I can't see.
The light is blinding and hangs directly above the bed that I woke up in. I take a moment to orient myself: I've no idea where I am, but I do know that I have been scrubbed clean from head to toe. I lay, naked and pristinely clean, under a single white sheet. There is a small table to my right, a glass of water is it's surface's only occupant. There's not much else in the room, just four white walls and the door that sits opposite the bed. I reach my hand up to brush it through my hair and find my hair is silky smooth, untangled from its usual knots, falling in waves around my collarbone. I sit up and, very few seconds later, the door creaks open.
Defensively, I pull the sheet up to cover as much of myself as possible.
A lean, tall blond walks into the room and pulls the only chair in the room to my bedside. He's dressed in a simple sweater and pressed pants, he wipes his hair out of his eyes and pushes up his black-framed, plastic glasses. His pen scribbles quickly against his clipboard.
"Do you feel ill? Dizzy? Disoriented?" He asks me without any precursors.
I blink, open my mouth to answer him, but what should've been a "no" comes out as a "Where's Warner?"
He looks at me, scratches the short hairs on his unshaven, scruffy chin. "I will answer your questions after I've gotten through the basic protocol, Ms. Ferrars."
I flinch at the sound of my name, "How do you know my name?" I ask, on edge and ready to fight back at any sign of danger.
"Just let me get through my questions and then, I will answers yours, I promise."
I blink, nod my head tentatively.
How do I feel. I don't know.
Did I have any dreams. I don't think so.
Do I know where I am. No.
Do I think I'm safe. I'm not sure.
Do I remember what happened. Yes.
How old am I. 17.
What color are my eyes. I don't know.
"You don't know?" He scratches his nose and takes off his glasses, "After everything that's happened to you, you can remember all of it, but not the color of your own eyes?"
"I think they're green. Or maybe blue. I've never really known my eye color. Why does it matter?"
"I want to be sure you can recognize yourself. That you haven't lost sign of your person." He crinkles his nose, starts to take more scribbly notes on his clipboard.
"I've only looked in the mirror once in the last three years."
He stares at me, something like concern registers in his features and then he shakes his head at me. I tense up out of embarrassment.
"How am I so clean?" I ask.
He bites his thumb. Marks something on his papers. "You were covered in blood and filth when you came in, and you had some minor cuts and bruises. We didn't want to risk infection. Sorry for the personal intrusion. We cannot allow anyone to bring that kind of bacteria in here. We had to do a superficial detox."
"I understand that," I throw out quickly, "But how did you touch me?"
"Excuse me?"
"How did you touch me?"Surely he must know. How could he not know? Part of me hopes he knows.
"Oh-" he nods, distracted by the words he's scribbling on his clipboard, he squints at the page, looks back up at me and wiggles his fingers. "Latex. Gloves."
"Oh." Of course. Gloves. Even Warner used gloves until he figured it out.
A lump catches in my throat and I can feel a refreshed panic growing in the pit of my stomach. I see hands, grabbing at me, at him. Hear myself screaming his name. I can almost feel his lips on mine. "Where's Warner?" I blurt out.
I have to force myself to be still. I have to force myself not to shake, not to cry, not to give in to the feeling of nausea that's growing in my throat.
I need to know if he's dead.
"I'm not at liberty to disclose that information, Ms. Ferrars, however, I'll have you know that you are safe from him here. He can't hurt you anymore." He puts a hand on my covered leg, gives me a weak smile.
Safe.
From Warner.
Whoever these people think they need to protect me from him. I have to find out where I am, where they've taken Warner. I have to know that he's alive, I need to see him for myself.
I collect myself quickly, I don't allow myself to cry, then I ask my next question. "Where am I?"
"Omega Point."
"What's that?"
"I'll allow my counterparts to explain that."
"What am I doing here?" I ask him.
"Recovering."
"How long have I been here?"
"You've been asleep for around fourteen hours. We gave you a pretty powerful sedative." He underlines a few things on his paper, looks up at me. "You seem to be doing well. You look very well, actually. Stunning, really."
A blush rushes to color my cheeks. I stammer for more words. "Where are my clothes?" I ask as my fingers dig into the white sheet covering my naked figure.
"They've been destroyed for the same reasons you needed to be sanitized." He takes a deep breath and seems to reread his notes.
"Who are you?" I add quickly.
"Winston." He says, he checks off a few things on what looks like a list of symptoms, or maybe questions. I'm not sure. His lips twitch into a smile but he doesn't take his eyes off his paper.
There's one knock at the door before a woman steps in and hands Winston a pair of long black pants and a blue, long-sleeved top, a pair gloves. He thanks her and she walks out, but not before she gives me a long, empathetic look.
The door closes and Winston hands the clothes to me. "These are for you," he says, "I'll leave you alone to change into them, your next visitor will be by to meet with you in just about five minutes, so it'd be best if you could dress quickly."
I nod briefly.
