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Chapter 14 "Die you mother fuckers!" "What the hell? How old are you kid?" I watched as little bits and pieces of my opponents sailed in every direction. No matter what game you were playing, the rocket launcher was always a satisfying weapon. Three seconds later, I snuck up behind a camper and cut him in half with my chainsaw. For the uninitiated, campers are players who wait by respawn points in FPS games, not to be confused with snipers, who choose strategic locations to pick off targets. There was instant gratification as I watched the blood spurt from the severed torso, collecting in a quickly growing pool. The violence in Gears of War is over the top, but it was one of my favourite games for that very reason. It was the perfect game to play after the events at El Casa, and the ice cream shop afterwards. It was morning. I had fallen asleep watching Goodfellas, but now I was ready to wash the taste of that horrendous night out of my mouth with kill streaks galore. I laughed. "Oh I'm six." My opponent, whose voice tended to break on occasion, shouted, "No fucking way! Your parents actually let you play Gears? And how come you aren't at school?" I had lost track of the days of the week. When you don't work and you don't go to school, every day is pretty much the same. I thought I had arrived at the apartment on a Thursday, but now I wasn't so sure. I smirked, responding in my headset, "And how come you aren't at school? You sound like you're about 12, right?" I pushed the trigger button and blew my opponent's head apart with the Gnasher shotgun. His cartoony brains splattered all over the wall. He replied, "Fuck! And no way. I'm fifteen. I'm going to get your ass banned from this server." I said, "Look, I'll leave you alone as soon as you stop fucking respawn camping. And I'm sure your voice will change eventually. You'll get hair on your chest and some down there too. Don't worry about it. And about the banning, well we both aren't old enough to play this game...right?" I laughed, but it sounded a little too much like a giggle for my liking. The teenage boy said, "Wait are you a girl too?" I cleared my throat. "Yeah. Maybe." My opponent said, "You're a weird fucking little girl. How come you aren't playing with ponies or dolls or whatever? That's what my younger sister does." I said, "Well because those things suck, just like you." A well-placed shot to the leg from the chain gun removed my opponent's leg. I had died a few times in the team death match, but since I had put my focus on killing the spawn camper, I had amounted an impressive series of kills. My teammates didn't seem to be bothered with the fact I sounded like a six year old girl as long as I was kicking ass. I finished the game with the highest kill count, and even though I wasn't playing on an elite server, I still felt satisfied and mostly vindicated after last night's near constant attack on my masculinity and ego. "How can you play that game? I'll never understand why you and Greg like blowing people up like that." Eve had been silently watching the game, or at least parts of it, while eating her breakfast. I looked back at her. "It's about being the best. That's just a nice benefit." Eve shook her head. "Ryan, you don't need to try so hard to be yourself. I saw the way you were looking at the waitress last night, and how you've been acting with this game. You're trying way too hard. You can be a decent guy when you want to be. Maybe showing some self-control will help with fighting the serum." I sighed. "You sound like Ashley." Eve sat next to me on the couch, but she maintained what I felt was a comfortable distance. The couch sat three and she sat a cushion's width away from me. I wasn't sure what it was, but the more frightened I became, the more shocked I grew at my actions, the more I wanted to reach out to Eve. The same thing had happened with Tracy. In seeing my distress, both Eve and Tracy had shown maternal instincts, the desire to embrace and to offer comfort. It terrified me to think that last night, even for a moment, I had considered jumping into Eve's arms. It should have been laughable, but it wasn't. It just wasn't how Ryan Sullivan dealt with his problems. Since sex was out of the question, weapons capable of severing limbs, punching through armour and shattering bone, and simply eviscerating my opponents would have to act as the panacea to my bruised yet not beaten mental self. Eve said gently, "Is that the girl who was with you in the studio?" I nodded and then turned back to the game. Eve put her hand on the cushion that divided us. "You know it might help to talk about what happened there. It was clearly a really stressful time for you. I deal with this every day, Ryan. Post-traumatic stress syndrome. You are bottling things up. I know that it's what you do but you can't be afraid to ask for help." I shook my head. "Why the hell do you care so much? Since my change you've been a lot nicer. I think you like me this way." Eve sighed gently. "I'm a nurse. Naturally, I want to help people. To heal them. And I can see you are in pain, that you are scared. You just show it a lot more in this body. Maybe I would have wanted to help you more if you'd done something other than sleep with girls and insult me when you were feeling like shit." She added, "Now I know you may not want to speak to me, given our history, but I really do think you need to talk to someone about what happened in the studio. Someone you trust." I couldn't tell Greg. He would never look at me the same way again, likely only seeing the weakness. I had a power over Greg. It wasn't a secret that he looked up to me- he respected my strength. I knew the tricks for picking up women, how to talk to them- and I wielded this power in the form of a somewhat unbalanced friendship. I could get away with practically anything. When I hit him for bugging me about seeing Monique, he didn't say a thing. Before he met Eve, he used to pick me up from across town at least once a week. I told him I'd take him to a bar or a club later and sometimes we went and sometimes we didn't. He lent me money, and he never asked for me to pay it back. Even after he met Eve and started dating her, I found that the dynamic hadn't changed significantly. I was still the alpha, and Greg was a bit of a doormat, smart but too eager to please, and telling Greg would mean losing my status in our relationship. Eve was the only option. My mom was out of the question, as were Jessica and Monique. Eve didn't think much of me, so really, there was only room for improvement in our relationship. Pleased with my mature decision, I powered down the Xbox, although I was still very hesitant to divulge the full events from the studio. Plus, I wondered if she was right about the serum and my self-control. It wasn't like I was some stoic man on the mountain, sitting with crossed legs and spouting wisdom. No, I was someone who gave in to the carnal- the pleasurable. Like Mark and Devon, I was a prime candidate to fall victim to the serum. "I guess I'm feeling guilty. About leaving Ashley at the studio." Ashley was the voice of reason in the studio. I wasn't loathe to admit it either. While Ashley and I had an infamous first and second meeting, she did everything in her power to ensure I didn't end up like Mark and Devon, and I had left her behind. Eve said, "The way you told it, Ryan- you didn't really have a choice." I shook my head. "What do you mean?" Eve nodded. "You said you were the only one without a memory wipe. And you said that just being around kids would make you act like one. I've seen proof of that. I think you did the right thing. It's great you want to help Ashley, and this is a refreshing side of your personality, but if you'd brought her along. What do you think would have happened?