You know, I start every chapter by saying how I don't own any of the characters and how they all belong to Disney, but lately... I don't know. It's kinda lost its magic somehow. sigh
Prodigy
Chapter 5 - A Broken Mirror
From the personal files of Dr. Domovoi Troskey:
Who am I? It is a question I have sometimes asked myself. I know who I THINK I am; an identity built from my many experiences throughout my life. However, my view isn't always the same as other people's view. Their perception of who Domovoi Troskey is may be completely different from my own. Some might see me as a genius, some merely as a gifted doctor. There are those who look at me and think, "he is Russian", and still others who would view me as an obsessive eccentric. They're views of me are based, not only on my interactions with them, but also on their own experiences in their lives.
Sometimes I would wonder just which identity was more real. In my work I am often among colleagues and at conventions where I tend to show a slightly different version of myself than what I am used to. Given the amount of time I spend in this persona, is it more of a reality than the way I view myself in private? Is my private persona still viable or nothing more than a left over from my childhood? How much do I base my behavior on my views of the person I am speaking to? I often ask myself these questions, but never come to any answer. I am not sure there is one. For if I leave behind my private persona I may gain more peace of mind, but would also be abandoning a part of myself that made me who I am today.
The thought of identity has become much more important to me of late. The NDC has, indeed, provided me with volunteers to test my formula. But who are they? I am very troubled by the fact that I have not been able to properly meet any of these people. By the time I am informed that the subject is here, they are already under sedation awaiting the procedure. A young African woman was the first volunteer. The procedure went smoothly and seemed to be a complete success. Much to my chagrin, I was not allowed to see the young lady afterwards or at all for that matter. The executives claimed that it was to maintain the secrecy of the project from other companies until its perfection. When I insisted on monitoring her progress they allowed me to view recorded testing sessions.
#168, as so they called her, seemed to have developed telekinetic abilities. My research had shown that the mind would probably funnel all the excess energy into one function much the way some people are naturally gifted in art, music, math, etc. The boy was next. #169 was a little younger than #168. She appeared to be in her early twenties while he seemed to be around 17 or so. As before he was sedated and prepped before my arrival and afterwards I could only view his progress via the recordings they made. While watching the boy display his pyrotechnic developments, I mentioned that the researchers seemed rather cold and harsh to the two volunteers. But the executives once again soothed my doubts, assuring me that this was only to preserve the testing environment and that outside of the testing area the two young people were treated with the utmost care and respect.
I sometimes have my doubts, but this is a multi-million dollar company; I'm sure everything is above board. Then they brought me #171. I nearly choked at the sight of the 10 to 12 year old child lying unconscious on the lab table. I had been voicing my concerns for some time, but the company's constant reassurances had kept me going. Now, however, after I refused to perform the procedure on this child their reassurances have changed. I am beginning to detect faint threats behind their words. Is it my imagination? I'd like to think so, but my feelings tend to think otherwise. I will go through with the procedure, though it disgusts me to do so. They say the little girl is dying and had volunteered with the permission of her parents. They have documentation so I suppose it is all okay. But I am not sleeping well and I fear that someday my suspicions will bear fruit, but I will be too far in to escape.
"It's the NDC. It has to be." Troskey looked back at me as he pulled Stoppable to his feet, supporting the boy against the wall. "They've been intentionally driving this poor boy insane. They must have one of the staff on their payroll; someone who's been switching his meds with lithium-dioxol."
"Wade said that he was with the military team that was investigating this site C. That kid was the only one found alive." My head was starting to hurt, but answers were finally starting to come and I couldn't stop. "What if that wasn't a mistake? What if they left him alive for a reason?"
"It wouldn't surprise me," the Doc said, sounding angrier than I had ever heard him. "Those... bastards have no scruples at all. Kim, we've got to get this boy away from here. His symptoms are obvious, it should be simple to convince the warden here that... "His sentence was cut short by a sudden sound. A far away crack that echoed through the hallways, followed shortly by another.
