Forgotten (2 page)

            Jack shakes his head. “I woke up only a few minutes before you did.” He moves around the room, checking it methodically. “There doesn’t seem to be anything to give away where we are. I guess the best we can say is that if the people here wanted to kill us straight away, we’d already be dead.”

            That’s matter of fact, but then, Jack has spent his life dealing with life and death situations. It’s part of why he can stay so calm regardless of what’s happening. Though I’d guess the part where he seems to be able to know what’s about to happen a few seconds in advance helps there. It’s easy not to be surprised by things when you know they’re about to happen.

            What surprises me is how calm I am then. I
don’t
have Jack’s years of working for the Underground, just a few short weeks of hiding out, trying to keep ahead of the Others who hunt down people like me. I’m seventeen, and I should be panicking, but I don’t. I sit down calmly on the edge of the bed instead.

            “I guess we’ll just have to sit here and wait to see what happens then. Though I hope they hurry up. There isn’t much time.”

            That doesn’t even sound like me when I say it. It sounds like something an older version of me would say. No, I realize, it sounds like something the
dream
version of me, the one I saw before Jack woke me up, might say.

            Even Jack seems to notice the difference because he looks at me oddly. Thoughtfully. “Celes,” he says, “are you sure that you’re okay?”

            I nod. “I’m fine, I think. It’s just… I was having a really strange dream before I woke up.”

            “Tell me?”

            I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Probably just whatever drug Lionel used.”

            “Probably,” Jack says, sitting down beside me. That close, it’s like I’m hyper-aware of his presence. I can hear every breath he takes. Normally, being that close to Jack is no problem for me. Normally, I’d let him slide an arm around me and comfort me. Here and now though, it’s just a reminder of how little space there is. The calm I’ve been feeling now feels like its slipping away a bit at a time.

            I stand up, moving around the room the way Jack did. I know he didn’t find anything to show where we are, so there’s no reason why I should, but right then, I can’t sit still and wait any longer.

            “Celes…”

            I reach out for the door, with its panels of the strange white material. My fingers scrabble at the edge of one of them. If I can pull it away, maybe that will help.

            “Celes, you need to calm down.” Jack moves over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. I feel that as the power in him calls to the power in me. My breath comes shorter and faster as it starts to feel like the walls are pressing in on me. I’m not normally claustrophobic, but I don’t think I can deal with being in here much longer.

            I can feel that burning power that sits in me then, pulsing up like the sap in a tree. In me, it feels so good, so natural, but I know what it can do.

            “Jack,” I manage, between those short, panting breaths, “get back. Get back
now
.”

            He steps back without asking why. Maybe he can feel what’s coming.

            The power leaps up in me, pouring out through my hand like water from a fire hose. Except that it isn’t water that pours out of me. It’s heat. Raw, impossible heat that I channel into the panels of the door with a white hot glow that would be blinding for almost anyone else. I can look into it easily though. I can look straight through it to see the damage I’m doing.

            As usual, it feels so good to do this. So incredibly wonderful for something so utterly destructive. I can’t help thinking back to the people I’ve used this power on. Agents of the Others mostly. People who would have harmed or killed me if I hadn’t. People I probably shouldn’t feel too guilty about burning. At least this is only a door.

            A very tough door, it turns out. The raw energy I carry inside me is enough to melt steel and disintegrate practically anything weaker, yet as it flares against the material of the door, I can see that it isn’t so much as scorching it. That strange white material gets hot, so hot that I have to move my hand away, but it doesn’t melt, or burn, or anything else. Whatever it is, it isn’t like any material I’ve come across.

            That makes me want to tear at it again and find out what it is. It feels like it’s woven from fibers, but it’s too dense and tough for most cloths. Trying to pull it away from the walls is still useless though. Worse than that, it’s stupid. It just shows how panicked I am by now.

            “Celes,” Jack says. “It isn’t working, Celes.”

            “If I can just…”

            “It isn’t working,” Jack says again, and this time he puts his hands on my arms, pulling me away from the door. I want to pull away from him, and I want to press closer into his arms, all at the same time. In the end, I step back from him, standing in the corner of that tiny space, panting for breath. I normally feel so alive after using the power that I have, but right now, I just feel tired and scared. I’m trapped in a tiny room with no way to get out, and the whole space is just too small.

            “It’s going to be all right, Celes,” Jack says.

            “Is that a prediction?” I manage, and that gets a smile from him even though I probably shouldn’t be talking about exactly what Jack can do right now. If this is a holding cell, then it’s a pretty good bet that someone will be watching us. It occurs to me that not many eighteen year old girls would know that. I’ve obviously been spending too much time around secret organizations recently.

            “It’s just obvious.” Jack’s smile widens into an almost boyish grin. “After all, you’re with me. What could possibly go wrong when you’re with me?”

            I start to list things on my fingers. “The first time we met face to face, an armored vehicle crashed through the wall, then you blew up your apartment. After that, I’ve been chased, shot at, my family has been attacked, and I’ve almost been killed a dozen times. So have you.”

