To catch up on the last few episodes:
Fiction Relay — Part 34 (by me)
Fiction Relay — Part 35 (by KC)
Fiction Relay — Part 36 (by TRG)
Fiction Relay — Part 37 (by Joanne)
Fiction Relay — Part 38 (by KC)
To catch up on the entire story, you can link to the very first post, and all subsequent posts, from the Fiction Relay Homepage. (Or, you can cheat and read the cliff-notes on the Fiction Relay Summary page.)
Sanderson — or whatever his name really was — directed his gray gaze at Meagan. His smirk deepened. She cringed beneath the weight of his stare. His words, the things he’d insinuated, were a jumbled, confusing mess in her brain. Melissa wasn’t her sister, except maybe in the sense that they’d been raised together in the orphanage. Melissa had been the daughter of Sanders, the orphanage’s director — the man who’d run insidious tests on all of them until that night of the fire — and there was no way Meagan was related to him.
Then again, she couldn’t remember anything about her own parents…. Wait, no, maybe she could… it was right there, on the edge of her mind, just out of reach….
And if Sanders was the orphanage’s director, and Sanderson was his son…. Only the man in front of them said Sanderson was his son, which would make him Sanders…. How would that be possible? He didn’t look anything like the Dr. Sanders she remembered — and she’d never forget the man who’d tortured her for years! Only… what if, somehow, he was? And he’d had her own daughter under his thumb for the past eight years!
A cry escaped her lips. “I don’t care about your stupid Club or its secrets! I want my daughter!” She pounded her fist on the table. “Where is she?”
“She is here, in this building,” Sanderson said. An amused quirk tugged at his lips. “Interesting that you cannot sense her. And I must point out again that it is similarly interesting that you did not track her here. Rather, you were tracking something else. Perhaps it was fate: maybe you were tracking the mission to fulfill my request.”
“I’m not going on a mission for you! I — !”
She was cut off by a scream of pain that filled the room. Meagan, Jose, Ephraim, and Sam jumped and looked around. Everyone — even the three brick-wall guards — seemed unnerved. Everyone except Sanderson.
Sam suddenly saw an image inside Sanderson’s head: a blue-haired teenager strapped to a table, just like the one he’d been strapped to so many times. She was being probed, like he’d been. Like they’d all been.
“Samantha!” Sam gasped. “No!” His blood boiled. With a snarl he elbowed his captor, broke free, and lunged at Sanderson. Grabbing the man by the throat he pinned him up against the wall. Sanderson began to gag. He clawed at Sam’s hand. Sam forced his way into Sanderson’s thoughts, searching for the man’s darkest fears to unleash on him. But, like before, he was met with only a bottomless abyss. He pulled back, only to see Sanderson glaring at him with malicious gray eyes that turned black. And a face that was turning red. “Let her go, you sick fuck!” Sam growled.
Suddenly Sam’s own airway was cut off as his brick wall yanked him backward in a choke-hold. As soon as Sam was clear of Sanderson, another brick wall came up and smashed a fist into Sam’s jaw.
“Sam!” Meagan screamed as he went down. She jumped to her feet and ran toward him. Ephraim ducked low, sending his own brick wall into a flip, and turned toward the fight. Sanderson held up a hand. The brick walls instantly re-grabbed Sam, Ephraim, and Meagan, holding them in place, even though it was clear they wanted to beat the shit out of them. For a second, Sam thought he saw Sanderson’s eyes go black as he glared at him again, but then the man turned his attention back to Meagan.
“I need you to retrieve something for me,” he said, sounding as calm and unruffled as though he hadn’t just been proved human. Or at least part-human. “A small box. It is there.” He stood aside, allowing the distant, blue mountain to come into full view, and nodded toward it.
The room swam before Ephraim. Scenes flashed before him:
Time before time. Blood. An angry young man, straining to get near the mountain. He had a mane of dark hair, and his skin glowed golden, like a god. But his eyes burned black like hell-coals. An aura of red surrounded him. The young man tried again and again, over many ages, but the force that had been set to shield the mountain was stronger. In a final rage, the young man tried one more time. The strain turned his hair white. He fell to the ground, weakened, and was only saved from nothingness when he absorbed his form into a passing coyote. For several years, he rested inside the coyote, regaining his strength by eating humans, sometimes savaging entire villages. He was feared, like a god, and this assuaged some of his anger. But then, when he tried to arise and break free, he discovered he was tethered to the earth, and his form to the coyote’s. From then on his blood-lust truly knew no bounds. Through years, a coyote-man in various stages — sometimes more coyote, sometimes more man — approached the mountain. Always he was turned away, as if by an invisible force. His rage, however, only grew.
Ephraim shuddered, still feeling the coyote-man’s rage as the flash dissolved. He heard Sam speak, next to him.
“Your damn box is on the mountain? Get it yourself.”
“Not ‘on,’” Sanderson corrected. “In. It is inside the mountain. And you,” he turned back to Meagan, “are uniquely qualified to retrieve it for me. Do you have any idea how rare a gift it is for one to be able to teleport?” His eyes danced with greed. “It is a talent I’d wished your darling daughter had possessed. Alas. Well, you are back with me now, and you do seem to have demonstrated this ability a few times recently, haven’t you? Bring me my box, and you can have your daughter back.”
“This isn’t really a request, is it. I don’t really have a choice.” Meagan said.
“Choice, no choice. Semantics.” Sanderson waved the notion away with his fingers.
“Fine,” she agreed with a scowl. “Your box, my daughter.” Sanderson smiled; her brick wall released her.
“She’s not going alone,” Sam growled.
“Agreed,” Ephraim nodded.
Sanderson shrugged indifference, and their brick walls released them, though they hovered at the ready for a false move by Sam or Ephraim.
“You will need a guide?” Jose asked, rising from his seat and walking toward them. He paused, the question in his eyes.
“Yes,” Meagan said. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said, but….”
“But what, Spencer?” Blue asked.
“Well, it’s like it wasn’t really coming from him. Like, I don’t know, something’s just off.” He plopped on the sofa in his room, stretched out, and glanced over at Blue, who lay sprawled on her stomach across his bed. “What-evs.”
“So, basically, you stopped me from going back to get my bike because of ‘what-evs?’”
“Love you, too, babe.”
“What about my mom? How did she look? Was she okay?”
“As far as I could tell. Your dad might’ve been roughed up a bit, though.”
“Couldn’t give a shit,” she muttered. “He deserves it.” Suddenly, she propped up — arms straight, palms on the bed — alert. “She’s leaving the building!” Blue scrambled to her feet.
“Who?” Spencer asked, swinging his feet to the floor.
“My mom! Come on, let’s follow!”
Next at-bat with the Relay: TRG!