The Final Freedom Chapter 4: Platonist
From behind you, through the gunfire-induced tinnitus, a familiar voice calls, "Back here! It's safe!"
Claes hears it too. She fires one more salvo then turns and runs for the door back to the operating room.
You follow. As soon as you stumble past the door, the hallway bursts into flame.
The Doctor's growl mixes with the fire's roar.
"What," Claes says between pants, "What was that?"
As the door closes, it reveals a person behind it. Claes shines her light, illuminating another girl maybe a year or two older than you, and with a few centimeters added for her age. She too is wearing a light dress, pastel butterflies on white, all behind a random splashing of dirt and grime.
She looks familiar, so familiar. You search for a name, but only seem to find a number. Eighteen. Eighteen? She can't be eighteen. She looks no older than thirteen. Eighteen. Is that her name?
"Whoa. I'm on your side, Gun-girl. Could you shine it like over there?" A haphazard wave follows the words.
Claes mutters a tight, quiet apology and points back at the door you most recently used. The hallway is still ablaze, and the two circular windows are filled with dancing licks of orange and yellow.
"Sixteen! Great to see you! Are you okay?" She gives you a hug, then holds your shoulders, takes a step back and looks into your eyes. "Did they zap you in the head again? Do you remember me?"
You yield to that shadow of a memory. "Eighteen? You're Eighteen, right?"
"Yep. So you remember what happened?"
"No, do you?" You run a hand through your snarled and matted hair.
"A lot. Too much. Most of it about Doc Ugly out there. I was running-"
"Uh, excuse me?" Claes jogs the light pointing at the door. "About … Doc Ugly. That was … him?"
"That's The Doctor. Or was. He's let himself go lately." Eighteen's laughter fools no one, and she quickly lets it die off. "He's still trying to catch us, but to… I'm not sure what he wants. From the ones he catches, I mean."
"You mean, you don't know what he wants to do?" Claes is whipping her gaze back and forth from Eighteen and the door.
"I know what he does. I saw him do it to Fifteen."
You realize that number is a name, a face, a person. Or was. A shy blonde in a sundress comes to mind. Green eyes. She had green eyes as you recall from the few times she raised her downcast gaze. "What… what did he do?"
"He sucked the life out of her." Eighteen's right cheek twitches once after she speaks.
"Wait. You said you didn't know what he wants with you. Now, you just said he wants to kill you. Doesn't that mean you do know what he wants with you?" Claes' words have less of her flat nonchalance.
"Not why he's doing it. I don't know that, and I don't know how. He grabbed her, and she started… it was almost like she was shrinking. She was drying up, almost … deflating. Like a balloon. When he was done, she was just skin… skin stretched over bones."
"What? How did he…? I mean, that's not … Uh, you can't do that. Right?" Claes' voice was your anchor, your bulwark. To hear her self-assurance erode fills you with a cold fear.
"I don't know. I told you that already, didn't it? I don't know!" Eighteen's fists seem to glow from within, as if she is holding something red-hot. Her eyes are but two more furrows in her grimacing face.
You're not sure, but the inner corners of them seem to glisten. It's probably the light.
"Uh, Eighteen? Are you all right?"
"No! I'm not! I saw him kill my friends! I can do this." One arm whips outward, one fist flashes open, and a spout of fire reaches out to the operating table. "I can do this, and I couldn't save them. I couldn't save them, and I can hit him back."
The table is consumed with flames. They fill the room with light. You look at the other two.
Eighteen's right hand is extended, but no longer expressing flames. Her left hand is by her hip, still balled, and definitely glowing. Her mouth is in a snarl, and her eyes are sharp and hard.
Claes has both hands on her gun, but has it pointed at the ground between her feet. Her eyes are wide, her mouth gaping.
You blink, realizing that you are not surprised. That lack of reaction puzzles you, causes you more concern than what you just saw.
The flames flicker out. The room is once again as dark as coal. Claes recovers from her bewilderment and shines the flashlight back at the doorway. "That's… that's not possible."
"Believe it, Gun-girl. That's why they stuffed us here - to be turned into the impossible."
We?
Claes echoes your thoughts. "We? How many of you are there?"
