan. Luke's the one who saw the ad in the classifieds. "Coffee Etc's would like to hire the services of a local videographer to helm the production of a 1-2 minute commercial ..." He encouraged me to respond, and I was all in.

But now that I'm standing here in my lucky red sundress, only a few minutes away from meeting Alan Freeman, it's really hitting me that the only commercial I've ever directed was a thirty-second internet ad for Luke's uncle's bakery.

When Mr. Freeman asks me about my experience and finds out I'm nothing but a receptionist with dreams as big as her crazy hair, there's a good chance he'll laugh in my face.

Coming here was a bad idea. Who do I think I am?

And now my hands are starting to sweat. Great. I wipe them on the pleated skirt of my dress. Kayleigh catches my eye and waves.

"Hey, you!" she shouts as she tosses a customer's unwanted receipt into the nearby trash can. Kayleigh's voice is as giant as she is tiny and when she shouts her greeting, the short guy who's stepped away from the counter stops in his tracks to look back at her, his eyebrows going up. But Kayleigh doesn't notice. She leans on her register and gives me a bright smile. "Are you nervous? You look nervous."

Her tiny diamond stud nose ring glints under the bar's chrome pendant lights and I notice that she's added a few raspberry-colored streaks to her bob. I like that the streaks match her lip color. She's managed to nail Trendy Punk meets Goth Chic with enviable precision. I wish I could pull that off. Unfortunately, I can't escape the vortex of flirty sundresses that my wardrobe seems to have fallen into.

"I'm literally peeing my panties as we speak." I chuckle, but it sounds like a dry cough. I clear my throat and set my purse on the counter. "So, am I the only videographer your boss is interviewing today? Or are there others?"

Kayleigh lifts a finger, gesturing for me to wait a sec. She taps a button on her headset and says, "Welcome to Coffee Etc's! What can we get started for you today?"

While she takes an order, I turn to scan the small crowd of seated patrons. If any of my fellow coffeeholics are dressed up and carrying briefcases, that could mean they're my competition. Who else would dress up just to hang out in a coffee shop on a Monday afternoon?

All four of the circular three-seater tables near the door are occupied by casually dressed patrons, and the tiny wooden two-seater in the middle of the room is home to a well-dressed graying couple who seem to be enjoying a lively conversation.

I turn my attention to the very last two-seater near the restrooms and blink in surprise as my heart trips over a couple of beats. An all too familiar tall, dark-haired man in a ridiculously attractive suit occupies this table. His longish hair, falling just below his chin, is so dark that it's almost pitch black.

I cross my arms as a rush of heat tears through my entire body. It's Seth Scardina. I only left him a couple of hours ago and now he's here in Coffee Etc's, at the same time as me! And it's not like I told him about my job interview. What are the chances of us meeting again today?!

I am now grinning like a complete fool.

Maybe this isn't a coincidence, maybe it's destiny! Like, a sign that we're meant to-

Kayleigh's voice cuts into my mushy thoughts. "Sorry about that, and yeah Mr. F said there's one other videographer he's going to meet with." She adjusts her headset and glances back to shout an earsplitting order to Mike before returning her attention to me. "The other videographer is this super stuck up dude who doesn't even call himself a videographer. Says he prefers the term, 'cinematographer.' He's over there. The long-haired jerk in the I'm-So-Fancy suit."

I lose my grin.

"Seth Scardina is a cinematographer?" I whisper.

Kayleigh glances at me. "Oh. You know him?"

"You could say that." I take a deep breath and smooth down my curls. "We hooked up last night and then we basically spent the entire morning together. But he never said a word about being a freaking cinematographer."

"Woah." Kayleigh cringes in sympathy. "Did he know you were coming here for the interview? Because if he did, that's beyond wrong."

I shake my head. "I didn't tell him, so it's not his fault." I glance over my shoulder and steal another peek at Seth. He's focused on whatever it is he's typing, his blue eyes narrowed in intensity while his dark hair falls in his face. Why does he have to be so beautiful?

"Hey, you know what I think?" Kayleigh says.

"What?"

She rests her elbows on the register and leans towards me. Kayleigh's eyes are as brown as her natural hair color and she looks right at me as she speaks in that candid way of hers. While she talks, I lose focus on what she's saying and study her.

If Kayleigh could act, she'd be perfect as a modern take on Lois Lane. In fact, if I were a real director, I'd produce and direct a television series based on Lois Lane and her adventures as a reporter. She'd be Hispanic like Kayleigh, and bilingual, and there would hardly be any mention of Superman. Instead, Lois would be the main --

Someone's chair squeals as it's dragged across the tile and the sound yanks me from the black hole that is my brain.

I tune in to what Kayleigh's saying. "... don't let this guy intimidate you. In fact, you need to shake him up. Go over there and be like, 'Surprise, sucker! I'm your competition.'"

I shake my head. "Me being Seth's competition is probably worse for me than him. I'm pretty sure I'm going to bomb this interview."

Kayleigh looks at me for a few seconds and I wonder what she's thinking. "You," she finally says with a slow blink, "sounds like you've already given up."

"No way. Of course not." I bite the inside of my cheek and avoid looking Kayleigh in the eye. She's right. I make myself look at her and confess, "I'm just scared."

"Of what?" Kayleigh spits out the two words and slams her fist down on the counter. I wince at the noise.

"Geez, Kayleigh." I chuckle. "Um, I don't know?" I shrug.

"Screw fear," she says. "Just go face him. Even if you're scared. If it were me, that's what I'd do."

I smile and nod. She is so Lois Lane.

"I'm serious!" She points to the back of the small coffee shop. "Gina, this job is yours. So, go make sure Mr. Fancy Suit knows that. And then handle your meeting with Mr. F. Okay?"

"Go talk to him? But... but..." I glance at Seth. His broad shoulders are relaxed and he sits with one of his long legs resting atop the other. "But what if he thinks I'm stalking him or something?"

"He won't think you're stalking him," Kayleigh quickly replies, annoyance in her tone. "If you need incentive, how about I'll bring you your favorite drink on the house if you go over there and talk to him."

"Since when do you y'all serve vodka?" I'm only joking, but to be honest, just the thought of that crisp clean ice water with a burn is sending a jolt of desire to my throat.

I gulp.

Kayleigh arches an eyebrow at me. "You don't need vodka. You've got this."

I smile. "I wish confidence was contagious. If it was, every time I came here, I'd bring pepper to throw in your face and when you'd sneeze, I'd breathe in your projectile snot."

She frowns. "A, that's disgusting. And B, you don't need my confidence. You just need to be who you are, which is brave. Go talk to him, Gina."

I take a deep breath.

"Go now," Kayleigh hisses.

"You're so bossy."

"No, I'm inspirational. Less talking and more moving, Gina!"

"Fine. I'm going." I grab my purse and tell myself to be brave as I head towards Seth.

"SO, WHAT ARE you doing here?" Seth releases me from our hug and gestures to the empty chair at his table. "Sit."

His eyes lit up the second he saw me, and that in itself was a confidence boost.

I slide into the seat and grin. "Thanks, yeah, so this is slightly awkward but, um, I think we're sort of both here for the same reason."

Seth's face falls. "Oh. The commercial?"

"Yeah." I force a laugh and, pushing a strand of hair out of my face, glance down. Despite the confidence boost, I don't think I can look at him right now. "I know what you're probably thinking. That--"

"That if I get it, I should partner with you so we can shoot it together?" Seth nods. "Yep, that's exactly what I was thinking."

I look up and a slow smile is forming on his lips. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." His grin widens. "We'd be great together."

That grin... I don't know. I like Seth, but if I'm honest with myself, there's a doubt I can't explain that keeps tugging at my heart. Maybe Lyla put it there when she mentioned the gun.

"Awesome, thanks. Wow." I clear my throat, pull my phone out of my purse and pretend to check a text as I say, "So, like, why didn't you tell me you were a cinematographer when I mentioned how I'm into film or whatever?"

"Hm." After making this thoughtful noise, Seth pauses.

And then he pauses some more.

... annnd some more.

I use the excessive pause to re-read Lyla's last text five times and then I scroll up to work on re-reading every one of Luke's texts that I've saved. There's a lot of them, so at least this will keep me busy until Mr. Scardina over here finds his voic--

As Seth finally replies, I realize I've been holding my breath. My eyes still on my phone, I exhale as quietly as I can. "When I asked you about yourself, you seemed embarrassed. So I assumed I was getting too personal and I backed off. That's why I spent the rest of the morning just trying to keep it casual. You know?"

I glance up and Seth's staring at my face like it's a freaking map, his gaze wandering from my wild brown curls to the very tip of my chin.

Self-conscious, I shove my sweaty palms under the table and wipe them on my dress. "Yeah, I get it. And, honestly, I had a great time, so I wouldn't mind, like, hanging out again or whatever. If you want. No pressure."

Seth's gaze is really intense and those piercing blue eyes amplify it to an almost unbearable degree. I shift in my seat and gulp so loudly, I'm sure the people on the other side of the café have heard me.

"Yeah. I'd like that." He smiles. "So, is it cool if I ask you a relatively personal question now?"

"Yeah, ask away." I return his smile, my thoughts drifting to the gun Lyla found.

This is good. He'll ask me something personal and then I can slip in a question about the gun and that won't be too weird... hopefully.

Seth leans towards me and asks, "What got you interested in film?"

"Oh, my God! That's the easiest question anyone could ever ask me!" Immediately perking up, I clasp my hands together. "So, I've always loved to write stories and, really, just any kind of storytelling is right up my alley - performing, writing, whatever. But, anyway, when I was about eight, I saw an Amelia Hearth movie called, Sinderella with an S and I fell in love with it so much that I decided right then and there I wanted to film the stories I wrote, just like Amelia Hearth."

Seth's face falls and I watch, surprised, as his eyebrows come together in a frown. "You're an Amelia Hearth fan?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? She's amazing."

"She's a lunatic."

I flinch. When someone insults my favorite filmmaker, it literally hurts - like I feel a twinge of actual pain in my body.

Seth lowers his gaze to the table, his brow furrowed.

"First of all, she's not a lunatic," I retort. "She's a talented artist and her films are groundbreaking. She's a pioneer and she's opened a lot of doors for female filmmakers." Seth arches an eyebrow, but says nothing. "Amelia shows life the way it is; a beautiful but awful struggle to survive. Her audiences leave the theater empowered like, 'Yeah, life is hard but we can make it.'"

"By being ruthless." Seth's lips are pinched, like he's tasted something terrible.

"You know what?" I shake my head. "Maybe sometimes we do have to be a little ruthless to get where we need, especially women. And look at Amelia herself, for example. She's a severely hard of hearing woman who was raised in an orphanage. Just getting out of that life took courage! Maybe certain privileged people can sit back and call that kind of bravery 'ruthless,' but--"

"Gina?" Kayleigh's voice sounds from behind me.

I turn around and my friend is wiping her free hand on her apron while she uses the other to extend an iced coffee my way.

"Your drink." Smiling, she nods to the back of the café. "And Mr. F says he's ready to see you."

God help me, this is it.

My nerves instantly returning, I accept the drink. "Thanks."

She gives my shoulder a squeeze before scurrying back to the counter.

I turn to Seth and he's watching me intently. "Uh, I probably overreacted about the whole Amelia Hearth thing. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion. Sorry about that."

"No need to apologize. I like your passion. You should know that by now." He smirks and I blush. "Good luck, Gina Russo."

"Thanks. You too, Seth Scardina." I grin and grab my things.

It's now or never.

I take a deep breath and make my way to Coffee Etc's back office.

Me versus a cinematographer who looks like Benedict Cumberbatch's hotter cousin and has the guts to criticize America's favorite filmmaker? Yeah, there's not even a remote chance I'll get this job.

Butterflies forming in my stomach, I pause and glance back at Seth. He's already returned his attention to his laptop, furiously typing away.

Oh well. All I can do is try.

MR. FREEMAN, COFFEE Etc's owner, is a lot older than I expected. He sounded young over the phone, but now that I'm seated across from him in a cramped office no bigger than your average walk-in closet, I can see that he's in his late fifties at the very least.

His light brown skin isn't terribly wrinkled, but the crow's feet near his eyes and his salt-and-pepper hair are telltale signs of his age. He lifts a small stack of papers from his cluttered desk, holds them in the air, and looks around as if he isn't sure where to set them.

"Let's see now..." he mutters.

I smile to myself. This guy is kind of adorable.

"You remind me of my grandfather," I blurt.

Mr. Freeman looks at me in surprise and inadvertently sets the papers down in the spot they'd been before. "So your grandfather is a devastatingly handsome Denzel Washington lookalike?" he asks with a smile.

I laugh. "Maybe more of a Robert DeNiro lookalike. I meant that my grandfather had this way of making people feel comfortable," I explain. "And I can see you're like that too."

"How kind of you. Thank you." Mr. Freeman smiles. His chair squeaks as he leans back and points to his mess of a desk. "I had your business card, the one you gave Kayleigh, somewhere in this mess. Unfortunately, I can't seem to find it at the moment."

"I have more." I reach into my purse, retrieve one, and hand it to him.

"Great, thanks." Mr. Freeman accepts the card and nearly knocks my iced coffee off the edge of his desk. I catch it and he apologizes profusely. "Ah, sorry, I'm such a klutz. Good thing you have great reflexes."

I grin and carefully position my coffee back on his desk. "It's no problem. And if you think you're a klutz, just spend a couple of hours with me. I'm ten miles past clumsy. It's kind of sad, really." I laugh, and then realize Mr. Freeman isn't laughing with me.

Instead, he simply looks at me for a long moment and then nods, like I've just said something profound - which I'm pretty sure I haven't. At all.

"So, I went to your website and looked at all the videos you've got there and I've got to say, you're talented, Gina," he finally says. I grin and glance down to soften the Cheshire Cat-nature of my huge, dumb grin. Unfortunately, it only worsens as Mr. Freeman continues, "You're, hands down, a talented kid. How old are you anyway?"

"Thank you. I'm twenty-two."

"Just twenty-two? Wow." Mr. Freeman tilts his head and looks at me as if I've just explained the Higgs Boson theory. "So, did you go to school for film? What do they call it? Film school? Is that what they call it?"

"Yes, sir, that's what they call it." I toy with a loose thread on my purse. "But no, I didn't go to film school. I wish... I wish I could have."

Mr. Freeman looks at me with interest. "What stopped you?"

"My senior year in high school, my grandfather died," I say, my gaze going to the brown buttons on Mr. Freeman's sweater vest. "If I'd moved away, that would've left my grandma on her own and she was sick, so I stayed to help her out."

"I'm so sorry. Were you close to your grandfather?" Mr. Freeman asks, his voice softening.

"Yeah." I nod. "We were close. He loved that I liked writing and filmmaking. There wasn't a script I wrote that he didn't read. Whether it was good or bad, he was proud of it all."

"He sounds like a great guy."

"Thank you, he was."

Mr. Freeman looks at me with sad eyes. It takes a moment for me to realize that he's mirroring the expression in my eyes.

I force a smile and sit up straighter. "But, um, about the commercial - I'm curious about the direction you want to go in. The ad I shot for Corner Bakery, for example, you probably noticed that it's straightforward without a lot of fluff. Are you interested in something like that? Or would you, um, prefer a more artistic approach?"

I push my hair out of my face. I feel like I sound totally unprofessional. But hopefully he'll see past the way I can't seem to stop saying "um."

Mr. Freeman looks at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing as he says, "That's a good question. I'm thinking we want something humorous. Funny sticks in your mind. You see a commercial that makes you laugh, you remember it, right?"

I nod and my nerves fade. "Funny's perfect! Did you see the wedding trailer I posted two days ago? That bride wanted a funny video, so that's exactly what I made. I'm actually not bad at funny."

Mr. Freeman shakes his head. "I haven't seen it yet, but I'll be sure to watch it. Speaking of, I noticed most of the videos on your website are weddings. There's only one commercial - the one for the bakery. Besides it, have you filmed any other commercials?"

Okay... here it goes.

I lace my fingers together and shift in my seat. "No, sir. But, um, when I was in high school, I made two short films and one of them won the Louisiana Rising Star award."

Mr. Freeman's thick eyebrows go up. "Impressive." He smiles. "What was your film about?"

At the sight of his smile, I breathe a sigh of relief. "It was based on a local myth. You've probably heard it..." I glance at Mr. Freeman and he's still smiling, looking at me expectantly.

"Really? What's the myth?" he asks.

"Well," I chuckle. "The film was called Adam has Autism. It's all based on this old story about these Swamp Rose parents who found out their son had autism and they sent him to live at Serenity Bayous. You've probably seen the place - the old mental hospital out on River Road? But anyway, Adam died there and now people say his ghost haunts Serenity Bayous. It's kind of a goofy myth, but I wanted to take it from a serious perspective and use the film to focus on autism instead of the whole 'haunted loony bin' thing."

Mr. Freeman's smile has evaporated and his eyes are widening. Neither of us says a word while he stares at me in, what seems to be, shock.

Um, okay.

I clear my throat and speak simply to fill the chasm of silence we seem to have fallen into. "So, anyway, I made the film as a sort of test, because I planned to remake it when I had a bigger budget and more professional equipment. But after my grandparents passed, I just... uh, I guess, remaking it didn't seem as appealing."

Mr. Freeman nods and, without quite meeting my eyes, says, "Well, it certainly was nice to meet you, Gina. Thank you, um...thank you so much for stopping by."

"Oh. Likewise," I say, startled by his response.

Mr. Freeman rises to his feet and extends a hand for me to shake.

Why is this interview ending so abruptly?

Mentally panicking, I shake his hand and proceed to blather. "Mr. Freeman, this opportunity would mean the world to me. I know I'm young and inexperienced and not even all that good. But I love film and if you give me a chance, I'll do my best with your commercial, I swear."

I cringe. Did I say, "I'm not even all that good?"

"You're definitely talented and I consider it an honor simply to have met you," Mr. Freeman says as he taps his knuckles on the edge of his desk in a distracted sort of way. He frowns and sighs before glancing at me. "This is going to sound a little 'out there,' but it's something my wife always tells me. She says, 'Alan, the best thing you can do right now is to get out of your own way.' And she's usually right."

I nod and look at Mr. Freeman, waiting for him to continue.

He smiles, shrugs and says nothing more.

I blink, confused.

What are we even talking about?

The older man glances down at his desk and says, "Okay, then. I'll see you around, Gina. And, I'll be in touch."

I pin a smile to my lips and nod as enthusiastically as possible. "Right, thank you for your time, sir."

Before I even know what's happened, I'm ushered back out to the main floor. Clutching my purse, I walk on legs that feel like they're made of melting ice cream to the counter where Kayleigh sets a completed drink order down and shouts, "One extra grande caramel frozen coffee!" She catches my eye and smiles. "That was fast. How'd it go?"

I return her grin and force a gulp, hoping to wash away the tightness in my throat.

I can cry about this when I get home, but not here, where it will only put a damper on Kayleigh's afternoon.

"Great," I lie. But then I blurt, "I don't think Mr. Freeman liked me all that much, but whatever happens, it's all good."

"Oh no." Kayleigh's face falls and she grabs one of my hands. "Why do you say that?"

"He cut the interview short. It was so weird, Kayleigh." I sigh. "At first, everything was going really well, like, I thought we were clicking. But all of a sudden, I just... I lost him. It must have been something I said."

Kayleigh gives my hand a squeeze. "Actually, you know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, Gina, I don't think it was you."

I shake my head. "I'm pretty sure it was."

"No. You don't understand. Around this time of year, Mr. F gets super moody. He's normally great, but late February, early March is around the time his son died. So, when it's close to the anniversary of his death, Mr. F just isn't himself. So, trust me it wasn't you."

"Oh my God, his son died?" As I try and digest this information my thoughts go to the way I felt when my grandparents died, and I instantly understand the depth of Mr. Freeman's pain. "No wonder he seemed a little off. I totally get it."

"Yeah." Kayleigh releases my hand. "His son was just a kid. He had autism and Mr. F and his wife sent him to Serenity Bayous, but--"

"Yo, Kayleigh!" The other barista, Mike, calls from behind the counter. Kayleigh stops midsentence, turning to Mike as he tosses one of his long dreads over his shoulder and says, "Can I get a hand over here?"

"I'm coming. Sorry," she shouts before turning back to me. "Let's talk later, okay?"

"Okay," I agree, my heart pounding while Kayleigh scampers away.

Mr. Freeman's son had autism and he died...?

The light buzz of Coffee Etc's conversation fades around me as I mentally revisit the expression on Mr. Freeman's face while I explained the story that "Adam has Autism" was based on. Why did Mr. Freeman look so distraught when I mentioned--

I wince and my thoughts come to a halt. I close my eyes and mutter, "Oh no," as a piece of information I somehow seemed to have forgotten comes slithering from the recesses of my mind.

The supposedly "fictional" boy in the old wives' tale had a name, and it was Adam Freeman.

What if I accidently made a movie based on Mr. Freeman's son? Is it possible that the myth was based on a true story?

"Gina Russo." Seth's deep voice cuts into my thoughts and I turn around to find him right behind me.

"You headed to your interview?" I ask.

"Not yet." He touches my shoulder and smiles. "But, I have a confession to make."

With the discovery that Adam Freeman may have been real lurking in the back of my skull, I'm a little off my game and my smile feels forced as I say, "Okay, I'm listening."

"While you were in there, I found your website and watched some of your videos. You're surprisingly good." Seth crosses his arms. "You're like a young Amelia Hearth, minus the unnecessary darkness."

I'm like a young Amelia Hearth?!

"You really think so? Thanks." I grin. This time it doesn't feel forced. "That means a lot."

"It's the truth. By the way, here's my card with all my contact info..." He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and retrieves a swanky silver business card.

"Thanks." I take the card and look down at it. The elegant black script simply reads, "Seth Scardina, Cinematographer" with his phone number and website underneath.

"I want to see you again. Soon," he says. "I'm tied up tonight, but how about dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow's great." I look up to find him watching me, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he quietly says.

I laugh. "Okay." The word has barely left my lips when he slips an arm around my waist and kisses me. I close my eyes. His lips are so soft that I don't mind the bitter taste of his lip balm. His kiss, however, is anything but soft. I totally forget where I am and it isn't long before I hear myself moan like a goat in heat.

Behind us, Kayleigh clears her throat. Loudly.

"Mr. Scardina?"

Seth and I release each other.

"Yes?" Seth says.

I smooth down my dress and avoid Kayleigh's eyes as she says, "Mr. Freeman's ready for you now."

While she runs back to the bustling counter, Seth and I glance at each other; him smirking, me sheepish. We say goodbye and he plants one last kiss on my cheek.

A ferocious grin takes hold of my mouth as I watch him saunter away.

You know what? Who cares that Lyla has doubts about Seth. I feel good about him! And when I decide to ask him about that stupid gun, I'm sure he'd have a decent explanation.

Mr. Freeman emerges from the back hallway and at the sight of the older man, I lose my smile.

Seth stops in his tracks and extends a hand to Mr. Freeman.

I sigh and turn around, headed for Coffee Etc's exit.

Meeting Seth was good- the one thing I've gotten right in a very long time. But as usual, I've screwed up something else.

I shake my head at my thoughtlessness.

I can't believe that the supposedly mythical tale I used as the central plot of my movie might have been based on Mr. Freeman's son. Why didn't I do my research on Adam Freeman before I made that stupid movie?

I push my way through Coffee Etc's glass door and trudge to my car.

As soon as I can, I've got to research the Adam Freeman story, and find out if Adam was Mr. Freeman's son. If he was, I owe the man a huge apology.

#

Corner Bakery

"See you tomorrow, Ms. Mallory," I say as I grab my phone from beside the cash register.

"See you later, Luke," the perpetually blushing high school librarian replies. Her Corner Bakery bag in hand, Ms. Mallory nearly walks right into the bakery's front door.

"Careful." I point to the door.

"Oh!" She backs away from the door like it's an attack dog and her blush deepens.

"I do that at least once a week." I grin and hope Gina hasn't hung up on me. I glance at my phone. She's still holding. Good.

"Yeah? Well, it's more like once a day for me," Ms. Mallory says with a strained laugh.

I nod in understanding. "I was lying to save face; it's actually once a day for me too."

Ms. Mallory laughs and her blush deepens even more, which doesn't seem humanly possible. Her skin is beginning to resemble the same bright red of her hair.

Sometimes, when I'm looking at Ms. Mallory, I fear I'm peering at myself in a gender-reversing mirror: the hesitant eye contact, the nervous chuckle, the inability to decide where her hands are supposed to be while she stands there, poised to leave, yet too polite to end the conversation. It's all too familiar. If this is how Gina sees me, then it's no wonder she's slept with everyone in town except me.

I stifle a sigh and glance down at my phone as I unmute it.

"Okay, Ms. Mallory," I say, looking up to offer her a smile. "See you later."

"Oh, um." Her nearly translucent eyebrows rise while she pushes the door open. "You can call me Candice. That's, um, that's my first name."

"Sure, will do." I grin and bring my phone to my ear.

"Oh, um," Ms. Mallory says for the millionth time as she steps outside. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were on the phone."

"It's okay." I wave and she's finally out of the door.

That poor lady... I shake my head and realize Gina's laughing. I can't help but chuckle too, even though I have no idea what we're laughing at.

"Luuuuke," Gina says in between giggles. "Ms. Mallory is so into you, oh my God!"

I look down at the register and fiddle with the faded, "Thank you, come again" sticker on its side.

"Nah." I grin. "Seriously?"

Gina laughs even louder and my grin widens.

I love that sound; it's like pure happiness.

In this world with all its uncertainties, how often do you hear pure happiness? But when Gina laughs, there it is - pure happiness.

"Luke, she stops by your bakery every day," Gina exclaims. "Think about it...why does she do that?"

"Because I make the best scones in town."

A noisy eighteen wheeler passes on the street outside and I look up, turning my attention to our bakery's large window. Beyond Main Street's traffic, the sun is beginning to set, splaying pink and orange light across the sky. Between the perfect sunset and Gina's laugh in my ear, my restlessness evaporates and grounding satisfaction settles down on me.

Still smiling, I close my eyes.

"Or maybe you're the cutest guy in town and that's why she keeps coming back," Gina says. I open my eyes, listening as Gina continues, "And now she's all like, 'Call me Candice, you hunk of man, you. And turn around so I can have another look at that gorgeous booty.'"

A red Nissan 370Z zips by and when Ms. Mallory almost hits it with her blue Corolla, I only halfway notice the near accident, because... am I imaging things or did Gina Russo just compliment my looks and then refer to my butt as "gorgeous"?

I frown.

No, I must have misunderstood.

Then again, Gina thinks every guy she comes across is "cute" and God knows she's one to stare at a butt. In fact, when I'm out with her, the butt-ogling is pretty noticeable. Oblivious to the hell she's putting me through, she'll happily check out the back of every guy who walks by.

"Luke? You still there? Crap on a stick, I'm going to miss this light again," she mutters. "Luke?"

"I'm here," I say, watching Ms. Mallory finally make her way down the street. I run a hand through my hair. "Are you driving right now?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. It's not like I'm texting and driving. We're just talking."

I roll my eyes, but decide not to push it.

"So, anyway, what's this about the Adam Freeman thing?" I ask. "Are you sure he was a real person?"

"A thousand percent, yeah!" Gina exclaims, her voice going up an octave. It does that when she's defensive. Most people's voice will get lower when they're self-justifying, but not Gina. She's weird like that.

"I mean, I didn't actually look it up yet," she continues, her tone returning to normal. "But it just makes sense and plus that Kayleigh - oh my God! Sh--" The squeal of tires on asphalt fill my ears.

"Gina?" I stand up straighter, gripping the phone. "Gina, you okay?"

The line goes dead.

I call her back.

Her phone rings in my ear and I tell myself she'll answer.

It goes to voicemail.

My blood running cold, I dial her number again.

My heart pounding, I grab my keys and run to the bakery's front door where I flip the "Open" sign to "Closed." Her voicemail picks up.

This can't be happening... not again.

But apparently it is happening, because by the time I reach my truck, the sound of sirens have already filled the air.

#

The Intersection of Bienvenu and River Road

I smell flowers... Louisiana Alyssum flowers. They remind me of honeysuckle.

"Ms. Russo?" an unfamiliar voice asks as someone touches my shoulder. "Ms. Russo, can you open your eyes for me?"

I do as told and a dark-haired woman with a big nose is inches from my face, her hand resting on my shoulder. The smell of Louisiana Alyssum fades. Confused, I stare at the woman.

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "Who are you?"

She replies with a name I don't recognize. She says more, but I tune her out and study her face. She's got a cute little gap between her two front teeth, which also doesn't look familiar. I'd definitely remember that if we'd met before. Yeah, I have no idea who this woman is or what's going on.

She continues to talk and my gaze goes to the blue sky behind her. I realize that not only am I outside, but that I seem to be lying on my back... in the grass. Sirens blare around me and the grass's dampness seeps through the back of my dress.

I was in an accident! Reality comes rushing back to me. I remember being on the phone with Luke while trying to race through a yellow light that had just turned red. I didn't see the school bus until it was too late... my heart sinking, I sit up - well, I try to sit up.

A wave of dizziness overtakes me and the dark-haired woman puts her hand on my shoulder. "Take a deep breath."

I notice the EMT emblem on her dark blue collar and I do as told. But I think of the school bus and tears fill my eyes. It was full of kids... did I hurt them?

"Ms. Russo, do you have a headache?"

"N-no," I say while a tear slides down my cheek. I know what I need to ask this woman, but the words don't want to form on my lips. All I seem able to do is stammer, "The - the bus - "

"Do you feel nauseous?" she interrupts me and shines a tiny light in my eyes.

Blinking, I dodge the light and prop myself up on my elbows, but this only makes everything spin. I gasp as overwhelming dizziness returns to take hold of me.

"Ms. Russo, take it easy," the EMT warns. "There's a good chance you were exposed to a gas that's left you disoriented. So, take it slow, okay?"

I look at my hazy surroundings, trying to make sense of things. Once my thoughts are in some semblance of order, I'll be able to ask this woman a coherent question.

Gradually, my dizziness fades and my vision clears. The meaningless brushstrokes that surround me become crowds of people, trees, and vehicles.

Holy crap. My jaw drops as I look at the crowd of people in the street and median. There must be at least two hundred people here!

To my left, a fire truck is parked in the middle of the street. Beyond it, the traffic on Bienvenu Hwy has come to a complete standstill and is backed up as far as I can see. Just in front of the fire truck, a reporter interviews one of the firefighters, and behind the reporter, a bunch of kids with backpacks stand around, talking.

Thank God. I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the children, who seem to be all right. The scene-stealing students wave at the camera, hoping to score five seconds of fame on the local evening news. If any of them were hurt, I don't think they'd be hamming it up for the camera.

But, just in case, I return my attention to the EMT while she checks my blood pressure, and I ask, "Did I hurt any of the kids?"

She gives me a long look and silently shakes her head as she removes the cuff from my arm.

"That's good," I slowly reply, watching her. If I didn't hurt them, then why is she looking at me like that?

"Yeah, Ms. Russo," the EMT says with a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks to Unseen, everyone's fine. This could've been a lot worse." She avoids meeting my eyes as she stands and says, "I'll be back in a moment."

I watch her leave, confused. Thanks to Unseen?

In the distance, a policeman shouts, "All South Louisiana High Students, stay over here and form a line so we can get your parents' contact information!" He tries to herd the thirty or so high school students into an orderly line and it's clear that he'd have better luck herding cats.

"Hey, are you okay?" A light voice sounds beside me.

I turn around and a funny-looking girl with a backpack is approaching me. She actually looks like she could be a cartoon drawing of a nerd. She must be in high school, but she's so tiny, she could easily pass for twelve. She wears glasses that are bigger than her face and she's rocking unspeakably wild blonde hair. I've always considered my hair to be a bit of a curl-monstrosity, but this kid's hair is like Julia Roberts', circa Pretty Woman, if Julia had stuck her finger into an electrical socket while being struck by lightning.

"Uh..." I can't quite find my words as I stare at the girl. "Yeah, thanks. The bus - you, uh, you're from the bus I hit?"

"Yeah. I'm Andrea Moretti, but call me Andy." She extends a hand for me to shake. I do, rather limply, while she continues, "And, technically, you didn't hit our bus."

I frown, trying to remember exactly what happened. I know I was talking to Luke when I realized I was running a red light and headed straight towards a school bus. How could I have not hit it? It was right in front of me. There's no way I didn't cause a head-on collision.

"But how?" I ask. "There's no way I could've swerved in time to miss it."

"Think about it," the big-haired kid whose name I've already forgotten says with a toothy grin. "This many reporters don't show up for run-of-the-mill traffic accidents."

"I don't understand." I shake my head and another wave of dizziness overtakes me. "What are you saying?"

She sits down on the grass beside me, her eyes shining. "You should have hit our bus, but your car hit a tree and you were found right here, perfectly intact, your purse neatly beside you." Her eyes soften and she speaks slowly, as if she's addressing a toddler. "It was Unseen. Unseen stopped the accident. We all saw it."

Goosebumps creep up my arms and all I can do is stare at the kid.

"You didn't see that light in the sky- or anything?" she asks.

"I don't know...uh, no," I stammer. "I didn't see a light in the sky, what are you...what are you talking about?"

"Well, everyone on the bus did. Unseen saved your life. And if you don't believe me, just take a look at your car." She points to something behind me. Holding my breath, I turn around.

My little Honda is smashed into a ball, as if a giant hand has picked it up and crushed it in its palm. Just beyond my car, the school bus is perfectly intact.

At this, I promptly black out.

#

Swamp Rose General Hospital

I hurry down the hospital corridor, my pulse racing.

My surroundings are a blur. I see nothing other than the hospital room numbers to my left, which I'm able to focus on with surprising clarity. 105. The woman at the front desk said Gina's in room 105.

I frantically search for 105. 101 stares back at me, followed by 103 until finally, 105.

I push through the door and come to an abrupt halt.

Gina lies in a hospital bed, partially covered by a white bed sheet and her bright red sundress peeks out from beneath. Her warm brown eyes are open and as they meet mine, relief floods through me.

"Luke," she says with a wobbly smile.

"Hey." I head to her. Her skin doesn't seem to be bruised. As my gaze travels the length of her body, I don't see any sign of a cast, splint or other injury. She's really okay. Thank God.

I exhale between clenched teeth, weightlessness slinking away, gravity returning.

"I must have scared you to death. I'm sorry," she says, her voice low and groggy, like she's under heavy medication.

"Don't be. It's fine." As I approach her bedside, I notice for the first time that we aren't the only ones in the room. A uniformed nurse with a chart in her arms stands at my left. I take Gina's small cold hand in both of mine and offer the nurse a nod. "Hi. She doing okay?"

Now that I'm really looking at the nurse, I notice that she's about our age and vaguely familiar. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into the kind of high ponytail I remember Gina wearing in high school. The nurse gives me a big smile. "Gina's great. She woke up about twenty minutes ago."

"Thank you." I nod and return my attention to Gina.

Some people you can never look at enough, same as you can't make your favorite recipe too many times. The routine of moving through each familiar step is comforting, but inspiring. You know the recipe's nuances so well that each time you take it on, you see new possibilities for improvement.

That's what looking at Gina is like. She's complex, an entire universe within one woman. And even though she's always evolving, there's an unyielding steadiness that anchors her. All you have to do to see this, is look into her expressive brown eyes- especially when they catch the light. One look into her eyes, and you can't help but see how special she is.

I look down at her, breathing a sigh of relief that she's alright.

Her heart-shaped face is rounded by the high cheekbones on either side of the delicately freckled nose I've always wanted to kiss... if I ever get the chance to kiss her, that's where I'll start, with the freckles on the bridge of her nose.

And then...

I glance down at her mouth.

...her mouth, just on top of that deep Cupid's Bow.

Now, her lips curve upward, blossoming into a smile. I shift on my feet, realizing I'm staring too much.

"You'll never guess who stopped the accident," Gina says, her voice edged with sleep, like she's been drinking.

Oh no. I hope she wasn't driving drunk.

I instinctively tighten my grip on her hand.

I glance at the other side of her bed, looking for some kind of medication-filled IV that would explain why she sounds drugged, but there's no IV.

"You seem groggy," I slowly say, meeting Gina's eyes. "Were you, uh..." I can't seem to make myself finish the question, because I don't want to know the answer.

"She was unconscious at the time of the accident," the nurse interjects.

I turn to her in alarm. "Unconscious?"

The nurse nods, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. "Due to her interaction with Unseen."

Confused, I look from Gina to this vaguely familiar nurse. "I don't understand."

"You'll have to explain, Crystal. Oh, wait. Luke, you remember Crystal, right?" Gina points to the nurse. "Crystal Lovett from high school? When you walked in, we were talking about how Unseen stopped the accident. Go on, Crystal. Tell him about the shoron gas."

Shoron gas?

Flustered, I turn to Crystal expectantly. Come to think of it, I do remember this woman from high school. She'd been one of Lyla's most targeted victims. Even Gina was pretty rude to her. I used to feel sorry for Crystal.

Now, she flashes a pearly white smile my way and glances at the door behind us before setting Gina's patient chart down on the bed. "Well..." She lowers her voice and leans towards me. As she does, her scrub top moves down, revealing an ample amount of cleavage. Careful to keep my gaze on her eyes, I listen intently while Crystal continues, "The unofficial police report in Gina's chart says she was on course for a head-on collision with a school bus when something invisible - a strong unseen force - literally pushed her car away from the bus and into a tree."

I cringe, my chest aching at the thought of Gina and her car being flung into a tree.

Crystal touches my arm. "But Gina wasn't in her car when it hit the tree."

I blink back at her, trying to wrap my mind around the logic of what Crystal's just said.

"Isn't that crazy?" Gina pipes up from beside us.

I glance at her before returning my attention to Crystal. "Do you mean Gina was, um, thrown from the--"

"No." Crystal shakes her head, her voice still low and her eyes widening as they meet mine. "I'm saying Unseen was the invisible force that pushed her car away from the bus and then, before it hit the tree, he got her out of the car and laid her in the grass on the side of the road. That's where she was found, perfectly intact on the grass, her purse neatly beside her."

Crystal's eyes are bright, nearly sparkling with childlike wonder and her brows are raised as she grins, waiting for me to share her enthusiasm.

Speechless, I turn to Gina and she laughs. "I can tell you don't believe her. Crystal, tell him about the shoron gas. Luke's the kind who needs proof. He's never believed in Unseen."

"Okay, yeah, so there are two things we know for sure about Unseen. First of all, for some reason, he gives off a strong scent of Louisiana Alyssum," Crystal explains.

"Which I remember smelling right when my car was headed for the bus," Gina cuts in. "And I still smelled it when one of the EMTs woke me up."

"Right. And, secondly, every time Unseen rescues someone from a fire, a car accident, or whenever he renders a criminal unconscious, he uses something called shoron gas to do the trick." Crystal grabs the chart from Gina's bed and as she flips past a few pages. "And when we tested Gina for shoron exposure, she was absolutely full of it. See here? This explains her unconscious state."

Crystal points to some sort of exposure statistics within Gina's chart and I glance at the numbers while Gina mutters, "I'm full of gas, nothing new there."

"1.9 percent," I read out loud and, realizing that I'm clasping Gina's hand too tightly, release it a bit. I return my attention to Crystal. "What about side effects? What will this gas do to her?"

"Yeah, there are some minor side effects to shoron." She closes Gina's chart and shakes her head. "But it's nothing to worry about. She'll be groggy and a little clingy for the next six to eight hours, but that's about it. Trust me, Unseen wouldn't use anything that could hurt us."

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Most of the people in our town are obsessed with the notion of some superhero running around saving lives. I just can't subscribe to the idea that an invisible man exists, let alone pushed Gina's car towards a tree the way I'd push a shopping cart towards a shopping cart return - and then in less than a second, removed Gina from her car before it smashed into said tree. There's got to be a more logical explanation for what happened.

"Luke, isn't that crazy?" Gina interrupts my negativity and I glance at her. Her pretty brown eyes trap me in their grasp as she grins. "Unseen saved my life today!" Her eyes begin to water and helplessness washes over me.

I don't know what to do. I feel like Ms. Mallory, awkward and cursed with clumsy limbs that I have no clue what to do with.

I give Gina's hand a squeeze. As she sniffs, I consider leaning over the bed rail to hug her.

"Gina!"

At the sound of Lyla's voice in the doorway, my every hair stands on end and I experience a full-bodied wince.

I've, very briefly, dated three women within the past seven years. Two of them I now get along with just fine, and I even consider them friends. But Lyla Oni-Karlsson is an entirely different story.

Gina slips her hand out of my grasp. "Hey, Lyla."

"Lyla's here? God help us all," Crystal mutters from beside me.

I look at Crystal and she holds Gina's chart, rather protectively, as if it's a shield with which she can ward off Lyla's coming attack.

I know the feeling.

We exchange sympathetic grimaces. Stifling a sigh, I glance down at myself to assess how badly I'm going to be made fun of.

I forgot to take off my Corner Bakery apron, so that's going to be a major point of ridicule. Next on Lyla's list of "everything that's wrong with Luke" will most likely be the fact that my shirt and pants are stained with flour.

"Gina, are you all right?" A male voice asks and the room fills with not only the quick clicks of Lyla's heels, but the smell of expensive cologne.

I turn around as Lyla, likewise, comes to a halt and frowns at a tall, floppy-haired guy in a suit that looks like it costs more than the combined total of every piece of clothing I own.

He swifts past Lyla, ignores me completely, and grabs Gina's hand.

"I'm fine," Gina says, her face turning beet red. "How did you know I was here?"

Realizing that my fists are clenched, I exhale and try to relax. Is this the guy she was with this morning? I take in the sight of his longish hair, dark tailored suit, and polished shoes. I can't decide if he looks more like a villain in a made for TV movie or a sleazy politician.

"I heard the ambulances and then I saw your car and all I can say is if you were trying to get my attention, game over. You win." He looks into Gina's eyes searchingly, like an unrealistic male lead from one of the soap operas Ms. Della likes to watch. I give up on trying not to roll my eyes.

At this, he leans over the bedrail and kisses Gina.

My stomach turns and I look up at the ceiling, silently listing my favorite foods.

This is a "calming trick" my mother taught my sister, Lauren, and I when I was about eleven and Lauren six. As ridiculous as it sounds, it works.

Apple pie, pecorino pasta with fresh tomato and sausage, baked camembert.

"Seth," Lyla snaps, her sharp tone yanking me from my thoughts. "Get off her! She was just in a car accident; she might have broken bones."

I glare at the back of Seth's head while he continues to kiss Gina with a lingering slowness that lets us all know just how much he cares about Lyla's opinion.

I avert my eyes, lowering them to his shiny black shoes until he takes a step back, indicating that the kiss is finally over. Seth then maintains eye contact with Gina and she can't seem to see anyone except for him as he quietly asks, "Are you hurt?"

"She's fine!" I hear myself shout.

Oh, God.

I glance around nervously.

"Good grief, Luke! We're not deaf," Lyla snaps.

Seth turns to me, an eyebrow cocked. "I didn't even see you standing there, bro. How are you?"

I open my mouth to reply but before I can say so much as one word, he extends a hand. "I'm Seth, by the way. Who are you?"

What a douche.

I shake his hand and, as expected, he tries to out-grip my handshake.

"Luke," I reply, retracting my hand and nodding to Lyla. "And I'm going to step aside to let Lyla say hello to her friend."

I do exactly this while Seth chuckles and looks at me like I'm an amusing clown.

"Apparently, that's my hint to get out of the way," he says, moving to the foot of the bed while Lyla makes her way to Gina's side.

Crystal glances at me and murmurs, "I'm going to check on a few other patients. If Gina asks, I'll be back in a jiff."

I nod. "Thanks, Crystal. And it's good seeing you again. You look great by the way."

She beams, her eyes softening. "Aw, thanks, Luke. You too. You always were one of the good ones." She gives my arm a squeeze and slips out of the room.

I frown, staring after her.

One of the good ones... what does that mean, really? People say things like that to me all the time. I used to take it as a compliment. But now I'm starting to wonder if it's a positive thing. In the end, what does a "good guy" get?

I glance at Gina.

Lyla's on one side of her bed, making sympathetic noises as she listens to whatever it is Gina's saying and Sir Douche A Lot's made his way to the other side of her bed.

Just by looking at Seth, I wouldn't peg him as a clean-cut "good guy," but he's who Gina chose. And, at the moment, he's doing his job; Gina's literally surrounded by attention and care.

I cross my arms.

No matter how much it hurts, I can't deny that this is what Gina needs: care and attention. In fact, I don't think she even realizes how much she needs it. She gets drunk nearly every night because this is what she really craves.

As Seth plants a kiss on the bridge of Gina's nose, my thoughts fizzle and die. Jealousy erupts in the pit of my stomach. I shift from one foot to the other.

Seth says something that I can't hear and Gina laughs, her eyes sparkling with mirth. She reaches up and strokes the side of his face.

I shove my hands into my pockets, turn around, and make my way to the door.

As soon as Seth walked in with his expensive suit, confidence, and loud cologne, Gina's eyes lit up. If I had what he had, not just the clothes and the... the smell or whatever, but the confidence, if I had all of that, would she look at me the way she looks at him?

"Luke?" Gina calls and surprised, I jump.

I pause and turn around to find all three of them staring at me.

Lyla's arms are crossed and as terrifyingly beautiful as ever, she stares me down through narrowed green eyes while Seth looks at me with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah?" I ask, flustered. "What do you need?"

"You," Gina says with a sniff. "You're not leaving, are you?" she asks, her eyes still watery.

My heart softens and all traces of jealousy dissolve. I shake my head. "Course not."

"Good, get over here." Her voice cracks as she extends an arm my way.

I head towards her and dare a peek at Seth. If looks could kill, those eyes of his wouldn't be daggers, they'd be lasers and I'd be human-putty on the hospital floor.

Dismissing the human Ken doll's evil glare, I grasp Gina's hand and give her a smile.

"Sorry." She takes a deep breath and looks at me, her eyes heavy with sleep. "I don't know why I'm so clingy."

"It's an aftereffect of the shoron," I gently remind her.

Gina brings my hand to her cheek and my heart skips a beat. "Just don't go," she whispers, her eyes closing.

Her words tug at my heart and as I watch her fall asleep, it's the most natural thing in the world for me to say, "I'll be here as long as you need."

Lyla mumbles something about how sappy we sound, but I tune her out and push a stray curl away from Gina's forehead as her breathing evens out and her grasp on my hand relaxes.

She has to have feelings for me, I think... well, I'm about seventy-five percent sure. But I get the feeling that something's stopping her from acknowledging them. I also get the feeling that the "something" is me.

If I had Seth's confidence, she'd see me.

Ignoring the stilted conversation between Seth and Lyla, I watch Gina sleep and promise myself I'll do whatever it takes to make her see me.

#

Alyssum Studios

I exit the theater and Georgeann is at my heels. Without turning to her, I say, "Close the theater's door, Georgeann."

Of course, she does as told. I then lead the two of us down Alyssum's dark basement hallway towards the cryo-containment room. I glance at the cement walls on either side of us and a shiver claims my spine.

Try as I might to completely obliterate "Tessa," her presence and her memories always seem to find their way into my projects. Her memories become the underlying theme in each of my movies and, once again, here they are in the design of this hallway I've built.

I run a hand along the white cement walls and note their similarity to the cell walls of the facility where Dr. Mire and her I.T.I.S. lackeys kept Tessa hidden for three long years.

I drop my hand, dismiss the memories, and glance down at my shoes which, as lovely as they are, are beginning to kill my feet. "Georgeann?"

"Yes, Amelia?" My preferred Alyssum guard, a twenty-six-year-old former yoga instructor named Georgeann Swims, asks from behind me. Her footsteps hit the cement in a rhythm that's much faster than mine and for a moment I envy her navy blue orthopedic shoes. They're as comfortable as they are unstylish.

I propel myself up from the floor and hover above the cement, which sends immediate relief to my tortured feet.

"I've changed my mind about the subjects we've just seen in the theater," I say as I fly pass Georgeann and head towards the cryo-containment room ahead. "Once they've been reprogrammed, don't put them into cryopreservation. Instead, give them uniforms and put them to work as Alyssum guards."

"Yes, Amelia. Shall I return to the theater and inform the production assistants?"

I pause in the cryo-containment room's doorway.

Thousands of white tubular cryopods, more than half of them empty, glare back at me and a familiar sick feeling - doubt - creeps into my stomach.

"Yes, Georgeann. Inform the production assistants."

"As you wish, Amelia."

Stifling my doubt, I fly into the cryo-containment room while Georgeann's footsteps retreat, marking her return to the theater. I cross my arms against the room's 20°F temperature.

This area of the basement is the coldest place in Alyssum Studios. Its walls and ceiling have been fitted with near frozen pipes that lead to the liquid nitrogen reservoir against the far left wall. The ten-by-twelve-foot reservoir keeps each of my three thousand cryopods at the extremely low temperatures they must maintain in order to function.

I hover above the cryopods and look down at the rows upon rows of empty pods that will soon house Earth's sleeping heroes - the individuals chosen for the work of defending our planet.

Of course, not all the pods are empty. I have been working hard and quite a few of the pods contain candidates. I come to a halt and from my position mid-air, I look down at one such occupied pod. The subject is female and appears to be in her mid-twenties; ice clings to her blonde curls while frost peppers her straw-colored brows and lashes. The pod she's in, like the other two thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, is equipped with several "stasis change" buttons and an "AF Serum" button that will, when pushed, thrust a needle into the sleeping subject's bone marrow and infuse her with a serum that will change her appearance, strength, and abilities. It will change everything except for her devotion to me.

My gaze goes to her blue lips and I can't help but wonder what her last words were... what was the last thing she said before she was reprogrammed? Was she afraid when it happened?

The room's freezing temperature sends a chill to the backs of my arms and I shiver.

I run a hand through my hair, but continue to stare at the subject, unable to tear my eyes away from my work.

Were our planet's current situation different, I wouldn't do this to her, or to any of these people. After all, I know what it's like to be pushed into a role you didn't ask for.

I close my eyes. But why dwell on what ifs? Our planet is under threat and I'm the only one who can save it. This must be done.

I open my eyes and fly down to the cryopod containing the female subject.

As the underside of my heels hit the cement, I touch the glass above the woman's face and her nostrils flare as she continues to sleep.

See? She's not dead and she's not in pain. She's asleep, waiting to wake up and live to her full potential.

My Bluetooth interrupts my thoughts and I answer quickly. "Yes."

"Hey," Grant's voice sounds in my ear. "Where are you?"

I cringe. I forgot all about our monthly dinner reservation at Bayou Boudreaux's. I push myself up and fly to the cryo-containment room's elevator.

"I apologize." I press the elevator's up button. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"Don't rush and don't fly," he says, lowering his voice to a whisper. "If someone sees you and takes a picture, that'd be the beginning of the end."

I arch an eyebrow. Grant is the sweetest man on the planet, but he is not the most intelligent. This is demonstrated by the fact that he feels the need to warn me not to make a public display of my abilities.

"Of course I won't fly in public. Why would I do that?" I empty my tone of gravity and chuckle with feigned lightheartedness. The elevator doors slide open and I slip through as quickly as possible. "I'll just drive too fast and get into a horrible accident."

"Speaking of accidents, I passed one on the way here. It had traffic backed up for miles. Be careful out there, hon." Grant clears his throat.

"I'll be careful. See you soon." I end the call and send the elevator up, staring at the floor as I try to plan what I'll say when he asks why I was late for, yet another, dinner date.

Last month I blamed my tardiness on a never-ending phone interview with a reporter. It didn't take Grant's mind-reading ability to see that he knew I was lying.

I've never let an interview extend beyond its allotted time.

If I don't start coming up with better excuses, he'll begin to suspect something. And I cannot let Grant know what I've been doing in the basement of Alyssum Studios. He'd never understand.

"YOU'LL NEVER GUESS why I'm so late this evening," I say as I set my hands on our small table and look at Grant. His eyes dart from me to the spoonful of gumbo he brings to his mouth.

He always orders the shrimp and sausage gumbo when we come here.

"Oh?" He smiles good-naturedly. "What happened?"

Grant's predictable choice of gumbo is part of our Bayou Boudreaux's "tradition," as is the way I consistently order the mixed mushroom and scallion salad before requesting a slice of gingersnap cheesecake for the two of us to share.

As of late, Grant and I have been so busy with our separate schedules that this monthly dinner date has become our sole tradition. We don't see each other for weeks and thought it's not what I want, it's what's best for now. I keep Grant out of town as much as possible, tasking him with business matters in Los Angeles and Manhattan. Anything to keep him away from Alyssum Studios South. The more he's here, the higher the chance he'll find out what really goes on in that building.

"Well." I take a deep breath. "I found them."

"Them?" Grant repeats. "Who's them?"

At the table behind ours, an overweight man emits an ungainly burst of laughter and I wince.

These Louisianans are such country bumpkins.

"I.T.I.S." I lower my voice. "I found I.T.I.S."

Grant's hazel eyes widen and he drops his spoon. It falls into his gumbo with a splat.

I try not to smile at his reaction.

He looks from left to right, like he's afraid one of the nearby swamp people have heard me.

"Really, Amelia?! Why are you..." His voice trailing off, Grant leans forward and lowers his volume to just above a whisper. "Why are you just now telling me this?"

I roll my eyes and focus on guarding my thoughts. When you're a woman with an agenda and your partner has the unnatural ability to hear your every thought, you'd better pray that you have my gift. I can use my intellect in a way that most humans cannot, and this allows me to block most of my thoughts from Grant's access. It takes considerable focus, but I've mastered the technique. Sure, some of my thoughts seep to the surface, but that's all he "sees," shallow, surface thoughts. Nothing deep.

"I only just found them." I look Grant in the eye, mentally clinging to my claim as if it's the truth.

"Are you sure it's I.T.I.S.?" Grant doesn't appear to be breathing.

I frown, concerned. "Of course I'm sure. And remember to breathe, my darling. Calm down."

We lock eyes and warmth showers my thoughts, as if drops of sunshine are falling into my every memory and idea.

I make myself relax into a smile and teasingly say, "Get out of my head."

"Well, you're not being all that forthcoming," he whispers. He reaches across the table and rests his opened palm beside my hand. "Come on, Amelia. Talk to me."

I look at his hand and my heart stutters. We've been together for almost fifteen years now. Yet, I still feel a jolt at the sound of that name on his lips. I return my attention to Grant and widen my smile. He has the loveliest eyes. They're the kind of hazel that appears to change color depending on what he's wearing and the type of light he's cast in. I first noticed this when I was about six years old. Even then, I'd stare into his eyes, sick with love.

Keeping my tone as even as possible, I reply, "You have to give me a chance to talk."

With this, I set my hand in his.

"Okay." He nods. "I'm listening."

I force my thoughts into place and speak carefully. "I.T.I.S. has a new cover. They've joined forces with a local mental hospital called Serenity Bayous. I.T.I.S. has been using Serenity Bayous as a laboratory and housing facility for their experimental patients."

Grant's Adam's apple moves up and down as he leans back in his chair, his eyes not leaving mine. "That's exactly where you and I would be if we hadn't escaped. We'd be stuck in Serenity Bayous, imprisoned like--"

"But we're not," I cut in. "We are not there, Grant. I got us out and I will continue to protect us. I promise you: I.T.I.S. will not touch us. We're safe."

Grant's sun-kissed skin nearly pales. He brings his palms to his face and rubs his eyes, sighing.

Just this year, the few gray strands that I used to tease him about have developed into noticeable patches at his sideburns. They give him a distinguished air. He resembles a Hispanic Cary Grant. In other words, he's perfect. Sometimes I just stare at him, still shocked by the fact that he's mine. Even in moments like this - when he's annoyed with me - his perfection is undeniable.

"I'm not annoyed with you, Amelia." He takes a deep breath, suddenly appearing remarkably tired as his shoulders move up and down. "But I am tired. I'm tired of living under this shadow and feeling like a fugitive when it's not the two of us who are the criminals. It's I.T.I.S. that should be on the run."

"Can I freshen y'all's lemonade?" A peppy voice, seeming to appear out of nowhere, sounds behind me and I jump. Heat flies to my fingertips and a single golden spark erupts from the nail of my ring finger. It shoots to the basket of breadsticks in the middle of our table. The wicker basket ignites, a small orange flame erupting in its side.

"Oh, my God," the stupid waitress squeals.

I reach for my cloth napkin, but Grant's already grabbed his. He uses it to smother the flame. The fire dies down and he smiles at the waitress.

"That was weird. What kind of baskets are these?" he asks, looking directly into her eyes.

She shoves one of her long braids behind her ear and shifts on her feet, so much so that she nearly spills her pitcher of lemonade. "Uh, I think it's just wicker. I'm so sorry. I have no idea how that happened," she stammers, her lips faltering between a smile and an opened-mouth gawk.

I narrow my eyes at the girl. She's young and slender with smooth dark skin, so I can't tell whether or not she's blushing, but I'd bet half my estate that she is.

"That's all right. And sure, I'd love a refill on the lemonade." Grant grabs his glass and holds it out.

She grins at him, bites down on her bottom lip, and giggles.

All five of my fingers warm, my nailbeds threatening to release fire. But I control the impulse and, instead of burning this ridiculous waitress alive, I take a long look at her: cheap flat shoes cover her feet, a half-tarnished silver necklace adorns her throat, and specks of lint pepper several of her braids. She's poor, tolerably pretty, and probably a reader of trashy tabloids, meaning she recognizes my boyfriend as "Shy Carr."

Shy Carr is widely known - among the kinds of people who refer to Jennifer Lawrence as "JLaw" - as a certain world famous director's secretive boyfriend who rarely shows his face in public. That was fine by me until some trashy tabloid finally snapped a close-up of Grant several months ago and posted it on their site.

Based on the ridiculous giggles emanating from this young woman, I'm sure she's one of the empty-headed millions who's seen the photo.

"After you fill his glass," I say and the waitress turns her attention to me, her eyes wide. "Leave us to our conversation and refrain from returning until exactly twenty minutes have passed."

"Oh! Um, yes, ma'am. I'm, uh, so sorry," she stammers, clutching the pitcher to her chest and backing away.

"There's no need to call me ma'am. I'm not eighty," I correct her.

"Yes ma - I mean, okay, sure."

What an absolute imbecile.

I return my attention to Grant and he's blinking back at me.

"I know you think she's just a kid," I quickly say. "But she was looking at you like--"

"Amelia." Grant's tone is surprisingly sharp and I clamp my mouth shut. He leans towards me and lowers his voice to a whisper. "Right now, I couldn't care less about that girl or anything other than what you just told me. If you found I.T.I.S., that means there's only one thing left to do. We have to turn them in."

I shake my head. "No, Grant. Think about what you're saying. Turn them in? Turn them in to whom? They have allies in every branch of the government."

He balls his right hand into a fist. "Then we go to the media and tell the world what I.T.I.S. did to us, what they're still doing to innocent children. If we don't, who's going to protect the next group of kids they use for their experiments?"

"My darling," I speak as soothingly as I can and take his hand in mine. "If you were thinking rationally, instead of emotionally, you'd realize that the moment we expose I.T.I.S., we expose ourselves to every ally within their ranks. Do you understand what that means?"

"I'm not an idiot," Grant hisses. He looks around and takes a deep breath, as if to compose himself. With this, he speaks more calmly. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child."

"Again, you're being emotional. Just listen to what I'm saying," I slowly explain. "I.T.I.S. has infiltrated virtually every aspect of society. They have so many affiliates within our political arena that it wouldn't be a stretch to say I.T.I.S. is the government. That's why exposing them, would mean exposing ourselves."

"I'm sick of hiding, helplessly hoping that they don't find us." Even as Grant speaks, I can feel him in my head, sifting through my consciousness.

"I know. And I promise that very soon, this will all end and we won't have to hide." I keep my thoughts at bay while I fix my gaze on our entwined hands.

"What does that mean?" Grant asks and I don't have to look at him to know he's frowning.

"It means I.T.I.S. has allies, but so do I. And mine are more powerful."

"You have allies?" Grant repeats, releasing my hand. "Who are you talking about?"

"You'll see." I smile and slip my hand off the table.

"Amelia--" he starts.

"I've said everything I'd like to say regarding the matter." I arch an eyebrow at him.

"But--"

"This discussion is over."

He narrows his eyes and I lower my gaze to the burned bread basket.

Well, it seems I've now ruined the remainder of our evening. Grant will become silent and passive-aggressive, which is what he always becomes when he's upset with me. I don't relish this, but I simply cannot tell him who my ally is. He'd never understand.

If he found out who I've aligned myself with or even the fundamentals of my plan, he'd be so appalled, he'd leave me. No questions asked, no sympathy- he'd just leave. And I simply cannot allow that to happen.

#

Gina and Lyla's Apartment

"Okay, yeah. Bye, Seth," I croon as I hang up. Still grinning, I set my phone down on the couch. "He's so wonderful," I say to the empty living room.

With this, I yawn and stretch my arms high above my head before reaching down for another swig of beer. The bottle's empty, so I grab another from the fridge.

Before I know it, a second bottle turns into a third... and then a half dozen.

By now it's getting late, but I don't want to go to bed yet. I have things to do- if only I could remember what those things were...

Licking foam from my upper lip, I look down at my laptop and try to remember what I'd intended to google before Seth called.

The little Dell PC is warm against my thighs and I'm grateful for the heat because when Lyla's in town, she keeps our apartment near Arctic temperatures.

I glance in the direction of her room. It's been about an hour since I've heard her moving around in there. I'll give it another fifteen minutes and if I still haven't heard any sounds, I'll assume she's asleep and take it upon myself to adjust the AC.

That's one thing she and Luke won't have any qualms about when they get back together - Luke loves the cold. His truck is basically a deep freezer with wheels.

Sighing, I try to brush thoughts of Luke aside and quickly finish off my beer.

But, as usual, once I've started thinking about my high-school-crush-turned-best-friend, I can't stop.

I peer over the top of my laptop and unseeingly stare at my feet, which I've propped up on the other end of the couch.

Luke Kennedy. Ugh. And yet... yum.

My feelings for him are beyond confusing.

On one hand, he's too quiet, too pessimistic, too short, and a tad overweight if we're being honest. On the other hand, he's the only man in my life who seriously listens when I talk. My grandfather used to do that. Really listen to me. Now, that's a role Luke's filled.

But he doesn't just listen to me rant- he respects my opinions and looks out for me because he sincerely cares about my wellbeing. And he's not like that with just me. He's the kind of person who genuinely cares about people in general. Like, he values them.

I groan and close my eyes.

Argh! Feelings! Feelings are so confusing! Sometimes I wish I were a robot or a zombie because then I wouldn't have to feel things and be in varying states of confusion all the time. Either that, or I wish...

I open my eyes and try to steer my thoughts away from the direction into which they're galloping.

...I wish Lyla would just admit she's still in love with Luke. Her pretending she doesn't still love him is torturous for everyone! Like at the hospital today - Luke was beyond uncomfortable because of her. It's fairly obvious that the poor guy's on pins and needles, waiting for Lyla to admit that she still cares about him. Meanwhile, here I am having to interact with him on a daily basis and pretend I'm not affected by how sweet he is or the half of a crush he sort of almost has on me.

I frown down at my feet and shake my head to ward off my disloyal thoughts.

Luke belongs to Lyla and I... I need to research Unseen. That's why I brought my laptop out here. I also need Adderall, or maybe more beer. But I think I just drank the last one.

Pushing thoughts of Luke aside, I wrap my red and yellow blanket around me more tightly and peer into my laptop as I type, "Unseen" into Google.

Light footsteps sound on the den's hardwood floor and my plan to adjust the AC dissipates as Lyla pads across the room in her bare feet. She slides into the big comfy chair across from mine.

Her snow white nightgown is the same color as both her chair and the couch beneath my bum. For some reason, Lyla's obsessed with the color. I've actually always kind of disliked the way everything in our apartment is white; it gives the place a cold and sterile look.

I am, however, a huge fan of the wisdom behind the old saying, "beggars can't be choosers." So, I'm all for making like a clam when it comes to Lyla's choice in décor.

"No internal bleeding yet?" Her gaze goes from the empty beer bottles on the floor to the muted television at my left.

"None yet." Burping softly, I shut my laptop and decide to begin my Unseen research later.

I open my mouth to announce that Seth called to check on me, but decide not to. If I bring up Seth, she'll bring up the gun and yada yada. So, I set the small computer beside me and turn to face Lyla. "You must be part polar bear because it's freezing in here."

She runs a hand through her short locks, her eyes still on the TV. I glance at it to see what's got her attention, but it's just some ancient episode of Friends we've both seen a million times.

"I can turn the volume back on if you want," I offer.

Lyla shakes her head, her eyes still glued to the screen. "Let's talk for a minute," she quietly replies.

"Sure."

Lyla toys with the hem of her nightgown. She then continues to stare at the television and say absolutely nothing.

I smile. "Oh, my God, Lyla. Would you stop talking so much?"

She finally lets those big green eyes of hers make their way to mine and, crossing her legs, she sits up straighter. Her posture is a perfect reflection of the dance classes her mother used to insist she take.

I wrap a loose blanket thread around my finger and watch her, all at once struck by how pretty she is. Lyla's one of those people who you can be in the middle of a conversation with and all of a sudden her beauty is like BAM! It sort of creeps up on you and startles the crap out of you before completely mesmerizing you. She's so gorgeous that she's almost like... not human-looking. That sounds weird, I know. But it's true. Like, I'm pretty cute - except for my hair, which is basically a great visual for what happens when you're a poodle with a bad perm - but when I'm walking beside Lyla, I could be butt naked and a total of zero people would notice me. All eyes are on her and for good reason. She's exotic with her Nigerian-Swedish genes, which have given her perfectly smooth caramel skin that's somehow always sparkling. I used to think she used a special lotion to make her skin do that, but no - it just freaking sparkles. How is that even possible? Who knows? I don't. All I know is that if I didn't love her, I'd be completely jealous of her. And then there's the way her catlike green eyes sort of trap you in their gaze and you can't look away. It's sickening.

Before Lyla cut her hair, it was long, curly, and almost as untamable as mine. But now, even that one faux pas of a feature is gone! Since moving to New York, her hair has been straightened and coifed into one of those Halle Berry pixie cuts, so now her beauty is literally ridiculous and there's no chance that Luke, or any man on the face of the planet, would deny her his affection.

I sigh, annoyed by the turn my thoughts have taken. What does it matter what Luke would or wouldn't deny Lyla?

"So, seriously, what's up?" I ask, glancing down at one of my nails before returning my attention to her. She sits ramrod straight in her oversized white chair, her eyes beginning to water. The sight tears me from my thoughts. Startled, I hop up from the couch.

The room spins and I pause to get my bearings before hurrying to Lyla's side. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She waves me off and shouts, "You!"

I nearly jump out of my skin.

Lyla pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath.

Puzzled, I crouch beside her.

"Me?" I ask and another burp escapes my lips. "Sorry. Why? What'd I do?"

Lyla wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffs, her nose turning pink. "You could've died today."

I blink back at her in shock.

Lyla's never been one to give in to large displays of emotion. Between the two of us, that's my area of expertise. My heart softens into a milky-like sludge and I grab her hand. "Aww," I coo as she sniffs. Gently shoving her closer to the left armrest, I say, "Scoot over, mama."