"What is that?" My every instinct was screaming 'danger', but I held onto the thin hope that it was something innocent. Troskey dashed those hopes instantly.
"Those were... gunshots," his voice was barely above a whisper. "The staff must've checked my credentials on their database. I didn't think they'd be monitoring for it in the states." Troskey looked over at me, panic and despair written on his face. "It must be the NDC. They must have been monitoring the internet and seen when the Institute checked my ID."
"We've got to get out of here," it was obvious, but I was frantic. Opening the door I saw the orderlies already running towards the sounds. I was about to call out to them when I saw a flash of black come around the far corner. I heard the crack of gunfire, but slammed the door before I saw the two orderlies fall to the ground. "They're already outside," I cried, rushing over to Troskey and Stoppable. The blonde guy had gone completely still, not even reacting when I grabbed his other arm and helped Troskey lead him towards the other doorway.
The door led to the other section of the institute; corridors lined with the patients' rooms. Stoppable, while not responsive, still managed to walk on his own so we moved rather quickly, our haste fueled by the occasional sound of gunshots echoing through the building.
"Here," Troskey suddenly pulled to the right, heading for a door marked 'Emergency'. "They must have cut the power to the building security," he reasoned as we pushed open the door and no alarm sounded, "they don't want the police showing up too soon."
"Does this go all the way down," I asked, indicating the staircase behind the door.
"It should," Troskey answered, hurrying us along as we descended towards the ground floor. "This should lead us to the back emergency door. Hopefully we can beat them there and get to the car while they are still searching the building."
Several frantic minutes ticked by, though it felt a lot longer. Finally the stairs ended and a metal door stood before us. Once outside we moved quickly around the building, making sure to stay as hidden as possible. Luckily Stoppable wasn't any burden; he moved fine on his own, all we had to do was keep him going in the right direction. It wasn't long before we came in view of the parking lot. As we approached the car, my relief began to fade, replaced by an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The buzzing in my head seemed to stir up as though reacting to something.
"Someone's here." My whispered epiphany came too late, as a single shot rang out. It was then that I noticed the man stepping out of the shadows near the side of the building. I could swear that my heart stopped beating. That face. I knew it. It was the same one that had been haunting my nightmares for the last few nights. Long and thin with icy, black eyes. He had killed someone I knew (my mom?) and now he had come back for me. But I wasn't shot. A faint groan and a thump pulled my attention away from the man and I turned.
"Doc," my voice croaked, raspy with shock and despair. The giant of a scientist was on the ground, blood soaking his old sweater. The nightmare behind me was momentarily forgotten as I fell to my knees beside Troskey. "Doc, I...," the words stuck in my throat. What was I supposed to say? My mouth opened, but my brain was paralyzed, nothing coming out but soft sobs.
"Shhhh, moya dorogaya," Troskey's hand covered mine, his voice strained and soft. "I kind of suspected this is where my end would be. But I... was able to help before..." His eyes winced in pain, cutting off his words. When he opened them again they were slightly glazed, but still staring at me. His hand reached up, wiping away the tears that were running down my face. "Please... do not cry. I will be fine... I will... "
He trailed off, his eyes closing as his hand fell away. The lock on my brain suddenly broke and I fell forward, clutching Troskey's shirt, sobbing uncontrollably. Everything else melted away as I cried over what was really my only friend. Reality forced its way back in, however, as I was grabbed by the back of my jacket and dragged away from the Doc's body. I was hauled up and thrown against the car. I vaguely noticed Stoppable grabbing at the man's hand, but was knocked to the ground with the handle of the gun.
"We've been looking for you, girl." The voice grated in my ear; a horrible voice; the voice of the devil. "You led us on quite a chase. Again. Whoever thought such a little brat could cause so much trouble." Tears were still running down my face as I half-turned toward him, my teeth grinding together as every muscle in my body seemed to clench.
