"You're shaking," Janice said, finally taking a good look at me. She reached out and took my son from my arm, who was beginning to softly cry after being startled awake. "Are you alright?"

Before I ask her about her previous words, her body stiffened. Silently, she grabbed my hand and yanked me back into the house, which made my stomach turn. As soon as we stumbled past the rotting door, the smell of wet carpet and moss only made my nausea worse. Evander's wails grew louder as she handed him back to me, the blanket he was wrapped in soft against my palms. Her eyes were focused on a group of shadows that had gathered near the end of the moss covered driveway. The creaking sound of the rusted gate made us jump.

"Hide," Janice hissed, picking up her gun.

I stared at her. Again?

"Didn't you hear me? Hurry up!"

Attempting to remain stable on my feet, I placed a kiss on my son's forehead, who was wailing much louder. The thick cobwebs hanging on the cracked walls of the house caused my stomach viciously churn, but I sought out a room where I could find a window. Then I remembered the office and tried to rememeber where it was, feeling in the darkness.

Three gunshots echoed through the house as Janice reloaded. I jumped, and despite the heaviness in my legs, began to scrambled down a hallway and stumbled into nearby room. Before I could slam the door, there was shouting outside. Pepper and Honey were barking uncontrollably.

"No, no, no--I come in peace!"

Janice licked her lips and began to raise her rifle. In the midst of the noise I could see a man holding his hands out. Her finger wrapped around the trigger. Before she could blow his brains out I immediately rushed over, grabbed it from her arms and threw it to the ground. She glanced at me in shock and rage as I kicked it to the side with my bare foot. Then a dark red shade gathered on her nose.

"What did you do that for?"

I didn't answer and kept my eyes on the man. He was tall, middle-aged, dark skinned, wearing a uniform, but it wasn't one that I had even recognized. It was navy blue and black, and he had thrown his pistol onto the wet pavement below. His hands were still up. A large pair of glasses rested on the edge of his broad nose, threatening to fall off. In the distance, beyond the gate, were a few more people standing, dressed in the same way. He took one step closer, making a cautious steps to the entrance.

"I come in peace," he repeated again.

Janice picked up her rifle and stood in front of me. "The hell are you?"

"My name is Elijah Whitman," the man calmly said. "I'm a psychiatrist. I've worked in several hospitals in Selva, Jova, and Flanders." He slowly pointed to the men. "With me are officials from the Denz Council. We are not soldiers, and I have the identification on me to prove it, if you want to see."

"I've never heard of the Denz Council in my life. You could be spies, for all we know." She squinted her eyes. "And why are you following us?"

Whitman glanced at me for a moment, then focused on Janice. "I'm conducting interviews in regards to the request of several officials within the council. Our own soldiers have been sent down south. We're carrying out an investigation regarding the kidnapping and illegal experimentation on a minor that occurred about sixteen years ago. From the city of Nivea." He paused. "The Red Mamba organization has carried out this act for military purposes alone. All members of the organization, including the people who are directly responsible for this child's abduction are to be immediately arrested and prosecuted in court underneath federal law. Including human rights violations.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," Janice said, but her words wavered. "Now leave."

Whitman's face slightly fell. "You ladies wouldn't happen to have any information, would you? We've been searching for this missing child for almost a decade, and there aren't a whole lot of records regarding this case. Anything would help. The only thing we know about them is the age which they were taken from his home. If I’m correct, they would be a twenty four year old adult today, that is, assuming that they are alive.”

“What about intermediate family?”

”All records have either been destroyed or lost, and I don’t doubt that the government has played their role in doing so.”

"I told you no," Janice retorted. "And why does it matter, anyway? Children go missing every year, and people like you don't even pretend to act concerned until it's beneficial in some sort of way."

"Because Huey Baldwin had been relying on this child like a crutch. He's not an ordinary one--he possesses psychiatric abilities that are extremely dangerous to the public. It's only been revealed that Baldwin is in the hunt for this child himself. This puts him at an extremely vulnerable position, and we must absolutely take advantage of this time to dwindle his efforts to continue this war and genocide upon the Khonie people. It's not going to stop unless someone intervenes soon."

"My point is exactly made," Janice snapped.

Whitman pointed at me. "How about you, miss? Would you mind answering a few questions? Then we will go on our own way."

"She's mute. She can't speak."

The psychiatrist lowered his arm. "One of my men is fluent in sign language. If it would be alright with you, he could come over and communicate with what you have to say."

