Jungle of Creation
Chapter 7

We emerge from the jungle and approach the white vault door that leads back into the compound. I distantly notice Dr. Howard walking up to the door and punching in some sort of passcode. Maybe I should pay attention to that. I don’t. I’m too numb to care. How is it that I’m so close to getting home, and then my chance is ruined? I gaze out into the trees, alive with the new activity and life that the morning sun brings. Surely they can’t have anymore use for me, right?

“Ms. Faller, are you coming?” Dr. Howard watches me silently, a concerned glint in his eye, by the open doorway.

“Can I go home now?” I immediately cringe at my tone and how strained my voice is. I sound like a sick child. I straighten my posture and watch as Dr. Howard’s eyes flicker from concern to regret to bitter resolve, all while his other features hardly even twitch. I know his answer before he says it.

“Ms. Faller, I know you were promised an escort home after you aided us, but I think we still have use for your knowledge. Your talents.” Talents?

“Pardon? What do you mean talents? I can knit a scarf. Or make some decent enchiladas. Neither would be of much help,” My voice steadily starts to rise and I become acutely aware of the open vault door, the obnoxious cawing parrots behind me, and the hallway filling steadily with curious bystanders. “Why won’t you just let me leave? I did all I can for you people!”

Dr. Howard lets out an exasperated sigh, deeply troubled by my lack of expertise for some reason. I could’ve told you that. “Ms. Faller—”

I cut him off, my anger peaking, “Stop calling me that!” Something close to a garbled roar escapes my throat, making my words barely discernible. My eyes are wide and trained straight on Dr. Howard. My head is screaming 'Threat! Threat!’ from somewhere deep and primal. I am preparing to pull back my lips into a vicious snarl when the firmly rooted terror I see in Dr. Howard’s eyes stops me short. Even his perfect blank face is replaced with the slight tug of a frown, though it is barely visible, I see it all the same. My fit of rage passes as quickly as it came.

“I… I’m sorry.” I look down at my feet as I apologize in the barest of whispers. “I don’t know what… um… happened. But it won’t again.”

“Oh, it will.” My head jerks up and my eyes widen as I face his gaze head on. Gone is any trace of the fear that was there, and Howard’s usual warmth is swapped for a surprising hardness, as cold as the deep blue of his irises.

“What? What do you mean?” Dr. Howard doesn’t answer, choosing to finally enter the building through the vault door. I am forced to follow. “Why can’t I leave? What do you still need me for?” Now that my mental clarity is back, at least somewhat, I find my voice again and, with it, my curiosity.

“Well, as you know, the investigation didn’t exactly go as planned. I am hoping that your experiences may still lend some useful information to our search for Charley’s killer.” I should’ve expected this. Why would I think they would just let me go? Of course they still need me for something. I continue to follow behind Dr. Howard, turning back and forth through identical looking passageways with identical looking white doors. The crowd that had gathered before has already dispersed, though I catch almost every eye in the building firmly planted on me. Guess I’m stuck here for now.

“Oh, okay. Can I at least call my dad?” I ask, my voice hopeful that I maybe I can ease my family’s worries at the bare minimum.

“No, I am truly sorry. The risk that you could disclose or your father could somehow pinpoint your location is too high. The coordinates of this compound are a very sensitive subject; only a few high ranked personnel even now the exact location. All of our planes operate on auto pilot to prevent any compromises. You need to wait to contact your family until we can trust you and trust that your father won’t do anything rash.” Well crap. Not the answer I was wanting.

“So I’m expected to sit here and play nice when any minute one of your goons could come kill me? And you need to trust me?” I am beyond furious, my voice lowering into a lethal whisper, but the words hold none of the feral instinct that my earlier outburst did. I feel like myself, just a really angry version of myself.

“Ms. Faller, we are investing as much faith in you as you are in us. You are, after all, the one who agreed to help us.” He regards me with a cool stare, as if waiting for me to realize the foolishness of my requests. Vaguely, I recognize that we have stopped walking, now stopped in front of a white door just like any of the others.

“So I could get home! You people are my only way to get back to my family!” I mean to shout the words because that’s what my wild emotions were telling me to do, but instead the words come out as a broken sob that I couldn’t have held back if I tried. Dr. Howard’s face contorts into one of disgusting pity, and I briefly wonder what happened to the bright smile that was on his face when I first met him. I must have tainted it.