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I would have brought her here. At least she would have been safe. What if she's been adopted by some billionaire prick as part of that adoption agency? She'd hate that. Well...the old Ashley at least." Eve shook her head slowly. "I saw how that crown affected you. The smile that appeared on your face, and how you were watching those girls in the ice cream store. I know you are tough Ryan, but you can't blame yourself. If you'd brought Ashley here- I doubt we would be having this conversation. It would be really hard to keep you two apart." I narrowed my eyes, while feeling my lower lip gently lower into a pout. "Do you really think I'm that weak? And Elsa and Anna were apart for ten years, living in the same castle. We could have done the same thing in the apartment." A look of shock crossed Eve's features, her eyebrows shooting upward, and her mouth momentarily agape. She composed herself, and the softness, which had become commonplace, returned. It was a look I had seen rarely in the woman before my change, but the doe-like tenderness and warmth in her eyes, and even the way she held her mouth, in a slight and comforting smile- it made me want to spill my guts to her- to tell her everything. She said, "But that's a just a movie, Ryan. And no, I don't think you are weak, but this serum has done a number on you already. I'm not sure having Ashley here would help things. It would be impossible to keep you two apart in this small apartment." I clenched my fists, feeling my slightly pointed nails dig into the soft skin of my palm. "I know it's just a movie, Eve. I'm not fucking stupid. And I know being around Ashley would be dangerous, but I think I could bring some of her memories back. I managed to jog something when we were back in the studio, but I didn't have enough time to really try it out. Tracy was supposed to take both of us to her place." Eve replied, "I might be able to help you find them. I can talk to our media spokesperson at the hospital, and she can put us in touch with the right people. The police won't say anything, but if we can get the media involved, they'll start putting pressure on the police to release a statement. I won't tell them you are here or anything, but I'll just give them a tip to check out the studio. In the meantime, I can help you do some research, you said you have a phone with some data, right?" I nodded, staring at Eve in disbelief. It was hard for me to accept that Eve wanted to be so helpful. Before my transformation into a little girl, I figured she wanted nothing to do with me. Her words in the car about my past behaviour confirmed that. Still, here she was, offering her help to someone who had belittled and insulted her. Eve said, "It's OK to ask for help, Ryan. I've seen that there's more to you than just a macho, egotistical asshole. What's on your phone anyway?" I replied, "Formulas and diagrams. Stuff about genetics I guess. It's way over my head." Eve said, "There's a gene lab at the hospital. I could always ask them to take a look at it. Or we could send it to a university professor who specializes in that type of research. You don't have to do this alone." When Eve helped to rinse my eyes out and to comb my hair after my first shower in the apartment, I felt a pleasant tingling. After her latest offer for help, that tingling had become a powerful buzzing, almost as if bees were gently probing the pleasure centres in my brain. A tiny smile crept onto my lips. "Um. Thanks." I flicked through the pictures I had taken, stopping on the three I had snapped in the studio. "Here. Take a look at these." The phone buzzed a moment later, indicating either a text or an e-mail. I had used some of my car savings to pay my phone bill, but the money would only cover two more bills. After that, I would have to ask Eve and Greg to pay it...like parents. No fucking way. Eve said, "Superman, hmm? What's it look like?" Her eyes danced with amusement. While she grinned, I paled. Monique had picked the worst possible time to send me a text. Eve handed my phone back. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to see the text." I took the phone into my hands and scrolled to my recently received texts: Monique: u wanna come over its been 2 long Monique: I want u to superman me through the fucking door I started texting her back, although I had to put the phone in my lap to text with two hands. Me: sorry not tonight busy Monique: u still mad about last time I clicked the phone off and sighed heavily. A night of ridiculous sometimes painful yet highly enjoyable sex would have usually done the trick to improve my mood, but Monique's invitation for a booty call had done the opposite. It served as a reminder of everything I had lost. My Gears of War success had softened the blow, dulling the memory of my tantrum and my burgeoning childlike imagination. Seconds later, I felt a sudden tightening in my chest. This was followed by a slight trembling in my bottom lip. I took two quick breaths, hoping to stave off the eventual tide. As this happened, Eve edged closer to me, now sitting half a cushion away. I turned away from her, burying my face in a pillow. Was I really about to cry my eyes out because I couldn't have sex with Monique? A hand settled gently on my shoulder. The touch was tentative at first, similar to how a person might gingerly touch a plate or a bowl in the microwave to ensure it isn't too hot. The hand was removed and then reapplied. On the second touch, the grip was firm. Eve gently squeezed my shoulder. I lashed out, swatting the hand away and turned to face Eve. I felt tears forming, but I fiercely wiped them away. "Fuck sakes, Eve- you can't be doing that. I'm not a kid." Eve regarded me evenly. "I'm not treating you like a kid, Ryan. I'd do the same for anyone who is in pain. I've seen it all as a nurse. It's part of being human. I've seen bigger guys than you weeping like babies. Guys who had the same cocky air, the same swagger. In a hospital room, there's no hiding. Everything comes out." She added, "It's OK to show your humanity. The hug outside the ice cream store might have been a bit much, but this is normal. Most doctors will say that crying can be as therapeutic as laughing. I won't think any less of you." I said with a smirk and wiped my nose with my sleeve, "I don't think it's possible for you to think any less of me. It would probably cause the sun to explode or something." Eve nodded and smiled. "Exactly. Now why don't you send me those diagrams, and I'll bring them in on my next shift. I'll make sure I talk to the hospital's media spokesperson too. She owes me a favour." I sniffed lightly. "I-I'm sorry I've been such a dick to you in the past, Eve. You've really gone above and beyond here." Eve smiled. "We'll find Ashley and Tracy." "Thanks, Eve." I felt hopeful for the first time since I had left the studio. *** A month passed and in that time, Eve managed to get the contact information for most local and national newsrooms. I continued checking the news daily, something I hadn't done previous to my transformation. Eve sent the sample data from my phone to universities with a specific focus on genetic research. She also spoke to the lab at the hospital, telling them a friend of hers was completing a PhD and needed someone with the right equipment to test their theory. Unfortunately, the response wasn't immediate. I expected that media would flock to the studio. Eve had told the newsroom contacts that a studio was basically using orphans as slaves to make children's programming. It should have been the top news story on every major network, blog- anything. But a month later, and the story still hadn't broke. We figured that a quick search of the premises would lead to more questions, especially when journalists discovered the lab. This should have led to the media putting pressure on the police to release a statement regarding Tracy. In that time, Eve and I grew closer. Considering we were the equivalent to feuding cats and dogs, anything was an improvement. It started