"Who are you?" My voice was near a shout. Only the sobs that still wracked my chest kept it subdued. "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just leave us alone!" His mouth twisted into an almost smile.
"You really don't remember, do you?" His look of astonishment held a hint of amusement to it. "I heard they'd done quite a number on you. Shaved off all that pretty hair, too." He chuckled as he pulled me away from the car, pushing me towards Stoppable so he could keep both of us in sight. "The name's Major Roberts, girl. As for why I'm doing this," he gestured absently to Troskey's body, "it's nothing personal. Hell, if you hadn't been so nosey this never woulda happened. Gotta protect my anonymity after all."
His voice kept droning on, completely devoid of emotion. Every word made my brain burn more and more. Roberts reached for his radio; presumably to call in that he'd found us. I wasn't about to give him the chance. My grief had quickly turned to a rage that grew and grew the more he talked. Without any warning his gun arm was jerked back, twisting until he cried out in pain, dropping his weapon. He tried to move towards us, but was driven back as my eyes narrowed, my mind twisting the arm until I heard a crack.
Roberts slumped back against the car, holding his now broken arm to his chest. The gun skidded away from him, stopping at my feet. Picking it up, I began walking towards the man who had been haunting my dreams night after night. I pressed the gun against his chest, the look on my face making it clear that I WOULD shoot him if he moved. My hand grabbed the wrist of his broken arm, pulling it to the side, drawing another hiss of pain from him. It was strange. This man, who had up to now been a nightmare personified to me, now cringing in pain and fear. Fear of me.
"Who did you kill?" my voice whispered, teeth clenched in anger. "Who did you kill when you came for me?"
"It wasn't personal," he said weakly, his dead eyes darting from my face to the gun in his chest.
"Was it my mom?" I continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Was there anyone else?" He grit his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. "WHO!" I shouted at him, my face inches from his. The look on his face sent shivers down my spine. Everybody?
"It was business," he hissed back. "I was just doing my job. What I was ordered to do. I'm not heartless." My hand suddenly slammed into his chest as the buzzing in my brain intensified, traveling down my arm. His last words echoed through my head as I let the buzzing seep through my hands, reaching around and into Roberts. His face contorted in renewed pain. He began to spasm, blood started dripping from his mouth. The buckles on his body armor snapped open, revealing a growing stain on the front of his shirt.
"No," I hissed, clenching my powers tightly around my goal, "you're NOT heartless." I pulled back with my mind. A wet ripping sound filled the air, followed by the plop of something squishy hitting the pavement. "But you are now."
Roberts' body slid to the ground. For awhile I just stood there looking at it, pain and contempt still etched on my face. Soon, however, the enormity of what I had just done began to seep in and I stumbled away from the body. Turning again to Troskey I felt my legs starting to give out again. A hand on my shoulder stopped me from collapsing and I turned to find Stoppable staring at me.
"Run." His eyes looked through me more than at me, but the one mumbled word managed to pull me from the brink of going into shock. I wanted to take Troskey with us. The thought of leaving him here on the ground made me sick, but there was no time.
"I'm sorry Doc," I whispered brokenly as I backed toward the car. I led Stoppable into the passenger seat and got behind the wheel myself. I didn't know where I was going, I just started to drive. The night wore on and soon started to melt into dawn, and still we drove. I wasn't really paying much attention to the road; just enough to keep from crashing. By morning we were miles from the Institute, maybe even out of Indiana altogether. Taking an exit off the freeway I soon found a small back road and pulled to the side.
Shutting off the engine I slumped in my seat, my head slowly falling forward until it rested on the wheel. Then the tears came again. It started out soft, just a gentle shaking of my shoulders as tears ran from my eyes. Then Stoppable tentatively put his hand on my shoulder again and I finally lost it. I almost fell against him, his arm hesitantly wrapping around my shoulders as I cried loudly into his shirt. I don't know how long we sat there like that, but eventually I simply dozed off.
