Unforgotten (15 page)

When there’s no reply from the other side of the room, I look up. Kaelen is studying me with a curious expression tugging at his face, as though I’m some strange, unidentified animal he’s encountered in the woods and he’s trying to classify me.

“Did you hear me!?” I roar. “What can you do for him?”

“I can give him your IV,” he states plainly. “It will keep him hydrated.”

I nod, gazing back at Zen. “Do it.”

As Kaelen works, inserting a fresh needle into Zen’s vein and attaching it to the bag of clear liquid, I hold Zen’s hand and gently stroke his palm. The suffering that’s etched into his beautiful face is heartbreaking. It makes my throat burn and tears sting my eyes.

Kaelen finishes administering the IV and then takes a few steps back, as though he’s purposefully trying to stay as far away from us as he can.

“Where did you find him?” I ask quietly.

“At the Pattinsons’ farmhouse.”

“How did you know to go there?”

“Elizabeth Pattinson said he was brought to their house after you were arrested.”

His response takes me by surprise. He’s right. She did say that, but I’m struggling to remember
when
she said that. And then it hits me.

“The matter of the young man with whom she arrived here … On the night she was arrested, he was returned to our farmhouse.”

It was in the courtroom. She said that when she was testifying against me.

My head jerks up and I look accusingly at Kaelen. “You were there?” I ask. “You were at my trial?”

He nods. “Yes. I went just now. To look for him.”

I shake my head. I remember having a strange sensation that someone or
something
was there. My focus was momentarily pulled to the far back corner of the room. Was that because Kaelen was there? In that courtroom? Was that what I sensed?

He was there because I told him to go.

And then I remember something else that Mrs. Pattinson said during the trial.

“He disappeared two days ago … Probably wandered off into the woods. My guess is the witch lured him out of the house with a spell.”

“That’s why she thought he disappeared,” I realize aloud. “He didn’t wander off into the woods. You took him from the house and brought him here.”

Kaelen looks confused by my rehashing this. “Yes. Isn’t that what you asked me to do?”

“Yeah,” I say dazedly. “I’m just trying to get it straight.”

I turn back to Zen. “How long does he have?”

“By my calculations, given the progression of his condition, a few days.”

“Tell me what is wrong with him.” I try again. “What is his
condition
?”

“I did as you asked,” Kaelen says, ignoring my pleas. “I’ve brought him here. Now you must hold up your end of the agreement. It’s time for us to go.”

His heartless attitude toward Zen and the fact that he clearly doesn’t care whether Zen lives or dies infuriates me and I feel venom welling up inside me. My fists clench. I want to scream. I want to strike him over and over again, with any object I can find, until he talks. Until he tells me what he knows. But I force myself to swallow it down. Gather my composure. Take deep breaths.

I’m no good to Zen if I can’t keep my temper in check and stay calm. Right now, going with Kaelen is my best chance at saving him. My
only
chance.

“Okay,” I agree, my voice strangled. I let Zen’s fingers slowly slip through mine. His hand falls limp against the white sheet as I bid him a silent goodbye. “Let’s go.”

I have no intention of leading Kaelen to whatever it is he is looking for. Whatever it is that Diotech so desperately wants. Because I know as soon as I do, he’ll take me right back to the compound. To Alixter. So that I can be
fixed
. So that I can be like him.

Diotech has no interest in saving Zen’s life. I know this. And that’s why Kaelen cannot be trusted. Under any circumstances.

But the truth is, I have to learn more about him. I have to test his strengths, uncover his weaknesses—if he has any. Find out how we are similar and, especially, how we are different. If I’m ever going to escape, these are the things I need to know.

But most of all, I need to find out everything he knows about Zen’s illness. And his cure.

And as soon as I do, I’ll be as far away from Kaelen and Diotech as possible.

It occurs to me that I’ve just discovered our first similarity: it appears
I
can’t be trusted either.

