Second Chance Fate Page 2

  Nobody pushed my head down like on TV. Bowing my head to hide the tears welling up in my eyes, I sat in the back of the sheriff's car. The journey went by in a blur. The sheriff put on sirens and lights and drove like the fate of the world depended on us getting to the station as quickly as possible.

  When we arrived at the building, Sheriff Webster opened the door and asked me politely to follow him. Nobody touched me, nobody tried to restrain me. But when we entered the police station, all chatter stopped. As one, every single officer in the large room turned towards me and stared. I knew every single one of them by name, but not one of them talked to me or tried to make me feel better.

  I'd never felt this uncomfortable, not even when I’d been a new student in the local elementary school. And believe me, kids really know how to stare when you show up in the middle of the school year. I kept my eyes down as we walked past a dozen police officers, but as soon as I’d passed, the whispering started.

  "I heard she burned down Riverside."

  "Did you hear she put, like, fifty people into the hospital?"

  "Do you think she did it on purpose?"

  It sounded as if they were thinking I was responsible for the lightning storm. Which was ridiculous. How the hell could I be responsible for conjuring up lightning? I was just a normal seventeen-year-old. Even if I were magical—which I was not—I’d never heard of that kind of power in anybody.

  I was glad when we rounded the corner and were out of sight of the bullpen. The sheriff had kept walking, not saying a word to stop the whispering. Halfway down the hallway, he inserted his key into the second door on the right. His jaw was clenched, and his shoulders hovered near his ears. The tension radiating off him made me nervous. Was it because of me? Or was he upset for another reason?

  Sheriff Webster pulled out a chair and asked me to sit down. The room was spartan, painted institution-gray with a huge mirror set against one of the walls. I had watched enough police procedurals to know this was an interrogation room, and that there were likely officers listening in on the other side of the mirror.

  "I'm really sorry, Amber. For all it’s worth, I don't think you did it on purpose. But if you can do what we think you can, you are a great danger to all of us.”

  Beads of sweat dotted Sheriff Webster’s hairline. Funny I hadn't noticed it before. Our eyes met, and the fear in his was palpable.

  “Unfortunately, it’s regulation to handcuff you to the table."

  My eyes widened in shock. As if it weren't bad enough to be dragged in here like a criminal, now I had to be handcuffed? I held out my wrist, but the sheriff’s hands shook so hard, I had to help him put the metal ring on.

  The man’s terror was beginning to irritate me, because hello? Seventeen-year-old high-schooler here. What did he think I was going to do? Whack him over the head and run?

  When I was finally secured to his satisfaction, his shoulders dropped in relief. "Is there anything you need? Water? Some food?"

  I hadn't eaten since lunch, but I had that floaty feeling in my stomach that precedes getting sick. And to be honest, I didn't think the vending machine out in the hallway had anything I’d like to eat anyway.

  “I’d like some water, please.”

  He left and returned with a glass of still water. I emptied it quickly, gulping down the cool liquid. When I was finished, he picked up the empty glass and walked out of the door, leaving me by myself.

  And then I waited. And waited. And waited. I didn't have my cell phone so had no idea how much time had passed. At some stage I nodded off, and my head fell forward and jerked me awake. My neck hurt, and I rubbed the muscles and tendons with my free hand.

  The neon light above me hummed at an irritatingly high frequency. The air in the room was dense and getting stuffier the longer they made me wait. My head was beginning to hurt again.

  I used the fingertips of my free hand to rub my temples. It took me a while to notice that the skin of my fingers was buzzing. The sensation was increasing the harder I rubbed against my skull until a buildup of static stung my skin.

  "Ouch, that hurt," I muttered as I shook out my hand. Then I stared at my fingertips as if I’d never seen them before. What was going on? How was I able to give myself a static shock just by rubbing my head?

