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Fluorescent light fills every corner of the space, momentarily blinding me. Then, I see him.
At the center of a square cage, lies the naked body of an emaciated man. His skin is pale and stretched over his bones. His hair is messy and gray from dust. His face is wrinkled and blue.
I move closer, and it’s not until I’m standing right up against the cage that I realize the withered figure I’m looking at is Will.
A hand grasps my wrist. I whirl around, and there he is. My Will. Looking vibrant and healthy.
He pulls me against him, and I immediately start sobbing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” I say.
He shushes me softly. “It’s all right. It’s okay.”
But it’s not okay. None of this is okay.
Christopher lays me on the floor so he can stretch his arms. Lilliana pokes around a shelf containing what appears to be medical supplies.
“Is he still alive?” Christopher asks.
“Why don’t you stick your hand in and find out.” Lilliana sets the keychain down on a wide control panel sporting colorful buttons. I extricate myself from Will’s embrace to go study the controls.
“What do they do?” I ask him.
“Regulate humidity and temperature, mostly,” he says. “But they also control my chains.”
I glance back at his body, noting the awful chains that run from the wall to the cuffs around his neck, wrists and ankles.
Lilliana opens a drawer and begins rummaging through its contents.
“What the hell are you looking for?” Christopher asks.
“Something sharp.”
“You think he’ll wake up if he smells her blood?”
“That’s the idea,” she says.
“I can already smell your blood,” Will says to me. “It’s taking all my remaining strength to continue projecting myself. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stay here.”
Lilliana opens another drawer and pulls out a scalpel.
“This’ll work. Let’s get her inside the cage.” She pushes a button on the panel, and suddenly, Will’s body is jerked back against the stone wall. He winces beside me. I squeeze his hand.
“Think he’ll absorb her powers?” Christopher asks.
“Who cares,” Lilliana says. “Dad’s plan was always moronic. I mean, look at her. If she could predict the future, she wouldn’t be here. So what if she can see her dead relatives? She doesn’t have any useful powers.”
My mother’s words echo in my mind.Use your gifts. I let go of Will’s hand and approach his body. The chains securing him didn’t look particularly special, though the cuffs shine like they’re coated with something.
“Why can’t you rip off the cuffs?” I ask.
“They’re coated with a silver alloy,” he says. “Chronic exposure weakens me. The fact that I’m so malnourished doesn’t help.”
“How are they locked?”
“They’re secured in place by silver-plated screws,” he says. “You need a power drill to remove them.”
A power drill, or a fuckton of psychic focus.