from the moment we met. Eve saw through what she termed my bullshit. What she didn't know is that I was making myself look worse so that meek Greg would stand out, so he could play white knight. It was really a matter of miscommunication. With cats and dogs it was the same. Dogs wag their tails to show happiness, and cats believe the dogs are agitated by this action, so they return the gesture in kind. Basically, if women, like cats, would take a moment to understand the male species and why we act as we do, there would be fewer water and oil situations. Eve had her claws out the moment I spoke. I guess the whole calling her fat didn't help our relationship, but she had struck first, and she had planted a seed within the mind of my best friend that I was shallow, self-absorbed, and sexist. Before he met Eve, he never said a word to me about how I acted. So while Eve and I grew closer, we weren't exactly best friends or anything. I let her help me with my hair because I just couldn't bring myself to cut it off. Every time I did, I'd picture myself with a shiny bald head, just like Greg, and this image sent my mind spiralling, which was followed by full on panic attacks. I had always loved girls with long hair. It was the only thing, other than the fact she sometimes bit me hard enough to draw blood, I didn't like about Monique. Her pixie cut emphasized the slight roundness of her face. Was it possible that because I had these ideals that I had transferred them to my current body? I shouldn't have cared considering I wasn't a real girl, but I did. I never let Eve put my hair into anything other than a simple ponytail, and she never pushed me to do twin braids or up-dos, or whatever. I had taken to avoiding the mirror because each time I looked, I liked more and more what I saw. I had developed some kind of bizarre obsession with regard to my hair. It actually made me feel better, a pleasant tingle passing through my head as I stared at the long, straight perfect locks. Meanwhile, Greg never said a thing about it. I continued dressing in unisex or typical male clothing, the collection of dresses and skirts I had brought from the studio sat in my Hello Kitty backpack at the very back of the hall closet. While my behaviour terrified me and struck at both my adult and male core, it wasn't entirely surprising. Girls just had a thing about their hair. Most did anyways, and the ones that didn't- I never wanted to meet. I knew that it was the serum, and perfect little girls have perfect hair. Beyond my hair, it wasn't as if Eve and I were painting each other's nails or having sleepovers. No, I was still a gore hound, and the nail polish that adorned my hands and feet had long since worn away, and Greg remained my best friend. Monique and others had made attempts to contact me, but I would likely never be ready to face them. Not until I returned to normal. Which is why the complete failure to this point to contact Tracy sent me into bouts of depression. Thankfully, Gears, Halo with the odd session of Call of Duty kept me sane. That and repeated viewings of the Godfather trilogy and Goodfellas. I had steadily improved to the point in all three games where I could easily beat Greg. I had to make my own account after some sore losers decided to report me using Ryan Sullivan's elite server account. I think it mostly had to do with the fact that they didn't like getting beaten by who they assumed was a little girl. A few reported me for playing the game underage, but there were no laws saying I couldn't play. I wasn't old enough to buy the games, but my gracious parents could have purchased them for me. After a morning of fruitless searching, I jumped onto the Xbox, cranked the TV and loaded up Gears. A few minutes later, I had won my first game, absolutely decimating the competition. Mere seconds into the second game, I heard banging from downstairs. I assumed that the people downstairs were still in the process of moving, but when the banging transferred to the door, I figured there was a new neighbour. Fuck. There was something far more satisfying about cleaving an opponent in two or dismembering them with the sound blasting. Rail gun barrages pounded in my chest like psychedelic house music. It just made the game more enjoyable, and it increased the immersive factor. You were more into the game if it sounded like the game was part of your living room, and your neighbour's living room. I paused the game and moved toward the door where the banging continued. As I got closer, I realized that whoever was trying to get my attention was not using their fist. It sounded like they were rapping against the door with an aluminum baseball bat. As Ryan Sullivan, I had dealt with my fair share of noise complaints. Monique's neighbours below and above called the police on us on two separate occasions. I smooth talked the police who came to the door, making a joke about Monique being a singer and losing control of her voice during sex. It worked both times. I also had a neighbour living underneath me. She was a single mom who had really let herself go. I probably would have been interested in her if she had cleaned herself up and didn't have a kid. So anyway, she complains about my surround sound, while her fucking kid is screaming in her arms. The kid seriously cried all the time. She told me he was chloric or something. Well he woke me up plenty of times after a late- night shift, and I never said a thing. I just told her to piss off because her kid was making just as much noise. Well her doughy boyfriend comes to the door next, and I took one look at him and laughed. He didn't say one word before he left, his balls likely crawling up into his body, removing him from the male species altogether. I could be intimidating, and it helped that I could also handle myself in a fight. I wasn't stupid though, and I was on a kind of short leash with my landlord, so I turned the volume down, but I had the satisfaction of winning the battle. The army I had gone against had retreated before firing a single shot. I was, however, no longer in a body that stood over six-feet tall. My musculature was non-existent, and the last time I had punched someone, it resulted in vicious teasing. I doubted that the individual behind the door would hit a child, but the metal on wood struck fear into my heart. I pictured a mountain of muscle, laden with tattoos, bald with a permanent scowl. I stuttered, "G-Go away! I'll turn it down!" My heart raced, and my throat suddenly constricted. Even if I had wanted to say another word, my body wouldn't have allowed it. I was having another panic attack. The hammering against the door ceased. A voice reeking of age spoke. While the speaker was likely wizened with one foot in the grave, the voice held a powerful authoritative timbre. "Young lady, I want to speak to one of your parents immediately." The voice belonged to a woman, and coupled with my fear-induced panic attack, she sounded like the scariest and meanest woman in the world. My mind told me, however, that it was ridiculous to be frightened of an old woman. I'd told the woman at the bus stop to mind her business. I could say the same thing to this old hag. I was certain that if I looked at her through the peephole that my fear would wane. I pictured this little old woman, the metal cane the only thing keeping her from tumbling toward a hip injury that would put her in the hospital permanently. A sagging, haggard face with a crooked nose and sunken eyes would stare back at me, while a mouthful of cruel twisted teeth would form a wicked sneer. I blinked slowly, realizing that my suddenly out of control imagination had placed a witch behind my door. The image of the witch slowly unravelled as I reined in my imagination. With my returning courage, I said firmly, "They're not home." The old woman replied, "How old are you, young lady?" It shouldn't have been possible, but the woman's voice attacked my courage, like a great