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I don’t have to be a Feeler to hear the hurt in Eden’s voice. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“How can you work for them?” I whisper. “They keep me here, prisoner, to control Fia.”
“Did you ever think that maybe they keep you here to keep you safe from Fia?”
“That’s a lie.”
“You can’t feel her like I can. She’s dangerous, Annie, and it scares me every time she’s alone with you. She’s—” I hear her inhale sharply. “Good news, she’s here. I can feel her from the first floor. Guess Art Institute is out. Come over after she’s gone and we’ll do manicures, okay?” Eden starts to close the door, but hesitates. “I’m sorry.” Then it clicks shut.
I turn expectantly toward the elevator end of the hall. I wish I could go straight down to meet her, but unlike Eden who can come and go as she pleases, without Darren’s key card I’m not allowed off the floor.
To keep me safe. Right. I am the safest prisoner in the entire world.
I strain, listening for the hum of the elevator, the muffled ding, the slide of its doors. The sound of Fia’s feet stomping down the hall. She always walks loud, just for me.
But instead of sounds, I’m greeted by a flash of light and I can see—oh, light, I can see!—and it’s all lights and darkness, flashing pounding lights and vibrations and everything is dark and there’s smoke and it’s a fire? It must be a fire! There are too many people, they’ll all die—
No, it’s not a fire, the bodies are dancing, the vibrations are the pounding rhythms of a song. The lights change color so quickly I can’t remember their names. And Fia—oh, Fia, you are so beautiful it makes my heart hurt—is in the middle of it all, slamming her body, moving and swaying and dancing to the beat in a way that no one else can. Her eyes are closed and her arm is raised. Only one arm, she’s hurt; how did she get hurt? Is this soon? But she has lost herself and I know that there, in that moment, she’s happy.
I want to do nothing but stay here and watch my sister dance.
But then I know I’m not the one watching her. Someone else is. That’s the point of this vision, not to see Fia happy but to see that someone else is seeing her. I try to turn to scan the crowd, but it doesn’t work like that: I’m locked in, stuck seeing and only seeing but never seeing enough. Someone is watching her. Fia dances on, oblivious.
If I can just figure out who is doing the watching, then—
“Annie! Annabelle!”
Fia’s voice pulls me out of the light and the darkness slams in all around me again, permanent, claustrophobic after my brief foray into vision.
“What did you see?” James’s voice is terse. Crap. I should have been in my room. He wouldn’t have known I saw anything. I don’t tell them about the majority of what I see. That’s the glory of your power being in your head and your head alone. They can’t get it there.
“Fia. Dancing.”
“Whoop! I’m going dancing!” I can feel her stomping around me in a circle, then her steps falter and something thuds into the wall.
“You are going to bed,” James snaps.
“Ooh, James,” Fia whispers dramatically. “Not in front of my sister. She hates you.”
“Are you okay?” I reach out for her, but she dances away from my grasp, humming under her breath. Some obnoxious pop song. Doris must be here—I missed everything when I was seein
g.
“I’m not getting anything from her,” Doris snaps. “I’m going back to my office.” She walks away, muttering about having that song stuck in her head all day now.
“Baby baby baby, Ms. Robertson! Ta-taa!” Fia doesn’t take my hand, she never does anymore, but I hear her stomping toward my room and I follow.
Her steps jerk to a halt. I assume James grabbed her. His voice is deliberately calm. “Okay, Fia. You saw her. I don’t know why you needed to, but you’ve seen Annabelle now, so can we please get you to Dr. Grant?”
“Dr. Grant? Why does she need a doctor?” I ask.
“But I have to tell Annabelle all about my great adventure. Annie—” She leans in so close to my face I can feel her breath. “I got SHOT. It was awesome. How many seventeen-year-olds can say that?”
“Someone shot her?” I turn toward James’s voice in horror. “You let her get shot?”
“Please, Fia,” James says.
“Oh, fine. I also killed some poor innocent college kid. You would have liked him, Annie. He was cute. He had long legs and long arms and gray eyes. Then he was dead. Poor cute dead kid.”