  The more I waited, the more my imagination went into overdrive. Could it be true after all that the lightning strikes were down to me? How would that even be possible? But the sheriff seemed to have been so sure I was responsible for all the damage. Leaning my head back, I stared at the ceiling, closed my eyes and wished with all my heart I was doing homework on my bed.

  The rattling of a key pulled me out of my daydream. I stared at the door with something like hope. Finally, something was happening. Maybe somebody would listen, and I could go home and forget this had ever happened.

  The door swung open, and a man in a black suit entered. I knew immediately this guy was a Fed. He even wore black sunglasses, for goodness' sake. A walking cliché. I stared at him, trying to look behind the tinted glasses.

  The man took a few steps until he stood directly in front of the table I was handcuffed to. I still couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was studying me. If I hadn't felt so vulnerable and alone, I’d have rolled my eyes at the dramatic pause. And they say teenagers are drama queens.

  I was just about to make a pithy comment when he took his glasses off. Sharp eyes in an ordinary face were trained on me.

  "So you are the girl responsible for the death of three civilians."

  3

  I blinked. Surely I must have misheard. The man continued watching me, waiting for a reaction. I blinked again. My mind had gone blank. I didn't know what to say. Should I deny the ridiculous allegation? Maybe this whole thing was a setup, a joke. I had no idea who would do something as cruel as that, but the situation was so surreal, there seemed to be no other explanation.

  The corners of my mouth twitched upwards before I could stop myself. I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to hold in the nervous giggle.

  The man's eyebrows rose as if he were surprised by my reaction. I wanted to say, "What did you expect? Throwing something that stupid at me, how am I not supposed to laugh?"

  His cool gaze held mine until my giggles subsided. When I was quiet again, he said calmly, "This is not a joke. It's your fault these people died."

  "But how? I didn't do anything. I literally just walked home, and all hell broke loose.”

  The man nodded as if agreeing with me. "I believe you. I know you didn't mean to do it, but it's your fault nonetheless."

  I took a deep breath, shaking my head from side to side. "I don't understand. Why are you holding me here?"

  My head was throbbing, and my stomach cramped without warning. I bent over and pushed my arm against my middle. My skin was crawling as if tiny ants were running up and down my arms. My scalp tingled, and my hair seemed to sway of its own accord. My ears were buzzing so harshly that I missed him calling my name.

  “Amber. Amber.”

  When I looked up, the man seemed alarmed. His voice wasn’t quite as authoritative as before. “Take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Is this how you felt before the lightning storm started?"

  I nodded. That's exactly how it had felt.

  "Let me explain what’s happening. You already know there is no way to test for the effects of the Super-CEMP fallout. We’ve since learned that minors and young adults are more severely impacted than older adults. We've been tracking—"

  I interrupted. "Sorry, who is we?"

  "We, that is the Federal Bureau for Magical Activities, have been tracking all incidents related to magical accidents. Some of you have been showing extraordinary abilities. But all of you are dangerous as long as you're untrained."

  I’d heard rumors about the FBMA. They were never mentioned on the news, made no headlines, but everybody knew they existed. And here I was, being interrogated by one of their agents.

  “Could I have a glass of
water, please?” I asked, feeling suddenly faint again. The agent nodded, glancing at the large mirrored window. It took barely a minute before the door opened, and a nervous young man entered. He placed a glass of water in front of me and nearly ran back out of the room.

  I nodded at the mirror and said, "Thank you."

  The agent's eyes tightened just the slightest bit as if suppressing a smile. He waited until I picked up the glass and took a small sip. Lukewarm and stale. My favorite. I pulled a grimace, glaring at the glass, before my attention snapped to him at his next words.

  "You’re in a very difficult situation. On the one hand, you’re a killer."

  Man, the guy wasn’t sugarcoating it. His words pulled me straight back to my situation. Was I really responsible for the death of people I’d never even seen? Every time I thought of it, my stomach dropped. But the agent carried on as unstoppable as an avalanche.