"Ouch! Jesus, Gina," she protests, halfheartedly swatting at me. But she does as told and I squish into the chair beside her. With this, Lyla glances at me and rolls her eyes. "How much did you drink tonight? You smell like a bar."

Ah, the eyes have rolled and the criticism has begun: Lyla Oni-Karlsson is back in business.

I give her shoulder a light punch. "The point is that I'm right here, safe and sound. So you can stop freaking out, okay?"

"Yeah, well, I can't help it." She sniffs again. "One minute I'm packing to head back to New York and next thing I know, your wrecked car is on the news with some reporter talking about a 'terrible' accident. That scared me to death." She bites down on her bottom lip like she's trying to hold it together.

"Aw," I murmur giving her a quick hug and then watching her in... well, I guess I'm still in shock. In all our years of friendship, Lyla has never once cried in front of me. In fact, when we were in middle and high school, she'd make fun of people who cried in public.

But now, a tear spills from Lyla's left eye and her bottom lip starts to quiver.

I hold my breath, watching her in confused angst.

One of Mimaw's favorite idioms was, "Time softens even the lion" and based on what I'm seeing right now, Mimaw was totally right.

I rest my head on Lyla's bony shoulder and slowly let out the breath I've been holding.

"Sorry I scared you," I say. "It won't happen again. From now on, I will pay the up - ut... wait, how do you even say that word? Is it upmost or utmost?"

"It's utmost, Gina."

"Thank you. From now on I'll pay the utmost attention to my surroundings while driving. Okay?"

Lyla emits a dry chuckle, but doesn't say anything. Her shoulder, which is a pretty uncomfortable pillow for my right cheek, moves up and down as she takes a few shallow breaths. Neither of us speaks a word and, except for the hum of the evil air conditioner, our den swims in silence.

Intermittently giving her hand a few pats while she tries to stop crying, I let my gaze drift to the large black and white photo adorning the wall behind Lyla's couch. I cringe and a lump forms in my throat. It's a photo of the New York City skyline. When Lyla was hanging it this past January, she told me she'd taken it a few weeks earlier. She went into this long story about how she was at some fancy New Year's Eve bash on the roof of a friends' building and even though she was wasted when she took the photo, it turned out perfectly.

The picture's great, but hearing Lyla talk about her fabulous New Year's Eve in the big apple wasn't all that thrilling to listen to. It's not like I'm an envious person. But when Lyla was going on about how great New York is during the holidays, a terrible sickened feeling washed over me. It started in my stomach, traveled to my limbs, and for a fleeting moment, it actually made me numb with anger. Something inside of me screamed, "Why does Lyla get to go to NYU? Why does she get to have a fantastic life? How is that fair?"

I thought about how when I was twelve, I'd print out maps of Manhattan and Brooklyn and study them for hours on end. Sprawled out on my bedroom floor with my maps, daydreaming about my future Gossip Girl-esque life in the city that never sleeps. Back then, I was sure that a magical future was possible. I knew nothing about NYU's tuition costs, about the responsibilities that a grandchild owes to the ones who've raised her, and I had not the faintest clue of New York City's cost of living.

So, as Lyla hung that picture and regaled me with tales of her posh new life, thinking about all of this sent me from jealous anger to the palest, mushiest, and stickiest kind of sadness.

Every time I look at the photo, I still feel it.

"Maybe it's good I never moved to New York," I say, breaking our silence as I open my eyes. "Can you imagine how much havoc I'd wreak in that traffic?"

"Actually, you'd fit right in."

"Probably." I chuckle and lift my head while Lyla turns to me.

"But really, Gina," she says, her voice shaky. "I'm worried about you." She wipes away the remnants of her tears and clears her throat, like she's revving her confidence, preparing to say something difficult.

The sight of her letting herself be this vulnerable tugs at my heartstrings. I smile and give her hand another squeeze. "Lyla, it means a lot to me that you care. But you don't need to worry. I'm fine."

"You're not fine." She shakes her head and runs her free hand through her short brown hair.

"Huh?" I frown.

"Since we graduated, you've been a completely different person." Lyla extracts her hand from mine and looks me square in the eye. "And it hurts to see you wasting away. Every time I come back, I find you drinking more, sleeping with even more losers, and becoming exactly like them. That's not who you are."

I take a deep breath and inadvertently glance at the black and white photo.

"Well." I lower my gaze to the floor. "Thanks for that, Lyla."

"I don't mean to sound harsh," Lyla says, her tone gentler. "The last thing I want to do is insult you. I'm only saying this because I care. You know what I mean?"

My throat's tightening, so I don't dare speak. I glance at her and she's watching me closely, almost fearfully.

I nod and relief relaxes Lyla's features. "What I should have started off saying was that back in high school, I always knew you were going to be famous one day. You were so good at everything you put your mind to and you had this incredible drive. You were a dreamer, and you were so enthusiastic about your dreams that you made all of us believe in them - even me."

My eyes fill and I shrug.

"But when your grandparents died, you changed," Lyla hesitantly continues. "And for the past five years, I've watched you give up on yourself. I haven't said anything because I kept thinking you'd snap out of it and the real Gina would come back. But it's been a long time and that hasn't happened yet. So, something needs to change. I want my friend back."

Tears spill from my eyes and I wipe them away. "I didn't give up on myself. My situation changed, so I adjusted."

Lyla arches an eyebrow and I can see that I need to explain myself. She has no idea what I'm talking about. Her family has always given her whatever she's needed; she's never had to adjust.

"Like when my grandpa died, I couldn't just leave Mimaw and go to NYU, so I got a job here. That's adjusting. And when she died, she left bills that needed to be paid and even if she hadn't, it's not like I could've afforded living in New York. So again, I had to adjust. I'm not rich, I -"

"That's bull." Lyla elongates each word and holds my gaze.

"No, it's -"

"Yes, it is! All you had to do was say the word and we would've paid your way," Lyla says. "Me and my mom consider you family. Honestly, she probably loves you more than me, for God's sake. That's why she's paying for 'our' apartment. This place is really yours, you know that, Gina!"

Lyla rises and I tense. She sets a hand on her hip and begins to pace, making a circle around the coffee table.

"I think you're scared." She jabs the air with a near-violent gesture. "You want to make movies, but you're scared you'll fail. That's why you've been wasting time drinking and screwing every loser in town. You've been hiding out, scared of failing at what you really want! And now that you've almost died, what do you do? You suddenly decide to waste time obsessing about Unseen, who, by the way, doesn't even exist. What you're doing with your life, Gina - it's so stupid! You're using distraction after distraction to 'protect' yourself from the dreams you're too afraid to go after!"

The room is spinning. I bring a hand to my head. "What do you want me to do? Quit my job and leech off you and your mom for the rest of my life?"

"It's not leeching to admit when you need help." Lyla stops pacing and turns to me. "I want you to stop drinking so much, to get yourself together, and come to New York with me. I want you to give NYU a shot, just like we planned when we were kids. I mean, come on- at least apply and move to the city with me. If going to school there doesn't pan out, fine. At least give the city a chance. At least try."

I can't breathe because Lyla's offer is basically a bucket of ice water that's been dumped all over my head and for a moment, I'm too shocked to speak.

"Please, Gina," she urges.

"Y-you really want me to go to New York with you?" I sputter.

"It's where you belong. I think you know that." She watches me through unabashedly hopeful eyes. "But you have to get out of your own way; you have to stop being afraid."

I sit back and my chair emits a creak while Lyla's words wash over me.

"Get out of my own way," I repeat.

"Yeah. If you don't want to completely depend on us, I can help you look into financial aid and ..." Lyla goes on to say some things that I don't listen to.

I lace my fingers together and take a deep breath. "Get out of your own way" is exactly what Mr. Freeman told me this morning, right after my botched interview. And now my best friend is saying it again. How often do two very different people offer you the same unsolicited advice in a twenty-four-hour period?

I grab a fistful of my curls and twirl them around my hand, thinking hard.

"... instead of wasting away in this town for the rest of your life. Do you want to end up like Ms. Reacher? Remember her? Principal Williams middle-aged secretary who -"

"What does that mean?" I ask, interrupting Lyla. "When you said I need to 'get out of my own way.' What did you mean?"

"It means be brave," Lyla says. "You're scared of what you want? So what? Go for it anyway."

"That's the problem." I close my eyes and cover my face with my hands. "I don't know what I want. I do things and I have no idea what I'm doing or what I really want. Why am I like this? What's wrong with me?" A groan that I wasn't expecting emerges from somewhere deep in my throat and I lower my hands to find Lyla watching me.

Her eyes heavy with pity, she says, "Then your first step is to figure out what you want. And when you do, New York will be waiting." She offers me a tight-lipped smile. "I'm tired, Gina. I'm going to go bed. And you can use my car to get to work tomorrow. My keys are in my purse. Just don't wreck my car."

Guilt turning my stomach, I give the arm of my chair a gentle punch and stammer, "Thanks and... look, I'm sorry about being such a nuisance."

"You're fine," Lyla says, lifting a hand and waving me off. She drops it without turning around to look at me as she stalks off to her room.

She's right. I've become a pathetic loser who has no idea what she wants.

I lean back in the chair and my gaze goes to the dreaded photo of the Big Apple's skyline. How can I just pick up and leave? What about the invisible person who saved my life today? That's one thing Lyla got wrong, Unseen does exist. There's no way me and those kids on the bus just magically walked away from what should have been a head-on collision. Somewhere in this town, there's a man with incredible powers and for some reason, he saved my life. Me...

I don't just want to find him, I need to find him. Meeting the man who thought I was worth saving could help me see myself the way he and Lyla and see me. It could be the beginning of me reclaiming my life.

I get up and stumble to my laptop.

At the moment, I may be drunk and somewhat confused about the ultimate direction of my life, but one thing is clear: I need to find the man who saved me.

I grab my laptop, wipe my tears, and frantically type, "Unseen of Swamp Rose, Louisiana," into Google's search bar.

Whatever it takes, I'm going to find Unseen.

#

Tuesday, February 27, 2015

Luke's Apartment

I stare at my ceiling as an owl hoots outside.

I should get up and look at the suit again. Just to make sure Darrell and Aanya weren't wrong. A buzz of excitement flutters through me as I slide out of bed and glance at my clock.

4:38 AM.

I head to my closet, fling it open, and study the suit I bought last night.

The sales girl, a cute brunette named Aanya who remembered Darrell - but not me - from high school, had pointed to it and said, "Yep, this is the one for you."

Nervous as always, I'd glanced at Darrell for approval. He was leaning on a nearby rack of shirts and wearing his typical half-teasing, half-serious expression while he returned my gaze, his eyebrows going up.

"You sure it's not too..." I paused, hoping I didn't look too much like a deer in headlights as I searched for the right word. "Flashy?"

Darrell chuckled. "No, Luke. It's not too flashy." He and Aanya glanced at each other, sharing a smirk.

In retrospect, I'm not sure what was so funny, but I smiled and agreed to buy the outfit. It, along with three shirt-and-tie sets and another pair of slacks completed my late-night shopping spree. Aanya had, very kindly, let us stay until 10:45 even though she was supposed to close Swamp Rose Men's Wear at 10.

At the counter, while Darrell stepped outside to take a phone call, Aanya handed me my credit card and looked at me with a conspiratorial grin. "So, are you two, like, together?"

"No." I smiled. "I'm actually buying this for a girl."

Aanya tilted her head, confusion in her eyes. "Oh?"

My face warming, I quickly explained, "I don't mean the clothes are for a girl. They're for me. I'm buying them because there's this girl I..." Embarrassed, I shrugged and let my unfinished sentence hang in the air.

Aanya grinned. "A girl you're going on a date with."

"Um..." I shifted on my feet. "Well, we're not quite there yet. But hopefully soon."

Aanya nodded with understanding. "It's sweet that you want to impress her. And the clothes do look amazing on you. But honestly, it's this -" she pointed to her heart, "- that matters most."

Now, as I stare at the three-piece suit and touch the buttons on the vest, I realize just how right Aanya is. It's the guy that makes the suit, not the other way around. If Seth had been clad in a potato sack when Gina first met him, I bet she still would have been attracted to him. It's his inner confidence that does the trick, and that's exactly what I need - confidence.

Sighing, I grab my phone from my nightstand and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

As per my morning routine, I brush with one hand and use my free hand to check my email.

Today, almost all of my emails are online coupons or updates from blogs I follow but don't have much interest in. I select them all and, poised to hit delete, pause to spit into the sink.

I swish a mix of water and Listerine in my mouth as I glance at my phone, my finger hovering over delete, when I notice something that makes me accidently swallow what's in my mouth. On the side of my email is an ad that says, "Need Confidence?"

"How creepy is that?" I whisper.

I lean against my sink and click on the ad's "Read more" button.

"Amelia Hearth has brought Hollywood to Swamp Rose! For many years now, citizens of big cities like Los Angeles and New York City have been granted the opportunity to act as extras in big name Hollywood productions! This sort of acting opportunity instills confidence into each background extra! Now, Amelia Hearth wants to use her latest film as an opportunity to instill this same confidence into Swamp Rose locals..."

Amelia Hearth? That's Gina's favorite director - she literally loves the woman.

My curiosity piqued, I continue to read.

"Since opening Alyssum Studios in Swamp Rose almost two years ago, Amelia's directed and produced several movies in Louisiana. Now, she's opening the invitation to locals! They'll be able to act as extras in an upcoming film that will be shot right here in Swamp Rose!

"'Acting is a brilliant way to rediscover your confidence, to explore its boundaries and, dare I say, expand them. In so doing, your newfound confidence will bring you to heights you'd never known traversable. Act with me and I promise you'll leave this project an entirely different person.' - Amelia Hearth."

Me... an actor? I look up and study myself in the mirror.

The bed-headed, pudgy guy with bags under his eyes who looks back at me isn't exactly Brad Pitt and he definitely isn't the guy I want Gina to see when she looks at me.

Returning my attention to my phone, I reread Amelia Hearth's quote.

What do I have to lose? And, don't I need as much confidence as I can get?

My decision made, I click on the "Apply to be a Background Extra" button.

I THROW THE HONEY-and-cinnamon-dipped apple slices into my scone mixture while Uncle Joe, behind me, closes the oven door with a grunt. I glance at him, concerned.

As he wipes his brow, I return my attention to the mix and try to sound casual. "Doing all right this morning?"

"Yep." His reply is quick, but he's slow to make his way to Corner Bakery's large refrigerator, his footsteps seeming to drag across the linoleum.

My uncle's a big guy at 6'2 and about 250 pounds. In the past few years, he's put on some weight and his doctor keeps getting on him about his cholesterol. I try to keep an eye on him, the way he's looked out for me since my mom and sister passed, but I also try not be a nag.

Besides, deep down I think he feels guilty about me being here, like we both know Swamp Rose isn't the place for me. Every time I bring up a health-related issue or offer to take on more responsibility at the bakery, Uncle Joe's guilt seems to set in a little more.

"Luke, when you have a chance, I've got two bags of flour in the truck- a couple of hundred pounders - would you bring them to the kitchen?"

"Sure thing, I'll do it soon as I'm done with this batch."

"Thanks, kid. I've got more flab than muscle these days. So, it's nice to have some working biceps around here."

I smile. It may be true that I'm stronger than I look -thanks to years of lifting huge sacks of flour on a near daily basis- but that said, I'm stronger than I look. And unfortunately, looks are everything to most people... and by people I mean girls. And by girls...well, I guess I actually mean Gina.

"I'd trade these biceps for a flat stomach in a heartbeat," I say with a wistful chuckle. "But, thanks Uncle Joe, I'm happy to help."

"Speaking of aesthetics," he says, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of water. "I saw your suit hanging in the back there." He opens the bottle and takes a loud swig. "That for your Broussard and Nellit job?"

"Yeah." I grin and glance at him. "I figured it's about time I start looking decent."

Uncle Joe smiles and leans against the refrigerator. "You've always looked decent, but maybe it's time you go the extra mile to impress a certain someone, eh?"

I laugh and shrug. What can I say? He's right.

My phone, sitting on the counter next to my car keys, rings and I frown in its direction.

"That's probably her now," Uncle Joe says with a chuckle. "Gina's the only person crazy enough to call you at five in the morning. Trust me, Luke, one day you'll be marrying that girl. I can already tell."

"Well," I say as I look down at the unfamiliar number. "This isn't Gina." Curious, I answer my phone. "Hello?"

"Good morning," a terribly serious female voice replies. "This is Georgeann Swims of Alyssum Studios and I am calling for Luke Kennedy."

I grin. "Yeah, this is Luke."

"Mr. Kennedy, thank you for applying as a background actor for Ms. Hearth's latest production," Georgeann says, her über-professional voice almost robotic. "As we are on a tight schedule and have an immediate need for background actors, we would like to meet with you this morning at 11:30 for something called a casting call. You will fill out paperwork and answer a few questions. Can you be at Alyssum Studios at 11:30?"

I gulp and force a confidence that I don't feel. "Absolutely. And thank you."

"You are welcome. We will see you then. Goodbye." With this, Georgeann Swims is gone.

I look down at my phone, a slow grin forming on my lips. "Gina's going to flip," I mutter.

"Talking to yourself over there?" Uncle Joe asks.

Too distracted to respond, I send Gina a quick text.

Luke:Hey, how are you feeling this morning? Hope you're okay, I can't wait to tell you about something HUGE : )

I set my phone on the counter and unseeingly watch Uncle Joe make his way to my scone mix, taking up where I've left off.

Maybe today is the day. Maybe this morning's conversation with Gina can be about more than my possible stint in background acting; maybe I should finally ask her to dinner. I bet at first, she won't even realize the significance of my question. We've had dinner together tons of times in the past eight years that we've been friends. But this time will be different. When I finally tell Gina how I feel about her, how I've always felt, there won't be any place for me to hide. She'll have to see me.

#

Coffee Etc's

"It's 6:00 AM," says one of Swamp Rose's local radio hosts, his voice booming from Lyla's car speakers. "And that means it's time for your morning wakeup call!"

I pull into Coffee Etc's parking lot, kill the BMW's engine, and the radio host's voice fades into oblivion. I sigh and take a good look at the building in front of me.

Just beyond the blossoming crepe myrtle near Coffee Etc's glass doors, Kayleigh appears. She shoves the door's red curtains aside and flips the small "closed" sign to "open." As she glances at the parking lot, she sees me and we exchange a wave.

I gulp, nerves coursing through me at the thought of the conversation I'm going to have with her boss. And I really hope he's here, because I need to apologize to that poor man ASAP.

During last night's Google search extravaganza, I learned a lot.

First of all, I found out that Swamp Rose has exactly three Unseen fan clubs and one of these clubs is responsible for the "Unseener" bumper stickers everyone seems to have. I ordered two - one for me and the car I don't have and one for Luke, which I will force him to put on his truck.

Secondly, I discovered that what Crystal Lovett said about Louisiana Alyssum is correct: according to a recent survey, four out of five people who've experienced an "Unseen encounter" mention smelling the Louisiana Alyssum flower. Some even say that for a few days after the incident, every time they happened upon the scent, it would trigger a flashback of the events leading up to Unseen's presence.

And then around midnight, my online adventures led me to several crazy websites that linked Unseen's origins to a failed genetic-engineering experiment carried out by an organization called "I.T.I.S."

And last but not least, when I googled the name, "Adam Freeman," I found an obituary that sent my stomach into knots. Adam was definitely Mr. Freeman's son, and he died at only fourteen years old, while he was definitely a resident of Serenity Bayous.

That right there put an end to the night's research and left me determined to apologize to Mr. Freeman. I can't imagine how devastating it must have been for him to sit there and listen to me make light of his child's death.

I am...an idiot. And I need to apologize right now.

Determined, I hop out of Lyla's car and make my way into Coffee Etc's. As I step into the building, the sound of the door chime is obliterated by the racket that is Kayleigh's voice.

"Hey, you! Whoa, mama, I love that dress." Headed behind the counter, Kayleigh tugs her apron on over her black t-shirt and dark denim jeans. My gaze goes to a massive silver skull ring on her left thumb. I love Kayleigh's jewelry. I'd never wear any of it myself, but it's perfect on her. Kayleigh points to me. "That is hot."

I smooth down the short A-line sundress Lyla gave me a few days ago. She said she bought it from Bergdorf Goodman's and I nearly burst into tears when I touched it, because it had touched New York.

"Thanks. How're you this morning?" I ask.

Kayleigh smiles. "I'm great. Just wondering why you're here so early? You practically beat me to work."

I approach the counter and set my purse down. "Because I need to apologize to Mr. Freeman."

"He's not in yet."

I groan. "Crap on a stick."

Kayleigh frowns. "What do you need to apologize for?" She folds her hands and rests them on the counter, tilting her head as she gives me her full attention.

I blink back at Kayleigh, wondering why this conversation feels...different. And then it hits me - she's usually surrounded by chaos! It's startling to talk to her without the attached madness.

She grins and waves a hand in my face. "Earth to Gina. You still with me?"

"Yeah. Uh, what did you ask me?"

"Oh Dios mío, you're so ADD! I asked you why you need to apologize to Mr. F."

I nod, remembering at once. "Right. Well, it's a little complicated. Basically, when I was in high school, I made a movie that was based on a local myth about a dead kid who haunts Serenity Bayous. Have you heard of the myth?"

"Oh no, Gina!" Kayleigh's eyes widen. "You didn't realize the kid was Mr. F's son?"

"Exactly." I nod sadly. "And, of course, during my interview yesterday, I told Mr. Freeman all about the movie. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased."

"Yeah, I guess not!"

"That's why I need to tell him how sorry I am, and that I'm going to destroy the movie. I can't even imagine how painful it was for him to lose his son." I look down at the counter and shake my head in shame. I still can't believe what I've done. And Kayleigh isn't saying anything at all, which is a first for her. That just proves how horrified she must be by what I've done!

Ashamed, I look up at Kayleigh and her entire face has darkened.

"Especially considering the circumstances," she says. Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet and I have to lean closer to hear her as she continues, "Serenity Bayous is awful. Things happen in that place."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. F doesn't talk about it much," Kayleigh says. "But I can tell he blames himself for Adam's death. And he calls it an 'accident,' because that's what Serenity Bayous labeled it, but I don't believe that for a second."

"What do you believe?"

Kayleigh tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and glances at Coffee Etc's entrance. I turn around to see if anyone's there. We're still alone.

Her jaw tensing, Kayleigh toys with her ring. "I promised I wouldn't tell, so you can't say a word to anyone, you understand?"

As her eyes flick to me, I agree without hesitation. "Yeah, I promise I won't."

Kayleigh takes a deep breath and lifts a hand, fiddling with her spiky locks. "One day this cute guy, Tim, came into the coffee shop with his little niece. We got to talking and since then, we've been hanging out and it's been great. But a few weeks ago, we had plans to go dancing and he didn't show to pick me up, which was totally surprising. Tim never stands me up. He's, like, so into me or whatever. You know?"

"Yeah, sure," I quickly agree, eager to understand how this Tim guy is connected to Adam Freeman's death.

"So," Kayleigh continues, "I called Tim to see what had happened and he was asleep. He'd completely forgotten about our date. Of course, he apologized - like, a ton. He explained he'd been out of it since he got a second job working as an orderly at Serenity Bayous." Kayleigh looks at me and I nod encouragingly.

"So, the next time we went out, I teased Tim about his new job. Like, why would anyone want to be an orderly at a mental hospital blah blah, that kind of thing." Kayleigh glances down at her ring and then scratches the top of her head.

She's the kind of conversationalist that gets straight to the point. But, at the moment, she's getting to everything except for the point.

"And we were drinking during the conversation," she slowly says, "so Tim said more than he wanted to. He sort of blurted out that the only reason he took the job is because he's actually working undercover."

"Undercover?"

Kayleigh nods. "Yeah. He told me he's been trying to save mental patients that Serenity Bayous researchers have been secretly experimenting on."

I nearly stop breathing. "Wait, what?!"

"Yeah." Kayleigh nods. "You heard right, they've been experimenting on people. And as soon as Tim said that, he went pale and got all nervous. He made me promise not to tell anyone."

"So, is Tim, like, a cop or something?" I ask.

Momentarily losing her seriousness, Kayleigh brightens. She shakes her head and grins. "No, he's not a cop. But I'm almost positive that he's -" Coffee Etc's door chime sounds as the first official customer of the day walks in, and Kayleigh nearly jumps out of her skin.

I turn around and a nondescript guy in a baseball cap and jeans walks in, his eyes glued to the iPhone in his hand.

"Good morning!" Kayleigh booms, startling the man so badly that he nearly drops his phone. "Welcome to Coffee Etc's!"

He gives her an annoyed look.

"Before I take this customer," Kayleigh says, "Gina, did you want your usual?"

"Sure, thanks," I agree even as my thoughts sift through what I read about Unseen and what Kayleigh's just said.

The supposedly nonsensical websites I stumbled across last night said some people believe Unseen is the product of a genetic research experiment gone wrong, and now I've learned that Serenity Bayous experiments on its patients. What if those two pieces of information are related? What if Unseen was created by Serenity Bayous?

"Unseen," Kayleigh whispers, cutting into my thoughts.

I look up, meeting her eyes. "Huh?"

A half smile on her lips and her brown eyes as bright as can be, Kayleigh whispers, "I think Tim is Unseen."

"No way." My heart skips a beat and I search Kayleigh's eyes for any sign that she's joking. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," she says, the apples of her cheeks reddening. "It's not like he came right out and said it, but he didn't have to. I put two and two together."

"You have to tell me more," I whisper. Behind me, the baseball cap wearing customer clears his throat and I look over my shoulder to find him frowning at us. I shoot him a smile and return my attention to Kayleigh. "After you wait on this guy, we're talking."

Just then, Coffee Etc's door chime sounds three times in a row and I glance over my shoulder. Three... nope, four new customers step inside.

I return my attention to Kayleigh and she grabs her headset, slipping it on while she says, "I want to talk, but it's about to get super busy. If you hang around to hear more, you might be late for work."

"Screw work - we're talking about Unseen!" I exclaim.

Kayleigh grins and gestures for me to shush before hurrying, a cup in her hand, to the coffee maker. She taps her headset on and shouts, "Welcome to Coffee Etc's!" I grab my purse and head to the other end of the counter. As I revisit the few things Kayleigh's told me, a smile makes its way to my lips.

Serenity Bayous and Unseen? I have to find out more. This is so exciting!

I'm still grinning as I reach into my purse for my phone and send Luke a quick text. He isn't much of an Unseen fan, but he'll be excited that I'm excited, that much I'm sure of.

#

Amelia & Grant's Home

I wake to Grant thrashing at my left. "Karen," he mumbles. "Karen, I'll go with you."

His half of our bedsheet lies between us in a crumpled heap. His eyes are opening and closing as his clenched fists tremble.

I watch him, my annoyance increasing.

Karen. She's gone, and somehow she still comes between us.

Grant's mouth opens and closes, sweat trickling down his forehead and his bare chest heaving.

"Karen..." he whispers.

Karen...

One would assume that reconfiguring their boyfriend's memory would sufficiently wipe any trace of said boyfriend's childhood crush. Apparently, however, some memories are too cumbersome to be removed entirely.

I touch his arm. "My darling, you're dreaming."

His face contorts like he's in pain. "Karen," he whispers. "I need you."

I withdraw my hand.

He needs her?

I'm the one who got him out of I.T.I.S. I'm the one who saved him and continued to protect him for the following sixteen years! Clearly, it isn't Karen who he needs.

Angry heat travels to the tips of my fingers.

I need to calm down. I take a deep breath and force myself not to release the fire that could destroy our bed.

"Karen..." Grant mutters.

I close my eyes and mentally wrestle my anger into submission.

"Don't go, Karen..."

I open my eyes, yank off my nightgown, and lean into Grant. He's slick with perspiration and smells like a blend of fresh laundry and sweat. He stops thrashing and mumbles something indecipherable.

I nuzzle his ear and whisper my name, "Amelia."

I slide my hand under his boxers. Rewiring his memories may not have achieved the desired results, but this always works.

His eyelids fluttering, Grant emits something between a gasp and grunt. The frown lines in his forehead disappear as he responds to my touch. He lips part and he exhales.

I plant a kiss on his mouth and whisper, "You love Amelia." With this, I slide my free hand under him and pinch the soft flesh of his buttocks as hard as I can. "You love Amelia,"

I pinch him harder and his eyes fly open.

He looks at me, blinking in confusion.

I smile. "Good morning."

"Good morning to you," he says, his voice heavy with sleep.

I kiss him hard, sinking my front teeth into his bottom lip.

He jerks away before I can draw blood.

"Don't," Grant says, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"You're no fun," I say and pinch him as hard as I can.

Grant wraps his arms around me and, before I can blink, I'm on my back and he's repositioned himself on top. I give him a shove, but he doesn't budge.

"I hate the bottom. You know that," I hiss. With this, I start for his mouth again. He jerks away before I can reach his face.

"And I hate it when you bite me," he snaps.

"Whatever." I rub myself against him. "Just hurry up and get it over with."

"Get it over with?" he repeats, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, I have a busy morning."

In one swift motion, he unlinks his limbs from mine and moves to the edge of the bed. He sits there shaking his head and looking down at his feet.

"You're pathetic," I say as I lie back down and stare at the ceiling.

"No. This is pathetic."

I turn to him. "I agree."

"Oh?" Grant meets my eyes as his lips form an "O."

Sometimes, he looks like an overgrown toddler. He's a thirty-two-year-old man and yet he always looks confused, lost. It makes me want to burn his face off... but not really.

"What makes it sad, Amelia, is that I love you and you have no idea what to do with that. It's like love doesn't compute with you."

"No, what makes this relationship pathetic is you and your lies," I say as I sit up. "I know for a fact that you do not love me. And when you say you do, I see through your words. I always do."

Even though I've just spoken, I don't quite understand where my words are coming from. I don't want to argue with Grant. What am I doing? Why am I saying this?

Trying not to panic, I tug at a loose thread on my gown and watch as anger fills Grant's eyes.

I lift my chin. "You're angry because you know I'm right."

"No," Grant slowly replies. "I'm confused. I -"

"You're perpetually confused, and I'm sick of it! You're a grown man, for God's sake. You're not a lost little boy anymore." I look down at my sheets.

I don't understand what's happening. My emotions are spinning through my head like dizzying tornados that have taken up the space where my thoughts should be, and I can't think clearly. What's wrong with me?

"Amelia, you know I've loved you since the day we left I.T.I.S.," Grant says and the innocence in his words makes me cringe. I close my eyes and shake my head, pushing the memories away. I can't let him see what I'm thinking. "You know that," he says. "So, where is all this coming from? Why can't you just..." He stops speaking and the bed shifts under me as he stands and stalks off to our closet.

By all appearances, Grant belongs to me. But he isn't really mine. He's never been.

At this thought, pain tears through me.

"It's all coming from the fact that I've been afraid," I shout. "I've been afraid to face the truth about us. And the truth is that you don't love me. You're just with me for the free ride."

In the closet doorway, Grant turns around and points to me. "That's insane! Amelia, I gave up everything to follow you. I wanted to hunt down I.T.I.S. and destroy them. But when you said you wanted to make movies and you asked me to come with you, I gave up what I wanted and I went with you. I did that because I loved you!"

I shake my head and stand. "That wasn't love. That was you not knowing what to do with yourself because you were, and still are, an overgrown child."

He waves me off, steps into the closet, and slams the door shut. I wince at the sound.

Crossing my arms, I shout, "Once again, my point is proven. Children run from difficult conversations. Be a man, Grant. Come out here and talk to me!"

I am, without a doubt, the most intelligent human on this planet, but when it comes to Grant, I am a fool. I should've never asked him to come with me. When I got us out of I.T.I.S., I should have let him go right then and there. Now that he's a fixture in my life, he's nothing but a burden who has no place in my future. If he truly loved me, he'd have a place. But I can't make him love me while he's pining for a dead girl he doesn't even remember.

Frustrated, I bite down on my bottom lip and close my eyes. With this, I scream as loud as I can.

I hear the closet door and when I open my eyes, Grant is staring at me in horror.

He's pulled on a gray shirt over dark slacks and he's wearing a pair of shoes that I've, on several occasions, mentioned make his feet look far too big for the rest of his body.

Blood drips from my bottom lip and I touch my mouth just as a drop of the red falls to the carpet.

"What is wrong with you?" Grant slowly asks.

"I don't know how to explain it so you'd understand." I lick the blood from my lips.

"Then let me give it a try," he says, his gaze going to my bleeding lip. "You've been hiding something from me and whatever it is, you're afraid that when I find out, I'll leave you. That's why you're trying to leave me first. Except you can't seem to do it, because you love me too much to go."

I stare into his eyes, which are softening as he studies me. He lowers his chin, watching me intently and I take a deep breath as the familiar warmth of his ability runs through my thoughts.

"Don't do that. Stay out of my head. I -"

"I wasn't finished," he says, moving towards me. I tense, my eyes not leaving his as he wraps his arms around me. He pulls me into a hug, and once my face has been pushed into his chest, he says, "Between what happened to us at I.T.I.S. and the problems that come with your career, you've had a rough time. So, I understand if you did something you regret. Whatever it was, I'm not going to leave you."

My God, to hear him say that... my eyes fill and I close them. If I just knew he really meant it. If I just knew he really wouldn't leave.

Partially releasing me, Grant sets his chin on top of my head and with his heartbeat resounding in my ear, loud and steady, he says, "I do mean it. Even if..." he sighs and I wait for him to finish his sentence. "Even if there was someone else. If you made a one-time mistake. I'd understand."

Someone else? My eyes fly open. I push him away and grab a bunch of his shirt's material near the collar.

His eyes widen. "Whoa, hey -"

"I didn't cheat on you!" I scream. "I would never do that! Why would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"I'm not accusing you, Amelia. But if you didn't sleep with someone else, what else could you possibly be hiding?" he asks, confusion in his eyes. "You're terrified I'm going to leave you. I hear you obsessing about it nearly every hour of the day."

"Because." I falter. I have no idea what to say. "Grant, if you really cared about me, you'd just trust me. You wouldn't need to know."

He laughs dryly and pries my hands from his shirt. I clench my fists while he backs away, shaking his head.

"For the past fifteen years, I've hoped you'd learn to trust me." His voice shakes as he lifts both of his hands in a gesture of surrender. "But you can't and I wonder if you ever will. You think I can't see when you're manipulating me? I love you, Amelia, but I'm not as clueless as you think." He turns around, heading for the door. "I'm taking the morning off. You and your new 'ally,' whoever he is, are going to be fine without me."

"Nathaniel, come back!" I blurt.

And then I wince. I just called Grant by the wrong name. He isn't Nathaniel. Not anymore.

Grant doesn't seem to notice my flub. He simply storms out of my room, slamming the door behind him.

I take a deep breath.

What just happened?

I need to regroup. I can't think clearly.

I sit down on my bed and let my gaze drift to the carpet.

Grant's right; he has no reason to trust me. Everything I've told him is a lie and the woman I've convinced him to fall for isn't who I really am. He's only with me because I remind him of Karen. If he ever realizes this, if he finds out what I've done and just how much like Karen I am not - he'll leave.

I cross my arms, bring my knees to my chest, and fall sideways onto my bed.

With this, I close my eyes, and I just stop.

I stop forcing Amelia Hearth into existence, I stop trying to suppress Tessa, and I stop trying to control the heat that's traveling to my fingertips.

Sparks fly from my fingers and become small flames on my skin. I wince in pain. But I don't stop it, because I need this fire. Amelia Hearth is slipping away and the fire is what brings her back.

I can't be Tessa again - I can't. Her weakness is despicable.

Fire killed Tessa and it brought Amelia to life. Now that Tessa is trying to slip back into the driver's seat, I will set my entire body on fire if that's what it takes to resurrect Amelia. She's the strong one and if I'm going to survive, I need to be Amelia.

#

Broussard & Nellit Insurance Company

Normally, sliding into my hellhole of a job an hour late is both terrifying and depressing.

But not this morning!

With the glee of an overly caffeinated barista, I run past Broussard & Nellit's grandiose foyer fountain. Its water cascades from an elegant tipped planter and emits bubbling noises that compete with the sound of my heels as they click against the tile in quick succession. But the sound of the water wins out when I come to an abrupt stop.

Just ahead, Luke perches on the edge of my desk, his arms folded and a huge smile on his face. My grin widens and I resume my trek to the reception desk.

"Luke! Did you get my text?" As I get closer to Luke, my steps slow and my gaze goes to his outfit. Whoa.

"Yep." He hops off my desk. "So, what's going on that you can't wait another second to tell me?"

I'm still completely distracted by Luke's new threads. "My God, you look amazing," I blurt, unable to take my eyes off him. "That shirt makes your eyes even bluer." Tearing my attention away from Luke's body, I meet his gaze and shyness has crept into his expression.

He glances at the floor. "Thanks."

Aw. He's so cute. I toss my purse on my desk and it knocks my tape dispenser to the floor. "Oops."

Luke picks it up. "So, what happened? Did you get the commercial?"

I shrug and glance at his hair, which has been shorn into a taper cut. Without thinking, I reach out and run my hand along the back of his fresh haircut. He tenses and I drop my hand.

"You're so stinking hot today, it's making me forget what I want to tell you." I head to my desk and glance at him over my shoulder. "What's inspired this new you?"

The second this question leaves my lips, a horrible thought slams into my brain: what if seeing Lyla at the hospital finally gave Luke the courage to tell her how he feels about her? What if Lyla's the reason he's all Mr. GQ this morning?

"What's wrong?" Luke asks, his eyes widening.

"A-are you back with Lyla?" I stammer, my heart in my throat.

He frowns. "No."

"Oh." I exhale. "Okay."

Luke's frown disappears. "Why would you think I'm back with Lyla?"

I drum my knuckles on the edge of my desk and feign nonchalance. "Who knows? Half the time, I don't even know why I think what I think." I avoid Luke's eyes by focusing all of my attention to turning my computer on. "Anyway, I texted you because I got some really big news about Unseen. I actually found out who he is." I plop down in my desk chair.

Luke's eyes narrow, but he quickly erases his dubious expression and tries to look pleased. "Really? That's, uh, wow."

I roll my eyes, grab a paperclip from my desk, and chuck it at him. I miss horribly and the paperclip zips past his shoulder.

"I know you don't think Unseen's real, but could you just humor me?" There's an irritatingly whiny note to my voice, so I clear my throat and glance at my screen as the computer prompts me for my password. Leaning forward, I type FUTURENEWYORKER into the blank. "I can't talk to Lyla about this, so that leaves you."

"I'm all ears." Luke retrieves the paperclip from the floor and returns it to my desk.

"So there's this barista at Coffee Etc's, Kayleigh, and she told me she's... crap on a stripper pole." I turn to Luke and he's looking at me expectantly. I bite down on my bottom lip before sheepishly admitting, "I just remembered Kayleigh made me promise not to tell anyone."

Luke snaps his fingers in overdramatic irritation. "Darn it to heck. I was so riveted."

I smile. "You're a terrible actor." I sigh and shake my head at my own stupidity. "I can't believe I almost broke my promise to Kayleigh. I'm such a blabbermouth."

"No, you're not. It was an honest mistake," Luke says. "And, I get that you can't tell me. You've got to keep your word."

"Thanks for understanding."

"No problem." He takes a deep breath and I glance at him.

"Why do you suddenly look like you have news?" I ask, assessing him. "What's going on with you?"

"Well, earlier you mentioned my nonexistent acting abilities, and I sort of have something to tell you about that."

"Sweet. What's going on? Tell me!"

Luke snatches a highlighter from my pen holder and throws it in the air, catching it. I grin. He's adorable when he's excited about something.

"What's going on is that I might be an extra in an Amelia Hearth movie," he casually replies.

I gasp, chills shimming up and down my arms.

"Shut up! No!" I exclaim. "An extra in an Amelia Hearth movie?"

He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Are you kidding me? Luke!"

I jump out of my chair and run around my desk to face him, a million questions running through my mind. But as I stare at Luke and he looks back at me, his sky blue eyes shining with excitement, my questions disappear.

"I'm not kidding. I might get to be in one of her movies." He grins, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"How'd it happen?" I ask, regaining control of my thoughts.

"You know how yahoo email has those pop-up ads on the side of the screen? Well, there was this one about Amelia Hearth needing extras for a movie she's filming, so I clicked on it, put my information in, and next thing I knew, they'd called me. I'm supposed to go to Alyssum Studios this afternoon for a casting call."

"I can't believe you're going to be in an Amelia Hearth movie!" I squeal, jumping up and down. Behind me, the dreaded reception phone rings and I ignore it because who cares about answering a stupid phone when your friend is going to be on set with America's greatest director!

"Actually, I might not." Luke shakes his head but that adorable grin of his doesn't leave his lips. "It's not a sure thing yet."

I grab his arm and yank him towards me.

"Whoa!" He chuckles as I wrap him in a hug.

"There's no way she won't cast you," I say, squeezing him as tightly as I can. "You're so cute; she'd be crazy to let you get away. In any case, I'm so, so, so proud of you." I give him one final squeeze before stepping back and nearly tripping on my heels. Fortunately, I catch myself by grabbing the edge of my desk, where my phone is still ringing. "That's why you're all dressed up today. It's for Amelia!" I realize, pointing to his amazing outfit.

Luke straightens his tie, his face beet red as he says, "No, uh, well, sort of. I guess." He rubs his left ear and runs his palm over his cheeks before crossing his arms and clearing his throat.

I hurry around to the other side of my desk. "I should answer this, but don't leave yet." Luke nods while I pick up the phone and enthusiastically answer, "Thanks for calling Broussard & Nellit Insurance, how may I direct your call?"

"Mrs. Vicky Pianciano, please," the crisp voice on the other end of the line replies.

"Sure, one moment." I transfer the call to Vicky's office and plop into my seat, my gaze going to my computer. "Luke, you have to tell me what this movie's going to be about."

I glance up and he's staring at me with the sweetest look in his eyes. I smile, surprised.

Aw.

He blinks, averting his eyes. "I'm not sure yet, but soon as I hear something, you'll be the first to know." Luke toys with his tie before sliding his hands into his pockets.

I can't help but grin. Hands-in-the-pockets is Luke Kennedy's go-to move when he's feeling especially awkward. He blushed and stuck his hands in his pockets the first time we met, which was during our junior year at South Louisiana High. His hands also made their way to his pockets one particularly awful summer afternoon when we were sixteen. We'd walked all the way from Lyla's house to Coffee Etc's and those hands remained hidden in his pockets the whole time he stammered through an apologetic explanation of why I'd just walked in on him and Lyla making out. His explanation had something to do with Lyla asking him out and him saying yes. If I'm being honest, that conversation right there kinda broke my heart. And as long ago as that was, I'd be lying if I said that my heart's totally fine now.

But, whatever. No matter how I feel about Luke, there's a line there that I can't cross. Lyla created that line when we were sixteen and decided to claim him. And I'm not about to be that friend who goes after her best friend's ex - especially when it's fairly obvious that they're still in love with each other.

"Are you nervous about the casting call?" I ask, returning my attention to the computer. I open my Netflix account and pull up the movie I didn't get to finish watching the last time I was at work.

Luke laughs a little and I glance at him.

Inching towards my desk, he toys with the Anna Maxted novel resting between my stapler and printer, gently sliding it backwards and forwards.

"I'm always nervous, you know that." Luke's smile is pinned in place, but the pauses between his words betray his honesty.

"Luke." I watch him, wondering if he has any idea how special he is. I really don't think he does. He may not be in the running to win Mr. Universe, but with his ocean blue eyes, sweet smile, and general aura of innocent sincerity, Luke Kennedy is worth a million Mr. Universes. "If someone as crazy hot and talented as you is always nervous," I say, "then can you imagine how bad off the rest of us are?"

Blushing, Luke shrugs. "Nah, whatever. But, um, actually, um, I, uh, I wanted to ask you if you're -"

He's cut off by my favorite Drake song blaring from my purse and I jump, startled. Grabbing my bag, I retrieve my phone.

"Sorry, I forgot to put this thing on vibrate." I glance around. The reception area is still deserted, thank God. "If Mr. Nellit were here, he'd have my head. Last week he went on and on about how I shouldn't take personal calls during 'company time,' and said I should turn my phone off while I'm at work." I glance down and the number filling my screen is none other than Coffee Etc's.

My heart sinks.

Kayleigh would've called me from her cell, so this must be Mr. Freeman.

"Oh, no," I mutter, butterflies filling my stomach.

"What's wrong?" Luke asks.

"This is Mr. Freeman calling me back. God, I wish I had a drink right now." I smooth down my dress and glance at Luke. "I should probably take this. Can we talk later? I'm so sorry."

"Sure, absolutely. And good luck." He smiles weakly and nods to the hallway at our right. "I'd better get back to the mailroom anyway."

"Yeah," I say, distracted as he lightly slaps one of his palms down on my desk before walking away. I bring the phone to my ear and take a deep breath. "Hello, Gina speaking."

My breath catching in my throat, I push my hair out of my face.

I'd rather apologize in person than on the phone, but this will have to do.

"Hi, Gina. This is Alan Freeman from Coffee Etc's. I -"

"Yes, Sir, hi!" I exclaim and then wince. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off. I'm basically socially retarded, so..." I cringe. Did I really just used the word "retarded" while addressing a person whose son had Autism? I. Want. To. Die.

"That's okay, Gina. I'm calling because Kayleigh told me you'd stopped by this morning." Mr. Freeman pauses and I clench my fist.

This is it. I have to say it while he's paused.

"Right, Mr. Freeman. I... um, I owe you an apology." My voice is shaking so I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together.

"Oh, that's okay. Don't worry about it, Gina. I know you didn't mean anything by it," Mr. Freeman says with a chuckle.

"You do?" I squeak.

"Of course." He laughs again and my fear dissolves. "No one's perfect."

I sit up straighter in my chair, tension leaving my shoulders.

"Oh my God, you're so nice. If I were you, I'd have trouble not hating me. Thank you for understanding and again, uh," I stammer, glancing at my screensaver - a black and white photo of me and Lyla with my grandparents, as it fades into view. "Again, I'm so sorry."

"No, it's all right. Really. But switching gears here," Mr. Freeman clears his throat. "As far as the commercial is concerned, while I really liked your work, I decided to go another route."

I close my eyes and nod. "That's okay. I sort of expected not to get it."

In the distance, Broussard and Nellit's foyer fountain makes crisp splashing noises and I open my eyes, watching the water fall as I wait for Mr. Freeman to reply.

"And please don't misunderstand - I really admire your work," he says, "But I felt like we needed someone with more experience."

Someone with more experience? Annoyed, I watch the foamy water splash upwards, some of its bubbles shadowed by hues of turquoise and purple. "If you mean Seth Scardina," I blurt, "I'm pretty sure me and Seth are about the same age."

I bring my palm to my face and shake my head at myself.

Why did I say that? I should've just said, "Okay, thanks Mr. Freeman," and ended this call on a pleasant note. Now I sound like a brat.

"That's true. You're both young. But Seth has a good bit of commercial experience whereas you've done the majority of your work with wedding videos," Mr. Freeman patiently explains. "But that doesn't take away from the fact that you're truly talented. Don't ever give up, Gina."

I gulp, my throat tightening. "Thanks. That's nice of you to say."

"It's the truth," Mr. Freeman cheerfully replies.

Prying my gaze from the fountain, I let it drift to the objects on my desk: my stapler, my pen holder, the Anna Maxted novel I sometimes read on my lunch break, the tiny box of paperclips... why on earth did I think I'd be able to direct a Coffee Etc's commercial? I'm a receptionist with an overactive imagination, not an actual filmmaker.

"Well, a professional cinematographer's a great choice." I press my fist down on my stapler and watch the tiny machine spew crushed staples onto my desk. "And I know Seth personally. He's a great guy."

I frown into the little pile of staples, thinking quickly. Should I mention that I might be working with Seth anyway? Maybe I should make sure that's okay with Mr. Freeman before -

"Oh, I've got to run, my other line is ringing," Mr. Freeman says, interrupting my thoughts and laughing as he continues, "Now stop using that word 'retarded' and you won't have to do so much apologizing, all right?"

I blink.

Does he think that's what I was apologizing for?

"Mr. Freeman -"

"All right now. I'll see you around. Bye, bye then," he interrupts, his tone rushed.

I grit my teeth as he hangs up.

Crap in a puddle of mud!

I put my phone on vibrate, slide it into my purse, and look straight ahead, staring at the foyer fountain.

Yes, there's email to check and Mr. Nellit's calendar to add "important" events to, but I can't seem to make myself do any of this.

The office phone rings and snapping out of my daytrip, I answer it with the most cheerful, "Thanks for calling Broussard and Nellit Insurance, how may I direct your call?" I can muster. My greeting is interrupted by the sound of a boat horn and an automated message telling me I've won a free cruise care of some real estate agent.

I slam the phone down, turn to my computer, and go to my Netflix tab. Deciding against watching the paused movie I'd started yesterday, I choose my favorite Amelia Hearth film - Sinderella With an S.

I'm going to sit here and watch the crap out of this movie until I start to feel better.

Amelia Hearth movies are my mac and cheese. That's right. Some people indulge in comfort food when they're sad - not me. I indulge in comfort movies.

I exhale and close my eyes while the Twentieth Century Fox intro music plays.

It's insane how much I love that sound.

Opening my eyes, I watch the title credits fade into view as the movie's score begins.

I lean back in my desk chair and lace my hands together, my eyes on the screen.

I wish I were braver. Brave enough to have gone to NYU and gotten the training I'd have needed to push my way into Amelia Hearth's world. Then I wouldn't be a receptionist/wannabe filmmaker who can't even convince a local coffee shop to let her shoot their commercial.

I'm such a loser.

My shoulders slumped, I keep my eyes on Sinderella with an S, eager to tune out my negative thoughts and drift into the world that Amelia Hearth's created.

#

Broussard & Nellit Insurance

"I froze," I hiss. Shaking my head at my cowardice, I push a binder into a large FedEx envelope. "I was a second away from asking her when her phone rang. She got distracted and I froze." I seal the mailer shut and grab a Sharpie as Darrell sighs, which sends a loud wave of static into my phone's speaker.

"Dude, I'm sorry." He offers a sympathetic groan. As I fill out the mailer's shipping address, I hear what sounds like his car door open. "All I can say is you know how Gina is: sometimes you have to straight up tell her what she wants. Otherwise she gets distracted and the moment's gone. I love her, but she has the worst case of ADD on the planet."

I nod. He's definitely right about that. And it seems like it got worse after her grandparents died.

Someone slips an envelope through the mailroom's outside slot and I glance up as it shoots down the metal slide and lands in the bin I'm supposed to empty before I leave.

Five years ago, I assumed that working in Broussard & Nellit's mailroom would be an easy gig. I imagined myself hanging out with Gina for most of the morning, only checking the mail every now and then. But overseeing the mail, even on a part-time basis, is surprisingly time-consuming.

"I know it's not like you, Luke," Darrell continues, his words followed by two quick shrieks of his car alarm. "But you've got to be firm. Tell her what she wants. If her phone rings, tell her not to answer it, be straightforward. Like, 'Woman, I want you and tonight we're going to eat dinner and talk about how much I want you.' Just say it. Don't even think about it."

I laugh as I imagine how terribly that kind of conversation would go.

"Yeah, I think that might freak her out a little," I say, tossing the completed mailer into the outgoing mail bin.

"Maybe, but it'd plant the seed in her mind; the idea that you're more than a friend." In the background I hear someone shout a greeting to him. "Yo, bro, I'm at work now so I gotta go, but good luck. And remember, be straightforward."

I lean against the counter, blindly staring into the opaque outgoing mail bin.

Darrell's right. Gina needs straightforward. And for me to be straightforward, I have to build my confidence.

I run a hand through my hair and look up at the mailroom's fluorescent lights. "Yeah, thanks, man, and after this, I'll stop bugging you with my problems. I know you have a life."

"Nah, no problem. Oh, and I'll tell my grandma you can't come today. Good luck with the casting call. Later," he quickly replies.

He ends the call and I continue to stare into the lights, imagining all the things that might happen when I ask Gina to dinner. She might say yes, which would be great. Or she might say she has plans with Seth.

I groan.

This is so lame. I'm staring into space imagining fictitious conversations like some kind of mental patient while Gina is literally right down the hall. All I have to do is open the mailroom door, take a couple of steps to the left, and go talk to her. I can do that... can't I?

My mouth bone dry and my pits starting to sweat, I turn to the mailroom door.

Like Darrell said, don't think, just say it, just walk up to her and say it.

My fists clenched, I start for the door and my phone rings. I exhale, relief flooding through me.

Thank God. Because I don't think I could've done it.

I head back to my phone and frown down at Alyssum Studio's number on my screen.

Did they already change their minds about using me?

"Hello?" I hesitantly ask.

"Luke Kennedy, please," a nearly robotic male voice replies.

"This is Luke."

"Hello, this is Stanley Tyrell with Alyssum Studios," the man says. "I am calling to ask you if you can come in earlier than expected today. As soon as possible in fact."

"Oh." I pause, mentally running through my schedule for the day. "Sure, that's fine. I can come in now."

"Thank you," the man replies, his tone oddly stiff. "We will see you soon."

"Sure, yeah. See you later." I hang up, shove my phone into my pocket, grab my jacket, and glance at the mail I'm leaving unfinished. This will be the first time in my five years with Broussard & Nellit that I'll leave without finishing the mail.

My stomach tightens - an absurd reaction to such a tiny rebellion - and I slip out of the mailroom.

GINA'S LAUGH, JUST ahead, carries down the hall and I think I hear Vicky Pianciano's thick Italian accent too.

I smooth down my hair and fiddle with my jacket, tensing as I make my way towards them.

I near the start of the hallway and Gina comes into view.

She sits at her desk, her long dark curls cascading down her back. As she crosses her legs, I find myself pausing.

Tanned so that they're almost golden, one thigh slides over the other and the material of her short dress rides up, exposing even more of her thigh. My breath hitches in the back of my throat. As a surge of blood rushes to my groin, I curse under my breath and make myself look away.

Walking by Gina's desk with a huge boner is definitely not an option.

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.

"Luke!" Vicky shrieks and I jump.

Pasting on a grin, I start towards them. "Hey."

Vicky Pianciano, a forty-something native of Italy and the wife of the best chef in town, sits on the edge of Gina's desk, her legs dangling in front of her as she offers me her famous warm smile.

Vicky's one of the kindest members of our small town's community. When Uncle Joe first adopted me, she'd stop by with food nearly every day. When she found out that I like to cook, she had me shadow her husband at his restaurant a few afternoons each week. If Uncle Joe hadn't started needing help at the bakery, I'd probably still be shadowing Chef Pianciano.

"Isn't it kind of early?" Gina asks, grabbing her phone and frowning at the time. "I thought you didn't have to be at Alyssum Studios until after eleven."

"They called and said they need me earlier, like now." I come to a halt in front of her desk.

"Oh." She sets her phone down and looks at me, a flicker of sadness momentarily appearing in her eyes. But it disappears as she tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles. "This is so exciting; you'll have to tell me everything."

"I can't believe our Luke is going to be a movie star!" Vicky exclaims, reaching out and patting my shoulder.

I chuckle and shrug, my face warming as I try to think of something to say.

"He doesn't need a movie to be a star," Gina says, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her. I glance at her and she's grinning at me, that glimmer of melancholy once again showing itself in her eyes. "He's already there."

Her words hit me straight in the heart and I'm so affected, I have to look away.

That right there is how she gets to me. As unreliable, distracted, and profoundly incompetent as she can be, Gina's all heart. And when she says something like that and looks at me with those big brown eyes, I'm trapped.

I grab my keys from my pocket and dare another glance at her. A glint of sadness is still visible in her expression and I wonder if the Shoron gas is still affecting her.

"Are you feeling okay?" I haltingly ask.

"She's jealous," Vicky stage-whispers, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

I grin and shrug. "No need. I'm sure I won't get the job. I'm no actor."

I want to seriously ask Gina if she's okay, but before I can, she wrinkles her nose and waves me off. "You'll get it, Luke. Go break a leg. You're going to be amazing."

"Thanks. Well, okay then... here goes nothing, I guess." I turn to the door, Gina and Vicky's final goodbyes ringing behind me and the splashing water of Broussard and Nellit's foyer fountain growing louder as I approach it.

I can still do it. I can still ask her to dinner. All I have to do is stop walking, turn around, and say, "Gina, how about dinner tonight?"

My pace slowing, I look beyond Broussard and Nellit's glass doors. Outside, the sky is overcast and a few drizzles leak from the gray clouds above.

Letting out the breath I've been holding, I unclench my fists and turn around.

Vicky's talking, half-turned to Gina. But Gina, still sitting behind her desk, rests her chin in the palms of her hands and doesn't appear to be listening to Vicky because her brown eyes are on me.

My heart falters in my chest.

Gina smiles and, sitting up straighter, mouths, "What's wrong?"

My gaze goes to the deep Cupid's Bow in her top lip and I take a step back.

Nope, I can't do this. Anxiety, invisible but thick as night, falls over me like a smothering blanket and I take a deep breath. Tomorrow will be better. I'll ask her tomorrow.

"Nothing," I mouth, my nerves skyrocketing. With this, I turn away and book it through Broussard and Nellit's front doors.

#

Broussard & Nellit Insurance Company

Luke slips through the exit. Wistfully, I toy with my left earring, watching the door swing shut behind him. Everyone I care about has, or is in the process of, slipping away: my grandparents through their illnesses and eventual deaths, Lyla with her goals and the means to achieve them, and now Luke.

"He's got the nicest smile, no?"

Vicky's question jolts me from my trance and I glance at her.

There's a twinkle in her eye as she grins and points to me, her silver bracelets dangling from her wrist. "But you weren't looking at just his smile, were you?" she teases and I laugh, warmth creeping into my cheeks. "I saw you watching Luke walk away."

"What are you even talking about?"

"You know, passerotta, you know." Vicky smiles knowingly and grabs her purse from my desk. "This Seth guy you told me about sounds nice, but I see the way you look at Luke."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. "So I just figured out the Italian word for 'crazy.' You know what it is?"

"Around here the Italians say gagoots," Vicky says, retrieving her keys from her purse and then hoisting the bag up on her shoulder,

"Nope. It's 'Vicky Pianciano,' because you're literally crazy."

She laughs, her free hand going to the French twist that her dark, shoulder length hair has been swept into. She smooths it down as if it isn't already perfect and shakes her head, tsking, "Gina, Gina, Gina. What am I going to do with you? Speaking of crazy, that's where I'm headed - the loony bin. My husband's sister is causing problems as usual."

"Uh oh." I cringe, recalling that Vicky's husband, Ryan, has an older sister with some kind of mental disability. The poor lady's a patient at Serenity Bayous and she must be pretty sneaky because she's constantly finding ways to escape and gallivant around town until someone catches her. It drives Vicky up the wall. "Did she escape again?"

Vicky nods, grimacing. "The police found her walking around South Louisiana High School's football field."

"Oh no." I groan in sympathy, hating the defeated look that momentarily flickers in Vicky's brown eyes.

"I know." She glances at her keys and swings them from left to right. "Ryan and I are thinking of hiring a sitter to stay with her during the night. Is that not sad? We have to hire a sitter to stay with Betty in a place that's supposed to be watching her! I hate Serenity Bayous, but they're the only place that..."

Vicky continues, but my ability to listen comes to a halt as the words, "Serenity Bayous" leave her lips.

This could be my ticket into finding out the truth about what goes on in that place!

I gasp, jump out of my chair and Vicky's eyes widen as I exclaim, "I can do it! I can stay with her!" Realizing that I'm shouting, I lower my voice. "I'm great with the elderly and I totally wouldn't mind."

Vicky tilts her head and her puzzled expression transforms into understanding. Speaking gently, she says, "You need the extra money, yes?"

I wince.

I hate to seem pathetic, but I guess that's how people see me: as an underachiever who hasn't done much with her life, which is all but obvious from my lack of money or stability.

Oh well. I'll accept this label if it'll get me closer to the truth about Unseen's origins.

I shrug. "It's no pressure or anything, but I am fantastic with older people."

Vicky nods. "Of course. I'm sure you'd be perfect, but let me talk to Ryan first. If he's okay with it, then you may start as soon as tomorrow. Maybe we pay you a hundred dollars a night? Is that all right?"

Tomorrow? I might be able to finagle my way into Serenity Bayous as early as tomorrow? Chills cover my arms as I grin. "Vicky, you don't have to pay me anything."

"Ma, che sei grullo? Of course we'll pay you, silly sparrow." Briefly frowning, she asks, "What time is it?"

I grin at the "silly sparrow" reference and glance at my computer. "Ten minutes to ten."

"I've got to run and handle things with Betty." Vicky heads to Broussard & Nellit's front door and calls over her shoulder, "If Mr. Nellit asks where I am, please tell him I'll try to be back by noon."

"Sure thing."

Vicky leaves and I return to my seat, unable to stop smiling.

That was kind of perfect. Sure, it sucks that poor Betty Pianciano is escaping and running around town, but I absolutely cannot wait to get into Serenity Bayous. Maybe I'll find some kind of secret lab where they did the genetic testing that resulted in Unseen's superpowers. I can't believe all of this is real - it's so exciting!

I laugh with the gusto of a Disney villain, click play on Netflix, and Sinderella with an S's ominous theme music fills the reception area.

I've got to tell Kayleigh about this.

Still grinning, I reach into my purse and grab my phone, quickly searching for Kayleigh within my contacts.

"Gina?"

At the sound of my boss's voice, I fumble to pause Sinderella with an S and lower my phone to my lap.

Oh, God.

"Sir?" I ask as I turn around to face my boss.

Plump in an ill-fitting brown suit that appears to be a relic from the 90's, my boss's beagle-like face is as stern as ever. His upper lip twitches and he sighs before nodding to the hallway behind him. "Step into my office for a moment."

"Yes, sir. Of course," I cheerfully agree, throwing my phone into my purse.

I stand and follow him.

Whatever boring office task he wants done won't put a dent in my smile, because I'm going to get into Serenity Bayous as soon as tomorrow night! Woo hoo!

"CLOSE THE DOOR, Gina."

I pull Mr. Nellit's door closed and it emits a click. With this, I turn to my boss and he makes his way to his large desk.

Every time I see that desk, a surge of pride runs through me because, if I don't say so myself, I did a pretty excellent job picking it out for him. The desk's warm dark wood finish is stately without coming across as gaudy. It is, however, unfortunate that my bosses' suit is the exact same color as his desk. No suit should be that brown.

When I first met Mr. Nellit, I felt comfortable with him because he's an older guy who I figured would be somewhat similar to my Nonno. But let's just say I've hence learned not to assume that every older man I meet is as courteous as my grandpa.

Theodore Nellit is, first of all, a close-talker with bad breath who tends to spit as he speaks and even worse, he has an awful habit of making eye contact with my boobs instead of my actual eyes. So yeah, that's loads of fun and not at all creepy. But the guy's my boss, so I just smile and deal.

Now, he gestures to the chair across from his desk. "Please, have a seat."

"Sure." I hurry past the large window overlooking the wooded area beside our office and slide into the offered chair. It's a small cherry oak seat that I personally helped Mr. Nellit pick out a while ago.

I clasp my hands together in my lap as my middle-aged supervisor emits a series of grunting noises while lowering himself into the seat behind his desk. I avert my eyes until he's situated and silently wonder if Mr. Nellit realizes what he sounds like and simply doesn't care, or if he actually can't hear himself. Maybe he suffers from severe wax build up. After all, there was that one time I caught him cleaning his ears with a bent papercli--

"For the past five years," Mr. Nellit says, his gaze darting to the opened laptop on his desk. Reaching out, he closes it. "You've done a heck of a lot for our company and I'm grateful for that."

"Thank you." I beam.

Maybe I'm finally going to get a raise!

"You're welcome, and..." He hesitates.

Why does he seem nervous?

"Sir?" I ask, leaning forward and hoping to push him past the pothole of a pause he's fallen into.

"Yes, well." He clears his throat. "There is, however, the matter of your constant tardiness, absences, and your use of company time to talk on your personal phone and watch movies online."

My mouth goes dry and moistening my lips, I sit back. "I'm... sorry."

Mr. Nellit sighs and the office grows silent as he lowers his gaze to his desk.

"You've been a decent employee," he finally says. "But Broussard & Nellit needs better than decent. You're not giving us your best and that's why we're going to have to let you go."

I blink, my mind going blank.

Realizing that I've been rendered speechless, Mr. Nellit continues, "I wish you the best, Gina."

I look down at my hands. They're still folded in my lap and for a moment, they don't even look like they belong to me. It's like I'm staring at some other woman's limp hands.

"Again, I'm sorry and I wish you the best. You're a very nice girl." He stands.

I don't know what to do, so I mirror him and rise to my feet.

Should I try to defend my absences and the whole watching-Netflix-at-work issue? Should I point out that I was in a car wreck yesterday?

"Okay, and, um, I'm sorry," I stammer.

"Well, you're quite... talented," Mr. Nellit says, his gaze briefly going to my chest. "And you're young, so there will be other opportunities I'm sure. And of course I'll be happy to write a positive letter of recommendation for you. Just call me and we'll meet up about it. Perhaps on a Friday evening after five. Just text me and let me know you'll be stopping by."

"Okay, thank you," I robotically reply before heading to his office door.

I should probably say something in my defense, but I don't know where to start.

But Mr. Nellit, no longer looking at me, has returned to his desk. He opens his laptop and begins to type while my mind continues to fail me.

Well, I guess that's it. I guess I just lost my job.

#

Alyssum Studios

I know now, that losing something is the only way to truly understand its value.

It's strange that we're hardwired this way; walking around with functioning arms and legs, eyes that see, taste buds that discern flavors, and dreams that energize the muscle we call our heart - yet we want for more. We want so much more that we're blind to what we have until it's taken away. A hurt limb, failing eyesight, taste buds gone berserk, or losing someone you love... loss leads to appreciation. I discovered this when I was fourteen.

One day eight years ago, my mom and my little sister were out of town. So I was on my own. That morning, I was walking to school and my mom called just as I turned onto Vanderbilt Avenue. I remember rolling my eyes because she'd already called me twice that morning, once to make sure I woke up on time and then again to make sure I'd remembered to lock our front door when I left for school.

So, cursing under my breath, I answered her call with a curt, "What?"

"I know you're on your way to school, hon," Mom said, sounding rushed. "But Lauren just wants to say hello before she goes in to see the doctor."

Softening, I held back the sigh Mom called my "trademark sound" and said, "Okay."

Lauren's issues with her kidneys had sent her all the way to a children's hospital in Texas, where there was a specialist who everyone was sure would be able to help her.

"Hey, butthead!" Lauren's energetic voice sounded in my ear and despite myself, I grinned.

"We don't speak to each other that way, young lady," Mom pipped up in the background.

"What up, snotface?" I replied. "How do you like your new doctor?"

"Don't know. I'm meeting her for the first time this morning, if Mom doesn't get us killed in traffic."

In the background, Mom said, "It's not me. It's these Texans! I swear to God, these cowboys can't drive!"

"Don't swear to God, Mom!" Lauren yelled and as I winced at her octave's effect on my eardrum, a thud slammed into my backpack.

I turned around and a group of guys from school were behind me.