22

NOVICE

I follow Kaelen out of the bedroom and into another empty room with floor-to-ceiling blackened windows. This one is much larger, with glossy white wooden floors instead of carpet and bright electric-blue accents painted on the white walls and ceiling. Illuminated lamps with strange rounded shades hang from the ceiling, and shelves are indented directly into the walls. I assume keepsakes or decorations once occupied the space, but the shelves are now empty and barren. There is no furniture at all, making this room, which appears to be a living room, even sadder than the last.

To my left there is a pristine, untouched kitchen. Judging from the modernity of the appliances—dishwasher, refrigerator, and a few I don’t recognize—which are all a sleek metallic navy blue, it appears we’re not anywhere near the seventeenth century anymore.

I’m completely taken aback by the stark contrast of everything around me compared to the world I just left. While the Pattinsons’ house felt warm and cozy and lived in, filled with imperfect handmade wooden furniture, a fire burning in the hearth, dust gathering in the corners, and a general atmosphere of habitation, this place feels exactly the opposite. Cold and sterile. The word
abandoned
comes to mind.

“Is this a house?” I ask, glancing around.

“An apartment.”

“Why is it so empty?”

“It was foreclosed,” Kaelen explains.

I drag a fingertip across the lustrous metal countertop of the kitchen. “Foreclosed?”

“The people who lived here could no longer afford to pay for it so they were forced to leave. Now it’s owned by the bank. Foreclosed homes are the easiest places to inhabit when you’re on an assignment.”

I suppose his logic makes sense. If no one lives here, it would be simple enough to transesse directly inside and stay. Although the idea of entering someone else’s home after it’s been taken from them makes me feel a little ill.

I peer around in the darkness, trying to imagine what this place must have looked like with furniture in it. With people in it. When it was a home. And not an empty hole. “What time is it?”

Kaelen glances at a watch on his wrist and I find it humorous that he even has one. Clocks aren’t exactly useful when you’re hopping through time. “1300 hours,” he announces officially. As though he
were
the clock, not just reading it.

I shake my head and glance toward the darkened windows. “One in the afternoon? That’s impossible. It’s completely dark outside.”

Kaelen walks over to the window, swiping his fingertip along a clear glass plate affixed to one of the panes. Instantly the darkness evaporates and the view through the window magically transforms. The sunlight is bright, blinding me for a second. But when my eyes adjust and I witness what is on the other side of the glass, I’m speechless.

In awe, I take a step toward it, hardly believing what I see.

Hundreds of massive towers rise into the sky. They go on for miles. It’s a forest of buildings taller than I’ve ever seen before. And as I inch closer, I realize that we must be inside one of them, because when I peer down, I nearly jump at the sight of the ground so far beneath us. Over a thousand feet, I estimate. On the busy street below I see tiny cars—mostly yellow—zooming around. And people. So many people. They walk in a swarm, moving as one. Expertly maneuvering around other swarms heading in the opposite direction.

Somewhere in the distance, high in the sky, I see a flying aircraft, propelled by giant revolving spokes attached to the top of it. It soars gracefully through the air, making elegant turns and banking around buildings before coming to land on the roof across the street.

“Where
are
we?” I ask, gobsmacked. It seems unreal. Unbelievable.

“New York City, New York, United States of America,” Kaelen replies.

“In what year?”

“2032.”

Now I turn away from the window. “2032? Why did you bring me to 2032?”

“It wasn’t my decision,” he explains blankly. “The memories dictate our destination.”

Find me.

I think back to the vision I saw in my prison cell but I can’t, for the life of me, recall any reference to a year. I could barely figure out
where
I was, let alone
when
.

I watch as Kaelen swipes his fingertip on the glass plate and the city once again disappears behind a sheet of darkness. “What is that?” I ask, jutting my chin toward his hand.

“Digitally enhanced windowpanes,” Kaelen explains. “They create artificial night.”

I attempt to peer through the window at the massive metropolis outside but it’s entirely concealed.

Kaelen gestures away from the window. “It’s time to go.”

I gaze down at my outdated (and charred) seventeenth-century clothes. “I can’t go out in this.”