loping animal pierced by a hunter's arrows, it stumbled, leaving me ready to answer the question truthfully. Thankfully, just as I was about to reveal the truth, I stopped, my childlike fear rapidly replaced with adult logic and a resurgence of Ryan Sullivan's bold and stubborn nature. It was clear that if this woman found out that I was actually six years old, it could create a number of problems. I should have had a babysitter, but actually, since it was May- I should have been in school. The fear attempted to creep back in, like the dark banished from a room filled with light. I changed my voice, trying to sound older. "I'm twelve." I couldn't remember when my parents started leaving me at home alone, but twelve seemed like it would be old enough. Less than a second after I spoke, the old woman's voice once again filled the air. It was direct and completely lacking in emotion. "You're lying." The simple phrase sent my heart racing, yet it also evoked a sense of anger. It was clear this woman had been some power-tripping librarian or maybe she worked at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Either way, she wasn't going to tell me what to do. It was time to end the conversation. "Look, I've turned down the game, so you can just fuck off, OK? I don't owe you anything." I hoped that meeting her strength with my own brash attitude would cause her to realize she wasn't going to boss me around. "Young lady, it may not be against the law in this state to leave you home alone, but I believe your parents would be interested to know that you are not in school. And you will, never ever address me in such a manner again. Proper young ladies do not address their elders, or anyone with such vile language. Your parents should be ashamed. Now, you will offer an immediate apology." Normally, I would have been able to completely ignore the woman's lecture. I certainly did so enough times in school, but this woman had a special power. Her words were like tempered steel, each one finding a weakness in my mental armour. I stood flabbergasted that the woman's words could affect me in such a manner. I stuttered, "W-Why do you care if I go to school or not? Why is it any of your business?" "I educated generations of proper young ladies at the Prescott Finishing School, now known as the Prescott Academy for Girls. It is my responsibility as a former educator and a concerned citizen to ensure that you attend school so you might become a productive member of society. Your parents are also breaking the law. Now, unless you give me a very good reason not to, I will contact the school board and report your truancy." The strength of her words told me that she wasn't bluffing. She made me feel like a little kid, terrified of her new teacher. My breathing grew faster to the point where I started taking in raspy, ragged breaths. I wiped my hands on my pants, which were slicked with sweat. The world around me spun, and I reached out for the door, using it to break my fall. School. A place of learning where Ryan Sullivan would essentially be erased. Where the serum would claim victory. If that happened, it wouldn't matter if Eve and Greg knew the truth, there would be nothing left of me to prove I was anyone else but a six-year old girl named Kaylee. "Young lady, I'm waiting. You might improve your standing in my eyes if you tell the truth." Two panic attacks in the same day. I sighed heavily, still using the door for support. The woman's cane rapped firmly on the door. If Eve or Greg was here, I probably would have been hiding behind them, as I had done with Ashley in the studio. Still, this old disciplinarian was dealing with Ryan Sullivan not Kaylee, and Ryan was an experienced actor. Acting, good acting, should be effortless, not simply playing a part but being that part where the words spoken sound like they come from a real person not just someone simply reading lines. My only chance was to use my acting chops, hoping that I could fool the old woman, but to do that, I had to become Kaylee. I said sadly, actually pushing out my lower lip. The woman couldn't see it, but it helped me get into character. "I-I'm six. I'm home alone because I'm sick, and my parents are at work. We can't afford a babysitter." We didn't live in a large apartment building, but it was large enough at six stories to hopefully never actually run into this woman again. "Now, if you had been truthful with me in the first place, we might have avoided this unpleasant business. I don't agree with a six-year old child being left at home alone, especially when she is ill." Incredibly, her voice softened, the sharp edge dulled to the point where I almost felt comfortable in her presence. Considering the power she had over me, I was really beginning to think she was a witch. "Perhaps an arrangement can be made with your parents should something like this occur again. I would be more than willing to offer my services for free." My mind quickly snapped back to reality. "Um, you don't have to do that. I'm usually not sick. I really like school." I heard the metal cane tap lightly against the floor. The action caused me to immediately stand at attention. The old teacher spoke, "You're lying again. I'm certainly not seeing the maturity required in a girl your age to stay at home by herself. I can understand why you chose to lie, but I've dealt with thousands of girls like you- I know all the tricks." By this point, I had had enough. I had to regain the upper hand, and it was clear that the woman's power was in her voice. If I saw this little old lady behind the door, hopefully it would mean that her sway over me would cease. I dragged a wooden stool toward the door and peered through the peep hole. On the other side, I saw a woman absolutely ravaged by age. Deep wrinkles lined her face, while her body was stooped, a slight hump forcing the woman forward, causing her to lean on her cane for constant support. She looked like she could be the grandmother of someone's great-grandmother. She spoke again, "I've a cup a tea very quickly cooling and as I cannot stand warmed tea, you will answer me immediately. I will be speaking to your parents either way, but what is said in that conversation will depend on your response, child. Firstly, you will apologize to me for your tone, your language, and your lying. Secondly, you will return to bed and not play another minute of that horrid thing you call a game. Children who are ill need their rest. And lastly, you will address me from this point on as Mrs. Feinstein." I replied, "Look, I'm sure you get your jollies from scaring kids, but I'm not falling for it. To me you're just a crazy old lady who won't mind her fucking business." With the picture of Mrs. Feinstein now firmly ingrained in my mind, her voice had lost its power. She was like a yelping extremely brittle-boned Chihuahua. The metal cane tapped lightly against the floor again, but it too had lost its power. I heard it slowly tap along the floor, moving away from the door to the apartment. Victory. *** Greg and Eve returned home at the same time, a rare occurrence but with Greg making the schedule at the Palace, he tried his best to match Eve's shifts. I said nothing about my run in with Mrs. Feinstein, and honestly, I hoped that she was bluffing, and that a lifetime of teaching left her unmotivated to pursue another educational project, especially one with such a vulgar mouth. Was it really worth it to her to get involved, considering the time and energy it would take to change my ways? At 7 PM sharp, I heard a gentle rapping on the door- it was metal on wood. I forgot that Mrs. Feinstein was retired. Apparently, retired people had nothing better to do than to stick their nose in other people's business. I sighed heavily, feeling very much like I did as a child after I had done something to enrage my mother. She would shout, "Wait until your father gets home!" Of course with my dad, sometimes it wasn't for a week or two, and