spy: chapter 2. :D enjoy

I don't know how long it took me to come to. All I know was that I felt like a huge lead weight had been placed on my side. The entire area was numb, wrapped in white bandages over my bare skin. One of my arms hung painfully over the side of the bad, fastened to a metal headboard with a pair of strange glowing handcuffs.

They burned my skin a little.

I found myself in the GIW infirmary, lying on a white hospital bed, wearing only my jeans. Around my free wrist was a thick plastic band that had my name, a bar code, and an unbelievably long strain of numbers. It was like those new things they stick on cattle to track where they are.

I knew then that I was done running.

A woman with a pale drawn face hovered over me, silently popping a thermometer into my mouth. Automatically, I slipped it underneath my tongue, watching her intently,

"Which file's the most recent?" The nurse asked a white suit standing by.

"Nicolas Stephenson." Was the man's clipped reply, his head turning to stare at my face.

"Taking his temperature is useless." He continued gruffly. "He's got halfa blood. His old man's temperature ranged at five to twenty degrees below normal. We need to study him more to understand his range."

It was like they had forgotten I could understand English as they blathered on about studying my vitals, how to take my blood, how often to take said blood, what medicine I should be put on, what my diet should be like, along with a list of various other things that I had no hope of understanding. I let the nurse take the thermometer from my mouth, happy to be able to swallow properly again. She jotted something down in yet another manila folder, before turning back to me.

"There doesn't appear to be any sign of infection." She murmured, as if to herself. "Should be fine soon. Halfa's heal fast."

Then that was it. She turned away, busying herself with a box of off color gauze, leaving me to deal with my pain alone.

I had never been brave or strong. I had always been taught to run away when things got dangerous or uncomfortable. But now was not a time for running. Now was a time for action. I was going to ask them all the questions that had been wandering about in my mind in an attempt to figure out what was going on. I needed to know what was going on. It was my right as a person. As a human being.

So I asked them.

Same question all over again. Something in me didn't expect an answer this time either, at least not a satisfactory one. That entire place seemed set up to trick me. It was really annoying.

"We're taking care of you kid." The white suit growled. "Be grateful that we didn't leave you there."

"Then I'd be dead." I spat. "And this whole thing would have been pointless for you."

My eyes locked onto his, never faltering. I could feel his apprehension toward me, thick in the air like smoke.

"Shut up, brat." The man snarled.

"No." I replied firmly. "I know there's a reason you guys kidnapped me. I can't just be some random kid you people decided to take off the street."

The man turned to me, his own eyes boring into my own, with much less conviction.

"What makes you think that?" He demanded.

I could see the nurse cautiously looking at us from the corner of her eye, still pretending to be fascinated with the gauze. But I had to focus on the man before me. I had to answer him.

"You knew my real name." I hissed. "You guys knew who I was. It's your fault I've been dragged through almost every stretch of this country."

"It's not our fault." The man replied, a wicked sneer rolling across his lips. "It's your dad's for being irresponsible."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" I snarled, making an attempt to get up. It felt like I was ripping apart my side, tearing the skin all over again. I groaned in pain, falling back onto the thin mattress, breathing sharply through my teeth.

I could feel tears running down my cheek.

I was showing weakness to them…

I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I had never been strong. Maybe it was because none of this was my fault. Maybe it was because my family had never told me why we were running. I still didn't know. I loved my parents with all of my heart, but this was their fault. I had done nothing but live.

"Do you hate them, boy?" The man asked. "If your parents had thought things through, you wouldn't be here right now."

"Shut up." I snapped, fixing him with my green eyes. I could feel his nervousness in the air. He, like everyone else, was afraid of my eyes.

For a moment, I felt a strange rush of power. My eyes were my only weapon here.

They were all I had.

Then, with a growl, the man broke contact, reaching his hand over to a nearby table. I saw him pick up a roll of gauze, and begin unwrapping it. Before I could even protest, he had wound it around my eyes, blocking my sight.

Now I was more helpless than ever before.

"Your eyes aren't human, kid." The man hissed. "They don't belong in a boy's face."

"Well, they're there." I snapped. "Are you going to cut them out?"

The man's cruel laughter sliced into my ears like a knife.

"Not yet, kid." He said. "But you keep that smart mouth of yours, and we just might."

