Taken

1 - White Walls

Hiding behind the curtain, she took extra time changing. This morning had rattled her. Falling into Philip Darlan's head again... He was too happy. Even his dreams were brighter, vibrant with an anxious sort of excitement.
        Bzzzz.
The sound came from above, emitted from the little white box beside the only window in the tall room.
The little girl sighed, tugging a clean gown down over herself in time for the thin curtain of her 'closet' to be yanked aside.
"Illya." Philip stood above her, looking down with stone skin and icy eyes. Brown is supposed to be a warm color, but on him, it could have frozen Gyila's eternal flame.
She said nothing in reply, keeping her face as blank as his. Looking down, all her movements were slow, sluggish, as they had been since she was originally brought down here. A tiny uplift to his lips— she knew he was pleased by her weakness. Again, she didn't react.
"Come." He turned on his heal and walked to the doorway, not bothering to make sure she followed. He knew she would obey.
She always obeyed.
Reaching the threshold, she stopped. He stepped through with a chuckle. His watch ticked in the quiet as he brought it up and waited. Exactly four notches after the minute hand reached 32, another buzz sounded, much lower in tone than the first. The doorless opening clicked, and the metal band around her neck beeped in return.
Access granted.

Philip lowered his arm and continued into the next room, her footsteps close behind.
This room was much smaller than the last. It's white walls just as blinding, the fluorescent lights overhead equally much too bright, the only other difference was the furniture. While her room held a single bed and a curtain rod in the corner, this little room was filled by a thick metal table and two metal chairs. All steel.
It also had no doorway to speak of, besides the one they had just walked through. She had tried to dig through his thoughts before, to discover how he accomplished this strange feat, but he'd blocked her entrance. He'd shut her from his mind and locked her in that chilly room alone for months. Now his thoughts and emotions mostly stayed closed to her, only what he intended slipping out— except in sleep. Even now he appeared as blank as ever, as hard and unfeeling as he always did. But the girl knew something had him excited. She wondered if it had anything to do with why he called her, if today's session would enlighten the tangled mess his dream had brought her to.
        "Illya," he began, his words a command in every syllable, "A previous employee of mine has been causing me a bit of inconvenience. I need you to persuade her to think again about the choices she is making."
The child nodded, her expression carefully blank. Clearly, this was more than a little annoyance to him. He'd have used up all his own methods before he fell back on her. She was his secret weapon, his last resort, and now most powerful negotiator.
"Her name is Jessalyn Blake. My intel says she is asleep and will be for hours yet. I trust you are capable of reaching her?" Though his expression never changed, there was a dull light behind his eyes, a faint pulse of curiosity. Yes, he needed this woman dealt with, but that wasn't his only motive for this meeting. This was a test as well. But of what she wasn't sure.
"As you wish."
Before anything else, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled a small vase from an inside pocket. After resting it carefully on the table, he swept his hand through the air, motioning for her to proceed. Illya reached for the delicate object, a swell of recognition running through her. It was beautifully crafted, in excellent condition for such an antique. A white porcelain base with blue and yellow floral swirls painted over the gleaming surface, layers of glaze between the different paints made it appear as if they floated just above their white background. The immense amount of detail and precise craftsmanship almost distracted enough to miss the two rough protrusions on each side of the slender neck. Handles once resided here, broken off long ago by unknown events.
The instant her fingertips brushed the glossy surface, she stiffened. It was a family heirloom. Passed from generation to generation, it had accumulated many memories. The emotions imprinted on it were strong, heavy enough to still her hand and prevent her from fully grasping it. That was fine with her. She didn't need any more to complete her task.
        Closing her eyes, she focused on the antique vase's memories, the people who had once handled it. Most recently, it had been snatched in a burglary, one that seemed too organized to have been random. Though tempted, Illya didn't dare open her eyes to sneak a glance at the man seated across from her. She loosed a slow breath, relaxing her shoulders as she let her mind stretch. Before the businesslike robbery, a young woman was the most recent to own the fragile work of art. Straight blond hair cut just below her shoulders, warm brown eyes that crinkled with a near-constant smile, she was practically still a child herself. The image built itself easily, forming from the fragments absorbed by the antique and pieced together by Illya's ability to understand them.
Now that there was a face to go with her name, the girl had no problem reaching out into the world around her.
She passed from one mind to the next with lightning speed, soaring through the city around her in seconds. With each brief touch into the lives of those she passed through, she gathered basic information that helped her direct her search more pointedly, aiming for the woman sleeping peacefully, who'd unknowingly become a major obstacle for Illya's employer.