When I woke up I found myself still leaning against a slumbering Ron (I figured after all that I could use his first name). I pushed myself up, being careful not to wake him. Sitting there, I tried to calm my mind and figure out what to do. I had Ron, and perhaps I could get something out of his incoherent mumblings. There was also the bag. Climbing into the back seat, I retrieved the duffel bag full of files that Terr had grabbed from the NDC offices. I'd let Ron sleep for now and see if I could make anything out of the papers.
I didn't understand the majority of it, but found a couple folders that had some interesting information in them. One in particular commanded all my attention once I saw the heading. Project: Prodigy. Inside were scientific notes and theories, mostly incomprehensible to me. There was stuff about DNA and memory research as well as genetic engineering talk. There was also a lot of talk about "duplicating genetic and cerebral materials". Did that mean cloning? This was sounding more and more like a bad science-fiction novel.
Near the back of the folder was a satellite map of some area with buildings and fences. The phrase "Government investigation decoy" was written across the top, while its location (Ottawa) was listed at the bottom. A noise from the front seat brought my head up and I saw Ron, awake, staring at the map in my hands.
"Site C," he muttered, looking pointedly at the paper, "Prodigy."
"This is where 'Prodigy' is, huh?" I asked him, holding up the map. I got a small nod. "Well, Ron," I sighed, "looks like we're goin' to Ottawa." I didn't feel nearly as confident as I sounded. But this was my only lead left. I had to know what was going on. And also, I wanted to take this Northern Drug Corporation down. I wanted to see it destroyed for what it had done to Terr, Naru, Greta, Troskey, Ron, me, and who knew who else. If I could find the evidence I needed at this site C, then that was where I was going.
Of course, there was the small matter of getting out of the U.S. first. Having no idea myself, all I could do was try the person who had gotten me out of Canada.
"Ron," I said, looking straight at him, trying to convey how serious I was, "do you know how to get a hold of Wade?" The hacker had sort of implied that he knew Ron and I was hoping that the blonde nut job might have his phone number or something. Unfortunately all I got from Stoppable was a blank stare.
"Wade," I tried again. "Do you know who that is?" Was that a nod? "How can I get a hold of Wade?" I was speaking slowly, like people do in the movies when they're talking to foreigners. Stoppable kept staring at me, but eventually seemed to go thoughtful.
"Hate monkeys." Now it was my turn to stare. Did he just say what I thought he said? "Hate monkeys." Yeah, there it was again. "Dot... com." Realization sparked in my brain.
"You mean a website?" I asked, starting to get a little excited. Another faint nod. Well, it was a start. Now I just needed a computer. Driving to a gas station, we got directions to the local library which, thankfully, had public access computers. I got some stares from the other patrons as I led a near catatonic Ron through the lobby, but no one said anything; probably afraid of offending me in case he was mentally handicapped or something.
The web address brought up a rather comical looking site covered in animated monkeys with lists of why monkeys were scary, the best ways to avoid monkeys, and the top ten monkeys to steer clear of. Was this really a way to get in touch with Wade? I began to wonder if Ron's brain was really fried and it had just popped out some random bit of trivia in answer to my questions. Still, he had told me about this project called Prodigy, so I looked a little closer at the site, clicking the various links.
"Rufus," Ron's voice caught me by surprise. I glanced over to find him pointing meekly at the screen. It was currently displaying a search page. You were supposed to type in a breed of monkey and it would give you a profile on it. Shrugging a little I entered the word 'Rufus' in the search field and hit enter. The page returned a message that it couldn't find any matches to my search. I was just about to give up when the same text field I had seen in the NDC building popped up on screen.
"Ron, is that you?" I jumped a little as the window and message popped up. The site must have been some secret way of contacting Wade. Just what were he and Ron involved in?
"It's me. From the building. I made it to Indiana." I hit the reply button, sending the message to Wade.
"You found Ron? What did you learn?"