One of them, already tall at 6'1 and crowned with a large fro that gave him at least an extra two inches in height, cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted, "Yo, fatty. What up, fat boy?" Behind him, a laughing friend grasped an empty water bottle, which he raised and proceeded to hurl my way.

I ducked, barely missing the water bottle. "Lauren," I hurriedly said. "I've got to go. Good luck with the new doctor." Without waiting for her to reply, I hung up.

That was the last conversation I had with my mom and little sister.

Less than five minutes later, their car was hit by an eighteen wheeler. My mom was killed instantly but Lauren hung on for a few hours until, finally, her head injury took a turn for the worse and she, too, died.

I'd spent most of my childhood wishing I wasn't the only guy in our house, wishing for the father I half-remembered and imagining how much better life would be if he'd stuck around. But when what I did have was stolen and there was no God or even an "Unseen" with Shoron gas to prevent their deaths, only then did I realize the value of what I'd lost.

Now, I take a deep breath and reach into my pocket, starting for my phone before realizing that I left it with Alyssum Studio's security guards.

Today, the thing I've lost, the thing that I'm beginning to realize I've taken for granted, is time itself.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you know what time it is?" I ask, rubbing the bridge of my nose and expecting this guy to say three thirty or four o'clock.

Sure, spending my afternoons and evenings at the bakery isn't exactly paradise, but at least there's work to keep me busy, and when there's not work, there's fooling around with recipes in the kitchen or calling Gina... but here, without my phone, time is simply gone, every moment wasted.

"It is currently three-ten in the afternoon," replies the man whose name I wasn't even given. He's got an accent that I think may be Chinese, because he skips over most of his r's.

I glance up, studying him for probably the millionth time. He's the only person I've been around for the past two and a half hours.

As one of Alyssum Studio's doctors, he's clad in a long white coat that covers a checkered red and blue shirt over navy slacks. He's got thin white hair, a very wrinkled face, and a peculiar dullness in his eyes. Throughout the one hundred and fifty minutes that we've been sitting across from each other, he hasn't appeared comfortable or uncomfortable. Perched on his white backless stool, he simply... is.

He looks up from page forty of the seemingly endless questionnaire that, upon my arrival, was thrust into my hands by an Alyssum guard who instructed me to complete it as quickly as possible.

"On question one hundred and eleven, you describe yourself as 'anxious.' The doctor pauses to push his glasses up on his nose. "Yet on question one hundred and twenty-seven you describe yourself as 'calm.' Which is it? Are you anxious or are you calm?"

I try not to stare at the man's white nose hairs, which ever so slightly escape their home every time he exhales. "I'm anxious to leave here, but I'm generally a calm person," I say as I glance at the curtain to my right. Behind it, another one of Alyssum Studio's doctors is quietly questioning one of my fellow "extras."

I've never been to a casting call, so I didn't know what to expect- but I've got to say, this is a lot stranger than I expected.

After getting my headshot taken and completing my questionnaire in a waiting room, a blank-faced and silent guard escorted me outside and then into another building labeled "Soundstage 1." The guard turned to me and stoically informed me that the building was being used for "casting call interviews." Upon stepping inside, I found that the place looked like a makeshift hospital for refugees.

The large room, abuzz with quiet conversation, was divided into sections by dozens upon dozens of curtains. Women and men in white coats busily escorted extras, like me, into various curtained areas.

My questionnaire and I were quickly handed over to the Asian doctor in front of whom I now sit. During the first fifteen or so minutes of our time together, he measured my height and weight and explained that this was an action movie that required a lot of physical activity. I signed some more paperwork, legally acknowledging that I would be okay with that and that I would keep everything regarding the top-secret movie under wraps.

But now, I'm just sitting here...like a bored-to-death bump on a log.

"No one is forcing you to stay, Mr. Kennedy," the doctor says, his tone deadpan.

I place each of my palms over my knees and consider my options.

If I leave, there's no way I'll get a part in this movie.

What's Gina's face going to look like when I tell her I didn't get the part because I quit?

"Would you like to leave, Mr. Kennedy?" the doctor asks.

I look up, meet his dead-eyed stare and silently wish he'd stop calling me "Mr. Kennedy."

I shake my head. "No, sir, but is this typically how a casting call works? It doesn't seem like asking us nearly two hundred questions about our self-esteem and childhood have much to do with being an extra in a movie."

"Mr. Kennedy," the doctor replies, unfazed. "As I explained earlier, this is a very special movie. If you are chosen to be a part of it, you will understand why Amelia chose such a unique casting process."

I shift in my seat. A very special movie?

The doctor returns his attention to my questionnaire and my thoughts return to Gina. It's silly, but I want to be able to tell her I was picked. I want to see her face light up. If I could see that, nothing would stop me from asking her to dinner, not even my anxiety.

The doctor's monotone voice interrupts my thoughts and he uses his index finger to push his glasses up on his nose. "Once again... would you describe yourself as calm or anxious?"

I imagine Gina's eyes widening as she looks at me in wonder. I can practically feel the warmth of her body as she throws her arms around my neck and presses herself against me in one of those bear hugs.

Nothing's going to beat that moment.

I meet the doctor's eyes. "Is anxiously calm an option?"

#

La Petite Maison Bistro & Diner

The one good thing about getting fired in the morning is that your afternoon is free for day drinking. And that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm huddled at a corner table in a bistro called La Petite Maison, my second glass of red wine almost gone, and a formerly huge slice of strawberry and praline cheesecake, also nearly demolished.

I take the last bite of my cheesecake and close my eyes, savoring the flavor.

"You need anything else, Gina?"

I open my eyes and Darrell, my waiter, is grinning at me.

I glance at my nearly empty wineglass. I want to ask for the bottle, but I also don't want Darrell to judge me, because he's actually more than just my waiter.

He and I went to high school together. Darrell hung out with the theater kids and always volunteered for a role in whatever YouTube sketch or film I happened to be working on, so we immediately clicked. He was thoughtful but fun, a breeze to direct, and he always laughed at my jokes - even the terrible ones.

To be perfectly honest, I was so taken by Darrell, that there was this one late-night shoot we did together - just the two of us - and I tried to put the moves on him. Surprisingly, I didn't get what I wanted. It was actually the first time a guy rejected me. It was one of those awkward moments where I grabbed his hand, stared into his eyes, and leaned in. But instead of kissing me, he just stared at me in shock. Then, he released my hand and started talking about how much he wanted Taco Bell even though he knew it would send him straight to the bathroom for three hours straight. That definitely killed the mood. But it didn't kill our friendship. We went to Taco Bell that night (don't judge us, that food is dope, even if it does have the same effect as a handful of prunes) and for many nights afterwards... we actually spent a ton of time together creating film and theater projects. I think we got along so well because, not only did we relate artistically, but we were both being raised by our grandparents.

I know that sounds odd, but it's a big deal. When you're raised by older people, it makes you different from your friends. For one, your guardians are tired, meaning you get away with a lot more than the average kid. Their parents are younger and full of the energy necessary for disciplining. While that's a plus, not every aspect of having elderly guardians is great. For example, your head is filled with old-fashioned idioms, and you drop names like Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole. Of course you try your best to fit in and you do all right, but you're still different.

With Darrell, however, there was no "being different." Unlike Lyla, who'd sometimes have no idea where my feelings were coming from, and even Luke who'd occasionally look at me like I was an alien, Darrell 100% got me. It bothers me that we lost touch after high school. Luke's so much better about keeping up with old friends. He even visits Darrell's grandmother at least a few times a week. He's an angel and I'm... a loser.

"I'm fine." Sighing, I drop my fork and it clatters on the empty plate. "I could eat another piece, but that'd just be greedy, so I'll resist."

He smiles. "You ready for the check then?"

The thought of money makes my every muscle tense. But I try not to let my anxiety show. "Sure, yeah."

I'm not broke just yet, but next month when my bills come in on top of the bills my grandparents left behind, I will be in a state known as "beyond screwed" and there will be no splurging on good wine and cheesecake for a very long time.

Darrell glances over his shoulder. With this, he leans forward and his tie flops on the table, landing on top of my fork. "Don't worry about it," he whispers. "This one's on the house."

"Seriously?" I look at him in surprise. "I mean, that's nice of you, but I don't want you to get in trouble."

He shakes his head and gently claps a hand on my shoulder. "It's fine. You had my back in high school, now I have yours. On one condition."

"What?" I ask as I take the very last swig of wine.

"Come back here with Luke, the two of you," Darrell says with a smile. "Management keeps saying the place is hurting for young customers. If they see you two here, they'll be happy and when I tell them you're my friends, I'll look good for promoting the business."

I nod. "Sure, I can do that."

"Great." He winks and nods to the door. "Now get your just-got-fired tail out of here."

I grin and slide out of the booth. "My just-got-fired tail and I are leaving."

I give Darrell a big hug and as he releases me, he says, "You know, Gina, losing that job could be a good thing. Now you can do what you want. You're still into filmmaking, aren't you?"

Am I still into filmmaking?

I shrug. "Well, I shoot weddings for people sometimes."

"That's good." Darrell straightens the black apron at his hips and my eyes go to his tie, which is crooked. "So now you can film weddings and make movies. It's like my grandma always tells me: God put you here for a reason, so you should do what you were put on Earth to do. Now you can do exactly that."

I give him a closer look as he finishes fooling with his apron and then drops his hands to his sides. Darrell's tone is casual, but looking into his eyes tells me that he's serious about what he's just said.

I wonder if he's really talking about himself. Maybe he and his grandmother wish he were doing what he was "put on Earth to do" instead of waiting tables. And maybe that means I'm not completely alone in not being where I want in life.

"Yeah, you're right," I agree, leaning forward to fix his crooked tie. He smiles and stands a bit straighter while I tighten it on his neck. Our eyes meet as I give his chest a gentle pat. "It's funny: last night I was just talking to Lyla about how I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with my life."

Darrell arches an eyebrow. "That's crazy."

For a second, I think he's talking about his tie. But he looks at me and I realize that he means me- I'm crazy for still not having any sort of life direction.

"I know. I'm a mess." A warm blush creeps into my cheeks. Suddenly self-conscious, I cross my arms. "All my friends are graduating with degrees and starting their lives while I'm getting fired and going through an early quarter-life crisis."

Darrell shakes his head. "No, that's not crazy. What I mean is, it's obvious what you're supposed to be doing. Remember the movie you made about that kid, what was it called? Autism and Adam?"

My shoulders slump at the thought of Mr. Freeman and Serenity Bayous. "Adam Has Autism," I quietly say.

"Yeah, that one!" Darrell exclaims. In spite of my thoughts, the excitement in his voice makes me smile. "Gina, that movie was special - really, all of your work was special. You need to keep doing what you do with film."

His praise wraps itself around my heart like a bow. "Thank you, Darrell." I lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. "That means a lot."

The sound of falling pots and pans emerges from the small bistro's kitchen and Darrell glances over his shoulder. "I'd better get back to work," he says with an arched eyebrow. "And you need to go back to making movies. Don't get in your own way, just do it."

Don't get in your own way?

The familiar phrase gives me a start and I stare at him, surprised.

"Okay," I finally agree. Darrell waves a hurried goodbye and then dashes back to the kitchen.

Don't get in your own way...

Dazed, I exit the bistro on barely functioning legs, like I'm walking in slow motion. Finally, I completely pause - the small restaurant's front door swinging shut behind me.

This week's seemingly never-ending rain has momentarily ceased and the sun has finally made an appearance. As its rays warm the top of my head, I look up. The sky is dotted with gray clouds, each of them heavy with water. While I stand there watching them, it dawns on me that maybe Darrell is right. Maybe there really is a reason for me being under this sky and on this planet. Maybe there's even someone up there who's trying to give me a nudge in the right direction. I mean, Darrell was the third person to give me the very same advice: get out of your own way.

I close my eyes and shout, "Fine, I get it! Okay? Point taken. I will stop getting in my own way."

Sighing deeply, I open my eyes and start for Lyla's car.

And then I notice the many amused lunch-goers headed into La Petite Maison.

I slow my pace as I meet their eyes.

Oops... the bistro's parking lot definitely wasn't this busy when I got here.

I smile and nod to several passing women who, clad in business suits, steal peeks at me from below arched eyebrows.

"Don't mind me," I chuckle. "I was just having a moment."

They offer polite smiles, but hurry away. I can't blame them. When you see a woman in a one-sided screaming match with the sky, you don't stop to commiserate, you keep walking. I totally get it.

Smiling to myself, I grab my keys from my purse and continue on to Lyla's car.

In any case, it doesn't matter that I might be having some sort of emotional meltdown. It matters that Darrell and Mr. Freeman and Lyla were right about me - when you get past the self-doubt, the crazy, and the whatever else I'm made of, at my root I'm a person who needs to communicate her deepest emotions via film.

So that's exactly what I should be doing - making movies. It's that simple.

At Lyla's BMW, I come to a halt.

Wait a second. All this stuff with Unseen and Serenity Bayous... maybe these situations are unfolding in front of me because I'm supposed to turn them into a film.

I blink, my breath catching in my throat as I consider the idea.

It could be a documentary, an expose that shines a spotlight what Serenity Bayous has been doing.

I laugh and shake my head.

I can't believe I didn't think of this as soon as Kayleigh told me about Serenity Bayous!

I reach into my purse, dig past a pack of gum and a small bottle of mouthwash, grabbing my phone. My fingers trembling with excitement, I text Vicky:

Gina:Hey Vicky, if you want, I can start sitting with Betty this evening. I just got fired from B & N and instead of wallowing in misery, I wouldn't mind spending the evening at Serenity Bayous. Also, you don't have to pay me for tonight. This one's on the house, just to see how it goes.

A part of me feels guilty about not telling Vicky my real reason for volunteering to sit with her sister-in-law. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the send button.

I dig the toe of my left shoe into the parking lot's gravel.

But this is important...

I look up, my gaze following a bird as it flies in the direction of a nearby oak tree.

... if Serenity Bayous really is experimenting on people, what they're doing needs to be revealed and their facilities need to be shut down.

I hit send, take a deep breath, and hop into Lyla's car.

My phone vibrates. It's a reply from Vicky.

Vicky: FIRED?? I'm so sorry : ( Sure you can start tonight. But we're paying you, don't be silly. Also, IDK if you're interested but my kids told me that SLH's Television and Film teacher is on maternity leave and the school is desperate for a substitute. How about you apply? Just an idea.

Sub as a television & film teacher at my old high school?

I stare at my phone, my eyes filling with tears.

This is so weird. It's like everything is coming together. Sure, a substitute teaching job isn't glamorous, but it means teaching film - a subject I adore! And when I was a student at SLH, I made such a good impression on the Principal that there's a good chance he'd let me slide into the job even though I don't have a degree!

I send Vicky a thank you text, cry some more, silently thanking whoever it is in the universe that's being so helpful, and then pull down the BMW's visor mirror.

After wiping my eyes and a few stray cheesecake crumbs from my mouth, I run my fingers through my curls and wonder if it'd be a good idea to stop by South Louisiana High right now.

I frown at my reflection, doubt creeping into my thoughts.

I'm not prepared for a job interview, and I don't even have my resume with me... oh screw it, I'm doing it. The Principal will be happy to see me, I'm sure of it.

I swig some mouthwash, rinsing away any traces of wino-breath, pop two sticks of gum in my mouth for good measure, and start the car.

Grinning with newfound bravery, I head for South Louisiana High.

WELL, THE PRINCIPAL is tied up in a phone conference for the next two hours. So, I'm supposed to be meeting someone else from the faculty- someone who I've never heard of.

I'm not going to lie, this scares me a little.

I cross my arms and assess my former high school's teacher's lounge. I see dirty counters, sticky cabinets, a filthy table surrounded by bright orange chairs, and a refrigerator that looks and sounds like it's on its last leg.

My fear is exacerbated by the state of the teacher's lounge. I mean, the little place is straight up depressing.

When we were students here, Lyla and I called this room The Fortress of Solitude because it was off-limits and always locked. When I'd pass it on my way to class, I'd always imagine my teachers lounging on plush sofas while they passed around plates of caviar and flutes of champagne. Now, I blanch as a roach crawls into one of the half-opened cabinets.

Gross.

The door behind me creaks open. I take a deep breath, push my shoulders back, and prepare myself.

In walks a tall brunette who looks about forty...wait, no, thirtyish. Her clothes just make her look older. She's not wearing makeup, is clad in a turd-colored dress, and her hair is pulled back into a severe bun. In other words, yikes.

"Ms. Russo?" she asks.

"That's me." Grinning broadly, I make my way to her.

She returns my smile and the metamorphosis is instant; with a warm smile in place, she looks years younger.

"Call me Gina," I say, extending my hand. She shakes it with a firm grip.

"Thank you, Gina. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Karin Greenich, head of the drama department. Care to have a seat?" She gestures to the small, crumb-ridden table and my gaze goes to an unusual cat's eye ring on her right hand.

"I'd love to," I lie. "And that ring is so, super pretty."

"Thank you."

We make our way to the pumpkin orange chairs and, after brushing off several million layers of crumbs along with the carcass of a triceratops, I sit while Karin makes herself comfortable across from me. Situating my purse in my lap - because God knows it isn't going to touch this nasty floor - I beam and exclaim, "I love the orange chairs. Very retro. I -" I stop short when I see that Karin's eyes are narrowed, cold, and dead-set on me.

"Yes." Her gaze softens and she applies a thin smile to her expression. "It's a great color. It really pops."

"Yeah," I say, searching her face for the mistrust I'd just seen. But it's gone.

There's no way I imagined that look of intense suspicion, is there? Startled, I try to pull myself together and clear my throat. "In fact, I was reminiscing about how when I was a student here, I'd walk by this room in the hall and it'd kill me that we weren't allowed in here. So, I used to think it was like a, I don't know a, um..."

"A Fortress of Solitude?" Karin quietly suggests.

"Exactly!" Grinning, I point to her. "You read my mind! I had it in my head that it was this secret place where teachers dished gossip and drank champagne or whatever. But now I'm here, so, mystery solved!" I tuck my hair behind my ear, moisten my lips, and wish I was one of those people who gets quiet when they're nervous.

Karin clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. "Okay, Gina. I'll begin by letting you know how thrilled I was when the principal's secretary, Ms. Reacher, told me someone had stopped by to apply for the available substitute position. We haven't even made the vacancy public yet."

I nod. "A friend told me. I grew up here and it's such a small town, word travels quickly. You know what I mean?" I laugh for no reason.

Karin doesn't even smile. She gives me a look that I can't quite read and says, "Right. So, Ms. Reacher already knows you from your time here as a student, as do the principal and a few of our other faculty. But since you and I have only just met, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

I'm beyond nervous, but I sit up straight and force life into my eyes by smizing like America's Next Top Model. "Sure! First of all, I love filmmaking. In fact, that's what I want to do one day, make movies."

Karin blinks back at me, her expression devoid of emotion. It's as if she either already knows this or she doesn't care about a word I'm saying.

I shift in my seat, my nerves increasing.

"Okay," she finally says, her voice monotone. "So, why work in a high school?"

"Just five years ago, I was a senior here and when you're an SLH alum, you want to do more than come back to visit. You want to give back." I offer Karin my most sincere smile. She had to have liked that response. It was perfect.

She tilts her head, silently assessing me without returning even a smidgen of my smile.

I gulp.

Okay... maybe I should just keep talking. Thinking quickly, I continue, "And in my opinion, our local kids need to know that if they're interested in film, they can pursue it, no holds barred. I wish I'd had that kind of encouragement and I think it's awesome y'all created a television and film class here. I'd be so honored to be a part of it."

"Interesting," Karin deadpans, nothing in her expression or tone betraying her thoughts. "And, where did you go to college?"

"Um, I didn't... I didn't have that opportunity. Right after graduating high school I had to take care of a sick family member. But, I'd still like to go someday."

I cross my legs and my knee jostles the table.

"Oops." I laugh and clear my throat.

I'm usually good at reading people, but this woman has the countenance of a brick wall; I have absolutely no clue what to make of her.

Karin nods. "If we'd posted this job we would have only considered candidates with a degree and a background in teaching."

My heart sinks.

"But," Karin finally smiles. "Your circumstances are understandable. And personally, I think it's admirable that you chose to put your dreams on hold to be there for your grandmother."

I return her smile, mine shaky.

Ok, maybe this woman doesn't completely hate me. She wouldn't give me a compliment about caring for my Grandma if...my thoughts trailing off, I frown.

Wait a second, I didn't say which family member I took care of. So, how does she know it was my Grandmother?

Karin's smile widens, making her appear friendlier. "Gina, I confess, as soon as Principal Williams heard you were here, he told me all about you."

Oh. I guess that explains it.

"And," Karin continues. "He said I should go ahead and hire you. You can start as soon as tomorrow. The job is yours, if you're game."

I grin, relief washing over me. "Thank God!" I uncross my legs and accidently bump the table again. "I couldn't tell if you liked me or not. You're kind of hard to read."

Karin chuckles, which totally surprises me. "Yeah, I get that a lot." She nods. Though her hair is in that uptight bun and her clothes scream, "Look at me! I'm a depressed witch in mourning!" when she laughs, she seems nice enough...

I lace my hands together, plaster on a smile, and observe Karin Greenich.

Still, though, there's something in her eyes that's unnerving. I don't know how to explain it. All I know is I feel like she can see straight through me.

Uncomfortable, I watch her carefully, not quite hearing what she's saying.

"...still need to take a state exam at some point within the next few weeks. I'll let you know where to go to take it..." Karin smiles as she speaks, and I automatically return it.

You know what? Maybe I'm just seeing something that isn't there. It's also possible that I'm still tipsy from my adventures in cheesecake and day drinking.

I readjust my thoughts and try to focus on what Karin's saying.

"...you'll only have two classes; a first and second hour, with fifteen to twenty students in each, though I'll need to double check the class rolls for exact numbers." Karin clears her throat and smooths the neat hair surrounding her bun. "This next piece of information I'm going to share with you is something you may have already seen in the newspaper."

"Oh? Okay." I lean forward, expectant.

"The principal wants all new staff officially informed that one of our students happens to be a celebrity. That being said, all faculty and staff are encouraged to refrain from asking her for autographs or photos. This student's mother specifically asked us to make sure we treat her like a regular kid. We're doing all we can to honor that request."

I blink, processing this news.

"Wow. Who's the student? If you don't mind my asking."

"Drew Everett," Karin says. "You may not have heard of her, but she starred in -"

"I Already Knew," I breathlessly repeat the name of the movie, a huge grin forming on my lips. "Yeah, I saw that movie! It was directed by my favorite filmmaker, Amelia Hearth. Oh, my God! This is so weird. I might be working with someone who knows Amelia Hearth!"

I laugh and Karin offers me a thin smile. "Yes, well, I suppose there's only one thing left to say -" She pauses and glances down.

I wait. A full six seconds later she's still looking down.

As I watch the top of Karin Greenich's bent head, my doubts about her return. Why is she just sitting here staring at her lap?

I briefly avert my eyes, unsure of what's happening.

Karin finally lifts her head. She's frowning and her eyes are full of worry. All at once, she says, "I'm sorry, um, welcome aboard, Gina. I look forward to working with you."

I force a smile. "Thanks. So that's it? Just like that?"

"Just like that." Karin quickly rises to her feet. "Of course there's the state test you'll need to take within the next few weeks and a bit of paperwork to complete. But tomorrow, after your first class, I'll have Ms. Reacher give you the forms and -"

I stand and watch Karin, waiting for her to finish her sentence. But still paused, she grimaces and continues to stare into space.

"What's wrong?" I finally ask. Is there a chance this woman is on crack? She doesn't look like the type, but you never know.

"I apologize." Karin meets my eyes. "But, would it be terrible to have you see yourself out?"

"No, of course not. I know my way around."

"Thank you so much. I just have to take care of something..." Karin's voice trails off while she hustles towards the door.

"Sure, not a problem."

I grab my purse and follow her as she opens the door and turns back to me. "See you tomorrow, Gina."

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to -" My thoughts and words come to a crashing halt. The dingy walls of the teacher's lounge fade and a giant yellow school bus appears out of nowhere. It careens straight towards me! My heart pounding, I gasp and back away from the bus.

In a split second, the phantom school bus is gone - the teacher's lounge restored.

What was that? What just happened?

My heart is racing and my palms are sweating.

I take a deep breath and find myself inhaling the unmistakable scent of Louisiana Alyssum.

Karin is watching me carefully as she touches my shoulder. "Gina, are you all right?"

"Yeah." I shift on my feet and try to get a hold of myself. "I was in a car accident yesterday and apparently Unseen saved my life and, well, have you heard about how Unseen gives off this super strong scent of Louisiana Alyssum?"

Karin's eyes narrow. "Yes, I have."

"Well, apparently now, whenever I smell Louisiana Alyssum, I get, like, some sort of flashback to the accident," I say. "It must be your perfume."

"I don't wear perfume." Karin speaks quickly, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall behind me. "But I'm glad you're all right."

She doesn't wear perfume? Then why am I smelling Louisiana Alyssum right now?

"That's weird," I say, watching her carefully. "I'm pretty sure I smell -"

Karin points to the hallway and interrupts me, "My apologies, but I've got to get going."

"Right, of course." I nod and we step into the corridor. Without another word, Karin takes off in the opposite direction, hurrying away.

I watch her, mystified... and a little creeped out. It's obvious that she's wearing Louisiana Alyssum-scented perfume. Why would she lie about that?

As my strange new co-worker rushes through the school's exit, I can't help but stare at her and wonder if she has some sort of connection to Unseen.

#

Alyssum Studios

When a peer sends me a script, insisting that it's "good," I peruse the first and last five pages. If these pique my interest, I send the script to Grant. He reads it in full and gives me the CliffsNotes version. This way, when I announce that I'm backing the film, I'll appear as informed as possible.

If, however, the first and last five pages are rubbish, I'll gently let my colleague know I've decided to pass as, "My plate is currently full, but I'll put in a good word for you at Happy Madison Productions."

This is probably the easiest part of my job as a producer, and yet today it's taken me a full hour to compose an email to Chad Block concerning the "promising" script he's sent me.

What happened with Grant this morning was not only time consuming, but frightening. It's reminiscent of the fate that befell Tessa's mother. Sure, it was I.T.I.S. that fueled her insanity, but what if it was more than that? What if there was something in her genes that only needed to be nudged? And what if Tessa inherited...

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

... I am not Tessa anymore. I am Amelia.

I open my eyes, type, "Sincerely, Tessa" to close my email and try to ignore the throbbing burn just above my belly button. I reach for my gingerbread latté, sit back in my desk chair, and take a sip as I preview the email I'm poised to send.

Though I've put ice and aloe on all my burns, the one above my belly button - about the size of a quarter - is irritatingly stubborn.

Focus. I need to focus on this email. Narrowing my eyes, I force my mind to the task at hand. I need to compose a rejection letter to a Hollywood mogul who I will most likely have to see in a few days at a party I'm throwing. In my world, the people we brutally reject are the very same people we invite to our parties and homes. It's a strange world.

"Hi Chad,

You are truly a genius. Your efforts in smoothing over the Drew Everett incident were effective. And now I see that this same genius is also evident in your eye for promising scripts. This epic romance you've sent my way, The Pirate's Wife is remarkable. Unfortunately, my plate is currently too full..."

I scan the remainder of the email and nearly satisfied, frown as I reach the end.

"Sincerely,

Tessa"

"No!" I exclaim. I hurl my latté into my trash can and it spills on all 210 pages of The Pirate's Wife.

I point to the contents of the small titanium can and, refusing to wince at my throbbing burn, I send a slew of sparks to the latté-drenched papers. The sparks become flames that lick up the script and turn its pages brown before diminishing them to mere embers.

I take a deep breath and the smell of fire sends a refreshing surge of relief through me.

It was only a typo, a simple mistake. I am not regressing; I am still Amelia.

I push my hair behind my ears, tuck my white blouse into my skirt, and delete "Sincerely, Tessa."

A knock on my office door is followed by Georgeann's monotone voice. "Amelia?"

"Come in," I call, my gaze darting to the orange and red flames leaping from my trash can.

Georgeann enters and glances at the fire. "Shall I put that fire out?"

Without looking up, I type "Warmest Regards, Amelia."

I say, "Momentarily. But first, tell me why you've come into my office. And close the door behind you before you begin to speak." I don't bother curtailing the irritation from my tone.

The sole dilemma in turning someone's thoughts into an undecipherable maze of unreserved devotion to you is that they, as a byproduct of the memory scramble, become profoundly stupid.

Memory is, quite unfortunately, interwoven with intelligence.

With my first batch of subjects, it took two full days for me to figure out why all my guards smelled of fecal matter. Eventually, I realized they didn't have the common sense to use the bathroom as needed. They were working nonstop without eating, drinking, or sleeping and in so doing, they'd soil themselves throughout the day. I've since had to officially order them to visit the bathroom as needed, as well as to take daily naps, eat, and drink.

I'd rather that our planet's future saviors weren't quite so dumb, but one must work with the tools one has available.

Georgeann says, "Yes, Amelia," and closes my door behind her.

I hit send and look up.

Georgeann's long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she dutifully wears the required navy blue jumpsuit that all Alyssum Studios guards wear. Bulky and padded with a weapon at the hip, the suit gives my guards an appropriately menacing posture. Sometimes, I'm tempted to wear the jumpsuit myself.

"We have received today's two hundred applicants for extras," Georgeann evenly explains, her voice dull and robotic. "They are being received now, if you would like to personally evaluate their -"

"Only two hundred?" Panic crests in my chest and I stand.

"Yes, Amelia." Georgeann blinks back at me.

My mouth has gone dry with nerves.

"That's unacceptable." I moisten my lips, my gaze going to the fire. "My ally requested three thousand sleepers and we only have a total of eight hundred in the cryo tubes! That's why I specifically ordered you to round up two thousand, two hundred extras. You've disobeyed me!"

"I apologize, Amelia. I have failed you." Georgeann's face falls, the only display of emotion I've seen from her since her reprogramming. But I don't care. She has failed me. "We only had two hundred applicants."

"Shut up!" I snap, lifting my right hand. Georgeann's eyes go to the sparks that leap from each of my fingertips. I start towards her, but my computer emits a chime and announces, "Video call from Novus."

Fear rushing through me, I turn to my computer in horror. Speaking of my ally... I return to my desk chair and take my seat.

"Georgeann, go get a fire extinguisher." I close my email and open my video conference program. "Use it to put this fire out. Afterwards, go to the largest dumpster behind Alyssum Studios, get inside of the dumpster, and use your weapon to shoot yourself in the head."

"As you wish, Amelia."

My burn throbbing, I move my mouse's cursor to "Begin call," refusing to look up as Georgeann closes my office door behind her.

I twist my cat's eye ring on my finger and peer into its stone.

I tell my guards that every time they follow my orders, they save the world a little. The opposite is also true; every time they fail to follow through, they push the world closer to destruction. I cannot allow continued failure.

"Amelia."

Moira's voice, calm as always, rips through me as if she's shouted. But of course she hasn't. When Moira is angry, she doesn't raise her voice. Instead, she becomes exceedingly calm.

I look up from my ring and meet her image on screen. Her red hair is almost orange and it's much longer than mine, which looks preposterous. Women over forty shouldn't have long hair. Even non-earthling mutant women can't get away with such a fashion faux pas. The unsightly hair falls over Moira's shoulders while she stares at me through eyes that twinkle and shine like stars.

That right there is one of the first things I noticed about the Novu - their eyes are even stranger than mine. In regular lighting, my eyes appear normal, human-like. It isn't until I'm in the dark that you notice the difference, the way they glow like a wolf's. But, even sunlight doesn't conceal the odd coloring and glow of a pair of Novu eyes.

I run my thumb across the stone of my ring and smile. "Moira, how are you?"

"Disappointed." Moira returns my smile, tilting her head. I gulp and glance at her surroundings. Usually, she communicates with me via some station on a small planet called Opah. But now, she appears to be in a space vessel.

She sits in a chair containing a pilot's yoke. Beside it is a panel featuring an array of buttons and blinking lights. Behind her are several empty chairs with seatbelts.

My heart skips a beat. Obviously, she's en route... but is she en route to Earth?

"You're two Earth weeks late in fulfilling your end of our deal. You do realize that I don't require you and your sleepers, don't you?" Moira arches an eyebrow. I start to respond, but she's already speaking. "I agreed to this because I admired your survival instinct. Has that instinct waned? Because lying to a Novu is suicide."

I grit my teeth. "Of course it hasn't. I'll deliver your sleepers."

"Good for you." She smiles. "I'll be arriving at the end of your week to admit them into my possession. And if all three thousand aren't provided, I'll view this as your personal failure meaning that I will, of course, be forced to terminate you."

"Moira, I -"

She disappears, the call ended.

I run a hand through my hair.

She'll be here by end of this week? This is terrible!

A knock sounds on my door.

"Come in!" I shout.

"Yes, Amelia." Georgeann enters, clutching a small fire extinguisher. She runs to my trash can and puts the fire out with ease, her face serene and her eyes focused on her work.

I take a deep breath. "Georgeann?"

"Yes, Amelia?"

"Don't..." I pause, annoyed with myself, annoyed with Moira, and annoyed with my inability to think due to my keeping Grant Carr too close. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't second-guess my every move. "Don't go to the largest trash bin outside and shoot yourself. Just... just go and discreetly round up homeless people and bring them to extra's casting. Find as many as you can, hurt them if needed, but don't kill them."

"Yes, Amelia." Georgeann nods, her eyes devoid of gratitude for my having spared her.

While she leaves my office, I rub my forehead and look down at my desk, thinking.

The one good thing about Moira coming here is that she's bringing her vessel. We don't have one and that's been a problem from the beginning - lack of a vessel fit for space travel.

But as long as my sleepers are infused with the DNA-changing serum that was given to Adam Freeman, no matter how few of them there are, they'll be strong enough to, not only survive the trip to Novus, but to eradicate the Novu who've been threatening to invade Earth.

Of course, in order for any of that to happen, I need the serum that turned Adam Freeman into an unstoppable creature.

I stand, pushing my chair away from my desk.

I don't have much time. I need to get the Adam Freeman serum as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it's under lock and key in I.T.I.S. and as this task is too important to be entrusted to one of my half-witted Alyssum Guards, I'll need to steal it from I.T.I.S. myself.

#

Serenity Bayous Mental Hospital

Serenity Bayous' waiting room, much like Lyla's apartment, is drowning in white. It's got white walls, white furniture, white tile, and it even smells white - like bleach and vanilla-scented air freshener.

I reaffirm my grip on my overnight bag and look around as I follow Vicky and Ryan Pianciano who are, in turn, following a Serenity Bayous orderly down a long hallway that's beginning to smell less like vanilla and more like industrial-strength bleach. I guess the air freshener was just for the waiting room.

Large portraits in golden frames line the hallway walls, most of them featuring gray-haired men with somber expressions on their wrinkled faces.

While Vicky talks everyone's ears off, I slow my pace, my gaze going to a portrait at my right. Its subject is a woman, the only female in the bunch. Her dark eyes are so piercing, they make me shiver, and her brown hair is cut into a short, boyish style.

I stare at her long nose and thin lips... this creepy lady looks familiar. My gaze goes to the nameplate beneath her picture. I mumble it out loud, trying to recall if I've heard it before. "Dr. Jayne Mire."

Nothing comes to mind.

Frowning, I back away from the portrait. At the sound of a door opening, I notice my group is far ahead of me and making their way through a set of double doors.

I hurry after them and Vicky glances at me from over her shoulder. "Passerotta, you're so easily distracted. Come on, little one!" She ducks through the double doors and I hurry to follow, my eyes meeting her husband's as he holds the door for me.

"What's a passerotta?" I whisper.

Ryan smiles. "It means sparrow."

"Cool." I smile. "I think I like it."

"Just watch - keep hanging around my wife and you'll become fluent in Italian," he says before quickening his pace and joining Vicky. Once he's caught up with her, he reaches for her hand. I watch them, wistful.

They're the cutest couple. Vicky's passion balances Ryan's quiet cool and sometimes I can't help but think that if things were different, they're exactly what me and Luke would be like. But, whatever...me and Luke can't happen. Besides, who knows? Maybe one day I'll be walking hand in hand with Seth.

I roll my shoulders back, loosening the tight muscles near my neck. I think about the beer I've stashed at the very bottom of my overnight bag, just beneath my camera. Two warm beers won't be near enough after this long day, but that's okay...being here is worth it. It's like I'm a Jedi who's managed to sneak into the Death Star. Granted, I don't exactly know what to do now that I'm here, but I'll figure it out.

Vicky's heels are continually loud as they click against the hallway tile, the only sound in the vicinity. I wish she hadn't stopped talking, silence is so...ominous. Switching my overnight bag to my other hand, I clear my throat and say, "This place is super nice. It's not at all what I expected."

The orderly, a round-faced middle-aged lady with short gray hair, briefly meets my eyes and smiles. "A lot of people tell us that."

When she turns back around, Vicky glances at me and points to our surroundings, whispering, "Don't let this fool you. It's a terrible place."

"Betty's just up here on the left," the orderly says, retrieving a keycard from the chain at her hip. She slides the card into a reader near the sturdy white door to Betty's room. Meanwhile, the three of us come to a halt behind her, like cars on a people-train.

My eyes glued to the card reader, I gulp.

Geez, they keep this poor lady locked in her room? I wonder if they do so because she's violent or something. I should've asked.

As if reading my thoughts, Ryan turns to me. "Despite her condition, my sister's a great person. And as long as you're here, she won't even try to run, which is the only reason why they've got a lock on her door. Betty's a runner."

I smile nervously. "Oh, I see."

"But Betty will go on and on with her stories about aliens," Vicky chimes in and I turn to her, my gaze darting to her long dangly earrings. "It'll get old after a while, trust me."

"Aliens?" I grin.

Nodding, Vicky pushes her bangs out of her eyes. "Yep. Aliens."

"Okay." I shrug. "Star Trek was my fav show when I was a kid, so I can handle conversations about aliens."

The door to the room opens and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for this mentally unstable, alien-adoring woman I've promised to look after. I must be mentally unstable for agreeing to do this.

The orderly steps inside and Ryan gestures for me to follow her.

Hesitant, I enter Betty's room and I'm immediately hit by the pungent vanilla air freshener. I guess the orderlies wanted this room to smell a little bit better than industrial-strength bleach.

Trying not to sneeze, I look around. Betty's windowless room contains one small twin bed at its very center. Above the bed, an old-fashioned television is mounted to the ceiling and wall, and to its right, a small blue couch is situated next to a tiny wooden end table. The place reminds me of a hospital room.

The orderly, meanwhile, stands directly in front of the bed and she's so tall and wide that she completely blocks my view of Vicky's infamous sister-in-law.

I frown, shifting on my feet. I'm eager to get a good look at the lady I'm supposed to sit with.

"Hi, Ms. Betty. How are we this evening?" The orderly croons in the kind of sing-song voice that adults who hate children use when addressing them. Without waiting for Betty's reply, the orderly turns to me. "There's a buzzer on the wall. Press it to call us if you need anything. We're literally right around the corner. And if you need the restroom, there's one in here. If you want to use a different one, you'll have to buzz an orderly and let us know. Soon as you buzz us, we'll come get you and walk you to it."

Yikes. This is like being in jail. Maybe I won't be as free to snoop around as I thought. I guess I should have realized that when I saw the keycard on the door.

Disappointed, I nod. "Okay, thanks."

"Alrighty, folks. See you later." The orderly smiles before taking her leave.

As soon as she steps aside, I have a clear view of Betty Pianciano and the woman's so tiny, she's nearly swallowed by the twin bed she occupies.

Her thin hair is completely white and her skin is alarmingly pale. She's frail, but her dark eyes are alert. I offer her a smile and to my surprise, she's quick to return it.

Good, maybe that means she's lucid.

"Betty, this is our friend Gina Russo," Ryan says, pointing to me. I glance at him and step forward. Ryan's dirty blonde hair is askew and his checkered dress shirt is untucked. Vicky said he rushed here straight from work to meet us, and I can kind of tell. Turning my attention to Betty, I widen my grin, hoping to make a good impression as Ryan continues. "Gina's a great girl and Vicky and I thought you two would hit it off. So, in the evenings, she'll stay with you to chat and help you with anything you need. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes," Betty says in the gravelly voice of an old lady. She glances at me. "Thank you, Gina."

Wow. She really does seem normal.

"It's my pleasure." I offer her another smile.

"What kind of work do you do?" Betty asks, her dark eyes full of curiosity as she assesses me.

I shift on my feet and reposition my bag, clasping it with both hands. "I, uh...I like making movies and short films. Hopefully one day I'll write and direct my own feature films. I even brought my camera with me today. It's in here."

I pat the side of my duffel bag and emit a nervous chuckle as Betty's eyes go to the bag.

"Good for you." She grants me an approving nod and I can't help but smile again.

Aw, I think she likes me.

Vicky touches my arm and I turn to her as she whispers, "Would you like for us to stay a while?"

I can tell she's tired, so I shake my head and lean forward, planting a light kiss on her cheek. "Go home. Rest."

"You're so sweet." Vicky pats the side of my duffel bag and smiles. "Promise me you'll stay this sweet after you win an Oscar and start hanging out with Amelia Hearth and all the other stars."

I laugh. "Absolutely I will. I'll even thank you in my acceptance speech."

While the Piancianos say goodbye, I steal another peek at Betty.

Uh oh.

Her eyes wide, the older woman stares at the three of us in horror.

"Amelia Hearth?" Betty slowly asks, looking from me to Vicky while her upper lip takes on a rather unsettling twitch. "What did you say about Amelia Hearth?"

I tighten my grip on my bag and glance at the door behind us.

Okay, maybe Betty is kind of nuts.

"And that's my cue." Vicky sighs and touching my arm, says, "Call us if you need anything."

"Yeah." Ryan chimes in and nods as he makes a "call me" gesture with his thumb and pinky. "Just call and we'll come right over."

I gulp. In other words, I'm on my own.

"Thanks, guys, have a good night." I wave goodbye and watch the Piancianos follow the orderly out. As she closes the door, I hear the lock click into place.

Here we go... I turn around and shoot Betty a friendly grin, which she doesn't return this time.

Well, okay then.

Moving to the couch, I set down my duffel bag and look up to find Betty watching me with something like suspicion.

"So, you're not much of an Amelia Hearth fan, are you?" I ask with a shaky smile.

"Am I fan of murderers? No."

I blink. What?

Betty looks at me expectantly, like she's waiting for me to challenge what she's said.

I clear my throat. "Um, did you say 'murderer'?"

"I did." Betty holds my gaze without blinking and her lips form a thin straight line while she clasps her wrinkled hands together in her lap. "Have you ever met her?"

"Have I met an Academy Award-winning filmmaker? No, I wish."

Betty leans forward, speaking quickly. "If you ever do, look into her eyes and you'll see she isn't even human." With this, the older woman's shoulders move up and down in quick succession, like she's breathing faster than she was a moment ago.

"Are you feeling okay?" I hesitate. "Can I get you some water or -"

"No, I'm fine." Betty's reply is sharp. "I'm trying to tell you: Amelia Hearth is a mutant. Do you know about the mutants? And the Novu? You must have heard of the Novu."

I bite down on my bottom lip and slide off the couch.

Now I see what Vicky was talking about: Betty is nuts.

I head to her side and, deciding it'd be best to simply play along, I rest my elbows on her bed's metal railing as I shake my head. "No, I don't. Tell me about the Novu."

Now that I'm standing so close to Betty, I can see how fragile her skin is; dry and pale, it's nearly as white as the hospital gown she wears. And her eyes are red and drooping with bags, like she hasn't slept in days. Poor thing...

I try not to frown as I rest my chin in my hands and watch the older woman, waiting for her to continue.

...maybe I can buy some special lotion for her skin. If this stupid place actually did what it was supposed to, their patients wouldn't look like this. I can't wait to make my tell-all documentary and get Serenity Bayous shut down.

"The Novu are dangerous," Betty finally says. "They look like us, but their eyes are different because of what I.T.I.S. did to their DNA."

I freeze.

Wait a second - she said I.T.I.S.... that's the organization that supposedly carried out the genetic experiments responsible for Unseen!

"I've heard of I.T.I.S." I slowly reply. "What are they exactly?"

Every trace of suspicion leaving her eyes, Betty sits up straighter and her bed emits a groan. "When I was younger, much younger, I was a secretary for The International Team of Investigatory Science, I.T.I.S."

I nod and try not to flinch. Betty's leaning towards me and her breath is pretty rank.

"I was proud of myself for getting a job with a 'top-notch' organization." Her voice grave, she pauses and pulls her bottom lip inward, sighing.

"You okay?" I ask.

She waves off my question and says, "Whether I'm fine or not doesn't matter- what I have to say matters."

I watch her carefully.

Whether she's crazy or not, I know how awful it is to feel... unheard. To feel like people dismiss everything you say.

I nod. "Okay, I'm listening."

Betty gives me a long look and an unspoken flicker of understanding moves between us. I see something register in her eyes; she sees that I'm being sincere.

"The organization that hired me, I.T.I.S.," she says. "They claimed to be a group of researchers. Their supposed mission was twofold: to find cures for neurological disorders and to create cutting edge technology that would improve the world. But that was just a cover."

"A cover for what?"

Betty emits a dry chuckle. "For experiments on human subjects, among other things. And when they tried to use me for one of their experiments, without my consent, mind you, I found out what I.T.I.S. was really up to." Anger flashes in her eyes and I wince as she raises her voice, "They didn't like that. So, they shut me up by locking me away in here."

I watch her uncertainly. What she's said about I.T.I.S. might be true, but she also looks mentally unstable right now ... and I've seen A Beautiful Mind. I know how real hallucinations can seem to someone who suffers from a mental condition.

"Hey, Betty," I say softly, reaching over the rails to cover one of her hands with mine. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It sounds terrible. Instead of thinking about that right now, what if we get some rest and maybe talk about it in the morning? Don't you want to get some sleep?"

"I'm not tired," Betty whispers, her breathing labored and her eyes frantic, darting from me to the door. "How can I be? How can I sleep when I know... I need to find the missile before the Novu find it."

The missile? Oh, God. This poor lady is definitely losing it.

I give Betty's small hand a pat. "Let's talk about finding the missile tomorrow. How about that?" I ask, praying she doesn't get angry and bite one of my fingers or something. Betty looks down at my hand, which completely freaks me out. But instead of biting me, she seems to be trying to calm down. She frowns and keeps her focus on my hand, neither of us saying a word as I watch her breathing gradually return to normal.

Finally, Betty meets my eyes and says, "I know you don't believe me, but thank you for listening."

Surprised, I offer her a smile and nod. "You're welcome."

It's weird that Betty doesn't act like a typical "crazy person." She doesn't twitch or scream random words or talk to imaginary people. In fact, she seems perfectly sane. But the things she's saying are completely impossible to believe... so she has to be out of her mind.

She leans back against her pillow, her gaze going to the television. "That's all right though. One day you'll come around. Just think about it. Haven't you ever wondered why there's an invisible man running around calling himself Unseen? That doesn't happen in every town. So, why, out of all the places, is he here? Ever wondered about that?"

Goosebumps cover my arms and I retract my hand. "Yeah, I've wondered about that," I admit.

"There's only one explanation for his origins." Betty's voice is low, barely above a whisper, and she's enunciating her every word. "I.T.I.S. They've been experimenting on children for over fifty years. They turn them into mutants, give them 'abilities,' tell them they're not human, that they're 'The Novu,' and then they ship them off to a planet called Novus."

My breath catches in my throat as my thoughts dart to Adam Freeman. "You said these people... I.T.I.S.... you said they experiment on children?" I ask, my hands gripping the cool metal railing.

Betty nods. "And since their headquarters were destroyed, they've been using this place to finish their research."

Holy puddles of crap... I glance down at the white sheets covering Betty's bed and shake my head, as if doing this will redirect my thoughts, shaking them away from the ridiculous road they're poised to travel.

Sure, Kayleigh said she'd heard that Serenity Bayous conducts experiments on patients, but that can't possibly mean there's any truth to Betty's story about the Novu - can it? And even if there's a smidgen of truth to the tale of I.T.I.S., that bit about shipping kids off to another planet? That's impossible.

I look up, eyeing Betty while she blinks back at me. "How do you even know all this?"

"Like I said," she says, watching me carefully. "I was a secretary at I.T.I.S. They had a huge facility on an island in the swamps just outside of town. I worked there until they..." Her voice trails off and I tighten my grip on the bed rails, wishing she'd hurry up and finish her sentence.

"Until they what?" I urge.

She glances down, all at once appearing weaker.

Irritated with myself, I catch my bottom lip with my teeth. She's tired. I'm wearing the poor woman out when I'm supposed to be helping her calm down.

"Betty, I'm so sorry." I run a hand through my hair and start for the couch. "I didn't mean to push you. We don't need to talk about this, let's -"

"It happened on a Friday," she says, cutting me off. I freeze and Betty meets my eyes, hers full of determination. I shut my mouth and return to her bedside. "Everyone in my department stayed late for Dr. Lyles' birthday party. One minute I was sipping a glass of punch, and the next I was waking up at home, groggy and confused. I knew something wasn't right. I couldn't remember leaving work or getting home and I was in pain. So, I went back to I.T.I.S., I snuck into security, and I watched footage from their cameras."

My mouth going dry, I ask, "What did you find?"

For a moment, Betty doesn't respond and my heart sinks.

"The doctors who I used to work for," she finally says, speaking slowly. "I saw them bringing me, and several of my fellow female coworkers, all of us unconscious, into a room that the cameras didn't cover."

My stomach turns and I move closer to the bed. Betty's eyes darken and she shakes her head. "So, of course I went straight to Swamp Rose General to find out if I'd been raped. I hadn't, but the doctor who examined me asked me when I'd had an oophorectomy."

"A who?" I frown.

"An oophorectomy- the removal of my ovaries. He also asked who'd performed the procedure because it was "amazing work." "Cutting edge," was the term he used. I asked him if he could tell approximately when it'd been done and he said within the past few days."

"Oh, my God." Horrified, I cover my mouth with my hand. "Are you saying they..."

"Yes." Betty nods, her eyes surprisingly dry and her tone calm. "I.T.I.S. removed my ovaries and part of my uterus, cut it out of me and stole it the way a thief steals money. As angry as I was, I wanted to find out why they'd do such a thing. So, the next week, I went to work and acted as if I had no idea what they'd done. I kept that up for five years. I spied and I dug and I researched until I found what I was looking for."

"And, what did you find?" I cringe.

I'm asking, but deep down I don't want to know because while I feel sorry for Betty, this can't possibly be true.

"That I.T.I.S. was a front for world renowned scientists who were collaborating on an initiative called Program Novus," Betty says.

"Program Novus?" I repeat, blinking as I try to put the mismatched pieces of her story together. "Is that the name for what they did when they shipped the, uh, the 'mutant kids' off to that planet?"

I shift on my feet and my sneakers squeak against the linoleum. Why am I even entertaining this?

"Exactly." Betty sits up in her bed. "They stole women's reproductive organs for an experiment that involved creating genetically engineered super humans. I found a hidden lab, an entire room full of embryos and diagrams of these proposed 'super humans' that they called the Novu."

"This," I mumble, briefly closing my eyes, "sounds like the premise of a bad sci-fi movie."

"It's not. It happened." Betty's sharp tone demands my attention and I look at her. She frowns, holding my gaze. "They even had a room full of toddlers, one of them my daughter, created with my stolen uterus. I.T.I.S. treated these children like specimens. That's why the Novu, with the exception of Unseen, hate us. Their only experience in interacting with 'humans' is that of interacting with the scientists who tortured them. They hate us, Gina. If they could have their way, they'd kill us all."

I don't know what to say. All I can do is stare at Betty.

A part of me wants to believe her, but a much bigger part of me is aware of the fact that I've watched X-Men approximately 210 times, thus warping my imagination and maybe even fusing it with reality.

"And they can if they want to," Betty continues.

Realizing that my mouth is hanging open, I shut it and fold my arms. "What do you mean?"

"Obliterating us would be easy for the Novu," she explains. "They're smarter than us, stronger than us, they can even shoot fire from the palms of their hands. That's why we have to get to the missile before they do."

"Get to what missile?" I shake my head in confusion.

"The scientist who created the Novu knew what they were capable of." Betty's eyes are wide, almost frantic, as she says, "That's why he also created a weapon, a missile powerful enough to destroy their entire planet. It's hidden somewhere in our town, but we have to find it before the Novu do. If we don't, what's to stop them from using it to destroy our planet?"

I unfold my arms and, running a hand through my hair, turn to look at the television, blankly staring at the muted local news.

A hidden missile that's powerful enough to destroy an entire planet and a mysterious organization that steals random women's reproductive organs to create genetically engineered super humans?

This is crazy.

Without a word, I make my way to the couch and sit.

"Are you all right?" Betty asks.

I cover my face with my hands and mumble, "I think maybe I'm not because a part of me wants to believe you..."

"Then you're a smart woman," she replies.

Sighing, I uncover my face and reach for my duffel bag. "How would you feel about saying everything you've told me on camera? For a documentary I'm putting together."

I don't know what I'm doing or if even a fraction of what Betty's saying is true, but if there's anything at all to her story, I want it on film.

"All right," Betty agrees and I glance at her as I unzip my bag and grab my Nikon. She takes a deep breath, her gaze going to the camera. "But if you show this to anyone, I.T.I.S. won't stop at punishing me. They'll come after you too."

I turn my camera on. "I'll take my chances."

#

Corner Bakery

"This is, like, the best bakery everrr," the wasted teenager says, her words slurring. She leans against our display case and pushes her long blonde hair away from her heavily made-up eyes as she points to the clock on the wall behind our register. "It's almost midnight and y'all are still as open as Via Nguyen's legs. That's amazing," she says, which elicits a laugh from her dark-haired companion.

I was already supremely uncomfortable, but that last comment made it even worse. I cross my arms. "I'm pretty sure you're not old enough to be drinking and -" When the teenagers turn to me, I pause, faltering under the intensity of their stares. Both of these girls are unusually pretty and dressed like trouble. Smelling of liquor, weed, and expensive perfume, they fix their eyes on me and pins and needles creep into my cheeks as I shift on my feet. "And I hope you weren't across the street. Club Dixie isn't the best place to be at this time of night."

"Of course we weren't," the quieter of the two says. She pushes her jet black hair off of her shoulders and as her surprisingly clear eyes meet mine, I realize that unlike her friend, she hasn't been drinking. She doesn't even look like she's been smoking. I guess she's the designated driver.

"Nah, but that's where we're headed," the wasted blonde says with a laugh.

I shake my head in disgust. If my sister were still alive, she would be about their age. But Lauren wouldn't be anything like these girls, that's for sure. She was smart and ambitious, even at just nine years old.

Sighing, I glance down at the display case.

People throw around words like "destiny" and use it to indicate some sort of magical navigating system that charts life's course. I don't know that I believe in destiny or fate, or whatever you want to call it - but if it does exit, I hate it. Why Lauren? Why did destiny choose Lauren over these girls? It's not that I think these two deserve my sister's untimely death, no kid deserves that... but why take down the straight-A student who, despite her health problems, was at the top of her class and had a bright future ahead of her?

The brunette clears her throat and I look up. She pushes her laughing companion aside and steps up to the register, looking me in the eye as she speaks with decisiveness. "We'd like two apple fritters, please."

I nod and open the display case.

"Kyle," the wasted blonde stage-whispers. "Tell Seth Rogan he's kind of hot and -"

"Okay, that's enough," I exclaim, throwing the fritters into a bag and handing it to the dark-haired girl called "Kyle." She hisses at her giggling friend to shut up.

"Just go," I wave them off. "You don't even need to pay, just leave."

"I'm so sorry, sir," Kyle apologizes before herding her companion to the front door.

I shake my head.

Every night I have to put up with some version of that scene. Uncle Joe is convinced that being across the street from a nightclub is reason enough to keep the bakery open until one AM. He's the boss, so I go along with his decisions - but I think that one's terrible. Half of Club Dixie's clientele are underage teenagers, the spawn of this town's rich parents who don't care about what their offspring get into after dark.

Sighing, I look up at the ceiling.

An all-night bakery in a place like Swamp Rose is just a bad idea... Brooklyn, on the other hand, now that's a great place for all-night eating.

Before Mom and Lauren passed, we had this crazy idea that was actually really good... we talked about opening a family-run pub called "Kennedy's." Of course, we knew it was just a fantasy, something far too expensive for the penny-pinching single parent of a growing boy and girl to achieve on their own. Even so, we'd often talk about it over dinner. Lauren and I would argue over whether or not the menu would include my favorite dishes, which she insisted were "too fancy for a pub." Mom would distract us from arguing by regaling us with tales of what it was like to be in a real Irish pub, which is exactly what she and Dad experienced on their honeymoon. Sometimes, her stories would take a teary-eyed shift to Dad and how proud of us he'd be, were he still alive. But most of the time, her eyes remained dry and her tone upbeat while she described the places they'd visited and the food they'd enjoyed.

Now, I lean against the counter and peer down at the last of my scones. If I could leave Swamp Rose and go back home, I'd apply to The Institute of Culinary Education, refine my skills and experience, and then I'd use every bit of my savings to open a place called "Kennedy's" in Brooklyn.

I bite down on my bottom lip and frown.

Gina's always talking about Manhattan, so maybe I could open it in Manhattan instead.

My phone vibrates in its spot near the register.

I grab it and grin as I read,

Gina: Hey! Did you fall off the face of the earth? I tried to call you earlier. Did you get the part?

I glance at my missed calls and see that Gina did try to call me while I was stuck in that ridiculous casting call at Alyssum Studios.

I reply quickly.

Luke: Sorry, IDK yet. I was at Alyssum for over 5 hours but they still haven't made a final decision. They say they'll let us know tomorrow.

Gina's reply is virtually immediate.

Gina: Aw : ( I know you must be anxious. Did you see the moon tonight? It's gorgeous! I saw it earlier when I stepped outside for a sec. BTW, you'll never guess where I am and what happened to me today! It's been crazy Luke - CRAAZZZY!

I glance at the window to my left.

The moon is bright and as pretty as ever in the night sky, but I find myself sighing again. I don't want to have to see the moon through this window, night after night, for another five years.

Living in Swamp Rose has gotten easy, but an "easy" life can be just as soul-sucking as a difficult one. I need to challenge myself. I don't just crave challenge, I need it the way fish need water and the way we need air. I want to do right by Uncle Joe, but I can't keep sinking in this pit of loss.

I return my attention to my phone and text Gina.

Luke: Mind if I call you?

Before I can set my phone down, it vibrates with her response.

Gina: Please, yea! I need to hear your voice!

My heart skipping a beat, I call her and she answers on the first ring.

"Luke!" she whispers and I open my mouth to reply, but she's talking before I can get a word in, "you'll never guess what happened today! I..."

"Gina?"

"...it all started when I was just, like, feeling really down and sitting at my desk about to watch a movie when -"

"Gina!" I straighten my posture and talk over her, "wait a second! I need to ask you something."

"Oh, sorry. Yeah? What's wrong?"

My heart pounding, I grip my phone so tightly that I accidently turn its volume up.

Don't think. Just say it.

My gaze goes to the moon as I force the words from my mouth. "Let's go to dinner one night this week, just you and me."

"Definitely, yeah, sounds good." Her response is so welcomed that as I exhale in relief, I almost miss the rest of what she's saying. Talking at a mile a minute, she continues, "...it's been too long since we've hung out. I've honestly, been, like... missing you, you know? And we should go to that place where Darrell works! That'd be perfect! Um, so, but, anyway... today has been the craziest day of my entire life and I have to tell you everything, Luke. Oh my Gosh, it's been so insane."

I clear my throat and relax my grip on my phone. "What happened?"

As Gina begins her story, I feel like a thick fog has been lifted from my skull. She doesn't understand the significance of this dinner, but soon she will. Soon, she'll see me as I am, as the guy who has always cared about her more than she could possibly know.

#

Serenity Bayous Mental Hospital

Serenity Bayous sits just across from the Mississippi River in a picturesque area on the outskirts of Swamp Rose. I park across the street from the building, beneath the shade of the few oak trees. A breeze shakes their limbs and a light drizzle begins to dot my windshield. I cringe as a shooting pain travels from my left wrist to the tip of my thumb. It's going to storm soon.

I crack my knuckles and wring my hands, shaking them out in front of me. The gesture makes me think of Tessa's parents... her mother used to hate it when her father would crack his knuckles. She would swat at him, telling him to stop. When they'd start to play-fight, their antics would make Tessa and Karen laugh...

I force the memory aside, slip my seatbelt off, and wring my hands out again, hoping to shake off the pain.

This always happens prior to a storm. My hands and fingertips take on a dull ache interspersed with random shooting pains. It's a result of what I.T.I.S. did to me.

When the aching begins, not only does every bone in my finger begin to throb, but my fire ability diminishes. The ability doesn't completely cease, but the sparks that come from under my nails are smaller and less flammable. I grab my phone and check the time.

Midnight.

I set my phone in my cup holder and glance right, my gaze going to the levee. A large ship passes on the Mississippi's muddy waters. It, with its massive and ugly manmade body, is moving faster than I am.

I grimace at this thought.

Patience is not my forte. I want to retrieve Adam's Serum from I.T.I.S. and get it to my lab where I can inject my subjects. And I don't want this process to take all night.

Frowning, I run my thumb across my cat's eye ring and turn to take in the view of the brick building across the street.

I wish Grant could be here to help, but he'd never be able to handle this. His sheep-like obedience to established rules makes him too narrow-minded for this aspect of our lives.

As frustrating as his fastidiousness can be, I understand Grant. Everything he does as an adult is a byproduct of his forgotten childhood. His memories of having watched his mother become a veritable punching bag for his monster of a father may have been wiped from his mind, but I remember. And I remember the way he and his mother clung to their little routines after his father was hauled off to jail. Once the cause of the disorder was removed, Nathaniel and his mother worshipped at the altar of structure, order, and rules. Nathaniel was the good son who did everything asked of him. To break even just one rule would've been to imitate his father - which would have been the ultimate sin.

I, of all people, have fallen in love with a man who can't bring himself to overstep the smallest of rules. Even when we're driving, Grant comes to a complete halt for yellow lights. There's no way he would understand, let alone agree with, what I'm doing.

Raindrops slither down my driver's side window. My phone vibrates. The sound pulls me from my thoughts.

I grab it from the cup holder...Grant. I open his text with cautious anticipation.

This will be the first I've heard from him since this morning's fight.

Grant: Where are you? We need to talk.

I lower the phone to my lap and glance at Serenity Bayous. A small white car pulls out of the mental hospital's parking lot. If I had the courage, I'd walk right through those front doors and demand that the head psychiatrist's representative give me Adam's Serum. After all, when you privately donate 2.5 million dollars to a mental hospital and become one of their silent partners, you earn the right to do such a thing.

I return my attention to Grant's text, guilt tugging at my heart.

If he knew about my partnership with Serenity Bayous, he'd be appalled. If I'd let him on my plan from the very beginning, showing him that the hospital is simply a cover for I.T.I.S., Grant's need to follow rules would have led him to turn them in to the FBI - an emotional decision, which would've ruined everything.

By choosing to partner with Serenity Bayous/I.T.I.S., I've ensured that from now on, they'll leave Grant and me alone - not even initiating contact with us. But he wouldn't understand that. He'd only see that I've gotten into bed with the organization that abducted and tortured us when we were children.

If he knew about any of this, he'd leave me.

I run a hand through my hair, silently sifting through my options. I can't give Grant any indication of where I am. But I'm so sick of lying to him...

Frowning, I glance at Serenity Bayous as one of their security officers, a fat elderly woman, emerges from the front doors, a large umbrella opened above her head as she waddles to her car. With this, I return my attention to my phone and type my reply.

Amelia: I look forward to speaking with you soon & will attempt to leave work in thirty minutes.

There. That was neither too vague nor an outright lie. After all, stealing Adam's Serum is "work." This is my job. Every time our lives are threatened, I find a way to save us. It's what I was made to do.

Shoving my phone into my skirt pocket, I crack my knuckles one last time, take a deep breath, and open my car door.

I SPEED WALK in between the parked cars, hurry past Serenity Bayou's front door, and head around back to the building's least-used private entrance.

Years ago, when Claire Hawke, the current head of I.T.I.S., introduced me to Adam Freeman, she mentioned that most of the mental hospital's staff are unaware of their employer's connection to I.T.I.S. and of Adam Freeman's existence. The boy's quarters are close to this back exit and upon hearing his late-night howls, Serenity Bayou's ignorant staff came to the conclusion that the place is haunted. That rumor has since been spread throughout town. Seeing as the majority of this rural settlement's residents believe in the existence of a mythical creature called Unseen who spends his days saving people's lives, I suppose it's not ridiculous for them to, likewise, believe in ghosts.

Rain in my eyes, I come to a halt. I glance up at a small security camera above the back entrance's door.

I look around.

A few cars sit in the back parking lot, and beyond them lies a small wood separating Serenity Bayous from Aldoph Towers apartment complex. Other than the rain's pitter-patter against the cement, all is silent.

I fly up, darting above the camera and then around it, positioning myself directly in front of the back door, where I lower myself to the ground.

After a quick look over my shoulder, I point to the many bolts along the door's edge. Two sad sparks erupt from my fingertips. They're so tiny that they flare for no more than three seconds before dying.

"Come on, don't do this now," I hiss. My feet firmly on the ground, I steady myself and focus on the spark-carrying cells that I know are alive and working in my body - I just have to convince them to do their job.

I frown in concentration and beads of sweat that have formed on my forehead mingle with rain to slide down my face, some of them blurring my vision as they seep into my eyes. I wipe my eyes and continue to focus. After what feels like ages, my hands and fingertips grow heavy with heat. A bright red spark shoots from the tip of my pointer finger. It lands on the door. The spark blossoms into a red flame. It's gorgeous.

I lower my hand and watch the flame lick up the wood.

This in itself is a testament to I.T.I.S.'s incompetence- their back door is made of wood instead of metal. Lack of thought when it comes to details like this, are what will lead to their downfall.

The wood splinters, weakening. I kick in the door and it falls backwards, landing with a thud.

I step into Serenity Bayous' back hallway. At first, all I smell is fire, but this soon gives way to the stench of mold. I cringe.

I'd forgotten how revolting this place is.

I look up and spot a pair of security cameras where the hallway walls meet the ceiling at both my left and right. I lift my hands and send a slew of sparks to each camera. As they catch fire, I hear running footsteps from up ahead.

It's preferable no one see me. Should Claire Hawke find out I've broken in to her precious facility, she'd consider this a breach of our contract. And a breach of contract means she'd be free to come after, not only me, but Grant. I cannot allow that.

I dart to my left where Adam's quarters are located. The serum responsible for the restructuring of his DNA is kept in a small locked refrigerator just beyond his quarters.

I leave the ground and fly past Adam's tiny living space. The poor bruiser is kept stashed in a steel-ribbed storage pod just large enough to contain a small bed and flat screen television - my gift to him. Now, I can hear howling and banging on the walls. The pod is sturdy, but Adam is huge, so it shakes with each hit.

I know exactly how he feels. I used to be one of I.T.I.S.'s caged animals. But, what I'm on the precipice of doing will save Earth and honor Adam's sacrifice. If it weren't for Adam, this serum wouldn't exist. And without this serum, we'd be helpless against the Novu.