I wanted to scream at him…but I managed to hold my tongue. Screaming would only make things worse. I would be completely at these people's mercy without my eyes.

I had to play it safe…for now.

I cautiously reached my free hand up to my face, pushing the gauze up onto my forehead. The man was rifling through my file again, mumbling darkly beneath his breath. For the first time, I looked around the room, staring in awe and fear at the great metal devices around me. There was a bed a little ways away with the limp form of a girl resting upon the thin mattress.

She looked no older than seven, pale blonde hair hanging around her bleary light blue eyes. I knew there was something different about her. There seemed to be an aura that hung around her body…something otherworldly. The more I looked at her, the more her hair appeared light green…the more her skin turned pale blue. It was strange…and slightly unnerving.

I exhaled, allowing my breath leave my lips cold and vaporous, telling me everything I needed to know.

She was a ghost.

I had never told anyone about what I could do. My life was made up of secrets--I didn't want to add another to the ever growing pile of my family's issues. So I kept it to myself.

I could see everything about this ghost's life, from her first memory, to the moment she died. This was the more disturbing side of my powers.

It was another car accident. They were the most common, but they were also some of the bloodiest. I closed my eyes, watching the event in silence, barely keeping back my tears.

That poor little girl.

"Can we run the tests tomorrow?" The agent asked, his callous voice wrenching me from my thoughts. "The boss says it needs to be done as soon as possible. Once his old man finds out where he is—"

"Then you shouldn't have shot him." The nurse snapped. "Even with halfa blood, healing should take at least three days. Before then, you risk killing him. Can you imagine how pissed his dad would be if we killed his son? At least with him alive, we can use him as blackmail. 'Stay away from here, or your son ends up on a dissection table.' If I was a parent, that would work on me."

"But we're not dealing with humans." The whitecoat snapped. "They think differently than us. Ghosts have obsessions."

"Your point?" The nurse asked, annoyance apparent on her face.

"Any parent is protective of their children." The man continued. "But a parent with the obsessive tendencies of a ghost will do anything to ensure that their offspring is safe. Even drag them all over the country. If Daniel finds out that his son is here, he's going to break in, and attempt to bust him out. We at least need to have the preliminary testing finished, in case he can't be subdued."

Daniel…

They were talking about my dad.

My mind was desperately trying to figure out what they were talking about.

"A parent with the obsessive tendencies of a ghost?"

Were they just saying that because of how he obsessively kept me from these men?... Or was there something else? Something that he didn't want me to know about.

Something about me.

It had to be my powers.

I suddenly remembered what the GIW did. They were the government's ghost hunting team. They made sure that any paranormal anomalies were wiped out. So did my dad know? Was that why he had always been running? He was trying to keep me safe?

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't figure out the answer I sought. It frustrated me that I didn't know, and that no one would tell me.

I groaned as the whitesuit saw me staring at him and tightened the gauze around my head. I felt defeated. Utterly defeated.

"Can we talk?" I asked. "I really want to know what's happening."

"Shut up, kid." The man growled. "You better heal fast, or else."

"What? You're going to dissect me?" I snapped, the man's tone causing me to raise my hackles. "I'd rather not die."

"Let me tell you one thing." I heard the whitesuit whisper in my ear. His breath was fowl and smelled like old meat.

But I was ready to listen.

The man chuckled darkly, before continuing in his grating voice…

"You're already dead."

At his words, I could feel my heart skip a beat.

My heart…

"I can't be dead." I replied, trying to keep my voice from wavering. "I'm still breathing."

"You're only partially dead." The man continued, pulling back from me. "A halfa to be exact. Half human, and half ghost. The human came from your mother, the ghost…"

"My dad?" I asked, hearing my voice crack audibly. "My dad's dead?"

The man laughed mockingly at me.

"He's a halfa too." He continued. I could hear his footsteps as he walked to the other side of my bed.

"I don't understand." I whispered.

"Then you're foolish." The whitesuit snapped at me. "We discovered that the halfa strain is more like a disease than a trait. It's not like being born from parents of different ethnicities."

He paused for a moment, before continuing.

"Let's say that your mother was German, and your dad was half Spanish and half Italian. When you would be born you would be Mostly German with your father's Spanish and Italian blood being weaker. You understand?"

I nodded.

The man huffed, but pressed on.