Winston clears his throat, "Ms. Ferrars, if I could suggest anything to you, it'd be that you start trusting us. No one here is going to hurt you. You're safe now. He won't hurt you anymore. Everything is fine." He sighs, gives me a sad, lingering look, and leaves without another word.
He won't hurt you anymore.
Oh, Warner. He wasn't hurting me, though, really. He might've saved my life. I hope to the high heavens that they've spared his. I get choked up at the thought of him and have to remind myself to keep my composure, someone else will be in to see me shortly.
I dress quickly, thankful for the simplicity of the clothes. The closest thing to normal clothing I've seen lately is what I was wearing when Warner and I made a run for it, and even those were perfectly tailored and structured to my form. Other than that, I've been caught in a sea of army uniforms, cotton basics, and fancy dresses.
I sit back down on the bed and resolve to attempt to slow my breathing, lessen my heart rate, and keep calm until my next visitor comes. Maybe, just maybe, they will be able to answer more of my questions. I close my eyes and begin to count my breaths.
1.
2.
3.
4…
"Ms. Ferrars!" The door swings open after just a few seconds. He moves methodically, he brushes messy dreadlocks out of his face and into a ponytail as he takes the seat that Winston had occupied just minutes before. He's thin, fit, and dressed in a dark blue, simple suit. White shirt No tie. There's a streak of silver in his hair and his eyes are dark, he looks tired, like he's seen it all, the good and the bad. He must be in his 40s or so.
"It's an absolute pleasure that you've joined us," Dreadlocks says when he finally speaks.
"I didn't have much of a choice," I offer weakly, I hesitate, then ask, "Who are you?"
Dreadlocks clears a knot lodged deep in his throat, "I'm Castle, the leader of Omega Point," he shifts in his seat, he puts his hands together as if in prayer and presses his fingertips to his lips, then points them in my direction. He takes his time speaking, "I've heard… stories. About you." He smiles and raises his eyebrows, waves an excited hand in my direction, "I would like to know if they were true."
"What have you heard?"
He clasps his hands together, smiles with teeth so white they rival the first snowfall of the season, they rival the deep chocolate color of his skin. He meets my eyes, "You can kill a man with nothing but your bare skin. You can crush five feet of concrete with the palm of your hand."
He pauses, his smile fades, his eyes are intense, ponderous. "Is it true?" He asks simply.
My chin is on the floor and I'm stumbling through all 26 letters of the alphabet to find three little letters to affirm his question, but my mind and my vocal chords have disconnected and I'm not sure I remember how to speak.
I mean to say "yes", I mean to say "it's true", but instead a question that's been digging at the back of my skull since I got here falls out, no one has given me a straight answer yet, and I want answers to my questions, I will not answer theirs until they allow me this simple liberty. The words slip from my lips without any precursor: "Is Warner alive?"
Dreadlocks Castle lets out a breath and tries to skate around the question just as Winston did. "You're safe here, he isn't going to hurt you, you're going to be-"
I cut Castle off mid-sentence. "I understand, but is he alive?" I ask again, slowly, enunciating and savoring every word.
Castle seems to tense now, he closes his eyes, breathes in through his nose. My heart races in anticipation of his answer, this is a man who thinks that he will be delivering the horrible news that my captor is still alive. A man who thinks that Warner being alive means that I will lose my sanity. He's preparing to break this news that he believes to be despicable to me and I'm almost giddy, giddy to know for sure that Warner is alive. All of seven seconds pass before he speaks again, "Yes," he tells me.
My heartbeat has gone completely wonky now, it's skipping beats, and thawing thawing thawing. It's like I've been resurrected, like the universe is finally hearing me, it's saying "Maybe Juliette isn't so bad," and it's finally allowed me this small victory, this tiny wonder. But something tells me it wouldn't be a good idea to reveal to this man, or anyone, what Warner has done for me, or my true feelings for him. So I take a few deep breaths, and attempt to stop the adrenaline that is currently pumping through my veins.
Luckily, Castle taken my sudden energy upon hearing this news for a symptom of fear, so he adds on to his answer: "I want you to know that he won't have any access to you while you're here, you'll be entirely out of his reach, you will be protected and you will be safe."
I nod frantically, trying to make sure that he doesn't detect the truth, that I'm so relieved that Warner is alive, that I want to be near him, want him to have access to me; That when I'm with him, I am protected, I am safe. But I can't let anyone in on my little secret, I have to appear at least indifferent to Warner, I can't let any of them know my real opinion of him.
Castle smiles at me. "I do have some good news for you though," all of his teeth are shining at me, pure white.
"Good news?" I question him, giving him a puzzled look.
"Juliette, there's someone else here who I'm sure you will be happy to see."
Yo. I'm back. How'd you like it? Let me know by reviewing, favoriting, following, and coming back for more of "A Different Shade". I know this chapter wasn't the most ACTION PACKED thing of all time. But don't worry, guys, we're getting to the end of this, and it seems I've roped myself into rewriting the entire series, so when this "book" is done, I'll give you information about a possible sequel! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!