then when I was older, it was for longer stretches. When my dad got home, my mom would tell him about all the horrible things I did, and on rare occasions, he would punish me. Usually, it was just a matter of boys being boys, but sometimes he would hit me. Never in the face, but that's when I knew I'd gone too far. I never knew with my mom because she always cried. Were my hands actually shaking? This was a one-hundred and eight year old woman not an elite-trained solider. I had my doubts that she could cause as much trouble as she threatened. It's not like she would be checking to see that I went to school every day. I'd just make sure from this point on to keep the TV at a lower volume. Most people, at least in my experience, will leave you alone once their lives are no longer impacted. For this fossil, it probably meant I wouldn't interrupt her tea time and viewings of Masterpiece Theatre. I didn't really know what old people liked other than quiet. I was never close to my grandparents on either side of the family. Our near constant moving made it difficult for them to visit. When they did visit for Christmas or Thanksgiving, there was usually football on the TV. The men in my family watched football, and the women worked in the kitchen. I knew my grandfather liked football and fishing, basically the stuff my dad liked. Somehow, I expected that Mrs. Feinstein was different. Greg opened the door quickly, allowing me to see Mrs. Feinstein through something other than the peephole, which had a skewing effect. Even though Greg wasn't tall at just under six feet, he towered over the diminutive Mrs. Feinstein. I couldn't believe that I was scared of her for even a millisecond. A gnarled hand gripped the metal cane. Sitting atop the cane was a majestic-looking eagle, along its wings a string of roses. She didn't wait to be invited into the apartment, brushing by Greg fearlessly. Eve, who was standing behind me in the dining area, moved to open her mouth, but was quickly silenced by the old woman's raised hand. The moment she entered the room, she owned it. Even I found myself staring at her, in disbelief that such a frail frame could hold such power. "I am Mrs. Agatha Feinstein, your downstairs neighbour. I must say I was quite disturbed by your daughter this afternoon. I had some concern about the amount of noise coming from your apartment, but I have greater concern as to your parenting." Eve and Greg exchanged dumbfounded looks. Mrs. Feinstein continued unabated, "Why you would choose to leave a six-year old girl, a mere child, home alone while she is ill is beyond me. Do neither of you have parents or friends that you would trust with her care? Do you realize that this child spent most of the morning playing a game instead of resting? What if she had managed to find real trouble in the apartment? What if she had injured herself? I should say as well that, based on the noises I heard, I don't think that game is suitable for a child." Greg and Eve stood like two disobedient students, exchanging glances and trying to determine culpability on either side. Eve looked angrily at Greg who withered, but when the man's eyes returned to Mrs. Feinstein, he might as well have been trying to crawl within his own body for protection from the lecture. Despite Greg being the actor, Eve was the first to speak. He was, true to his word, completely unwilling to go off script. "I'm sorry that you were bothered by Riley. Did she tell you why we had to leave her home alone today?" Mrs. Feinstein said, "She said that you could not afford someone to look after her. I would think that one of you could take the day off. I know that there is no law in California, but I do not think it reasonable to leave an ill six year old to her own devices." Eve nodded. "Unfortunately neither of our parents live in town. I'm a nurse and my...uh husband is the assistant manager of a restaurant, but we're both starting out, and I've got student loans, so money is tight. Riley is usually very mature for her age. If you think it's a problem ..." Mrs. Feinstein tapped her cane on the floor and I, Eve and Greg all stood up straighter. "I do think it is a problem, young woman. I can appreciate your pursuing higher education after what was likely a difficult teenage pregnancy, but you cannot leave such an unruly child at home alone. It is dangerous for her and bothersome for those who must share an adjacent space with her." Eve lowered her head slowly. "We'll make sure it doesn't happen again. It was really a one-time thing, we'd normally never leave her alone. I left lunch and everything for her. She knows not to touch the stove. She's a really smart girl." Greg, who had managed to find his cowardly tongue, finally spoke up, "And she can read. More than just picture books." Mrs. Feinstein nodded. "I'm willing to overlook this, but I must ask that I receive a sincere apology from your daughter. She was quite rude to me, and it is unbecoming of a young lady to use such language." Greg looked at me, and I shook my head. Mrs. Feinstein frowned, her entire face seeming to cave in disapproval. Eve said, "Riley, I've asked you not to use bad language. I know that you like playing daddy's games, but they use bad words in them, and I know you think it's funny to ..." "I know you think that just because you were a teacher that you can boss people around, but you weren't exactly invited in here. I turned the game down. The noise is gone. You have nothing to complain about. Yeah, I was rude, but this isn't 1919, your graduating year in high school. People are rude, kids are rude. Deal with it." Mrs. Feinstein narrowed her eyes at Eve and Greg- it was a clear challenge to their authority. Amazingly, Greg was the first to speak up. Apparently, his bout of cowardice was short lived. "I think you should probably leave. OK?" Greg's words were tenuous and his breathing hurried. I was certain that they would be the equivalent of a slingshot being fired at a cement wall. However, the wall relented, not crumbling, but merely ceded the way. Mrs. Feinstein turned slowly, making me think we had suddenly tumbled into a universe where everything moved in slow motion. "Very well, it is clear who has the run of this place. I will remember that the next time your daughter disturbs the residents of this building." The words were said sharply, but still, the old woman hobbled toward the door, allowing her cane to guide her. She placed a crooked-looking hand on the doorknob and within moments was gone. *** "Getting him to apologize might be our only choice, Greg. This woman could call social services. They'll be an investigation potentially. We really need to make nice with her. You know that the next time Ryan makes even a peep, she's going to be down here again." "Eve, there's no way that Ryan will go for this. You don't know him the way I do." "That's exactly what got him in this mess, so now he's just going to have to eat crow. And that means going to her apartment and apologizing." I watched the exchange between Eve and Greg silently at first, pleased that Greg was supporting me, as he had moments ago. However, considering the fact that Eve and I were getting along better, I was surprised to see how quickly she returned to her old opinion of me. She added, "We have to show we are capable. Believe me, I've seen a lot of cases in the hospital when child services gets involved. We do not want that kind of attention. We don't have any paperwork saying Ryan is ours. If we don't have a legal claim to him, then we could lose him. Do we really want to risk that?" Greg replied, "I kind of agree with Ryan on this one. That lady can't complain about the noise, and if he's quiet then she can't say anything. And I really doubt she's going to check up on us again as long as Ryan doesn't bug her again." I came to stand next to Greg, feeling a sense of camaraderie return. The spineless traitor that had embarrassed me in the restaurant was gone. Incredibly, he