She nodded and left to get me lunch. Or dinner. I wasn't sure of the time.
After I downed a cold, limp turkey sandwich and green Jell-O, Dr. Sato declared me fit for bed rest in my own room. She unhooked me from the IV and went to sign me out.
My knees wobbled a bit as I began to dress, checking my body for anything abnormal. Nothing.
The walls kept me steady as I made my way through the Clinic. Just as the starch had returned to my legs....
'Sam! Sam! Where are you?'
"I'm here, at the clinic. I got sick. You feel so close. I want to be near you, in person, not just as a thought."
'Me too. Someday soon, I promise.'
I started following the sound of his thoughts, wandering through the halls, but the secure-password/scan-protected door stopped me short. Only certain staff members had clearance into that section of the Clinic.
But he was in there.
If anyone found out about this, I would be in trouble. But how would they know? They couldn't read my mind. Or could they? I put my hand on the forbidden door, trying to get closer to him. I needed to see him, to touch him and feel him.
'You shouldn't put yourself at risk. Don't get caught.'
"I just need to find you. Maybe I can get the drugs out of your system, and you can escape."
'Not without you. I'd never leave you here.'
My body melted against the door. I would have given anything in that moment to have Luke's powers. I could just walk through everything that stood between me and Drake.
"Sam, what are you doing here?" Dr. Sato stood behind me, fists on slight hips, glaring at me.
"I don't know. I'm sorry. I started feeling dizzy and got disoriented. I was just looking for a place to sit down." A simple lie made possible by a lifetime of acting.
Her composure softened. "You should have waited for the guard to escort you back to your room. Maybe you stay here is better."
She helped me up and guided me to her office. I sat down on her love seat, fighting waves of nausea but trying to hide it.
"Here. Drink."
I took the juice and drank greedily. My energy surged as the sugar hit my system.
I sighed and set the empty cup on the coffee table in front of me. "I'm feeling better. You said it's just the flu, right? My fever broke. There's no reason I can't recover in the comfort of my room."
"Yes, okay, but come back if you feel dizzy or nauseous, or if any other odd symptoms persist."
"I will."
She picked up her phone, and a moment later, a guard—It's Gar!—came in with a wheelchair. I groaned, just wanting to get home, but I felt better knowing Gar would be my escort.
***
Once we made it past prying ears I twisted to look at him. "Did you get demoted? This hardly seems a fitting job for one of your skill."
He didn't make eye contact with me. He didn't so much as twitch his face, but his voice hit my mind with force.
'I'm just here to keep you safe. That's my job.'
I pried deeper into his mind and saw that he had developed a soft spot for me after our assignment. It looked like I had my own guardian angel.
He dropped me at my dorm, walked me to my room, and then left without saying another word.
I dressed in my flannel pajamas and crawled into bed before I tried contacting Drake again.
On the one hand, a constant telepathic connection with him created a deep emotional intimacy. On the other hand, I needed him to be real and tangible, not just a voice.
"Drake, can you hear me?"
'Yes, what happened?'
I told him about my new friend and the trip back to my room. "Want to see something?"
'Sure.'
I'd been able to project the image of my painting to him; maybe I could do the same now. My tidy room, my closet with the door hanging open, the oak dresser and matching desk, a MacBook sitting on top of it—I imagined my mind as a computer, sending every captured image via email.
"Can you see what I'm showing you?" I didn't expect it to work. Vomiting and fevers didn't put me at my strongest.
'Is that your bedroom?'
"Yes!"
'It's nice. Cozy. Are those pictures of your friends on the wall?'
"Lucy and Luke, yes. And some other kids from class field trips."
'You're very pretty.'
"Thank you."
'Have you had a happy life here?'
Given his childhood memories, I could understand his curiosity. As bad as things had become, my life had been pretty good by comparison.
"That's tricky to answer. It's hard to miss what you never had, but when I read books, see TV shows or visit other families, I wonder what my life would have been like raised in a family. I guess I've always done my job knowing that when I turn eighteen, I'll be free to do what I want. I now have enough control not to put myself or others at risk. When I feel your visions, I know that my life has been pretty good compared to what you've endured."