"But who? And why?"

I shrugged. "I didn't do anything," I said. "I was there for my own purposes. Finding you was just luck."

Starch raised an eyebrow.

I shut my eyes and rubbed my temples. "Why would anyone think I was liberating experiments?"

"You did, though," Starch said. "You liberated me."

I gave him the weakest of smiles. "But he knew me on sight."

"Yeah," Starch said. "That was no less than freaky."

I widened my smile, but it faded fast.

There wasn't much else to say. We sat in general silence for the rest of the plane ride. He joined Range in the c.o.c.kpit for a bit, and I know he flew the plane. I sat in the back, my head against the headrest of the seat, my eyes closed.

I felt awful. I actually felt sick. I'd been on a plane before, and I knew that wasn't what bothered me. It was the guilt eating me alive. Almost everyone I'd ever known was now dead. I'd given my love to them, cared about them, and they were all dead. I'd been the cause. If I hadn't cured that girl, the Commune would still be standing. If I hadn't gone to Cannon, Jonas would still be alive. If I hadn't gone to Cannon, Reagan would still be aliveawho kills a little boy, anyway? Christian wouldn't be locked away in a mental inst.i.tution.

So many lives lost because of me. Some guy in an airport admired me? He had no idea what I'd done.

I stared out one of the windows as the airport came into view below us. Range prepared to land, and I could hear him speaking with the air traffic controller. I didn't see Starch come out of the c.o.c.kpit until he was beside me.

"You okay?" he asked.

I nodded, just slightly startled. "I guess so," I said.

"You sure? You don't look so good."

I turned my head towards him. "How do you expect me to look?" I snapped, surprising both him and me. When he didn't respond, just stared at me in shock, I softened my voice and said, "I'm sorry. I'm just...not feeling so great."

Starch forgave my outburst by putting his hand against my cheek. "I know," he said. "That's why I'm here."

"Thanks," I told him. "For coming with me."

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth. His hand slid off my face and he contemplated me for another moment. The plane started its decent, we put seatbelts on and soon we landed in Ohio. The place where it all began.

Chapter Forty-Seven.

We left Range at the airport where he would wait for our return. I didn't plan on being here long, back in the state where I'd nearly lost my life and yet was given a new one. I wanted to see if there was anything of my Christian in that mental hospital, anything salvageable. Anything I could save.

A cab took us to the mental hospital and ditched us out front. We went inside, and, through use of my mind, I got us past the check-in desk and a couple uniformed security guards, into a hallway full of closed and locked doors. Each door had a window. I knew which door I wanted, where I was going. There wasn't much left of him, but it was enough for me to know it was him.

The door was locked, and that's something my brain could not accomplish. I cannot pick locks. Starch can.

From his wallet, he produced a small kit of tools, pulled out a specific tool and inserted it into the lock. He had the door unlocked in a matter of seconds.

"Handy," I said when he stepped aside.

"Never know when such a talent will be needed," he said. "You sure about this?"

"I won't be long," I said.

"Can't you do it from outside this door?" he asked, thinking it would be safer.

"I can," I said. "But I want to see him."

Starch didn't protest. He only glanced down the hallway to make sure we were alone then he opened the door for me, and I stepped inside.

There was nothing left of my father in the man I faced behind the door. Not really. Just a hint here or there.

The man was crouched on the floor by the sink. His face hid in shadow but it was him. I would never forget the features of his face. He was dressed in dirty hospital scrubs. Besides the sink and toilet, only a cot-like bed furnished the room. It might as well have been a prison cell.

"Christian?" I whispered.

"There is no such name," the man said, raising his head to me. His eyes were bloodshot and purple on the edges. His face was lined, and his hair was now salt and pepper colored instead of blond. His eyes were the same though. I would have known those green eyes anywhere only because they stared back at me each morning from the mirror.

I couldn't say anything else. I reached into his mind, but there was little coherent thought there.

"This is my place!" he yelled suddenly. He shot to his feet and was in my face in an instant. "My place! Get out!"

"My name is Christiana Fletcher," I said. I leaned away from him, from his wild eyes and the stink of his breath. I hoped my name would draw out something in him. It only drew anger.

"Get out!" he screamed again.