“Then you had better prove your worth.” Dr. Howard turns sharply toward the door we stopped at and hastily punches a code into the keypad next to it. The same keypad that is next to every dang door. How much stuff do these people need to hide? I realize very quickly that question is probably better left unanswered. For now.

The door in front of us slides into a pocket in the wall, opening up to… another white room. Big surprise. Instead of just another empty space, though, this room is decorated with a simple wrought iron bed as the centerpiece, a white fiberglass dresser up against the right wall, and a little armchair in the corner by the door to the hallway. The only speck of color in the entire space is the deep navy of the armchair, and I have yet to see a single window in this place. The artificial glow of the lamps just makes the white walls even more brazen.

I really need to invest in some paint for these guys. Like burgundy or chartreuse.

Heck, even eggshell would be an improvement.

“This is your room.” Dr. Howard’s voice knocks me out of interior decorator mode and back to the cold reality.

“I’m staying here? No. I mean, no offense, but this place is scary and all hospital-like, and—to be honest—the walls are starting to burn my eyes.” I stare up into Dr. Howard’s blue eyes, looking for any sign that my pathetic argument did anything at all. Nope. I groan, “Fine. I’ll stay here. But only because you’re going to get me home as soon as possible! Deal?”

Dr. Howard hesitates for a split second, long enough for me to question him agreeing at all, but then he gives me a stiff nod and turns back to the door. With his back facing me he says, “I’ll leave you to get cleaned up and settled. Someone will come by a little later to take you to lunch, but stay here until then. I don’t want you wandering into a training session and getting some limb severed.” What! Before I can even consider responding to that, Dr. Howard exits the room and enters the code again to shut the door. Oh. So I guess I don’t get to know the code that controls my door.

No. Not your door. You are not staying here long enough for that.

“For the love of Christ! What have I gotten myself into?” I hop onto the foot of the bed, finding that it’s actually pleasantly soft for a mattress in a weird, secret underground complex in Brazil. Stretching out my long arms and legs to relieve the gazillions of knots in my shoulders, I finally notice the white door to the left of the bed. I let out a nervous chuckle. One, because the door almost blends in with the rest of the white in the room, and two, because it’s the only door I’ve seen so far without a keypad. Interesting. Sliding off the bed and tiptoeing to the door, I slowly reach out to turn the knob. The door creaks open—a ghastly sound that you would think these people could fix—and reveals a… toilet. Great. Guess I have my own bathroom. All sense of adventure gone, I open the door all the way to find a small space. There’s a little corner shower, a sink with a mirror over it, and—of course—the toilet. It’s a standard bathroom, but I guess it’s nice that I even have one. I would not want to figure my way through a communal one.

I suppose I might as well get comfortable, so I take a quick shower, using some body wash and shampoo that were already in the bathroom. After I’m sopping wet, I realize a little too late that I have no other clothes besides my mutated blood-covered tank top and shorts. I don’t have the heart to put those clothes back on, so I scavenge the dresser for anything to wear. Luckily, there are some white scrub-type clothes in the drawers folded neatly, along with a navy bandanna laying on top. Everyone has been wearing these bandannas… Is it some sort of dress code? Did I get myself caught up in gang business? I shudder before swiping up a random shirt and pair of pants. No need to think about that right now. What I really need to think about is how to get whatever they want done ASAP. I don’t think I can take much more time away from Dad and Lyla. Forget the fact that I doubt they can take not knowing where I am.

For as long as I can remember, it’s been Lyla, Dad, and I—our pack. Mom walked out and that only brought the three of us closer together. I was never much of a socializer in high school, not when I have a little sister and overprotective dad on my hands. I favor the cat lifestyle. Being free to make my own choices, where I want and when I want. These people so need to get with the program.

I throw on the scrubs—not the most flattering might I add—and glide over to the bathroom to detangle my mop of straight black hair. Wiping the fog off the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my amber skin for the first time since I got here. Then I notice it. Or them to be more precise. In my once-pure golden eyes, which are where they’ve always been (thankfully), there is not a little sprinkling of emerald green anymore. No. I’ve got two whole dang rings of green around my pupils. And they look like they’re glowing. Just great. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

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