I spot the small refrigerator stuffed in a corner of the room. It's "secured" with a rusty lock.

I shake my head in disgust. Claire's done a terrible job of securing the most valuable aspect of Serenity Bayous. She should keep her serums in a dedicated room containing a locked vault, not in a simple refrigerator that anyone can gain access to. Her predecessor, Jayne Mire, had at least that much common sense.

As the heels of my shoes touch the linoleum, the footsteps headed to the door I've kicked in grow louder. My pulse quickens. I cannot allow whoever this is to see me.

I crouch in front of the locked refrigerator.

"Whoa, look at this door! Did you see anyone?" A male voice shouts, its owner sounding so out of breath, he can barely speak.

I point to the refrigerator's rusted lock and send a stream of sparks its way. But the sparks are mere flickers and far too weak to last for more than a few seconds.

I open my hand and aim all five of my fingers at the lock.

"No, whoever he was must have fried the cameras," a second male voice replies. "Couldn't have been Betty this time; she wouldn't have the mind or equipment to do this."

More miniature fireworks jump from my fingers. In the darkness, they're as delicate and pretty as Alabama fireflies - but delicate and pretty won't get the job done.

Behind me, Adam howls and the Serenity Bayous workers' footsteps grow louder as they begin to poke around. My hair falls in my eyes. Frustrated, I shove it back. I need to concentrate. I can do this, if I just focus.

"I'm going to call Dr. Hawke," one of them says. Tuning him out, I take a deep breath and exhale. I imagine the fire, its bright red flames leaping across the refrigerator's flimsy lock, weakening it until I'm able to open the refrigerator and retrieve the serum.

A trail of sweat slinks down my nose and falls on my wrist as the tiny golden sparks grow larger. The joints in my hand ache, not with their usual burning sensation, but with a racking pain that feels as if the very marrow in my bones is on fire.

I bite down on my bottom lip, willing the heat that springs from my nailbeds to intensify. I just need the sparks to be a tad more intense.

"Help me get this door up!" one of the men shouts, his voice piercing into my thoughts.

Two of my sparks latch onto the lock and merge. My breath catches in my throat as they erupt into one nice-sized flame. Satisfied, I lower my hands and glance over my shoulder.

"Wait a sec. We should check around the other side of Monster's cage first," the other man says in a voice that sounds as though he's attempting to whisper. "Whoever did this has to be in here."

I frown.

"Monster" must mean "Adam"...

I look at the flames I've created and my hands curl into fists.

... a long time ago, I.T.I.S. agents refused to call Tessa and Nathaniel by their real names. He was "Eavesdrop" and she was "Pyro."

I hated it. At the time, I wanted nothing but to be known by the name my mother had given me. But by the time I got us out, I'd changed. I hated my old name. "Tessa" became a synonym for weakness. And "Nathaniel" was a boy who'd loved my sister, instead of me. So, when we left I.T.I.S., I lied to him. During our time as I.T.I.S. captives, I'd realized that I, alone, had the ability to stop him from reading my mind. My heightened intellect made it possible for me to restrict certain parts of my thoughts. It took intense focus, but it was possible.

So, in the first of a million lies, I told Nathaniel that I'd overheard one of our captors say that his real name was "Grant Carr." And Nathaniel never questioned this. He simply believed what I told him. I think that's what happens when you love someone. You let yourself believe their lies.

Now, I keep my eyes trained on the fire as two pairs of slow, heavy footsteps make their way towards me. The fire has spread from the lock. It now covers the entire edge of the refrigerator door.

By the time we left I.T.I.S., I'd grown to love my nickname. "Pyro" was fitting. I'd always loved fire. The only reason I didn't keep it was because I couldn't very well reenter society with a name like "Pyro." Society trusts what they know, what's "normal." So, I chose the most normal name I could think of: Amelia.

Still crouched, I push my feet up and hover away from the ground. I inch up, higher and higher, and then fly to the far-left corner of the small room. Once my head is nearly touching the ceiling, I take in the panoramic view of the two overweight men who appear to be Serenity Bayous orderlies. They approach the refrigerator, which is now covered in flames.

"Get the fire extinguisher," the larger of the two says to his companion. The smaller one hurries away, neither of them noticing me hovering above.

I ready my aching hands, extend all five digits, and concentrate on what I'd like to happen; I imagine this fat orderly on fire, flames leaping from his skin and clothing. Once this image is firmly in mind and bright sparks are hopping from my fingers, I fly towards him as fast as I can.

He turns to me, his eyes wide with surprise - and then fright. He shouts. Sparks shoot from every one of my fingers, landing on his face, neck, and large gut. As what I've imagined begins to happen, I leave his screams behind and dart to the refrigerator.

"Ron!" His companion yells, his running footsteps approaching and then coming to an abrupt halt. "Oh, my God! Ron..."

I thrust open the refrigerator and grab the serum. Adam's howls are almost as earsplitting as the man's screams. My heart pounding, I clutch the serum to my chest and glance at the flame-ridden guard.

My stomach turns at the sight.

Saving our planet means sacrifice - this is what sacrifice looks like.

The guard's friend, too involved in what he's doing to notice me, tries to put the flames out.

"Someone help!" he shouts as he desperately tries to smother the fire.

I turn away from the two men and fly to Serenity Bayou's exit.

I SNEEZE AS I set my keys on the table near my front door. The smell of fire crept into my clothes and hair. To cover it, I've overdone it on the perfume.

It looks like Grant's got the lights on in the den, which means he's been waiting up for me.

For a moment, I stand rooted to my spot in the foyer.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Please don't let me lose him. Please.

"Amelia?" Grant's voice sends a slew of butterflies to my stomach and I open my eyes.

"Yes, I'm home!" I shout, making my way to the den. I come to a halt at the sight of a small black suitcase propped up against my couch. Grant stands beside it, wearing a long dark jacket over a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. His keys are in his hands, which are clasped together in front of him - a defensive stance.

He knows? How? How did he find out? My pulse quickening, I stop myself from thinking too much and force my mind into a closed state. I cannot let him see any of my thoughts. Not tonight.

"What is this?" I point to the suitcase. "I hope you're not intending to leave for an extended period, because the Alyssum Studios South ball is in a few days and we have to be seen together. We're a team, and -"

"No, we're not." Grant's voice is nearly a whisper. "We're not a team and I honestly don't know if we ever were."

"Of course we're a team. We always have been. Grant, you're tired and you need to -"

"Just answer one question," he interrupts me.

I bristle at his tone but note that his hunched posture and defensive stance belong to that of a man who feels defeated. So, he isn't challenging me. He realizes he's already lost, and his pride has been wounded.

I return my gaze to the suitcase.

Wounded enough to leave?

"You're right. I'm hurt. And angry," Grant says. I blink back at him, surprised that he was able to read my thoughts. Clearly, I'm not focused enough on guarding them.

"I love you," he says. "But this thing you're hiding - whatever it is - it's become a problem. I feel like I can't trust you."

"Of course you can trust me." I'm nervous and my words tumble over each other. "Haven't we always trusted each other?"

"Amelia, just answer this one question -"

"Hold on now," I interrupt, my heart pounding. I drop my purse on the coffee table and move forward, looking him in the eye. "I understand that you're angry, and rightfully so. I shouldn't have picked a fight with you this morning. But we both know that you and I aren't really angry with each other, we're angry with the people who kept us trapped like animals. Our anger is a result of -"

"Who's Karen?" Grant asks.

This stops me in my tracks.

His jaw tightening, Grant watches me like a hawk. "Tell me the truth. Who is Karen? Why do I dream about her every night? And why do I hear you think about her nearly every second of every day?"

I bring my hands together and run my thumb over my ring. "I don't know."

"You don't know," Grant repeats.

I meet his eyes. Something in them has closed - a window that I could have crept through is now shut. Physically wincing, I blurt, "How should I know? I.T.I.S. erased my memories too."

Shock forms in Grant's eyes and in that moment I realize my error.

I'm too nervous, too emotional, to focus on guarding my thoughts. The wall that I'm usually able to keep up- is slowly crumbling.

"You're lying." Grant's words are soft but they pierce me.

I shake my head, but I know it's too late. I'm losing his trust.

"Amelia." Grant's face reddens and he runs a hand through his hair. "Why would you lie about that? Why'd you make me think your memories were erased? Does this mean you know who I really am? You know where I come from, who my family is?" He spews question after question, watching me. "You've known this whole time. Why... why would you do this to me?"

I panic. Every logical thought process I own seems to be imploding, one by one - their remnants becoming nothing more than smears on the crumbling walls of my mind.

Stupidly, I blurt the first excuse that emerges from my scrambled-eggs brain. "When something's too painful for someone to address, their mind shuts it away like it never happened. So, I'm sorry, Grant, but I simply can't remember. It's beyond my ability."

Grant's eyes narrow and I feel him in my mind - a stinging heat tracing every inch of my available thoughts.

"Don't go. Just stay. Don't go, don't go..." I repeat the words, think them, say them, fill my head with them until there's nothing else for Grant to see.

He mumbles something indecipherable and grabs his suitcase. "You," he says, his voice low, "are the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

I take an unsteady step back while he rolls his suitcase to the foyer. He stops in his tracks and turns back to me. He looks me up and down. "Promise me one thing, that you won't hurt yourself."

For some reason, this is the moment that I lose control.

"If you really cared," I scream. "You'd stay and make sure I don't!"

Grant shakes his head, lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender and turns away.

"Coward!" I stumble after him. "You're nothing but a -"

He steps into the rain and before I can say the word again, Grant slams the door in my face.

#

Wednesday, February 28, 2015

South Louisiana High School

The bell rings, ending my first period class. I breathe a sigh of relief; one class down, one more to go.

"That's it for today. See you guys tomorrow. And remember to bring your storyboards." I wave goodbye to the twenty freshmen filing out of my homeroom. None of them wave back. Instead, they nonchalantly saunter, eyes on their phones and bored expressions on their faces, to the door.

I shake my head and smile.

Chances are I would've reacted the same way when I was their age. As a freshman, I was all about making sure everyone knew how chill and unaffected I was - which was, of course, the polar opposite of my true self.

As the classroom begins to empty, a boisterous yawn finds its way to my mouth and I close my eyes, releasing it with a languid stretch of my arms.

A drink... actually, even just a taste of a drink would be amazing right now.

I felt weird about pouring a few sips of Jack into my coffee this morning, like some sort of closet alcoholic. But I figured it'd take the edge off my sleep-deprived fog. Clearly, it's not doing the job.

Considering that my head is filled with Betty's crazy story and that this is the first day of a job I absolutely adore, you'd think I'd be a little more energetic. But nope, I'm a zombie. Maybe it's the weather. When I woke up at negative billion AM and dragged myself out of Serenity Bayous, it was still overcast and drizzling. Perfect weather for curling up in bed and half-watching something on Netflix.

I lean against the wooden podium at my right, letting my gaze drift to the posters lining the classroom's badly painted beige walls. The oversized prints contain pictures of well-known filmmakers, italicized quotes sitting beneath their glorified mug shots. The wall to my right, just past the teacher's desk - or I guess I should say, just past my desk - is home to a large black and white of Alfred Hitchcock. Squinting, I read the quote beneath his picture.

"Always make the audience suffer as much as possible." I grin and mumble, "Directors are insane."

"Says the lady who's talking to herself."

The light voice startles me and I turn around.

The voice belongs to a petite girl who I instantly recognize. Her full name is Andrea Moretti and when I took roll this morning, she insisted I call her Andy. Throughout the morning, she raised her hand to answer most of the questions I asked during class.

No taller than 4'8, Andy looks like a cartoon character. Her strawberry blonde curls are... well, I guess they're something of an untamed cloud around her head. Her round, peaches-and-cream face is pretty and spotted with freckles, and her bright blue eyes are gorgeous, but hidden behind large glasses. She wears an oversized flannel shirt under an opened raincoat and her book bag appears to weigh about three times as much as she does.

One of her blonde eyebrows arched, Andy says, "You seem startled. Did you really not notice me standing right in front of you?"

I blink. "Ah, no I didn't."

"For a filmmaker, you're not very observant." She pushes her glasses up on her nose before sticking a scrawny hand out towards me. "I'm Andy. I met you a couple of days ago, but I'm betting you don't remember that at all."

I look down at her hand and the large gold watch hanging from her thin wrist.

"Wow, okay." I chuckle and shake Andy's hand. The gigantic watch flies up and down her arm as I correct her. "Of course I know who you are; you were basically the only student who participated in today's class. But it sounds like you're saying we met before today?"

Releasing her hand, I push the sleeves of my blue dress up to my elbows. I borrowed this long-sleeved, high-necked, and falls-below-the-knee getup from Lyla. When I swung by our apartment before school she, still bleary-eyed and half asleep, took one look at my yellow sundress and shook her head. If I remember correctly - seeing as I'm so "unobservant for a filmmaker" - my friend's exact words were, "That dress might be why Mr. Nellit hired you, but it will definitely be why SLH fires you."

"Yep, that's what I'm saying." At this, Andy reaches into the pocket of her raincoat and whips out a black Android. With dramatic flourish, she holds the screen out to face me.

I glance from the phone to Andy and she blinks back at me. I smile, unsure of what to make of this girl.

All at once, my voice, shaky and stammering, is coming from Andy's phone. "I don't know...uh, no," I'm stammering. "I didn't see a light in the sky, what are you...what are you talking about?"

Confused, I grab Andy's phone and frown into the date labeling the voice recording.

It's from the day before yesterday, the day Unseen saved me.

"Did you record this after my car accident?" I ask.

She nods and, retrieving her phone, pauses the recording. "Yeah." With this, the tiny girl returns the phone to her pocket and shifts the heavy backpack on her shoulders. "I was on the bus you nearly hit. And once the initial shock of the accident died down, I tried to question you. But you were out of it."

"Question me?" I cross my arms. "Why?"

Just then, a few early birds stream into the classroom, chatting as they take their seats.

I return my attention to Andy, who pushes one of her frizzy curls out of her face. "I wanted to know what you saw when Unseen stopped the accident. Finding out as much as I can about Unseen is everything to me. I've always wanted to find out who's behind that mask."

I nod and try not to be freaked out by the fervor in Andy's eyes. She's very, like... intense.

"I can definitely relate to that," I carefully reply. "Especially since my accident."

"Really?" Andy's eyes brighten and she takes a step towards me. "Have you done any research on Unseen identity?"

"Yep." I say. Andy looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to expound.

I don't know if I feel comfortable talking about this with a kid...

Oh, whatever.

I lower my voice. "I'm pretty serious about finding out who he is. It's, kind of, become a major life goal."

She grins. "I knew we were going to get along."

I laugh. "You're a weird kid."

She shrugs. "I know. But I'm also a genius, and I'm pretty sure I know who Unseen is."

My breath catches in my throat and my thoughts immediately go to Kayleigh's boyfriend, Tim. Kayleigh's sure he's Unseen. Does Andy think this Tim guy is Unseen too?

"Who?" I quietly ask.

Andy takes a step back and makes a face as she shakes her head. "The thing is, I'm not a hundred percent sure because even though I've done tons of research and I was almost positive I had Unseen's identity pegged, when your accident happened, it completely ruined my theory."

"How?"

"I don't have time to explain right now, I've got to get to class," Andy says as she reaches past her raincoat and retrieves a small red card from her pants pocket. She hands it to me before slowly backing away, headed for the door. "Call me later and I'll tell you everything I know. Then, maybe we can figure this out together."

"Sure." I look down at Andy's card.

"And, Ms. Gina?" Andy says.

I look up and she's pointing to me.

"You, like most people in this town, referred to Unseen as a he," Andy says. "I'm pretty sure that's a big mistake."

"Wait, what?" I set Andy's card on the classroom podium. "You're saying Unseen is a woman?"

Andy smiles, a near-manic fervor in her yes. She looks like some sort of mysterious woodland elf - or maybe she doesn't and I just put a little too much Jack in my morning coffee. "I have to get to class," she says. "So, just call me later. You answer my questions, and I promise I'll answer yours."

I can't help but chuckle as she turns around and heads to the door.

I like this kid... and I can't wait to find out what she knows about Unseen.

WHILE MY SECOND hour students continue working on the project I've assigned, I examine Andy's business card, running my finger along the edge of the cardstock.

Andrea Moretti

Filmmaker. Blogger. Screenwriter.

www.AndysBlog.weebly.com

Flipping it over, I lean against the classroom podium and read the tagline on the back.

"If there's a story, I'm there."

Well, that's cheesy. But I get it, and I think I get Andy. She's actually not all that different from me. We both love filmmaking and we both have a bizarre obsession with Unseen.

"Ms. Russo?"

I look up and a girl in the front row is raising her hand.

"Yep, what's up?" I can't remember this chick's first name but I do remember that her last name is Nguyen and that I love her chevron pink six-inch stilettos, which are a perfect match for her insanely cute outfit. As adorable as she looks, however, I worry she won't make it through the day without falling down at least some of SLH's many stairs. Why'd her parents let her leave the house with those shoes on?

"Does our storyboard need to be sequential?" she asks.

"Well, yeah. That's the point of a storyboard - to kind of organize your ideas." I shrug. "But, you know what? Since this is our first run at it and we're just messing around - just do the storyboard however you'd like."

She nods and gets back to work.

I glance at the fifteen students in my class, all zealously working, their heads down and their eyes locked on to their drawings. These kids are more focused than I expected. They're made up of sophomores, juniors, and seniors, and unlike my first hour freshmen, they seem to care more about filmmaking than acting chill.

Maybe instead of loitering at the podium I should make like a real teacher and walk the aisles. I set Andy's card aside and commence my stroll.

As I pass the Nguyen girl with the killer shoes, I look down at her work and see that she's a pretty good artist. She's a million times better at drawing than I am; the Adam Has Autism storyboard I made when I was about her age was full of stick people.

My mind drifts to Adam, and I frown as I move down the aisle to the next student.

I wonder if Adam was one of the Novu Betty told me about. Could that be possible? But if so, how? Betty said her...lady-parts were stolen and somehow used to create Novu children. So it wasn't that normal kids who'd already been born to normal parents were kidnapped and then turned into Novu. The super-human Novu kids were made. That's why I'm confused about how Adam fits into all of this. He wasn't born at I.T.I.S., he was kidnapped and used for experimentation...

Sighing, I pause in stride and pinch the bridge of my nose.

I can't afford to think about this right now. What I need to focus on is this class. Once it's over, I can go back to figuring out the whole Adam Freeman/Novu mess.

Taking a steadying deep breath, I drop my hands to my sides and continue my stroll.

Meagan Nellit, a cute blonde with pretty blue eyes stops drawing to look up at me and smile.

Thank God Meagan is nothing like her grandfather, my former boss Mr. Theodore Nellit. In fact, she's so sweet that she actually gave me a gift basket when she walked into my class this morning. Who does that? If someone like Meagan had been in mine and Lyla's class back in high school, I would've adored her, and Lyla would've been utterly confused by her.

"Ms. Russo, how's this so far?" she asks with a grin.

"Let's see." Returning Meagan's smile, I look down at her paper and see panel after panel of stick figures that appear to be either fighting or falling down in dramatic ways for no apparent reason. I clear my throat. "Wow, that's really... something. What's the story behind it?"

"When you asked us to summarize one of the best weekends we've ever had, I knew exactly what mine was. It was this," she says, pointing to the first panel. "We had cheer practice on a Saturday and I fell in the middle of a basket toss. Ms. Karin had to call an ambulance - see here?"

She points to the third panel and I squint as if squinting will help me decode the squiggly lines she's drawn.

"Nice." I nod enthusiastically and frown as the extent of Meagan's words dawn on me. "Wait, Ms. Karin called an ambulance?" I blurt. "Ms. Karin Greenich? She's your cheerleading coach?"

It's hard to imagine that depressed Mary Poppins lookalike coaching cheerleading.

"Yeah." Meagan nods, her bouncy hair moving up and down. "For a while, Coach Jacobs was and that was, like, beyond awkward. But over the summer, my mom saw Ms. Karin teaching a Krav Maga class at our gym and she was like, 'You should totally coach cheerleading!' But Ms. Karin didn't want to. So my mom told Principal Williams about it and he convinced Ms. Karin to coach us. It's not like she has cheer experience, but her Krav Maga training makes her great for it."

"Krav Maga?" I slowly repeat. I can't imagine Karin Greenich coaching a group of cheerleaders let alone teaching a Krav Maga class. Just the thought of this makes me snort. "How the heck does Karin Greenich teach a Krav Maga class? That's crazy."

A few kids laugh and my cheeks warm. I hadn't meant to sound so snarky.

"I didn't mean it like that." Grinning, I hold up my hands in surrender and turn around, addressing my laughing students. "I just meant that Ms. Karin looks too nice to be some kind of Krav Maga expert."

"She's stronger than she looks," one of the kids pipes up.

"I'm sure she is," I quickly agree.

"Yeah, she is crazy strong," Meagan chimes in. I turn to her as she tosses her golden locks. "And she's an awesome coach. So anyway, about my storyboard..." Meagan then delves into the long-winded tale behind her drawings and all I can do is half-listen.

Though I'm nodding and my eyes are glued to Meagan's sketches, I can't stop thinking about Karin Greenich. First of all, the woman definitely smells like Unseen. And I know it's weird to go around smelling people, but it's a fact that our town's invisible vigilante smells like Louisiana Alyssum. And yesterday Karin was, for one reason or another, absolutely doused in the scent.

Secondly, she's a Krav Maga expert? And on top of those two facts, I've just been told that Unseen might be a woman. So, there's only one thing left to assume -

"... Ms. Russo?" Meagan taps my arm, bringing me back to the present.

"Sorry," I quickly say. "I was just thinking that you, uh, really captured the essence of your story, Meagan." I feel bad for lying, but I smile as brightly as possible.

"Oh, good, I was kind of worried." She grins happily and returns her attention to her work.

Guilty, I move along to the next desk.

I need to focus on these kids right now, not on Karin Greenich or Adam Freeman.

Pausing, I force my attention to the student occupying the next desk.

Oh, him. Sucking in air through my teeth, I take a few steps forward. To be honest, I noticed this kid as soon as he walked into my classroom because he's gorgeous, like needs-to-be-a-model gorgeous. I'd totally cast him for the lead in a teen rom com.

He's got straight blonde hair that's lightly trimmed at the sides and back with the top emphatically brushed up. He wears a light blue hoodie with an asymmetrical zipper and trendy cowl neck hood over a black shirt. If I remember correctly, the sky blue hoodie is the same color as his eyes. The one thing I, unfortunately, cannot remember about this cute kid is his name.

"Hey, bud," I say, lacing my fingers together. "What do you have going on here?"

He looks up and gives me a dashing smile.

Oh, green eyes? That's weird. I could've sworn they were the same blue as Luke's.

"I'm not great at following directions, so it's not exactly what you asked for..." His voice trails off as he gestures to his work.

I look down at his paper and each of the panels are filled with perfectly executed sketches of action-packed scenes.

Shocked, I laugh. "These are amazing! Geez, when you're this good, who cares about rules? This is incredible. What's your name again?"

He starts to answer when Pink Shoes Nguyen turns around and says, "We just call him sexy."

All the girls in my class think this is hilarious and they start to giggle.

The boy blushes and shakes his head. "No, they don't. I'm just Ran."

"Ran?" My eyebrows go up and trying to control the gusto with which they do this, I nod and say, "That's...different."

"I know it's weird." Ran shrugs. "But my full name's Randall, so it was either that or Dall."

I blink and smile uncertainly. He's keeping a straight face so I don't know if that was supposed to be funny or...

"Because why would anyone call themselves 'Randy'?" Meagan pipes up from in front of him. I turn to her as she teasingly says, "A past tense verb for a first name is so much better."

"I know, right?" Ran replies, his tone dry. "Before you know it, Michael's going to be 'Mike' and David's going to be 'Dave.'"

This sends the surrounding girls into a fit of giggles. I glance around and notice that the two other boys in my class are rolling their eyes.

Interesting.

"Well, Ran, great job." I say, returning my attention to him. "I'm guessing you didn't base your storyboard on an actual life event, so how'd you come up with the plot?"

"I came up with the story a while ago." He points to the first panel in his drawing. It's filled with one word, 'SPLIT,' which is drawn in yellow and black. It pops out of the panel, demanding the reader's attention.

"Split," I read aloud and then glance at him. "Nice. Tell me more."

Blushing, Ran looks around, lowers his voice and says, "Someday, I want to, um, write and illustrate my own comic books. And so far, all my stories are about this guy, Split."

Though he's lowered his voice to a whisper, I have a feeling every girl in my classroom is tuned in to what he's saying. In fact, I bet this kid can't do a single thing without being watched. Such is the life of the exceptionally beautiful.

I see it happen to Lyla all the time. Whenever we go out, people won't stop staring at her; men and women alike. Now, she's learned not to let it bother her, but I can remember it being unsettling for her when we were kids.

I peruse the rest of Ran's story while he quietly explains the plot. But he doesn't have much to clarify as the pictures he's drawn do a fantastic job of weaving a visual tale. Basically, Split is a muscular guy in his teens and he doesn't wear your typical superhero costume, he's just dressed like an average kid. Even so, it's clear that he's the hero. The drawings show him flying and lifting cars and other crazy-heavy objects. In one panel, he's even shooting lightning from his fingertips. It's a cool concept, well... honestly, that whole quiet boy at school actually being a superhero storyline is a little overused, but when the illustrations look this good, I doubt it matters how traditional the storyline is.

Once Ran's done, I nod. "This is great. What would you think about turning Split's story into an animated short?"

Ran's eyes light up and I take a slight step back, noticing that they now look hazel. That's so weird.

"Seriously?" he asks, sitting up straighter and giving me his full attention. With this, he grins. "We're going to learn how to do that?"

I dismiss the quandary of his eyes and nod. "Yep. In fact, maybe we can -" The bell interrupts me, thank God, because I was prepared to promise we'd get started on his short by the end of this week and that would've been insanely ambitious on my part.

Moving away from Ran's desk, I head to the front of the room and clap my hands which is weird, but I guess you do things like randomly clap your hands once you become a teacher. "Okay, people!" I shout above the sounds of shuffling feet and zipping book bags. "Thanks for a great first class! Bring your storyboards tomorrow so we can finish up." I perch on the edge of my desk, watching my students file out of the classroom.

My students...I like the sound of that.

"Bye!" Meagan grins at me, waving like a cute little suck up as she passes my desk.

I wave back. "Bye, sweetheart."

Oh, my God, I sound like an old lady.

Ran passes my desk and catching my eye, he grins. I return his grin, but I'm perplexed because...how are his eyes now blue? I didn't put that much Jack in this morning's coffee, did I? I bring my hands to my forehead, close my eyes, and massage my temples.

Maybe Lyla nagging me about how much I drink isn't her just being annoying - maybe I actually do indulge a little too much.

My phone blares Drake. Startled, I grab it from my purse. Seth's picture stares back at me. I grin, my worries fading as I perch on the edge of my desk and answer it. "Hey, you."

"Hey yourself."

Seth's baritone voice sends a chill straight through me and I can't stop smiling. "So, Mr. Freeman told me you got the commercial. Congratulations."

"But I won't take the job," Seth quickly says. "Unless you come with it. We're still in this together, right?"

Breathless, I uncross my legs. "Yeah, totally." I hope I don't sound as giddy as I feel. "I can't wait to work with you."

"Same here," Seth replies. A sudden howling noise comes from his end of the line. He raises his voice, quickly saying, "So, I wanted to make sure we're still on for dinner tonight."

A ridiculously large grin makes its way to my mouth. I use my index finger to trace an invisible heart on my desk. "For sure, yeah. Geez, what is that sound?"

"Do you mind if it's an early dinner? Like five?" Seth asks.

In the background, just over the howling noise, someone calls his name.

"Yeah, that works. Where are you?" I ask, ditching my invisible heart sketch to fiddle with the hem of Lyla's matronly dress. "Sounds like... well, the depths of hell or something."

"Unfortunately, that'd be about right," he hurriedly replies, and I hear what sounds like a drill and then a door slamming shut. The howling noise gone, Seth says, "So, I'll pick you up at five. How about Lorraine's? Do you like that place?"

"I do. That sounds perfect," I agree. Honestly, if Seth wanted us to have dinner at a dumpster behind McDonald's, I'd still say, "That sounds perfect."

"Great, I've got to go. See you in a few hours."

"Okay."

"Bye, Gina Russo. I can't wait to see you... and kiss you... and do other things to you."

A full-bodied blush consuming me, I chuckle. "Right back at you, Seth Scardina."

"See you soon, Gina Russo."

As we hang up, I grab my roll book and use it to fan myself.

God help me, I like that man so much. He's sexy, confident, intelligent, smoking hot, and just perfect. And I don't just like him, I want to be more like him - more confident.

Plopping my roll book back down on my desk, I turn my attention to a nearby poster of Amelia Hearth. Confident people take action; they know what they want and they go after it.

I stare at the poster and for some reason, my thoughts drift to Karin Greenich.

What if she really is Unseen? But, Kayleigh is convinced that her boyfriend, Tim, is Unseen... could it be possible that they're both Unseen? Maybe they're working together. Oh my God, I don't know. All I know is I need to find out who this person is because they saved my life.

Abruptly dropping my phone into my purse, I hop off my desk.

So, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to dig until I find answers... and the universe has plopped Karin Greenich into my lap for a reason. She could very well be the key to those answers. It's about time I take the universe up on its offer.

My heart skipping a beat, I exit my classroom, determined to find out what Unseen-related secret SLH's drama teacher is hiding.

#

Broussard & Nellit Insurance Company

I straighten my new tie, wipe the rain's drizzles from my shoulders, and push open Broussard & Nellit's front door.

As always, the reception desk is the first place I look and, as always, Gina isn't there. But this time her absence isn't due to a hangover or a flat tire or whatever jam she's gotten herself into - this time Gina isn't there because a temp has taken her place.

Annoyed, I move past the reception desk and continue on down the long hallway that leads to our boss's office. Finally, I come to a halt in front of Mr. Nellit's door.

Behind me, I hear the familiar droning sound of quiet conversation coming from Broussard & Nellit's cubicle-filled office space. I knock on Mr. Nellit's door and the old man's response is a quick, "Come in."

An abrupt surge of nerves rock me, but I open his door.

Mr. Nellit is a short man - even I've got a few inches on him - but he's pudgier than I am. Now, he sits behind a large oak desk. Gina helped him pick it out several years ago. I know this because the day after she'd helped him choose the desk, I passed the break room and heard Mr. Nellit quietly joking with his partner as to why he'd had a nineteen year old choose his office furniture. His reasons had a lot to do with the low-cut sundress she was wearing that day. He made her use his computer to choose his furniture, while he stood behind her and helped himself to what he called "a nice view."

I get it. She's cute, she likes to flirt, and most of her clothes are boner-inducing, but the man's her boss - he was way out of line.

My fists clench as he now looks up and takes off his glasses.

"How can I help you, Luke?"

"First, I quit." I take a deep breath and moisten my lips. "And, uh, I, uh...I want to know why you fired Gina."

The older man blinks back at me.

I start to shove my hands into my pockets, but I stop myself.

He lifts a hand. "Son -"

"Actually," I cut in and he frowns, his eyebrows going up. "I want to know why you hired her in the first place. She was seventeen years old and she had zero work experience. Did you really expect her to do a good job here? Or did you expect something else?"

Mr. Nellit reddens. "What are you insinuating?"

"I'm saying the rest of us aren't blind!" I shout.

Mr. Nellit stands, his gaze darting from me to his opened office door.

"When you stare at your female employee's breasts, we see you," I say, speaking loudly. "We know why you hired Gina and we can guess why you fired her, you piece of garbage." With this, I turn around and make sure to slam Mr. Nellit's door behind me.

My knees, weakened by nerves, barely carry me beyond the curiously quiet cubicles, down the hall and on past the mail room.

Finally, I hear someone whisper, "Who was that?"

"Mailroom kid..."

As my former coworker's whispers come to life before fading into the distance, my nerves abate and a grin creeps into my expression.

That felt good. Really good.

Broussard & Nellit's front doors come into view and I take a deep breath, relieved.

I'll never have to see the inside of this place again.

"Have a nice day, sir," the temp receptionist calls after me.

I lift a hand and turn back to her, my smile widening. "Thank you, I definitely will. And, you too." With this, I shove the doors open and step into the rain.

Grinning, I run all the way to my truck.

That was amazing! Why didn't I do that sooner?

As I duck out of the rain and climb into my truck, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Whipping it out, I see that it's Alyssum Studios.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Luke Kennedy, please," a stoic male voice asks.

I start my truck. "Yeah, this is Luke. How can I help you?"

"You have been chosen for Amelia Hearth's latest movie," the expressionless voice replies. My grin widening, I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, silently reveling in this small triumph. "Can you stop by Alyssum Studios in exactly one hour for a briefing?"

"Of course, yes. Thank you." I open my eyes and put my truck in drive.

"Good. We will see you then. Have a nice day." Without waiting for a reply, the Alyssum representative hangs up.

I set my phone aside and take a moment to watch the rain fall.

This feels so good - to say what I think, to get what I want. This is the beginning of a brand new Luke Kennedy...and a brand new life.

#

South Louisiana High School

For the past twenty-two years, I've managed to go about my life without stalking anyone. And seeing as I'm an extremely nosy extrovert, this is quite a feat. Now, however, on a rainy Thursday afternoon, here I am ditching Lyla's headlights and staying two car lengths behind a "target." My perfect record of being a non-stalker is now tarnished.

I up the speed on the windshield wipers and squint into the traffic ahead, trying to keep an eye on my target. This is fairly easy, as Karin isn't driving her little black Toyota. She's in Drew Everett's - the teen actress who starred in I Already Knew - fancy red sports car. Even so, I'm nervous and tense and I've been nervous and tense ever since I overheard Karin and Drew talking about going to the New Orleans airport as they hurried through SLH's parking lot, headed to Drew's car.

I mean, why on Earth is a teacher ditching the remainder of her classes to help one of her students skip school and go to the airport? That's kind of a big deal! Who knows what I'm going to find out by following this lady? It could turn out that Karin Greenich is Unseen and Drew freaking Everett is her sidekick!

Karin switches lanes and I put on my signal. As I glance in my rearview mirror and prepare to switch lanes, Lyla's car emits a polite ding. I jump, startled by the noise. My gaze goes to the console where a blinking gas light stares back at me.

"Crap on a stick in the middle of New Jersey." Of course I don't even have enough gas or gas money to follow these two all the way to New Orleans. Of course... this is just perfect.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sky and I stop groaning to peer at the black clouds above. Well, maybe it's better I don't leave town while the weather's on the precipice of storming. I'm not exactly the world's best driver and it doesn't take a math genius to figure out that me + driving Lyla's car in the rain = Lyla's BMW in Lake Pontchartrain where both the car and I will be slowly eaten by alligators.

Whatever. Not tailing Karin and Drew all the way to New Orleans is probably for the best...

Defeated, I pull over to the side of the road and rest my forehead against the steering wheel.

What am I doing? Where's my confidence?

Mr. Freeman, Lyla, and Darrell's advice runs through my mind: don't get in your own way.

I lift my head and glare at the fat drops of rain that splatter as they hit Lyla's windshield. Until now, every major goal I've ever made has splattered. I don't want this one to be like that. I don't want to let the fact that I have no money, no gas, and no record of previous success to stop me from finding out whether or not Karin Greenich has a connection to Unseen.

I take a deep breath.

If I can't follow Karin right now, maybe I can spend the afternoon brainstorming with someone who...

I grin as an idea slaps me in the brain.

... oh, my God, duh! Andy Moretti practically begged me to contact her about her Unseen theory!

Diving into my purse, I grab Andy's business card and my phone. Before I can second guess myself, I dial her number. The phone rings and I glance at the car's digital clock.

It's only 11:45. Dang it! Andy's still in class.

I start to hang up when her voice sounds in my ear. "Hello?"

My heart skipping a beat, I grin. "Hey! You're not in class, are you?"

"Uh, not quite. Who is this?"

"Gina - I mean, Ms. Russo. Gina Russo," I sputter. "Do you have a sec?"

"Hey, Ms. Gina!" Andy exclaims with a shriek that nearly shatters my eardrums. I laugh and hold the phone away from my ear while she continues, "Are you still here? At school I mean?"

"No, but I wanted to talk to you, so I'll head back now and then maybe we can chat during lunch?" I hesitantly suggest.

Andy's an awesome kid, but her intensity makes me a little nervous. Like, if we were to just casually hang out, I bet I'd find her crafting a well-written reply to the writer of some piece she'd just read in The New Yorker while I'd be... I don't know, accidently farting while sneaking sips of vodka from a tiny flask I've got stashed in my bra.

"Definitely, but first I'm going to need your help with something," Andy says.

"Of course, yeah. What do you need help with?" Another flash of lightning brightens the sky.

"Can you come get me out of the trunk of a car?" Andy asks.

I laugh. "Right, sure." I chuckle. "Let me just get my Batmobile and -"

"Seriously, Ms. Gina. I'm stuck in the trunk of Ms. Karin's car," Andy says. "And I need you to get me out. Can you?"

Horrified, I gasp. "The trunk of Karin Greenich's car? Holy shiitake monkeys, Andy!" I exclaim. I swerve back onto the road, floor the accelerator, and speed towards South Louisiana High. Three - wait, no, four - angry drivers honk after me. "Andy!" I shout. "Did Karin Greenich try to kidnap you? Should I call the police? I'm calling the police."

"Stop talking! Geez! Would you just listen?" Andy screeches. I clamp my mouth shut. "Don't call the police. Ms. Greenich didn't have anything to do with this. I was going to try and follow her this afternoon, so I hid in the trunk of her car. I didn't realize she was going to leave in someone else's car, which completely ruined my plan. So, can you just come get me out of here?"

Oh. Apparently, I wasn't the only one planning to stalk Karin Greenich today.

"Okay, yes, of course." I nod even though Andy can't see me nodding, obviously.

"And, was I imagining things, or did you say "holy shiitake monkeys" a minute ago?"

"That happened. I said it," I admit, heat rushing to my face. "I was trying to say 'mushrooms' and in the excitement of the moment, 'monkeys' came out."

There's silence from Andy's end.

"Andy?" I hesitantly ask.

"You're a pretty strange lady," she says.

"Yeah. Well... takes one to know one."

"Great comeback," Andy deadpans. "Look, will you please bring a wire hanger with you?"

"A wire hanger?" I repeat. "Andy, wait. What am I going to do with a wire -"

I stop talking when I realize she's already hung up.

AFTER A MAD dash to Riverside Shopping Center for a wire hanger, I'm in SLH's parking lot and all set to rescue Andy.

I grab the hanger from Lyla's passenger seat and glance at Karin Greenich's black Camry.

Poor kid.

"Andy?" I shout as I make my way to the trunk, which is covered in dissipating raindrops. "Andy, can you hear me?"

"Don't yell," a muffled voice calls from the inside of the trunk. "You don't want to draw attention to yourself."

Realizing that she's right, I roll my eyes. This is why Andy makes me nervous; she's just a freshman in high school, but always ten steps ahead of me.

I glance around. Thankfully, the school's parking lot is a quiet sea of cars with no stragglers hanging around to hear us.

"You're going to have to unlock her car with the hanger," Andy says. "Do you know how to do that?"

I tap the hanger against my thigh and try not to panic. "No, but I can call Pop-a-Lock. They could get the car open," I suggest, hoping I sound calm.

"And explain why there's a kid in the trunk of a car? I'm thinking that's not a good idea," Andy retorts, her voice sounding far away. I cross my arms. "Straighten out the hanger, but leave the tip as is, and then go to the passenger door."

I do as told, straightening the hanger until it's in the "u" shape of an umbrella handle.

"Okay, done," I shout, heading to the passenger door.

"Can you please stop yelling?"

"Sorry." I wince and look down at the hanger. "What do I do next?"

"Carefully shove the hook of the hanger in between the window glass and the door," Andy instructs. "There's a little pin connected to the lock - try and find it."

This isn't as difficult as expected and thankfully, the rain has momentarily died down, so I'm not even fighting off raindrops as I follow her instructions. "Okay, what next?" I ask.

"Pull the hanger up," Andy replies.

I pull the hanger up and hear a satisfying click. I try the car door and it opens.

"Sweet!" I exclaim. Grinning, I slide inside and search for the trunk release. Once I find it, I run around to the opened trunk as Andy hops out, her face red and her frizzy blonde curls a ratchet mess.

I give her shoulder a squeeze. "You okay?"

She pushes her glasses up on her nose and grabs her book bag out of the trunk. "Yeah, thanks. I owe you big time. Do you mind if we go to Coffee Etc's to talk? I'd kill for a cappuccino right about now."

I tense, glancing at South Louisiana High. I just got a job here, should I really help one of my students skip school?

"I'll tell you why I think Karin Greenich is Unseen," Andy says.

I look at her, my breath catching in my throat.

Oh, God. I'm about to make another bad decision...

I nod to my car. "Hop in and let's get that cappuccino."

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

"I skipped my shift at the mall for this," says a cute dark-skinned girl named Carla. She runs a hand through her shoulder length hair and crosses her long legs. She's wearing an orange miniskirt that rides up every time she shifts in her seat, but after my explosion at Mr. Nellit for his leering douchery, I refuse to be that guy. So, it isn't until after Carla turns to Giovanni, the dark-haired guy to her right, that I steal a quick glance at her legs.

Not bad. Long, slender, and from all appearances, as smooth as silk - but still, they're not Gina's.

"...you? Hey, Luke?"

"Huh?" I sit up straighter, clear my throat and meet Carla's eyes.

Grinning, she arches an eyebrow at me. "I asked you what you'd be doing right now if it weren't for this movie."

I frown, thinking.

"Well, that depends. What time is it?" I glance around the large waiting room we were ushered into several hours ago, searching the walls for a clock. It seems like I saw one earlier, near the door. But that must have been the first waiting room we were taken to, because this room's beige walls are bare, with no pictures or clocks. There aren't even any windows.

"Who knows, bro?" Giovanni says with a shrug. He nods to the two Alyssum guards at the room's entrance; quiet and unmoving, the men look like sentinels. "Since they took my phone, it's screwed with my sense of time."

"Yeah, me too," Carla agrees. She folds her arms and the sudden movement sends a hint of her flowery perfume my way. It smells great. It actually kind of reminds me of Gina's scent - jasmine mixed with something else.

"I'm going to guess it's about noon maybe," Carla says.

I shoot another glance at the two Alyssum guards. Their expressions remain blank, their dead-eyed stares fixed straight ahead. I lower my voice to a whisper and lean towards Carla. "Lucky for us, I have..." She turns to me and smiles as I stealthy reach into my back pocket and retrieving my phone, say, "This."

"Man." Gionvani laughs and utters a low whistle. "If they find out you didn't turn yours in, they're going to kill you."

Carla grins, but her dark eyes are wide as they go from my phone to the guards. "G's right, Luke. Be careful. I've heard stories about these guards. They don't play."

My newfound confidence soaring, I shrug. "Yeah, well neither do I." With this, I glance down at my phone to check the time.

"He's a brave one," Giovanni says and Carla murmurs her agreement.

Even so, I quickly return the iPhone to my pocket as I announce, "It's 1:15."

"Seriously? Well, I'm probably going to get fired." Carla's face falls. She blinks quickly and shifts in her seat before glancing at me. "And what about you? If you weren't stuck here, what would you be doing right now?"

"Normally I'd be an hour into my noon to one AM shift." I frown as Carla and Giovanni gasp, each of them asking why I work such a long shift. But their questions fade from hearing as a single thought takes center stage in my mind. "But you know what?"

"What?" Carla asks.

I turn to her, surprised. I hadn't even realized I'd said that out loud.

She looks at me expectantly and I notice, for the first time, that her eyelashes have a bluish tint. It's cool. I wonder if it's a make-up trick. It must be...it would look good on Gina, I think. But then, what do I know? I think a flour sack would look good on Gina and if she rolled around in a pile of garbage, I'd still prefer her scent to Carla's or anyone else's. Such is the curse of letting someone like her get under your skin - after a while, you don't know anything except that you can't stop thinking about her.

Attempting to push thoughts of Gina aside, I clasp my hands together. "I think today I would've skipped my shift anyway. I would've spent the day looking into applying at a school I want to go to."

"Nice." Carla nods approvingly. "Is it a local school?"

I shake my head. "It's in New York, a place called ICE - The Institute of Culinary Education. I've wanted to go there since I was a kid."

"Whoa, look at you. How awesome is that!" Clearly impressed, Carla turns to me. She re-crosses her legs and more of her perfume wafts my way.

I gulp.

She smiles and I try to relax as she assesses me with blatant curiosity. "So," she finally says. "What got you interested in food?"

Despite my nerves, I make myself look at her. Really look. The easy smile, the fashionably messy hair, the blue eyelashes, the dark eyes, which are, at the moment, full of sincere interest...and to my surprise, my anxiety lessens. Carla's just a girl asking me a question; a question which actually happens to be very easy for me to answer. Without thinking, I say, "It started with my mom and little sister. Before they died, we cooked every dinner together as a family. It was our thing. Our happiest moments revolved around the kitchen."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Carla tilts her head and looks at me, her eyes widening. "What were they like - your mom and your little sister?"

I find myself continuing to answer her question, absolutely unable to shut up, for the next two hours.

CARLA WIPES TEARS from her eyes and a wave of helplessness envelopes me. I look down at my hands and mumble, "I don't even have a tissue to give you."

"Geez, Luke." Sniffing loudly, she laughs. "You're making me want to run home and hug my stupid little brother!"

I smile and swallow away the lump that's formed in the back of my throat. Despite the uncomfortable frog in my throat, I feel good - emptied. It's like I'd been filled with an angry poison and now it's gone. I guess every once in a while, talking about personal things can help.

"Hey." Carla touches my shoulder and I meet her glistening eyes. "I just want to say, it's not like I know your uncle or that I even really know you, but if you ask me, I think your uncle just wants you to be happy. You never told him you want to go to ICE and he probably sees you're unhappy, but he's too afraid to ask why. It sounds like y'all need to talk."

I nod.

"And even before that, you need to apply to that school," she continues. "You owe it to your mom and sister."

My heart stuttering, I nod a second time.

Carla's right.

It's funny how sometimes only a conversation with a perfect stranger will offer you the one piece of advice you really need.

"Yeah." I sigh.

Carla laughs. "You sigh a lot."

I grin and glance at her from the corner of my eye. "You laugh a lot."

Still smiling, she narrows her eyes. "Is that a bad thing?"

I shake my head. "No, I -"

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience," a loud female voice, tinged with a strange accent, sounds from the entranceway. As Carla and I turn our attention to the speaker, whispers fill the room.

"Holy cow, that's her." Carla's whisper is one of many similar exclamations around us. "That's Amelia Hearth!"

"Oh. Really?" I say, sizing up the surprisingly small woman who stands between the two sentinel-like Alyssum Studios guards. I've seen her picture in magazines and of course Gina's forced me to watch a few of her interviews. But in person, Amelia Hearth is tiny. She's about Gina's height, and painfully thin. Despite her diminutive stature, however, she exudes power. There's confidence in her posture, shrewdness in her observant blue eyes...but there's also weariness in the faint purplish hue beneath them and profound distaste in the uptight pucker of her mouth.

I frown, watching her closely.

No, this woman isn't just powerful, she looks angry.

"As you know, this film you're to be a part of is one that's close to my heart." Amelia's strange accent, I suddenly recall, is due to the fact that she's hard-of-hearing. Her blue eyes dart from person to person, hands clasped in front of her. "I'd like to thank you in advance for your dedication to this production and to all it will accomplish."

A few people applaud, more join in, and then everyone's clapping. So, I clap too. But honestly, I'm not impressed. Amelia still hasn't told us what this top-secret, "special" movie is about. Why so much secrecy? It's just a movie for Christ's sakes.

I glance at Carla, prepared to lean over and whisper this into her ear, when she turns to me with a huge grin. "Isn't she incredible?"

I shrug. "I guess."

Carla laughs, apparently assuming that I'm being sarcastic.

"Now, if you would please stand and follow these two production assistants, we'll direct to my personal theater where you'll watch a short film that will brief you on this movie and I know you must be starved, so we've got food for you as well!" Amelia says with an enthusiasm that's obviously feigned.

I sigh. Well, at least there will be food.

Various members of the crowd around us get to their feet and as Carla inches out of her seat, I yawn and stand as well. We turn to each other and I find myself eye to eye with Carla's chin.

Laughing, she takes a step back. "Shucks." She snaps her fingers and offers me an exaggerated pout. "I was hoping you were a little taller."

I smile and shrug. "Sorry."

In a way, I'm glad I'm too short for Carla. I'd hate to have to turn her down. And as ridiculous as the concept of me turning someone like her down may be, it's what I'd do. Because she's not Gina.

Amelia disappears while virtually everyone except for me claps a second time.

I don't know about this Amelia Hearth lady... there's something creepy about all that anger she's trying so hard to hide.

IT TAKES A good while for our herd of two hundred or so to make its way into the hallway. We amble towards a cargo elevator and enter in groups of twenty.

Carla and I are in the second group.

As we step into the elevator, where one of the Alyssum "production assistants" - who looks like a guard if you ask me - acts as an elevator operator, palpable excitement fills the small room. Someone behind me whispers, "This is so cool."

I turn to Carla and she's looking around, taking in every inch of the elevator like we've stepped into a Picasso painting.

"Is this usually how it is? To be in a movie?" I whisper.

"No." Carla shakes her head and turns to me. "I was an extra for two movies in New Orleans and neither of them were anything like this. This is pretty intense."

As soon as she says this, the elevator doors close and I sigh, silently telling myself that this is worth it because it'll make a great story to tell Gina over dinner.

WE'RE BROUGHT TO some kind of theater in a basement, which is odd considering that no one in prone-to-flooding Swamp Rose is foolish enough to include a basement in their floor plans.

As we're ushered to our seats, Carla whispers that she's cold and I realize I've left my jacket in my truck.

I turn to a nearby production assistant, poised to ask if I can run to my truck when he says, "You will be watching a very special film. But first we would like to offer you a refreshment of champagne and sandwiches."

My stomach rumbles as if in response, and the jacket slips my mind. I eye the plates of sandwiches and flutes of champagne being carried our way.

"I wish they'd offer hot coffee or tea instead," Carla whispers and shifts in her seat while she rubs her forearms. "It's like Antarctica in here."

I turn to the production assistant who's handing me one miniscule sandwich and a large glass of champagne. "Please drink all of this," he instructs.

I set the plated sandwich on my lap and unsuccessfully attempt eye contact with him. "Hey, man, my friend is cold. Can I run to my truck and grab a jacket for her?"

"No," the production assistant replies without looking at me.

I blink back at him in surprise. He, likewise, hands Carla a small plate containing a sandwich and a large glass of champagne. "Please drink all of this."

"Thank you," she says, eagerly accepting both items and, despite her complaints, taking a long sip of champagne.

I watch the production assistant move on to Giovanni and repeat his near-robotic order. "Please drink all of this."

I glance around the dim theater, where more production assistants offer other rows drinks and sandwiches with the exact same instructions being repeated in the exact same, dull tone of voice.

This entire process has been strange, but this is just not right.

Carla downs the rest of her champagne and sighs, setting her glass on the floor near her feet.

She turns to me and giggles, her pupils dilated.

Despite myself, I grin back at her.

She's cute.

"Lightweight," I tease, which makes her laugh again. She's tilts her head and looks at me sideways. I tilt mine, matching her angle as I ask, "You don't drink much, do you?"

Carla just giggles, her eyelids opening and closing very slowly as if they're growing heavy with sleep. At this, she accidently drops her plate and sandwich on the theater floor.

I lose my grin.

Carla's head wobbles from side to side, unsteady, like it's too much for her neck to support.

Someone in front of me giggles and just beyond Carla, Giovanni laughs a hair too loudly. I lean forward to take a look at him.

His lips part and he begins to stare into space while drool drips from the corner of his mouth.

"Everyone, drink all of your champagne," a production assistant commands, his voice carrying across the small theater.

I look down at the bubbly liquid in my glass and bring it to my nose, inhaling.

The scent that wafts up is a strange mixture of burnt plastic and stale fruit loops.

I have no idea what this is, but it isn't champagne. I lean forward, setting my glass on the floor as I whisper, "Carla, I don't think this is good." I turn to her and her eyes are glazed over while her mouth hangs open.

Oh no... what's going on here?

The theater lights go down. My heart pounding, I turn around, scanning the dark theater for the exit.

While loud orchestra music, a typical movie theme song, begins to play, something cool and hard - like a band of metal - emerges from both the floor near my ankles and from the seat's armrests near my wrists.

I look down and metal straps have wrapped themselves around my wrists and ankles, forcing me to remain seated.

Whatever's happening here is beyond bad. I've got to get out of this place.

#

Coffee Etc's

Gina: Hey Luke, haven't heard from you in a while. Any news on the movie? Are you in?

I hit send and then read a couple of the messages he's sent me this week, a smile tugging at my lips.

It always takes me a while to erase Luke's texts. That's why I've ended up with a ton of them stored on my phone. The oldest text dates back to last summer. I know. That's strange and maybe even borderline obsessive. But, so what? When I'm having a bad day, scrolling through Luke's old texts makes me feel better.

"I swear Louisiana's weather is bipolar," Kayleigh says while she yanks off her Coffee Etc's apron and slides into the empty seat at our table.

I toss my phone into my purse and turn to the nearest of the small coffee shop's windows. My gaze traces the steady stream of rain up to its origin: low, gray clouds that look fat enough to contain rain that will last for days.

"Yeah." I watch a lone black bird fly through the rain, hurrying to the shelter of a tree. "When the sun came out, I thought that meant the rain was over, but I guess not."

"While the weather's super interesting and all, can we please focus on the reason why we're meeting?" Andy suddenly says.

I tear my eyes away from the life and trials of the brave black bird to find Andy reaching into her backpack and producing a small leather-bound book.

Kayleigh and I exchange glances.

I like Andy Moretti, but I've got to admit that the kid is incredibly annoying. While she's smart and funny with her dry humor and artsy-fartsyness, she's also kind of... a lot. For example, on our way to Coffee Etc's - which is a mere 2.3 miles from South Louisiana High - I was on the verge of strangling her because when she wasn't making comments about my "inability to drive," she was asking me hordes of inappropriate questions like, "How do you have such a nice car?" and "How old are you anyway?" Worst of all, she ate the pear in the fruit basket Meagan gave me - she just took it and ate it without even bothering to ask if she could have it!

Kayleigh's apparently much more patient than I am because now she just laughs at Andy and winks. "How about a little respect for your elders, chica?"

The fifteen-year-old's eyebrows go up and to my surprise, a sweet smile forms on her lips.

I grin at the sight of it. This is my first time seeing Andy smile like an actual teenage girl.

"Well, chica," Andy says, continuing to smile while she holds Kayleigh's gaze. "When my elders are sleeping with my uncle, I find them difficult to respect."

I stop grinning and look from Andy to Kayleigh.

Oh, my God. Kayleigh is sleeping with Andy's uncle? So, the "Tim" who Kayleigh's been seeing, the Tim who she thinks is Unseen - that's Andy's uncle?

I process this information and watch Kayleigh's reaction. She just stares at Andy in shock.

For once, my talkative friend has been rendered speechless.

I clear my throat. "Okay, uh, like you said, Andy, let's focus on why we're meeting." I touch Kayleigh's arm and she looks at me. "Kayleigh, working here means you see a lot of people, so you know pretty much everything about everyone in Swamp Rose. And since Andy and I've noticed that there's something 'off' about one of the teachers at South Louisiana High, we thought we'd ask you -"

"That's way too long of an explanation," Andy cuts in. She turns to Kayleigh and says, "Karin Greenich. Do you know her?"

Kayleigh glares at the little girl, her eyes narrowed.

I hold my breath. Please don't let Kayleigh lose her temper with this kid ...

Kayleigh crosses her arms and sighs as she nods.

Relieved, I lean in to listen while Kayleigh says, "Yeah, I know Ms. Karin. She teaches drama at SLH. She's a nice lady. She comes in for coffee at least twice a week. Why do you think something's off about her?"

"Well, because..." I pause to consider the possibility of sounding like a lunatic once I explain my theory. I knew I'd be discussing it with Andy, but it wasn't until we walked into Coffee Etc's that I realized we should include Kayleigh in on our brainstorming.

Kayleigh and Andy are watching me expectantly. I take a deep breath and dive right in. "So, this might sound insane, but I noticed that Karin Greenich smells like Louisiana Alyssum and -"

"Yes!" Andy snaps her fingers and points to me, grinning. I shut up as she leans towards us and lowers her voice, her blue eyes shining with excitement. "I noticed that, too. She smells like she's literally taken a bath in Louisiana Alyssum every day. Even her classroom has the odor. And, think about it - who else is known for smelling like Louisiana Alyssum?"

Andy's exuberance is reassuring and I nod eagerly as I say, "Unseen."

"Exactly! In addition to that, there's this." Andy grabs the small brown book from the table and gestures with it. "I found this diary in the trash at Alyssum Studios. It belonged to a little girl who'd been kidnapped, and it's heartbreaking. At first, I thought it was a prop for a movie or something, but the more entries I read, the more I realized that everything in the diary really happened."

"Wait, what?" Kayleigh frowns and looks from me to Andy.

I shrug. I know that I think Karin Greenich has a connection to Unseen. But whatever Andy's found in this diary is news to me...

"The diary was written by a girl named Tessa Lyles, and get this..." Andy lowers her voice even more and glances around to make sure no one besides us is listening. I turn to the one other occupied table in Coffee Etc's. It seats a quietly conversing elderly couple who appear to be totally oblivious to us. I return my attention to Andy. "The people who captured Tessa were an organization called I.T.I.S. They killed her family, shipped her off to a lab, and experimented on her."

"Oh, my God," I whisper. Chills cover my arms as my thoughts dart to Betty's story. "I know all about I.T.I.S. They're real. And they're still around. They -"

"They're Serenity Bayous," Kayleigh says. Her eyes are wide and she looks as scared as I feel. She frowns and shakes her head. "Tim would kill me if he knew I just told you that."

"Oh, please, whatever." Andy snorts.

Kayleigh arches an eyebrow at Andy. "Excuse me?"

"Do you know who sent your -" Andy smirks and lifts her hands into air quotes, "--'boyfriend' on his little investigation in the first place?"

Kayleigh glances at me, her mouth agape and confusion in her eyes.

I shake my head and shrug. I have no idea what Andy's getting at.

Kayleigh returns her attention to Andy. "So, you know about Tim's undercover work?"

Andy laughs and drops the diary on the table with a plop. "It's not 'undercover' work! Tim's not the police. I told him to go to Alabama. I even paid for his ticket. I sent him on his little investigation."

"Alabama?" I repeat. Beside me, Kayleigh mumbles something under her breath in Spanish and I glance at her in sympathy before returning my attention to Andy. "Why'd you send your Uncle Tim to Alabama? I'm confused, Andy."

"Okay, so after finding the diary, I researched Tessa Lyles." Andy points to the diary. "Turns out, Tessa Lyles was from some little town in Alabama called Peake. I looked up all kinds of information about Peake. I found out that about sixteen years ago, there were reports of an 'Unseen' running around Peake, saving lives."

"Just like we have an Unseen here?" I ask.

Andy nods. "Yeah. And when Tessa's diary explained that she was being held captive and experimented on, I wanted to get a clearer picture of what was going on in that little town. So, I sent my uncle to Peake to find out more about Tessa Lyles and Unseen."

"Wow, I can't believe you did all of that..." I say.

"I was mostly hoping Uncle Tim would find out if Tessa was still alive and where I.T.I.S. was holding her. I figured once we knew that, we'd be able to help her get away from them," she explains. "But when Uncle Tim got to Peake, everyone in the town claimed to have never heard of Tessa. And he said they all acted weird, like zombies or something."

"A town of zombies?" Kayleigh makes a face and rolls her eyes. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not actual zombies, Einstein," Andy says, giving Kayleigh a pointed look. "What I mean is they all acted like they had brain damage. And even weirder, Uncle Tim said no one in Peake could remember anything beyond fourteen years ago. It was like someone showed up in 1997 and erased the entire town's memories, which is exactly what Uncle Tim and I think I.T.I.S. did."

I'm overwhelmed. Taking all of this in is like having someone throw a giant dumbbell at me. All I can do is sit back in my seat and try to make sense of what Andy's said.

"I.T.I.S. kidnaps a kid, endows her with superpowers, and then erases the memories of everyone in her town to cover up what they've done?" It takes a second for me to realize that Andy's watching me with wide eyes. I glance down at the table and shake my head. "That's insane."

I look at Andy, who's still watching me, but with something of a hurt expression. She must think I'm calling her insane.

"Not that I don't believe you," I clarify. Andy nods and shifts in her seat, like she's regaining her bearings. "I completely believe you. But it's just all so... crazy. And I was actually just talking to someone about that town, Peake. But I can't remember who."

"It'll come back to you eventually." Andy waves me off. "But anyway, the thing is, I think Karin Greenich is Tessa Lyles. I think she wrote this diary! I know for a fact that Ms. Karin grew up in an orphanage and the diary says Tessa's parents were killed by I.T.I.S., which would've made her an orphan."

Kayleigh shakes her head, frowning. "But that doesn't mean -"

"I think that once Tessa escaped from I.T.I.S.," Andy interrupts, jabbing the air with gestures. I watch her and wonder if this is what I look like when I speak. Lyla once told me I look like I'm using sign language when I'm really into whatever it is I'm saying. "She came to Swamp Rose with a new identity - Karin Greenich. During the day, she's Karin Greenich and at night, she's Unseen."

I take a deep breath and glance at Kayleigh who's donning a dubious expression. "No, Andy, that's impossible." Kayleigh shakes her head. "Karin can't be Unseen because Tim's Unseen."

Andy laughs and I cringe.

After everything Andy's said, I'm beginning to have some pretty strong doubts about her Uncle Tim being Unseen. Unfortunately, I have a feeling Andy will highlight these very same doubts as tactlessly as possible.

"My uncle is not Unseen," Andy says, still laughing. I bite down on my bottom lip and glance at Kayleigh. She's frowning and her eyes are full of disappointment. It's kind of heartbreaking to see. "Sure, lately he's been trying to act like a superhero," Andy continues. "But that's because investigating this stuff makes him feel useful."

"But -" Kayleigh starts.

"Uncle Tim, Unseen?" Andy slaps her thigh as she chuckles. "That's so stupid! He's, like,...a wannabe hipster bartender!" While Andy can't seem to stop laughing, Kayleigh can't seem to defend herself. She lowers her gaze to the table.

I hate seeing her look so defeated. She never looks like this. A burst of anger unexpectedly tears through me and I turn to Andy. "Hey, that's enough. You're being rude." Andy must be as surprised as I am because her eyes widen as she turns to me.

"Oh." She shifts in her seat and glances from me to Kayleigh. She lowers her eyes to her oversized watch and toys with it. "Sometimes I can be insensitive. Basically, you have to tell me when I'm getting like that and I'll stop. Sorry, Kayleigh."

My anger dissolves as quickly as it's flared up and I glance at Kayleigh, hoping she'll say okay and let it go.

Kayleigh's eyes aren't exactly daggers, but if they were weapons, they could do some damage. "Noted," she says, her tone curt. She lifts her hand in a waving motion. "Back to your theory about Karin. Do you think I.T.I.S. erased her memory too? Like, maybe she doesn't even remember exactly what they did to her?"

Relieved to dismiss the drama and get back on track, I nod and say, "Good point. That could explain why Karin hasn't used her powers to destroy Serenity Bayous; she doesn't remember what they did to her."

Andy's eyes brighten with understanding and she snaps her fingers. I glance at her hands. That goofy finger-snap thing must be her go-to move when she's excited.

"That makes perfect sense, Kayleigh!" she exclaims. "Because when I confronted Ms. Karin about everything, she claimed her name wasn't Tessa and it didn't look like she was lying. So, maybe she wasn't lying - maybe she really can't remember who she is!"

"Well, someone needs to tell her the truth about her past," I say. "Because if we're going to put a stop to what I.T.I.S. is doing and get Serenity Bayous shut down, we'll need Unseen's help."

Kayleigh and Andy nod in unison.

"Yeah, her diary was pretty sad. What they did to her was horrible. We have to stop them from doing that stuff to other kids." Andy slides the diary my way and I look down at the book's worn leather. "You should read this before you talk to Ms. Karin, that way you'll understand what she's been through."

I look up and squeak, "Me talk to her?"

"Yeah." Andy's glasses slide down her nose and she promptly pushes them up. "I know I have a big mouth, but I'm a kid. She'll listen to you before she listens to me."

I glance at the diary. Andy's right, I'm the "adult" here. Kayleigh's nineteen, which means that, technically, she's still a teenager. So, I'm the one who has to face Unseen and convince her to help us take I.T.I.S. down.

I take a deep breath.

"Okay," I agree. "I'll talk to -"

"Wait a second," Kayleigh interrupts, waving a hand and shaking her head. "I know y'all are convinced Tim isn't Unseen, but are we a hundred percent sure Karin is? So far, the only thing linking her to Unseen is the fact that she smells like flowers and happens to be an orphan."

I shrug. "Yeah, but I have a gut feeling she is. It's hard to explain..."

Andy tilts her head, her gaze going to the window. "Kayleigh does have a point," she says, with a sigh. "Because when Gina's accident was averted by Unseen, Ms. Karin was with me. So, there are only two explanations. Either Ms. Karin works with a partner and they're both Unseen or -"

"Or Unseen has a sidekick," I point out. "I thought about that earlier today."

Andy nods. "That crossed my mind too."

"Or maybe Karin isn't Unseen at all," Kayleigh says and we both turn to her. "I see the lady every week and, let's face it, she's sweet but she looks like the world's most boring librarian."

"Yeah, we could be completely wrong about her," I admit. "I guess I'll just have to find out when I talk to her."

Kayleigh leans back in her seat and regards me with an arched eyebrow. "The other day you could barely talk to Mr. Fancy Suit and now look at you, Gina. You're going to face a freaking superhero. Since when did you get so confident?"

I smile. "It's not confidence. It's more like I'm not all that bad at getting people to open up."

"Yeah," Andy slowly agrees, studying me. "I can see that. I think that's what makes you so good with actors. While I was in the trunk of Ms. Karin's car, I watched -"

"Did you just say, 'while I was in the trunk of Ms. Karin's car'?" Kayleigh pipes up.

Andy nods. "Yeah."

"Okay." Kayleigh frowns. "Just checking. Continue."

"So," Andy returns her attention to me, "while I was in there, I looked you up on YouTube and watched your behind-the-scenes footage from Adam Has Autism and you're really good at directing actors."

Andy's compliment sends a ton of awkwardness my way. I shift in my seat and grin like an idiot, unsure of what to say. "Uh, well, thanks," I finally stammer before grabbing Tessa Lyles' diary and dropping it into my purse. "Well, I have a date at five and I'd really like to have time to wax my lady business before then, so I'd better get you home, kid."

"Gross." Andy giggles. "TMI much?"

"And I'd better get back to work; my break's just about over," Kayleigh says, grabbing her apron and clapping me on the shoulder as she slips away from the table. "Later, Gina."

"Okay, see you later, Kayleigh." I wave while Andy frowns, her gaze following the older girl as she puts her apron back on and heads to the coffee bar. I lower my voice and address Andy while I get to my feet. "She doesn't like you very much. That's why she didn't tell you goodbye."