I stepped back. "Please, Christian," I begged.

He raised his fist to my face and shook it. "I can kill you," he said. "I can."

I believed him. I believed this man would kill me if I didn't leave. So I did. There was nothing left to salvage from him. Almost afraid to turn my back on him, I opened the door and closed it silently behind me. Starch held me upright as I leaned back against it and closed my eyes.

I put my head against his shoulder. He could easily tell by my face that I failed.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."

I followed his lead, keeping us both hidden in every mind we came across. I felt safer once we were out on the street. I continued to follow Starch as he went to the nearest pay phone to dial a cab to take us back to the airport. Only after the call was made did he ask me the question.

"Was there anything left of him?"

I shook my head. "Nothing," I said. "Do you have a pen?"

Starch dug in the small bag he'd brought along and handed me a Bic pen.

I took the pen and his hand, turning it over so I could write on the palm. There, I drew two ragged symbols. "Nothing except that. Those were dominant in his thoughts."

Starch took back his hand and examined what I'd written. "The number *4' and the letter *s'."

I nodded.

"Do you know what that means?"

I nodded again.

He raised his eyebrows.

"There are many places in the U.S. where the gov keeps its secrets," I said, sitting on the curb to wait for the cab. He sat beside me as I continued, "There are the ones people know about, the popular ones. Area 51. Mount Weather. The Dugway Proving Ground. Fort Polk. There are the less popular ones. I could go on and on. Then there is S-4. In Nevada just off the Extraterrestrial Highway. I'm a.s.suming he was there," I said. "I'm a.s.suming whatever was done to him was done there. I'm a.s.suming he remembers only those two letters because he knew I'd find him. He knew I'd read his mind. He wants me to go there-"

"Chris," Starch said, stopping my rant. "You sound like some paranoid UFO fanatic."

"Starch," I said. "I have no other choice."

Starch bowed his head and sighed. "Look, you're sick. You need to rest. I shouldn't have even let you come out here so soon. I want you to go back to Philip's house, rest a few more days then we'll see about Nevada. Can you do that for me?"

I looked into his blue eyes and lied more easily than I would have liked to. "Yes," I said. "I can do that."

Chapter Forty-Eight.

The flight back to California was uneventful. Starch and I took a shuttle back to Philip's house, and I retreated into the guest room. They left me alone, but only after Michael gave me a quick examination. I thanked them all for what they did for me. I loved them as best I could, but we all know what happens to the people I love.

At nine o'clock that night, I walked out of Philip's house and into the darkness alone, without anyone knowing I was even gone. Making sure it would be hours before anyone discovered me missing, I went down the residential streets to a nearby grocery store. There, I caught a man headed out to his car. Using my powerful brain, I made him hand over his keys, and I left him sitting on a curb with his groceries. I tried not to feel bad for stealing his car. I'd return it when I could. So it was that I drove out of Pasadena, out of California and out into the Nevada desert.

What I sought, I couldn't say. Christian's damaged mind gave me nothing more than the location I headed for. Two ragged symbols in a mind that could comprehend them as absolutely nothing. They were the most important symbols he could give me. As sorry as I was for leaving Christian there, in that awful place, I knew there was nothing I could do for him. They'd taken everything from him, including me. I had to know how to get it back. I thought the only way to find out was to head to that place, to S-4.

Little is known about this base, at least as far as the truth goes. I've heard rumors over the years. I listen when I believe listening is important. S-4 supposedly houses alien technology. I know better. S-4 is another place, like the old Cannon base, where the gov creates experiments.

Experiments like me.

I drove and drove, and when I drove past the exit to Cima Road, I didn't look in that direction. I couldn't bring myself to see the hills blocking our destroyed home from view. I couldn't bear to look lest I see smoke rising into the air, phantom smoke from a day that seemed eons ago. I tried to think about something else.

The essence of my being lies in my DNA sequencing and in the way my mind works. I believe each and every human being is capable of what I am capable of. One only has to tap into the correct spot in the human brain to trigger the powers each individual experiment possesses. Some spots are easier to activate, like the ones controlling telepathy or telekinesis. That's why there are so many of them out there. The areas of the brain that control my healing powers are harder to tap. That's why there's only me.

