Chapter 19 – Wanda

January 11, 2014, 10:30 a.m.

It was disorienting to see the room through her own eyes, after seeing it through Jasper Sitwell's memories. He was taller than she was, so every shadowy piece of equipment loomed out at her, unnaturally large. Pietro flipped the light switch and the fluorescent tubes flickered to life, buzzing almost inaudibly. The looming shadows resolved into a collection of freestanding monitors and screens, gathered around the sarcophagus like officiants at a strange ritual. It was a strange blend of technologies – chunky, yellowing plastic next to sleek, black touchscreens and holographic interfaces.

How long has this room been here?

The air smelled stale, like it had been recycled over and over again. Wanda glanced back at Sitwell, standing just inside the door, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. She turned back to the sarcophagus. The buzz the lights grew louder – and then Wanda realized – the buzzing wasn't in her ears. It was in her mind. Her mouth went dry.

As always, Pietro sensed her fear. He took her arm.

"Are you sure about this?" He murmured, himself afraid to raise his voice in this strange place. "This room gives me the creeps."

His concern for her was like a strong wall encircling her. She smiled weakly and patted his hand. He knew as well as she did that they couldn't back away from this, not now that they were here.

The sarcophagus was dark as Wanda approached it – for a moment she saw her own face reflected in its surface, pale and huge-eyed. Then lights flicked on within it, triggered by her proximity. Wanda gasped. Sitwell's memory had elided the worst of it – half of the green face was scored with horrible wounds, the cheek torn away to reveal its teeth. Below the hips, its legs were gone – entrails floated in whatever viscous solution filled the chamber and suspended the creature like some horrible angel. Tubes and wires sprang from it like tentacles.

"Oh, God," she breathed. There was no way this thing could be alive.

And then, its eyes opened.

The buzz in her head became a spike. Wanda shrieked and stumbled backward against her brother's chest as he spouted shocked profanities.

"Shit! It's alive! Shit!"

"They've been keeping him alive," Wanda said, with growing horror, eyes drawn back to the poor ruined face, almost against her will. Its eyes followed her in mute entreaty. "I'm going to talk to him."

"What?" Pietro said. "That's a terrible idea! We have to get out of here..."

"He's been alone here, Pietro, utterly alone. Who knows for how long." She took a step forward. Pietro didn't stop her. "Imagine it."

She reached out with her hand, and her mind. The room broke into shards of glass around her. She was falling through space, a kaleidoscope of light. Pain, cold – scents she couldn't identify, colors without names. A blue-faced warrior hit her with a hammer like a meteor. Mountains were falling from the sky and the ground was breaking open. Her body dissolved into a thousand whirling sparks.

Pietro caught her before she hit the floor. She tried to touch his face but her hand was shaking too much.

"This is a really, really stupid idea," he said.

"He's old." Wanda's voice was a croak in her own ears. "He's so old. So strange - I don't think I can do this alone."

Pietro looked at the coffin, which stood still and mute. Then back at her.

"I'll help you."

He took her hand and helped her up, holding her elbow when she stumbled on shaky legs. She took a deep breath and squeezed her brother's hand, borrowing his physical and mental strength. This time, when she touched the alien's mind, they both screamed.

The alien was older even than Wanda had imagined. In the depths of his mind, time lost meaning – the pieces of his past sliding over each other. So long, in the ice. So long, in this place. Running across the galaxy like hunted animals, changing shape and form, fluid as water, hiding but never safe. Shadows over the stars. Hooded Accusers with their hammers. He floated in darkness and pain, but worst was the silence - cut off from the minds of his people. Knives. Needles. The minds of his captors like hard, gray stones. Why had they not let him die?

Wanda collapsed to her knees, jarring her teeth so hard that she bit her own tongue. The pain helped bring her back to her own body.

It took her three tries to push herself to her hands and knees. She crawled to where Pietro lay on the floor, a trickle of blood coming from his nose. She understood why Sitwell had buried this place so deep. She would have liked to think it was a dream. But in its coffin, the creature's eyes still pleaded.

-Let me die, child. Send me back to my people.

Gently, oh so gently. She did.

When Pietro came to, she was crying. He sat up shakily and brushed her hair back from her face, like he had since they were children.

"No more," she said. Her tongue was swollen. "No more of this."

Pietro pushed himself cautiously to his feet and helped her up.

"And Grandfather?" He said "The others?"

"I can't do this anymore. Not even for them." She dabbed at his nose with her sleeve. "Although..."

"I know that look," Pietro said wryly. "You think you can save them?"

"She can." They both knew who Wanda meant.

"But will she trust us?"

"She doesn't have a lot of options."

Together, they stumbled towards the door. They had to get out – soon enough those monitors would inform someone that their prisoner had died. Sitwell lay on the floor near the door. The psychic feedback from reading the alien must have knocked him out, too.

"Besides," Wanda said, looking at the man. "We'll come with a gift."

Pietro let her go so she could kneel beside Sitwell and lay her hands on his head. Wanda couldn't see him, but she knew her brother was looking away. He never liked to see her do this. Her eyes glowed red, as she reached out to devour Jasper Sitwell's mind.

Hi all! Hope you are well. Working from home is rough, yo. :-/

But hopefully my town is doing well enough to reopen some things soon.

Hope you enjoy the chapter - as always, I appreciate your feedback.