"I've only seen, like, nine of us. The names weren't in order. Like, there's Eleven and Twelve, but no Thirteen or Fourteen."
Claes took a step back, her lamp still pointed downward.
You notice that Eighteen also has no shoes. "Maybe they skipped them. Thirteen… some people think it's unlucky."
Eighteen shook her head. "No. I saw Twenty-One die on the table. I bet all the missing numbers are dead. That's why we don't have anyone with just one number as their name."
Your mind takes a second to understand her. One number… Seven, Eight, Nine… You don't remember them, you don't even feel like you forgot them. Nine others. You don't remember them, but you feel sad that they're gone. That they're dead.
"You're all that's left?" Claes raises her flashlight and points it at the doors again.
"Me? No. Others come and go. We'll meet in the hall, talk a little, then, I look away and they're gone. But not Nineteen. Nineteen and me, we stick together."
The other set of doors open. Instantly, Claes swings around. A short, red headed girl in a pale yellow sundress walks through the door. You notice she didn't use her hand to open the door. You notice you're not surprised, either. That bothers you.
"Did you say something about me?" Nineteen looks to be one or two yeas younger than you, but her voice sounds a little deeper, rougher, older.
"Hey, Nineteen. I found Sixteen, and she brought a friend, Gun-girl."
"Oh, we can try to use that on The Doctor. It might -" Her words tease you with their hope, and you realize you've not heard that touch, that tone for too long.
"No," Claes shook her head, some of her black hair sneaking free of her baseball cap. "I shot him three times in the center-of-mass, and three times in the head. He didn't stop."
Nineteen scratches her head. "Center of what?"
You're glad she asked it instead of you.
"Center of mass. Body shot. Right here." Claes pats her diaphragm. "Any of those six should have taken him down. They didn't do anything."
Nineteen pouts, a face that makes her look like she's nine. "Booger."
Claes swings the light back to Eighteen, but shining at her legs. "But what about you? Did you try to burn him?"
"No, he just gets wet, and the fire goes out."
"Gets… wet?"
The taller girl nods. "It's like the sprinklers. They stopped working a while ago, but it's like the sprinklers back when they worked. There would just be water all around him. It was like what Fifteen could do, you know, make it rain?"
"Was this before or after he … killed Fifteen?" Claes still has the light held low, but it bounces off the tiled floor and shows her face, intent in thought, eager for Eighteen's answer.
"Before, but he…" The taller girl looks at the newcomer.
"But after that, he could do it more, I think." Nineteen seems uncertain.
Her partner doesn't share that trait. "Yeah, he's definitely stronger. I used to be able to scare him off easily, but now I have to really concentrate." She points at the double doors from where you retreated. "That took a lot to do."
Claes shines her light at Nineteen's torso. "And you can move things without touching them, right?"
"How did you… yeah, like this." She flicks her fingers at the doors.
They swing open.
Claes turns to you, and you feel suddenly embarrassed. You haven't said hardly anything this whole time! She must think you're stupid!
"And you… you can do things with rocks or wind, right?"
Your self-admonition melts and bewilderment takes its place. "R-r-r-rocks? Wind? Uh, no."
"Huh? Rocks? I don't get you, Gun-girl. Why rocks and wind?"
Claes points at Eighteen, the door, and Nineteen. "Fire, Water, Aether."
All three of you join to make a babble of confused queries.
"These are the classical elements. Earth, Wind, Fire, Air, and Aether. Most people think Plato discovered them, but he was actually quoting Empedocles." She looks at your puzzled faces. "Never mind. I thought they had some sort of theme to these… these…" She takes a deep breath, then looks at you. "These paranormal powers. So, uh, Sixteen, what's your power?"
You want to shrink away again. "I … I don't know?"
Eighteen's laughter, a true and hearty one, shocks you and the other two girls. "Her? Her? She's the most powerful one of us!"
Your jaw drops. No, she has to be joking!
"What can she do?"
Yeah, what can I do?
Nineteen's coarse cough silences everyone and everything, even your torrent of questions. "Sixteen? Sixteen can call the spirits of the dead."
Author's note: First version of this chapter stated Nineteen's estimated age incorrectly as "about your age." Now, it's "one or two years younger than you."