Less than an hour later, I was riding on a plane, trying to ignore the queasy feeling that had settled in my squeamish stomach. Case was next to me, while James sat with the sleeping Max in the row ahead of us. None of us were up for talking much, but I didn't feel that I could trust James anymore for unexplainable reasons, and therefore I chose to stay with my cousin.
The four of us were dressed in what I called "street clothes", with the exception of James. Not having enough time to change, he remained in his bloody silver shirt and black slacks, which, surprisingly didn't seem to bother him. Max wore a pair of low-rise blue jeans, a tight spandex magenta shirt with a denim jacket over it all, and Case, on the other hand, kept to his quiet self with brown, baggy, corduroy pants, a faded either blue or black sweater-I couldn't tell because of the poor lighting and the fact that his polyester coat covered up most of it. I wore a typical pair of black jeans, black shirt, and my faithful navy jacket that had followed me from California. All in all, none of us were dressed for hand to hand military combat, but it was definitely better than wearing formal gowns and high-heeled Cinderella slippers.
My motorcycle remained in the cargo bed of the plane, which took some stiff convincing on my part to let it on board, and a couple of Logan's friends, Benjamin Franklin, didn't hurt either, I suppose. Still, the plan was that we were going to arrive in Wyoming, have James and I take the motorcycle-since he knew where the building was and I was the best equipped for fighting-and Case and Max would take a rental car that would be waiting for us at the airport.
James was lightly dozing, and Max was in such a deep sleep that the plane could have exploded, and she'd still be snoozing as we floated down to the ocean, but Case and I-the ever vigilant children-remained wide awake. He was turned towards the window, fist over his mouth so that his thin, tinny breath hissed out between the cracks of his chapped knuckles. A mop of dark hair had fallen over his intense eyes, but he seemed not to notice nor care.
"Case?" I asked, longing for some real human conversation instead of terrifying answers and cryptic cyberjournalist conversations.
"Hmm?"
"Have you ever been to Manticore?"
Slowly, he turned to look at me, his eyes sad and gray. "I was kidnapped by them, so, yes, I've been there."
"Sorry," I whispered, hating how I had forgotten his capture by Lydecker.
"Don't be. But, if you want to know what it's like, I can tell you that much. I was there for just two days, which, under the circumstances seemed like years. I don't remember all that much of it, considering I was in pure and utter shock for the time being, and therefore, my brain obviously chose to opt out that part in my memory bank. I studied the effect of shock onto the human body in college-irony, once again at its best-which is how I know that I'll be unable to remember my experience there completely. Anyhow, they-the soldiers-put me in this dark cell with a bed that was…that was…I don't quite recall, but I know that it was hard and it hurt. Not that I used the bed very much anyhow. Believe me, when you suddenly get thrown in some strange environment, with no knowledge of what you're doing there, it can hurt."
"I thought that Dad told you about Manticore."
"He did. But, I didn't know that the dark, cold room I was in at the time was Manticore. Anyhow, all I remember about my visit to Gillette was that it was very melancholy, and, when all was quiet at night-after the regular soldiers had fallen asleep-I could hear faint screams coming from the basement. Monster screams-"
"Monsters in the basement," I whispered, finishing for him.
"Anomalies."
"Does Max know?"
"'Bout what?"
"Why we're going to Manticore, and what exactly it is, and that James isn't exactly the good guy he's been claiming to be."
Case sighed. "She knows enough about Manticore to understand the fact that Lydecker has our family. She knows what it is too-Jace must have filled her in when she first met you because I haven't said all that much to her. James…well…no. No, she doesn't know that he killed both her boyfriend and baby."
"I don't think she should ever have to find out."
"I don't know, Alanza, maybe she does. After all, what makes her any different than the rest of us? James, if anybody, would be the oddball here-not her."
"Good point," I mumbled, feeling the onset of a tension headache as we approached the Wyoming airport. In the far distance, coming from the east, I could barely make out the sun, hesitantly peeking over the glistening horizon of snow and ice. Early winter had dropped a steep puddle of crystals upon the land, which, I realized was going to make travelling difficult.
In front of me, James and Max were stirring, yawning heavily as they raised their arms above their tired heads. Case appeared oblivious to the entire scenario and began humming softly to himself, the tune of the ever faithful song that had followed me from California to camp to caviar and brandy during Dinner Date Number Four.
"Well, Case," I began, turning towards him as Max and James faced him also. Suddenly, all the attention was focused onto Case, and he squirmed under the weight of it.
"Well, what, Alanza?"
"Has the world broken yet?"
He smiled sadly, remembering his prophetic words that he had given me during our first encounter. "Perhaps," he responded, then locked assiduous eyes with mine. "But, if you have to ask whether or not it's shattered, then it's probably not because when the world does break, letting everyone know who you really are, you'll know. You'll know because it'll be the worst pain you've ever felt in your entire life, and, if you haven't felt that amount of anguish and grief, then, luckily, your world is still intact."