was standing up to his girlfriend- for me. Eve shook her head. She took a deep breath and said, "I'm not going to spell it out any more than this, Greg. It's a simple apology. Ryan needs to apologize for being rude. That's all. It's a completely unnecessary risk, and for what? So Ryan can feel like some big man?" I watched the exchange with hidden glee, doing my best to keep from smirking. Still, I felt the corners of my mouth turn, but immediately bit down on the inside of my lip, halting the expression. Greg said, "No, it's because this woman is taking something as simple as a noise complaint and turning it into a huge battle over parenting or whatever. I had a supply teacher like her once. It was in sixth grade. She was mean, nasty and completely unfair. Some of my friends actually thought she was a witch. Well she blamed me for something, just because I'd kind of mouthed off to her, and it wasn't my fault. I had detention and missed my bus. My mom had to come pick me up, and she was so pissed. This woman reminds me of her. She's just pushing us around Eve, can't you see that?" I nodded my approval at Greg's speech. Eve frowned. "She's got legitimate concerns. And I also know people like her. People who make it their mission in life to coach other parents. You have met my mother, right? She's like that with my sister and her newborn. She's over there constantly pointing out all these little things she's doing wrong. For all we know, Mrs. Feinstein could be exactly like that. Why take the risk? Ryan just needs to apologize to her and avoid giving her the finger when she sees us in the hall. That's it." Greg shook his head. "We aren't his parents. We can't make him. If Ryan wants to apologize then he can." Eve sighed heavily. "And what about the booster seat? We're going to get one, right?" I knew Eve, and this wasn't a question. "Again, it's an unnecessary risk. A routine traffic stop could get us in a lot of trouble." Eve crossed her arms underneath her chest and furrowed a brow- the classic pissed off-girl-I-know-I'm-right-and-you're-wrong-look. Greg said, "We'll talk about it." The pupil had become the master. Greg had used a line I used to feed him. If there was something I didn't feel like doing, I'd give him that line. He always swallowed it, and he would rarely bring it up again. Now, he was using it on Eve. This time, I couldn't hide the smile. Eve huffed, turned and said quickly, "I'm going for a walk." The door slammed shut behind her. Even though she had been almost nice to me recently, I enjoyed the sudden change in the dynamic of their doormat-heavy feet relationship. I couldn't help but stare at Greg in both astonishment and reverence but realization soon struck. I smirked. "She's going to be so pissed at you. Like really pissed. And the couch is already mine. What the hell's gotten into you? I mean not that I'm complaining." Greg nodded slowly. "I-I've noticed a bit of a change in you. I guess it's the fact that every time I bring up cutting your hair, you go practically catatonic. And then there was that commercial the other day for Frozen on Ice. I think we need to avoid as much as possible treating you like a little girl. I saw how you were watching it. Like how Jessica's niece would look at it. Anyway, if keeping you out of situations where you have to act like a kid works...then it's worth the risk." I swallowed hard, instantly feeling terrible for all the times I had blown Greg off for Monique or the flavour of the week, or borrowed money from him or- well there were plenty of things that made our relationship somewhat one-sided. Most of them had to do with promises that weren't kept. "I really appreciate it, man. And I didn't really like that stuff. I was just messing around. I wanted to see your reaction. It was priceless. You were like, can we get front row seats." Greg laughed, but it was partially forced. He had a habit of exaggerating his laughter at times, especially if he felt the person telling the joke needed the laugh- as if laughing was some kind of therapy. He was too nice for his own good. It created an awkwardness- because Greg never did that to me. When I joked, he always laughed sincerely. I asked, "What gives, man? You don't believe me? I told you that shit is stupid." Greg said, "Yeah, man. I do." I wanted to believe him, even though I knew deep down that he was lying. Why the hell did he have to be such a shitty liar? *** "Shit! I can't believe this. Guys, come look at this!" It was two weeks later, and I had made an incredible discovery. After hours and hours of online research, checking hundreds of newspapers across the United States and internationally and searching through papers Eve brought from the hospital, the story was finally public. The public now knew about the serum containing the fountain of youth. The full two-page spread showed pictures of the secret laboratory below the studio. There were before and after photos of who I assumed were homeless people or convicts. The plot to transform adults into children to circumvent the new California child actor law was explained in great detail. The final part revealed the adoption agency that claimed perfection in their 'stock'. This sordid web of deceit, manipulation and identity destruction was linked to a major television network, the country's largest pharmaceutical companies and even sections of the federal government, who had apparently bankrolled the research in the early stages. While I had been initially against the idea of going public with the serum, for fear I would end up as a living science experiment, it was an incredible relief in a way. It was clear that I had lost some control, especially with regard to my hair, which I still stubbornly refused to cut. There were also the commercials. At my place, I'd gotten by with just Netflix, but Eve and Greg had cable, a shitty internet plan, and no DVR. That meant loads of commercials, some of which featured children, and especially young girls enjoying certain things. It got so bad that during one show, I had to leave each time the commercials played. The Frozen on Ice wasn't the problem, yes- I had looked at it with a certain yearning, but that desire eventually faded. No, the problem was a commercial promoting the Frozen princess dress-up set. It featured everything a young girl would need to play as her favourite character from the movie, from dresses to full length gowns, crowns, long gloves, even little slippers. This reminded me of the fun I had with Ashley, and the memory had decided not only to stay but to actually burrow deep into my brain, nestling within like some hibernating animal finding its winter home. It was like a parasite devouring my brain matter. There was a strange warmth to it, a comfort. Despite being framed by the horrors of the studio, there was an innocence to it because in those special moments there was nothing else but us. Me and Ashley. I was struck by a powerful desire to seek out Ashley, or even any other little girls like the ones in the commercial. There was one who lived on the second floor, probably a year younger than me. I caught on slowly remembering that the serum had various layers. It had the layer that sought to beat my adult mind and male ego to a bloody pulp, landing body blow after body blow. This is what I dealt with when I peered in the mirror, or when I was treated as I looked, or I discovered another simple action I could complete easily as Ryan that I couldn't do half as well or at all as Kaylee. These realizations pounded my mind, like slavering wolves launching themselves at an injured moose. Each attack drew more blood and the wounded animal, the remains of Ryan Sullivan, lumbered forward, desperately trying to shake off the vicious predators. However, there was also the sweetness, and I began to grasp that these warm memories were far deadlier than the body blows my mind was receiving. Like some sort of bizarre Stockholm Syndrome, a portion of my mind