"But let's say that your father had some sort of disease, and it got passed on to you. Even if your mother didn't have it, that wouldn't mean that the disease was half weaker. It would be the same as it was with your father."

He paused, and I could imagine him staring me, looking to see if I was following him.

I was.

But I didn't like what I was hearing.

"Your old man gave you a disease, kid." The man said after a while. "One that's not all that common, and has no hope for a cure. You can't bring back the dead."

My breath caught in my throat…

I was half dead…

"If there's no hope for a cure…" I whispered, hearing my voice wobble. "Then why do you need to study me? I'm fine."

"If I told you that." The man hissed. "I'd have to cut off your hands and rip out your vocal chords."

Then he laughed obnoxiously, and I could hear him walking away.

That was when I met her.

At first, I couldn't see her. I could only hear her footsteps hitting the tiles as she approached. The whitesuit barked out a term of respect, to which she snapped an angry reply.

"What have you idiots done to my halfa?" She demanded in an aged, yet still powerful voice.

I hated the possessiveness she used when referring to me.

The whitesuit was stammering, at a complete loss for words.

A wrinkled hand rested on my forehead, as if checking my temperature, before lifting the gauze from over my eyes.

Her body reeked of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol.

"You are a halfa, aren't you." She mused more to herself than me.

She was an old woman, with a gaunt, drawn face, and unsettling hazel eyes. Her peppery gray hair was drawn back into a tight bun, and she had a pair of thin wire glasses perched on her nose.

As she stared at me, I noticed that her colorless lips were drawn into a thin smile, as if she approved of something.

"Jacob Fenton?" She asked, taking a step back.

"Yes." I replied softly.

"Yes, ma'am." The woman snapped sharply.

"Yes, ma'am." I parroted, too afraid to do anything different. She smiled again.

"You are to call me Dr. Tearle, or ma'am at all times. Show respect to me, and you will get respect in return. Do you understand, Jacob?"

I nodded.

Another weak smile.

"You're going to be easier to handle than your father. I can already tell." Dr. Tearle continued. "Good things happen to those who obey the law. You've learned your lesson, haven't you? No more running away?"

"No, ma'am." I whimpered, feeling the pain in my side. "Unless someone tries to hurt me."

That earned myself a dark chuckle.

"You're going to feel pain, Jacob." The woman continued. "In order to find out more about you, we're going to have to cut into your skin, push you to your limits, pump you with drugs. We're going to have to poke you, and prod you, and study your behavior."

"But you said I'd get respect!" I snapped.

She silenced me with a look from her fiery eyes.

"When you show me the respect I deserve, then I'll give you the respect you deserve. But you don't deserve much. If you act like an animal, who respects no one, you'll get none…and animals don't get to wear clothes."

I decided right then, that I hated Dr. Tearle. She saw me as…nothing more than her scientific pet. I was her halfa, and she was going to hurt me.

She was going to kill me…

I knew it.

I fell to silence then, lying on my back, utterly defeated. I was scared, and unsure of what was going to happen to me. My future was looking terrifying…

I was scared.

Dr. Tearle smiled cruelly, and reached out with her old wrinkled hand, pulling at a small piece of paper sticking out from my jean pocket. I felt panic wash over me as I realized what it was. It was the letter from my angel. I had shoved it into my pocket while I was running, so it would be safe.

I had forgotten all about it.

The woman slowly unfolded the wrinkled paper, still smiling wickedly as she did so.

"Give that back." I snapped, instinctively reaching out for it. She pulled it away, glaring at me.

"Halfa's aren't allowed spouses." She spat harshly, turning back to the letter.

"'Dear Nikky.'" She began, reading my note in her harsh cold tone. I felt my face grow hot.

She was reading my angel's words.

"Nikky?" Dr. Tearle mocked. "Is that what she knew you as?"

She didn't even wait for me to reply. She crumpled up the letter, and shoved it into the pocket of her long white coat.

"Give him something so he can sleep. All this stress won't help him to heal. Make sure he gets something to eat later. He's going to need to be strong when he's recovered. The boss wants to see what he can do."

"Yes, Doctor." The agent replied, saluting.

I wasn't really paying attention anymore…

I welcomed the cold prick of metal against my skin when it came a few moments later.

In the darkness, I could forget myself.

I could still be with my mom and my dad, and we could still be playing a game. A game where the fastest runner won…

Where I was a winner…