Janice made me face her, shaking her head. "Don't you dare even think---"

My slow nod startled me more than her. A brief window of relief fell Whitman's face, and as I made my way around Janice, he appeared to be stunned at the sight of Evander in my arm, the short stump that hung on the opposite side. I silently made my way down the steps towards the empty driveway, where the rain had let up some.

* * * * * *

Whitman led me to the edge of a dirt road, where a few vehicles were parked on the edge. I immediately hesitated, and as soon as he sensed this, he suggested instead that we sit underneath a nearby tree. At this time, I was struggling to keep myself conscious, as the symptoms of the fever that had overcome me were starting to worsen. I didn't even realize that he had placed his coat over my shoulders when he spoke. Behind us, another man was approaching us, short with a thick bushy beard. He wore the same uniform as Whitman, and he politely bowed in front of me. His name was Solomon.It astonished me a great deal, because they were both civilian. Why would one of own kind bow to a Khonie?

Whitman's voice interrupted my chaotic thoughts. "You don't look too well, ma'am. Are you sure you would like to do this? We can always schedule another time if you would like to."

"No," I signed as Solomon translated for me. In the distance, I could see Janice slowly walking towards us, her gun hanging loosely from her left arm. "We can begin."

"Are you from Nivea? Or do you know anyone from that area? It has a small population."

"No. My village was outside of Selva." And suddenly, I remembered something and rubbed my forehead. Evander was a bit fussy. "Actually, yes. My husband told me once that he was born there. But he left, hadn't been there since."

Whitman took out a small notepad and began scrawling out a sentence. "Any idea why?"

"I don't know. He never did tell me anything about his childhood." And suddenly, I remembered the dark, broken look that would appear in my husband's eyes all those times; that would immediately stop me from inquiring further. I noticed how Whitman slowly stopped writing as Solomon repeated my words to him. I froze. I didn't want to give too much away to a complete stranger we had stumbled upon in the woods in the middle of a burnt out wasteland.

"What was his occupation when you first saw each other?" Whitman gently asked, tapping the edge of his pen against the paper. "Did he work at a company?”

“Me.” Janice cleared her throat. "He worked for me."

The man immediately looked up, caught off guard by her presence. "You?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I used to own a logging business with my husband. He was about a kid then, I don't know, maybe about seventeeen or eighteen. He was pretty anxious, down on his luck. And who hasn't been. Looked like he just got kicked out of his folk's place, so I decided to help him out a bit with his rent." Suddenly, she folded her arms. "That good enough for you, sir?"

I shot her an annoyed look.

Whitman didn't seem to react too much, just continued to write. "Did he tell you where he was before? What city did he move from?"

"I don't know," Janice said, throwing up her hands in great frustration. "I'm not a GPS system."

"Pardon me ma'am. I don't intend to bother you. It's just that the individual we're looking for, well, we don't have his name. We don't have a physical description. It's been redacted by the government. I was wondering if you could tell me his --"

"We've given you enough information as is." Janice took a step forward. "Listen. You could be anyone for all we know. The last thing we need is to make it more difficult for her to locate her--" And suddenly, she stopped. "Never mind. Come on, Honda, let's go. We don't want any more idiots on our trail. We've got enough to deal as it is."

Whitman immediately stood up. "I understand you have every right to be suspicious." He gave me a polite nod. "Thank you for your time."

As he walked away with Solomon, his boots sloshing in the mud, I stared after them, shivering in the rain, holding onto Evander. Then I remembered what I had into my satchel. Pushing past Janice, I made my way up through the broken steps into the dilipidated house, into the shadows of the rooms. I fumbled into my bag until I yanked out my marriage certificate, and rushed out again in the rain, coughing and wheezing heavily. The satchel’s strap dug into my left shoulder. This time, Janice scooped Evander with one arm, attempted to support me with another. My heart was pounding, lungs screaming.

Whitman spun around with a stunned look.

"Here," I signed, as Solomon immediately translated. "Take."

As the psychiatrist slowly recieved the wrinkled paper from my outstretched hand, he unfolded it and scanned the words. His expression was full of awe. "Is your surname Bennet?"

"Yes," I replied. "But my husband changed his. I don't know what his original last name was. He never really told me. I don't recall him telling me."

Whitman immediately rushed towards me, placing both hands upon my shoulders. "Why did he change it?"