            “True,” Jack says, like none of it matters very much, “but almost doesn’t really count, does it?”

            I laugh at that, and as I start to calm down again, I realize that was probably what Jack was trying to achieve. That’s the thing with Jack. He’s wonderful. He’s amazing to be around. He’s handsome enough that sometimes I wonder why I’m the only one who was given a modeling career as a cover story by the Underground. Yet there’s always that part of him that’s thinking, that’s calmly working out what needs to be done and doing it, no matter what else is going on. It means that whatever Jack does, it’s hard not to look for that second motive behind it. Even when he’s kissing me.

            “So,” I say, trying to match the lightness of his tone. If he can be strong here, I can be too, “I take it you’ve worked out a plan to get us both out of this cell by now?”

            Jack shrugs. “I was thinking that we could always wait until they open the door.”

            “No, seriously,” I say, starting to step forward to take another look at the material covering the door. Jack puts an arm out to stop me.

            “Seriously,” he says, looking at the door expectantly. I know that look, so I let him hold me back there for a second or two. A whirring sound comes from the door, followed by a whoosh of air as some kind of seals disengage. I watch as it slides back like a screen door, disappearing into the wall beside it.

            Jack gives another of those shrugs of his, and that perfect smile of his widens just a touch more. I have to admit, even when you’re used to it, and even if it is just a second or two most of the time, seeing the future is pretty impressive.

THREE

T
he door opens, and someone starts to step through. They do so cautiously, as though they are expecting trouble, so that for the first second or two, all we can see is an arm covered by a suit sleeve, followed by a leg edging around the doorframe. No one who enters a room like that can intend anything good.

            With all the speed of his Fader training and inherited power, Jack grabs the arm, dragging the newcomer into the room. It’s a young man, with sandy blond hair and broad shoulders, but I don’t have time to see more than that before Jack shoves him face first against the wall.

            I dart for the open door, knowing that we might only get one chance at this. Even with the kind of speed that I have from the power within me, I’m not fast enough. The door slides shut with a hiss, so that my hands slam into the tiles of it once more. I can’t even get a hand or foot in the way, though given the speed at which the door closes, maybe that’s a good thing.

            I cry out in frustration, almost at the same moment that Jack makes a noise of pain. I spin back to where he’s pinning the man he grabbed, only to find that he isn’t pinning him anymore. Almost as fast as Jack, the newcomer slams an elbow back into Jack’s ribs, ducking under his arm to escape.

            Jack fights back, and immediately things are chaos. The room just isn’t big enough for a kind of elegant, calculated fight. Instead, everything has to be at close quarters, at a furious pace. Jack spins after the newcomer, grabbing him and driving him back to slam into the opposite wall, only for a knee to catch him in the stomach, making him double up. Jack drives upwards with the palm of his hand, but his opponent blocks the blow and comes back with a punch that Jack has to cover up to avoid.

            That close, there’s nothing pretty about fighting. Not that there ever is, but this is brutal. Jack and the newcomer shove against each other, heads down as they clinch, fists, elbows and knees flashing out with vicious speed as the two men struggle to land blows on each other. For the most part they aren’t successful, as Jack and his opponent manage to parry, or just to grab the limb being used for the strike. There are so many blows being thrown though that more than a few get through, landing with meaty thuds and grunts of pain.

            The man in the dark suit looks young and fit, so I doubt that will slow him down much. Jack either. I wince every time a punch hits him, half starting forward to try to help, but with so little space, I’m not sure I can help right then. Even that burning force inside me doesn’t rise to the surface, as though recognizing that there isn’t anything it can do. That’s a scary thought, because it means that I’ve started thinking of the power inside of me as something that almost thinks for itself.

            Briefly, Jack and his opponent break apart, but only so that they can go into a whirl of motion. Jack kicks low and then high, forcing the other man to cover his head and duck to avoid being hit. Jack jumps over a spinning sweep with ease, and then they crash back together, each struggling for the best grip on the other while simultaneously throwing punches and trying not to be hit in return.

            The young man fighting Jack ducks down to try to tackle him around the legs. In that confined space though, there isn’t the space to finish the move properly, and they both end up slumped against the base of the wall, still throwing punches. Jack’s opponent rears up and I see my chance, pulling him back off Jack just long enough for Jack to gain the upper hand. Jack pounces forward, and they crash into the wall again, but this time Jack is on top.

            Jack turns around, looking like he’s offering his opponent an easy chance at a choke, but he’s pressed back against his opponent so tightly that I can’t even see the face of the young man he’s fighting. Jack does something to entangle their legs, figure-fouring both of his around one of his opponent’s before reaching down to grab the other with his hands. I have no idea what he’s doing at that point.

            Especially not when he executes a kind of forward roll down by his attacker’s legs. One that sends both him and his opponent into a tangle of limbs, with Jack turning the other man above him like a juggler. The move ends with Jack clinging to his back, in position to start choking him. It also means that, for the first time since he came into the room, I get a clear view of the other man’s face.