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“Albert Cunningham is here. He would like to check up on his security.” The man exclaims.
“Really? Now? Can you tell him that I am busy testing out the new Cuffs, but I will come out only because I am such a generous person?” she sighs, although her voice is too floaty and buoyant for it to sound sad. “Is he alone?”
“I have one of my technicians-in-training here with me,” Mr. Cunningham answers quickly, “can we go now?”
“No, he has a technician with him,” he says into his radio. He looks at me with steely brown eyes. “I assume that you are civilised, correct?”
I don’t know quite what to say. Do I lie and say that I am civilised? But then what if he asks for my mark? I don’t have one, so then he will know I am lying. I am about to stutter something unintelligible so that I can break the silence without actually saying anything that would get me too much in trouble when Albert intervenes. “She’s currently 14, so her result is still undetermined.”
The man nods like he understands completely. I am incredibly offended that Albert just called me two years younger than my real age, and even more offended that the man believed him without a second thought. I’m not that small, am I?
“Let them through,” I hear the lady say through the radio and before I even blink, the house opens in half. Albert drives the car into the middle of the house; it closes behind us and we descend on a circular platform.
“What… how did-?” I stammer. How in the world did the house just split in HALF?
“It’s probably best if I don’t bother explaining it to you.” Albert suggests, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Put on these,” he conveniently passes me a pair of sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat from a compartment in-between us.
I consider asking why he keeps disguises in his car, as that seems like the question that I should be asking, however I begin to go with a more practical question and ask sceptically, “Why do I need them?”
“It’s your disguise. You shouldn’t be here, and if anyone recognises you, it’s going to cause a lot of unnecessary problems. If anyone asks, pretend you don’t talk.”
I laugh, “there is no way I’m pretending to be mute. I’d rather be called 14.”
“Don’t complain,” he snaps, “it isn’t an unreasonable assumption, and it saved us both from a lot of troubling questions that we don’t have time for.”
I can’t be bothered to waste my breath arguing about my height, and instead I shrug and put on the sunglasses. I wind down the window and look at my reflection in the little mirror outside the car. The sunglasses are thin-rimmed black, with a rounded bottom. The hat is also black, and big enough to cover the majority of my face. I think the disguise will probably attract more attention, since I will be wearing a hat and sunglasses indoors, but I keep my opinion to myself. If I get caught out…well, we’ll just cross that bridge when we get there.
As I’m looking at my reflection in the car mirror, I trace my finger against the polarising scar that you can still see poking out of the sunglasses. I catch Albert looking at me with what almost seems like a sympathetic smile, but I simply shrug away this idea. He is the one that gave me this scar, or at least the torture he put me through did this. He doesn’t like me. He never has, and he never will. Not a single thing will ever change the fact that I am nothing to him.
Except the more time I spend with him, the more I am starting to doubt the picture I created in my mind of him. There is no doubt that he is a murderer, but that’s all I used to label him as. I used to think his blood ran completely ice cold, but the worry that lines his face suggests to me that there might be a part of his icy heart that has thawed enough to care about his son.
“Won’t this still be obvious?” I point my scar out to Albert, staring at it so harshly, reminding myself of what he has done. I cannot allow myself to even think of him as anything but a murderer. The world is too dangerous to allow me such fantasies. I think of the streets of Beast Eye, lined with the starving, dying people. He did that.
He is the villain.
And if I don’t stop him, he is going to eventually kill us all.
“Hopefully not. Just don’t think about it and people won’t think anything of it either. If anyone asks, you’re going to be mute anyway, so just ignore them.” Before I can tell him that there is no way I’m pretending to be mute again, the platform stops moving and the car rolls into a massive white garage with rows and rows of fancy-looking cars. ‘I will have to remember this place when the gang needs a car.’ I think with a smirk. Albert drives the car around and parks near a white door.
“Welcome Albert Cunningham,” a voice, much like the one from the elevator at Calveron, speaks as he gets out of the car. We make our way briskly over to the entrance and when Albert places his hand on the door, it immediately swings open for him.
“Hurry,” he says. These must be the same doors that I went through with Albert back at Calveron. The ones that won’t accept me because I’m not civilised. I rush through the door and come into a hallway. Everything about the building, from the white walls to the endless corridor reminds me vaguely of Calveron. It’s like someone has tried to make a different puzzle, but with the same puzzle pieces. This place looks the same, but something about it feels different. More sinister.
There are less people walking around, and the ones that are, are dressed in black suits with stern frowns on their faces. “Follow me, and please try to look like you belong.” I speed up my pace to keep up with him, straighten my posture, push the glasses up my nose and adjust my hat so that I am not recognised.
We get to the end of the hallway and when I see that there is an elevator, my heart beats rapidly. I think I’ve had my fair share of elevators for the rest of my life. “Are there stairs?” I ask, trying not to sound as freaked out as I feel.
The only reason I survived in the elevator with Albert back at Calveron was because I was fuelled by adrenalin. Although the rush and determination is still there, it has dulled enough for me to know that I cannot be stuck in another elevator without experiencing another nightmare.
“Stairs? Why do you want stairs?” Albert demands, his expression filled with an impatient anger. In an instant, he is towering over me, and I am back to being the small girl cowering beneath him.
Any impression I had of him tolerating me is gone.
He is the same monster that I knew when I was eight years old. Nothing has changed because people don’t change. It’s just the way of the world.
“Fine,” I say, standing as straight as I can, determined to be stronger than him. Stronger than myself. “Elevator then.” I look down at my white shoes that blend in with the immaculate white tiles.
* * *