I reached S-4 a day later, after stopping at a rest stop to sleep for a while. I parked my stolen car way off the road, behind a hill where it wouldn't be seen. I walked down there just as Jonas and I walked down to Cannon. Except this time I was alone.

Chapter Forty-Nine.

The road to h.e.l.l is paved in cobblestones of blood. I should know. I've been down it quite a few times. This was my first trip, the first time I descended into the fires. I walked down dark, dank hallways, down into the bowels of the earth. I came across few people, and the people I did come across quickly forgot my very existence. I was careful, and I often wiped too much from each brain, making some forget why they'd come into that hallway in the first place. I left one man scratching his head as he had forgotten the entire day. It was safer that way.

I walked and walked, just as I had when leaving New Mexico except now I was walking within the confines of a secret gov compound. I peered in windows, around doors. I rounded corners waiting for the ambush that would finally take my life. The ambush that never came.

A long flight of stairs suddenly appeared before me as I rounded a corner, and I went deeper into the base. The air was warm and thick, making it hard to breath. At times, I would pa.s.s under an air vent blowing cool air and pause to get a lung full.

I came across a soldier at the bottom of the stairs who quickly forgot my presence as I stood and watched him pace back and forth on his ordered path. I used him to find out if there was any information worth having in this horrid place. What I found was beyond anything I could imagine.

I ran.

I ran down the hallway, turned a corner and found myself at a dead end. There were two rooms in this hallway. One set of keys hung just far enough away from the cell so the prisoner couldn't reach them through the small open window in the door.

I s.n.a.t.c.hed the keys off the hook and set about unlocking the first door. I knew not to bother with the other room; it was empty. But this one....

This one.

I flung open the door and stepped inside. This place was a hundred times worse than the room Christian was being kept in. There was no bed, only a pile of filthy blankets on the floor in a corner. A collection of giant roaches hid in the dark of one corner. It had a disgusting toilet and no sink. I saw no windows. The room was lit only by the light coming in from the hallway, but there was enough light for me to see.

I closed the door behind me.

In the corner opposite the blankets, a man stood on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet yet curled up into almost a fetal position. He was naked, and his body covered in cuts, burns, and hideous wounds. His head was buried in the crook of one arm, but I knew him. I would have known him anywhere.

He had been brutally tortured, and it was this that caused him to retreat so far into his mind as to appear insane. Unlike Christian, I could reach him. Unlike Christian, he'd gone willingly. I approached cautiously, knowing I neared a caged tiger.

"Jonas?" I said tentatively.

The form didn't move, only made a horrible mewling sound.

I went to him and knelt. Still he made no movement. I went to touch him, but I couldn't find a place not wounded in some way. I spread my hand and carefully placed my palm on his shoulder and said his name again. "Jonas."

He grabbed me so quickly by my shoulders I hardly knew what happened. He rose with me in his hands, and we were across the room in an instant. He slammed me up against the metal door, and my head struck with enough force to make me see stars. Dazed, I felt my eyes roll back into my head, but I kept myself from pa.s.sing out. I shook my head and opened my eyes to face him.

His amber eyes were wild, and his mind full of hatred. He didn't know who I was, not on the surface. He thought I was one of them. This was exactly what I deserved. I found I didn't mind.

"Jonas," I said again. "Please, it's me."

His hand wandered up to my throat and closed in a vise-like grip.

Losing air quickly, I whimpered. He could crush my throat in a second, but he was savouring the moment. With my last breath of air, not caring if he killed me or not, I gasped, "It's me. It's Chris."

He dropped me instantly, and I collapsed to the floor, holding my throat and gasping for air. He was beside me a second later, his hand on my upper arm. Jonas was a lot stronger than I thought, brain-wise anyway. He'd managed to retreat into his own head and was able to bring himself out of it at the mention of my name.

When I regained my ability to breathe, I struggled to my feet, but managed to get only so far as kneeling. My lungs refused to work.

"I'm sorry, love," Jonas whispered, his voice harsh and thick through his cracked jaw, which was probably the least of his injuries. He cleared his throat, but his voice came out no less hoa.r.s.e. "I didn't mean to...."