"Oh." Andy's eyes widen and she slides her monster of a backpack on over her shoulders. Before we came inside, I'd suggested she leave it in the car and of course she'd insisted on bringing it with her. She's a strange kid with some annoying tendencies, but I actually do like her.

We head to Coffee Etc's door and Andy's face falls. "Sometimes I'm such a jerk."

"No, you're not." I give her shoulder a pat. "I think you're like me: you don't see the world, you feel it. People like us get so busy feeling things that we don't see the obvious, like, for example, how what we say and do affects the people around us."

Andy frowns, considering this.

Poor kid.

I elbow her and say, "Then again, we're also highly creative and blessed with fantastic heads of hair. So, who cares about anything else?"

Andy laughs and I smile as I open the small coffee shop's front door only to back away from a strong gust of wind that's turning the falling rain sideways. I grimace at the downpour. "Woah, I didn't even need my umbrella thirty minutes ago."

"Screw umbrellas," Andy says, darting in front of me. She runs to Lyla's car and turns around, waving me forward. "Woo hoo! Come on, Ms. Gina, it's just rain!"

With the rain flattening her frizzy hair, she looks ridiculous and I smile.

She's right, I can brave a little rain.

I let the door swing shut behind me and run after her.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Thought reformation is the tearing down and rebuilding of one's inner guidance system - the internal regulation structure we rely on when we are too tired, or too relaxed, to make logical decisions. In such a state, our limbic system comes to the rescue by putting us on "auto pilot." This "auto pilot" feature of my subject's minds is what I reform.

Of course, I also activate major physical changes within each subject. My Alyssum Studios guards, for example, have been provided with a modified version of I.T.I.S.'s triphylamonal - a drug that increases muscular strength. My future super soldiers, however, will have their bodies totally reformed according to the effects of Adam's Serum. These soldiers will not only see an increase in muscular strength, but in the composition and density of their skin, height, and organs - meaning their every physical trait will mutate. In the case of both my super soldiers and Alyssum guards, however, before any physical change takes place, their inner "auto pilot" must be restructured into that of a loyal soldier's.

Unfortunately, the process of cerebral restructuring takes time: ten hours at the least. And now that Moira's on her way to Earth, I barely have eight hours to spare.

I take my position at the back of the theater as the lights go down. It's filled to capacity - every seat containing a subject who has been screened and approved as passive enough for thought reformation.

The screen, populated with mind-numbing images, slowly morphs into shot after shot of me. A soft spraying sound permeates the room - the activation of each subject's remote-control oxytocin nasal-spray device.

I cup both of my hands just above my collarbone and roll my neck, relieving the tension that's accumulated there. Grant's fault. Without him, I sleep fitfully and wake to a stiff neck. Even when he's out of town, we Facetime or Skype and it's our way of falling asleep together.

I sigh and cross my arms.

I've ducked in here to force my thoughts away from Grant and refocus on the task at hand. So, why am I thinking about him again? Saving Earth matters. What doesn't matter is that I couldn't sleep last night for reliving every moment of our argument or that even now, every time I think of him, acid seems to eat a hole in my stomach - none of that matters.

I bite down on my bottom lip.

I know it doesn't matter, but it still hurts. I wish I could stop caring for him. That I could flip a switch in my brain and not think about him. But that's not how love works... even thought reformation doesn't erase love.

A sharp pain shuttles through my neck and I wince.

But perhaps all isn't lost. There's always the chance that once Grant understands what I've done, when he sees Novus and its remaining inhabitants working in harmony with an Earth that's been made peaceful under my authority, then he'll see that I've saved us. He'll be so proud of me and filled with gratitude that he'll beg me to take him back.

I take a deep breath.

That's what's going to happen in the end. But this isn't the end. This is the hard part. And if I'm going to make it through this difficult stretch, I've got to maintain my focus.

I straighten my spine and glance at one of the seated subjects towards the front of the theater. He's been shifting in his seat more than the others. Still watching him, my thoughts turn to the awaiting Adam's Serum I've distributed among fifty of my guards. The guards are just down the hall, busily equipping each of the occupied cryotubes with a small amount of serum. That will give me a total of 1,000 super soldiers to load onto Moira's ship.

Once Moira's ship brings my sleeping soldiers to Novus, they will awaken, surprise Moira by turning on her, and then they'll conquer her planet. Their journey to Novus will end in the total subjugation of the planet and its inhabitants.

With Adam's strength, fire abilities, chiatum weapons, and an unswerving devotion to me, my soldiers will be completely prepared to carry this out and ready Novus - which I've heard rivals Earth's beauty - for me. Of course, their fight won't be easy. The Novu will resist...

My stomach turns with nerves. I take a deep breath and look down at my feet, exhaling silently.

...but my soldiers are like me. They're strong.

I close my eyes and lean against the wall.

This will be a success for Earth, and in the long run, for Novus.

As a child, when I was held captive by I.T.I.S., Dr. Mire would often show me diagrams of the creatures she called "the Novu." She would dive into detailed descriptions of their abilities, some of these being theoretical powers that involved their supposed interaction with dark energy and antimatter. In fact, I have a specific memory of one such conversation with Dr. Mire...

Dr. Mire pushed her bangs out of her face, a gesture that startled me because it made her look exactly like Karen.

Dr. Mire turned to me and, still reeling from my momentary shock at their similarity, I trembled. Those beady brown eyes of hers bore into mine as she spoke. "You're still human - you, we understand. But the Novu were our accidental stumble upon the divine. We wanted to create someone like you and, instead, we found ourselves creating something indestructible..."

Even then, I knew Dr. Mire was wrong.

Everything in our universe not only can be destroyed, but is headed towards inevitable destruction. This is one of the fundamental principles upon which our universe is founded; everything moves from order to disorder, even the Novu.

The Novu will be destroyed and if they don't accept my authority, their destruction will come much swifter than they could have ever imagined.

A sudden shout sends my thoughts to a halt. I open my eyes. The subject in the front of the theater - the one who's been shifting in his seat - is yelling. "What is this? What's going on?"

I turn to Georgeann and several nearby guards. "Subdue him immediately!"

"Yes, Amelia," they reply in unison and rush towards the commotion.

The four of them approach the subject - a young and, rather bulky, blond - and despite the fact that he's handcuffed to his chair, he fights them off with impressive strength. Somehow, he's even managed to detach his transcranial magnetic stimulation coil.

I wince as the subject breaks free from the chair restraints and punches one of my guards in the face. The guard groans and falls to the floor.

My heart sinks. How is this subject so powerful? The triphylamonal hasn't even been administered yet!

The guard, now an unmoving heap, lies crumpled in the theater aisle. The young man shakes out his fist as if he's hurt himself in producing the punch.

Nearby subjects turn to the disruption.

I curse under my breath.

He's become a distraction and now my subjects aren't focused on a necessary step in the thought reformation process!

I clench my fists and start towards Georgeann as she and the two conscious guards try to restrain the uncooperative subject.

It was her job to screen the "extras." She should have seen that this one wasn't passive enough for thought reformation.

My heels clicking against the theater floor in quick succession, I shake my head in frustration.

Yesterday, I spared Georgeann. I saw past her asinine mistake, allowed her to continue living, and this is what she does?

Behind me, the theater door swings open and a flood of light cuts into the darkened room.

Heat rushing to my fingertips, I turn around. "Close the door and -" I stop talking as ice-cold terror washes over me.

Grant stands in the doorway, his upper lip curled in an expression of disgust and his skin paler than I've ever seen.

The heat in my fingers abates. "Grant?"

He steps into the theater and takes in the sight of the movie screen ahead, my subjects, the screaming man who my guards are still unable to subdue, and then me.

My breath is coming too fast. I scrounge for the strength to speak. "You have to understand. This isn't as bad as it looks. It's -" I close my eyes and shake my head.

Why does my love for Grant turn me into a fool? I can't even explain myself coherently.

I open my eyes and he's staring at me in horror while, behind us, the fitful subject who has yet to be restrained yells, "Why are you trying to brainwash us?"

I look down at the floor.

There's no way I can explain this in a way he'll understand.

"How did you find out?" My voice sounds strange, like it belongs to someone else - someone weak.

Grant's eyes narrow. "Did you really think I wouldn't?" He walks towards me and as he moves closer, I can see just how upset he is - his hands are shaking with anger. I've never seen him like this.

I bite the inside of my cheek and try to ignore the ever-increasing knots in my stomach.

"How long did you think you could hide an entire basement of - of pods or whatever that is down the hall? Amelia, what is this? What are you doing to these people?" Grant raises his hand to gesture and I wince, heat instinctively skidding to the tips of my aching fingertips.

"I'm not going to hit you." His eyes darken. "Do you really think I'd hit you?"

"Amelia, do you require assistance?" All four of my guards speak in unison, their voices barely drowning out the yelling of the male subject who they still have yet to fully restrain.

"No!" I shout, my gaze not leaving Grant's. "But stop the film and pod this batch. I want these subjects asleep now."

My thoughts burn under Grant's scrutiny and I can't scrounge up the control necessary to hide them. I take a deep breath and try to find a place to begin.

"Think about it, Grant," I say. "From the moment I saved us, you've 'worked' with me in name only. You've never really been a functioning part of my career. You live in a fog, while I take care of what needs to be done."

"What does that -"

"You've been around Alyssum Studios South for two years now," I say, "among guards who act more robotic than human and you've never mentioned noticing anything odd about their behavior! Why would I think you'd suddenly emerge from your fog and start to care about what's happening around you?"

Grant starts to speak and I cut him off. "You were fully aware of the fact that I gave my Guard's chiatum weapons. You knew I'd distributed an illegal weapon to a group of men and women who, by law, should only have the authority of a mall cop. Did you ever ask me why? You read minds and you somehow missed the fact that nearly every employee in this building knows about Alyssum's hidden basement. How did you miss that?" I take a step towards him as the theater's lights flicker on, bathing us in illumination. "You live in a fog that you only escape when you're asleep and dreaming of a woman who's been dead for fifteen years."

My voice catches in my throat and my eyes fill. I blink back the tears and raise my voice above Grant's as he starts to speak. "You've been the same way every day for years. I had no reason to think you'd begin to care! So, what will you do now? Now that you've noticed there's an entire universe beyond your fog of depression - what are you going to do about it?" I point to Grant and a spark erupts from my nail, flying towards him.

He backs away and I quickly lower my hand. I hadn't meant to do that.

He searches my eyes, the crease between his deepening into a scowl.

My heart pounds. Behind me, Georgeann uses her radio to call in more guards to assist with the transport of the theater's subjects.

Grant looks down.

I wish I knew what he was thinking. What I wouldn't give right now to have his ability instead of this burning ache in my fingers.

"I'm going to help you," he quietly says.

"What?" My voice cracks. "Y-you're going to what?"

He looks me in the eye. "I said I'll help you."

Unable to believe what I'm hearing, I shake my head. "Why?"

The theater fills with shuffling noises while my guards round the subjects up for transfer and continue their attempts to quiet the shouting blond man.

Despite the ruckus, Grant's eyes don't leave mine. "Because I love you."

#

Lorraine's

"So you know all about my grandparents, my childhood, my obsession with Amelia Hearth and yada yada. But..." I spear my last bite of steak and look at Seth, my voice trailing off. A lock of his hair has fallen forward onto his brow and Lorraine's romantic lighting bathes him in a softening hue. A goofy grin inches into my expression as I watch him.

Even when he's tired, cranky, and not all that talkative, he's still unbelievably sexy. I would totally cast him as Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible.

Our waiter, a tall and elegant man with an out-of-town accent, approaches our table. But Seth lifts a hand, silencing the waiter before he can speak. "We're fine, thank you," he says with a slight nod and no hint of a smile.

"Very good, sir," the waiter replies, deftly slipping away.

I frown.

Actually, I wouldn't cast Seth as Ethan Hunt... he's more like a real-life Sterling Archer. Silently studying him, I cross my legs under the table. Yeah, with those ice blue eyes, devilishly handsome face, and dry wit, he'd kill it in a live action version of Archer.

Seth flicks away that one rebellious lock of hair, his eyes meeting mine as his brows go up.

"Ever tried Ritalin?" He sets his fork on his now empty plate and leans back in his seat. "It'd do wonders for your conversation skills."

Surprised, I chuckle and tuck my hair behind my ear. "Ouch." I poke out my bottom lip with exaggerated hurt.

He's actually been taking little digs at me all evening. First, it was my overuse of the word "like" and then it was him turning to me with a sort of annoyed scowl and quietly asking, "What does 'crap on a stick' mean anyway?"

I don't know what's up with him tonight. But then, I don't know him that well, so...

Pointing my steak-laden fork at him, I say, "Well, anyway, I was saying I don't know much about you, so let's fix that. What were your kid years like? Did you grow up with brothers and sisters?"

Seth's eyes darken as he shifts in his seat.

I work on my last bite of steak while he takes a long sip of wine and glances down at the table. It looks like he's trying to figure out how to answer my question.

"That wasn't a difficult quest -" I start, forgetting that my mouth is full. A bit of steak spews past my teeth and lands on my plate.

Mortified, I use my fork to push the half-chewed steak under an uneaten potato skin. Inwardly cringing, I steal a peek at Seth and hope to God he didn't see what just happened.

His blue eyes momentarily lose the cloud of solemnity they've been shrouded in all evening and he deadpans, "Gina Russo, sexy as always."

Blushing, I use my napkin to wipe a dribbling trail of steak juice from my chin.

"Right." I smile. "Can't take me anywhere."

He glances at his empty plate. "Well, there's always the bedroom. You know what to do there."

"Yeah ..." My face warming even more, I fake a laugh and take a sip of my wine.

What is up with him tonight?

"You seem -" I start as Seth simultaneously says, "My childhood was fine and I have an older sister, to answer your questions."

"Oh, nice." I nod and tug at the hem of my little black dress.

Seth sighs and pinches his lips together as he glances down at the table.

"Hey, are you, like, upset with me or something?" I cringe, realizing I've used the word "like" again.

"No." His eyes soften and he shakes his head. "I'm upset with myself."

As Seth's gaze roves to the far left, I follow it to a window beyond a seated couple. Rain pounds against the window and lightning flashes in the evening sky.

"Why?" I ask. "Did something happen today? And what even were you doing today? Things sounded super crazy when you called. What was all that noise?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

I shift in my seat. "Yeah? Well, asking questions is the inclination of a person in possession of a functioning brain."

Silence bears down on our table. As I lower my eyes to my plate, I can feel Seth staring at me. I can also feel anger creeping into my current state of mind.

"Gina -" Seth starts.

"Maybe you'd rather go to dinner with a blow-up doll," I say. "It wouldn't overuse the word 'like' or attempt to engage you in small talk."

Luke never gets annoyed with my questions or "Ritalin-needing" conversation style. As my thoughts shift to Luke, I grab my phone from my purse, hoping he's texted me back.

Nothing.

Honestly, I'd much rather enjoy a relaxing dinner with Luke than be with some self-absorbed douche who happens to be packaged as a hot guy.

I throw my phone back into my purse.

I'm such an idiot. How am I only just now seeing what a complete jerk Seth is?

"Gina," Seth says and I look up to find him lacing his hands together and bringing them to his mouth as his eyes, intense and heavy with worry, meet mine. "I want to be honest with you."

I shrug as if I couldn't care less. "Okay."

"I didn't come to Swamp Rose expecting to meet someone like you," Seth speaks quickly and his left eye twitches while he lowers his hands to the table.

He's nervous.

Despite myself, my anger lessens. "That night at Club Dixie, I was there for work and you just kind of happened, and now..." He gulps and a look of desperation appears in his eyes.

Shocked, I dismiss my anger and lean towards him. "And now what?"

Holy Hitchcock. What if every Nancy Meyers movie I've ever seen is right? What if every once in a while, the handsome yet gruff man whose got it all together really does fall for a quirky and somewhat scattered woman after a mere 3 days of knowing her?

My anticipation increasing, I clasp my hands together in my lap while Seth looks into my eyes. "I think you need to know the truth about why I'm here. I don't want to lie to you anymore."

I lose my glimmer of hope and my faith in Nancy Meyers.

"You don't want to lie to me anymore?" My thoughts rewind to the horrified look on Lyla's face when she told me she'd found a gun in Seth's jacket. "Seth, I have no idea what's going on with you, but..." Frustrated, I rub my forehead and foundation comes off on my fingers.

Lyla was right: I should've asked Seth about that gun.

I glance at him and he's searching my face like it's a map.

He looks so innocent, scared even.

"...but I'm learning to trust my instincts." I lower my gaze to my plate. The bit of steak that fell out of my mouth is still visible and it looks disgusting. But, so what? Life is messy and everything's disgusting. I meet Seth's eyes. "And my instincts tell me to trust you, so you're up. Talk. I'm all ears."

He opens his mouth to speak and I hold up a hand, stopping him. "But I'm warning you now, that whatever you're about to tell me won't trump the fact that you've been dishonest and horribly rude for, like, the entire evening. So, whether or not I believe what you're about to say, know that this night won't end with you in my bed."

Seth visibly flinches, but he nods.

Thunder sounds, rattling the restaurant's windows. That rebellious lock of hair falls between his eyes.

"I apologize for my behavior." Seth takes a deep breath. "The reason I'm here goes back to my sister. When I was a kid, only about six, my parents put me in boarding school." The waiter passes our table again and Seth pauses. Once the older gentleman's gone, Seth returns his attention to me. "Something unusual happened when I came back home, and I'm warning you in advance, Gina, this is going to sound crazy, but I'm not crazy." He watches me carefully and I nod, preparing myself for whatever's coming.

Outside, an exceptionally loud clap of thunder sounds and the restaurant's lights flicker. I glance around and when I return my attention to Seth, he's looking right at me. A shiver running down my spine, I force every ounce of my focus to him.

"Before I was sent away, my sister spent most of her time with two people: her boyfriend, Nathaniel, and her best friend - a girl named Karen. The three of them were inseparable." Seth's speaking softly and amidst the constant thunder, I can barely hear him. I lean in closer, following his every word.

"... right before I was sent away to school, Karen and Nathaniel were in a bad car accident. It put Nathaniel in a coma and left Karen banged up pretty badly. That's when something strange happened. There was a shooting at the hospital they'd been taken to, and during the shooting, Nathaniel, Karen, and Karen's entire family were kidnapped."

"Oh, my God," I whisper. But I'm also wondering how this story's going to end up with him here in Swamp Rose, lying to me about something or other.

Lorraine's lights flicker again. Ignoring the murmurings of our fellow patrons, I keep my attention on Seth.

"About that same time, this supposedly invisible guy called Unseen, a vigilante do-gooder like your town's Unseen, stopped appearing." Seth's brow is furrowed as he absently reaches for a crumpled cocktail napkin and, ever so slowly, begins to ball it up, crushing it in his left hand.

I sit up straighter at the mention of "Unseen" and from my sudden recollection of who it was who told me they were from Peake, Alabama.

"Seth?" I whisper. "You're from Peake, aren't you? Peake, Alabama?"

He nods.

I take a steadying deep breath.

"Anyhow," he says, dropping the destroyed napkin into his plate and meeting my eyes. "When I got back from school that Christmas, I asked my sister if the police had ever found her friend Karen, Karen's family, or Nathaniel. But Jules - that's my sister - acted like she'd never heard of them. When I asked my parents, their reaction was the same. So, I asked other people and everyone seemed to have forgotten, not only about the kidnapping, but about Karen and Nathaniel's very existence. Even Nathaniel's parents... it was like he'd never been born..."

My pulse races as Seth's bizarre story continues.

"...it was like the whole town forgot about everything that'd happened at the hospital that day." Seth leans towards me. "And I know this sounds insane, but I think someone erased their memories."

I can barely believe what I'm hearing.

"Seth." I reach for my wine, forgetting that it's gone. "This -"

"I know, I know," he says, his eyes widening. "You think I'm a lunatic and-"

"No, I don't think you're lunatic." I grab his hand. He looks at our hands, relief washing over his features. "But I need to ask you something. When you were in Peake, did you know a girl named Tessa Lyles?"

"Karen's little sister?" Seth tenses. "How do you know about her?"

"Tessa was Karen's little sister?" My thoughts dart to Tessa's diary and everything Andy's told me. "So, Karen, her little sister Tessa, and some kid name Nathaniel were taken by I.T.I.S...Holy crap, Seth! I feel like this is almost starting to make sense. I need to call Andy." Excited, I open my purse and grab my phone.

"Who's Andy?" Seth hisses and I glance up to find his eyes wide. "And how do you know about I.T.I.S.?"

"They've been posing as Serenity Bayous and experimenting on patients for -" My phone vibrates in my hand. Glancing down, I see that it's Luke.

"Gina, how do you - wait a second. Gina you cannot get involved with I.T.I.S." Seth's voice lowers to an impossibly serious tone. My eyes on my phone, I nod to indicate that I'm still listening even as I accept Luke's incoming call. "Promise me you'll stay away from them. I shouldn't have even told you this much."

"It's fine. Hang on one second and let me just tell my friend to call me back later," I say, bringing my phone to my ear. "Hey, Luke. Can you call me back in -"

A blood curdling scream erupts in my ear. I flinch, confused as Luke yells, "Get off me!"

My heart falls into my stomach.

"Luke," I hiss. "Luke? Is this you?"

Scuffling noises sound and a female voice shouts, "Hold him down!"

The line goes dead.

My blood running cold, I stare at my phone.

"What's wrong?" Seth asks.

"It's my friend." I redial Luke's number, my hands shaking. "I think he's in trouble. He was shouting."

Luke's voicemail sounds in my ear. Terror stinging every inch of my skin, I stand and grab my purse. "Can you take me home?"

"Yeah, let me -" Seth is cut off mid-sentence as Lorraine's maître d' taps a spoon against a wine glass and requests everyone's attention.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," the maître d' announces, looking around at the tiny restaurants' patrons. "As you have undoubtedly surmised from the flickering lights and thunder, weather conditions are worsening. For everyone's safety, Lorraine's must close early. So we ask that you..."

I'm barely hearing a word the guy's saying. All I can think about is that scream and Luke shouting.

I redial Luke's number and truck it to Lorraine's exit, half-aware of Seth behind me.

"Where's your friend?" Seth asks, touching my elbow.

I tune him out while an automated operator's voice informs me of the stupid fact that, "All circuits are busy."

"This can't be happening." Tears sting my eyes as I dial 9-1-1 and get the same automated recording.

"The phones aren't working," I shriek, trying not to imagine what's happening to Luke. "I can't even call the police!" I clench my phone in my fist, poised to throw it at the floor when Seth takes my hand.

"Then let's go to the police station; it's right down the street." He gives my hand a squeeze.

I nod. "Okay, good idea." Tears blurring my vision, I release Seth's hand and hurry to Lorraine's exit.

If something horrible happens to Luke, I don't know what I'll do.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

I wake up flat on my back, shivering, and my thoughts a jumbled mess.

Biting cold pierces my skin through.

Where am I?

"He is awake," says a male voice, above me.

I can't see; everything's blurry.

Panicking, I try to sit up but someone grips both of my shoulders and pushes me down. They forcibly cross my arms over my chest, corpse-style. My right hand aches, almost feels broken. Despite this, I struggle to free myself, but whoever this is, they're unusually strong. Grunting in my attempt to break free, I blink quickly, hoping to adjust my vision to the light so I can see what's going on. As a large palm covers my face, I remember Alyssum Studios: the theater, the fake champagne, Carla... I'm probably still in Alyssum's basement.

I sink my teeth into the palm covering my mouth, but it stays put while someone else continues to pin my arms to my chest.

"Close the pod. Close it now," a female voice orders.

Pod? What are they talking about?

I bite into the flesh even harder, salty blood filling my mouth, but the palm doesn't move.

A beeping noise sounds and all at once, the palm is gone.

I blink into a cold mist that stings my eyes. I try to sit up, only to bang my head against glass.

The glass, I realize, is encasing my entire body like a coffin, keeping my arms pinned to my chest.

Impossibly cold air creeps across my skin and latches its claws into my bones. Stabbing pain penetrates every inch of my body and I lose control of my bladder.

My scattered thoughts dart to Gina... I shouldn't have just asked her to dinner, I should've told her the truth about how much I care. Now it's too late.

My eyes close and I drift away from the cold, the pain ... away from everything.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Rain pounds the window behind me and every time a burst of thunder sounds, it emphasizes the mood Grant's set. For the past fifteen minutes, he's been attempting to calm down. So far, he's been unsuccessful.

He paces in the space between my office door and desk. I watch him run a hand through his hair. It's wild... as are his eyes, which are bloodshot.

For as long as I've known him, Grant Carr has been excessively neat. Even when we were teenagers - forced to live within the confines of I.T.I.S.'s headquarters - I went about unkempt while Grant's clothes were consistently well-arranged and his hair perfectly combed. His obsession with his appearance is, quite obviously, an aspect of his acquired always-abide-by-the-rules personality.

But now, as I perch on the edge of my desk, I watch a pacing man who looks nothing like my Grant. With his shirt untucked, his jacket half falling off, and a desperate glint in his eyes, he finally appears the way I've always suspected he truly is on the inside - broken and too weak to deal with reality.

"Stop!" Grant shouts, turning to me. I tense as he starts towards me. He comes to a halt in front of me and I sit up straighter, preparing myself for whatever it is he's poised to say or do.

"You know I can hear you," he says, his breath warm and faintly smelling of gum. "You want me to hear you calling me weak because you want me to prove myself to you."

I look down. "No. That isn't what I want."

He cups my chin, tilting my face upwards.

I watch him watch me, neither of us moving. A knot forms in my stomach - guilt.

It shouldn't be there as I have no reason to feel guilty. But there it is - daring me to believe I've done something wrong. Grant's eyes bore into mine and I lower my gaze to the floor, the pain in my stomach now as intense as the tension in my neck.

That's what guilt does: it fractures your soul and, in the process, leaves a terrible ache in your gut.

I dare to look at Grant. He's still staring at me.

Why is he just standing there looking at me like this?

"Because I want you to know," he says, speaking slowly, "that I see you. All of you. And I'm not afraid. I want to be with you. That won't change."

My eyes fill and I close them.

He releases my chin. I keep my eyes shut, damming the tears that try to escape.

"But if I'm going to help you," he says. "I need to understand you."

A stilted laugh escapes my lips and I shake my head. A powerful roll of thunder, followed by a crash of lightning, shakes my office. The noise reverberates in the floor beneath us.

I don't even understand myself. How is Grant Carr, of all people, going to understand me?

"All it would take is for you to stop trying to manipulate me," he says. "To, for once in your life, tell the truth. I know you don't let me see everything. I know you hide your... real thoughts."

I open my eyes and everything's blurry. I blink away the dampness that's formed in my eyes and I take a deep breath.

"Amelia, tell me the truth," Grant speaks slowly. "Why'd you let me believe I.T.I.S. erased your memories?"

"Because I wanted you." I unclasp my hands.

He frowns, confusion in his expression.

"If you'd known about your life before me..." I say, "if I'd helped you remember what you had, you would've gone back to it. You would've chosen it over me. And I didn't want to be without you."

I'm aware of the selfish and, perhaps, "sociopathic" nature of this admission. But I refuse to allow myself to feel ridiculous. So, I lift my chin and look Grant in the eye.

To my surprise, his frown has diminished. "Why?" he asks. "What role was I supposed to play in your plan?"

I laugh. "You didn't have a role. In fact, you were a glitch. But it didn't matter that you had no role because I wanted you. I always have. I always will."

Grant says not a word, he just watches me, a question in his expression. I don't need his ability to know what he's thinking right now.

"Don't even bother asking me why." I shake my head. "Because I can't explain why I have these feelings for you. I only know that I have them."

The trace of anger that had been lingering in Grant's eyes is gone. He takes a step back and looks down. "Do you feel like you can trust me now?"

I slide my cat's eye ring off and answer him honestly. "No."

Grant's breath comes quickly, his chest expanding and contracting as he turns away from me. His back to me, he stares at a black and white photograph gracing the left wall of my office. I realize that he must have been holding his breath while he waited for my answer.

I slip my ring back on. "I suspect you won't agree with my methods. But what you saw in the basement - the cryopods and the thought reformation process - it has a purpose. Unfortunately, it's a purpose you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

My heart pounds.

This is it.

"It's a sure guarantee of global peace. A way to give our planet a future. But carrying it out requires a momentary sacrificing of justice." I hesitate. "Grant, I'm warning you, you won't understand my point of view on this."

He says nothing. He just keeps looking at the photo on the wall.

"I know you. And even though what I'm doing will eventually bring global peace, you'd rather see justice have her way in the present..."

Grant turns to me. He's frowning. "How is brainwashing people who think they're here to be extras in a movie going to bring global peace? You're not making sense."

He looks as lost as I knew he'd be. He'll never understand.

I want to hop off this desk, wrap my arms around him, and explain that he doesn't need to worry about any of this because I'll worry for him. But I can't. Now that he's seen more than he should, he's lost and I have to give him an explanation.

A crash of thunder rattles my office window and the lights flicker.

"Hear me out." My computer emits a beep and I glance at it. The brief electrical outage must have turned its power off and then back on. I return my attention to Grant. "You want to destroy I.T.I.S. You want to tell the world that they've been kidnapping children for their inhumane experiments. That would be justice having her way. But I don't want that."

I slide off my desk and point south. "As soon as I found out that I.T.I.S. had been posing as Serenity Bayous, I paid them off to leave us alone and in so doing -"

Grant's eyes widen. "You did what?"

I hold up a hand. "You said you want to understand. You have to listen to understand. Can you listen?"

His teeth clenched, he nods.

"As I was saying, in so doing, I found out from the head of I.T.I.S. that the leader of the Novu, a female called 'Moira,' has been planning to completely obliterate human life on Earth. Moira plans to kill off all humanity and then take Earth for the Novu."

Grant frowns. "But Dr. Mire said the Novu live billions of light years away and -"

"Yes. And she called them, 'peaceful creatures who have a higher way of life than we do, meaning they'd never hurt us.' Yes, Dr. Mire said that." I roll my eyes. "But you must bear in mind that Dr. Mire was a sadistic murderer with a tendency to lie. For all we know, she wanted the Novu to come here and take our planet. She practically worshipped them as it was."

Grant listens closely, processing my every word.

"In any case, Dr. Mire was wrong and the current head of I.T.I.S. is correct. The Novu are coming for Earth and they have every intention of killing us."

"How do you know for sure?" Grant asks.

"Because I've spoken to the Novu myself." I nod to my computer. "I made some adjustments to my computer and enabled it with a video conference program that allows me to contact Moira."

Grant crosses his arms. "Okay."

"Moira confirmed her plan to invade Earth, but I was able to make a deal with her." I pause, allowing myself to momentarily revel in the surge of pride that flows through me. I bite back a satisfied smile and push my hair out of my face. "I told her that you and I had been tortured by the scientists at I.T.I.S. just as she and the other Novu had. I told her that we're angry too, but we realize the benefits of not eradicating all humanity."

Grant nods his approval, his expression almost brightening. Almost.

"And?" he asks.

"And I made a deal to give her three thousand cryogenically frozen men and women who the Novu would use for experimental and reproduction purposes once humanity has been eradicated. These sleepers, along with the two of us, would be the only remaining humans on Earth."

Grant's look of approval dies and he pales. I laugh.

"But what Moira doesn't know -" I lace my hands together and offer Grant a comforting smile, "- is that the sleepers are soldiers who've not only been trained to fight the Novu but who, even as we speak, are undergoing a DNA-sequence restructuration thanks to a compound called Adam's Serum. The sleepers will wake at the time of my choosing and fight for Earth. They'll save humanity."

Worry casts a shadow over Grant's every feature. "What exactly is Adam's Serum?" he asks, his voice as grave as his expression.

"An alternate blend of the triphylamonal we were given." A flicker of darkness flares in Grant's eyes and I pause as he glances down. "How do you feel about that?"

"I just want to understand," he quietly replies.

I'm not sure I like the look in his eyes.

I hesitate. Does he really only want to understand? Or has he already judged me? I watch him carefully. But his expression has gone blank.

I speak slowly. "It turns the subject's skin into a natural protective armor, making them as bulletproof as the Novu and it gives them a fire ability that's more powerful than mine."

"So," Grant says, his gaze still on the carpet, "you're luring innocent people into your studios, brainwashing them, turning them into mutants, and then sending them on a suicide mission?"

I knew he wouldn't understand.

"Innocent?" I shake my head as I repeat the ridiculous word. "That right there is where you are most mistaken. No one is innocent. What these people are, are sheep. They crave direction. They need someone to follow. And that's why they've come to me. I've handpicked individuals who are, at their very core, lost and dying to be led. I give them direction. I give them something to live for, to fight for."

"But it's a fight they can't win." He sighs and rubs his forehead with his palm. "I don't remember much about my past, but I definitely remember what Dr. Mire told me about the Novu."

I glance at the clock on my wall.

If only Grant hadn't found out about this. He's too simple-minded to comprehend the brilliance of my strategy and now I'm having to waste my time explaining how life works.

"The Novu were designed to live on any planet in the known universe. Do you know what that implies about their abilities and strength?" Grant's insipid question cuts into my thoughts.

"Of course I know what that implies!" I snap. "Between the two of us, who's the genius? It certainly isn't you!"

"Amelia -"

"It's in your best interest to listen to me when I tell you that my soldiers are equipped to destroy the Novu. My soldiers and my strategy will save your life!" My heart pounding and heat traveling to my aching fingers, I pull off my ring. "Look."

Grant glances at me, one of his eyebrows raised, and then takes the ring between his index finger and thumb. "Why are you showing me your ring?"

"Because it's a weapon." I take a steadying deep breath, my gaze going to the ring I've carefully guarded for the past fifteen years. "It -" A knock sounds at my door and I roll my eyes. I grab my ring from Grant and shout, "What?"

The door opens and Georgeann steps into my office.

At the sight of her, the heat in my fingertips intensifies to a painful degree. "What do you want?"

"We are currently experiencing complications in the basement," Georgeann replies, her dead blue eyes meeting mine as she continues to speak in a monotone voice. "When the electricity went off, the cryopods malfunctioned, halting the distribution of serum. This means that some subjects were halfway mutated and others were not mutated at all."

"Perfect." I clench my fists as heat, intense and nearly unbearable, throbs in my nailbeds. I take a deep breath. "What else happened, Georgeann?"

In the corner of my eye, I see Grant cross his arms and shift on his feet.

"We are also experiencing a problem with one of the subjects," Georgeann says. "His name is Luke Kennedy and he is currently podded in tube C-452. For inexplicable reasons, Luke Kennedy was earlier immune to the thought reformation film. During his transport to cryopod containment, he knocked three guards unconscious and though he has hence been sedated, we thought it wise to advise you that when he is awakened, he will most likely retain his hostility and become more of a problem."

"Yes, well let's eliminate the problem." Glaring at Georgeann, I grab her weapon and say, "You've failed me too often to be trusted. I'll take care of him and restart the Adam's Serum myself."

"Wait." Grant takes my free hand in his. "Let me do it."

I blink back at him, confused. "Let you do it?"

He caresses my cheek. "I need to earn your trust. So, let me. Let me prove myself to you."

Surprised, I watch him carefully.

"You were right," he continues. "I've had my head buried in the sand for a long time. But I'm here now. And I'm with you. This needs to be the beginning of us trusting each other. Let me do this. Let me prove myself to you." His touch against my cheek and the way he looks into my eyes, so open and present, pulls me into his words.

I want to believe him... but, this simply isn't logical. Grant's claim is out of sync with what I know of his personality. I fell in love with a man whose gentle nature and moral beliefs couldn't possibly condone this; there is no way that Grant Carr would kill someone who he considers "innocent."

In one gentle motion, Grant tips his forehead against mine. He closes his eyes and whispers, "I don't agree with what you're doing, but I trust you. You say Dr. Mire worshipped the Novu. I worship you, Amelia."

My breath catches in my throat as his lips brush mine.

He leans out of the kiss and whispers, "I don't know why, but I do. Let me prove myself to you."

Thunder rattles the office window behind us and just above the noise, my computer emits a chime before announcing, "Video call from Novus."

It takes a moment for me to register the sound, because all I can hear is Grant's voice echoing in my head. "I worship you, Amelia..."

I close my eyes.

My mind is chaos. I can barely form a coherent thought, let alone make a sane decision.

I open my eyes and push Grant away. Without a second thought, I hand him Georgeann's weapon and hear myself say, "Go prove yourself."

Without looking back at him, I make my way to the computer. "Georgeann, close the door behind Grant."

I take a seat behind my desk, refusing to watch Grant leave. I need to focus.

My eyes on my computer, I listen for Grant's footsteps and the sound of my office door closing behind him.

The moment he's left the room, a bad feeling settles down on me.

I take a deep breath.

It bothers me that Grant's offered to do this. And my apprehension is not solely rooted in the fact that I don't trust him to follow through on his promise.

Based on what I know of Grant's personality, there is an 80% chance that he will march down to the cryo-containment room and, instead of executing Luke Kennedy, set him free.

I almost don't care about that. It's expected that Grant Carr will "follow his conscience." It's something else that bothers me...

"Georgeann, come here," I order.

While Georgeann obediently approaches my desk, I purse my lips, my apprehension increasing. I pull up my video conference program and watch the screen buffer. It changes slowly, morphing from black to light blue...morphing. Changing... like Grant.

That's what's really bothering me. .

As much as I want Grant to understand me, I don't want him to become like me.

And yet, there is a 20% chance that Grant will go through with his promise to murder the young man in that cryotube. If Grant does this, if he goes so far as to murder a man who's broken no earthly law, then Grant Carr is no longer the man I fell in love with.

The unsettled feeling in my stomach turns over and sends a wave of panic through my entire body.

I clench my fists and brace myself through it.

This isn't the time to despair over what Grant may or may not become. I turn my attention to the useless woman standing beside me.

"Georgeann," I say as I dismiss thoughts of Grant and focus every bit of my attention on the heat traveling to my fingers.

"Yes, Amelia?" she calmly replies.

"Yesterday, I let you live and I shouldn't have." I look at the sparks that leap from my fingers. They're small and graceful. As pretty as they are, they are not what I need for the task at hand. I imagine them becoming large flames that leap from my fingers and spread to Georgeann's skin. With this image in mind, I answer the video call.

Moira comes on screen. She opens her mouth to speak and then stops. Her eyes widen in surprise and she looks from me to Georgeann.

Moira's never seen me with another human. And she's certainly never seen me use my strength. Not before today...

Tiny flames, painful and bright, have begun to fly from my nailbeds. I point to Georgeann and send a slew of sparks to her face. "Come closer, Georgeann," I order.

She doesn't cry out in pain, she simply moves forward.

"What's going on?" Moira asks.

I ignore the Novu leader's question and stand. Discreetly checking to ensure sure that my ring is prominent, I make a fist, and push it into Georgeann's flame-ridden face.

Twist and then push down.

Thunder sounds outside as I twist the cat's eye stone and then push it into Georgeann's cheek. This sends a stream of chiatum into her skin. The fire that's begun to eat into her flesh spreads to consume my hand.

Georgeann collapses, dead at once. I smother the fire from my hand.

Fortunately, my hands are fire resilient. It would be lovely if the remainder of my body were as well.

I take a deep breath, smooth the wrinkles from my blouse, and sit down. Careful to avoid Georgeann's lifeless and burning body, I turn my chair to face Moira. She smiles and arches an eyebrow at me.

"You called?" I ask.

"I take it you have something of a temper." Moira chuckles.

I force a smile even as I consider how odd the sound of her laugh is... no, it isn't odd. It's unexpected.

"Yes, and a punch to match the temper." I widen my smile, lift my hand, and make a fist.

Moira assess me with renewed admiration. "Is superhuman strength one of your abilities?"

"Yes," I lie.

Moira has no idea that it isn't my fist, but the ring on my fist, that's to be feared. And she has no idea that it's the very weapon I intend to use to kill her.

I'll let my soldiers fight the other Novu. But I will order them to leave Moira for me. We won't even fight. I will simply push my ring into her skin and in one swift motion, our universe's worst dictator will be dead. Then, I will take her place, becoming leader of the Novu and savior of Earth.

Once this is accomplished, Grant will understand everything I've worked for.

#

Swamp Rose Police Precinct

The Swamp Rose police station is a tiny building with green linoleum floors that look like they're at least three times my age. Unlike the stations I've seen in television shows, this one is quiet with no stressed-out cops bustling about and shouting over ringing landlines - but I guess that could be partly because the phones aren't working. In fact, there are only two officers manning the five desks behind the large and annoyingly empty reception counter where Seth and I stand, waiting to be noticed.

The station's overhead lights flicker and my hands shake as I grab my phone from my purse to try Luke's number for the twelfth time. The same automated message saying, "all circuits are busy" sounds in my ear and fresh tears blur my vision. Please, please let Luke be okay...

Seth's elbow brushes my arm as he starts for the other side of the reception counter. "I'll get one of these guys to help us."

I tear my eyes away from the floor's cracked green tile and look at a seated policewoman. Her dark hair is pulled back into a bun and she holds a sheet of paper in her hand, reading it as she chews the life out of a piece of gum.

I sigh.

I don't know what's on that paper she's reading, but it can't possibly be more important than Luke's life.

My chest is hot, like my lungs have been replaced by two fireballs, and I hear myself say, "Excuse me, can someone help us?"

Both cops look up, their eyes wide, and even Seth seems surprised as he pauses and turns to me.

"Sir!" The other cop, a tall red-headed guy, barks. He rises from his desk chair and points to Seth. "You need to be on the other side of the counter."

Seth lifts both of his hands in a gesture of surrender and says, "Sorry," before scampering back to my side.

I give Seth a long look, fleetingly startled by his compliance. As taciturn as he's been this evening, I would've expected him to retort with something smart.

"Ma'am, I apologize," the policeman says, his tone no longer brusque while he grabs a notepad from his desk and heads our way. "I didn't notice y'all come in. I'll be right with you."

"Thank you." I clear my throat, wipe my eyes, and try to pull myself together. "What am I even going to say to him?" I whisper to Seth as I set my purse on the counter. "My friend butt-dialed me, I heard him scream, and now I'm freaked out - can you help me?"

Seth slides his hand over mine. "Don't worry." He gives my hand a gentle pat. "Everything's going to be all right."

I nod, but more tears are filling my eyes. "I hope so."

The red-headed officer hurries to the counter, his gaze going from me to Seth while he says, "How can I help you?"

A loud roll of thunder rattles the windows and shakes the floor beneath our feet. The station's electricity flickers.

"I think my friend might have been, um, kidnapped or something," I sputter. Tears slip from my eyes.

I take a steadying deep breath and Seth gives my hand another pat while he says, "Her friend accidently called her and it sounded like he was in trouble."

The officer's expression doesn't change, but his hazel eyes meet mine. "Do you have any idea where your friend was when he called you?"

"I'm not sure. I think he was either calling from Corner Bakery - that's where he works - or Alyssum Studios. He told me he had an appointment at Alyssum Studios this afternoon and that it might take a while," I say as I try not to imagine someone mugging Luke in Alyssum's parking lot.

The policeman's eyes narrow and he hurriedly jots something down in his notepad. Seth, simultaneously, removes his hand from mine in an abrupt motion.

"What's your friend's name and age?" the officer asks.

I start to reply when Seth cuts in, "You didn't tell me your friend was at Alyssum Studios. Why's he there? What's he doing?"

Thunder roars above us and the station's lights flicker a second time.

"He wanted to be an extra in a movie," I say, turning to Seth. His eyebrows are drawn together in a frown. The grave look on his face ups my panic and I hear my voice shake as I ask, "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ma'am, I'm going to need your friend's name, age, and a description of his appearance," the policeman interrupts.

"Luke, his name is Luke Kennedy and he's twenty-two," I reply, returning my attention to the officer. Another clap of thunder rattles the building while he scribbles my description into his notepad. "He's 5'7, about 170 pounds, I think. Um, he has blonde hair."

A crackle of lightning permeates the air and the station's lights flicker before completely fading, shrouding us in darkness.

"Great." Frustrated, I sigh and close my eyes. The last thing we need is for this station's electricity to go off. Like this won't slow them down even more.

"Electricity's down!" the policewoman shouts from her desk.

Well, thanks, Captain Obvious.

I open my eyes to glare in her direction, and a pair of glowing eyes pierce the darkness. They stare right back at me.

My heart skips a beat and I inadvertently take a step back.

Am I losing my mind? Or... are the policewoman's eyes glowing in the dark?

"What's wrong with me?" I blurt.

Seth grabs my hand and whispers, "We should go." He backs away from the counter.

"I'm sure the electricity will come back on shortly," the officer whose been helping us pipes up. I turn to him and another pair of golden, glowing eyes meet mine. He doesn't seem to be aware of the fact that something is wrong with his eyes. He just smiles encouragingly and says, "Go on now. Blond hair, and what color are his eyes?"

Eyes...the eyes! Oh, my God, Betty said that the Novu have strange eyes - this has to be exactly what she was talking about!

"You know what, officers?" Seth says, pulling me backwards. "Never mind, we're good. I think my friend here just overreacted. We don't want to waste your time. You've got better things to do, I'm sure."

The red-headed Novu nods as the station's lights flicker back on. "Okay. Call us if anything changes." He flips his notebook closed. While Seth drags us to the exit, I turn back to the two "officers."

The woman's already returned her attention to her work and the red-headed Novu is bringing his cell phone to his ear and murmuring words that I can just barely hear, "...an agent out to Alyssum Studios..." Unfortunately, the rest of his sentence is too low for me to pick up.

An agent? Why would he use that word instead of "officer?"

I watch him closely, staring into his eyes. In regular lighting, there's nothing strange about them - they simply look hazel.

"Come on, Gina," Seth urges as he reaffirms his grip on my hand.

We push through the building's exit and step into the ever-worsening storm. A crazy-hard rain drenches us as we rush to Seth's SUV.

I climb inside and turn to Seth while he starts the engine.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. "You okay?"

I ignore his question and say, "We need to go to Alyssum Studios." With this, I reach for my phone to try Luke's cell again.

My hands are shaking even more. It's as if my entire body has become an explosion of nerves, sending tremors to every one of my limbs.

"Yeah. You think?" Seth deadpans, his voice low as we speed out of the station's parking lot.

My phone to my ear, I watch white raindrops hammer the windshield. This time, Luke's voicemail picks up. I curse under my breath, hang up, and inadvertently wipe my wet hands on the sopping wet skirt of my dress.

Frustrated, I glance at Seth. His eyes are glued to the road while he drives way too fast in the direction of Alyssum Studios. His jaw is tense and his hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles look white.

Something's not right about his reaction to what happened back there...

A chill that seems to have its root in my very bones shudders through me and I pick up my purse, moving it to my lap.

"Don't worry. Everything's going to be fine," Seth says without looking at me. A drop of water falls from the tip of his nose and as I watch it fall, a twinge of suspicion forms within my panic.

"You keep saying that like you know," I say. "Do you know something? Like, back at the station, those cops with the weird eyes - that didn't seem to freak you out at all. And then at the restaurant, when you told me to stay away from I.T.I.S., you said it like you were speaking from experience. I need to know your... your place in all of this. Do you know anything about what's happening to my friend?"

Seth silently speeds through a red light. I glance at him. The steely expression on his face remains unchanged. His eyes are focused on the road and every one of the sharp angles comprising his face is tense, on alert.

He does know something about what's happening to Luke.

"Seth, tell me what you know," I sit quietly even though I want to scream, jump out of this vehicle, and run away from him as fast as I can.

Seth doesn't say a word.

We turn onto Enterprise Hwy, just a few miles south of Alyssum Studios, and I hang onto the door as we skid through high water. But I don't take my eyes off Seth; I need to see his reaction to my next question.

"Seth, just answer this," I say, unsuccessfully trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. "Does I.T.I.S. have something to do with what's happened to Luke?"

Seth sighs. "No." His voice is so low that between the rain and intermittent thunder, I can barely hear him. I lean towards him, straining to hear as he continues. "I.T.I.S. doesn't have anything to do with what's going on with your friend."

"And how do you know that?" I ask, my pulse racing.

"Because I work for them."

I stare at him, too shocked to speak. He slows as we approach Alyssum Studios.

"That's what I was trying to tell you at Lorraine's," Seth says. "If I.T.I.S. had anything to do with this, I'd be the first to know."

"The first to know?" I repeat. "So, what are you, like, high up in their...their organization or whatever?"

We pull into Alyssum's parking lot and, my heart pounding, I grab the door handle.

This is horrible! I.T.I.S. kidnaps children and forces them to become experimental candidates... how does Seth Scardina work for an organization like that?

My urge to run was right on the money. I should definitely bolt. I should jump out of this vehicle, run into Alyssum Studios on my own, and -

My thoughts come to a halt as we pass Luke's truck.

"That's Luke's truck!" I exclaim. "He's definitely here."

"Okay," Seth quietly replies. Flicking off the SUV's headlights, he reaches up to press a small black button near his rearview mirror. He then drives us past the smattering of cars parked in the row closest to Alyssum's main building. "That button I pressed makes our vehicle invisible, so you'll be safe in here," he says. "You'll need to sit in the driver's seat and be ready to drive off as soon as you see me come out of Alyssum with your friend."

"I'm not staying here," I say as I take a deep breath and choose to not dwell on the fact that I'm sitting in an invisible car - I mean, I honestly can't even process that right now.

Seth rolls his eyes. "Fine," he mutters. "Then open the glove box and grab a gun."

At this, he parks alongside the building.

A gun?

I open the glove compartment and gulp at the sight of three small black guns, objects with which I will most likely end up accidently shooting my own foot.

"I've never even touched a gun," I admit.

He kills the engine and reaches past me, his cologne enveloping me as he takes two of the firearms and closes the glove compartment.

"Good, because these aren't regular guns." He hands me one and as I take the thing, he points to a tiny switch on its top, just above the trigger. "You see a bad guy with weird, glowing eyes -"

"A Novu," I interrupt, nodding.

"No." Seth shakes his head. "The Novu live on a planet called Novus. They're not on Earth. The guys with glowing eyes, like the police we saw back at the station, they're just I.T.I.S. mutants... anyway, when you see a mutant with glowing eyes, you pull this little lever backwards to release the safety, squeeze the trigger, and something called chiatum is released. It's going to look like a stream of light, but it's dangerous. It's like a laser; it'll burn a hole through anything."

Oh, God.

I glance down at the weapon and when I look up, Seth's watching me with a smirk.

"Don't hold it like it's a dead rat." He sets his gun on the dashboard and leans towards me. His cologne wafts over me and I gulp, trying to regain my focus. Seth covers my hand with his, guiding my middle, ring, and pinky fingers to the base of the weapon while he says, "Grip it tightly at the base and use your index finger to shoot."

"Okay." It isn't until I've spoken and instinctively exhaled that I realize I haven't been breathing. Seth looks at me and my face warms. I blurt the first question that comes to mind, "Why doesn't it have regular bullets?"

He releases my hand and grabs his gun, tucking it into a holster beneath his jacket. It bothers me that I'm just now noticing that he's been wearing a freaking gun holster. How did I not notice that earlier?

"Because it'll take more than a bullet to kill Amelia Hearth and her army of freaks."

I sit up straighter. "Kill Amelia Hearth?"

Seth squints into the distance and casually turns around to check our surroundings as if he hasn't just said something absolutely ridiculous.

"What are you talking about?" I demand.

Without looking at me, he turns to his door. "I'll explain on the way in."

Confused, I watch him open his door.

"I'm not killing Amelia Hearth, Seth. No one is killing Amelia Hearth." I shake my head. "That's insane!"

"No, Amelia's insane," Seth snaps. He turns to face me. "She's the one torturing your friend. And if you don't want to believe me, then stay in the car."

"Torturing?" I shriek.

Seth rolls his eyes and sighs. Without another word, he hops out of the SUV and runs, his heavy footsteps splashing through puddles, to Alyssum's front entrance.

I glance down at the chiatum gun in my hand and take a steadying deep breath.

Betty called Amelia Hearth a murderer. She even claimed that Amelia wasn't human. I didn't believe her and even now, I can't see that being true... but now isn't the time to just sit here and doubt. Now is the time to find Luke.

"God help me," I whisper. Fear and doubt wrap themselves around my neck in a chokehold. Despite this, I toss the gun into my purse and open my door. My purse in hand, I scramble to follow Seth into Alyssum Studios.

Right now, fear doesn't matter. Finding Luke matters.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Two years ago, my favorite director built a production company in Swamp Rose. She called it Alyssum Studios South. At five stories tall, with a large main building and four other buildings occupying the well-tended property behind it, Alyssum Studios became our small town's crowning glory.

Ever since it was built, I've imagined making my way up its front steps, slipping through its front doors and time coming to a standstill as I stand there, utterly blown away by the perfection of my surroundings.

Now that I'm here on Alyssum's front steps while Seth aims a gun at a nearby security camera, all I can do is stare, slack jawed. Rain falls into my opened mouth. I hardly feel it.

This is my introduction to my favorite director's production company?

A crackle of lightning bursts overhead and I jump, nearly tripping and falling backwards down the stairs behind me.

"Seth," I hiss as I regain my balance. I look around to make sure there aren't any "mutant people" coming for us. It's difficult to see in the rain, but from what I can tell, there are only a few cars in Alyssum's parking lot and no sign that we're being followed.

I turn back to Seth and stage whisper, "You can't just say, 'Amelia Hearth is torturing your friend, let's go kill her' and then not explain yourself."

As opposed to answering me, Seth shoots the security camera. A line of white light streams from his gun, obliterates the camera, and leaves nothing but a smoking mess of warped metal. Seth then aims his gun at Alyssum's glass doors and lasers a clean circular hole near one of the door handles.

His shoulders are back and the gun is secure in his grip, as if it's an extension of his own body. He's alert yet relaxed, not a trace of fear in his face or body language. In fact, he looks more confident now than when he was talking to me at dinner.

Rain falls into my eyes and, blinking it away, I move my purse up on my shoulder.

"So, you're not even a cinematographer, are you?" I quietly ask.

Seth's eyes momentarily flick to mine, offering a half-glance that wordlessly answers my question.

I sigh.

How could I have been so blind? A few hours ago, I was head over heels for this guy...

I start his way and accidently step in a puddle, drenching my left foot. I look down at my sopping wet foot. It doesn't matter. What matters is that my instincts were wrong about this chiatum-wielding man who says he works for I.T.I.S.... I had one drunken night with him and instead of noticing his creep factor, the only thing I noticed was the way he made me forget about my problems. What else have I been blind to?

My stomach turning, I approach him. "I probably don't even know your real name," I say. "And you still haven't answered my question about what you do at I.T.I.S. What are you?"

Seth crouches in front of the door and reaches through the hole he's cut in the glass. "Seth is my real name and I didn't enjoy lying to you, Gina. I had to. Being a cinematographer was my cover, a part of my job," he says as he unlocks the door and then retracts his hand. Thunder rocks the sky while he gets to his feet. "I'm what I.T.I.S. calls a retriever."

"What's a retriever?" I ask, clutching my purse. A part of me doesn't even want to hear the answer.

He turns to me, but instead of looking at me, his gaze goes to the parking lot, as if he's sweeping it for unwanted guests the way I was a moment ago. "It means I round up I.T.I.S.'s escaped test subjects and bring them home." Without meeting my eyes, he nods to Alyssum's entrance. "We're going to go in now, so get your gun out and be ready to use it. You should've left that purse in the car; it's going to get in the way."

Be ready to use the gun?

I reach into my purse and retrieve the dreaded weapon. It's a small thing, barely bigger than my own hand, but the sight of it scares me to death. I don't want to be in control of a killing machine. Slick in the rainy moonlight, the weapon looks more real than ever and all I can do is stare it, my nerves intensifying by the second.

Maybe I should have stayed in the car.

Seth opens the glass door and turns to me, expectant. Unfortunately, I can't seem to move.

"If it's your job to bring escaped test subjects home," I say, ignoring the sting of my mascara as rain pushes it into my eyes. "Then why'd you say you're here to kill Amelia Hearth? What does that have to do with your job?"

"First of all," Seth cuts in, shaking his head. "Her name is not Amelia Hearth; it's Tessa. Tessa Lyles."

"Tessa Lyles... ?" I repeat, my voice trailing off. As I process this, my gaze goes to a small pool of water that's collected near Seth's right foot. Amelia Hearth, the world-famous director, is Tessa Lyles. That means the diary Andy gave me, is Amelia's. That also means Karin Greenich isn't Tessa Lyles.

"Right. That's her real name," Seth says, his voice breaking into my thoughts. "And I.T.I.S. knew that Tessa had given herself a new identity. But she and I.T.I.S. struck some sort of agreement to leave each other alone, to even work together."

"She works with I.T.I.S. too?" I whisper. My stomach turns as my thoughts revert to all the horrible things Kayleigh and Betty said I.T.I.S. have done to innocent children.

So, not only does this guy who I've developed feelings for work for an organization of murdering psychopaths, but so does my childhood idol. Basically, I've fallen in love with not one, but two monsters. Nice.

"Yeah, but not the same way I do. Tessa isn't an I.T.I.S. employee. She's more like a partner," Seth says. As I look up at him, he must see the disgust in my expression because something like guilt appears in his eyes and he looks down as he continues, "I was assigned to come to Swamp Rose and retrieve someone else, when the head of I.T.I.S. noticed that Tessa had completely gone off the rails and started kidnapping people for some kind of experimental project she'd started. That meant it was time to retrieve Tessa. So, that became my new assignment - to pose as a cinematographer and get close to Tessa to find out why she'd suddenly decided to kidnap innocent people. After gathering that intel, I'd have to bring her in - dead or alive."

"So, you've gotten close to Amelia- I mean, to Tessa?" I ask.

"No," he says with a sigh. Thunder sounds above us and he raises his voice to talk over it. "I found out that getting close to Tessa isn't easy. When she works out of Alyssum Studios South, she only hires locals. So, I needed local work on my resume. That's why I applied for the Coffee Etc's commercial shoot."

"Oh." I nod weakly.

Nothing is as it seems... after this, how will I ever trust anyone?

"And to be honest," Seth continues. "I don't feel bad about this assignment because the woman's a lunatic. She's killed hundreds of people."

I look down at the water pooling near my feet, still processing Seth's explanation.

"And secondly," Seth says, an odd note in his tone makes me look up. "You can trust me. I'm not some killer who just volunteered to work for I.T.I.S. They're making me do this."

"Making you?"

He nods. "Once I found out what I.T.I.S. did to my sister, my parents, my friends, and to everyone in our town, I was stupid enough to confront them, which didn't go well. They gave me two options: work for them or be killed by them."

"Kill or be killed," I say, my voice coming out as a whisper.

"Exactly." Seth looks down and mutters, "I'm not the bad guy here."

Another clap of thunder sounds above us. I study Seth's face. It's completely wet - even his eyebrows drip with rain while he looks up.

"But, whatever, Gina." He nods to my gun, his expression intentionally blank. "If you don't trust me, you can shoot me or you can go stay in the car and wait for me to come back with your friend. Your choice."

Seth's gaze meets mine, a glimmer of insecurity making a fleeting appearance in his eyes.

My decision made, I head towards him. "Let's go get Luke," I quietly say.

In my peripheral, I see him exhale.

I slip through the glass door he holds open and turn to him. "So, you said Amelia's real name is Tessa Lyles, meaning she's the little sister of that girl, Karen. The one who was your sister's best friend, right?"

Seth readies his gun and soundlessly closes the door behind us. He pads around me, all the while, assessing our surroundings. His stealth is impressive, he moves like a ninja... well, like the fictional ninjas I've seen in movies.

"Yeah," he finally says once he's in front of me, his voice a low whisper. "Karen and Tessa Lyles were sisters. Their dad was an I.T.I.S. scientist. But he quit as soon as he found out what kinds of projects they were using his research for. Let's move. Stay behind me."

"Okay." I follow him and digest what he's just told me: Amelia Hearth - also known as Tessa Lyles - has an older sister named Karen.

As we leave the foyer and enter the expanse of Alyssum's main building, I look around and my breath catches in my throat.

Even in the dim lighting, Alyssum Studios is as beautiful as I've always imagined. The floor beneath our feet is marble. Above our heads, a high ceiling holds a crystal chandelier that sparkles in the darkness.

Chills run up and down my arms and I can't help but pause to look around.

Amelia Hearth's Alyssum Studios - this is it. I never thought I'd get to see this place with my own eyes...I also never thought that Amelia Hearth would turn out to be a murdering lunatic.

Go figure.

I sigh and look ahead to where Alyssum's reception desk sits in front of a large window. It serves as the very center of two hallways.

An intense crash of thunder and lightning rock the sky. It's so loud that the chandelier above my head shakes and sways. The noise pushes me out of my thoughts and I notice that my I.T.I.S. companion is inching farther and farther away from me. I scramble to catch up with him while Alyssum's dimmed lights flicker around us.

"Stay close, Gina," he whispers.

The words have barely left his lips when the building's electricity shuts off and every gold-accented light fixture fades to black. The sound of the AC is, likewise, silenced.

"Good, that'll help," Seth says. "Come on, keep moving."

I squint to adjust to the thick darkness as we move forward. "Do you even know where to go?"

"I know Amelia's been kidnapping the locals she hires as 'extras' and that they've got to be somewhere in this building," he says.

A wave of panic sweeps over me. "Why?" I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse. "What's she doing to them?"

"I suspect she's experimenting on them, just like I.T.I.S. experimented on her." Seth turns to me. "Don't breathe so hard. And take off your shoes - they're too loud."

My knees have begun to shake. The trembling worsens as I slip out of my heels. "What do you mean by 'experimenting'?"

"Come on, Gina. We're wasting time," Seth says, moving forward.

I leave my shoes behind to follow him and before I know it, he's running into a hallway to the left of the reception desk. I hurry behind him, my hands so sweaty I nearly drop my gun.

I step off the cold marble tile and onto the carpeted hallway. "So, those experiments you mentioned. What exactly did you mean by 'experiments'?"

"Do we really need to talk about all of this right now?" Seth slows his pace and keeps one of his hands on the wall at his left while he uses the other to grip his gun.

"Yeah, we do," I retort. I glance at a large movie poster gracing the wall to my right. It's the ad for Amelia's first feature film, My Sister's Keeper, which was a modern take on the biblical story of Cain and Abel, except the main characters were sisters instead of brothers. The film was nominated for an Academy Award. It didn't win.

"I.T.I.S. wanted Tessa and Karen's dad, David Lyles, to come back and work for them," Seth whispers as we make our way down the hall. We pass several versions of the My Sister's Keeper poster. "When he refused, they forced his hand by killing his wife, kidnapping him, his kids, and my sister's boyfriend, Nathaniel, who just happened to be with the Lyles when everything went down. I.T.I.S. experimented on the kids by injecting them with a drug called triphylamonal."

"Trip - what?"

"Triphylamonal. It's a drug that restructures human DNA and basically gives the recipient superhuman abilities."

"So you're saying -" I gulp, my heart skipping a beat, " -that Amelia Hearth has powers?"

"Yeah, all of the I.T.I.S. mutants do. Like flight or super strength, things like that. I heard of this one guy who could turn into titanium at will. It's pretty crazy," Seth whispers. "Anyway, with Tessa, I.T.I.S. did something different. They gave her an experimental drug that heightened her intellect, which, when you think about it, makes her more powerful than any of their other test subjects. And being that Tessa's insane, she used her abilities to burn I.T.I.S.'s headquarters to the ground, killing everyone inside. Then, she escaped with Nathaniel."

My thoughts racing, I look left and come face to face with a large Sinderella with an S poster. I stare at it, a realization taking hold of me: Every movie Amelia's ever made, including Sinderella with an S, portrays a main character with a sister who acts as an antagonist and ends up being killed.

My stomach turns. "So, what happened to Tessa's older sister, Karen?"

"She's dead. I.T.I.S. killed her when they killed Tessa's dad." Seth comes to an abrupt halt, which makes me bump into him. He turns to me. "Do you smell that?"

I take a deep breath while thunder shatters the quiet and the fleeting image of a school bus slips into my thoughts before retreating to my subconscious. Once the flicker of a flashback has passed, a sweet scent, almost like honeysuckle, fills my nostrils. It's so strong that I can barely smell Seth's cologne under it.

Louisiana Alyssum.

I grin. "How did Unseen know to show up?" Excited, I look around for some other evidence of the invisible superhero's presence and then turn to Seth. "Unseen's here!"

Seth's eyebrows go up and he shakes his head. "No. Anyone with triphylamonal-based powers, Unseen included, smells like Louisiana Alyssum. The scent comes from their pores." He glances over his shoulder. "And when the smell is this strong, that means you're on the verge of meeting more than one mutant. So, get your gun ready and stay behind me. Got it?"

"Uh, yeah."

This is insane.

My teeth chattering, I reaffirm my grip on the gun, making sure to hold it tightly at the base, just like Seth showed me. We inch forward and the hallway wall at our right holds a large poster of Amelia's latest movie, I Already Knew. As I look at it, I can't help but wonder if this larger-than-life image of Drew Everett will be the last thing I see before I die.

Even if I die, I want Luke to be okay. Please let Luke get out of this safely, please...

As this silent plea reverberates in my skull, I begin to breathe so hard that I'm pretty sure I sound like I'm on a ventilator.

Several footsteps sound on the carpeted hallway, coming from around a curve just ahead.

Seth comes to a dead stop and gestures for me to do the same. Inwardly panicking, I do as told.

His back to the wall, Seth raises his gun and then darts around the corner.

Petrified, I clutch my gun.

There's a sizzling noise, like the sound of bacon cooking on a stovetop, and several shouts as the dark hallway is, all at once, ablaze with light.

Three loud thuds sound, one right after the other. Before I can react, Seth is back at my side and grabbing my hand. The hallway is once again dark.

"Let's go," he whispers, pulling me forward. His hand is still damp, but he grasps mine in an unbreakable grip. As we round the corner, I understand why.

Three men, each clad in a dark blue Alyssum Studios uniform, lie in the middle of the hallway with holes burned clear through their chests... where their hearts used to be.

I gasp and come to a complete stop, but Seth pulls me forward. "We have to keep moving. Your friend needs us."

He's right. Even so, I glance back at the three guards. The holes in their chests are literally smoking and one of the men's glowing eyes are still open...

My dinner churns in my stomach and for a second, I feel ready to puke.

"Come on." Seth yanks me forward.

I stumble along blindly. My thoughts are a chaotic jumble - visions of the school bus headed towards me, Luke's scream resounding in my ear, Seth telling me he works for I.T.I.S., and an image of the three dead Alyssum guards.

As we round another corner, the smell of Alyssum fills my nose and my heart plummets. Not again. Seth pauses, cursing under his breath.

He backs up and readies his gun. But it's too late. Four Alyssum Studios guards, their eyes shimmering in the darkness, head towards us.

"Lift your hands," they shout in unison, "and do not attempt to run!"

Behind them and to the left, is an elevator from which two more guards emerge.

Seth drops his gun and raises his hands above his head. "Do what they say," he whispers.

I let my gun fall to the floor and lift my hands.

The guards run towards us, shouting more commands to not move. One of them approaches me and jerks my hands down to my sides before forcing them behind my back. I flinch and glance at Seth. Our eyes meet while the burly female guard at his side yanks his hands behind his back.

