Chapter 40 - Demands and negotiations

“Where are the rest?” I look at the woman directly in front of where the dirt wall was just a minute ago. I used to play in her back garden and borrow her dresses and shoes for dress up.

“I’ve come to negotiate,” I tell her. “You know a thing or two about that I think.” I look over to where Sasha is hiding behind a bush. She does too, but her eyes are displeased, disappointed even. “We don’t want to fight you,” I assure her. “We have no interest in hurting you.”

“What are your demands?”

“You leave the children alone,” I say, but a lump is forming at the back of my throat. I can play pretend all I want, I can play tough, the truth is… I push the thought away. “The children stay under Langdale protection, and you don’t come looking for them.”

“And your offer in return for this… favor.” She utters the word with such mockery, such detest.

“You were willing to put your own daughter on the line to get me. You can have me. You can have your little power play, you can pat yourself on the back and congratulate yourself. You got a Langdale.”

“And you think that will make us simply give up on those children? They are a danger to themselves and others, they cannot be trusted around civilians. They need help, not a house party at the mansion.”

“We have resources enough to keep them away from the public.”

“And what do you suppose we should tell their parents? ‘Sorry, your children were kidnapped and we don’t know where they are, and we are not going to do anything to find them.’?”

“And what exactly would you do to find them? I’ve seen your island, remember? I’ve seen your InT teams in action. Honestly, they don’t impress much.”

“And yet they were able to catch you not once, but twice.”

“By putting civilians and children in danger. Is that really a feat you’re proud of? It took you how many years to confirm that I had powers, and then only by putting your own daughter in the way of an out of control car. You guys have spent how many centuries looking for us? Don’t be foolish, you know you’ll never see those children again. They’ll never set foot in your dungeons again, and they’ll never be subjected to your doctors again. Take my deal, go out with at least a small win. It’s all you’re going to get.”

“’Subjected to our doctors’? What exactly do you think they do to the children?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, I was there, I sat in a cage, I felt the fire in my veins, I know.”

“You experienced the first stage. It’s not pleasant, I know, but your experience is not the norm. Most people show their ability at setting one, and no one gets hurt.”

“Except for sleeping on the cement floor, the ‘treatments’, not to mention the psychological torture of never seeing the sun or being allowed fresh air.”

“Bunks are provided. As for the treatments, what exactly have you heard about those? I can see you’ve met Boy. I have been told his treatments have been particularly difficult, and sadly have shown no results yet, but you’re not making the mistake of thinking his story is normal, are you? I can assure you, the Unassigneds program has many success stories.”

“Given how their facilities look, I don’t want to know your definition of success.”

“A cure,” she says with confidence. “We have successfully cured hundreds of people from their ailments. We’ve all but eradicated the so-called ‘werewolf’ by curing transformers without control.”

“And what exactly does this ‘cure’ entail? Because if I’m not mistaken, death is a cure for all ailments.”

“You think we’d just go around killing children? When I say a cure, I mean a cure. These poor children never have to turn again, never have to go through that agony again, never have to go through the pain of not being themselves, of being subjected to the instinctual, savage nature of an animal taking over their bodies. If my sources are correct, you’ve felt this too. The primal instincts taking over your body, fear clouding your judgment, no choice, no consciousness, just primal instincts.” Scattering my own atoms and flying aimlessly around.

“I’ve felt the freedom of letting go, of accepting you can’t control everything in life. I’ve felt the bliss of simply being alive with no agenda.” I correct her.

“And almost destroyed the entire island and everyone there for this ‘bliss’.”

“How? How did I endanger anyone by scattering my own atoms?”

“Have you ever heard the term ‘nuclear’ before? Your atoms were unstable and posed a danger to everyone around you, effects possible as far away as Long Island. You had no idea what you were doing, how dangerous it was, or how to control it.”

“My mind is just as much as part of me as my hand, and I can assure you I have full control of both.”

“Even if I believe you, those children don’t have control, and you know this just as well as I do. They are dangerous and need to be contained, both for their own sakes and for others. You don’t have the ability to take care of them.”

“I have the ability to see them for what they are. Human beings; living, breathing, creatures. They need respect, care, guidance, help, love, a home, safety. What they don’t need is to live in fear of people assigned to ‘help’ them.”