"Ron is drugged. Was driven crazy by NDC." No message came back for awhile. I got the feeling that Wade was rather upset by this news.
"Will he get better?"
"Not sure. Gave me location of place called site C. Something about project: Prodigy."
"Where is it?"
"Ottawa" There was another pause.
"That's where the military team was lost. You need transport?"
"Yes"
"Sending information now." The name of an airport followed along with directions.
"Thanks Wade."
"Be careful. This place, whatever it is, is dangerous. I really think you should go to the authorities about this."
"After breaking a killer out of a psych ward? I don't think they'd listen."
"I see what you mean. Just take care. I don't want anyone else disappearing up there." I smiled a little as I wrote down the airport address and sent a final thank-you to Wade. After what had happened to the Doc it was nice to talk to someone else who really cared, though I think it may have been because Wade assumed I was the 'Kim' that he knew. Actually, I kind of hoped that I was. It would mean that someone was waiting for me if... WHEN I made it through all this. The nightmare about what seemed to be my mom had really got me scared. I had started to wonder if I would even have a life anymore.
The airstrip we were headed for was about two hours away, most of which was passed in silence. Ron had gotten a little more active; he would eat by himself and help out with anything I asked, but he still refused to talk to me. He'd give short answers to important questions, but nothing beyond that. When we arrived at the airstrip, just as before, the mere mention of Wade's name got us instant V.I.P. status.
"After what those kids did for me," the pilot said, pumping my hand violently, "I'd fly you 'round the world for free." He explained how Kim and Ron had rescued his daughter when she was kidnapped by some company looking to take over his business.
"So you've seen them," I asked, hopefully, "Kim and Ron I mean. You've met them?" I was hoping that he would be able to confirm whether or not I was this Kim Wade had spoken of.
"No," my hopes fell at his answer, "my daughter was taken out of state. The two kids rescued her and sent her back, but didn't come along. I only talked with Wade." I nodded, thanking him for the ride.
In a few hours we were landing as near to our destination as we could get. It wasn't that far away and the pilot had given us enough gear that we could easily walk it. The building was in a lightly forested area a good five miles or so from the nearest city. We made our way carefully through the surrounding trees, eventually coming to a slight valley, at the bottom of which was the so-called 'Site C'. As I stared down at the place I suddenly realized I had no idea what to do next. How would we get in there without being seen? How did I even know if anyone or anything was still around?
Confusion and doubt began to tear at my mind, causing the buzzing to flair up suddenly. It's hard to explain what happened next. My entire brain suddenly seemed to focus on one desire; finding a way into the building. The buzzing centered on this desire, coalescing until my vision suddenly flared. I felt something pushing out of my body, like a flock of birds exploding out of my chest. I felt light, like my feet weren't touching the ground. I looked around, feeling like I was moving underwater, and found myself staring at Ron and... myself.
My body had collapsed backward, Ron catching me, and was twitching faintly, like a dog chasing something in its sleep. My eyes were cracked open slightly, the pupils rolled back with only white visible. Panic began to creep into my thoughts until a conversation I had with Greta popped into my head. One of the things she could do was send her thoughts out of her body, Terr called it astral projection. Her descriptions of the experience didn't do it justice. I still felt like I could throw up (if I still had a mouth that is) but couldn't ignore the opportunity that had been presented.
Concentrating on the building again, I was suddenly gliding across the snow, moving faster than I'd ever have been able to run. I circled the fence once, noting that there were few guards around the perimeter. Continuing through the fence I proceeded to examine every entrance, looking for the best way in. I found it near the back. A door at the rear of the building was unguarded and the hallway beyond was all but empty, with only one guard making a short pass every few minutes. Checking a little further in I finally came across a wall plaque with the different sections labeled. One was marked 'Prodigy' and pointed towards the center of the building.