"These are chiatum weapons," a deep voice says. I turn to the speaker, a beefy flaxen-haired guard who's crouched, examining our guns. He stands, turns to the two uniformed men beside him and says, "They must work for I.T.I.S."

One of the men, a thin guy with dark skin and a shaved head, nods. "Affirmative. We must inform Amelia. She will want to question them."

My heart racing, I look from one guard to the other.

Why do they all sound so robotic?

The lights flicker, like Alyssum's electricity is trying to come back on, and all of the guards momentarily pause, looking around as if they're confused. The one who's holding me even loosens his grip on my arms. Several grunts sound behind me. Suddenly, the guard whose been holding me releases me.

Freed, I turn around. My former captor's eyes roll back in his head and blood seeps from a large hole that's been singed clear through his forehead. He falls to the floor with a thud.

Vomit rises in my throat and I take a shaky step back.

"Shoot them," one of the remaining guard's orders. Seth pushes me to the floor and uses his former captor's corpse to shield us.

I hit the carpet cheek first and the side of my face throbs instantly. But what hurts even more is the lingering image of that guard, blood pouring from a hole in his head- I can't unsee it.

Just above me, Seth shoots the four remaining guards.

I grasp at the carpet, trying to catch my breath, trying not to think about the mental image, trying to get a grip...

Seth takes my hand. "Grab that flashlight-looking thing beside you. It's actually a gun."

The dead guard's flashlight is still at his hip and I grab it along with my purse, but my hands are trembling so badly, I can barely hold the two items.

All that blood, just leaking down the man's forehead...

I follow Seth, panting as I try to breathe evenly and dismiss the image of the dead man. But I can't. The sight is burned into my thoughts.

We run to the elevator and Seth glances at me as he presses the down arrow. "You with me, Gina?"

I open my mouth to say yes and words don't come out. Instead, I gag and completely lose my dinner.

Seth says something, but I'm too busy throwing up to hear him. I clutch my stomach and turn away from him so the rest of my vomit won't land on him.

As the elevator doors open, I stumble inside sideways where I find myself puking on a stranger's polished black shoes.

"Whoa!" The owner of the shoes takes a step back and I look up.

Amelia Hearth's famous boyfriend, Grant Carr, blinks back at me.

Dark hair graying at the temples, olive skin, hazel eyes, a Grecian nose, perfect body - it's definitely Grant Carr.

And, I've just thrown up on his shoes.

The elevator doors shut behind us and before I can blink, Seth is in front of me, his weapon aimed at Grant Carr.

The older man raises his hands in surrender.

Even though Seth is the one holding a weapon, he's gone pale and his eyes are wide with what appears to be fright.

Nervous, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look from Seth to Grant. Seth definitely wasn't this anxious a few minutes ago, when he was James Bond-ing all of the Alyssum guards who were after us.

As Seth pushes his weapon into Grant's chest and demands to know where Amelia is hiding her captives, I notice that his hands are shaking.

It's like he's seen a ghost or something.

While Seth continues to lose his cool, Grant is eerily calm. He just stands there, watching Seth with transparent curiosity.

"Do you guys, like, know each other or something?" I blurt.

"Apparently, we do," Grant says, speaking slowly. His gaze still on Seth, he continues, "You're here for Luke Kennedy. I'll bring you to him."

My heart skips a beat. "Luke?" I screech. I can hear the hysteria in my voice as I say, "You know where Luke is?"

"Yes," Grant says. "I was just on my way to help him escape."

"Right, of course you were," Seth says his eyes narrowed.

"Really, I was." Grant frowns. "And we need to hurry if we're going to get him out of here."

Everything about his tone of voice and body language scream sincerity. I totally believe him.

But one look at Seth and it's clear he doesn't share my opinion. His eyes still narrowed, he spits out a question in a veritable growl, "And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Seth, I believe him," I say, gently touching his shoulder. "Let him show us where Luke is."

Completely ignoring me, Seth takes another step towards the older man.

Grant glances down at the weapon shoved into his chest. But he's still calm as he says, "Your thoughts have a lot more leverage than this...thing...you're threatening me with."

Seth takes a deep breath and his hands begin to tremble even more.

"And from the moment this elevator door opened, you haven't shut up about the name "Nathaniel"," Grant continues. "I need to know why."

I look from Grant to Seth, utterly confused.

"He never once said the name, Nathaniel," I say. "What are you talking about?"

As per usual, my question is a hundred percent ignored by the men. Instead, Grant continues to address Seth.

"You have information that I need," he says. "I need to know where I come from. Because, apparently, everything Amelia's told me about my past was a lie."

"That doesn't make sense," Seth hisses, but his voice shakes, revealing his nerves. "How could she lie to you? Your ability-"

"Think about it," Grant interrupts, speaking quickly. "Amelia's ability is superior intelligence- try to imagine what she can do in that brain of hers. She's a master at manipulation, even the manipulation of her own thoughts. She stops me from seeing what I should be able to see."

I stare at Grant, but whatever he's talking about isn't making sense. I get that Amelia/Tessa's been lying to him about kidnapping people and being a psycho or whatever, but I can't process the other part of his rambling. Between worrying about Luke and trying not to see images of dead guards every time I blink, my brain has become a hot mess.

"Come on, kid," Grant says. "You've got to believe me. I love Amelia, but I have no part in what she's done here. I mean, for God's sake! She's got a basement full of cryopreserved people that she's kidnapped and brainwashed!"

My heart nearly comes to a stop. Luke is one of those people.

Grant takes a small step towards Seth, which pushes the weapon even more into his chest. "I'll help you save Luke," he says. "If you help me remember what I need to know about my past."

Seth, still pale, wordlessly lowers his weapon.

"Thank God," I exhale. "Can we please go get my friend now?"

"She's got him in the basement with the others." Grant nods to the elevator's panel. "To access the basement, you'll have to press floors three and one simultaneously. And we need to hurry. Amelia wanted Luke dead and I have no doubt she's sending her guards down there to make sure the job's done. They're probably on their way now."

Another wave of nausea overtakes me. "Amelia wanted Luke dead?"

"Yes. He became a problem." Grant glances at me. "When she tried to brainwash him, it didn't work."

Seth glares at Grant, though his weapon is lowered, his grip on it remains tighter than ever. "I still find it hard to believe that you're innocent in all of this. I just don't see how that's possible."

"I never said I was innocent," Grant pauses and for a moment he looks much older. Weariness in his eyes, he says, "Ignorance isn't the same thing as innocence. And neither is choosing to ignore a gut feeling that something isn't right." He glances at Seth. "But I'm trying to do the right thing now. I hope that counts for something."

Seth gives him a long look. "Well, the Nathaniel I once knew was a trustworthy guy." He points to Grant and says, "I just... I hope he's still in there somewhere."

Grant's eyebrows go up. "So, that was my name? Nathaniel?"

I look from one man to the other, realization washing over me.

Grant Carr isn't really Grant Carr. He's actually Nathaniel\- the Peake, Alabama boy who I.T.I.S. kidnapped! When Tessa/Amelia escaped from I.T.I.S. she must have brought Nathaniel with her. And seeing as I.T.I.S. had a penchant for erasing people's memories, that's probably what they did to Nathaniel. All this time he's been thinking his name is Grant Carr and he's had no idea who he really is.

Maybe seeing Seth just now - someone he knew when he was a child -triggered some of his missing memories.

"Yep," Seth says with a sigh, "You're Nathaniel."

"I know your identity is important, Grant- I mean, Nathaniel, but we need to go save my friend now," I cut in. With this, I press floors three and one in unison and the elevator kicks into gear. "Help us get my friend out of here and Seth will tell you everything he knows about your past."

SWAMP ROSE HOMES don't come with basements, so I can't say I've ever been in a basement before today. Even so, I'm pretty sure basements aren't supposed to look like this.

I step out of the puke-ridden elevator - Seth right behind me - and follow Grant into a spacious mist-filled room. The cement beneath my bare feet is freezing and thick fog clings to the air. I can barely see.

Once my eyes adjust, I see we're surrounded by rows upon rows of small white pods. They look like futuristic coffins.

"Wait, stop," Grant says, pointing up. I follow his finger up to a security camera fastened to a beam above our heads.

Seth aims his flashlight at the camera, presses its power button twice, and a stream of the same kind of light that emitted from the chiatum gun cuts into the air. It blasts the camera to pieces.

"This way." Grant waves us forward.

I watch Grant carefully.

I really want to trust this man. But he is Amelia/Tessa's boyfriend... is he leading us into a trap?

I hesitate and turn to Seth. We exchange glances.

Seth points to his flashlight and shrugs. I take this to mean that if Grant does anything other than help us, we have the means to fight back.

Seth's right. If things get messy, he won't hesitate to shoot Grant. And as for me... well, surely I can use my propensity to vomit as some sort of defense.

My decision made, I follow Grant through rows of tubes. Seth is close behind me.

What's the deal with these tube things?

I slow down to take a good look at one of them. Like the others, this pod is large and fitted with a front window that reveals the face of its sleeping occupant. This one contains a young woman with braided hair and dark brown skin. Her eyes are tightly shut.

I wince.

These poor people... why is Amelia doing this to them?

My stomach turns as I glance at the next tube. It contains a sleeping man with pale skin and eyebrows so blonde they're nearly translucent.

"Luke's up here. Pod C-452," Grant says, a few paces ahead of us.

At the sound of Luke's name, nerves tear through me and I turn away from the podded people. As I hurry to catch up with Grant, several footsteps sound behind me.

"The intruders are in here!" a shrill voice shouts.

Oh no.

I thought my heart was already racing, but compared to what it's doing now, I see that it was not. Every beat sounding in my ears, I look over my shoulder. Seth readies his weapon and retreats in the direction of the noise.

From what I can hear of the footsteps, there are a lot of guards. Possibly too many for him to fight off on his own. I take a deep breath and start after him.

"Hey, wait!" Grant whispers. I turn around to find him kneeling beside an opened pod. I can just make out the profile of its sleeping occupant - Luke.

I gasp and my heart skips a beat. A crash sounds from the direction Seth ran. I turn back to him, but Seth's already out of sight.

Should I leave Luke and go help Seth?

I start towards Seth and then hesitate. Another crash sounds. I jump at the noise. A man's scream is followed by the unmistakable sizzle of a chiatum laser.

I wince.

"Hurry, come help me with him!" Grant says, waving me towards Luke's pod.

My pulse racing, I make a quick decision and run to Luke's opened pod.

At the sight of him, I come to a halt. He's trembling and naked, his entire body slick with water. His golden locks are stuck to his forehead and his eyes are closed.

All at once, they fly open and he gasps. The look in his eyes is so frantic, it's nearly feral. He glances from me to Grant.

I kneel beside him, tears filling my eyes. The pod opens, releasing a blast of freezing cold air.

"Hey," I whisper. I push a cold lock of hair away from his forehead. He feels like ice.

I've never seen Luke like this. His eyes wide with confusion and his teeth chattering, he blinks back at me.

Grant yanks off his suit jacket and thrusts it over Luke's chest.

"We've got to keep his chest warm." He grips Luke's right arm. "Can you grab his other arm and help me get him out of this thing?"

"Come on, bud," I whisper. Dropping my flashlight and purse, I get a firm grip on Luke's left arm.

"W-what happened..." Luke stammers so badly, his words are barely understandable.

"Luke, you've got to stand up. You're a big guy. We can't carry you," Grant says, grunting while he pulls Luke to his feet.

Grant's right. As Luke leans his full weight on us, I stumble backwards and nearly fall.

Behind us, the sounds of the firefight intensify. I grab my flashlight and purse with my free hand. "Grant?" I ask. "Is there a back way out of here?"

"No, but I'll get the guards to leave." He leans Luke on my shoulder - which nearly sends me tumbling to the ground - and then darts off in the direction of the fighting.

"What are you doing?" But Grant doesn't reply, he just fades into the fog. I return my attention to Luke. "You okay?" I ask, assessing him. He's standing upright...well, sort of. He's actually mostly slumped on my shoulder and his eyes are opening and closing like he's only half awake. He also smells like he might have pissed himself.

My poor guy... I need to get him out of here.

"I don't know," Luke mumbles.

In the distance, the sounds of fighting come to a halt and bits and pieces of Grant's voice are barely audible, "... speak for Amelia... lock him... tomorrow."

All of a sudden, Luke feels even heavier.

Struggling under his weight, I turn to him. His eyes are closed.

"Luke, I need you stay awake," I whisper. "Can you do that?"

"Yes," he mumbles, opening his eyes.

I run my palm along his cheek. He's scary-cold; we need to get him warm.

I resituate Grant's jacket to cover as much of his chest as possible and I try not to glance down. We also need to get my friend some pants...

"They're gone! Come on," Grant shouts as he emerges from the fog. Running towards us, he grabs Luke's other arm. "Let's get him to the elevator."

Luke's basically a dead weight and our trek is painfully slow.

While we hobble through rows upon rows of pods, I can't help but steal a peek at Amelia's sleeping victims, my conscience nagging me.

We're getting Luke out of here, which is perfect, but are we really just going to leave all of these other people behind?

"Don't worry about the other people Amelia's kidnapped," Grant pipes up. I glance at him. "I won't let her hurt them," he quietly says.

We continue our journey to the elevator in silence, Luke's heavy breathing the only sound between us. But my mind races...

How is Grant going to get all these people out of here? There's literally hundreds of them.

Luke starts to mumble to himself. I glance at him. Only half conscious and little more than a dead weight between me and Grant, he whispers, "Gina, I have to tell you ..." His eyelids flutter.

A lump forms in the back of my throat and tears sting my eyes. He looks so pale. And he still feels like a block of ice. We really need to get him warm.

"Shhh, it's okay, bud," I gently reply.

Once we're only a few feet from the elevator, I look around, searching for Seth. But all I see are the pods, the mist, the elevator, and several dead guards that I try not to look at... but no Seth.

"Where's Seth?" A sinking feeling takes hold of me as we come to a halt.

"I had to send him with the guards," Grant says. I turn to him in horror. He shifts his weight under Luke's right arm and holds my gaze. "But I'll get him out of here. You take care of Luke and I'll take care of the others - Seth included. Don't worry."

"Don't worry?" I shout.

Luke twitches as I raise my voice.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to your friend or to the rest of these people," Grant says, his tone definite. His brows lift and he looks me in the eye. "Trust me." With this, he sends for the elevator and proceeds to tell me he'll help us to the parking lot. He goes on to explain that on the way there, we'll pick up a guard's uniform for Luke to wear.

I thank Grant, but there's a huge knot in my stomach because I can't believe I'm just leaving Seth here.

The elevator opens and as we step inside, Luke mutters, "I love you, Gina." He's breathless and his eyes are fluttering between opened and closed.

"I love you, too." I plant a kiss on Luke's cold cheek, my conscience nagging me.

If it weren't for Seth, I wouldn't have found Luke... and now, I'm leaving Seth behind.

Am I doing the right thing?

#

Gina and Lyla's Apartment

"Lyla, I need your help! Lyla?" Gina's voice is loud in my ear and I wince, but I'm sure she can't tell through my constant twitching. Every particle of air that touches my skin feels like a bee sting. Gina groans under my weight and says, "Come on, Luke. Just a little bit further to the bathroom."

My vision is fuzzy. I squint, attempting to identify my surroundings. As white walls and white furniture unfold around me, my thoughts settle into lucidity and I realize that we're in Gina and Lyla's apartment.

I hear running footsteps and the sound makes me jump. Horrified, I look around for the Alyssum Studios guards - did they follow us here? I lift an arm to shield Gina and accidently smack her in the side of her head.

"Sorry." I turn to the blur that is Gina.

She gently pats the side of my face. "That's okay."

The running footsteps come to an abrupt halt. "Oh, my God! Luke?" Lyla screeches. At the sound of her voice, I relax. Well, I almost relax - after all, it's Lyla Karlsson. She's not quite evil incarnate, but she's somewhere in the vicinity.

"What's wrong with him?" Lyla says. "Is he drunk?"

"No, he's not drunk. He was drugged. I think. Would you help me get him to the bathroom? Wait, no. Actually, can you start running some water in the tub? And we'll need it warm, not hot. We'll need a bunch of towels too," Gina orders. Her normally high-pitched voice is low and serious. She grabs me around the torso and inches me forward. "Come on, Luke, walk with me."

I try to do as told, but my legs are unsteady, I bump into the side of the couch. While I try to stop myself from falling, I get a glimpse of Lyla running into the bathroom, which is just ahead. The bathroom... As it dawns on me where we're headed and what's going to happen once we get there, I come to a dead stop and silently freak out.

Gina's planning to put me in the bathtub. That means she's going to see every inch of my flabby paleness under the bright lights of the bathroom.

Anxiety wraps itself around me in a chokehold.

"You don't have t-to bathe me," I stutter, my teeth chattering.

"I think we do, bud," she says quietly, urging me forward. She briefly ruffles my hair. "You're going to be okay. Just try and stay awake. Okay?"

Weakness overwhelms me and I slump forward, on the verge of blacking out.

Gina's lips are soft on my cheek and her voice is a whisper in my ear. "You're safe, don't worry."

I take a deep breath, gather my strength and move forward.

#

Gina and Lyla's Apartment

"...and they took us to this theater, like, a private theater in Alyssum's basement and made us watch some movie that was obviously designed to brainwash us." Luke pauses and reaches for his cup of tea from my nightstand.

He looks a million times better now. Sitting up in my bed and wearing clothes that some no-name guy left at my house - an LSU t-shirt and navy blue jogging pants. He's got color in his cheeks, his hair is finally dry, and though his eyes are bloodshot, they're alert. With Lyla's help, I got him into a warm bath and, thank God, she took pity on him enough to turn off the AC in the igloo that we call our apartment.

As Luke brings the hot tea to his lips, I take his free hand in mine and he looks at me in surprise.

"I'm so glad you're okay." I look down at his hand. Big and tanned, Luke's hands are as familiar as my own. I know their every birthmark, callus and flaw. Just looking at them makes me feel safe.

I guess that's what familiarity does - it makes you feel safe. My thoughts drift to Grant Carr and his missing memories.

That poor man remembers nothing from his childhood... if hardly anything in your life is familiar, does that mean you never feel safe? Maybe that explains his relationship with Amelia: she was the one familiar thing in his world. She felt like home and that's why he's stayed with her for so long. And I guess that's why he let himself believe her lies. His feelings misguided him.

In a way, I can relate. My feelings for Seth blinded me. I couldn't see past them and I believed every one of his lies. But my feelings for Luke are different - they're anything but blinding.

I brush my pinky across Luke's birthmark, a round freckle just below his thumb. I'm not blind to Luke's indecision and overwhelming anxiety. I've seen it enough to become annoyed by it. But I've also seen his practicality, his kindness, and his empathy. I know him through and through...and I love him.

In my peripheral, I see Luke sit up straighter and set his tea on my nightstand.

I turn his hand over, searching for the scar on his index finger. When he was thirteen, he was slicing apples for an apple pie - his mother's favorite dessert - and accidently cut himself so badly that he had to go to the ER for stitches. He felt horrible about the whole thing because the ER visit was expensive and they didn't have health insurance. Luke told me this story our senior year, while we were sitting on the bleachers in Gym.

Now, I find the scar. Without thinking, I bow my head and brush my lips across the familiar blemish. I smile and Luke stares back at me, his nostrils flaring. Butterflies fill my stomach and my cheeks go all hot.

"What am I even doing?" I chuckle nervously and start to release Luke's hand when he catches mine in his, locking my hand in his grip. He scoots towards me so we're face to face and, gently running his thumb along my palm, looks into my eyes.

Surprised, I can do nothing but become the surge of nerves that wash over me.

"I wouldn't be okay if it weren't for you," Luke says. He brings one of his palms to my cheek. "Thank you, Gina. Thank you for finding me." He caresses my cheek.

At this touch, simple as it is, a swell of desire propels me towards him. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and move closer. Luke's breath kisses my cheek as his palm brushes the bruise on my jaw. A twinge of pain erupts there and I get a sudden mental image of the executed Alyssum guard. I shudder as the dying man - blood spilling from the hole in his forehead - fills my thoughts.

Horrified, I open my eyes and Luke immediately retracts his hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to, um... I didn't mean for that to happen," he stammers.

He's watching me with wide eyes and I realize I'm panting.

I need to calm down. I look up and focus on my ceiling.

"I'm so sorry," Luke says.

I wave him off. "No, no. You're fine. It's just my cheek. I... it's bruised kinda badly..." Still shaken, I look down and wish I could get that dead guard's face out of my head.

And what was I just doing with Luke?

I take a deep breath and open my mouth to say something to fill the silence, but nothing comes out.

I need a drink, but there's none here. My gaze drifts to the photo-filled bulletin board near my computer and I run a hand through my hair, wishing Lyla hadn't felt the need to throw away the rest of the Jack I'd just bought.

"You okay?" I ask as I finally dare to look at Luke.

He's frowning down at my bedspread.

"What's wrong?" I reach for his hand and abruptly stop myself.

If I keep touching him, I'll end up kissing more than just his hand.

I clasp my hands together in my lap. "Talk to me, Luke."

"I've been wanting to tell you that I..." Luke's voice trails off as he moistens his lips. I watch his tongue dart across his lips. I wish I could taste them, just once. That's all I need - one real kiss.

Well, that's not all I need. But I'd take even that. Honestly, I'd give up a lifetime of drinking for one kiss from Luke Kennedy.

He sighs and I lower my gaze to his chest.

And if I couldn't have a kiss, I'd settle for sinking my head against his chest and falling asleep there... what am I thinking? What's wrong with me? I seriously need to stop. Lyla is, like, one room away.

She may have never come right out and admitted that she's still in love with Luke, but I know my friend. And she is. She'd never forgive me if I hooked up with him. Besides, whatever Luke feels for me right now... he's probably confusing it with gratefulness. I just helped rescue him from the brink of death, and he's understandably confused about his feelings for me. I have no right to take advantage of him while he's confused.

I force my eyes away from Luke and turn to my digital clock.

11:47.

I'm going to be two hours late for my sitting job with Betty.

Luke scratches his left ear and I glance at him. His cheeks have gone red.

"Hey," I gently say. "I'm horrible for doing this, but I have to go to work in a minute."

"Work?" He frowns. "Oh, that's right." Understanding settles in his eyes and he nods. "Serenity Bayous."

"Yeah."

We stare at each other. I don't want to look away first, and apparently, neither does he. So, we watch each other like two awkward tweens.

Luke's face reddens even more and he forfeits our unintentional staring contest. I take a deep breath and try to get a hold of myself.

As much as I want Luke, I can't have him. When am I finally going to just accept that?

He breaks the silence. "Before you go, I just wanted to..."

I hold my breath and dare a look at him. "You wanted to what?"

He scratches his ear. "To ask you how you knew to come get me out of Alyssum Studios."

Oh.

Disappointed, I scoot off my bed and head to my overnight bag.

Did I seriously expect him to say, "I just wanted to stay the night" or "I just wanted to kiss you"? We're friends, and that's all. I need to get that through my thick skull!

"You accidently butt-dialed me when they were, um." I hesitate. "Well, it sounded like they were hurting you. I completely freaked out and Seth suggested we go to Alyssum Studios because -"

"Seth?" Luke says. "You were with Seth?"

My heart sinks at the thought of Seth Scardina. Sighing, I sling my bag on over my shoulder and turn to Luke. "Yeah, and it's a good thing I was. He knew exactly what to do and where to go because it turns out that he actually works for I.T.I.S. They'd assigned him to pose as a cinematographer so he could get close to Amelia and then like... you know, take her in."

Luke tilts his head, confusion in his eyes. "So, you're going out with Seth," he slowly says, "who works for some guys called I.T.I.S., who are out to get Amelia Hearth?"

I can't help but imagine those guards dragging Seth to a pod, opening it, and shoving him inside. "Yeah." Half-listening and without thinking, I sink onto the bed next to Luke. I set my overnight bag down and shake my head. "And I just left him at Alyssum. I'm such an idiot. He's the one who got me to you... and I just left him. Who knows what Amelia's doing to him? You said she had you guys watch a movie that brainwashed you?" I turn to Luke and his eyes are narrowed as he looks straight ahead, his jaw tense. "Luke, are you okay?"

He sits up straighter, the bed creaking beneath him. "Yeah, I'm fine. They gave everyone something to drink before the movie. I'm thinking it was some kind of drug because no one except me noticed when metal cuffs shot out of the arms and legs of our chairs, so we couldn't move."

"Oh, my God," I whisper.

"And the movie itself was designed to make us sleepy," Luke quietly continues. "But we couldn't fall asleep, like, it's hard to explain. Basically, it made us feel like we had to keep watching it. So, all of the other extras were completely spaced out." Luke's gaze goes to the floor and a faraway look creeps into his expression.

"But you weren't?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "That's when I freaked and started demanding to know what was going on. I guess my outburst screwed up Amelia's plan because she ordered the movie to be turned off and for us all to be 'podded.' And that... podding... that was one of the scariest things that's ever happened to me."

Luke is a big guy, but at the moment he looks like a scared little boy.

I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. "You're safe now." I take a deep breath and inhale his scent. He usually smells like apple and cinnamon, but right now he smells like my jasmine-scented body wash.

I squeeze him as tightly as I can. He slides his arms around my waist and rests his head against my chest. I close my eyes, wishing I could keep him this close forever.

#

Thursday, March 1, 2015

Amelia's house

When I was a little girl, just a few months prior to my mother's death, she spent the majority of her time in bed.

She wouldn't sleep. She'd simply sit there, signing to herself in broken American Sign Language. And when she wasn't engaging herself in a one-sided conversation, she would stare at her hands. In fact, this was what she'd do most. She'd lie back on her pillow, her blonde hair a fan around her head, bring both of her hands up and just stare at them. She'd remain that way for hours.

Now, I sit in bed staring at my hands. The nails on each of my fingers are cherry red and peppered with diamond studs. They're very pretty and very fake. If someone were to strip each "fingernail" of its red, they'd see that it isn't a nail at all. Glued to the tips of each of my fingers are small gray pieces of fire-resistant steel. Once a month, I use an industrial strength binding liquid to attach the steel slivers to my fingers.

I'm not a vain woman. I don't care what my "nails" look like. But were I to parade about without these painted shards of steel and expose my natural nails to humanity, I would be gawked at. And people would feel compelled to ask questions.

Though my natural nails are as fire resistant as my hands, my ability has made them noticeably ugly. They're cracked and orange with brown spots. Batter any form of matter, its strength withstanding, and the matter will eventually warp...

I shift my attention to the cat's eye ring on my left ring-finger, my thoughts barging into the memories I typically force myself to forget... The blankness in my mother's eyes as blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Then there was my father's death: a gunshot wound to the heart, care of an overzealous I.T.I.S. agent. I watched him fall to his knees, a burst of red blossoming on his chest.

My older sister's death is less vibrant. I can't recall the look on her face when she died. I can't even remember the type of weapon Dr. Mire used. I was drugged during her murder. All I remember is Karen's dark hair - those unstylishly long bangs of hers - falling in her face as she gasped and sank to the floor.

Now, I take a steadying deep breath and run my thumb over my ring's stone.

Every member of my family has been murdered. Witnessing their deaths led to my grasp of an inescapable truth: there is no such thing as "innocent" or "good." Marking one person as "good" and another as "evil" implies that two opposing functions of behavior exist. This is not the case. We're all the same; we're all fighting to survive. We lose and die, or we win and live for another moment.

My parents and my sister lost. As painful as it was to watch them die, it clarified my perspective. It taught me that our existence is nothing more than nature struggling to endure despite its fixed course towards death. I, like the Novu and like everything else in our universe, travel this course.

I bring my left hand to my chest, covering the steady beat of my heart.

One day this heart will stop. What's already happened to my parents and sister will happen to me. I accept this, but I refuse to welcome it. After all, I am part of the storm we call nature. And within this tempest that we both inhabit and create, survival is our only goal. And in the fight to sustain one's existence, concepts such as "justice" and "innocence" become irrelevant.

Only the weak-minded cling to such moral ideals, and life is not a prize for the weak.

I lower my hand to my lap, lean back against my pillow, and close my eyes.

Still, though... deep down, there's a part of me that doesn't want Grant to share my perspective. Weak-minded idealists are happier than bloody-knuckled realists, and I'd rather Grant be happy than be like me.

My bedroom door creaks. Heat rushing to my fingertips, I open my eyes and sit up.

"It's just me," Grant says. He steps into my room and closes the door behind him.

Relaxing only slightly, I catch the inside of my cheek between my back teeth and nod a silent greeting.

His hair is neater, but his shirt is untucked. His jacket is gone and his eyes are wild, like he's seen a ghost.

He turns to me and I take a closer look at him. His eyes aren't just wild - they're harsh. I sit up straighter, my heart sinking. That look means he's done something terrible. The question is: has he murdered for the first time or has he defied me for the first time?

"I did it. He's gone," Grant says, his tone grave as he strides towards me.

I've been holding my breath. As soon as I realize this, I exhale and look down at my hands.

He did it. He killed an "innocent." I can hardly believe that...in fact, I don't believe it.

Does this mean Grant has developed the courage to lie to me?

I watch Grant take a seat beside me. He meets my eyes and brings his palm to the side of my face. He caresses my cheek and, despite my suspicion, I warm at his touch. His voice low, he says, "You were right. No one's innocent."

Grant's hand is cool against my skin, but not as cool as the chill that slinks into my heart.

"What are you saying?" I search his eyes while he continues to stroke the curve of my cheek. "Are you saying you're with me? You're on my side?"

The question has barely left my lips when he drops his hand, his face falling. "How can you ask me that when I've just killed for you?" Annoyance shading his every word, Grant speaks slowly. "This was supposed to be the beginning of us trusting each other. If what I did is going to matter at all, you have to trust me too. Can you?"

I run my tongue along the backs of my front teeth and assess him as objectively as I can. But true objectivity in this situation is difficult - perhaps even impossible.

To love someone is to allow your emotions to warp your perception of reality - a self-imposed method of thought reform.

Grant blinks back at me a hair too quickly, his bottom lip twitching.

I'm not a fool... but I am a fool. I'm such a fool.

I take a deep breath and tear my eyes away from Grant, focusing, instead, on my pink bed sheets.

Every time I look at this man, a slew of oxytocin pushes its way through my body and gives me a high I haven't asked for. That's what love is, a chemical reaction. And in such a state, I almost start to believe in "good," "evil," "justice" and everything else that doesn't exist. I start to believe because a part of me wants it to exist for him. I want Grant to live in a world where he doesn't have to fight to survive. He deserves better ...and even though I know he's lying to me right now, I want him to have better.

That's not exactly trust, but it is love. That much, I'm sure of.

My eyes still on my sheets, I cover Grant's hand with mine and wrap my fingers around his. "You have my heart." I give his hand a squeeze.

"Amelia, look at me."

I do.

The wildness has left his eyes, and now all I see is sadness.

"I love you." His voice is barely above a whisper. "I hope you know that."

"I do."

I lean forward and Grant slides his arms around me in a hug. I close my eyes and bury my face in his chest.

If we're a storm, then maybe love is the eye - and maybe it's the one place where ideals really do exist.

#

Serenity Bayous Mental Hospital

My feet dangle off the edge of Betty's bed as I finish painting her fingernails. I'm on her pinky. The color I'm using is called Stop Sign Red.

I wish I'd grabbed a different color. Every time I look at the bright red, it reminds me of that Alyssum guard's head wound and the horribly gushing blood ...

At the thought of it, I stop talking to Betty.

This keeps happening during our conversation. I keep thinking of the blood and having to pause.

I take a deep breath, close the nail polish and set it beside me on the bed before returning my attention to Betty's probing gaze.

"So, what happened next?" she urges.

"Next? Um, I brought Luke home and got him warm," I say, still distracted as I try to shake the gruesome image from my thoughts. "But Seth's still at Alyssum Studios and so are all those people Amelia kidnapped. They're frozen in these pod container things. And... I don't know, maybe now Seth's frozen too."

I imagine Seth, asleep in one of the cryopods: ice in his hair and his eyes tightly shut. My stomach turns and I sigh.

"My goodness." Betty closes her eyes. "This is even worse than I imagined."

"Really?" I watch her open her eyes. Though she's much older than her brother, and she's got the wrinkles to prove it, sometimes she looks exactly like him. They especially resemble one another when she's worried and frowning. At the moment, she definitely looks like him.

She nods. "Much worse."

"Do you have any idea why Amelia Hearth is doing this?" I ask. "Or how we can stop her?"

"Well..." Betty glances at the television before returning her attention to me. "I told you that my daughter is one of the Novu."

I nod.

"She comes to earth every now and then. And during her last visit she warned me that she and her people - the Novu -want Earth for themselves." Betty moistens her chapped lips. "She said they'll do anything to get it. The thing is, it won't take much."

"Are they really that strong?" I ask.

"I'll put it this way: when two Novu fight, just two of them, it causes an earthquake."

My hair stands on end as I consider this. Mutant aliens called Novu want to take over the Earth. Okay. That's...horrible.

I frown.

But what does that have to do with Amelia Hearth kidnapping people?

"Did you see the news today?" Betty asks, pointing to the television.

I shake my head.

"There was an earthquake this afternoon," Betty says.

I sit up straighter and give her my full attention. "An earthquake? Here?"

"Yes. It happened at South Louisiana High School, where there's no underground fault and no record of an earthquake ever having occurred. No one understands why it happened."

"But, Betty, that doesn't mean -"

"There was also a Novu sighting at South Louisiana High School," she says, cutting me off and looking me in the eye, her gaze sharp. "My nephew's best friend claims he saw an alien - a flying girl - at the school. That can only mean one thing - the Novu are here."

My heart pounds. "Okay," I say with a gulp. "So, what do we do?"

"Don't you get it?" Betty leans forward. "This explains why Amelia kidnapped your friend and why she's abducting all of those innocent people and forcing them to become mindless drones with some sort of super strength. She's trying to build an army strong enough to defend us from the Novu."

I stare at Betty, processing this.

"So," I slowly reply as my thoughts drift to the rows upon rows of cryopods in Alyssum's basement, "you're saying Amelia's not just some psychopath. You're saying she's trying to protect us?"

"No," Betty says with a cackle. I wince at the dry sound. It could easily belong to an evil witch in a Disney movie.

"But, I thought you said -"

"If there's anyone Amelia's protecting," Betty continues, "it's herself. And these people you say she's taken, it's too late for them. They're dead. Fighting the Novu is a suicide mission."

"Oh." I think of Seth and panic washes over me.

"Not to mention that Amelia's experimenting with their DNA and that never ends well." Betty nods to her bedroom door. "Look at what happened to poor Adam Freeman. Have you met him yet?"

"Adam Freeman?" My jumbled thoughts dart to Mr. Freeman's son. "What do you mean 'have I met him?' He's dead."

Betty's eyes widen and she lifts one of her bony fingers. She waves it in my face and arches one of her thick, gray eyebrows. "Or maybe I.T.I.S. wants everyone to think Adam Freeman's dead. After all, wouldn't that be better than letting the public see what their experiments have done to him?"

All I can do is stare at her in shock.

She nods. "That's right, Gina. Adam is very much alive."

"You're sure about that?" I finally manage to sputter.

"One hundred percent." Betty nods to the door. "Once my nails dry, I'll let you see for yourself."

WE SNEAK OUR way into a wing of Serenity Bayous that looks and smells nothing like the pristine and bleach-infused corridor where Betty's room is.

Instead, this hallway is dark with dirty tile floors that look like they haven't been cleaned in years. The smell of urine hits my nose and I gag.

But even worse than the stench of urine and the sight of the dirty floors are the noises - moans and outright screams emerge from the occupants of the rooms on either side of us.

"What is this place?" I whisper as I turn my camera on. I point it at Betty and wait for her response.

She moves slowly, walking very carefully, as if she's making sure not to fall. She's quite a sight. With her frizzy white hair sticking up every which way, she looks like a female Einstein.

"This is where Serenity Bayous, or I.T.I.S., keeps the experimental patients," Betty says without turning to look at my camera. "And it's where I'd be if I didn't have family who came to check on me regularly. Oh, I hear someone coming."

So far, we've only encountered one orderly and that was back on Betty's hall. I told him she was restless and I'd decided to take her for a walk down the corridor. He didn't seem to care. But now, Betty grabs my hand and nods to a fork in the hallway ahead.

I keep the camera on, but hold it at my chest.

This shot will be shaky, but it's better than nothing.

"There are showers just ahead and on the right," Betty whispers. "We'll hide in there."

I worry she won't be able to run fast enough, but Betty hurries ahead of me with surprising speed. I guess I shouldn't be surprised: according to her sister-in-law, Betty's become a pro at escaping from this place.

We make our way to a cluster of dirty shower stalls that sit right splat in the middle of the hallway, dividing it in two. They smell of mold and my stomach turns at the odor. I try to ignore my discomfort as we dart into the nearest stall.

Two pairs of footsteps sound a few feet away. I turn my camera off and try not to make a sound. The last thing I want is for us to be discovered.

"Is Monster asleep yet?" a female voice asks. It sounds like she's smacking on gum.

"Like a baby. The trick is to give him coffee. He's got a thing for it. Give him even just a sip and it calms him down, helps him get to sleep. I'm going to tell the orderlies so they'll stop asking us to come around every time he throws a fit," an oddly familiar male voice replies.

"Monster is Adam,'" Betty whispers. She rolls her eyes. "That's what they call him."

As the voices fade into the distance, I peek out of the shower stall and down the hallway. Two police officers saunter away, their backs to us. One is a woman, her dark hair pulled into a bun and the other is a tall, red-headed man.

"Oh, my God." I duck back into our dingy shower stall and face Betty. "Those were the same police officers I saw earlier today- with the glowing eyes!"

She nods. "When Adam gets cranky and the orderlies can't handle him, I.T.I.S. calls their cops in to help. The cops have strength abilities that make them better equipped to handle Adam."

"That's right," I say, recalling Seth's explanation of the officer's glow-in-the-dark eyes. "The police are I.T.I.S. mutants."

"Not all of them, of course. But I.T.I.S. has plants everywhere: with the police, the local government, anywhere important. Look at the eyes. If the eyes glow in the dark, then you're looking at an I.T.I.S. mutant. If the eyes sparkle and change color in the light, then you're face to face with a Novu." Betty steps out of the stall and waves me forward. "Come on."

I follow her, silently dealing with the fact that right under my nose, there's been this entire world that I hadn't even realized existed.

With a firm grasp on my camera, I continue on...what else have I overlooked for the past twenty-two years of my life? Apparently, there's a ton of stuff that I've been completely ignorant of. That's scary, but in a way, it's all right...

I grin as Betty takes us on a series of twists and turns through dark hallways.

...maybe it's weird of me to view it this way, but it's actually exciting to realize that Swamp Rose has so many secrets. Sure, it's hella unsettling and sad, but it's also exciting.

I soon find myself following Betty into a dimly lit spherical room that looks like a storage space.

In the far corner of the room is an exit door, which, in comparison with the rest of its dingy environment, looks brand spanking new.

"There are cameras in this room," Betty whispers. "But the guards are lax. I can't tell you how many times I've waltzed through that back door, cameras on me and all. And no one noticed for hours. So, we should be safe for at least a few minutes."

"Okay," I say as I turn around to get a good look at our surroundings.

This space almost reminds me of Nonno's garage where he used to work on his carpentry. Of course, this room's walls aren't littered with half-formed cabinets or unfinished tables and chairs, instead they contain crates and cardboard boxes labeled "uniforms," "weapons," and the like.

In the center of the junky room is a large, solid-looking storage pod. It's the kind most people use to store lawn equipment.

As I approach the small structure, it's clear that this is more sophisticated than your average storage pod. It's made of a thick and sturdy metal that looks like steel and contains a key card lock like the one on the door to Betty's room.

"Is Adam in here?" I ask.

"Yeah." Betty starts for the pod and points to its roof. "There's a window up top." She heads for a pile of storage crates to the right of the pod. I follow her as she nods to them. "Stand on these."

"Okay." I do as told, but once I'm on the crates, I'm still too short to see through the storage pod's window.

"See him?" Betty asks.

"Not yet." I shift my weight to my tiptoes and, wobbling a bit, hurry to regain my balance. As soon as I do, a sleeping figure comes into view. But it doesn't look... human.

I gasp. "Oh, my God."

Adam is green. Like, he's literally alligator green. And his skin isn't smooth, it's scaly. I could be seeing things wrong, because he's stretched out on a bed, but it looks like he even has a tail.

"Are you sure that's him?" I whisper, staring at the sleeping figure.

"Yes," Betty says from behind me. "And he's a very sweet boy, but I.T.I.S. subjected him to one too many an experiment. They completely restructured his DNA, destroyed parts of his brain, and damaged nearly every physical attribute that made him human."

Tears blur my vision. "That's horrible."

I can't just stand here and cry. I have to do something. I have to get I.T.I.S. back for what they've done.

I turn my camera on and capture a shaky shot of Adam Freeman.

"It is horrible, but that's what I.T.I.S. does," Betty says. "And now Amelia's following in their footsteps. She's stealing her victim's free will and turning them into something they're not."

I shut down my camera and, stepping off the crate, I assess Adam's tiny living quarters. This is where Mr. Freeman's son is forced to spend nearly every waking moment of his life?

"We have to get him out of here," I say, glancing at the key card lock on the pod's door.

"Yes, but how? And once he's out, where would he go?" Betty retorts.

I turn to Betty, considering this.

She's right. We can't bring him to the police, because some of the police work for I.T.I.S. And if we brought Adam home, would Mr. Freeman even recognize him?

"I don't know," I confess. "Maybe after we rescue the people Amelia's kidnapped and everything comes to light, maybe there can be some kind of rehabilitation place for the victims. I'm sure the government would set that up."

Betty gives me a funny look, amusement in her eyes.

Self-conscious, I shift on my feet. "Okay, so I guess that's a bad idea then?"

"No, no." She grins. "You're just young and idealistic."

"Is that a nice way of saying, 'You're young and stupid'?"

"It's a compliment," Betty replies as she starts for the hallway and beckons for me to follow. "Don't let reality chip away at your idealism."

I turn around and, lifting my camera, grab one last shot of the storage pod Adam calls home before following Betty out of the room. I fall in stride beside her. "Don't let reality chip away at it? That's a little depressing."

Betty smiles. "Maybe, but it's good advice. Being an idealist is great, but it takes courage. You have to be brave." When Betty turns away from me, I steal another peek at her.

She definitely looks crazy, with her wild white hair and dark beady eyes. But I think she might be the sanest person I've ever known. She's not afraid to read the signs other people ignore, and she's not afraid to believe in the impossible. She trusts her instincts, she also sees people for who they are, and she isn't blinded by her emotions.

I wish I were more like her.

As we make our way through Serenity Bayous' winding hallways, ducking in and out of doorways, I silently repeat Betty's advice.

It takes courage. You have to be brave.

I continue to turn this advice over in my head as we exit the dilapidated hallway and open the door that leads to the much nicer corridor where Betty's room is located.

"You have to be brave," I whisper as we step into the smell of bleach and suddenly come face to face with a blonde woman whose startlingly blue eyes pierce mine. I gasp in surprise and hurriedly move my camera underneath my sweater.

"You have to be brave?" the woman repeats with a smile, her eyebrows going up in what appears to be amusement. "That's always good advice."

I take an unsteady step back, my pulse racing while I try to summon some sort of excuse. "I'm so sorry...I...was trying to -"

"No need to explain." The woman chuckles. I clamp my mouth shut and smile, relieved. She points to a badge hanging from the collar of her long white lab coat. "I've worked here for a long time and I know that Betty here is prone to escaping."

The woman arches an eyebrow at Betty, but retains her pleasant grin.

Betty rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at her. The lady's eyes widen in amusement and she laughs. Her open body language and all-around normality instantly relax me. She seems super nice.

"Right. She got out of her room again. I'm just glad she didn't get too far this time," I agree and glance at the woman's badge, which tells me that her name is Dr. Claire Hawke and that she's Serenity Bayous' head psychiatrist. "Hawke," I say, pointing to her badge and snapping my fingers. "I'm a substitute teacher at South Louisiana High and there's a student in one of my classes, a really brilliant artist, in fact, whose last name is Hawke. He's got a funny nickname, if I could just remember it..."

Dr. Hawke's grin widens. "You must mean my son Randall. The kids call him Ran."

"Yeah!" I exclaim. "He's an excellent artist! You must be so proud of him."

She nods. "Yes. As egotistical as that may sound, my husband and I are very proud of Ran. So, you must be the new film and television teacher he was telling me about? I was glad to hear they finally found someone to replace Ms. Blanchard."

"Yeah -" I start to continue when Betty, beside me, clears her throat. I glance at her in surprise. I honestly forgot that she was even standing here. Returning my attention to Dr. Hawke, I say, "I'm so sorry, but I'd better get Ms. Betty back to her room. Her brother and sister-in-law asked me to make sure she gets her rest at night. That's why I'm here. I watch her at night, and clearly I don't quite have the hang of my job yet."

Dr. Hawke smiles. "You'll be fine. Betty's a stealthy one. We call her our in-house escape artist."

"I can see why." I chuckle. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Dr. Hawke. And I'm Gina, by the way."

"Pleasure to meet you, Gina. And please, call me Claire." She extends a hand and we shake on this.

"Okay, see you around, Claire." I release her hand and start down the hall with Betty at my side.

"Keep an eye on our little escape artist, she's a slippery one!" Claire calls over her shoulder.

"I will." I laugh and then turn to Betty, gently nudging her with my elbow as I whisper, "Thank God there are at least some nice people around here, right?"

Betty says not a word in reply, only arches an eyebrow and pinches her lips together more tightly.

As we approach the door to her room, Betty glances down the hallway, making sure no one's watching before retrieving a stolen keycard from under her gown and using it to unlock her door. She opens the door and once we step into her room, says, "Claire Hawke is the head of I.T.I.S."

My jaw drops as I turn to Betty.

She pads to her bed and gets in.

"Shut. Up!" I exclaim, pointing to the hallway. "You're telling me that super chill lady is behind everything I.T.I.S. is doing? Wait, oh my God! Does that mean she's a mutant? Was I talking to another mutant just now?"

"No, Gina." Betty sighs while she pulls her sheet up to her chest, getting comfortable. "Claire isn't a mutant. Not everyone associated with I.T.I.S. is a mutant. And Claire isn't behind everything I.T.I.S. has done. She started working for them long after Program Novus was initiated. Like me when I started working for these people, Claire was just a kid who had no idea what she was getting herself into."

"But you said she's the head now," I say. "If she's so innocent, then why doesn't she put a stop to what I.T.I.S. is doing?"

"It's not like Claire can go back in time and stop what her predecessors have done," Betty says, turning to me. "And if my daughter knew who the head of I.T.I.S. was, she wouldn't sit down with her to draw up some kind of plan for peace, she'd kill Claire without a second thought. That's why Claire feels as though she has to protect herself, which is why she's continuing to experiment on Adam and the other test subjects here. Like Amelia, Claire is struggling to find ways to defend herself - and our entire planet - from the Novu."

I blink, slowly lowering myself to Betty's couch and setting my camera beside me. Betty watches me as she says, "Claire always tells me that all she's doing is damage control. That's what her job is."

"Do you believe that?" I ask. "That now, all I.T.I.S. is doing is damage control?"

Betty laughs and shakes her head. "Gina," she says, her eyes growing heavy with sleep. She yawns. "If there's one thing we idealists can't afford, its naivety."

My chest tightening, I look down at my camera. "So, now we have to first of all, stop Amelia from brainwashing, like, a third of our town's population." I return my attention to Betty. "Secondly, we have to stop the Novu from invading Earth, and on top of that, we have to stop I.T.I.S. from experimenting on innocent people."

Betty sighs closes her eyes. "We just have to brave."

#

Lyla and Gina's Apartment

"...cut to a shot of a lone tree. It's short and all of its branches have been shorn..." My head propped up on Gina's pillow, I turn the page of her handwritten notes in a notebook labeled, "Random Ideas." It was sitting on the edge of her nightstand and I couldn't resist.

"Hey." Lyla's voice sounds in the doorway and I look up. With her short hair all slicked back and her green eyes free of makeup, she's more beautiful than I've ever seen.

"Hi." I hesitate and then give her a smile, which feels beyond weird. "Thank you, for earlier."

Apparently, Lyla's as uncertain as I am because she lingers in the doorway, shifting on her feet while she shrugs. "So." She takes a slow step forward, like she's afraid to come in. "Everything Gina said, about Amelia Hearth kidnapping you and all - it's true?"

I set Gina's notebook on the bed and nod.

The fuzzy memory of what happened at Alyssum Studios has already sunken in. So, as crazy as it may be, I'm not all that shocked anymore. What's really strange is seeing Lyla Karlsson act tentative.

I can't help but grin as I wave her in. "Come on in, you don't have any reason to be shy. You're not the fat guy who people just saw naked."

This earns me a smile and Lyla tightens her robe around her as she heads to the foot of Gina's bed. Sitting, she makes herself comfortable and looks at me from below her thick lashes. "You have nothing to be worried about, Luke. Trust me when I say that Gina more than liked what she saw."

My breath hitches in my chest and my skin warms to what I'm going to go ahead and assume is a lobster-like color.

"Right." I link my fingers together and look down at them. "Even if that were true, she's with Seth and... and... did she really say that? About me?"

I glance up to find Lyla's smile gone and her eyes softened in sadness. Oh God...

I tense, mentally preparing myself for tears.

This is part of what scares me about Lyla. I have no idea where her emotions come from. I know they travel through her at somewhere near light speed, and that when they hit, they hit hard. I also know that they change direction on a dime. But where they come from and what causes them is beyond my comprehension.

"No." Lyla shakes her head. "Gina was surprisingly decent, making sure you were covered and everything, but I could tell she just..." Lyla shakes her head a second time and a fleeting look of agitation appears in her expression. "Luke, Gina's not with Seth right now. And even if she were, it wouldn't change the fact that she's in love with you. She's been in love with you since high school."

Hope surges through me like a sugar rush. Nearly dizzy, I sit up straighter. "What do you mean? I thought -"

Lyla lifts a hand to silence me. "Why do you think I broke up with you? Do you remember what I told you?"

I lean back and focus on Lyla, my eyes narrowing. There's no way a guy could forget something like that.

"After we..." I glance down at Gina's blankets, searching for the right word. "After we made love, I asked you if you were okay and you punched me in the nose."

"Not that," Lyla murmurs, her cheeks reddening. "I mean, what did I say? Do you remember that part?"

I watch her in surprise. She's actually embarrassed by what she did? I didn't realize Lyla Karlsson was capable of embarrassment.

"If I remember correctly..." I pause to clear my throat and Lyla looks at me like I'm the world's biggest prick. Shrugging, I say, "You said, and I quote, 'I can't compete with a fantasy, you douchebag. Get out of my room and if you ever touch me again, I will literally saw off your balls.'"

She flinches. "Okay, well. I apologize for the delivery, and for... punching you."

"Yeah, it wasn't a fun way to lose my virginity."

Lyla glares at me in disdain, but I can tell she's uncomfortable because she shifts in her spot on Gina's bed.

I bite back a smile. "Nah, it's not a big deal. It was a long time ago."

Lyla waves me off and, her posture straightening, she clasps her hands together. "I said all of that because, after we made love and it wasn't what I...well, I could just tell that no matter what I did, I'd never really have you. I couldn't compete with your feelings for Gina. It was obvious that you liked her. And it was even more obvious that she liked you."

I sift through my high school memories of Gina: our conversations on the gym bleachers, our frequent walks to Coffee Etc's, our lazy Sunday's at her grandparents' house... sure there'd been more than a few awkward moments of silent staring, the air riddled with sexual tension, sometimes even lingering touches. But after careful consideration, I'd come to the conclusion that while the feelings were real on my part, I was imagining them on Gina's behalf.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Her head down, she nods. "Why do you think I moved all the way to New York?" As Lyla looks up, I can see that her pretty green eyes are filled with tears. Shivers run down my arms. Please don't let her start crying.

I hesitate and then ask, "Why?"

"Luke, you two are meant for each other. It's obvious." Lyla blinks the tears away and unclasping her hands, she traces one of her eyebrows with her index finger, glancing at me as a thin cloak of embarrassment falls over her features. "You're that quiet steadiness Gina needs and she's the passionate - sometimes annoyingly so - ray of freaking sunshine you need."

I stare at Lyla in disbelief. As often as I've entertained this exact same thought about me and Gina, I never expected to hear it from Lyla.

"But you're both such cowards when it comes to facing your feelings. I mean, God! Luke, after this..." Lyla shakes her head. "I mean, come on. After everything that went down today - if Seth gets out of that place, you cannot let him be with Gina! She's on a downward spiral with all the guys she's with and the way she drinks. She doesn't need to be with some arrogant, gun-wielding mutant bounty hunter or whatever he is. What she needs most, is you."

My mouth goes dry and I take a deep breath.

"Luke." Lyla's voice is unexpectedly soft and I look up, meeting her eyes. "Gina saved your life. Now it's your turn. That's what soulmates do - they save each other."

Her words ring in my ears as I nod and look down at my hands. Soulmates?

Earlier, right here in this bed, Gina stared at my hands, seemingly mesmerized, and even kissed them. But when I tried to kiss her back, she didn't react the way a soulmate would. She acted like I'd repulsed her.

"Are you sure?" I ask again.

Lyla groans and throws her head back in frustration. "You know what? I'm done. If you love her, save her. That's all I'm going to say. It's your choice, Luke!" With this, Lyla flounces off the bed and leaves Gina's room, slamming the door behind her.

I stare at the closed door, hope unfurling in my gut. But it isn't alone. I'm an anxious guy, which means that my hope is always fused with doubt.

Still though, Lyla's right about one thing: if I care about Gina, I'll look after her and I'll "save her" if it comes to that.

#

South Louisiana High School

At the sound of the bell, I clasp my hands together and turn to face my students. "Bye, guys, have a great weekend." As a few kids return my goodbye, my gaze goes to Randall Hawke's empty chair. "And if anyone sees Ran later, would you let him know he has homework for this class?"

I might hate the kid's monster of a mother, but I won't let him fail my class. He's way too talented for that.

"Sure," Meagan pipes up as she grabs her books and heads to the classroom door. "I'll tell his girlfriend at cheer practice. She'll probably go see him after school."

"Thanks, Meagan." I give her a smile, which, in turn makes her beam. She exits my classroom with the stream of students and I watch her, wondering if that's what I look like to other people. So eager-to-please and always smiling with a desperate look in my eyes.

Sighing, I grab my purse from my desk.

I know I'm a creative person and I know that sometimes creativity works hand in hand with courage. But I'm definitely not courageous. When Seth needed me, what did I do? I ran away.

I bite down on my bottom lip, guilt tossing my stomach.

What if Amelia turns Seth into some mutant monster, like she did to Adam Freeman? And those other people she's kidnapped... obviously, that's what she's going to do to them. I can't just sit here and let that happen.

I pause at my classroom door, heaviness creeping into my chest. I turn to the posters that decorate the classroom walls and my gaze stops at Amelia Hearth's.

She stands with her arms crossed, her nostrils flared, and an arrogant smirk on her lips. One of her blonde eyebrows is arched as she looks down at the camera. The caption under her picture says, "A good filmmaker manipulates her audience into believing the impossible."

Manipulates...

I shake my head in disgust and glare at Amelia's haughty little smirk.

Manipulates is exactly what that woman does. She's a psychotic control freak. Who else would plan to turn a third of Swamp Rose's residents into mutant zombie-soldiers?

I really cannot let that happen. But there's no way I can stop her on my own. I'm nobody. It's not like I have superpowers... but I do know someone who might.

An idea lighting up my brain, I rush out of my classroom and run through South Louisiana High's halls. Ignoring the talking students who saunter past me, I make a beeline for Karin Greenich's classroom.

What I'm about to do might be beyond dumb, but my gut tells me it isn't. In fact, my gut is telling me that Karin Greenich is Unseen. And if anyone can stop Amelia Hearth, Unseen can.

Before I know it, I'm in front of Karin's classroom door.

My mouth dry and a sick feeling in my gut, I silently repeat Betty's advice. We just have to be brave, we just have to be brave...

I take a deep breath, open the classroom door, and pause, surprised.

Karin's at her teacher's podium, her hands politely clasped in front of her. And she isn't alone. Andy Moretti stands in front of her. They're in the middle of, what appears to be, an intense conversation. But Karin is looking at me expectantly - like she knew I was coming.

Andy keeps talking; she hasn't even heard me open the door.

"... know something's going on! People don't just disappear!" Andy exclaims. In contrast to Karin's calm demeanor, the wild-haired kid gestures enthusiastically and talks a mile a minute. "...you have to -" Andy finally notices that Karin is no longer paying attention to her and she stops midsentence. Andy turns to see what's caught Karin's attention.

I shift on my feet, uncomfortable. She and Karin are both staring at me.

"I'm here becau -" I start, but Andy interrupts me.

The kid breaks into a grin and points to me. "Perfect timing, Ms. Gina!" She turns back to Karin and says, "Ms. Gina knows! She'll back up every word I've said."

Karin arches an eyebrow and lifts a hand, shushing Andy.

My nerves give way to fascination: With that arched eyebrow, Karin Greenich looks exactly like Amelia Hearth.

Well, not exactly. Amelia's younger, has a fairer complexion, and different coloring... but when Karin looks annoyed - like she does right now - there's no denying her resemblance to Amelia.

Oh, my God!

I stare at Karin, my mouth falling open.

She frowns. "I'm sorry, yes, Gina? Can I help you with something?"

Excitement bears down on me, so much so that I can barely speak and I suddenly kind of have to pee. "Yes, you can," I breathlessly say. And despite the serious situation, I nearly laugh because I finally get it! I finally understand exactly what's going on!

All those years ago, Amelia's older sister wasn't killed by I.T.I.S., she escaped. Amelia Hearth and Karin Greenich are sisters.

I step into Karin's classroom and get a huge whiff of Louisiana Alyssum. Steadying myself, I close Karin's door behind me. "I know that your name is Karen Lyles and that you can't remember anything about your past."

Karin blanches, her eyes widening while Andy gasps and points to me, snapping her fingers as she exclaims, "Yes! That makes so much sense! She's not Tessa, she's Tessa's sister! Holy -"

"Let me finish, Andy." I make my way to Karin, whose gone pale and is staring at me in what seems to be shock. "Karin, I just found out that you have a sister and right now, she's here in Swamp Rose, hurting innocent people. One of these people is my friend and I need you to help me get him back. If you help me, I'll tell you everything about your past."

Karin stares at me, her eyes searching mine so intensely that I feel exposed, like she can see my every thought.

This is exactly what happened the first time I met her, but this time I don't care because I don't have anything to hide.

"You save people every day. You're Unseen," I say. Karin backs away from me, her face falling as she lowers herself to the edge of her desk. "And right now, there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of people who need your help. I can't save them on my own."

"Thousands of people?" Andy whispers from behind me. "What are you talking about?"

"These people... Amelia's holding them in Alyssum Studios?" Karin finally asks, her voice low, her dark eyes grave as they meet mine.

I nod, surprised that she knows even this much. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised. She's Unseen. She knows a lot more about this I.T.I.S./mutant stuff than I do.

Karin glances at Andy before returning her attention to me. "Okay."

"Okay?" I breathlessly repeat.

Karin nods. "Okay, I'm in."

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Today, at some point, an alien woman from Novus will make an attempt on my life.

Despite the gravity of this situation, this morning I slept in. It was as if I didn't have a care in the world. I woke at a quarter past ten and stared at my ceiling for exactly five minutes. I then stared at my hands for another ten. This was followed by easing out of bed and poking around the house, searching for some sign of my boyfriend's whereabouts. There were none.

Hoping to find Grant at work, I drifted in to Alyssum at eleven forty-five.

Grant's car was not in the parking lot.

Now, though, my situation is beginning to sink in. And, I feel like a fool.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I moisten my lips and ignore the yammering freckled-face guard who stopped me as soon as I stepped off the elevator and into the basement.

What he's saying is important, but so is this situation with Grant.

The young guard's monotone voice is mere background noise as I turn to the empty Thought Reform Theater. I stare into the deserted room, thinking about what happened here just yesterday... the moment when Grant stepped into this room and found me in the midst of my project.

Shame washes over me. I shift on my feet.

I shouldn't feel shame. What I'm doing isn't wrong.

Grant is the one who can't be trusted. He's a depressed idealist, meaning he's incapable of thinking rationally. Idealists "think" with their emotions; they're the ones who resort to the extreme - they're the ones who cause problems. And if Grant becomes a problem...

I take a deep breath.

... if he gets in the way of my plans, I'll have to do whatever it takes to subdue him.

"Amelia, are you unwell?" the freckled face guard asks.

"No." My gaze still on the darkened theater, I quietly reply, "My mind is elsewhere, but I'm listening. Continue."

I know Grant doesn't like what I'm doing, and I know he wasn't telling the truth about having killed that man. But does he really have the courage to try and stop me from sending my soldiers to Novus?

I run my tongue along the backs of my front teeth and shift on my feet.

For Grant's sake, I hope he doesn't have that kind of courage.

"Yes, Amelia." The guard takes a step forward, which sends his rank breath wafting my way. "So, what shall we do with him?"

Wrinkling my nose, I propel myself above the air current that his breath seems to be riding. I turn my attention to the bruised young man who this guard and his companion hold between them. Apparently, the man was caught breaking into Alyssum last night.

"Why was he held captive? And why wasn't I notified?" I demand.

"Grant Carr was present at the time of the break-in," the guard says. As soon as he says Grant's name, I freeze.

"Grant Carr?" I slowly repeat.

"Yes, Amelia," he continues. "Grant ordered that the man be held captive. Grant said he spoke on your behalf."

My breath catching in my throat, I lower my feet to the floor. Is this young man a part of some ridiculous strategy that Grant's concocted? Impossible. The depressed man who I've been living with for all these years wouldn't have the courage to defy me.

Narrowing my eyes, I assess the intruder.

Despite his two black eyes, he's good looking with long dark hair, pale blue eyes, and high Slavic cheekbones above a nicely shaped nose... but there's something else about him, something disturbing that I can't quite put my finger on.

"Where," I turn my attention to my guard, "did you say you found him?"

"In the cryo-containment room. We believe he was accompanied by a companion, a female, who escaped."

"So, he came with a friend." I return my attention to the captive and realize that what's making me uncomfortable is his familiarity - I know this man. I don't know how. But I've definitely seen him before.

"Yes, Amelia."

"And he was carrying a chiatum weapon?" I cross my arms, assessing the captive's wrinkled gray shirt and black pants.

"Yes, Amelia. We assume this implies his status as an I.T.I.S. agent."

I exhale, relieved.

So, I am correct. This has nothing to do with Grant. This man is one of Claire Hawke agents, meaning it's Claire who's attempting to thwart my plan.

I position myself in front of the captive until he and I are eye to eye.

"Who are you?" I ask, my gaze going to his exquisitely shaped lips. A nagging feeling burns my gut. I know I've seen this mouth a thousand times before - but where? How do I know him?

As the young man's dark eyebrows meet in an insolent frown, a surge of dread pulses through me.

I uncross my arms. "Answer me."

"How about you answer me?" The man's upper lip curls and his eyes darken with anger. My guards reaffirm their grips on his arms. "Who are you?"

Heat rushing to my fingertips, I lift my chin. "I suggest that instead of asking me questions, you answer mine." To emphasize the gravity of his situation, I lift my left hand and let sparks shoot from all five of my fingers.

His eyes widen and follow the tiny embers as they fall to the cement.

"Who are you," I calmly ask, "and why did Claire Hawke send you?"

"Claire told me to shadow you," he says, his blue eyes still following the sparks that jump from my fingers. "She wanted me to see what you were up to."

"Well, that's a blatant breach of our contract. Looks like I'll have to destroy I.T.I.S. after all." I tsk. "Tell me your name."

"How about I give you my sister's name?" He turns his attention to me with a slow smile. Handsome as he is, with his two black eyes, the man currently resembles a human raccoon. "Her name was Julia." He leans forward and a lock of his jet black hair falls onto his forehead. "Julia Scardina."

I frown.

Julia Scardina? I haven't heard that name since childhood... Julia was my sister's best friend.

"That's not possible." My pulse accelerating, I turn to my guards. "I want this man asleep and podded with the others."

"This isn't what I.T.I.S. did to you, Tessa," the man says. I wince at the sound of her name. "You've always been like this. I remember you when we were kids. You've always been a monster."

"Why are you still standing here? Get him podded!" I shout and point to a dark-skinned guard at my right, sending a stream of sparks his way. The weak sparks fall to the cement and disappear as the guard does as told.

I watch them drag away the young man, whose name I suddenly recall as Seth Scardina. I shout after them. "If he resists, kill him."

I need to speak to Claire immediately. I need to understand what's happening...

I turn on my heel, headed to the elevator, my hands and fingers aching with heat.

Claire told me that under Dr. Mire's direction, I.T.I.S. erased the memories of everyone in Peake. Everyone who used to know me shouldn't be able to remember me, so Seth Scardina must have gotten away. But how?

I take a steadying deep breath, reach out, and press the elevator's up arrow.

I need to calm down and focus. What happened fifteen years ago doesn't matter. It's the present that matters.

With this, I force my thoughts back to the most important issue at hand - Moira's arrival. I still don't have the number of soldiers she'd requested. Shaking my head at my own incompetence, I cross my arms and frown into the elevator doors.

If my issues with Grant hadn't been clouding my judgment -

"Amelia." Running footsteps sound behind me as the elevator doors open in front of me. "Amelia, there has been a problem in cryo-containment."

Sighing, I turn around and the dark-skinned guard, short and slender with lifeless brown eyes, is running toward me.

"What now?"

"When we brought the captive to the cryochamber, we saw that the guards who were on duty last night were killed and that the Adam's Serum is missing." He comes to a halt before me and as I listen in horror, my gaze goes to the cryo-containment room behind him. "In addition to this, the podded sleepers to whom the serum was administered, were unable to receive a full dose. Their mutation was, therefore, only half-effective."

"Half-effective," I repeat, propelling myself up and flying down the hall. I duck into the cryo-containment room, speed past Seth Scardina, who's already sedated and being podded, and lower myself before one of the pods that should contain a mutated sleeper soldier.

My heart pounding, I peer into the glass window and see a sleeping creature that looks nothing like Adam Freeman.

"No!" My hands curl into fists and heat flees from my fingertips as I shout, "This cannot be happening! Why is this happening?!"

I glance at four lifeless bodies, all of them clad in Alyssum uniforms, and then turn to the two guards who've stopped what they were doing to stare at me with emotionless eyes.

"I had a plan!" I say to the freckled-face guard who nods and confirms in a monotone voice that yes, I did have a plan. "Shut up! Just shut up!"

I kick the nearest cryopod and a stream of pain promptly shoots from my big toe all the way up to my ankle. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. "Wake up one of the podded subjects and let's see if it has any abilities at all. Any abilities are better than none. And get more guards down here to dispose of the dead."

I should've had more security posted here last night, especially in light of the fluctuating electricity. I should've stayed to personally oversee the administration of the Adam's Serum. This is what happens when love clouds your judgment - you don't think. Wait a minute...

I open my eyes, my thoughts returning to the wild look in Grant's eyes last night when he said he "did it."

Now I understand.

