Hunter's Daughter

Chapter Twelve ~ Alice

The rhythm of my heart was like the pad-pad of feet running away from this nightmare, growing louder and louder, thumping faster and faster. But I couldn't run away. All I could do was stare at the mutants trapped here, watching as some paced up and down their small enclosures, some curled up in a corner, others weeping or accepting their fate.

Please wake up.

A hand clasped my shoulder, jolting me, and I repelled at the touch. It was Dad, the only other person in the passageway. My reaction didn't stop him from placing his hand somewhat unsurely on my far shoulder, forcing us back to the view.

"You have something in common with these people, Alice," Dad informed me. Regrettably, I tensed, praying he didn't notice. "You have special abilities. Ones that deviate from natural biological laws. However, there is a difference between you and them. They abuse their skills."

Or they're not your daughter?

My own thoughts caught me off guard. I didn't want my dad to care, to show me mercy — in a weird, twisted way. Perhaps it made him more human, more fatherly. And I didn't want to give him any justification for his actions. I didn't want to believe that he was the hero of his own story, that he had good motives.

He was the villain.

Right?

"They also break governmental laws, hurt people," he continued. "They think there will be no repercussions. That their powers allow for this. But they don't. So we bring them here, where they can't do any more damage until their enhancement is removed."

Removed? No one had spoken about removal of powers — neither Keera, Vinny or Noah. Was it possible?

A bud of hope sprouted in my chest, but I swiftly crushed it, realizing how selfish that was. Besides, the Hunters wouldn't be feared and despised if they simply turned you into a normal human being. There wouldn't be the whole "once you go in you never come out" speech, or the actual prison. Sure, most mutants would want to keep their abilities. But they would be protesting in public — not secretly planning in the shadows. The whole world would know of their existence.

Questions eagerly collected in my mouth, ready to tumble out. Remember: careful. One wrong move... I chose to swallow them.

"I don't understand. What do you mean by 'special abilities' and 'enhancements'?"

Obviously, I knew what abilities were. Not that he knew that I knew. I just needed him to reveal information about mine.

"Let's go to my office," he said, stepping back and gesturing upwards. "I'll discuss more with you there."

Hesitantly, I accompanied him to his personal workspace – consisting of a desk, two chairs and computer. The lack of decor and additional furniture disturbed me, until I noticed a slip of glossy paper attached to his monitor. A photo. I couldn't take a peak as I had been 'invited' to sit at the chair opposite his desk, feeling like a naughty student in a headmaster's office. Dad certainly fitted a stern role.

"I know it's a lot to take in," he said, weaving his fingers together and peering over his glasses at me. "You must have a lot of questions, like: what abilities actually are." He twisted the monitor to face me, and with a click of his mouse, four videos simultaneously popped up and played. Four different people. Four different powers. "They are what you'd expect to see in a movie or comic book. But to some extent, they can be scientifically explained. The body has mutated to suit these capabilities. Hence, we refer to these people as mutants."

The video clips only showed mutants fighting, using their powers, with such aggression that my mind flickered to seeing Noah with the Marquee member...

But there were good applications. Gifts weren't just used for violence. It depended on the user — that could be said of any human, mutant or not. After all, Dad told me I was different from the ones locked up. And that couldn't apply to me alone. Or did he lie? Did he believe his own daughter was a monster?

An angry lump formed in my throat. He was trying to force my opinion. The videos were planned, specifically showing me the worst of the bunch. What did he really think of me...?

"There is a lot to explain, Alice. It's complicated... So I have a question to ask you."

My heart had hardened, but then sank at his words, and I caught a glimpse of the photo sticking to his computer. Me and mum.

I felt sick.

"To protect you from this chaos, of the hellish things that happened, I wiped away every trace of its existence from your mind," he reiterated, almost looking guilty as he glanced off to the side. His focus soon returned to me. "And I will do it again, if you wish to forget?"

Forget? All over again?

I'd achieved so much. To forget that the Curse was not a curse at all... I had powers.... How could I?

On the other hand, knowledge of this world and my gift had taken me away from Shane and my friends. Life would never be normal again. Not if I continued down this path. It was dangerous. In reality, I could die. I could become a prisoner of war. My parents could turn against me.

But forgetting meant no mastery over my ability. I'd always repel people. I could go through life with only one true friend.

No. Keera and Vinny cared. If I forgot, I'd lose them. Maybe Noah cared too — though he certainly didn't show it...

"It's scary, I know, to think there's people out there with otherworldly talents," my father furthered. "But I've protected you from it so far. And I will continue to. You don't have to worry about that. Whether you choose to forget or not."

The speech didn't sound like Dad, the cold, calculating man I'd always witnessed him be. Since that night with the shadow, he wasn't the same.

That didn't change the fact that Frank Jefferson was a leading member of the Hunters organisation — which literally hunted and caged innocent people away. He was also the man, my supposed father, who'd left me to struggle with my affliction.

"What will happen if I choose to remember?"

Dad leant forward, chin propped on his laced hands. "We will train you to use your ability. You will work for me. And life will change drastically..."

I didn't mull over the options.

"Okay," I responded. "I choose to be trained. I choose to remember."

Surprisingly, Dad didn't argue. With a few taps on his phone, a message was sent, and less than half a minute later, she entered.

"You remember, Clarissa, don't you?"

I met her gaze, for some reason, my blood curdling. Perhaps it was the stillness of her stance, or the mute expression on her face, like she was observing me. Her head ever so slightly tilted, causing her black bob to be asymmetrical.

Then the dreaded confirmation came:

"She will be your mentor."