I wanted to continue on, but by this time my vision was getting blurry and I could feel an aching in my non-existent head. Getting back turned out to be no trouble at all. It was like a rubber band snapping. As soon as I decided I was done I felt myself flying backward, slamming back into my body with a gasp. My hands instinctively grabbed at Ron's collar as I came to in his grasp. I had to sit still for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to calm myself down.
"Ron," I said when I was able to talk clearly again, "I've found a way in." The guy looked completely lost as to what had just happened, but thankfully went along without any trouble. He seemed to have gotten more alert and responsive over the last couple hours and I was hopeful that this was a sign of the drugs working their way out of his system. Maybe he COULD return to normal. It would certainly make things easier for me anyway.
Working our way around the base to the spot in the fence, we pulled one of the rolled up blankets from my backpack, throwing it over the barbed wire that ran along the top. Once over it was surprisingly simple to make our way along the root I had chosen. There were a couple close calls where we had to quickly duck out of sight to avoid a guard or two, but for the most part we made it through unseen, all the way to the labs where 'Prodigy' was supposed to be. The doors were big, reminding me almost of the doors on bank safes. I let my mind wander into the room a little but could find no conscious thought. There were a few faint thoughts, almost like someone in a deep sleep, but nothing that suggested anything like guards. Ron helped me pull the heavy doors open and we slipped inside.
The first thing that struck me was how white it was. The hallways had all been the same neutral grayish-green, but this room was so white it almost hurt the eyes. The next thing I noticed were the bodies. There were twelve in all, six on each side of the room, all lying in white hospital beds. IV stands stood beside each, giving a constant feed of some clear liquid. Looking closely I could see their chests moving; they were all still alive, but none of them were conscious. I glanced briefly back at Ron who looked as lost as I felt. Turning back I walked to the first bed, looking at the chart that hung on the end.
Each bed had its own chart hanging at the foot. The charts listed names, ages, blood types, and other personal history. There was also a space marked 'Contribution' which seemed to list some special trait or talent of the occupant. There was a chess champion from Norway, a strong man from South America, a couple people with photographic memories, and a savant from Israel. One description was slightly different from the others. 'Olympic level athlete, A-class reflexes and stamina, heightened thought processes.' However, it wasn't the abilities of the bed's occupant that caused my stomach to drop; it was the name.
Possible, Kimberly Ann
For the second time this week, I was left with nothing. I wasn't Wade and Ron's friend. I wasn't the girl Wade had been so eager to find. I was once again a nobody. As I stood there staring at the girl who had (sort of) stolen my identity, I vaguely noticed Ron running to her bedside. I watched numbly as he tore the tubes from her arm and pulled her into a sitting position. I didn't help him as he tried to wake her, talking softly and frantically to her, smoothing back the stray strands of the bright flame-colored hair. I couldn't understand what he was saying, either because he was talking nonsense or because my brain had gone on strike at the moment.
I think we all stood there for about 10 minutes before her eyelids began to flutter. Eyes of a deep emerald green slowly came into focus, looking around groggily before settling on Ron.
"Ron?" Her voice was soft and strained, yet still somehow managed to sound like music. For some reason that made me angry. "Oh God, Ron!" Kim suddenly sat up in bed, flinging her arms around Ron's neck, holding him as close as she could. Feeling a little like a third wheel, I turned away from the two, thinking of maybe waiting outside till they finished their rather sappy reunion (what can I say, I felt bitter for some reason). Sudden noise from outside stopped me, however.
Sounds of boots came from behind the doors and I suddenly realized that the lab with their top secret project inside would most likely have some form of surveillance. Hoping there weren't too many of them, I headed for the door.
"Stay in here," I called over my shoulder, "I might be able to stop them." I didn't see Possible's surprised expression when she looked at me, I was too busy wondering just what the hell I was doing. I wasn't some hero who fought off bad guys. I was the frightened little girl who ran away and hid, letting others take the risks for me. Terr, Naru, Greta... Troskey. The thought of the Doc steeled my resolve. I COULD fight them. Unfortunately, when I opened the door I found it already surrounded by armed guards. I slammed the door shut before they could react, but that wouldn't keep them out. I had to think of something fast. There were just too many of them. Even if I could hit them all at once, one of them could still get a shot off, and that would be all it would take.