Apparently, Grant wasn't lying when he said he "did it."

He did this... he found his bravery and he ruined my entire plan.

"You." I point to one of my guards and he turns to me. A hollow, sinking feeling building in my stomach. "Find Grant Carr and bring him to me."

#

The outskirts of Swamp Rose, Louisiana

I used to think there was a specific age at which people were supposed to stop being excited about life. Because, for most of my friends, this seemed to happen sometime between their twelfth and fourteenth birthdays. So, I assumed this was normal and that I was abnormal. I'd watch my friends ditch their wide-eyed wonder and replace it with various states of boredom and I'd attempt to imitate them because I wanted to fit in. But the truth was that from birth to sixteen, I never stopped being excited about life.

And then seventeen happened. Grandpa had a fatal heart attack only months before Grandma's terminal illness claimed her, and that's also around the time when most of my closest friends moved away to college. That's when life lost its luster; every day became a beige repetition of yesterday, existing only to blend in with tomorrow.

It's actually been that way for a while now. Of course, I smile and I pretend to be happy because no one wants to be around some sullen chick with the frown of a perpetually constipated walrus. But to be honest, the other day when Lyla exploded and said I'd changed, she hit the nail on the head.

I haven't wanted to admit it, but ever since seventeen, I've been in such a deep depression that I haven't even been able to see that I'm depressed. For the past five years, I've been trying to drive while my mind's been stuck in neutral.

But now... today, my mind is finally beginning to shift gears...

"Gina!" Karin shouts from behind me. "I can see that you're very happy and I appreciate that, but would you please stop screaming?"

I stop jumping up and down and screaming.

"Sorry. But how can I not scream?" I exclaim as I look around in awe. Reaching out, I touch the gleaming silver wall at my right. "I'm standing in Unseen's spaceship! This is freaking amazing!"

"Yes, this is exciting," Karin says in her deadpan voice. "I understand."

About thirty minutes ago, I wasn't this excited. In fact, I was the deadpan one...well, sort of. It's hard for me to be seriously deadpan. I was more, like...mildly suspicious. After I'd explained the basics of everything that went down last night, Karin drove Andy and me to a wooded area just a few miles outside of town. That's when I got suspicious and kept demanding to know where she was taking us. But when Karin brought us to a clearing in the woods, a large grassy area in walking distance from the highway, and explained that she has an invisible spaceship, I was honest to God thrilled, which is something I haven't felt in years.

"And that," I shriek, pointing to the ramp behind me. It's the path through which we entered the ship. But now it's closing, becoming a door. "Even that's amazing!"

"I know, right!" Andy screeches.

"It's just a door," Karin points out.

"I know. But, it's like the door of the Millennium Falcon." I run towards it and touch the glistening silver entrance. It sparkles like it's made of solid glitter.

Andy scoffs. "I'm going to guess that this ship is slightly more expensive, not to mention advanced, than the Millennium Falcon."

I turn to the kid, tempted to throw my purse at the back of her giant curly head. But she's only fourteen, and what kind of an adult throws things at a fourteen year old? Besides, I have atrocious aim and if I throw my purse, I might hit something in this spaceship and break it. I could totally see that happening: me accidently breaking Unseen's spaceship.

I tighten my clutch on my purse and head to Andy's side. "What's this part of the ship for?" I ask pointing to the small circular area where Andy's standing. Its walls are comprised of numerous silver lockers.

"It's -" But Karin is cut off by Andy's exuberant and barely comprehensible squeals.

"It's where you keep your super hero supplies, isn't it? Like ray guns and invisibility crap or whatever? Am I right? Oh, my God! This is so crazy! Ahhhh!" she screams and then laughs as she tries to yank one of the lockers open. I join in with her laughter and try to open one myself, but it won't budge.

"I keep them locked, which I'm beginning to realize was an excellent idea," Karin says.

Giving up on the lockers, I turn around to see what else we can get into. "Look!" I exclaim, pointing to an area just beyond a tiny hallway. I think I can see what seems to be a view screen. "Is that the bridge?"

"I hate to break this to you, Ms. Gina, but we don't live in the Star Trek universe," Andy quips. "So, that room would be called a cockpit."

"I hate to break this to you, Andy, but nobody likes a know-it-all," I retort as I run towards "the cockpit." Andy's at my heels, spouting so many "ohh"s and "ahh"s that she hasn't even heard my little jab. I can't blame her. Who'd care about anything I have to say when they're surrounded by such awesomeness?

I head to the panel beneath the huge view screen. It's got rows of fancy buttons, levers, and tiny screens. Turning around, I run my hand along the pilot and copilot's seats, my gaze darting to the four passenger seats in the next row.

"How many people can this ship hold? Like, six? Or, are there more seats somewhere else?" I shout. Why am I shouting? "Sorry for shouting! I'm just so excited!" I shriek and do a quick dance as I return my attention to the panel with the fancy buttons and levers.

"Dude, I know!" Andy yells, she darts past me, her footsteps loud and echoing with her every step. "I'm completely losing my mind!"

"What's this do?" I ask, gently touching one of the panel's less threatening looking buttons.

"So, Ms. Karin!" Andy exclaims. "What do you call your ship? Does it have a name?"

I gasp and turn to Andy. "What if it doesn't and we inspire her so much she decides to name it after us?"

Andy's eyes widen and we scream in unison.

"Please stop screaming!" Karin shouts.

We stop screaming.

I look at Karin. She stands in the cockpit doorway, her eyes wide as they dart from me to Andy.

"Yes, Gina the ship seats up to six passengers," Karin says, her voice reverting to its typical dry tone while she makes her way towards us. "And, unfortunately, I won't be naming it after the two of you. It's already named. It's called Iris."

"Ah, well, you can't always get what you want. That's life." Andy shrugs and makes herself comfortable in the pilot's seat, setting her oversized book bag on the floor beside her. "And Iris isn't a bad name. So, where'd Iris come from? Did you build her yourself?"

"No," Karin replies. "It's from I.T.I.S. I stole it."

"Right on, Ms. K." Andy laughs and lifts her hand for a fist bump, which Karin slowly returns while watching Andy with a very Vulcan-like arched eyebrow.

I turn away from their conversation and examine the metal floor beneath my feet. I hadn't noticed before, but it's made of a shiny metallic surface that looks incredibly smooth, but isn't the least bit slippery. Sweet sticks of crap, even the floor in this place is amazing!

"All right, Gina," Karin says, cutting into my fascination with the floor. She plants herself beside me. "If we're going to work together, I'll need to show you how to use my ship."

"Really? Wow. Uh, okay." I readjust my purse on my shoulder and glance at the array of buttons and levers on Iris's console. Does she really trust me to figure out what all these buttons do?

Nervous, I take a steadying deep breath and get a whiff of Karin's Louisiana Alyssum aroma. As pleasing as the scent is, I tense, preparing for a flashback. But nothing happens.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Good. Maybe the flashbacks won't happen anymore.

I turn to Karin and she's pointing to the large monitor above the console, which displays a series of puffy white clouds floating in the sky above. "That's the view screen," Karin says and I nod so enthusiastically that I give myself a headache.

"Got it, view screen," I say, rubbing my temples. I glance at Karin and she's... holy cow, she's actually smiling.

For exactly point two seconds, a look of amusement accompanies Karin Greenich's smile before the phenomenon fades and she's, once again, all business.

"Typically," she says, "the view screen will show you what's directly ahead. But let's say you want to see what's directly below the ship. Then you'd simply give the command, 'Iris, show me what's below us.' It doesn't have to be those exact words, just a phrase that utilizes the ship's name and the basic command."

"Acknowledged," says a female voice that seems to come from somewhere above our heads.

"Holy crap." Andy laughs, her eyes sparkling. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we are in the Star Trek universe."

I grin. "My grandpa would've loved this," I say as the screen's shot of the sky fades to be replaced by a perfectly clear picture of the tall grass above which Iris is hovering. "Sweet." I turn to Karin and she's watching me with a frown. My awe abating, I push my hair out of my face. I'm sure it's even wilder than usual, seeing as I've been jumping up and down like a monkey on crack. Hoping I don't look as inadequate as I feel, I say, "So, like, Iris follows, like, voice commands or whatever?"

"Yes," Karin replies. She's still frowning at me, those dark eyes of hers boring into mine.

I feel like I'm being analyzed by a human computer.

To avoid her robot-stare, I look down at the console.

Seth was right. I do say "like" too much. That's probably why Karin's frowning at me now. She's probably wondering why she's showing some ditzy substitute teacher how to use her ship and wondering if I'll accidentally wreck it and kill us all.

I sigh and attempt to dismiss my negative thoughts. "So, what else does Iris do?"

"Before we get to that," Karin says. "Can I just say something, Gina?"

"Sure, of course," I say, cringing. I turn to Karin and silently prepare myself for a polite, "You're fired from being my sidekick" speech.

She lowers herself into the copilot's chair. "First of all, I don't think you're a ditz. I think you're very brave. You won't wreck my ship because you're much smarter than you give yourself credit for. And you're not some 'sidekick,' you're...a partner. The kind of partner I'd never even consider firing," Karin says.

I shift on my feet. "Wow. I guess everything I'm thinking shows on my face."

"No." Karin gives me a surprisingly warm smile and I suddenly notice that she's wearing a smidgen of lipstick. "You say everything you're thinking, and on the rare occasion that you don't, I'm able to pick up on your thoughts because that's my ability."

Andy gasps and I turn to her as she jumps out of her chair. "No sh -"

"Language," Karin snaps, her smile vanishing as she gives Andy a sharp look.

I chuckle and study the teenager's wide-eyed expression, silently repeating what Karin's just said. Hopefully, I'll be able to make sense of it before they both realize that I'm the one person in the cockpit who has no idea what's so exciting.

"Everything about you makes so much more sense now!" Andy exclaims, smacking her palm against her forehead. A huge grin spreads across her face and she collapses back into her seat, mumbling, "I totally get you, as, like, a human being now! How did I not realize this?"

"You see, Gina," Karin says and I turn to her. Karin's mouth twitches with a barely suppressed grin.

Is she trying not to laugh at me?

I blush and sheepishly return her smile as she continues, "I've already realized that you don't understand what I'm talking about because I can..." Karin lets her voice trail off as she leans forward and directs her opened palm towards me, indicating that she'd like for me to finish her sentence.

Uh oh.

I nervously push my hair out of my eyes and pray Andy won't start pointing at me and laughing.

"No one's going to point at you and laugh," Karin quietly says.

I blink.

Whoa.

"I guess you said," I pause, a tad disoriented by the way she's reading me like a freaking book, "that you're able to pick up on my thoughts because that's your..."

Oh.

My.

God.

Goosebumps covering my arms, I laugh. "You're kidding! That's your ability? You hear other people's thoughts?"

Karin's smile widens and she nods.

"Oh, my God. Okay, okay, let's test this!" I lift a finger, shut my eyes, and think: twenty farting flowers. Opening my eyes, I point to Karin and exclaim, "What was I thinking?"

"Twenty," she pauses to roll her eyes. "Farting flowers."

Andy and I laugh, but I glance at Karin, who shakes her head and frowns.

While Andy continues to chuckle, I bite down on my bottom lip and resituate my purse on my shoulder. "All right." I clap my hands with what I hope seems like authoritative finality. "That was fun and all, but we should try and focus on what we're doing here. Lives are at stake."

Karin turns to Andy. "Would you grab a different seat and let Gina sit there?"

"Sure." Andy reaches for her huge book bag and lugs it to the seat behind the pilot's.

I ease away from the console, hesitantly eyeing the pilot's chair. "You want me to sit there?"

"Yep," Karin replies, fastening her weird-looking seatbelt.

"Oh, my gosh. Okay." A silly grin taking hold of my mouth, I plop myself into the seat and set my purse on the floor.

"Everyone, get strapped in. We're going on a quick trip," Karin announces.

"Woo hoo!" Andy exclaims and I hear the click of her seatbelt behind me. I look down at my own.

Geez, it's like three seatbelts in one.

I grab one of the metal hooks, sticking it into the first anchor I happen on, but it doesn't fit.

"So, Ms. Karin, what about your other abilities?" Andy asks and she must be leaning forward because her voice is incredibly loud in my ear. Wincing at her volume, I continue to fiddle with my seatbelt, hoping I can get it to work before anyone notices my difficulty.

"You have to strap the two crisscross belts across your chest and then work on the third lap belt," Karin points out.

"Oh, thanks." Good grief. Nothing gets past this woman.

"My other abilities?" Karin asks. "What are you talking about, Andy?"

"You know," Andy says as I get myself strapped in. "Your super strength, super speed -"

"And invisibility!" I offer. "I definitely didn't see you during my car accident."

When Karin doesn't say anything, I turn to her and she's looking at her hands. I follow her gaze to an odd cat's eye ring on her left hand. I noticed it the first time we met. It's pretty in a goth-chic way. I bet Kayleigh would like it.

Karin lifts her hand and smooths the back of her hair where it's pulled up into that stuffy bun she always wears. I wonder how long her hair is and why she never wears it down. She'd be so much prettier if she did. She looks a little like Belle from Beauty and the Beast, but you'd never even notice because of her schoolmarm bun and freakishly drab clothes.

"The only ability I have is access to other people's thoughts. And I try not to draw undue attention to myself," Karin says, glancing at me as she points to her hair. "Hence the schoolmarm bun and freakishly drab clothes."

"Oh, I didn't, uh..." I sputter, my face and neck warming. "I'm so sorry."

She smiles. "It's fine. I've heard much worse." She returns her attention to Andy. "And to answer your question, Andy, I do keep some equipment in the lockers back there. One of the tools is a device called a Blackbird. It keeps me from being seen by the human eye. That's why people think I'm invisible."

"Can I see the Blackbird?" Andy immediately asks.

"Definitely not." Karin replies, turning to glance at both of us. "Enough talk, let's go. Everyone strapped in?"

Andy and I announce that we are and Karin turns her attention to me as she points to the console. "There are two ways to fly Iris: manually, which we're not going to have you do this afternoon, or using autopilot, which is very simple. All you have to do is use the ship's name and tell her to go to a specific destination. It's sort of like talking to Siri. Got that?"

"Sure, yeah." I nod, my pulse racing. Grinning I confess, "It doesn't sound hard at all, but I'm still nervous."

"There's nothing wrong with a little nerves," Karin says. "Whenever you're ready, tell the ship to go to I.T.I.S.'s former headquarters."

"I.T.I.S.'s former headquarters?" Andy and I repeat in unison.

Karin nods as if she hasn't said a thing out of the ordinary. "Yes." She turns to me, expectantly. "Sometime today please?"

"Oh. Uh, okay." I sit up as straight as my seatbelt will allow. "Iris, bring us to I.T.I.S.'s former headquarters."

"On autopilot?" The computerized voice replies.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you to say autopilot," Karin whispers.

I glance at her and say, "Yes, Iris."

"Acknowledged," Iris replies.

"Are we going all the way to Alabama?" Andy asks.

"No." Karin shakes her head and I wince as Iris begins her ascent. My gaze goes to the view screen where I can see that we're withdrawing farther and farther away from the grass below. "I.T.I.S.'s former headquarters is just a few miles away on an island in the middle of the swamp just outside of town..."

While Karin explains I.T.I.S.'s origins, I grab the arms of my chair, my mouth going dry with nerves. I cannot tear my eyes away from the view screen. What was once a large patch of grass is now a mass of trees, which are beginning to look tinnier and tinnier.

"Isn't this a little, like, scary to anyone else?" I chuckle nervously.

Karin gives me a sympathetic smile but shakes her head and I try not to feel like a dork.

"No." Andy leans forward, hitting my arm. "You've never been on a plane?"

Before I can reply that I haven't, Karin says, "Believe it or not, this isn't Gina's first time on Iris."

"What?" I turn to her, confused.

Karin glances at me with an apologetic cringe. "Yes, I, uh, work with a partner and -"

"I knew it!" Andy interrupts, her shrill voice making me jump as she snaps her fingers. "I knew there was a reason why it seemed like you were in two places at once!"

Karin gives Andy a look before returning her attention to me. "I work with a partner and it was my partner who averted your near-collision with that school bus. You were brought to my ship before you were returned to the scene of the accident."

"Why'd your partner bring me here?" I cross my arms. It's a little weird to think about people carting me in and out of UFOs while I'm unconscious.

"My partner can be..." Karin hesitates, "a bit indecisive at times, and he didn't know what to do with you, so -"

"He?" Andy shrieks, making me jump again. "Your partner's a guy? What's his name? Do I know him?"

Karin closes her eyes and sighs, the apples of her cheeks reddening. "Geez Louise. I can't believe I let that slip."

I smile to myself as she opens her eyes and shakes her head. So, the quintessential superhero does, at least occasionally, make a mistake.

"Come on, Ms. Karin, we already know about you. So, what's the point in hiding his identity?" Andy urges, lightly punching the back of my seat. "Ms. Gina, make her tell us."

I'm as curious as Andy, but watching Karin grimace while her worried eyes dart to the view screen flattens the fleeting elation that comes with seeing the great Unseen squirm. I'm always oversharing and putting my foot in my mouth, so I can relate.

"Nah. Let's just drop it, Andy," I quietly say.

Karin glances at me. "Thank you. Iris, show me what's in front of us."

"Acknowledged," the computerized voice replies.

I turn my attention to the monitor ahead where the miniature trees disappear and an expanse of swampy water comes into view.

I lean forward.

Just beyond a passing egret is an island. It isn't big but I wouldn't exactly call it small; it's a patch of green nestled among choppy brown waves and cypress trees. And unlike every other landmass I've seen in the middle of a Louisiana swamp, it isn't bare.

"Crap on a stick," I whisper, pointing to the island. "Is that it? Is that where I.T.I.S. used to be?"

"It has to be," Andy says from behind me, her voice colliding with Karin's quiet, "Yes, that's it." Andy's words are tinged with excitement. "It's just like Tessa described in her diary. It even has the wall..."

I haven't had a chance to read the diary which is now nestled in my purse, but I most definitely do see a wall. It's a thick barrier that traces the island's circumference and even from this far away, I can see that it's sturdy, possibly even impenetrable.

Beyond the wall and near what appears to be a gated entrance, are a few rows of houses. Chills run up and down my arms as I wonder if it's possible that some I.T.I.S. workers might still be living in them.

"No one lives here," Karin quietly says. "I come here nearly every day and it's always empty."

I return my attention to the view screen and the closer we fly to the island, the clearer my perception. I start to see that Karin's right. The houses are dilapidated, uninhabitable. They're half burned down and having become the victims of the island's plant life, covered in greenery.

"Look at that. It must have been huge," Andy says, pointing to the carcass of an immense burned down building that sits in the middle of the island, towering above the houses and even above the wall. Andy sits back in her seat. "No wonder it took Tessa forever to get out of this place. She was in a jail within a jail."

I glance at Karin.

She watches the view screen, a blank expression on her face.

"Do you remember your sister at all?" I carefully ask.

Karin shakes her head. "It's not a memory. It's a feeling."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"If I'm out and about, running errands or what have you, and I see a little girl with blonde hair, I...I start to feel sad - overwhelming so. But when the girl turns around and I see her face, the sadness goes away. It's as if I realize I'm looking at the wrong person."

"Wow," I whisper.

Karin looks down, her gaze going to her ring. "I suppose a part of me that I can't access does remember her."

"I can understand that," Andy says. Karin and I both turn to her. "My mom died when my little sister was born, but the weird thing is, sometimes when we're out at the grocery store or whatever, my little sister will run up to women who kind of look like my mom. And she'll try to hold their hands and stuff. It's like Mom's memory isn't in her mind as much as it's a part of her DNA."

"That's interesting." I lean back in my seat, momentarily wondering if I ever did that as a child. "I guess the people who mean the most to us never really leave us, even if we don't have a solid memory of them."

I unseeingly turn my attention to a blinking red light on the console, thinking about something Seth said. He thought I.T.I.S. killed Karin. This makes me wonder if Amelia believes the same thing. What if after all these years, Amelia met her sister and was so glad to see her that she stopped acting like such a lunatic?

I glance at Karin, who's frowning as she stares straight ahead.

"Hey," I hesitantly say. "I bet your sister misses you too."

"In any case, we're here, so get ready to land." Karin speaks without looking at me and she sits perfectly straight in her chair, reminding me of Lyla. "Iris, find a clear spot and land."

I decide to drop the subject. After all, Karin can hear my thoughts. She doesn't need me to yammer on and on about how Amelia might listen to her if she tries to talk her out of acting like a psycho.

"Acknowledged," Iris responds and my curiously dormant nerves awaken, reminding me that I'm supposed to be freaking out. I grip my chair's armrests and grind my teeth as we descend.

"Woo hoo!" Andy exclaims, kicking the back of my seat.

"You okay, Gina?" Karin asks with a chuckle.

Realizing that they're both laughing at me, I force a smile.

"Yeah," I lie, my eyes glued to the view screen. "It's not too bad."

As soon as I say this, Andy leans forward and whispers, "Did you show her the diary yet?"

Before I can say that I haven't, Karin says, "You do know that I can hear everything you're thinking, meaning there's no point in whispering, right?"

Andy curses under her breath and I return my attention to the screen ahead. We seem to be flying straight towards the remnants of the monstrous burned down building.

"Are we going to hit that?" I exclaim, ditching my "everything's fine" act.

Andy laughs and Karin's voice is calm as she says, "No, trust me. I fly this thing every day."

#

Luke's house

After checking in on my Uncle at the bakery and chalking my absence up to a stomach bug, I stop by AT&T for a new phone and then make my way home.

Now, as I nurse a cup of coffee and continue to read the rather disturbing results of my Google search I'm even more worried about I.T.I.S.

I'm running into countless I.T.I.S. conspiracy theory websites. People all over the world seem to have negative opinions about what I.T.I.S. is up to. Now that I'm looking at all this information, I wonder how I could have lived right here in Swamp Rose for so long and known absolutely nothing about it.

I scan through a website created by a blogger who claims to have been kidnapped and, like me, barely escaped with his life. As I read through his experience, a cold sweat breaks out on my brow.

My new phone vibrates and I jump, startled by the sound.

It's Gina. She's finally replied to the text I sent hours ago.

Gina: So, you're at your place now? Are you sure you're safe there?? What if Amelia's Alyssum guards come looking for you?

I type a reply, read it, and then delete it.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I slowly reword my response and then examine it before hitting send:

Luke: I'm fine. Alyssum doesn't have my home address. I used Broussard & Nellit's address on all the paperwork. But I'm worried about YOU. I've been Googling "I.T.I.S." and they sound dangerous, I think you should stay out of this.

When she doesn't immediately reply, I set my phone on my desk and return to my Google search. The next website is an in depth explanation of everything I.T.I.S., from their weaponry to the types of "mutants" they've supposedly created. I lean forward, squinting as I read:

"The Novu are I.T.I.S.'s strongest genetically engineered creatures. The only weapon that can cause them serious damage is an extraterrestrial element called 'chiatum'..."

My phone vibrates and I pick it up. Gina's replied.

Gina: And let innocent people die? Not an option.

A headache forms at my temples. Taking a deep breath I set my phone down and bring my hands to my head, massaging the ache away as I close my eyes and think.

Gina's right. We can't just let Amelia hurt all of those people she's kidnapped. But, going back into Alyssum is suicide.

"It's not necessarily suicide," a voice says from behind me.

Nearly jumping out of my skin, I turn around and a tall man in dark sunglasses and a baseball cap stands in the room's doorway.

I jump out of my chair, my heart in my throat. I lift my hands in surrender. The man looks vaguely familiar and he doesn't appear to be carrying any sort of weapon.

"Don't worry. It's me, Grant," he says. He slips off his sunglasses, revealing the famous hazel eyes I've seen in tabloids and entertainment gossip television shows. "I helped Gina sneak you out of Alyssum."

I lower my hands and exhale, feeling simultaneously relieved and ridiculous.

"Right." I offer him a smile and extend a hand for him to shake. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Of course." He shakes my hand with a firm grip.

"Um, so how exactly did you get in my house?" I ask. I'm still unnerved by everything that went down last night. And a part of me wonders if Gina was right about my home being an unsafe location. I glance in the direction of my hallway, half-expecting one of Amelia's zombie-like guards to burst through the door behind Grant.

"I'm on my own and I wasn't followed," Grant says, his eyes tentatively roving my study as he takes a careful step into the room. "I slipped in through your bathroom window. You might want to make sure you keep it closed, by the way. It's pretty easy to get through."

"Okay." I clear my throat. "So, what's um... what's up?"

He leans against the wall and sighs. "We've got a problem on our hands. Amelia...she..." Grant pauses, his face falling. He takes a deep breath and continues, "She has to be stopped. And we can't go to the police for help, because half of them work for I.T.I.S."

I can't help but notice that he keeps saying we.

"I keep saying we," Grant says, his expression turning as grave as the tone of his voice. "Because those innocent people she's kidnapped need someone to save them. And you're a good guy, so I know you won't just sit on your laurels and wait for them to die. Will you?"

I want to say no. The word is on the tip of my tongue. But at the memory of being trapped in one of those coffin-like glass structures while a blast of cold air pierced me through with the pain of a full-bodied stab, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end and a shiver runs down my spine.

"Luke, that pain you're thinking about. That's the same pain she's put all those people through. And it's going to get worse," Grant says. "She's going to kill them. Are you going to let that happen?"

Anxiety bears down on my every thought like a mental tourniquet. I look down and struggle to take a cleansing deep breath, to look like I'm not about to lose my mind.

There's doing the right thing, and then there's doing the easy thing.

I know what I should do, but I'm scared.

What if I go in there and get podded again? What if I can't save anyone?

Grant puts a steadying arm on my shoulder.

"Luke," he says, his voice low and calm. "You're a lot stronger than you realize. Look at me."

I look up and meet his eyes.

He looks directly at me and says, "I have superhuman abilities and I'm telling you that I need your help. That's how powerful you are. If I have you on my side, I have no doubt that we can save a lot of lives. So, what do you say?"

Behind me, my phone vibrates, but I keep my focus on Grant.

I'm not sure what he sees in me, but if what he's saying about me is even halfway true, then I have to use my capabilities to try and help people. What kind of loser would I be if I didn't?

"Okay," I say with a nod. "I'm in."

Grant smiles. "Good. So, here are the basics of what we're up against: I have the firepower to take out the Alyssum guards, but it isn't only the guards that we have to worry about at this point. By now, Amelia's also turned the people she's podded."

"And turned means brainwashed?" I ask.

Grant shakes his head. "It's more than that. Turned as in she's altered their DNA; she's turned them into mutants - half-human creatures who are even stronger than the Alyssum guards. When we wake them up, I'm not sure what's going to happen. But I know we can't let her keep them."

I take a deep breath.

What does he mean by "half-human creatures?" How is that even possible? My thoughts go to the other background extras I spent yesterday afternoon chatting with, Carla and Giovanni.

"She did this to all of them?" I ask.

Grant eyes are sympathetic as he says, "Most. The electricity outage at Alyssum stopped the serum before it reached a few of the pods, like yours. But most of the others were turned before I was able to get to the serum and destroy it."

Anger tears through me and I shake my head in disgust. "I can't believe this. We've got to stop Amelia."

"I know." Grant nods.

"And we don't have to go in our own," I say. "Gina and a friend of hers are planning to sneak into Alyssum tonight. We can team up with them." As I picture the four of us sneaking into Alyssum Studios, my anxiety returns. Four people against an army of half-human mutants? We're either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. 

#

Former I.T.I.S. Headquarters

We sit on cement steps that lead to a dilapidated I.T.I.S. building, and maybe it's just my imagination, but I'd swear the air still smells of fire.

I look down at my phone to see if Luke's replied to my last text. He hasn't.

I bite down on my bottom lip and try to stop imagining some Alyssum Studios guard breaking into Luke's house to kidnap him.

I slip my phone into my pocket and glance at Andy.

She munches on a Pop Tart she's retrieved from that gigantic bag of hers. Beside her, Karin sits with her hands clasped and resting on top of Tessa's diary. I gave her the little book about twenty minutes ago. When I handed it to her, I explained that she might want to read her sister's journal entries. So far, she hasn't even looked at the diary.

A shockingly white crane descends on a burned down fountain a few feet in the distance. The long-legged bird lands directly in the center of the fountain and just stands there - staring into space. Somewhere in the distance, a rattlesnake sounds off its alarm.

Okay. It's way too quiet.

"So," I say, turning to Karin. "Ever rescued thousands of brainwashed and cryogenically frozen people from a basement?"

Karin smiles weakly. "Can't say I have. And I can't believe my partner's chosen right now to be MIA. We could really use his help."

A sting pinches my upper arm and I glance down to find a mosquito making like a miniature vampire on the flesh just above my elbow. I swat it away. "It's all right though. We have you. We don't need him."

Karin nods. "I know." She points to the burned down building behind us. "If I managed to escape from this place as a teenager, I'm pretty sure we'll be able to rescue Amelia's victims. We just need a solid plan."

"Yeah," I agree. "Well, first of all, I'm going to need to find a way to get into Alyssum Studios. That's no problem for you seeing as you have the Blackbird. But how am I going to get past all of Alyssum's guards? They're armed with those laser-gun thingys."

"Chiatum weapons," Karin says.

"Oh! I know how!" Andy snaps her fingers and we turn to her. She wipes a slew of crumbs from her mouth and balls up her empty Pop Tart wrapper. "There's a party at Alyssum Studios tonight. We could sneak in that way. Pose as party guests or as part of the catering staff."

"Good idea." Karin nods and absently thumbs through the pages of her sister's diary. "And once we're both in, we'll need access to the basement. That's where Amelia's holding her victims, right?"

"Actually," I say, "I was thinking that if Amelia's at the party, maybe it'd be good if you went into the party first and tried to talk to her before we -"

"No." Karin shakes her head. "You told me she's been brainwashing people. That's crazy, Gina. And there's no reasoning with an unstable person."

"But she's your sister." I stare at Karin. I can't understand how she can shut the idea down so easily.

"I don't know her." Karin shakes her head. "How can I call her my sister when I don't even know her? She's a complete stranger. Besides that, look at what she's done to those people."

I cross my arms. "I get where you're coming from, but my mom died when I was born and my father is just some guy I've never met. Still, if I had the chance to meet one of my parents, even if they were, like, completely awful people, I'd grab it."

Karin looks down.

"You have a chance like that," I say. "That's a huge gift. You can meet your sister and stop her from making the worst mistake of her life. If I were you, I'd take advantage of that."

Karin's gaze goes to the diary in her lap. "Guess I'm not as brave as you."

I snort. "Right. You stop bank robberies on a daily basis, Karin. I'm pretty sure you can find the courage to talk to your little sister."

"Yeah," Andy chimes in, tucking a wild blonde curl behind her ear. "My older sister annoys the crap out of me, but I still listen to her. And some people consider me crazy. So, as crazy as Amelia might seem - you never know. She might come around if her older sister talks to her."

Karin looks at Andy, like she's processing what Andy's said... or maybe she's reading her mind. I don't know. In any case, I hold my breath, hoping she agrees.

"Fine," Karin says with a sigh. "I'll talk to Amelia... or Tessa, or whatever the psycho calls herself these days."

"Awesome!" I clap Karin on the shoulder. "And once you bring her around, which I definitely think is going to happen, she'll call off her guards and help us get the people-popsicles out of the cryotubes."

"The cryotubes! I almost forgot!" Andy snaps her fingers. She sits up straighter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "At my house, I have this instructional book about how to operate Alyssum's cryo machines. At some point, we need to stop at my house and get it."

"How do you just happen to have that book, like, lying around your house?" I ask.

She arches an eyebrow. "Let's just say that when you're as resourceful as I am, digging through Amelia Hearth's trash can be a very productive pastime."

I laugh. "Yeah, you're resourceful alright. And a bunch of other things too."

"Andy?" Karin's voice is so unexpectedly soft that Andy and I both turn to give her our complete attention. "You've been an amazing help. Thank you for everything you've done."

Andy arches an eyebrow and gives Karin the longest slow-blink I've ever seen. With this, the kid says, "That's totally a precursor to, 'But you can't go with us tonight,' isn't it?"

Karin nods. "Exactly. I wouldn't feel right about exposing you to this kind of danger."

Andy looks away and shrugs. "Fine. I get it."

I bite down on my bottom lip, watching her. Of course Karin's right to keep Andy out of this. But I can tell Andy's super disappointed - I would be too.

I nudge her with my elbow. "You really are incredible, you know. You're basically the Swamp Rose version of Veronica Mars."

Andy smiles and points to her head. "But with better hair, right?"

"Such better hair." I grin.

"I'm going to walk around for a bit. I just need to clear my head," Karin says as she gets to her feet.

"Okay," Andy and I reply in unison.

While Karin starts down the steps, Andy reaches into her book bag and gets out a little red camera. She turns it on, stands, and backs up to grab a wide shot of I.T.I.S.'s former headquarters. Satisfied, she turns off the camera and hands it to me.

"Want me to get a shot of you?" I ask.

"Nah." Andy shifts on her feet, wipes her nose with the back of her free hand, and takes a deep breath. "I think you should hold on to it."

"Hold on to your camera?" I look at it and then at Andy's grave expression as she nods. "Why?"

"I know it isn't, like, the most professional equipment or whatever, but it's special." She points to the little red camera. "I've used it to record all of my YouTube videos and I want it to be the camera that records the most important story anyone will ever see. So, can you take it with you tonight?"

I get to my feet and look down at Andy's little camera. It's covered in scratches and the brand name isn't one I recognize, but I understand what Andy means when she calls it "special." As often as I glare at my old Nikon and wish it were a brand new Canon, deep down I know I'll never trash the thing, not even when I do finally get a Canon.

"Of course, Andy. It'd be my honor." Securing her camera in my grip, I give her a hug and say, "I'll get us some great footage tonight. I promise."

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

"Give me a semi-automatic with a silencer." My voice echoes off the basement's walls. It sounds strong - much stronger than I feel.

If I have to put up with this for much longer, I fear I will completely unravel.

"Yes, Amelia," the nearby guard replies.

Impatient, I extend a waiting hand and focus on the back of the target's head.

This will be the last one. I can't afford to kill any more subjects.

The guard places a gun in my hand. The metal is cool against my palm. Deep in my gut, a sick feeling unfurls.

I lift my chin, exhale, and ignoring the unsettling sensation, I pull the trigger.

The bullet hits the back of the subject's hairless head - smashing into its thick greenish-yellow skin, getting lodged there. The subject winces, but doesn't collapse. I squint, looking for any sign of penetrating trauma. But no green fluid or blood seeps from its skin.

Good.

Unlike Adam Freeman, whose bulletproof skin is a dark and verdant green, these subjects have light green skin, which is thick but not one hundred percent bulletproof.

"Do you feel as though you've sustained an injury?" I shout.

"No, Amelia," the subject replies in a low growl, a bit of fire emerging with its breath as it speaks.

"Show me the full force of your fire ability," I order.

This subject - obviously, a former human male - turns to its left, opens its mouth, and exhales. A generous amount of fire emerges from its mouth.

This, they can do as well as Adam Freeman.

"Good. Now let's try two bullets," I say, raising my gun. I aim for the first bullet, which, still protruding from the subject's skin, is directly above its cerebellum. "Turn around again, your back to me."

The subject does as told and I shoot.

The mutated creature falls to the cement in a crumpled heap. Its brain matter and a greenish-red fluid leak from a hole in the back of its head.

I stare at the creature, my breath coming too fast and a wave of nausea overtaking me.

"Shall I see if he is dead, Amelia?" my guard asks.

My eyes remain on the mutated man, but in my mind, I see my father... I see him falling to his knees as he's shot. I can still feel the scream emerging from my throat.

"Amelia?"

I lower my gun and return to the present. "Yes," I say. "If it's dead, get rid of the body."

But there's no need to check. I can see that the subject is dead. I turn away from the sight and realize I'm gripping my gun too tightly. I stoop, set the weapon on the basement hallway floor, and stare at it.

This...this doesn't feel right.

I take a deep breath.

I.T.I.S. is a killing machine. That is what makes them despicable.

However, in just a few days, I will have killed more men, women, and Novu than I.T.I.S. ever has.

I stare at the gun, my breath cresting in my chest.

I understand why Grant lied to me... yes, I completely understand why he feels he can't trust me. From his perspective, I haven't become like I.T.I.S. - I've become worse than them.

I close my eyes, inhale slowly through my nose and then exhale, focusing on the extended release of breath.

But Grant's perspective is flawed. I am not a murderer. I am fighting for our survival. And it isn't my own survival I'm defending. I'm doing this for Earth's entire population.

I open my eyes, stand, and head for the elevator.

I've been down here all day, testing subjects. That's what's wrong with me. That's why I'm beginning to unravel.

I make my way to the elevator and shout, "Someone tell me what time it is," without turning around as I don't want to have to look at that dead creature.

"It is currently 4:10 PM, Amelia," one of my guard's replies.

I moisten my lips, which are cracked and dry.

It's time to begin preparing for the Alyssum Ball. I'd all but forgotten about it until one of my guards reminded me.

There's still no word on Grant's whereabouts, but compared to Moira's arrival, Grant's rebellion is of miniscule concern.

I propel myself up and, hovering above the cement, I come to a halt before the elevator.

"Amelia?"

I turn around and a slender guard with dark skin, along with every other guard in the vicinity, has stopped what they're doing to watch me.

Chills seize my arms and I instinctively move backwards. "What is it?"

"Are the subjects strong enough to fight?" the guard asks in a monotone voice. "And if so, how can we have them assist you upon the arrival of Moira's ship?"

Oh.

My gaze goes from guard to guard. Every one of their eyes are on me, waiting for my command.

The knot in my stomach untangles. Perhaps my guards aren't as dense as I thought.

I straighten my spine and clear my throat. "My subjects are strong enough to fight," I say. "Wake half of them and have them stand at attention, just outside of their individual cryopods. I'll address them as a group."

I fly away from the elevator and head towards the cryo-containment room, my fingers tingling with renewed excitement.

I can do this. I can lead my soldiers into the war that will defend our planet, and I will win.

#

Iris

"Pretty easy, right?" Karin says from where she's seated in the pilot's seat.

"Yes, very," Grant replies from the copilot's chair.

His posture is tense and his movements, uncharacteristically awkward as he repeatedly looks from Karin Greenich, a pretty brunette who is apparently Unseen, to the monitor ahead.

As "easy" as navigating this ship supposedly is, I'm glad Karin's doing the flying instead of Grant because right now he looks as preoccupied and self-conscious as I am around Gina.

Beside me, Gina chuckles to herself and I glance at her. "What's so funny?" I ask with a grin.

She nods to Grant and Karin. "They're basically Noah and Ally from The Notebook."

I have no idea what Gina's talking about, but I follow her gaze to the two of them; Grant shifts in his seat, the back of his neck slowly turning beet red, and when I turn my attention to Karin, she's tucking a strand of her hair behind her very red ears.

"Oops." Gina laughs, and raising her voice, says, "Sorry, guys. I forget about y'all being able to hear my thoughts."

Karin waves her off. "That's okay. Let's just focus on what we're doing here... and, you know what? I can't seem to find my Blackbird. I'm going to go check my supplies again." Karin bolts from her seat and promptly trips over her long ball gown. Before I can blink, she's caught herself. I glance at Grant, who seems to have given himself whiplash in his attempt to watch her walk away. Now, he sighs and rubs his neck as he returns his attention to the view screen ahead.

It's funny... his memories of Karin were erased and he'd been with Amelia for at least fifteen years, but when he saw Karin for the first time today, it was like he remembered her. It was as if he'd spent the past fifteen years pining away for a woman he should have forgotten.

"What's a Blackbird?" Grant asks, his voice loud and pulling me from my thoughts.

Beside me, Gina leans down and reaches into her knapsack, retrieving a small red camera. Her curly hair falls over her profile like a curtain, veiling her face.

"It's an advanced transportation device that gets me where I need to go at high speeds, under the cloak of invisibility," Karin calls over her shoulder as she makes her way to the back of her ship. "I really need it tonight, so hopefully it's back here somewhere."

My gaze drifts to the camera in Gina's lap while she checks its battery.

Considering the danger of what we're poised to do and the fact that we might not come out of this alive, now would be the perfect time to tell Gina how I feel.

My heart fluttering, I moisten my lips.

Don't think, just say it.

"Gina." I reach out, gently pushing her hair away from her face and moving it to her other shoulder. Her eyes soften in surprise and she turns to me.

I glance at the large, purple bruise on her cheek. No wonder she pulled away last night when I tried to kiss her. That's where I'd touched her. It had to have hurt.

"Is it really ugly?" Ever alert, she brings a tentative finger to her bruise. "I tried to cover it with make-up but -"

"No, it's not. It's fine." I shake my head and nod to her camera. "Can I see that? To record something?"

She nods and hands me the camera.

My heart pounding, I turn it on, scoot closer to Gina, and try to ignore the fact that my pits are sweating as I aim the lens our way. Clearing my throat, I look into the lens and say, "I have no idea what I'm doing right now... this isn't thought out, or... planned, um, at all, but I know Gina likes filmmaking, uh -" I turn to her and she's grinning, her head lowered as she looks at me through amused eyes.

"You like filmmaking," I correct myself.

"Yes." She chuckles and bites down on her bottom lip. "I do like filmmaking."

"So, that's why I, um, I want this on camera." I turn back to the camera and say, "I, Luke Kennedy, have been..." My heart dips in a freefall and I feel like I might pass out.

The camera shakes and Gina laughs. "You've been what?"

"Almost there, Karin!" Grant calls from the copilot's seat.

I glance at him in horror.

I can't let this happen again. I can't let the moment pass, even if she turns me down and I look like a fool - I won't be a coward again. I grit my teeth and turn to Gina. "I've been in love with you since the moment we met. For a while now, I haven't been a huge fan of life because it's unpredictable and... just terrible. But when I met you - the most unpredictable person I've ever known - I learned that unpredictability can be a good thing. It can be exciting. It can be the spark of hope that keeps you going. And that's exactly what you are; you're the spark of hope that's kept me going. And... I love you. So much. I always have."

Gina's mouth is open and her eyes are watering.

"But, I thought... Lyla?" She pauses and takes a huge gulp of air, like a swimmer whose come up for a much needed breath. "I thought you were in love with Lyla. I thought y'all wanted to get back together. Luke, are you serious?"

"No." I lower the camera. "I mean, yes I'm serious, but no I don't want to be with Lyla. We should have never hooked up. That was a mistake because I've always loved you. And oddly enough, today Lyla... well, she scolded me for not being honest with you about my feelings."

"S-she did?" Gina stammers.

"Yes."

"Oh, my God." Tears fall from her eyes and she laughs. With this she reaches for me and I barely have time to exhale before her lips, warm and softer than I could've imagined, are on mine.

Finally.

I run my fingers through her curly hair and pull her closer, savoring the moment.

Iris says something that I don't pay attention to and it takes Grant shouting, "We're here!" at the top of his lungs to pull me away from Gina.

Her eyes shine and she grins from ear to ear.

"That only took eight years," I say, kissing her again.

"Yeah, I can't believe this." Gina laughs, her voice shaking. I wipe a tear from her cheek, careful to avoid her bruise. "I'm so happy, Luke, you have no idea..." She takes a deep breath and studies me like she's seeing me for the first time.

I meet her eyes, welcoming the inspection.

She smiles and says, "I don't think I had any idea how much I've been wanting you to love me. All this time, I didn't realize -"

"We have a problem," Karin barks, her voice edged with annoyance.

Gina and I turn to her as she emerges from the back of the ship.

I glance at the camera in my hand and shutting its power off, return it to Gina's lap.

"What's wrong?" Grant asks. Just over his head, on the view screen, Alyssum Studios comes into view. At the sight of Amelia's production company, my heart sinks, the reality of what we're poised to do settling in my mind.

Karin's eyes are full of anger as she points to the back of her ship. "It's not there. My Blackbird. It's missing and I know who took it."

"Someone took it?" Gina gasps and I glance at her, my gaze drifting to her mouth. Resisting the urge to kiss her again, I return my attention to Karin. She looks like she's ready to rip someone's head off.

"Who?" I ask.

"One of my students. A spoiled kid who never listens." Karin shakes her head and brings her index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose, like she's warding off a headache. "In any case, since I don't have the Blackbird or an invitation that'll get me into this party, I'll have to find a way to sneak in."

"There's a back entrance you can use. I doubt any guards will be there," Grant offers and he looks around. "If anyone has paper, I'll draw you a map."

"Sure, I do." While Karin makes her way to the pilot's seat to consult with Grant, I turn to Gina, worry tugging at my gut.

This is it. We're really doing this...now that the woman I love knows how I feel about her, we've both agreed to go on a suicide mission. And we're not even going together. I'm going to be in Alyssum's basement with Grant, while Gina and Karin are supposed to handle Amelia Hearth.

I think back to the coldness in Amelia's eyes and shudder. Gina's going to be face to face with a cold-blooded killer.

"So," I say, my voice cracking. Gina looks at me and the anxiety that I feel is visible in her eyes. "You're going to be with Karin in the ballroom?"

She nods. "Yeah, we'll find Amelia and if Karin can't convince her to help us let the podded people go, I'll have to... you know." Gina draws a line across her neck. "Kill her."

I catch the inside of my cheek, mulling that one over. When there's a bug in her apartment, Gina calls me. And usually, she's in tears, begging me to come take care of it.

"Are you sure you can...uh." I shut up as Gina narrows her eyes at me.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Lifting her chin, she slips the little red camera into the pocket of her black vest. "I'll be fine. And you'll be fine. We have to believe that, otherwise we'll be too scared to even attempt this. Confidence is everything."

"Right," I halfheartedly agree, doubt filling me with so much dread I want to puke.

She leans towards me and plants a lingering kiss on my lips. "We just have to be brave."

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

"Amelia, what a lovely party." An older woman with short white hair grabs my shoulders and air kisses each of my cheeks. She smells of mothballs and cheap perfume. As her stench fills my nose, violin music and bits and pieces of conversation fill my ears.

The sensory stimuli in this room is nearly overwhelming...were I Tessa, it would be too much for me to handle. But, I am not Tessa.

"Thank you. I'm so pleased you're here. Let's catch up later." Grinning demurely, I move away from her and avoid eye contact with anyone other than the guard at my right. I turn to him and whisper, "Have the guards made it to the roof yet?"

I figure Moira will land on one of the helipads each of my roofs contain. This is why I've positioned a team of guards on each. They'll let me know which one Moira's chosen for her ship. And as soon as they do, my mutated warriors will be re-awoken and sent to infiltrate her ship.

I do have one nagging concern... some of the soldiers weren't fully reformed and when we woke them, they seemed confused as to what was going on. What if they're just as confused when we wake them again?

A stress headache forms at my temples while I watch the guard tap his headset. "Amelia has asked if Groups A through D are in position on each roof."

My headache blossoms as I watch him and notice that, like Grant, a few gray hairs have crept into his sideburns. I wonder how old this guard is and what he was before I...gave him a purpose. I shift on my heels. I also can't help but wonder what's going to happen to this man, and to every man, woman, and child should my plan somehow fail. What means will Moira use to destroy the inhabitants of our planet?

Someone taps my elbow. "Amelia!"

I wince and turn to face a very tall and very pale woman who is all smiles. Her teeth are so large they barely seem to fit in her mouth.

I fake a smile and air kiss each of her cheeks as she rambles through a long hello. "...just knew you'd win that Oscar and probably win another one for -"

"Excuse me. I'm so sorry. There's an issue I must take care of," I cut in. Without waiting for the large-toothed woman's reply, I return my attention to my guard. "So? Are they on the roof?"

He shakes his head, his brown eyes devoid of emotion. "They are not responding."

My heart nearly stops.

I take a deep breath, staring into the surrounding crowd of party goers.

Something's wrong... is Moira already here and killing off my soldiers one by one?

"Amelia?"

"Yes?" My breath catching in my throat, I turn to my guard and meet his eyes.

"Our cameras picked up two intruders in the basement hallway, one of them is Grant Carr and he is accompanied by another male, a former test subject: Luke Kennedy." The guard continues in his bland tone of voice. "They have used chiatum weapons to destroy all of the cameras in the area and as a result, we have now lost a visual of their whereabouts."

"Okay." I nod, my heart stuttering in my chest. "I'll take care of it." I quicken my pace, heat flowing to my fingertips as I weave in and out of talking guests, making my way towards the exit.

Why did Grant have to do this? He's the last person I want to hurt! Why couldn't he have just trusted me?

As I push through the crowd, several sparks emerge from the tips of my fingers.

"Ouch! What was that?" a woman squeals from behind me. "Something burned me."

Unfortunately, she's not the only person I'll be burning tonight.

Crestfallen, I continue on towards the exit.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Luke Kennedy did not say he liked me, but he looked me in the eye and told me he's loved me since the moment we met.

Ack!

This had me so pumped on adrenaline that I experienced a massive brain fart and hopped out of Iris without my chiatum gun... yeah, I just totally left it on my seat.

I don't realize this until I've got silver tray of empty champagne flutes balanced on my left hand and Andy's camera tucked into the breast pocket of my black vest as I march past two uniformed guards at the front entrance to Alyssum's soundstage.

Mentally kicking myself, I pause.

How am I going to have Karin's back if I don't even have a weapon?

A man in a tuxedo whose been walking behind me says, "Excuse me," and I step out of his way to let him pass.

I frown at the back of his tux as he heads into the party.

Oh well. Maybe I can swipe one of those flashlight weapons from an Alyssum guard.

I take a deep breath, follow the tuxedo-clad man into the doorway, and find myself, once again, coming to a halt. But this time it's sheer awe that's brought me to a standstill. The soundstage has been transformed into a ballroom, and it looks incredible. The walls are accented in gold and the softest hue of pearl, while the floor sparkles with a faux marble covering. Violin music, a waltz, clings to the air the way fairy dust clung to Cinderella. In the middle of the ballroom hangs a golden chandelier that's even bigger than the one in Alyssum's main building.

Everything is so beautiful that it almost sucks to know how badly it's all going to end. Once Karin talks Amelia out of her psycho-ness, the FBI, CIA, men in black, or whatever will undoubtedly raid the living snot out of this place.

I shake my head sadly and take another look around.

The smashingly dressed partygoers, all clad in their ball gowns and penguin suits, are smiling and enjoying themselves. Some waltz beneath the chandelier while the majority mingle amongst themselves, laughing their way through various conversations. If I weren't so distracted by what's about to go down, I'd be amused by the sound.

Lyla once pointed out that rich people have this weird way of laughing - she said it's a decibel or two too loud and they close their eyes while they tilt their heads back and tighten their lips, like they're afraid to let their teeth show. This makes their laughs sound like, "Oah, oah, oah..." It's a strange phenomenon which, according to Lyla, is typical among old money, not new money. Based on what I'm now hearing, I think Lyla was right.

Dismissing the sounds of their disturbingly repressed laughter, I glance at a passing waiter who's dressed in black pants and a matching vest with a white button-down shirt, just as I am. He carries a golden tray of appetizers and I look down at my silver tray in horror.

Crap on a log, I have the wrong color tray! I hope no one notices.

"Why do you have a silver tray?" asks a familiar voice behind me. Startled, I spin around and nearly crash into a scowling Ryan Pianciano.

Ryan's face falls and I'm sure mine does too, but I erase my frown as quickly as I can.

"Ryan!" I exclaim, leaning forward to give him a quick one-armed hug, which he doesn't return. I had no idea his restaurant would be catering this ball. I release him and take a step back as I grip my offensively silver tray. I don a nervous smile. "How are you?"

"Not so good," he snaps.

I blink back at him. Ryan never snaps.

"Geez, sorry." I shift on my feet. As much as I care, this really isn't the time for a heart-to-heart with Ryan about his problems. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is I just got a call from my wife, who stopped by Serenity Bayous to check on you." Ryan's gaze goes from my outfit to the tray in my left hand. "She said Betty's missing. And now I find that you are, for inexplicable reasons, here and dressed like one of my catering staff."

My mouth going dry, I gulp.

"What's going on, Gina?" Ryan stares at me in confusion. "You're supposed to be taking care of my sister."

I glance at an approaching partygoer who, plump and nearly busting out of her navy blue ball gown, starts for one of my empty champagne flutes. She pauses, mumbling, "Oh, dear, they're all empty," before backing away.

"Sorry, ma'am." I give the woman an uneasy smile and take a deep breath, returning my attention to Ryan. I've never seen him like this. With his face all pinched and tense, he looks a lot like Betty. "Ryan, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were catering this, um..." Just beyond Ryan, a tall brunette enters the ballroom but I can't quite see her face. Distracted, I follow her with my eyes, trying to get a look at her face.

Is that Karin? If it is, that means she's going to talk to Amelia... wait, where's Amelia? I haven't even seen her yet. I turn to scan the dance floor, but Ryan darts in front of me, blocking my view.

"Answer me, Gina," he demands. "You were responsible for my sister and now she's missing while you're here, dressed like my staff!"

"Ryan, listen to me." I lower my voice, grab his arm, and pull him towards me. His eyes widen.

"I'm sure Betty's fine," I say in the most tranquil tone I can muster. "It's the rest of us I'm worried about. The things your sister's been saying about Amelia Hearth and I.T.I.S., they're all true. She's not crazy."

Ryan shakes himself out of my grip and, startled, I stumble backwards. One of the empty champagne flutes falls from my tray and hits the floor, shattering.

Every guest in the vicinity turns to us, but Ryan doesn't seem to notice our small audience, or the fallen glass.

Scowling, he leans towards me and speaks in a low voice. "Gina, I don't know what's going on with you, but you need to leave."

"You don't understand," I sputter, simultaneously turning to scan the crowd for either Karin or Amelia. "I can't leave, I need to -"

"Then you'll be escorted out," Ryan snaps and with this, he hurries away, headed to the ballroom entrance.

"Ryan, wait..." My fists clenched, I watch him in frustration. I want to go after him and explain what's happening, but I can't - I need to look for Amelia and keep her in sight until she's finished her conversation with Karin. So, I turn around, ready to scan the guests for Amelia and suddenly realize that quite a few of the guests are still staring at me.

"Uh, sorry everyone." I paste on a smile. "We've just had a little mishap over here, but please go back to enjoying your -"

"She's right there, in the server's uniform with the silver tray!" Ryan Pianciano's voice booms above mine and I turn to the ballroom entrance where he stands beside two tall Alyssum Studios guards, pointing in my direction.

Crap on a stick!

My heart pounding, I take a step back and broken glass crunches under my shoes. The guards start towards me and I freeze in terror.

Should I run? Or would that make me look guilty? Guilty people run.

Panicked, I scan the crowd of well-dressed onlookers, searching for Karin. This would be a fantastic time for her to pull one of her Unseen stunts and get me out of here - but of course she's nowhere in freaking sight.

Argh! Maybe there's a way I can talk myself out of this one?

Desperate, I decide to give it a try.

I reapply my smile, take a deep breath, and face the guards as they approach. Both of the tall, dark-haired men have red-rimmed eyes, blank stares, and flashlights at their hips. No doubt about it, they're a couple of chiatum-wielding brainwashed drones.

Is it even possible to reason with someone who's been brainwashed?

I grit my teeth and lift my chin.

I can do this. I can totally do this...I think.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

My palms are so sweaty I nearly drop the chiatum-containing flashlight in my right hand.

"You good?" Grant whispers.

I glance at him. We're side by side, headed down Alyssum's cold basement corridor, towards the room with the pods.

His Alyssum guard uniform fits him a lot better than mine, which is too tight. His posture is perfect and he looks the exact opposite of how I feel.

"I'm good," I lie.

I'm not good. At all. And, I'm pretty sure we're all going to die.

My heart thuds in my chest and I take a deep breath, realizing that Grant probably heard that last thought. I steal a peek at him and his focus is straight ahead, giving no indication that he's aware of my negative thoughts - I wonder if he can't hear every thought. Is that how it works?

As we approach the theater on our right, the memory of what happened there assaults me like a punch to the gut and I steady myself against a wave of nausea.

Amelia Hearth has kidnapped and brainwashed God knows how many people and Gina thinks she and Karin can talk the woman into stopping what she's doing? I don't see how that's possible. It seems more likely that Amelia will respond to their efforts by going berserk - and when that happens, how's Gina going to find it in her heart to take out the woman she's idolized since childhood? That would be like me being tasked with the murder of Chef Gordon Ramsey. There's no way I could even consider doing that.

My nausea returning, I think of Gina kissing me goodbye before she bolted out of Iris so quickly that I was afraid she'd drop her tray of champagne glasses. Did she even remember to grab her weapon? Unless it was hidden somewhere, I definitely didn't see it in her hand... Christ, what if she doesn't have it?

My heart stopping, I slow in stride.

"She's with Karin," Grant says, waving me forward as he continues on towards the room with the pods. "She'll be all right. Karin will take care of her."

I nod, my knees weak.

"Stay focused, Luke," Grant says, his voice low as he returns his attention to the room at the end of the hall. "Otherwise we might not make it out of this alive."

Trying not to panic, even as dread fills my stomach. I resume my original pace and hurry to catch up with Grant.

He's right, Gina's with Unseen, so she'll be okay. I need to get out of my head, and focus.

The hallway's temperature is steadily dropping as we approach the cryo-containment room, from which a thick layer of mist is emerging.

A lone figure steps out of the fog and I come to a stop, reaffirming my grip on my flashlight.

Grant, likewise, pauses.

The figure moves towards us, revealing himself as a stout, freckled-face guy about my age.

Dead-eyed and dressed in a guard uniform like ours, he looks from me to Grant before he stops walking and asks, "Why are you not with a unit on one of the roofs or monitoring the ballroom?" His gaze going from mine to Grant's in a strangely robotic fashion, he says, "That is where all Alyssum guards must be."

When Grant doesn't say anything, I step forward and explain, "We, uh, we need to first ascertain the...the temperature of the -"

A stream of white light cuts into the man's skull, piercing it through. He collapses in a crumpled heap.

Horrified, I turn to Grant as he lowers his chiatum flashlight and without looking at me, says, "When you live with a psycho, it rubs off. Let's go."

He continues on, walking around the man he killed.

I look down at the body.

How many more times is that going to happen tonight?

I tear my eyes away from the dead man and follow Grant into the mist-filled cryo-containment room. The cold air, tinged with the scent of Louisiana Alyssum, makes me sick to my stomach. But determined to ignore my memories, I stop at the first pod I see.

"Here's one. I'm going to open it," I say while Grant moves on to another row of pods.

"Okay, the master pod is on the other end of the room. Once I get to it, I'll be able to open all of them at once," he calls over his shoulder.

"All right." My pulse racing, I kneel beside the pod and wipe condensation from its window. I want to at least see who I'm releasing into the world before I open this thing.

I freeze as Seth Scardina's sleeping face comes into view. His dark hair askew and filled with icicles, he's got two black eyes and he's frowning even as he sleeps.

"Of course it'd be you," I mutter.

I reach into the pocket of my uniform and retrieve the cryopod-use instructions Gina gave me before she left.

I follow the instructions to the tee and a beeping noise sounds as the pod begins to open.

"Hey, Luke!" Grant shouts from another row of pods. "Get your weapon ready and be careful - most of these people we're waking up are going to have abilities and they might already be brainwashed."

Great. This is going to be fun.

I get to my feet and grab my chiatum flashlight, taking a careful step back as Seth emits a gasp and sits up, blinking back at me in shock.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

"Hi!" I face the approaching Alyssum guards, widen my smile, and muster as much fake enthusiasm as I can. "I volunteered as an extra and Amelia told me to wear this and come here before I go to the basement for, uh, for training."

The guards come to a halt and turn to each other, confusion taking hold of their expressions.

Addressing each other, they speak in unison, "Has Amelia informed you of such protocol?"

Goosebumps cover my arms and I turn away from the creepy drone guards to scan the nearby crowd of partygoers who are occupied with pretending to ignore us. Hopefully, I'll spot Karin because I could really use her help right now. My gaze darts from the tall brunette who I mistakenly thought was Karin, to an orange-skinned man who's clearly been the victim of a spray tan gone wrong, to a short, slender woman who meets my eyes as she cuts through the crowd, headed towards me.

My breath catches in my throat and a tremor takes a hold of my hands, which sends another one of my tray's empty champagne glasses crashing to the floor.

Someone gasps and whispers, "My goodness, again?" but I honestly don't care... This blonde woman, whose poster hangs in my classroom and whose movies I've loved with all my heart since I was seven years old, looks even more identical to Karin Greenich in person.

My mouth goes dry as Amelia Hearth, clad in a strapless black ball gown, her long blonde hair curled and pinned up, comes to a stop before me. She holds a glass of champagne in her left hand and, taking a sip, lets her gaze slide from my wild curls all the way down to the black flats I borrowed from Lyla's closet.

Beside me, the conversing guards are using their malfunctioning robot-brains to unsuccessfully try and figure out what to do with me, and they haven't even noticed Amelia approach. I, meanwhile, have nearly gone deaf to the surrounding buzz of conversation and party music.

Amelia's eyes are the deepest of blue and she's way tinier than I expected.

"Ms. Hearth..." I pause, realizing that my voice is coming out as a whisper. Behind me, the guards stop chattering and exclaim, "Amelia!" in unison.

Ignoring them, she meets my eyes and tilts her head expectantly.

My knees weaken, but I clear my throat and manage to speak. "Ms. Hearth, would it be all right if I have a word with you?"

Her eyes, alert and calculating, dart to my silver tray and shoes. "About what?" she asks, revealing the slightly hard of hearing accent I've heard so often in interviews and on television.

Beyond nervous, I moisten my lips.

She sets her champagne glass onto the golden tray of a passing waiter and arches an eyebrow at me. "Well?"

Butterflies fill my stomach. "Because... um, t-the basement and the extras," I stammer. "I know what you're doing and I think we should talk."

Another one of the champagne flutes on my tray falls over and the resulting crash makes me jump, but I don't let my gaze stray from Amelia's.

Her reaction is surprisingly nonchalant. Without any change whatsoever to her expression, she lifts a finger and beckons me.

I take a shaky step towards her.

"I assume you're working with Grant," she speaks quietly.

"Yes." I nod, breathless.

"Then let's talk." With this, she waves off her guards and turns on her heel, sauntering away.

Only now do I realize that another guard, a short dark-skinned man, is beside her. She turns to him and says something I can't hear. He nods and hurries away, disappearing into the crowd.

I take a deep breath and try to regain my composure. She wants to talk to me. Amelia Hearth wants to talk to me... oh, my God.

My body a trembling mess, I follow the path she cuts through the crowd. To my left and right, barely audible whispers zip through the air, one after the other, cluttering my thoughts with their gossip.

"Who is she?"

"Amelia's talking to that klutzy server."

"Maybe she's firing her..."

Not too nervous to be annoyed, I turn around to glare at whoever suggested that I'm going to be fired. A short guy in a toupee blinks back at me and I instantly feel bad for mean-mugging him because how sucky must your life be if you're wearing a toupee that's clearly a toupee? Go ahead Mr. Toupee, whisper away.

I quicken my pace and the closer I get to Amelia, the stronger the scent of Louisiana Alyssum becomes. She brings us past groups of gabbers who ditch their rich-people laughs to stare at us, past waltzing couples on the dance floor, past a drove of youngish wallflowers in the midst of disguising their awkwardness by taking selfie after selfie, and finally we enter a secluded carpeted hallway.

Except for the fact that it doesn't have any movie posters hanging on the walls, it reminds me of the hallway in the main building - the one Seth and I snuck down while he gave me the rundown on Karin and Amelia's history.

At the thought of Seth, my stomach turns.

Amelia might have hurt Seth. Honestly, I don't even know if he's still alive...

I stare at the back of Amelia's head, confusion and anger seeping into my emotions as I watch her honey-blonde curls bounce with her every step.

How could an artist who's made such beautiful films be a mass murderer? And what if Seth is one of her victims? Now here I am, weaponless and following her down a secluded hallway, like that's a good idea.

Tensing, I slow down and glance over my shoulder. The ballroom is so far away that its violin music is now no louder than a whisper.

Then again, maybe this is a good idea.

When I actually try to be persuasive, I'm not all that terrible. So, maybe that's why the universe has me here with Amelia, instead of Karin.

I turn back to Amelia, hurrying to follow her down the poorly lit corridor. She's still a good bit ahead of me and she's walking fast. As I quicken my stride, another one of the champagne glasses falls off my tray and I ignore it, glancing instead at the numbered doors on either side of me. They look like offices. I doubt that Seth would be in any of these rooms. He's probably in the basement with the other podded people... I hope Luke and Grant are okay down there.

Dismissing a wave of panic, I shout, "Where are we going?"

Amelia doesn't make any show of hearing me. She simply forges ahead without glancing back or slowing down.

Fear bears down on me and a slick sheen of sweat forms on my brow. I pause to set my tray on the floor. Still leaned over, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and Andy's camera slides around in my vest pocket, reminding me of its presence. I grab it instinctively and turn it on. As soon as I look up, I see we've reached the end of the corridor and that Amelia's come to a halt.

She faces me, her golden eyes glowing like a cat's in the dim lighting.

The ballroom is so far behind us that I can't even hear the music... it's just me and Amelia.

My movements slow and careful, I stand.

Sure, Amelia's so tiny that she looks malnourished, but Seth called her "powerful." Who knows what she's capable of?

I stare into her glowing eyes, my palms sweating and my knees wobbly. I lower Andy's camera while Amelia lifts her hand, waving me towards her. Even at a distance, I can see that her fingernails are long, red, and sparkling with small golden studs. But my gaze leaves the gaudy nail art and goes to the cat's eye ring on her middle finger. It looks exactly like Karin's.

"Your ring -" I start.

"Come here," Amelia commands, interrupting me. Her lips turn up into a strange little smile.

Though I'm scared to death, I remain rooted in place. "Ms. Hearth, I have so much respect for you as a director," I sputter. "But, uh, but I have to tell you that I know about..." I glance at Amelia's ring again and my breath disappears, taking my words with it. What if that is Karin's ring? What if Karin already talked to Amelia and it didn't go well and now... oh, my God.

Horrified, I bring a trembling hand to my forehead and back away from Amelia.

"You...you're disgusting," I hear myself whisper.

Amelia's smile fades. "Excuse me?"

My thoughts rewind to the candid sincerity in Karin's eyes when she called me "brave" and my very brain seems to shift in my skull. Anger tears through me. Amelia killed her own sister. How could she do that?

My heart pounding, I straighten my spine.

"You heard me." I head towards Amelia, not caring whether or not she uses whatever her stupid ability is against me. "I said you're disgusting! You're punishing innocent people for I.T.I.S.'s mistake. And this stupid plan of yours to -"

Amelia's eyes narrow and as her feet leave the ground to hover above the carpet, I shut up, my pulse racing.

She can fly?

"Their mistake?" Amelia flies towards me and I back away, glancing at the closed office door to my right, hoping it's unlocked. Maybe I can duck in there if need be. But I'll have to be quick. Geez, this is awful.

Amelia repeats herself. "I.T.I.S.'s mistake? A mistake is an accident." Her glowing eyes pierce the darkness as she comes to a halt, midair. "You don't appear to work for I.T.I.S. and you claim to have come here with Grant. Who are you and what, precisely, are your intentions?"

"I'm ..." My voice unsteady, I stop backing away from Amelia and lift my chin, meeting her eyes. "My name is Gina Russo and I'm a filmmaker. I want to expose I.T.I.S. and everything they've done."

