The Lizzie Alexandria Story

CLUE #5

DAY 330

"How long has she been conscious?"

"Four days."

"You put her on morphine?"

"Of course."

"Any information?"

"Nothing new."

"Scans?"

"Irregular."

Isabella Flora Delarosa held the most permanent scowl on her face. She wished this could be like all the other times, where she could point a finger at someone and they'd have to take the blame. But this was different. This time it was her fault. And even if it wasn't, she was XYZ's Commanding Officer. And commanding officers took responsibility for everyone's mistakes.

The girl in the confined room sat in there, her head bent forward as the Interrogation Specialist talked to her. She played with her fingers one by one. Lazily. Indifferently. If only she could profile this girl, but years had taken away this ability. Now she could only guess her background, her hopes, her dreams, her motive. 

Iz only scowled at the monitor in her station. It had filmed everything that had happened, was happening, and would happen in the small interrogation room.

"I know you're impatient. We're all impatient, Iz. But we have to die down a little and be quiet. She'll crack eventually. They always do."

But this wasn't the typical interrogation. Iz knew it. And so did Carter, the Interrogation Officer, and latest annoyance on her right shoulder. But Iz wasn't in the mood for dying down and being patient. She started to head out towards the Interrogation Sector.

Iz reached into her pocket, and pulled out a smooth silver cylinder, closed on both sides. She pushed her way past the nervous newbies, with lab coats and clipboards, the ones who hadn't gotten enough sleep and the ones who looked completely confused. She had a mission.

As soon as she got to the Interrogation Sector, she peered in through the one-way glass. The girl was alone now, still staring at the table.

"Where are you going?"

Iz could barely focus on who was speaking to her. She knew that they were security guards ordered to guard the door of the interrogation room. And that the taller one was talking to her. (The shorter one hardly ever spoke.) But for some reason, Iz couldn't remember either of their names. Maybe because she had never really stopped to chat with either one. Or that she didn't really like to chat at all.

"Going to check up on the girl," Iz said.

The shorter one raised his chin at her. "You don't have clearance to this room..."--he glanced at the badge on her shirt--"Officer Delarosa."

The response was almost an instinct. She pushed the cylinder into her pocket, jabbed her elbow into his jaw, kneed him in the back and with a swift unexplainable move, knocked him onto the ground.

She flipped her badge around, so the words were facing her chest. Sure, "Officer Isabella Delarosa" was written on it, and XYZ's badge photo policy required a smile, but anyone who cared to keep themselves intact knew that she was called by one and one thing only.

"Iz."

She yanked open the door to the room, closed it and then pressed her fingerprint on the pad next to it to lock it before the lanky security guard could do anything.

The girl sitting at the table looked up. And what she spoke next was with her eyes. Fear. But not only that. Desperation.

Iz knew she could approach this from many angles, but she didn't have a lot of time. Ever since the Incident--that's what they had started calling the failure of the Experiment--XYZ had been hiding away "on the corner of Helms and Main". That was the codename for a small island in a remote location in the Indian Ocean. Iz couldn't stand the corporation living in constant worry of having to relocate again. They barely cleaned up everything last time. They had to find Lizzie as soon as possible. If this was Lizzie, they needed to restart everything and make sure nothing like this ever happened again. And if it wasn't...well, they needed to find her.

There was no time to waste.

Iz pulled out the cylinder. It was an invention that would change the course of all XYZ missions again. But it wasn't foolproof. There was a seventy-five percent chance it would work. That was all she needed. She believed in numbers, not luck, but today, she'd have to believe in something that would save XYZ and the rest of humanity.

The cylinder contained a gas that would hinder the brain from resistance and from lying. Iz had been warned that they had to wait until it was turned into a more weapon-like invention, because gas would ultimately affect anyone who was close enough, but she couldn't wait. It was times like these when she questioned her ranking. She was temperamental, impatient, and didn't handle disrespect easily. And yet she was Commanding Officer of one of the biggest secret organizations in the world.

"I know you just suffered from a concussion, but you've told us absolutely nothing. We're not ones to sit on our haunches waiting for you to open your mouth. At least, I'm not like that."

The girl sat up, and stared nervously at the silver cylinder. She opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something, and then shut it.

Iz took a deep breath, popped open the lid, and tossed it onto the the table.

A silent hiss disrupted the atmosphere of the room.

The girl coughed and coughed and coughed and when she finally spoke, it was a high-pitched gibberish of noises, undoubtedly something that Iz would be able to understand if she herself weren't so focused on holding her breath.

And then among the garbled noise, and the hiss in the air that was released from the little nozzle of the invention, Iz heard, "My name is Ellery Waters. My mother... Her name was Officer Brooklyn Waters. I'm sure you know who she is."

Iz did. She knew all too well. She remembered the pain. The aching. Now, she could feel all the tears coming back, just to tether her to the reality of the situation. She had gone to the psychiatric ward to get rid of the memories of that horrible month. Splitting migraines occurred when even a flashback rose up from the surface. And yet she had to clean up all of the mess that XYZ was left in, and continue as normal. It was the most difficult time she'd ever been through, and she had the scars to prove it.

As if a reminder of the time, her back started to ache. Tears forced themselves down her face. She couldn't bear it anymore. She couldn't. Iz would not allow this girl to stand there and observe the commanding officer of XYZ have a mental breakdown. And even more so, she wouldn't allow herself to waste all of the healing she had done because of a few words. She wouldn't allow herself to take it in.

She grabbed the cylinder, and with sweaty hands, placed it under her nose. And she sucked in a deep breath of air.

She looked up at the corner of the ceiling. The camera would capture everything that happened, and it would record all of the girl's words. It would record everything. But Iz couldn't force herself to listen to this. She'd rather be dead.

Her mouth tasted bitter. Her legs wobbled. In less than a minute, she was on the ground, and a couple seconds later, she was unconscious.

****

It's very strange when you know the ending and you reread the beginning. It all makes sense.

-upinvioletflames