As I fidgeted in my panic, my hand bumped my pocket, feeling something heavy inside. Reaching in I pulled out a small brown bottle. It was the domozyl I had found in the Doc's pocket back in the hotel room. I must have taken it out at some point when he had lent me his coat. Maybe, if what he said was true, this could be my answer. I didn't like it, but I liked getting shot a lot less. As the banging on the doors increased I ran over to Ron.
"Can you use a needle?" I asked, grabbing one from the tray by Possible's IV.
"What're you..." Kim started, her speech still a little slurred. I cut her off. We didn't have time for questions.
"Can you use a needle?" I asked again. Ron nodded silently, looking as confused as Kim. "Here," I handed him the bottle, "inject that in me." He hesitated. "Now!" I shouted as another loud bang came from the door. Ron finally complied, quickly finding the vein in my arm and sticking the hypodermic in. It was rushed and I winced at the jab of the needle. I felt the change almost immediately. The buzzing in my head flared to a heightened intensity and I could feel a pressure building behind my eyes. Kim was saying something, but I could no longer hear her.
I stumbled towards the door, by head burning more and more with each step. I threw the door open suddenly, surprising the guards into stepping back and bringing their weapons up. I practically fell through, managing to pull the door mostly shut as I went. One guard was yelling at me to put my hands over my head, but I couldn't even understand what he was saying. I fell to my knees as they surrounded me, holding my head as the buzzing turned to a roar that threatened to blow my eyes out. Red began to seep into my vision and I could feel blood flowing from my nose and ears. More of it collected in my eyes, dripping down my face like crimson tears as the pressure continued to build.
Finally it couldn't go anymore. My body felt like it was being torn to pieces; ripped apart in every direction. There were screams coming from around me as the guards were bashed violently into the walls and ceiling, bones snapping and muscles tearing, but I was oblivious to it all. And then it was over. I fell backwards, my body completely limp; unable to move. I see Kim and Ron come into my line of sight, concern and shock written on their faces. Possible sits down beside me, pulling my head into her lap as her fingers tentatively examine the blood on my face and my bald head. I look up at her blankly, unable to even think clearly as darkness begins to eat at the corners of my vision. As I finally black out, my last sight is of Possible's agonized expression as she looks down at me, her voice ringing in my ears even as I fall into unconsciousness.
"Oh God, Bonnie. What did they do to you?"
To be continued...
Yamal - Yeah, it's been forever since the last chapter. What can I say? Well, hope I can make up for it. Some big answers in this chapter, though there are still some questions left. Perhaps I'll explain it all next time. Mua ha ha ha ha ha!
gargoylesama - Thanks for the review. Afraid I'm not familiar with David Lynch, but glad you enjoy the story. And it seems Ron has been saved... for now.
Bajj - Yeah, if there's one thing that gives me the wicked jeebers, its little children's songs. Put them in the right context and they're downright terrifying.
Alice Shade - Special thanks to Alice for clueing me in on some of the Russian mistakes and helping me out with this chapter. As for your questions. Yes, I knew Domovoi wasn't an actual name, but I liked the sound of it and sort of fit with Troskey's personality of a dreamer. Troskey I sort of just made up, though now that you mention Trotcskiy; that might have been in the back of my mind when I was coming up with it. And what is Troskey's patronymic? Wow, I had to break out the dictionary for that one. I'd say it was Troskey. Arrrgh! I've been caught 'fudging the details'.
AngelOfBlades - Careful. You'll give me a swelled head. Seriously though, thank you very much for the review. It's nice to know that others are enjoying my stories.
Jezrianna2.0 - Thanks for checking out my story. Hope you continue to like it.