  "On the other hand, it's not your fault. I'm sure you're a perfectly nice teenage girl, and it's not fair this happened to you. But your abilities make you a danger to society. We can't allow this to happen again. I'm sure you understand."

  I sat up straighter. Understand what? Suddenly, I was scared. The tingling on my skin increased.

  "What are you going to do to me?" I didn't like the way my voice shook.

  The man had gotten up and took a step back. "You have a choice, Amber. We run a facility that was originally set up to train magic-born students. But its remote location makes it ideal to help people like you as well. You’d receive training to control your magical ability, and you’d leave with a college degree. Of course, until we've decided you’re no longer a danger, you’d have to stay there. But once you show some control, there is no reason why you couldn't visit your family again."

  What? Did that mean I wouldn't be seeing my parents any time soon? "How long does it take to learn control?"

  The man shrugged. "It depends. Most students are able to leave for supervised visits after two years."

  I reeled back in shock. "Two years? Are you kidding me? I'm not allowed to see my parents for two years? Or my friends? Are you insane? You can't hold me against my will!"

  The agent raised both hands and said soothingly, "Look, I know it's hard. But this is the best we can offer you. You wouldn't like the other option."

  "What's the other option?"

  The man backed up even further until he was within reach of the door handle. "The other option is to lock you away in an underground bunker facility until the day you die. I'm very sorry, Amber."

  I hardly noticed that he opened the door and left. My head was killing me, and the tingling on my skin had become painful. My fingertips felt as if they were on fire. I stared at them, mesmerized by a purple aura emanating from the skin. I rubbed my fingers together, and tiny threads of lightning arced between my nails.

  I was so distracted I didn't look up again until a strange, biting smell invaded my nostrils. At first, I was worried the migraine was affecting my eyes. I could barely see the walls through the haze. Then I realized white smoke was filling the room.

  Shit, they’re gassing me. I tried to hold my breath, but eventually my lungs screamed for air, and I opened my mouth. The taste was disgusting, bitter and cloying. It hurt my chest. A coughing fit overtook me.

  Gasping in panic, I inhaled more of the toxic fumes. I jumped up, forgetting I was tethered by one arm. The pain in my wrist was excruciating, but not enough to drown out my panic. I wanted to live, not suffocate like a dog on the floor of my local sheriff's station.

  Tears streamed down my face as I choked on the noxious fumes. My vision wavered and my knees buckled. Finally, I collapsed on the chair. My head hit the table top and my eyesight dimmed. With the last bit of my strength, I whispered, “I’m so sorry, Mom, Dad. Please forgive me.”

  4

  Time had no meaning. I was aware of movement, of being lifted, of drifting in and out of consciousness without ever reaching the surface. At one stage, a male voice shouted, “She’s crashing.”

  Rhythmic pressure on my chest hurt like hell, and then I fell back into darkness. Another time, cold plastic covered my face, and air entered my nose.

  When I finally drifted back to wakefulness, I opened my eyes and stared at a white ceiling I didn’t recognize. I blinked several times, so tired it wouldn’t have taken much to knock me out again.

  A man stepped into my vision. He was dressed in a curry-colored sweater over a denim shirt. Maybe in his mid-thirties, although my eyes were so dry, everything was a little hazy.

  “Here. Drink this.”

  He held a straw against my parched lips. I sucked, and sweet, cold water filled my mouth.

  “Easy. Not too fast. You don’t want to get sick.”

  I sucked again, a little slower this time. Holding the liquid in my mouth, I fell back against the soft pillow. Where was I? Definitely not home.

  As if he could read my thoughts, the man said, “You’re safe here. My name is Strickland. Malcolm Strickland.”

  He was handsome, in the way my dad looked okay. A carefully trimmed beard accentuated his tanned skin and sharp jawline. He smiled, although I was sure he could glare just as easily. His whole demeanor screamed teacher.

  “Before you ask, you’re at the Farkas Academy for Magical Advancement.”