was slowly surrendering to the reality envisioned by the serum. This surrender was hastened by wonderful memories of smiling children laughing at play. Pretty little princesses playing dress up. I continued to battle the serum, demonstrating to Dr. Travers that his serum is a failure. However, deep within my mind, I knew that I couldn't last forever- the barrages would pierce my defences eventually, leaving only Kaylee in their wake. This is why I was so relieved. I had suffered lapses in my control, but with the serum's existence now public, it would mean an army of scientists in my corner. And that meant a possible cure. It was the first glimpse of hope, the tiny ray of sunshine attempting to pierce a seemingly endless grey sky. Eve and Greg hurried over to where I had the newspaper spread over the kitchen table. Once again, one was leaving and the other was just arriving home from a lengthy shift. Greg gave Eve a groggy kiss. He had gotten in around two in the morning, and my shouting had woken him, but unlike me in a similar situation, he didn't look pissed. He actually looked happy. Things had not been great between him and Eve lately as the two could often be heard fighting behind closed doors about a contentious subject- me. I pointed to the paper splayed out on the table proudly, as if showing a picture where I had coloured inside all the lines. Eyes scanned the page, and my gaze zeroed in, impatiently awaiting their reaction. I knew they would be happy. For Eve, I likely wouldn't be living here any longer, and Greg- well he would have Ryan Sullivan back. Maybe I could even call Jessica...or even Hannah? My mom too. Just to check in with her. I wasn't going to visit her or anything. Eve looked at me and began biting the inside of her lip, while Greg was still scanning the article. "Ryan, I-I didn't mean to bring this home. It's a tabloid. Nothing in this thing is true. It's a supermarket trash paper. Just for entertainment. I'm sorry, Ryan, but I don't think it's going to go anywhere." Eve reached her arms out toward me, but I didn't reciprocate. Did she really think I was going to come crying into her arms? "But it is true. Every word of it is true! People are going to read this, and they'll see what they did to us- to me!" Eve frowned deeply and shook her head. "You know it's true, but the story is so farfetched that most will believe it's fake. This is the National Enquirer. It's basically a tabloid paper that thrives on getting people to buy it with sensational headlines. And this is a paper from three weeks ago. There's been nothing on the news, right?" I shook my head. "But someone knows! I mean someone told the paper that fucking story. Every last thing they wrote is fucking true!" I emphasized my point with two firm stomps of my feet. Greg looked at me with wide eyes and then turned to Eve. "That's not totally true though, Eve. The Enquirer is right sometimes. My grandma bought the stupid thing every week. My dad would read them for a joke, but it turns out some stuff they publish does end up as the truth." Eve sighed heavily. "I don't think it's right to get his hopes up like this. It's obvious that one of the press contacts I got from the hospital spokesperson fed this story to the Enquirer. I mean it's weirder than the stuff they usually publish but with the whole industry dying- it'll sell papers and drive views to their website." I said, "Well what if get in contact with the paper. Tell them that I'll do an interview or something. I'll back up everything they said." Eve replied, "The problem is that the Enquirer and other tabloids have awful reputations. Most people don't believe the paper publishes anything resembling the truth. If we want to put pressure on the police to release Tracy or for scientists to help find a cure, then we need a legitimate media outlet to tell the story." I said, "OK. So how do we get them to listen?" Greg replied, "Hey...it might be a long shot, but what if we went to the studio? The lab is still there, right? I mean as long as you are OK with this. Going public with it I mean. We could probably find something at the lab to prove what happened to you is true." Eve interjected, "Hold on, this doesn't make any sense. I mean I never told the media contacts about the lab or the serum or any of the really unbelievable stuff. I said that the police were holding a woman who had allegedly exploited child actors. Making them work longer hours and stuff like that. No one should know about the other stuff. I don't know how the Enquirer got that information." I said, "It's insane though, everything they say is true. It's like they were there in the studio. I saw everyone get arrested except for this crazy lady named Mrs. Daniels and that fucker Travers. The two ambulance guys got picked up. They were the only other people. Unless some cop who collected the evidence leaked it or something. It's fucked up either way." Greg said, "If this all comes out though, Ryan- you could spend the rest of your life in a lab. We'll do what we can to have you stay here. Are you sure you want to?" I nodded. "Tracy wanted me to tell, and now I know why. People don't want this getting out. Dr. Travers talked about a balance, like if people could be young forever it would fuck up society. If there were no really bad diseases or whatever. That's why he was OK with the serum being used for the adoption agency. But that's just his messed up opinion. It could also really help people. So whoever did this thinks it might get out, they put the story in a crap paper that no one will believe to try and kill the story." Eve looked at me with a mix of astonishment and respect. I shook my head slowly. "You know I'm not stupid." Eve nodded, her shoulders slumping apologetically. "I know, Ryan. Sorry." She perked up. "I think you're right. We should go to the studio tonight." I smirked. "I call shotgun." Greg grinned. *** The first time I had set foot in the studio, I was brash. My bravado, like a tank driving down the expressway in bumper-to-bumper traffic, was powerful- unflinching. I mirrored Tracy making her at ease, while I spun lie after lie. I didn't like to dwell in the past. It was just easier to move on and forge a new path, as I had many times before, leaving friends and, of course, family. However, this time was different. There was no forgetting what happened to me in the studio and how I ended up there. If I hadn't been so desperate, stubborn and so full of lies, I wouldn't have been sitting in the front seat of Greg's sedan, the shoulder strap pressing tightly against my neck. I would have been working at the Burger Palace, taking what auditions I could, and hopefully, in the first serious relationship of my twenties. My mind waffled back and forth- despair to hope and back again, but as we neared the studio something else crept in. I felt a tinge of fear almost like cold, skeletal hands inching their way up my back. The thin boney digits thrust into the back of my neck, and I jumped in my seat. They almost felt like needles puncturing my skin. I started breathing more heavily, each breath coming in short, rapid bursts. My hands shook gently as the studio came into view. However, instead of the non-descript grey building with the fading network logo, I saw a twisted crooked structure. The simple rectangular frame stood out like a living piece of art, my imagination quickly taking the image and warping it beyond recognition. A nightmarish house stood in place of the studio. Shutters slapped against the side of the house fighting the wind in an effort to hide the horrors within. The only visible light came from a single candle held by a tall shadow. Above the porch was a terrace, however, instead of blooming vibrant flowers, all that remained were brown husks. The husks danced in the wind, but it was clear that whatever had grown there once, was now dead. Kaylee... I peered out from the car, eyes wide in terror, hands firmly gripping the sides of