Clair de Lune

8. Anomaly

The panic set in faster than I'd expected it to. I started tugging and pulling on the straps in an attempt to break them and flee, but they were tougher than I'd first imagined. After a few minutes I realized I wasn't getting anywhere, but another idea came to mind. I wasn't sure if it would work, but I looked down, my focus completely and entirely on the restraint around my wrist. It was only a matter of seconds before the leather loosened, pulling out of its buckle and moving enough for me to slip my hand out of it.

The moment I was free I reached over and unbuckled the other strap, releasing my right hand and leaving me to pull myself out of the ones on my feet. I was dressed in a thin T shirt and a type of gray sweats, something that was comfortable yet I felt somehow violated that someone had dressed me. My hand flew to my neck and not only did I feel a slight pain, but I realized the necklace Nolan had given me was gone. Rage bubbled up in my system and I whipped around, getting a good look at myself in the mirror.

I looked different. My features were gaunt and my eyes had sunken into my skull, a dark ring around the Neptunian blue. The lower portion of my face was covered by a square bandage, a smaller one on my left side than my right. I tasted blood. It made me uneasy, and when I pulled down the collar of my shirt it revealed bandages wrapped around my chest. Peeling them back showed scarring from burns I'd given myself.

My hands were shaking as I pulled them away, the palms wrapped in gauze and numb to the touch. I clenched them into a fist and out of anger I slammed it into the mirror. The glass broke and shattered, falling to the ground in little pieces while my knuckles bled. There was a sound from outside my door that prompted me to scramble into the corner, grabbing a piece of the broken glass and taking it with me. The door opened with a soft metallic squeak, and a man entered, his back to me as he examined the mess. He was dressed in a black business suit, and it took me only a few seconds to put two and two together to see that it was the same man from Brighton. In seconds I walked forward, propelled by rage, and wrapped my arm around his neck. I held the glass to his throat and he held his hands in the air, one of them gripping a manila envelope that I snatched away without a second thought.

"Where the hell am I?" I demanded, my voice more intimidating than I'd expected it to be.

"Easy, Agnes." The sound of my name jolted me out of my anger. "Please, I'm not here to hurt you."

"Who are you and how do you know my name?" I growled. "Why were you in Brighton?"

"Put the glass down and I'll tell you," I could see him glance back towards me in the mirror, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you."

It took me a few moments but I finally pulled my hand away from his neck, releasing him and watching as he backed up and turned around. He was older, late twenties, with slick blond hair and vibrant green eyes. There wasn't a speck of stubble lining his jaw and there was a distinctive outline that made him seem sharper, surely dangerous.

"My name is Sergei Yanovsky," he began, "I work for a corporation called the Paranormal And Supernatural Containment Initiative, or PASCI for short. We help to find people like you and give them a home away from home."

"People like me...?" I trailed off, the gravity of the situation finally hitting me. "I'm not human, am I?"

"You're still human, you just have abilities other people don't." He explained. "There's more inside that file if you'd like to know, it's yours after all."

I hesitated before brushing open the tan folder, finding a picture of me on the inside and all of my physical information. There was a subject number, 0607C, and a codename: Hellfire. That one word stuck out and settled in my bones like an ominous warning. I was dangerous, there was no doubt about that.