  What? The events leading me here came rushing back. Everything the man in black had told me was true. I blinked several times as tears pricked my eyes. Noticing my distress, Mr. Strickland took my hand.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re safe now. Follow the rules, use the time here to learn as much as you can, and you’ll be fine. There are many like you here—kids who can’t control their powers, and others who don’t even know what they are yet. Each of you has individual magic, and I’m here to help you make sense of it. I’m in charge of the freshman class, so anytime you need help, come and find me.”

  I was freaking out again. My heart beat in my neck, and my head hurt like crazy. What was going on? Was I having a heart attack? My breath came quicker and quicker, and an alarmed expression crossed Mr. Strickland’s face. A machine next to my bed beeped loudly, and within seconds a nurse rushed in. While I lay there gasping, she administered something into the drip I hadn’t even noticed.

  As I fell into darkness, the nurse said, “Her powers are so new, they’re overwhelming her system. She crashed on the way in. The dampeners should help.”

  Then my eyes drifted shut, and I was out.

  The next time I woke up, I was alone, and the drip was gone. I sat up and eyed a door inside my room, hoping like hell it might be a bathroom. I swung my legs to the ground and stood up. Whoa. Fighting a wave of dizziness, I held onto the bed frame until I was steady. Then I made my way to the little room that contained a shower, a toilet, and a small sink.

  Shampoo and shower gel were supplied along with several surprisingly soft towels. They’d even thought of a brand-new hairbrush and toothbrush in its original packaging. I relieved myself and had a quick shower. All I needed now were fresh clothes, and I’d feel human again. Well, as human as a magically altered girl could feel.

  I opened the bathroom door and reeled back in surprise. A tall woman stood with her back to me, staring out the window. As I walked towards my bed, she turned, her gaze direct and penetrating.

  “Ah, you must be Amber. Welcome to my academy. My name is Anna Farkas.”

  She pronounced the name with a sh at the end. Her accent was hard to place. Maybe Eastern European? When she shook my hand, her grip was firm, and her smile tight. Her eyes matched the blackness of her hair. She was at least a head taller than me and exuded an air of authority. There was a fierceness about her that demanded my respect right from the outset.

  “I’m sure you have lots of questions. Please ask me whatever you want. I’ll try to answer as honestly as possible.”

  Oh my God, I had so many questions. Closing my eyes, I sorted through the jumbled mess inside my head. There w
as one answer I craved more than any other.

  “When will I be able to go home?”

  Ms. Farkas regarded me silently. The plaintive tone of my voice had made me sound like a child. Suddenly it was very important to me to be taken seriously. I stood up straighter and waited for an answer that took far too long to come. Finally she replied.

  “That depends on you. Outside of the academy, there are forces that will try to extinguish your very existence. In here, you’re a student. Nothing more, nothing less. Once you’ve demonstrated you’re in control, you will be able to leave on supervised visits. When that is, is up to you.”

  Tears pricked my eyes, and I wiped them away impatiently. What she’d told me, what everybody so far had told me, was that it might be months, even years, before I’d see my family and my friends again.

  There was another question burning on my tongue. I was afraid to ask because forming the words would make them real. But I had to know. So quietly that I wasn’t sure she’d hear me, I asked, “Did I really kill three people?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut like a little kid, afraid to hear the answer. A warm hand touched mine. The sorrow in Ms. Farkas’s voice cut me to the bone.

  “Yes, Amber. People died. And it’s okay to feel sad and guilty while you mourn all you’ve lost. I know this is hard for you. You are still young, and you didn’t ask for any of this. But I want you to take your emotions and use them to become the best person you can be. You’ve been given a second chance by coming here. Don’t waste it.”

  I couldn’t bear her looking at me. Sitting down on the bed, I burrowed my face in the cover while sobs tore through me like the lightning storm that had destroyed my life. I barely heard the door close as Ms. Farkas left the room.

  5