the seat, as if I feared an imminent crash and didn't trust my seatbelt. I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Ryan, we're here. Are you OK?" It was Greg. I nodded slowly, realization slowly setting in- the haunted house was gone, replaced by the studio and its parking lot with a single street lamp. "Yeah." Greg said gently, "You can stay here with one of us if you want. You don't have to go in." I shook my head, feeling my bluster return. "Fuck, man, you are so soft. You said it yourself, you can't treat me like this. I have to do this. And I need to be there when you take the video. I was in that lab. I know what it looks like, and I need to tell the story of what happened there. It's not going to be legit if you just take some random video." Eve said, "He's right, Greg. If this plan is going to work, we need Ryan in there. It'll be more real that way. Then we can contact the media and say we've got proof. Even if only one reporter actually believes us, maybe they'll put pressure on the police to release a statement about Tracy. Or the studio." Greg looked hurt momentarily. "I know, Eve." He then looked back at me, and I gave him a brave face, along with a well-placed finger for doubting me. It was hard to ignore the fact that my imagination had taken control, rendering me nearly catatonic as it painted the studio as a scene from a horror movie. The worst part, however, was the fact that, like the monsters my mind conjured while I lay on the bunk in the studio bedroom, my imagination had created something stereotypically frightening to a small child. I prided myself on being relatively fearless. From a young age, I was climbing fences and trees, and when I got older, this translated to a bold, uncompromising personality. However, the studio turned haunted house had scared me. I told myself that the fear was normal. After all, this was the place where I had been stripped of my body and nearly stripped of my personality and even my memories. Still, there was a nagging sensation, akin to a small pin prick in my brain, that the way my fear manifested was childish. Adults worried about their paycheques, their next meal, their career, and their lives in general. This was real fear. My fear of failure, the fact that I consistently ran from my problems instead of facing them and growing up in the process were legitimate concerns. Monsters and haunted houses were make believe. Stupid camp fire stories. Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, Kaylee is a scaredy-cat... Would the other kids laugh at me? The boys would and definitely Mark. Memories of the studio flooded my mind, and I desperately missed Ashley. Was coming back here a mistake? My head moved on a swivel, hoping desperately that neither Eve nor Greg saw the genuine fear on my face. I quickly realized that I was alone in the car, and while I was pleased neither of them had seen the weakness, the sudden separation sent my heart racing again. I stepped out of the car, fighting the urge to reach out and hold Eve's hand- to feel comforted and protected. There was a bizarre magnetism between the two of us now. Somehow, despite my adult and male self being vehemently against such contact, the child in me sought out Eve, knowing that she had the ability to calm my fear and anxiety, almost like a...mother's touch. No fucking way. I couldn't think of Eve that way. It was giving into the serum. It was giving up. Greg asked, "Man, if you want to come back in the day- we can do that. If this place brings back too many bad memories, maybe it's not a good idea? What happened to you here? Maybe it'll help us understand better. I know there's more to it than the article said. There's something you aren't telling us. What if it helps us get the media involved?" I shook my head and reached up to pull on Greg's shirt, trying to bring him down to eye level. Despite Greg being significantly taller and stronger than me, he acquiesced, slowly allowing my tugging to bring him to my level. "Some crazy shit happened to me. Crazier than becoming a little girl, OK? That's all you need to know. I'm not telling you fuck all, understand?" I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. "We're just trying to help, Ryan. But Greg is right, you keeping this from us isn't good. If we knew the whole story, maybe we'd be able to help more. At least better understand what you went through and what you're going through now. But I'm sure you'll tell us when you're ready." I glared at Eve and broke away from them. I did an about face, planting my hands on my hips while preparing to address Eve. My anger flared, like a single flame carried by the wind over a desiccated landscape bringing with it the threat of an uncontrollable wild fire. Like my imagination, the rage I felt was powerful, but it was soon replaced, swept away like a tiny boat in a tsunami. An overwhelming sense of uneasiness overcame me, followed by a massive dose of doubt. I stared straight ahead, in shock at the ping pong ball nature of my emotions, but completely unable to control them. "Y-You'd just laugh at me. You'd probably think the whole thing was fucking hilarious." My imagination joined with this self-doubt, creating vivid images of Greg and Eve, pointing, their faces contorted in near orgasmic bliss. It made no sense, but in that moment, I believed that would be their reaction if I revealed Ms. Daniels' plan for me and Ashley. They would see Ryan Sullivan as a laughing stock. Instead of continuing the battle of words, Eve said simply, "Let's go inside." *** Cellphones provided the only source of light in the studio's darkened halls. My heart continued its rapid pace, not simply beating, but slamming against my chest. Despite this, I chose to lead. I wouldn't hide behind Eve's legs, like a burgeoning part of myself desperately wanted. I ignored the comforting aura that she offered, knowing that giving in meant weighing down Ryan Sullivan to the point where he could no longer break the surface of a shared personality. I did my best to ignore how the light cast shadows, creating terrible monstrosities with an appetite for six year old girls. Gradually, as we reached the door to the laboratory, my courage returned. There were points through the brief journey where I held my breath to avoid shrieking in fright as one of the shadow monsters danced toward me. My imagination coupled with blossoming childish fears created a potent cocktail where my mind was bombarded with real and imagined terrors. The needles puncturing the skin, the cries, all of this was real, but combined with the imagined fear- I was surprised- even shocked that I actually stood in front of the door to my possible salvation. Hope pushed me along too, but it was also the sense that I would not allow the childish fears to control me- to govern my behaviour. Even the metallic staircase, where Ashley had reached out for my hand, where two frightened little girls had walked, held no power over me. The metallic steps sent echoes through the wide stairwell, mingling with my own breathing, my heart, the voices in my head that told me to scream, to run- but still we descended. Eve and Greg didn't say a word, and I was thankful for that. I needed time to return to a figure of power in their eyes- to stand as Ryan Sullivan again. The fact that I went first told them all they needed to know about my reaction to my behaviour mere moments ago. The bottom of the staircase came quickly, and I led Greg and Eve toward the laboratory. Lights shone over complex scientific equipment attached to beakers and tubes- the apparatus where the serum collected before Dr. Travers was likely stabbed to death by Mrs. Daniels, it was all there still. I was surprised to see that the police, the federal agents, or whoever had come, had left it all there. An object brushed against my foot. The nearly blinding light provided by my cellphone revealed a needle, and it appeared to be filled with a greenish liquid. Not