"B...because..." I looked down.

"Was your husband in anyway affiliated with the Red Mamba army? During his youth, perhaps?" He looked at me up and down. "It would make sense, then, that he wanted to leave the organization immediately." Whitman pointed to Adlai's signature on the page. "Was he a soldier?"

Janice gave me a long, sincere look. Her face was full of questions. But I avoided eye contact with her and weakly signed, "Yes."

"Has he been pursued by the Red Mamba organization multiple times over the years?" Whitman released me. "Has he been imprisoned more than once by them?"

"Yes," I replied. "That is why we are separated now--why we had to leave our home in Navu." My throat burned. "He sent me and our son away for a while. He plans to come back, but…I…I don’t know where he is.” I looked down. “I’ve been looking for him ever since. I think he’s been sent to jail.”

He glanced at Evander. "Is he the biological father of your child?"

Another nod.

"And you do not know where he is now?"

"No, sir."

Whitman nodded, attempting to hide his growing astonishment. "Thank you both. You have helped us tremendously."

"What are you going to do now?" Solomon asked. His deep voice startled me. I had forgotten about his presence. “That doesn’t get us anywhere—several members of the organization have been arrested multiple times. The majority of our candidate profiles have all been from the army.”

“But only three directly from Nivea,” Whitman murmured. “Nivean natives.”

Solomon remained quiet.

"If you don’t mind, Mrs. Bennet, I'm going to plug his name into the archives and military database on my laptop." Whitman quietly replied, a hint of determination in his voice. "Then we will go from there.” He bowed once more to us. “Thank you.”

And then, I suddenly remembered an odd word at the back of my mind as the men headed back to their cars. I had recalled hearing it from the others all those years ago—even when Toku and Kia had mentioned it amongst themselves. Janice signed and sat down on a log. Without saying anything, she scooped up my son into her arms. It seemed like quite silly, too insignificant to bring up.

Mouse.

* * * * * *

The sky was pitch black by the time Whitman came back to us. We sat in front of a small fireplace. The bombing and shootings that I heard repeatedly over the past few days were few, and I wondered what part of the woods we were in to escape such noise. His clothes were rumpled, and dark circles were under his eyes. Solomon was by his side, but the other men were nowhere in sight. Janice stretched her limbs and yawned as their shadows came into sight. Evander was sound asleep at this point. Whitman carried a briefcase, and a small pot of steaming coffee. He warmly greeted us and sat down under the tree, adjusting his glasses.

“Coffee?” he offered, handing over two ceramic mugs. “We have ham and cheese sandwiches back at our tent too, since I know you must be hungry.”

”A tent?” Janice mumbled, groggy with sleep. “How many people are with you?”

Whitman opened his briefcase and pulled out what he called a laptop—which reflected neon light on his tired face. Solomon poured out the steaming liquid into my cup, which I gratefully thanked him for. I took a sip, surprised by its strong but bitter taste, and I decided I liked the black drink that the civilians called as coffee. Janice seemed hesitant at first, but began to drink hers once Solomon poured himself his own cup from the pot and guzzle it down like it was water.

“Six,” Whitman replied. “But our headquarters are located across the island. We’ve had to remain anonymous ever since the Red Mambas rose to power, and we’ve been training our own soldiers. I’m merely an army psychiatrist, but I can say that this is the best course of action we can take right now. You two women may not believe that you are contributing to the war effort but—” and here he glanced at Janice over his glasses “—everything counts. Remember that. We’ve had a hard time finding civilians in order to gather more information because many of them are fleeing either east or west from the invasion of the enemy.”

“And our men are suffering too,” Solomon said, running a chunky finger across the rim of his coffee cup. “We’ve been trying to drive out the Red Mambas from the southern hemisphere of the island, but they have a strong grip over the territory. It’s cat and mouse out there.”

Mouse. I flinched at the word as the wood crackled in the fireplace.

Janice took a loud slurp out her coffee. “Well. What are the results, gentlemen?”

Whitman released a deep sigh. “It’s going to take more than a day to even get a proper idea of who we’re looking for.” He began to scroll down on the computer. “Adlai Bennet isn’t showing up in the enrollment database, not even from the last six or seven years. I checked all of the recruitment centers in Jova. Nothing. Oddly enough, his first name doesn’t appear at all. Out of all the candidates that I’ve spent hours searching for, it’s the first time that there’s no one in the entire registry list that shares that name. There’s no way that not a single person could share the same name as him.”