But he doesn’t seem to understand the objection. “Why not?”

I sigh. “Because these are old and outdated. If people see me in them it will attract too much attention. I need modern clothes.” I sniff the air. “And a shower.”

Kaelen reaches under the collar of his shirt and flips open my locket. Then he walks toward me and extends his hand in the direction of my arm.

I move fast, darting to the far corner of the living room. “Don’t you dare touch me when that thing is open,” I warn.

As far as I know, this could all be one giant ruse to get me back to Diotech. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him … or
them.

“I am simply transporting you to a clothing store.”

“I’m not transessing
anywhere
with you,” I vow.

His jaw hardens again and I know that I’m starting to irritate him.

Good.

“Fine,” he allows, snapping the necklace shut. “You take a shower. I will acquire some new clothes for you.”

Once he’s gone I find my way to the bathroom, run the water, and peel off my scorched garments. A slight sadness settles over me as I watch each layer of my seventeenth-century ensemble tumble to a heap at my feet.

It’s really over,
I realize. The dream Zen and I spent so long planning and perfecting is finished. No matter what happens after this, we can never go back there.

But admittedly, it
does
feel amazing to finally be out of those binding clothes. Like I’ve been liberated from fabric bondage.

And the hot water is wondrous on my skin. It’s been six months since I bathed in anything other than a cold tub. I turn in slow circles, letting it wash away the dirt and grime and smoky remnants of the past.

When I’m finished I turn off the faucet and step out of the stall. Kaelen is standing there holding an armful of clothing. I let out a shriek.

“What are you doing?!”

He seems confounded by the question. “Bringing you new clothes.”

I grab them out of his hand and use them to cover my wet, naked body, as there don’t appear to be any towels in this foreclosed apartment. “I mean in
here
. You’re not supposed to see me without clothes on.”

“Why?”

I remember when I, too, didn’t understand everyday social rules about dress codes and manners and propriety. But you learn fairly quickly when you live in the real world. As opposed to a lab.

“Because,” I say, making zero effort to hide my impatience, “it’s not appropriate. Now turn around.”

I can tell my explanation is unsatisfactory but regardless, he turns around, suspiciously watching me out of the corner of his eye until the last possible second.

“I’m not going to run,” I tell him. “I promise.”

Once his back is turned, I quickly survey the garments Kaelen brought me. Clamped to each item is a small metal tag with a dollar sign and a price scrolling across a transparent screen on the front.

“What did you do?” I ask, pulling an ugly brown sweater over my head. “
Steal
these?”

I could just picture him transessing into a store at night, after it was closed, grabbing random items off the rack, and then transessing out again.

He shrugs. “It was determined to be the least complicated method of obtaining suitable garments.”

I slide my legs into the loose-fitting pants and button them. “Okay,” I announce with a sigh, “you can turn around.”

As he does, I study my reflection in the mirror. The clothes are pretty hideous. And they’re way too big. I have to roll the waist of the pants to keep them from slipping right down to my ankles.

“Nice selection,” I say, content with my appropriate use of sarcasm. My foster brother, Cody, would be so proud. He was the one who first taught me the meaning of sarcasm. And so much more. I feel a pang in my chest at the memory of Cody. When I was lost and alone in the year 2013, he was the only one I could trust. Until Zen found me.

“Thank you,” Kaelen replies, taking my compliment literally. Clearly he was never taught the meaning of sarcasm either and the thought of being somehow more experienced than him in the ways of the world makes me feel extremely smug.

And grateful that I had Cody.

I flick my finger against one of the digital price tags. “I can’t walk around with these on.”

“Then remove them.”

I think back to the time my foster mother, Heather, took me to the mall and bought me new clothes. All the items had small metal clamps, similar to these, that she explained were programmed to set off an alarm if you tried to leave the store without paying for something. The cashier had to remove them with a special device.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I reply.

Kaelen hesitates before approaching me. I know he’s fearful of the proximity, just as I am. I can feel the pull as soon as he’s within a few feet of me. I grit my teeth in an attempt to endure it.