Amelia frowns, but says nothing. Without moving an inch, she assesses me through suspicious eyes.

I shift on my feet.

"Gina," she finally says, "you claim you intend to expose I.T.I.S., but it sounds as though you don't quite understand the depth of their iniquity."

I blink back at her.

She's using a lot of unnecessarily big words, but I think I get her point.

"Okay," I say. "So, what don't I understand?"

"For one, you labeled their actions as a mistake, which is an unintentional blunder." Amelia lifts one of her hands and I shiver. She nods to her hand. "Do you see this?"

Tiny golden sparks begin to shoot from the tips of her fingers. They light up the air and then fall to the carpet before disappearing.

"Yes," I nervously whisper.

"This 'ability' was not an unintentional blunder." Amelia's gleaming eyes are steeped in anger. "This was deliberately carried out by the organization that murdered my family and then imprisoned me as one of their experimental subjects. I am -"

"Just like them," I hiss. "You're just like them because it wasn't a mistake when you killed your own sister." Amelia's eyes widen, but I keep talking. "You're brilliant. You could use your abilities for so much good, instead you've used them to kill the only family you have left! I thought you were better than that."

"I didn't kill my sister," Amelia snaps. "Who told you I killed my sister? Was it I.T.I.S.? Is that what they're saying now?"

I open my mouth to reply, but Amelia moves closer, her eyes narrowing.

"Wait a minute." I take an unsteady step back and wince as she comes to a halt directly in front of me. "You didn't just meet up with Karin and... " The smell of Louisiana Alyssum drenching me, I point to her cat's eye ring and ask, "And take her ring?"

Amelia frowns in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

I breathe a sigh of relief and steady myself. "Your sister, Karen Lyles, she's still alive. She has a ring just like yours and when I saw you wearing it, I thought you'd...well, the point is that I.T.I.S. erased your sister's memories and for the past sixteen years, she hasn't been able to remember you. But she's alive and she's here at this party, looking for you."

Amelia backs away from me, her breathing growing shallow and a look of shock in her expression.

"Gina!"

Relief washes over me at the sound of Karin's voice from behind us.

"See? That's her now!" I exclaim and Amelia, pale and wide-eyed, looks down the hallway while I call over my shoulder, "Karin, I'm here with your sister."

Amelia lowers herself to the carpet, her eyes growing even wider at the sight of Karin. She starts to tremble as relief, sadness, and then confusion each take their turn in her facial expression.

A small purse slung over her shoulder and her pretty shoes gone, Karin is in her bare feet and her hair is disheveled as she comes to an abrupt halt. Fascinated, I watch her eyes glow in the dark. They're as bright and golden as Amelia's.

She takes a deep breath and looks at her sister. "Tessa?"

Amelia's upper lip twitches. "Don't call me that," she says, even as she studies Karin from head to toe.

I glance at the increasing amount of golden sparks shooting from Amelia's trembling hands.

Carefully backing away, I raise Andy's camera to chest level and film as discreetly as I can.

"Amelia, then?" Karin asks, her tone gentle. Her dark eyes are calm and though her face is as relaxed as her voice, her stance and posture indicate her state of readiness. "Did they erase your memory too, or do you remember me?"

Amelia flies up and Karin immediately takes a step back. The younger sister's ascent stops only when her head is nearly touching the ceiling. I aim the camera towards her as she looks down at Karin and says, "I remember everything."

Amelia is no longer trembling and there's something menacing in her tone.

I cringe and look at Karin, hoping she's got some sort of weapon in that purse of hers. While the idealist in me wants this to work, there's a huge chance we won't win Amelia over.

"Then can you tell me what happened?" Karin asks, looking up at Amelia and moving towards her. "What did I.T.I.S. do to our family?"

"What happened is that before I became an I.T.I.S. target, I was your target," Amelia says.

"What do you mean?" Karin softly asks.

"I mean," Amelia snaps. "That I was the butt of your friend's jokes, the equivalent of an embarrassing family pet. And when I thought you'd been killed, a part of me was relieved."

Karin flinches.

"Do you know what that's like?" Amelia shouts. "To realize that your own sister's death gives you relief?"

Karin shakes her head. "No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, it makes you hate yourself. It makes you realize just how much of a monster you are," as Amelia speaks, her left eye twitches.

"You're not a monster," Karin says.

Amelia looks at older sister, her expression unreadable. "Alive, you dictated my every action. And dead, you were even worse: you haunted my every thought."

Confused, I look from Karin to Amelia.

Karin might be a little emotionally distant, but I can't imagine her treating her own sister like "an embarrassing family pet."

"I don't understand," Karin says. "What did I do exactly? I can't remember. You have to tell me."

"I was Deaf and I had Autism," Amelia says. While she hovers in the air above us, Amelia lifts her chin and the top of her stylish updo grazes the ceiling. "You assumed my disabilities made me stupid, and so I became what you expected of me."

Karin stands perfectly still as she listens to Amelia.

"I allowed you to make yourself my bridge to humanity, because," Amelia's voice cracks and she pauses. Tears form in her eyes. "Because I thought I wasn't good enough or human enough to get there on my own. But when I.T.I.S. saw my potential, they did me a favor. They burned the bridge."

Oh, God. I take a tiny step back. This isn't going well. At all.

A tear crawls down Amelia's cheek as she continues, "Or so I thought. But here you are, resurrected. The bridge lives!" Amelia laughs in what I think may be the saddest, and most disturbing laugh I've ever heard.

Karin exhales, her face falling.

Amelia wipes away her tears and says, "Karen, why are you here, and how? You have to tell me how you survived, because I...I thought I saw Dr. Mire kill you."

Karin looks as though she might throw up, but her tone is miraculously even. "I wish I knew how I survived. I can't remember. And Tes - Amelia, I'm so sorry for my behavior. It sounds like I must have been horrible. But I'm different now, and that's why I'm here. I'm here to beg you to reconsider what you're doing."

"Do you even understand what I'm doing?" Amelia says with a strangled chuckle.

"I understand what you just told me- I was too controlling. I tried to control you. And I hurt you. Now, you're trying to control thousands of innocent of people. And you're hurting them. Don't be like me. Please Amelia, let them go."

Amelia lifts her right hand, displaying five miniature tornadoes of golden sparks, all simultaneously erupting from each of her fingers. Her glowing eyes dart to me, as if she's just now remembered my presence. She points to me and sends a slew of sparks flying through the air.

I gasp and duck out of the line of fire while she shouts, "Put the camera away!"

"Sorry." I hold the camera behind my back, my hands trembling. I glance over my shoulder as a few small flames erupt in the carpet. I step on the flames, quickly extinguishing them.

That must be how she set I.T.I.S. on fire and then escaped with Grant.

"Amelia," Karin says, carefully inching away from me and moving backwards. "We're not here to hurt you, so please don't hurt us. We're here because the people you've put into cryopreservation and reprogrammed are innocent. There's no reason for them to be a part of this."

"Innocence is a faulty concept," Amelia's reply is quick, but her eyes are full of guilt. "In any case, what would you have me do now? What other option do we have?"

Before Karin can reply, an earsplitting scream erupts from behind us, followed by the distant sounds of shouting. Without a word, Karin turns around and runs in the direction of the noise.

Amelia's eyes widen and she flies after her. "Karen, no! Wait!"

I take a shaky step back as the smell of fire and smoke overwhelm the scent of Louisiana Alyssum. I look around at the darkened offices, wondering where the smell is coming from.

All at once, a perfectly round ball of fire, the size of a basketball, comes shooting down the hallway from the direction of the ballroom.

It's headed straight for Karin and I shout, "Watch out!"

Amelia pushes Karin to the ground, the fire singeing her shoulder as it barely misses Karin's head.

While the orange ball of flames falls to the carpet and separates into a fire that spreads in either direction, Karin repeatedly hits Amelia's shoulder with her purse, squelching the flames.

Her shoulder burned and bleeding, Amelia pushes Karin away. "I'm fine. You have to go now. Get out of here before it's too late - go!"

Karin wordlessly glances at Amelia, grabs her hand, and starts to run towards the ballroom, pulling her with her. But Amelia jerks her hand out of her sister's, forcing them both to a stop.

"You don't want to be here for this, trust me," Amelia hisses. With this, she propels herself up and out of Karin's reach, only to be shoved to the ground by a woman with bright red hair who appears from, literally, out of nowhere.

"Oh, my...holy..." I shriek, backing away. "What is even happening right now?"

The strange, red-headed woman, clad in some kind of black leatherish bodysuit, hovers just above Amelia's limp form. Her eyes glow, but not like Amelia's and Karin's. This woman's eyes shift in color, morphing from green to violet to deep golden to black.

"She's a Novu," I whisper, staring at her in horror.

"Get up, Amelia," the Novu commands, raising her hand as fire forms in her palm.

My curiosity and fright paralyzing me, I don't even lift Andy's camera. All I can do is stare.

Orange flames emerge from the skin of the Novu's palm and then congeal, forming themselves into a large ball. She lifts her palm, which the fireball is still stuck to, and aims it at the nearest wall. She hurls the fire and it hits the wall, spreading with ravenous hunger.

Karin helps her startled sister to her feet and turns to face the flying woman. "What do you want with my sister?" she demands. Karin's voice pulls me from my trance and I turn the camera back on, pointing it at the Novu.

"Who are you to question me?" the Novu demands, lifting her palm and aiming it at Karin.

"No, don't!" I shout, lowering the camera.

Before I can blink, Karin lifts her hand, revealing one of Alyssums' chiatum flashlights. Karin shoots a stream of scalding white at the woman and completely misses her target because the Novu disappears.

"Holy crap," I whisper, turning around and scanning the flame-ridden hallway for any sign of the Novu. She's nowhere in sight. "Where'd she go?"

"Gina, come on, we've got to get out of here!" Karin shouts. I stop looking for the Novu and do as told, only pausing to glance down at the camera in my hand.

I can't believe that my first lucid thought was to turn the camera on. Good God, I'm a freak.

"I added a safe room to every one of my buildings, just in case something like this ever happened," Amelia says. Her feet leaving the carpet, she flies ahead of us. "Follow me."

I look up at her. The burn on her shoulder looks painful and I have to admit that the way she pushed Karin out of the line of fire was brave, but can we really trust Amelia?

"We can," Karin quietly says. "You and Andy were right about her."

I glance behind us. Hot, orange flames are spreading from the hallway walls on up to the ceiling.

"Well," I breathlessly reply, my heart pounding as I turn to Karin. "At least before I die, I'll know I was once right about something."

"You're right about a lot of things and you're not going to die," Karin says, her glowing eyes briefly meeting mine before she quickens her pace and runs ahead of me.

Smoke gets in my eyes as I squint into the distance and hope to God Karin's right.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Seth is shivering and embarrassingly naked - though he doesn't seem the least bit self-conscious about this - as he leans against his opened pod and watches me through narrowed eyes. I crouch before the next pod and use my sleeve to wipe condensation from its window.

"I'm going to freeze to death, you know," he points out.

"Let's not get our hopes up," I mutter.

"What was that?" Seth demands.

"Nothing." I peer into the window, trying to figure out what I'm seeing. The sleeping face below is, just as Grant warned, far from normal. The creature inside has thick greenish skin and an over-pronounced forehead, yet there's something familiar about whoever this is... did I know this person?

"Yo. Really, bro, give me your jumpsuit," Seth says, his teeth chattering.

Ignoring him, I study the sleeping face, the large lips, slender nose, close set eyes, blue eyelashes...

Blue eyelashes! I tense, nausea flipping my stomach.

"Oh, no," I whisper, as I recognize the pretty stranger I made friends with yesterday afternoon. "Carla."

"Hey, come on!" Seth snaps. "Did you wake me up so I could die?"

I robotically get to my feet and unzip my Alyssum guard jumpsuit, but I can't stop staring at Carla. What's she going to be like once we get her out of there? Will she be okay?

"Luke!" Grant shouts from the other side of the large room. "This is it. I found the master pod. Get your weapon ready."

"It's ready." Tearing my eyes away from Carla, I make my way to Seth and hand him the jumpsuit. With a slight of hand that's something near impossible, Seth grabs my chiatum flashlight instead and aims it at my chest.

"Dude." I lift my hands in surrender. "I just saved your life."

"Now we're even." He nods to the jumpsuit, his chattering teeth altering his speech. "Hand it over. Your phone too."

I toss the jumpsuit his way and Seth, trembling like a junkie in treatment, somehow manages to keep the flashlight aimed at me as he steps into the uniform. I glare at him, a ridiculous spark of jealousy flaring in my gut.

It's obvious that this guy, with his stupid six pack abs and toned muscles, has had some kind of intense survival training, because as weakened as he must be, he's managing to move around on his own and it doesn't look like he's pissed himself the way I did when I was podded.

I avert my eyes to the ground, my thoughts going to Gina.

Seth wasn't brainwashed. He's the same confident guy Gina was attracted to a few days ago.

My heart sinks.

What if, when this is all over with, she chooses him?

"The phone." Seth waves the flashlight threateningly.

Douche.

"It's in my pocket," I say, slowly lowering my hands to retrieve it.

A beeping noise sounds, and then another, and then more, as all the pods begin to open.

Seth's eyes widen and he takes an unsteady step back while he looks around. "You're opening them all? That's a terrible idea. Unless you want to fight hundreds of brainwashed mutants. Give me your phone, doughboy."

I throw it at his head, but of course he catches it. As soon as he does, a guttural growl sounds from behind me.

I cringe and Seth aims the chiatum flashlight just past me. "You might want to get over here."

I turn around and my breath leaves me.

Tall, green creatures, resembling ogres from some awful children's fairy tale, emerge from each of the pods. Some of them look around, asking barely intelligible questions about Amelia's whereabouts, while other simply growl and sniff the air.

But none of this is what steals my breath and makes me back away, towards Seth. What nearly scares the piss out of me is the fact that they're literally exhaling fire, like dragons.

Even Carla... she steps out of her pod and shakily finding her balance on her newly oversized feet, looks around in confusion. She fixes her eyes on me, recognition sparking in them. But as she parts her lips to speak, she seems just as surprised as I am, when, instead of words, a burst of flames leave her mouth.

I back away from the fire, which lands on her pod, consuming it.

All around us, a similar state of events unfold with each of the creatures. So, not only is the large room filled with growling noises, but with numerous small and rapidly spreading fires, which is... great.

"Claire, it's Seth."

I turn to Seth.

Pale and trembling, he's got my phone to his ear, "...we need backup at Alyssum Studios, the basement of Building One. Send a sweeper crew. Expect multiple casualties and exposure."

With this, he hangs up, throws my brand freaking new phone to the cement, and blasts it with the chiatum flashlight.

"Hey!" I shout, starting for him.

He raises the flashlight threateningly. "That was my favor to you unless you want I.T.I.S. on your tail."

Another growl sounds from behind me and I turn around to see Carla approaching. She's shaking her head, confusion in her eyes. As she opens her mouth to attempt to speak, another burst of fire emerges.

I cringe, duck, and step away while the flames fall to the cement.

"Carla," I say, backing away and holding out one of my hands. "Amelia did this, she -"

A stream of white hits her between the eyes.

Shocked, I turn to Seth. "No, stop! Don't!" I shout, reaching for the chiatum flashlight.

He backs away from me. His gaze still on Carla, he shoots a second time. The flashlight's laser beam hits her in the same spot between the eyes and she collapses, her oversized body sending a small quake throughout the entire room.

Anger pulsing through me, I turn to Seth. The rest of the room is a blur as I start for him. Before I know it, we're on the ground, my fist is in his face and the chiatum flashlight beside us.

I stoop over him, looking down at his bloody nose, my fist readied. "Why'd you do that? She was a victim. This wasn't her fault. You just killed an innocent woman!"

"No, she wasn't. Once they become mutants, they're I.T.I.S. tools," Seth retorts, his gaze darting to my fist. He's still trembling and he feels like ice, but the more he speaks, the more nonexistent my sympathy for him becomes. "They're not even human anymore."

Disgusted, I punch him again.

He groans, his eyes rolling back in his head. Releasing him, I grab my weapon.

"Grant?" I shout, turning around and freezing as Carla's body comes into view.

My stomach folding in on itself, I stumble to her lifeless body and crouch beside her. Just like the man Grant shot in the hallway, the laser went clear through Carla's skull, but unlike him, her eyes are still open. I close them and her blood - bright red and mixed with a greenish fluid - seeps onto my fingers.

She didn't deserve this.

My eyes fill. Blinking away tears, I get to my feet.

I don't care how brave Gina thinks Seth is. I don't want to be anything like him. Killing innocent people doesn't make him brave, it makes him desperate and cowardly... acting out of fear instead of insight.

Spotting Grant as he ducks out of the line of fire from a creature that appears to be suffering from some kind of sneezing/fire-expelling fit, I wave him over. "We need to get these guys out of here!" I shout as he starts towards me. "Seth called I.T.I.S. and asked for a 'sweeper crew.' I think we need to evacuate before they show up."

"You're right. The sweepers will either kill us or erase our memories," Grant replies, briefly glancing at the still-sneezing creature who's now managed to accidently set his own foot on fire. "You'd think these guys would be completely fireproof."

Hurriedly tearing off my shirt, I run to the creature and beat the flames off his foot. The flames die down, but when the big guy tries to say thank you, or at least I think that's what he's going for, he nearly burns my face off.

Out of breath, I dart around a blazing cryopod, run to Grant and come to a screeching halt as he gestures towards the entrance. "In all of her genius, Amelia didn't think to put fire extinguishers in here."

I follow his gaze to the blazing fire that's consumed the path to the elevator and doorway.

"There's got to be another way out." I turn around, looking for an alternate exit.

"Only one way in and one way out," Grant says.

He's right. As I frantically search the room, all I see are mutated people, rapidly spreading fire, and thickening smoke. I cough as the smoke creeps into my lungs.

Suddenly, a blasting noise sounds in the fire-ridden doorway.

I move back and lift my flashlight, but Grant claps a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "It's I.T.I.S. Get down and stay out of sight." He crouches and I follow suit.

A cloud of cold mist envelopes the fire at the cryo-containment room's entrance, squelching it out of existence and making way for a tall, blonde woman who leads a group of about forty dark-suit-wearing men and women, each of them equipped with headsets and readied guns.

"The sweeper team?" I ask and turn to find Grant staring at them, terror etched in his features.

"We've got to get out of here," he whispers.

"What about these people?" I hiss. "We can't just leave them with I.T.I.S."

Grant doesn't reply.

"Find Seth," the blonde woman, who seems to be the leader, says. She moves forward, continuing to speak into her headset while she surveys the room and its confused inhabitants. "Round up Amelia's victims and bring them to safety." She's about ten feet away and headed straight for us, her eyes going to a nearby electrical fire that looks especially dangerous.

"She said "bring them to safety." Are we sure she's not on our side?" I quietly ask.

"Oh, we're a hundred percent sure," Grant growls, his upper lip curling. "'Bring them to safety' is code for kill them." With this, he raises his flashlight, aims it at the woman, and shoots.

I wince, but she's quick. She ducks right and immediately returns fire in our direction.

I stay low to the ground, flattening myself as much as I can.

She hits one of the nearby mutants and he cries out in pain, before falling to the ground. The floor shakes and he emits another yelp. As he cries out, he inadvertently releases a slew of fire, which latches onto a nearby pole and travels up to the ceiling.

"Dr. Hawke, take a look at this!" one of the sweeper team shouts. The blonde woman stops shooting and heads to the speaker.

Grant stands slowly, careful to keep out of sight. I do the same. I glance at the recently procured exit and catch sight of Seth limping away, undetected, a chiatum flashlight in his hand. I start to point this out to Grant when the recently burned pole to our left gives way and the fire-consumed ceiling above us begins to creak.

"We've got to get out of here now," I say, turning to Grant.

His face contorted with rage, he grips the chiatum flashlight and aims it at the blonde woman whose name must be Dr. Hawke.

I grab Grant's arm, forcing him to lower the weapon and he looks at me in surprise. "No more killing," I say. "We're here to help these people."

Part of the ceiling falls beside us, startling me. And then larger chunks begin to fall, piece by piece.

As Dr. Hawke looks up, her eyes widen. She backs away and shouts, "Abort to regroup, abort to regroup!"

I dart around a fire-consumed pod, shove past two I.T.I.S. sweepers and just barely avoid getting my arm burned off by one of Amelia's victims. In the midst of running, I take a look around: the sweeper team, the fires, the mutated people... this might be it for me.

If this is the end, at least I'll die having done one thing right: Gina will know I loved her.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

Sometimes it's best not to finish what we start. Now that everything I've worked for is, quite literally, in flames and collapsing around me, I understand this.

Squinting into the smoky air, I fly forward. "Just a bit farther and we'll be safe underground."

"But what about the people in the party? Shouldn't we help them?" The annoying Anne Hathaway lookalike called Gina asks from behind me.

Less than a foot ahead of me, a fire-ridden piece of the ceiling crashes to the floor. I dart around it.

What about the people in the party?

I bite the inside of my cheek. In the distance ahead, screams stream down the hallway; they come from the ballroom Gina's mentioned.

All those people are going to burn to death.

I take a shaky deep breath and slow in flight.

The safety of the basement is just ahead...but so is the ballroom. My fingers aching, I curl them into fists.

This shouldn't be a choice. We should go to the basement.

No one is innocent. No one is good. And it doesn't matter who dies or lives, because eventually we're all going to die.

"That's a cop out," my sister says and I wince, the sound of her voice startling me.

"Sometimes you have to listen to your doubt, Amelia," she continues. Another flame-covered piece of the ceiling crashes to the floor in front of me. "Sometimes doubt exists for a reason."

My hands shaking, I press my lips together and say nothing. But as I continue on towards the safety of the basement, the screams from the ballroom ring in my ears, every one of their tortured voices speaking for me.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

"It's just up here and on the right!" Amelia shouts from above.

We're approaching the soundstage turned ballroom, where the frantic screams bring Karin and me to a complete halt. Beyond the doorway ahead, the ballroom is full of flames and smoke.

"People are still in there," I say, horrified.

"It's too late for them." Amelia's voice shakes as she lowers herself to the office door at our right. "Come on, hurry."

I take a deep breath and smoke seeps into my lungs, making me cough, but I don't move. There's no way we can just leave these people behind. I turn to Karin and shake my head. "I can't go with you," we both say in unison.

Karin frowns and shoves me into the office doorway. I stumble backwards as she starts towards the ballroom. "Go with my sister to safety. I'll find you in a few minutes."

Beads of sweat falling from my forehead, I right myself on my feet and scramble after her. "Wait, Karin," I shout. "I can help." Before I know it, Amelia's grabbing my hand, pulling me out of the flame-infested hallway and pushing me into the tiny office.

"Good Lord! I can tell y'all are sisters. You're both so pushy," I hiss as Amelia starts for the door, sparks shooting from her fingers. "Why are you always pushing people around?"

She pauses in the doorway, and my gaze goes to the large burn on her shoulder. It's so raw, it's painful to even look at. Amelia's eyes briefly meet mine. "I'll help my sister. You get to the safe room. The entrance is behind that desk, on the floor. It'll lead you to an outside exit, just keep following the path."

"But -"

"I'm the reason this is happening. I'm the one who should stop it," Amelia says, her eyes bright.

"Uh, okay."

"I have to do at least one thing right," she mumbles before hurrying through the office door and back into the flame-covered hallway.

I turn to face the room she's pushed me into.

At least she's doing the right thing now.

Just as she's said, there's a desk ahead. I run to it and easily find a square-shaped break in the carpet on the floor behind it. Crouching, I pry open the trap door and peer down into it. A welcomed gust of cool air wafts up, hitting my face. The room below is dimly lit and smells of fresh oak. I think the smell is coming from the sturdy wooden ladder that leads from the trap door to the cement floor below. To the left of the ladder is a wall containing a small rack of flashlights, like the ones the Alyssum guards carry. Beyond the ladder, the room continues on into a narrow hallway.

My hands trembling, I stick Andy's camera under my arm and start down the ladder.

"Amelia!" A familiar voice shouts from the corridor just outside of this office. I freeze.

My heart nearly stops as I recognize the Novu woman's voice. Faltering, I turn to the dimly lit room below. All I have to do is hop off this ladder and run to safety.

"Amelia, you can't hide from me," the woman shouts.

I close my eyes, my heart pounding so much, my entire chest shakes with every beat.

I can take care of myself or I can go give Amelia a hand... Opening my eyes, I jump off the ladder, my feet landing on the cement with a thud. I run to the rack of flashlights, grab one, and pray that by some horrible stroke of bad luck, it isn't a regular flash light from Home Depot or whatever.

With this, I return to the ladder and climb up.

As soon as I get to the top, the Novu woman passes by the office door, her feet hovering above the carpet and her flowing red hair the same color as the flames covering the walls on either side of her.

Oh, God.

Even my thoughts are quivering in fear as I set Andy's camera down on the desk. Reaffirming my grip on my flashlight, I make my way to the door and peer down the hall, in the direction the Novu woman's flown.

Flames leap from the walls and ceiling as Amelia emerges from the ballroom, her forehead stained with ash and her black dress torn.

The Novu woman turns to Amelia and lifts her hand, a ball of fire forming in her palm. I move forward, lift my flashlight, and aim it at her. "Hey!" I shout.

The Novu turns to me and my hands trembling, I release the weapon's stream of chiatum. Still airborne, she ducks out of the line of white light and spins midair. Aiming her palm at me, she discharges the fireball intended for Amelia. It speeds towards me, an orange sphere of congealed flames that fill my vision.

I gasp as something pushes me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me.

Confused, I start to get up but a firm hand on my shoulder stops me and Karin's voice sounds in my ear. "Stay down." Relieved, I turn around to thank her, but despite of the proximity of her voice and the hand on my shoulder, I can't see her. Apparently, Unseen has retrieved her Blackbird.

Suddenly, another ball of fire is headed straight for me. I roll to the right where I'm nearly singed by flames leaping from the hallway wall. Cursing under my breath, I scramble to my feet.

Karin said stay down, but how am I supposed to stay down in a hallway where the carpet's about to catch fire? I mean, the flames have really spread - they cover the walls on either side of us, the hallway behind me, and the ballroom beyond.

Thank God the Novu fire-wench has temporarily stopped hurling flames at our heads. She's too busy staring at Amelia, who is in the Novu's face, shooting her little spark things at her. I cringe and ready my flashlight. Amelia's little sparks are resulting in a few flames, but it's clear that the Novu woman's skin is flame retardant and that Amelia's mini-fireworks show is basically pointless.

The Novu lifts her palm and aims it at Amelia. I lift my flashlight, my finger hovering over the button that will release chiatum.

I'll shoot on three. One, two -

Amelia balls her tiny hand into a fist and plows it into the Novu's jaw. Almost simultaneously, the Novu is pushed to the carpet by an invisible force... Karin.

Amelia flies down to the red-headed woman and punches her in the face a second time.

I run to the two sisters, my eyes on the redhead, my flashlight ready. There's no way a bulimic-looking Hollywooder like Amelia could've actually hurt her.

The Novu woman groans, her hand going to her face as a bruise forms on her jaw.

I lower my flashlight.

Wow...

Karin materializes into sight, gripping the Blackbird in her right hand. She looks down at the cringing Novu and then at her sister. "How'd you do that?" she asks.

Amelia points to her ring, which is identical to Karin's. "Our rings. They're infused with chiatum."

The Novu woman disappears and terror courses through me.

"Oh, no," I whisper, taking a step back and looking around. "Where'd she go?"

"Here," says a calm voice, above me.

Lifting my weapon, I look up to find the Novu hurling an especially large sphere of congealed fire at Amelia. I aim and shoot, but I'm too slow. The Novu disappears and my chiatum hits the flames that cover the hallway ceiling.

Behind me, Karin screams. I turn to Karin and Amelia is... no longer Amelia.

I drop my flashlight, bile rising in my throat.

The fireball has completely consumed her head and torso.

Karin continues to scream as flames leap from Amelia's burning body.

I hurry to Karin, coughing as smoke collects in my lungs.

Karin falls to her knees. She tries to beat the flames from her sister's blackened corpse but the fire doesn't die, it simply spreads to Karin's dress.

I start to reach for Karin, to make her get to her feet. But I hesitate. I understand why she's doing this. If I'd been with my grandpa when he had his heart attack, even after he was gone, I would've tried to bring him back... but the truth is that Amelia's dead and if we don't get out of here, the Novu who murdered her is likely to come back and finish us off. And if she doesn't, the smoke inhalation and fire will.

"Karin, I'm so sorry, but she's gone," I say. Talking worsens the effect of the smoke and I cough even more. As the ceiling groans above our heads, I look up in horror.

This is bad.

I pull off my vest, ball it up and use it to smother the small fire that's spread to Karin's dress. As I extinguish the last of the flames, she pushes me away and I fall on my butt, hard. Behind us, the hallway ceiling starts to cave and a cracking noise above sends my pulse into overdrive.

Wiping tears from my murky vision, I push myself up, run back to Karin, and grab her by the upper arm, forcing her to her feet. Her typically stoic face is contorted into something between an inaudible sob and a gasp as she refuses to tear her eyes away from her sister.

"I'm sorry, but we have to get out of here." It takes every bit of strength I have to pull her away from Amelia. With this, I grab her fallen Blackbird device and steer us in the direction of Amelia's underground exit. Behind us, the flame-covered ceiling falls, piece by piece to the carpet as we barely make our escape.

#

Alyssum Studios Production Company

"A woman. A woman with fire in her palms..." A sobbing elderly lady cries, her face ashy with soot and her blue ball gown a tattered mess. Tears stream down her face as she whimpers her explanation to a somber man in a dark suit.

The man places a hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to help you, ma'am. Hold still, all right?"

A night breeze flows through Alyssum Studio's bustling front lawn. In the distance, fire trucks and ambulances screech. As a police officer runs past me, loud on her walkie-talkie, I come to an abrupt stop, watching the somber man in the suit man retrieve a long and slender silver device from his pocket.

"Close your eyes," he says, glancing around to see whose watching. With this, he shoves one end of the device into the, very surprised, woman's left nostril. I wince.

Grant, just behind me, gives me a shove and whispers. "That's an I.T.I.S. sweeper. Keep moving. Avoid anyone in a suit."

I do as told and, hurrying onward, scan the tearstained faces in the crowd around us.

At the sight of every face that isn't Gina's, my fear worsens and I start to feel ill. If anything's happened to her, I'm pretty sure I'll need my memory erased.

A helicopter sounds in the skies above and I look up to see a news chopper. Meanwhile, we pass a firefighter who's helping a limping man towards an emergency vehicle.

To my right, a man in a dark suit looks around as the person he's "talking" to suddenly collapses in his arms. Another sweeper...

"Don't worry, Luke." Grant's voice is quiet and I glance back at him. He catches my eye and, relief relaxing his features, says, "I just heard from Karin. They're up ahead."

All the world brightens and I take off running, like a blind fool, in the direction I think Grant must have been talking about. I push past what feels like scores of people, literally shoving some of them aside, and as the crowds thin out, I find myself in a quiet wooded area, Grant just behind me.

Among the trees ahead, I spot Gina pulling Karin out of what looks like a trap door that's hidden in the grass.

"Gina!" I shout, running to her. She turns to me, as out of breath as I am and an absolutely bruised mess - her black vest missing and her shirt torn. She's got a camera in one hand and Karin's hand in her other. Her eyes are glazed over.

Cringing, I slow down.

She's not limping, so I guess she's okay.

Grant darts past me and helps Karin, who I realize is limping.

Gina still hasn't released Karin's hand or stopped staring at me through wide, glazed-over eyes.

I start to touch her and then stop. "You okay?" I ask.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

I glance at the little red camera in her hand and its red light is on, indicating that it's still recording. "Let's turn your camera off and then get back to Iris, okay?"

Gina looks down at the camera and then back at me, her mouth still open.

I close the gap between us with a gentle hug. When she doesn't resist, I tighten my embrace and kiss the top of her head. "You're safe now. Everything's going to be okay."

Gina exhales. "Okay."

At the sound of her voice, I close my eyes, relieved, and pull her even closer.

#

Five Days Later

New Orleans Airport

The New Orleans airport isn't very busy at five AM on a Tuesday. Even so, I find myself battling a silent sort of agoraphobia, glancing here and there and scanning every corridor we traverse for emergency exits should a fire break out or a Novu appear out of thin air.

As paranoid as I may sound now, this is nothing compared to the state I was in after the fire at Amelia's production company. I could barely even speak.

I run my thumb along the silver cat's eye ring Karin gave me. It felt weird slipping her dead sister's ring on my finger and even now, every time I touch or look at the discolored silver band, an unsettling gloominess wraps itself around my heart. But I still wear it. Karin explained that it contains chiatum; the only weapon known to be effective against the Novu. So, I figure the ring will come in handy one day.

A woman's voice sounds over the airport's PA, startling me. I listen closely, expecting her to say something about an emergency - perhaps a group of hostiles have taken over the airport or a fire has inexplicably broken out.

The woman announces that a flight to Huntsville, Alabama is now boarding.

I try to relax and tune her out. The announcement has nothing to do with Lyla's flight to New York... and I seriously need to calm down. Freaking out over everything isn't going to save us.

Two young guys with wrinkled clothes, bedhead hair, and coffee in both of their hands wordlessly pass us. One of them accidently brushes my arm and I flinch.

"You okay?" Luke gives my hand a squeeze and I glance at him. His bruises are healing nicely - there's only a faint purplish hue on his jaw. Despite it, he looks good with his hair neatly brushed and he's wearing a light blue t-shirt I've never seen before. His hands are full, one pulling Lyla's rolling suitcase and the other grasping my hand. He frowns.

I guess I should answer him instead of just staring at him. I smile and he loses his frown. "Seems like we ask each other that a lot," I say.

He nods, his gaze wandering in the direction that the two half-asleep guys have gone. "After what happened, I'd say that's warranted," he quietly replies.

"Yeah." I think of Karin, frantic and crying as she tried to put out the flames that covered Amelia's corpse. The memory slinks away, leaving a knot in my stomach.

My mouth feels sticky, so I moisten my lips and turn to Luke, where Lyla is peering at me from his left. Despite the hour, her green eyes are beyond alert as she looks from me to him. "What are y'all talking about? Oh, God, listen to me..." She smacks her forehead, frowning. Luke and I exchange glances and turn to Lyla while she sighs. "I come here for one week, one, and I'm already saying, 'y'all' like some kind of swamp princess."

"Swamp princess?" Luke smiles. "Come to think of it, that's the perfect description for you."

They banter, but I turn away from their conversation to stare, somewhat blindly, ahead.

Honestly, I'm not okay.

I can't stop thinking about what happened at Alyssum Studios.

Even though Karin, Amelia, and the fire department got most of the people out of that ballroom, they weren't able to rescue all of them. Besides this, Seth's still missing. Betty is too, which breaks my heart. And fifty-two Alyssum Studios guards are reported as missing, in their case, the word "missing" is only used to soften the blow of what really happened to them - dead, with no remains.

In addition to that group of dead, are the half-mutated people who were in the cryopods. Grant says I.T.I.S. most likely rounded them up and executed them.

And then there's the woman who I once considered my hero... Amelia.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I remember the hurt in her eyes when she explained how I.T.I.S. treated her when she was a child.

The way she was abused doesn't justify the abuse she inflicted on others... but still, I can't, in good conscience say that her crimes warranted the horrible way she died.

My palms start to sweat and I wipe my free hand on my jeans.

If the Novu really do have Earth on their hit list like Betty's been saying, then we're beyond screwed. And the fact that Amelia was killed by an angry Novu leads me to believe that Betty's right. What happened to Amelia was just a precursor. If we're not prepared, that's going to happen to every single one of us.

My heart beginning to pound, I turn to Luke. Beside him, Lyla points to the line ahead and says, "There's the security check in. I guess I-"

"Luke, when we get back to town, we've got to warn everyone about the Novu," I cut in, interrupting Lyla. She and Luke turn to me with widened eyes and I know I probably look and sound beyond crazy, but I don't care. I come to a halt and face Luke. "The news is calling what happened at Alyssum Studios an 'electrical fire.' They're not saying what really happened because they don't know. No one in Swamp Rose knows about I.T.I.S. or the Novu and as long as they're ignorant, they're sitting ducks. We have to make I.T.I.S.'s secrets common knowledge and then we have to band together and fight. We've got to keep the Novu away from Earth."

Luke takes a deep breath. He lowers his gaze to the airport's linoleum. "I hear what you're saying, but I don't think we can call the Novu our enemies until we understand more about them."

"What?" I exclaim. Luke flinches. I try to calm my tone, but I'm not very successful. "I know who they are! I watched a Novu kill Amelia Hearth!"

"Yeah, you saw one Novu do something terrible," Luke says. He looks up, hesitantly meeting my gaze. "But what if they're not all like her?"

I glance at a window beyond the security checkpoint where a large plane, appearing to grow smaller and smaller from my perspective, taxies towards the very end of the airstrip. I take a deep breath and attempt to keep my voice steady as I fix my gaze on the ascending plane. "So, basically, you're saying you're not going to help me."

"Of course I'll help you," he says. "But I think we shouldn't jump to conclusions about an entire species."

I give Luke my full attention and at the sight of him, it dawns on me how tired he is. My heart immediately softens. His eyes are a clear reflection of the lack of sleep we've both endured for the past five days.

"Just look at the people Amelia kidnapped, for example," he says. "They weren't all the same. Some of them had been brainwashed, but others hadn't and... they were innocent. But I.T.I.S. made sure they all died, even the innocent ones. Do we really want to be like I.T.I.S.?"

I nod. "I understand." With this, I plant a kiss on Luke's cheek and he smiles. "And, honestly, maybe you're right. Maybe not all of the Novu are like that one ..." I let my voice trail off as Lyla joins us, turning our tête-à-tête into a small circle.

She gives me a smile and pats my shoulder. "It sounds like you all have some world saving business to attend to." She points to the security checkpoint. "So, I'm going to go and let you do what you do."

"Sorry about my outburst."

"Do not apologize, Gina." Lyla shakes her head. "Heroes are entitled to outbursts every now and then."

Heroes? Did Lyla Oni-Karlsson just call me a hero?

Figuring I must have misheard, I shrug off her words and grab her in a bear hug. "Lyla, I'm going to miss you so much." She smells fabulous, like expensive perfume and hairspray... like normality. I inhale her scent one last time before pulling away.

She grabs my hand. "Wait." She fixes her pretty green eyes on mine. "Whatever it was I called you that night, the night of your accident, uh..."

"I think the words were, 'coward' and 'loser.'" I chuckle. "But it's okay."

Lyla rolls her eyes. "You know what? You and Luke told me what happened with Amelia Hearth and I.T.I.S., and what am I doing? I'm running away. But you're here, taking care of everything. So, who's the coward now?"

I shake my head. "No, you're not."

"And really, Gina," Lyla speaks forcefully as she tightens her grip on my hand. "Now that I've thought about it, this is exactly what you've been doing the whole time - taking care of everything. When your grandpa died, you could've run away, but you didn't. You stayed to take care of your grandma. And after she passed, you took care of what she left behind. You've always been brave. I was just too self-centered to see that."

A lump forming in my throat, I grab Lyla and pull her into another hug. "I love you so much." I close my eyes while they fill.

Lyla has no idea how much what she's just said means to me. And I'd tell her this, but I don't want to really start sobbing and embarrass us all. So, I simply release her, give her a shaky smile, and wipe the tears from my eyes while she hugs Luke.

He takes my hand and we wave goodbye one last time as she rolls her suitcase towards the waiting line.

As soon as Lyla steps into the crowded area, nearly everyone in the vicinity looks up from their phones, iPad, and daydreams, to watch the pretty stranger sashay by. Lyla, meanwhile, lifts her head in faux confident nonchalance and pretends not to notice her audience. Only I know how uncomfortable all of that attention makes her.

As I watch her pretend, it dawns on me that I know Lyla better than almost anyone else...and that I was probably right about her. I'd bet anything that my best friend is in love with Luke. I picked up on something that she was desperately trying to hide. And the thing is, she dismissed her feelings because she saw that I had the exact same problem.

Luke gives my hand a tug. "You ready?" He kisses the top of my head.

"Yeah," I say without moving. I watch Lyla take her place in line. She turns around and we lock eyes.

"I love you, Lyla!" I shout and wave.

Mortified, she turns around and pretends not to know me.

Luke laughs. "Yep, that's about right."

I chuckle, but my heart breaks a little. He never did understand Lyla. I don't think most people do. She's more sensitive than most people realize.

"I'm going to miss her," I quietly say.

"We'll meet up with her again soon," Luke gives my hand a squeeze. "After we save the world, New York will still be around."

I snort. "Well, hopefully it will. You never know."

We exchange a glance and Luke shrugs. "True. And on that slightly depressing note, are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah." I nod and we being our trek towards the exit. "Do you sometimes feel like we're the Avengers, but without superpowers?"

Luke chuckles. "I can honestly say I've never felt like an Avenger. I feel more like... well, have you ever seen Mr. Bean?"

I laugh. "You are so not Mr. Bean! You're a million times hotter."

As Luke argues this point, we saunter, hand in hand, past an elderly woman in a motorized wheelchair, a yawning flight attendant, and a literally running woman who looks more than a little flustered as she hurries down the corridor.

"Looks like someone's going to miss their flight," I note, turning to watch the woman. To my surprise, she passes up the airport security line and heads straight for a nearby gate.

The airport security guards simply glance at her and then continue on with their business of checking tickets and carry-on bags.

"Are you seeing this, Luke?"

"Yeah, weird they didn't stop her. It's like they don't even care." We slow down to watch what happens next.

The woman approaches a flight attendant behind the gate desk. The woman is clad in a rather pretty dark blue suit. It looks like something Vicky Pianciano would wear and I sigh at the thought of the Piancianos.

Despite the scene in front of me, I can't help but wonder what I'm going to say to Vicky and Ryan. They hate me. Especially Ryan. His sister is missing and he blames me... I'm worried to death about where she is, but for some reason I have a feeling that she's all right.

"I don't think that lady is a passenger after all. Look." Luke's voice goes up a notch, pulling me out of my thoughts. Two men in dark suits and a similarly dressed blonde woman are now running down the concourse, headed for the same gate as the first running woman. As the three of them come closer, I recognize the blonde woman and instantly tighten my grip on Luke's hand.

It's Dr. Claire Hawke.

"Luke," I hiss, my heart skipping a beat. "That's the head of I.T.I.S."

He curses softly.

"They must be looking for us," I whisper, panicking as Claire approaches the female I.T.I.S. agent who's in deep conversation with the flight attendant. Meanwhile, the two male agents run into the corridor leading to the plane.

Without a word, Luke pulls us both away from the scene, headed towards our exit. I look over his shoulder, watching the flight attendant's eyes widen as she moves away from Claire.

If Claire were here for us, why would she be looking for us on a flight? What's she doing?

"Wait." I drop Luke's hand and turn around. "I don't think they're here for us."

Luke grabs my arm. "Gina, if she recognizes us -"

"Maybe she won't." I give Luke a look and he releases me, his jaw tensing.

"Gina!"

"I just want to see what's going on." The sentence has barely left my lips when the two male I.T.I.S. agents return from the corridor with a captive between them: a tall, dark-haired man whose head is down and whose hands have been bound behind his back.

Claire turns to their captive and says something, which makes him look up. Seth Scardina's blue eyes come into focus. I gasp and, without a second thought, I start towards Seth.

"Gina!" Luke hisses.

I glance at the busy airport security guards and none of them seem to be paying any attention. I dart to my left, dodging the security line, and slipping into the pathway meant for disembarking passengers who are leaving the airport. Walking against the flow of traffic, I use the path to get to the gate.

Is this well thought out? No. I mean, I basically have no plan at all. But I know one thing: I cannot let I.T.I.S. just take Seth. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have Luke back. I won't abandon Seth a second time.

"Claire!" I call out with a wave as I approach the gate. "Hey, Claire!"

The angelic-looking head of I.T.I.S. turns to me, her every feature tense as her eyes widen.

"Gina." She stands a bit straighter and tilts her head, even daring to smile as I approach. "What a surprise."

"Yeah, I guess the airport is the place to be on a Tuesday morning. You see everybody here." I turn to Seth, whose face is even more bruised than Luke's as he watches me through narrowed eyes. I point to him. "What's going on?"

"I'm collecting one of our escaped patients." Claire's expression is now devoid of any surprise and the lie slips so easily from her lips that I'm taken aback. She gives me another smile and lowers her voice to a whisper. "And this one can be a bit of a handful, so if you don't mind, I'd better see that he's escorted out safely."

I don't know what to do.

My gaze darts from the brunette at Claire's right, to Seth. The brunette has a hand ready at her hip, as if there's a weapon hidden behind her suit jacket. I don't doubt that there is.

"Okay," I say, returning my attention to Claire.

I really don't know what to do.

"I hope he'll be all right," I say, feeling stupid, and like I should've taken a note from Luke and thought this through before running over here.

"I'll be fine," Seth snaps and the agent at his right shoves him forward, telling him to shut up. Ignoring him, Seth looks Claire in the eye. "She won't kill me. She'll just erase my memory and send me to my next assignment."

The ignored agent knees Seth in the chest and I flinch as he groans.

I have to do something - but what?

"It was great to see you, Gina. Let's talk again soon," Claire says, returning her attention to the agents who have Seth.

My breathing stilted, I brush my thumb along Amelia's ring and glance back at Luke. He's frowning and shaking his head. I turn away from him, spin the ring around on my finger and grab Claire's upper arm. "Claire, wait."

"Unhand her," the brunette says, reaching under her jacket and moving toward me.

"It's all right, Lupita," Claire says, though her eyes are full of annoyance as they meet mine.

I smile at the agent called Lupita. "We're old friends." With this, I return my attention to Claire and whisper, "I'm wearing Amelia Hearth's ring, which is actually a weapon that's full of something called chiatum. All I have to do is press the stone against your arm and you're dead."

I don't know if that's actually how the ring works, but after everything that's happened, I'll take my chances.

Claire's eyes widen in a fleeting look of surprise. Before I can even form my next thought, her cool returns. "What is it that you want?"

"Let him go." I nod to Seth. "Let him get on the plane and don't go after him."

She blinks back at me.

"Dr. Hawke, is everything all right?" Lupita asks, her hand still under her jacket.

"Gina," Luke's voice sounds from behind me. He must have dodged security and made his way up here. "We should go," he says.

"Yes, I'm fine." Claire's gaze moves from me to Luke before she lowers her voice and nods in the direction of her agents. "If you kill me, they'll come after you. Not to mention that there are four of us and only two of you."

"Not four," I whisper. "With you dead, there will be three. Not to mention a motherless son at your house. Let Seth go. Do it, Claire, let him go. Right now." I stare her down and tighten my grip on her arm.

She says nothing and I press the stone into her flesh. She flinches.

"Dr. Hawke?" Lupita steps forward.

"Release Mr. Scardina. We've had a change of plans," Claire says, her tone clipped.

"But -"

"Release him," Claire says. "Return him to the plane now."

The confused I.T.I.S. agent slowly makes her way to Seth, nodding to the plane. "Let's go."

"And tell your agents or whatever you call these goons to leave without you as soon as he's on the plane," I whisper.

Claire's nostrils flare.

"Do you want to die?" The words feel strange on my lips, but even as my conscience nips at me, I remember Adam Freeman and what I.T.I.S. did to him. "Tell them."

"Lupita," Claire calls after the agent. The dark-haired woman turns back to us, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Once Mr. Scardina is on the plane, return to the office without me."

"But, Dr. -"

"Just do it," Claire says.

I reaffirm my grip on Claire's arm as she returns her attention to me. "Why do this to yourself? You're young. You have no reason to get involved in this."

"I have every reason," I retort. "The question is why are you doing this? Are you really that twisted?"

Luke touches my arm. "We should get out of here while they're busy getting Seth on the plane. And before airport security sees us."

He's right.

"Grab her other arm. Make sure she doesn't try anything," I say as we start for the concourse.

Luke does as I've asked and Claire turns to me. "I'm not a monster, Gina. I'm not like the other I.T.I.S. board members."

"Could've fooled me," I say.

"And I can understand your confusion," Claire says. "For years, I've had to play along, to make I.T.I.S. believe I was supportive of their plans. If I hadn't pretended to be on their side, they would've come after my son."

My thoughts darting to Ran, I fix my gaze ahead and try not to look as though my resolve is weakening.

"You say that," Luke interjects, "but you don't just work for I.T.I.S., you're the one giving the orders."

I glance at Claire.

"I've been with them for over twenty years," she says. "And, yes, in that time, they've promoted me. But when I say I'm not like them, you have to believe me. If it weren't for me, there would be no Unseen."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

A couple walks past us, their eyes going to my death grip on Dr. Hawke's arm and I glance behind us.

So far, the I.T.I.S. agents haven't caught up with us.

"It means that fifteen years ago, I freed one of the children who I.T.I.S. captured and experimented on. That child grew up to become Unseen."

"So you helped Karen Lyles escape," I say as we turn a corner and head for the automatic exit doors ahead. "But you've kept Adam Freeman locked away for how many years?"

"I thought we'd need him," Claire says. "You obviously aren't aware of the group of experimental subjects who I.T.I.S. began working with long before I'd joined the program. They're very angry with us and -"

"The Novu," Luke says.

"So, you are aware." Claire glances at Luke. "Meaning you know how dangerous the Novu are, that they're the ones who caused the havoc at Alyssum Studios this past weekend. And that they intend to destroy our entire planet. All I'm attempting to do is stop them. I've been searching for someone strong enough to protect us."

"And you thought that someone was a helpless child," Luke cuts in, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Claire, "who you'd force your experiments on."

Claire's lips tighten and she looks straight ahead, the tips of her ears reddening.

"Don't have an answer for that one, do you?" I say while we pull her through the automatic doors and step into the humid air outside.

A passing car honks as we make our way onto the sidewalk and I barely hear Claire say, "I was desperate."

"You were a coward," I correct her. She turns to me and I pause, looking her in the eye. "Luke's going to grab a taxi and you're going to get in. After that, what you do is up to you. You can come after us or you can help us. We don't have to be against each other. We could prepare for a Novu attack together, without using children or innocent people to do our dirty work."

Luke is frowning at me, but I ignore him.

Maybe this is the complete wrong thing to say, but it's not like I'm actually going to kill the woman. So, what else can I say?

"Gina." Claire turns to me as Luke releases her arm and steps forward, waving down a cab. I tense, preparing myself for whatever lies she's going to hurl my way. She looks into my eyes and says, "I've made mistakes, yes. But I'm not like I.T.I.S. And you don't understand. We simply cannot fight the Novu. No matter what weapons we have, we can't fight them and win. Even the chiatum, it only hurts them, it doesn't kill them."

"So you're saying we're just going to die, like Amelia died? That's it for us?"

"No!" Claire shakes her head.

To my left, Luke shouts, "I've got a taxi."

Claire's bright blue eyes pierce mine with unwavering intensity as she says, "Someone has to go back to the beginning and stop all of this from happening."

I stare at her as a cab pulls up to the curb and Luke opens its back door.

The meaning of her words sink in, and I'm almost sure I'm misunderstanding her. "You don't mean..." I shake my head because I'm unable to believe the stupidity of what's about to come out of my own mouth. "You don't mean literally, like, going back in... time, do you?"

"That's exactly what I mean." Claire nods.

"You're crazier than Amelia." I shove Claire into the backseat of the cab and slam the door.

As the taxi pulls away, Luke turns to me, exhales, and rubs my shoulder. "What'd she say?"

"She said," I pause, wondering if Claire was just trying to throw me off with that remark about time-travel or if she's insane enough to legitimately believe that. I shake my head and glance at Luke. "I don't think it's even worth repeating. She's lost her mind."

He slips an arm around my waist and looks over my shoulder. "We'd better get out of here."

As we make our way to the parking garage, I can't stop thinking about Claire's crazy suggestion. Her hint at time travel mingles with my memories of Amelia's death, the brief glance that I got of Adam Freeman, the things Betty told me, and with the way that Novu woman was able to hurl fire from the palms of her hands.

This has to end.

Luke pulls me close and plants a soft kiss on my lips. "You have that look," he says. "What are you thinking about?"

"That no matter how brave we are, we can't end this on our own."

He nods, releasing me to grab his keys. I watch him look from left to right, cautiously surveying our surroundings as he unlocks his truck.

"And that no matter how careful we are," I say, "I.T.I.S. can still catch us. And if they don't, that Novu woman might. We're going to be looking over our shoulders until this is over."

"But we have each other," Luke says. "We're not in this alone."

"I know. But what about everyone else out there? This isn't just a threat to you and me. This is a threat to everyone on the planet and people deserve to know what they're up against. We can't fight what we don't know." I pause, thinking frantically. "I need to finish my documentary. I need to finish it tonight and get it out there... but all I have are a few blurry shots of Adam Freeman and statements from Betty."

"There's still your other camera. You can use the footage from that one," Luke says, opening the passenger door for me.

I climb inside as he makes his way around to the driver's side. "What other camera?"

"The red one. You had it at Alyssum Studios."

"No, I lost it." I sigh. "I had it right there with me, recording and everything. But in the chaos, I must have misplaced it."

"No, you didn't. I have it." Luke starts his truck and turns to me.

I stare at him in shock. "You have it?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "After everything went down, you were pretty dazed, so I took it. It's at my place. I'll get it to you as soon as we get back to town."

"I love you so much." I lean over the armrest and kiss him.

Luke chuckles. "Right back at you."

I turn to the window as he pulls out of the parking space, and my gaze goes to the blue sky above.

I run my thumb over Amelia's ring.

"I'm so grateful to be alive right now," I murmur.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Everything that's happened makes it hard to take things for granted," he agrees with a nod.

Unable to resist, I kiss him again. With this, I return my attention to my window, and rolling it down, let the sun's rays warm my skin. As a light breeze tousles my hair, I watch the passing scenery, but in my mind's eye, I see the footage I've shot and how it'll all piece together.

I also see myself being an integral part of a plan that's going to take a lot courage.

I look down at Amelia's ring.

After everything that's happened, I know who I am. I'm lots of things and sometimes I'm scared, but even in my fear, I'm strong enough to face what's coming: the Novu, I.T.I.S., all of it. I'm ready.

#

Tuesday, March 6, 2015

9:00 PM

"Two for them and none for me," I say to no one as I grab two beers from my fridge.

My apartment is just the way I like it - well, it's still decked out in white - but that's okay. What I mean is that it's full of life, noise, and it's the setting for something great!

I can't help but imagine that decades from now, kids in school are going to learn that one of the most important information leaks ever dropped went down in a two-bedroom Aldoph Towers apartment on a Tuesday evening.

That is, if Claire Hawke doesn't send her agents to end us minutes before we leak the video.

Two beers in hand, I close the refrigerator and glance at the time on my microwave.

6 PM.

"Hey, you guys!" I shout. "Guess what?"

The laughter and noise that's been streaming from my den abruptly dies as Luke and Kayleigh simultaneously yell, "What?"

"It's been eighteen hours, and I.T.I.S. hasn't tried to kill us!" I exclaim.

The silence gives way to laughter, Kayleigh's the loudest of all.

Chuckling, I hurry into the den where Andy's uncle and Kayleigh's boyfriend, Tim Moretti, sit on Lyla's white couch, between Andy and Kayleigh. Now that I've met Tim, I realize that I actually went to high school with him and I'm pretty sure he once asked me out. But I'm not going to tell Kayleigh about that.

Now that Tim's grown up and filled out, he isn't all that bad looking. He and Kayleigh are cute together as they work on their pizza and make googly eyes at each other.

I hand him one of the beers.

"Thanks, Gina," Tim says and I nod, glancing at Andy.

She sits with my little Dell in her lap, her brow furrowed and her eyes focused on the screen. Her older sister, a pretty fifteen year old named Gia, stands beside her, peering over her shoulder and pointing to something on the screen while she quietly asks Andy a question.

"Gia," I say and the girl looks up. "I can grab another chair for you or you can sit on the arm of the couch. I hate to see you standing while everyone else is comfortable."

"That's not necessary." She offers me a prim smile. "I'm fine, thank you. I'll just sit on the arm." With this, Gia neatly perches herself on the couch's arm and crosses her legs, continuing her quiet conversation with Andy.

I chuckle to myself. It's amazing how two sisters can be so different. Gia's the picture of decorum and Andy's basically... well, she's a lunatic. My thoughts drifting to Karin and Amelia, I glance down at Amelia's ring, which is still on my left hand. I lose my grin.

I can't imagine how Karin must feel right now - to find out you have a sister and then to suddenly lose her - that's the epitome of cruel.

Sighing, I approach Luke. He's seated in Lyla's favorite white chair and I collapse into his lap as I hand him a beer and plant a kiss on his cheek. I lean my head against his chest. "If Karin and Grant aren't here in five minutes, I think we should go ahead and upload the documentary without them."

"I'm sure they'll understand," Luke says, wrapping an arm around my waist.

While Luke takes a sip of his drink, I purposely look away and glance above Kayleigh, Andy, Tim, and Gia's heads, my gaze going to Lyla's black and white photo of the NYC skyline.

"It's funny," I say, getting a delicious whiff of the cinnamon in Luke's scent. "I used to spend so much time daydreaming about getting out of Swamp Rose that I didn't see what was right in front of me."

Luke leans forward, nuzzling my cheek. "You still want to move away at some point. Right?"

I close my eyes, grinning at the tickle of his scruffy cheek against mine. "Eventually, yeah. You can go to culinary school and I can apply to NYU." A knock sounds on my door and I open my eyes. "But only after we save the world. First things first."

Everyone quiets down as I hop off Luke's lap and head for the door. He gets to his feet.

"What if it's I.T.I.S.?" Kayleigh whispers.

"She's right," Luke says, immediately planting himself at my side. "Wait a second. Let me open it."

"I doubt I.T.I.S. would have the decency to knock." I reach for the doorknob.

Even so, Luke shouts from behind me, "Who is it?"

"Karin and Grant," Karin calls from the other side of the door.

I turn around to arch an "I told you so" eyebrow at him, and he makes a face at me.

Pulling the door open, I let Karin and Grant in.

Grant gives me a kiss on the cheek, which totally makes me blush and Karin's wearing an actual color, so that's a nice surprise. Her red t-shirt and jeans are simple, but she looks beautiful with her long brown hair finally out of that godawful bun-prison.

"Hey, Gina," she says, offering me a hug. "Sorry we're late. We stopped by Alan Freeman's to visit with Adam."

"Oh, that's great. How's he doing?" I ask, guilt tugging at me. I keep meaning to call Mr. Freeman and schedule a visit with Adam. I'm still not quite clear on how he managed to escape from Serenity Bayous and find his way home.

"He's okay. He's acclimating as best he can." Karin frowns and tilts her head, looking at me. "Did you know that a woman called Betty Pianciano, a former Serenity Bayous patient, is also staying with them?"

I close my eyes and silently thank God, relief washing over me.

So, that's where Betty is, and that would explain how Adam got home safely.

"No, I didn't know that," I say. "Betty's family is worried sick. So, I'll have to tell them where she is. And, actually, I should probably have a chat with them as soon as the documentary is released. She's on it."

Nodding, Karin hands me a bottle of red wine. "Considering what we're about to do, I thought we could use this."

"Oh, uh, nice, thanks." I chuckle nervously.

Eventually, I'll need to tell people I've decided to quit drinking. It'll be an awkward conversation, not to mention difficult to, like, actually do. But in the end, I'm pretty sure that giving up my liquid security blanket will be worth it.

With this, I pull Karin into the den, which she quickly surveys, her face falling.

"Hi, Ms. Karin," Andy says without looking up from my laptop.

Karin frowns and I give her a gentle nudge. "What's wrong?"

She turns to me, her eyes narrowing. "I wouldn't have brought wine if I'd known you had kids here. Why'd you invite Andy and Gia?"

I shrug and cross my arms. Honestly, Luke did mention that maybe we shouldn't invite Andy because of her age, but I sort of ignored him and then Andy sort of invited her older sister without telling me... so. Now, I steal a peek at Luke and, unlike me, he's sweet enough to avert his eyes instead of giving me an "I told you so" glare.

"Gee. Thanks, Ms. Karin," Andy says as she sets my laptop on the coffee table and hops to her feet. She makes her way to Karin. "Nice to see you, too."

"I didn't mean that as an insult. I'm only concerned because this is a serious matter and I'd hate for you and Gia to be implicated with the rest of us. Besides that, I..." Karin sighs and shifts her purse on her shoulder. "I told Drew she couldn't come and now I feel horrible because she could definitely use some friends."

"Drew Everett?" Andy and Gia exclaim in unison.

Karin nods and I nearly fall over.

"Wait, Drew Everett the actress wanted to be here?" I sputter. "Why would she ask to come to my apartment?"

"Are you saying Drew knows about I.T.I.S. and everything?" Andy asks.

Karin lifts both of her hands and shakes her head. "Geez Louise, relax! By tomorrow morning, everyone with internet access is going to know."

Behind her, Grant smiles, glancing down at his shoes and I grin too. It doesn't take having Karin's ability to know he's grinning at her frequent use of "Geez Louise." I don't think I've ever heard anyone use such a cheesy phrase, and so often.

Karin catches my eye, hers narrowed. "Lots of people say 'geez Louise.'"

"Maybe a hundred years ago," Andy says with a snort. Gia elbows her and Andy winces, frowning at her older sister.

"In any case, I can't believe a famous actress wanted to come to my apartment and you told her no." Playfully rolling my eyes at Karin, I make my way to my laptop.

Kayleigh leans over Tim, who is for some reason blushing like a fiend, her brown eyes as round as saucers. "I have no idea what y'all are talking about. Who's Drew Everett?"

"Just some actress, but it doesn't matter. It's not important," I reply as I plop down on the coffee table and perch the computer on my lap. "You guys ready to do this?"

"Yep," Luke says, making his way to me. I glance at him and he gives me an encouraging smile, his hair mussed and his shirt halfway untucked. Despite this, he's as handsome as ever.

Taking a deep breath, I extend my hand his way. "Can you hold this please?"

He nods. "I would love to hold that." Taking my hand, he plants himself beside me as I use my free hand to access my YouTube channel. I switch the "private" video Andy's just uploaded to "public."

Doing this takes about five seconds, but it's an incredibly long five seconds during which I feel like I might have a fatal heart attack.

"You did it," Andy says, clapping her palm down on my shoulder.

Exhaling, I nod. "But my YouTube channel only has a hundred followers. Posting the video on yours is really what's going to do it."

"I know. Give me your laptop and I'll take care of that now." Andy leans forward to take my computer.

"Wait, hold on," Grant says and everyone, Andy included, turns to him in surprise. He points to the laptop. "Can we watch the documentary? I haven't seen it yet."

"I was thinking the same thing," Tim agrees.

My mouth going dry, I glance at Karin before returning my attention to Grant. "Well, some of it's pretty graphic. It was really hard to get through editing it, let alone watching it," I quietly say. "I didn't realize until I started combing through the footage, but the camera got, um, it got..."

Karin's looking at me and as I catch her eye I can't even finish my sentence.

All at once, Karin blanches and turns away, her eyes going to the floor. Clearly, she's picked up on my thought before I've found the courage to say it.

I bite down on my bottom lip.

"What's wrong with the documentary?" Kayleigh asks, confused.

"Some of the footage shows Amelia's death," Luke quietly says.

"Oh, my God," Kayleigh whispers, covering her mouth with her hand. "That's terrible."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I would have edited it out, but I thought people should know what happened and what the Novu are capable of."

"That doesn't mean people need to see Amelia's murder!" Grant exclaims, looking at me like I have two heads. I wince. His face reddening, he says, "What were you thinking?"

Luke gives my hand a squeeze as he turns to Grant. "Do you think Amelia would've wanted us to soften the truth? Or do you think she would've wanted people know exactly what happened so they can prepare for what's coming?"

Grant looks stricken.

"I understand why you chose to edit it that way." Karin squares her shoulders. Her eyes are red and glassy as she turns to Grant. "We don't need to watch it, but I think some people do."

The air in the den is uncomfortably tense and I glance at Andy and Gia. They look from me to Grant.

Karin takes a deep breath, momentarily closing her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I quietly say.

"Don't be," Karin replies. "Just promise me we'll win and this will be over soon."

Grant touches her elbow and she turns to him. As their eyes meet, something in Karin's expression melts and without a word, he pulls her into a hug.

I take a deep breath but tears don't form in my eyes and a lump doesn't swell in the back of my throat. Instead, anger rises in my chest as I watch Karin and Grant quietly hold each other.

I.T.I.S. ruined their lives and the lives of the Novu. That's why the Novu are so angry with humanity. Every problem we now face, has its root in I.T.I.S.'s greed.

Releasing Luke's hand, I get to my feet and thrust my laptop into Andy's arms. She looks at me, her eyes widening.

"Post the video on your YouTube account and your Facebook page," I say, turning to scan the living room for my phone. "And I'm going to call the local news."

"Good idea," Andy agrees as she plops down on the coffee table with my laptop. "I'm friends with a reporter there. I have her number in my phone. Grab it from my purse."

"Great." Stepping over Tim and Kayleigh, I grab Andy's purse from the couch and retrieve her phone. "The more coverage we get, the better."

Andy gives me the reporter's name and as I search for it in her contacts, I take a steadying deep breath.

What's happening right now is a complete mess and I'm scared.

I'm scared for Luke, for Karin... really, I'm frightened for everyone on our planet. But what I am not is frozen in fear. I'm ready to face I.T.I.S., any Novu who are against us, and anyone else who intends to threaten the people I care about.

Someone gives my hand a squeeze and see that it's Kayleigh.

She offers me a solemn smile and releases my hand. "You're so brave, Gina."

I bring Andy's phone to my ear and return her smile.

For the first time in a very long time, I feel brave.
Gina's come face-to-face with many of Swamp Rose's secrets. But there's one mystery that even she hasn't faced - where do the Novu live and are they really planning to invade earth?

In the next book, one of South Louisiana High's shyest seniors will discover the answers to these questions.

Lanie Russell has been best friends with Randall Hawke since Ninth Grade - that's also how long she's been in love with him. But Lanie figures it's best to keep her feelings to herself. After all, if Ran felt the same way about her, wouldn't he have said something by now?

But when a mysterious woman with superhuman powers flies into town (yes, literally "flies") and threatens Lanie's life, Ran is determined to protect his friend. As Lanie watches Ran play the role of hero and become someone else completely, she realizes she doesn't know her friend as well as she thought. And one thing's for sure, Ran's ability to play hero isn't the only thing he's been hiding...

Lanie's story, "Almost Human" is the final book within The South Louisiana High Series.

The South Louisiana High Series

**Identity - The Origin** **Story**

Karen, Nathaniel, & Tessa's Story

**Almost Friends - Book One**

Mia, Kyle, & Elizabeth's Story

**Almost Twins - Book Two**

Andy, Gia, & Via's Story

**Almost Famous - Book Three**

Drew's Story

**Almost Brave - Book Four**

Gina's Story

**Almost Human - Book Five**

Lanie's Story

For more information about the South Louisiana High book series, visit

www.southlouisianahighschool.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2019 by Come Play Studios

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Come Play Studios.

www.comeplaystudios.com

Cover by Rebecca Berto

Interior Design and Formatting:

www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

First Edition