“Well, isn’t that a shame!” Janice exclaimed. “No worries, sir. I appreciate you doing your best. And look at the time. It’s been wonderful, boys, but we ought to be going.” She said the last few words hastily and reached for my hand, but I drew my arm away in annoyance.

“I’m not leaving,” I signaled. The heat on my skin caused sweat to form under my arms.

She looked a bit annoyed by my defiance. “Why the hell would you trust them? Do you want to end up back in a security ward?”

”No,” I replied. “I just want to help.”

Janice sank down into her seat. “Christ.”

Ignoring her, I turned to Whitman, who was quietly studying me. “Is that all?”

“No, but my colleagues and I were able to discover a newspaper article that was published in Nivea sixteen years back.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I don’t doubt your word at all regarding your husband’s service, Mrs. Bennet. Don’t believe it for a minute. It’s just baffling to me that his name is not coming up at all in the registry list.”

”That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied, cradling my mug. “He was a soldier. Unless he lied to me. And I know he hasn’t. He’s always been honest with me, even though I know that there were things he wouldn’t reveal to me voluntarily. He would only tell me if I asked. I’ve seen him get captured by the soldiers before only one time. But he somehow always found a way to escape.”

Janice frowned.

Whitman turned the laptop around on his lap so that we were able to see the screen. My reading had advanced to the point that I could easily make out the title: Nine year old boy drowns at sea due to head injury. There was a black and white photo of a shoreline, followed by vertical columns of shrunken text.

“What is this?” I asked.

“This is an article involving an accident that took another boy’s life,” Whitman said. “I had to dig quite deep to find this one. It was published nearly exactly sixteen years ago when the incident occurred. In Nivea.”

“So your point is what?” Jamie asked.

Whitman pointed to the screen with his finger. The light illuminated off of his glasses. “The victim’s twin gave an eye witness account regarding what he saw. He mentioned that his brother was playing with another child at the time and claimed that this kid did something TO the water that they were both swimming in at the time. Caused his sibling to fall off and hit his head fatally upon a rock.” He narrowed his eyes. “Said he directly manipulated it in a way that someone wouldn’t normally be able to.”

“What’s this got to do with my husband?” I asked, suddenly standing up. “I don’t—”

”Yeah,” Janice interjected. “Kids say the wildest things all the time. And whoever wrote that article should be fired on the spot. Why would they write about such a fantasy concept and take it to be so literal?”

”Children see things and tell them exactly as they are,” Whitman explained. “They don’t try to reason themselves or go through circles. If we take this statement to be true, then this child fits our candidate profile. It implies that they contain psychic abilities that were either developing, or had begun to take effect at the time.” He closed the laptop and looked straight at me. “And the time frame is a perfect match. Now, Mrs. Bennet, I only have one question for you. And I ask you answer honestly.”

My eyes burned.

“Have you ever witnessed your husband exhibiting signs of hydrocyrokinesis?”

A long silence passed between us.

“I don’t know what that means,” I replied.

“It is the ability to manipulate and change the form of water within the mind. To create ice and snow, powerful enough to freeze an entire village. The study itself is only in its infancy, but it is believed that it is passed down genetically through a chromosome mutation. And over time, as the brain develops, the connection shared between the element of water and the individual only strengthens, but can cause damage over periods of extended use, especially in situations of stress. It’s an extremely rare ability, and only two people in the past century are reported to have had the gene mutation.”

I shivered and slowly backed away. “What do you want?”

“Please, Mrs. Bennet,” Whitman said. He spoke with a sincere tone. “Just yes or no. I promise that no harm will come to you, your husband, or your child. Given how there’s been records of major property damage in the northern cities, thousands of casualties, and an uprise against the civilian population due to the Red Mamba organization attempting to keep this swept under the rug, I can assure you that there are many responsible for the sudden attack on our nation.” His eyes became glazed over.

“But you said it yourself,” Janice said, gesturing to the computer. “He’s not registered among them.”

“The fact that he’s not registered only confirms my suspicions,” Whitman answered. “Or at least, his records are not made available to the public and we would most likely never be able to find them—”

”Yes.”

Everyone stared at me.

I took a shaky breath.

“My husband never spoke of it to me. He didn’t like talking about himself much.” I rubbed my forehead. “I only saw him create a wave once, one time when he was helping a group of people were with escape.” I turned away, unable to look at their faces. “That’s the only time. He’s a very quiet person. But….” I closed my eyes. “I know that he was involved in some things. I just didn’t have the courage to ask him.”