“A true sentimentalist,” she interrupts. “How lovely. But let me tell you this: It won’t matter how much love or affection you give them, sooner or later one of you is going to get killed for this. Is that what you want? To risk the lives of your family?” She holds my eyes locked to hers. An image of mother, bleeding, gasping for air, flows to my mind. Sara standing over her, bloody claws, a snarl showing off her fangs.

“Don’t underestimate the Langdales,” I tell her. “It could very well be the end of you.” A load of bull, I know. There’s no way the family would actually come after them, they prefer hiding. But it fits in with their idea of us, and she doesn’t know any better.

“Did you never wonder why so many of the Unassigneds are children?” She changes tactics. Again. “The basement is not permanent, we cure them, and they are released out into the world again. Most of them spend less time on the island than those attending the school above them.”

“You don’t cure them, you kill them,” Brody speaks up for the first time. I don’t have to look at him to notice the red in his eyes audible even through his voice.

“I believe you’ve been to the basement yourself Boy, you must have seen our success stories first hand.”

“I’ve seen children murdered in the name of science.”

“Is this the kind of lies he’s been filling your head with?” I reach out discretely and take a hold of Brody’s hand. “If this is your source of information, I’m sorry to have to inform you, but you’ve been widely misled.”

“Are you saying no child has ever died while in your care?”

“They often come to us starving and sick.”

“And they die in cages,” I finish for her.

“And we make them better.”

“’Better’? I’d like a real, tangible, specific definition of that if you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a tad bit abstract for my taste.”

“If you want our protocol you’ll have to consult with the doctors,” she informs me.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know enough specifics to clearly explain it.”

“I had a teacher once who told if you can’t explain something in at least two ways, you don’t actually understand it.”

“I’m not a doctor, I never went to medical school. I do know that with regular injections, out of control abilities will eventually fade out completely, leaving the subject cured and free to live their lives.”

“So when you say ‘cure’ you don’t mean a cure to gain them control, you mean a cure to rid them of something that is so hugely a part of them that it’s linked to every emotion, every fiber of their beings.”

“I mean a cure that can give them the freedom they seek.”

“Tell her how they do after the injections,” Brody’s voice is angry, but he’s still in control. His fingers wrap around mine as if holding on for dear life.

“They live out the rest of their days in control of themselves.”

“Their very short days.” He’s shaking. “Because they never live long after they’re ‘cured’, do they?”

“After they are cured they are no longer Unassigneds, or even gifted at all.”

“So they are no longer your concern?” I demand.

“We have a department to keep track of them.” She objects. “We have several subjects still alive and well years after they’ve been cured.”

“’Well?” Brody demands. “How many of them are locked in mental institutes? How many of them are on antipsychotic medication? How many of them are still who they were before you got your hands on them?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” I tell her. I don’t really want to hear the lies or half-truths that would come of that. “I think I’ve heard enough now. The deal is you leave us alone, you don’t come after us, you don’t look for us. If it’ll help your hurt pride you can have me as a consolation prize. I’ll attend your school like you so desperately want, I’ll do the homework, I’ll go to the classes. I’ll go back to the mainland every weekend, and you won’t follow me. That’s it, that’s the deal. You can take it, or you can risk going after us, the choice is yours.” She considers me, trying to read me, figure out if I’m entitled to make threats like that.

“We have no authority to negotiate,” she admits in the end.

“Then you should have brought someone who does.”

“And if you break the deal? If you go out one weekend and don’t come back?” the headmaster of the school asks from one of the rows behind the head InT. I don’t know… What insurance can I offer them?

“I’m doing you a courtesy here, allowing you the chance to save face. You can take it or leave it, I’ll offer no more.”

“And Boy?” he inquires.

“Brody is not your plaything,” I assure him.

“I’ll come too,” Brody insists. I want to hit him over the head, knock him out and silence him. Idiot. He was in the clear, he never had to go back there.

“So you’re offering us two students in return for letting 31 dangerous Unassigneds remain loose?”

“Enough.” The voice comes from the trees to our right. The InTs all turn to look for the disturbance. That little… She should not have been here, how did she manage to stay? “She’s offering you two Langdales and a multi-gifted man stronger than any of you. Take the deal.”

“Marie, get out of here.”

“We’ll take the deal,” both Sasha’s mother and the headmaster say in unison.

“Good, when do we…” But she doesn’t get to finish the sentence before a tortured howl sounds from behind the bushes where Sasha was hiding.