Virus | The Darkest Minds Ψ

When Hope Fell

Chapter I

My story started before many of the children who survived the sickness.

Two years, in fact.

I wasn't a sheltered child growing up. Quite the contrary, actually. My mother used to be very open to me about most things, she normally never lied. Dad wasn't really around much, and when he was, he avoided me. But the day I came home from second grade after Emma Hope had suddenly fallen off her seat and didn't get up, mom started lying.

She kept me in my room most of the day, sometimes even keeping me there for meals. She said it was just for fun. I wasn't allowed to watch television, or go play outside with my friends. She said that television was bad for the eyes and my friends were on vacation.

For obvious reasons, I didn't believe these.

I heard whispers around the house and on the news — which I rarely saw — of a sickness going around children. They called it I.A.A.N. That was all I knew. Everyone refused to tell me a thing.

The night I blew up the tv, I swear I didn't mean to.

It was the rare occasion I was let downstairs, and there was a tense silence as we ate.

Pasta. We ate pasta.

I asked mom why this was happening, why I was kept in my room now. She refused to answer. Fury swept through me and I yelled at them both. Mama and dad just sat there as I cried and shouted at them, saying nothing. I remember feeling a rush pass through me, and the with a shatter, the tv blasted apart.

Silence. I stared in shock at what had happened. I saw mom pale to sheet white, and dad's look of fury.

"Go to your room, Aspen." Mom said quietly. She used my middle name. Mom never used it unless she was scared — or angry.

"I — I don't know what happened — I'm sorry!" I stammered out.

"I said go to your room," mom said once again.

Silently, I left.

***

Mom and Dad started fighting. The nights when I sat on the staircase, I heard their angry shouts.

"Just get rid of the kid! We don't need a freak." Dad said in a disgusted tone.

"She's our child! Don't you feel some responsibility for her?"

"She is no daughter of mine or yours. They're freaks, Elizabeth, they should be put in containment!"

A sigh.

"I.... I suppose it would be best if she was — was rehabilitated."

My seven year old brain didn't comprehend what they meant by those words. Didn't understand how those words sealed my fate. Didn't realize those words broke me off from my family for good.

Mom sent me suspicious and cold looks in the days that passed. Dad looked disgusted every time he so much as glanced at me. I was confused and scared about what happened with the tv, I just wanted someone to tell me what was going on!

"Mama?" I peeked my head out my door. "Will... will you read me Peter Pan?" The story was important to me. I loved Wendy, and the idea of flying with Peter and Tinkerbell and going on adventures. My mom's face hardened.

"No, I will not. You're too old for children's stories. None of it is real, and you won't find Neverland."

My eyes watered, and I nodded, closing my door tightly. I didn't understand what I had done to make mom so angry at me now. It was like I wasn't her own daughter.

I climbed into my bed and fell asleep with tears still lingering on my cheeks.

***

I awoke to the loud creak of my door. Looking at my clock beside my bed, it read 02:06 A.M. Four people in black stood threateningly above me, and my parents stood off to the side, watching silently.

I sat up and stared in fear, pulling my blankets to my chin.

"This is her?" One asked gruffly. Dad nodded.

"Mama?" I asked. "What — what are you doing? What's going on? Mama, what's going on?"

She looked away.

I felt one of the black clad figures grab at me, and I lurched away. They were strong, though, and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled, landing hard on the floor. Another figure took out a pair of plastic things — zip ties — and tightly secured them over my hands.

"What are you doing?! Get away from me!" I cried. "Mama, dad, what's going on!"

My parents watched silently as one of the people took a cloth and covered it over my mouth. Tears pricked my eyes and I stared in horror at my parents.

"Mama, please!" I sobbed.

My mother didn't look at me as I was dragged away.

***

I woke up to a blinding white room.  A man with sharp features stood over me, studying me carefully. I tried to sit up, but was jerked back down by restraints over my wrists and feet.

"She's awake," the man said. Two more people came into the room wearing coats that Doctor Forsythe used to wear when I went for checkups.

"Where am I?" I demanded, glaring at them. "Who are you? What are you doing?"

The doctors didn't answer, and instead quietly talked among themselves. The only thing I heard was,

"President Gray said the only one to not have visible scars is his son. It will be immensely easier to operate everywhere without having to be as careful as young Mr. Clancy," the man said, and the other two nodded.

They came over to me, and I saw sharp tools in their hands. My eyes widened in fear.

"I would advise you to take a deep breath," the man said with a strange smile on his face. "This will hurt."

I screamed when the doctor cut into my skin.

***

I woke up on a cot, the rough feeling of bandages wrapped on me. A low moan escaped me as I tried to move, and a sharp pain cut across my head.

"I would just stay still, otherwise it hurts even more," the voice of a boy said.

"Thanks..." I said. "Who are you?"

"Clancy. The kid next to me is Nicolas. What's your name?"

I looked over, ignoring Clancy's advice of not moving, and saw the figure of two black haired boys. Clancy was sitting up, trying his best to mask the pain that we all felt.

Instead of answering his question, I asked, "Why are we here? What are they doing to us?"

A sour look passed over the boy's face. "Researching us. Figuring out how we survived the sickness."

"You mean the I.A.A.N?" I asked. "Why is it wrong we didn't die? Shouldn't they be happy?"

Clancy shook his head. "They've been identifying us by colour. They say we're freaks that have abnormal abilities. They call us Psi."

It's ironic that the day Emma Hope fell, all hope for me fell with her.