Whitman stood up. I blinked the tears coming in and paused to cough.

“I don’t know what the hell you people intend to do him now,” I signed, finally glancing at Whitman. “I don’t know why you care. You take him from his home, from everything he knows, leave him to suffer for all these years, and now you want to come and find him. You’re too late. Sixteen years too late.”

Whitman remained silent.

I clenched my jaw. “This is your fault.”

Janice placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Tell me what an eight year old boy is supposed to do in such a situation. If you’d wanted him normal, you should’ve tried to stop them from taking him. You should’ve done something. You are sorry now because people are dying? You should’ve been sorry before.” Water poured down my chin. “You sicken me. And now you want to exploit my husband again, and for what? Peace? You always want something from him. Hasn’t he given you enough? They’re only so much that a person can give. ”

Whitman managed to find his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you going to do with this information?” I asked, struggling to breathe. “You are going to lock him in a cage?”

”No,” he whispered.

”Then what?”

He set down the laptop. His eyes were red rimmed. “We’re going to bring justice for him and his family. We are going to ensure that he lives the life that was ripped away from him. Listen. Many people do believe him to be a monster. They’re afraid of him, and he’s most likely internalized it himself. I’m sure he believes it himself. I know he does.”

I lowered my head.

“Given how much he’s destroyed up north, he’s releasing years of pent up rage. It’s going to worsen over time, and he’s putting himself in the enemy’s radar more and more. He’s threatening the authority that has been over his life for so long, and he’s lashing out. His behavior pattens are growing dangerously unstable.”

”But he’s always been gentle and kind to me,” I signed, bewildered by his words. “That even doesn’t seem like the same person. He’s very soft spoken.”

The man reached for his notebook and opened it, flipping through a page. A deep pit of nausea settled in my stomach, and I had to sit down.

”We have to provide intense psychological treatment for him as soon as possible. His emotions have had a major influence on his abilities, and they’re only growing stronger over time. This will lead him to self destruct.” He paused. “We need to act quickly.”

I said nothing.

“Once we locate him, the council is going to provide compensation to your husband during the early treatment phases,” he softly said. “A different environment is what he desperately needs.”

“You’re going to put him in a psychiatric ward?!” I leaned forward, panic rushing through me. “Lock him in a padded room?”

A devastated look fell on his face. “Mrs. Bennet, this is not the 1950s.”

”It might as well be once you get your hands on him. All you are interested in is a paycheck.” I glanced at Solomon, who winced as he kept translating. “You too.”

Janice sighed.

Whitman gave me a hard glare. “I know I’m but a stranger to you. But psychiatric care has come a long way, and despite what you may think of me, I aim to treat my patients with nothing but respect and dignity, no matter their background. I’m not here to coach anyone to fit into this slate we call “society.” I only want to help them develop healthy coping skills as they go through life. Recovery from trauma is possible with treatment and time.”

”Time doesn’t heal wounds,” I replied. “Time only leaves scars.”

“I don’t think you understand how serious this situation is. He needs to be psychologically evaluated, and he’s been going untreated for a very long time. He’s not well. Surely you had to notice it yourself before you departed from each other?”

I gently cleared a strand of hair out of my face. At first, I wanted to argue with him, but found that I couldn’t. My husband had been extremely pale, withdrawn, hardly eating. He was skinny. He barely spoke, and when he did, he always did so in a shaky whisper, as if he were afraid that someone would hear him. And then I remembered the scrubbing. How he constantly scrubbed his body until his skin bled like he was trying to cleanse his inside, nails digging into his skin. How had I been so convinced to think that such behavior was normal? And he had still managed to put a smile on his face for me.

Fighting back tears, I begin to sign again. ”I have no money for—”

“Madam, everything is already paid for. We intend to build a support system for him that he can access at all times. We will try to locate any family members of his who are alive. Then, to avoid anymore detection, we’ll most likely have you under a low profile. To keep you safe as well.” He stared at my son, who was fast asleep. “In the meantime, you must keep his child out of sight completely. Baldwin is not going to stop looking for him anytime soon, and I can safely assume that your husband is doing everything he can and that moment to keep him out of sight.”

“Then I go and find him for you.”

”No,” Janice abruptly said. “You leave that to him.”