"What is this place? Where are we?" Myriah asked in the same language the man had spoken. She gasped after she asked the question.
'How can I speak this language when I don't even know what language it is?'
She looked from the stranger to her hand, this time the tingling felt different, it felt like a current was flowing through her body to her hand....
She tilted her head again, 'what is going on? What is this sensation?'
The hairs on the back of her neck started to stand up; Myriah brought her hand to her chest to feel her heart pounding. 'Is this anxiety?' She wondered as she acknowledged the foreign sensation of ice cold fingers beginning to wrap around her heart. 'Is this what fear feels like?'
"We are in a facility young one." The stranger answered after what seamed like a decent pause.
Myriahs breath hitched, 'that's right..'
Her mind raced through years and years of history that she learned from her mother…
***
It began with "consenting" research reaching as far back as 2017. The conspiracy was revealed when families illegally traveling from Mexico to America were detained, separated and placed in "camps". Conspiracies started to blow up when it was learned that it was the children being separated from their parents. It became an even bigger issue when over 5000 children went missing.
Upon further investigation which was kept quiet by America herself, there was evidence that the mysterious kidnappings went further back, possibly as far back as 1990. The paper trail lead to a small town scientist by the name of Alexander Whitman. A loving father and doting husband with two sons and a daughter. A devoted citizen who was part of the neighborhood watch… with more questions than answers the case was eventually cast aside.
Until the year 2019.
When a foreign virus spread across the globe, spreading mass panic and hysteria… with the pandemic, came the gruesome discovery of 500 children drowned in the Rio Grande In early 2020…
***
"… They never leave…" the finailty of the boys words rang in Myriahs ears. She let that sit for a moment as she thought back to news reports she had seen on such facilities… 'I always thought the people came home …' Myriah though back to that she seeing the massive grey army vans that she would ask her mother about as they slowly trudged by.
"They're here to protect us." Her mother would answer in a tone that left no room for further questions…
Myriahs eyes widened, 'Did the trucks bring people here? Is that how I got here?'
Her mind wondered to the boy across from her. How did he end up here? How long has he been here? Myriah shook her head as the answer to her questions had her more scared than she was before.
'Based on what I know: this is a facility. Facilities are typically for recovery… or for research… but…why would he be hurt?'
His voice sounded raspy which suggested dehydration, fatigue, the list could be endless…
Myriah took deep breath In order to calm her racing heart. She needed to remain calm lest her mind get the better of her and she not survive. The thought of not surviving made Myriah cringe further with fear. Though awkward and different, the girl had always looked forward to her High school years. She secretly craved a thrilling romance where the hero would sweep her off her feet with awkward advances and genuine romances. Myriah shook those thoughts away in favor of the more pertinent one: 'how am I going to escape?'
***
Myriah, for all she was worth, couldn't imagine the thought of being tortured on the daily. She looked around the cell for the umpteenth time and sighed as she felt hopeless despair wiggle it's way into her mind.
'The key is composure…'
The problem with that was… Myriah didn't even know what type of situation she was in. She only knew that if she didn't find a way out, she would die here as countless others had. The thought served to spark a dormant fire within her. The hum she felt in her fingertips hummed louder. It was like turning a sink faucet… steady and unknown. The boy across from her decided to speak up again: "When you were brought in, you were a child." He observed making Myriah's head snap in his direction. "Now you look like a woman." The man murmured absently. Myriah tilted her head as new dread filled her, now she looked like a woman? That would mean that she grew. Growing means that time passed. 'How long have I been here? Is it even possible to sleep for over a year without being in an actual hospital?'
"If I can be bold.." the boy spoke up again, "You are quite beautiful." He said just above a whisper. Making Myriah blush.
"You are correct in your assessment, number 3301309036." Myriah froze at the familiar voice. It was the gentle tone that would chastise her when she pushed too hard… hearing this familiar tone in this setting filled her heart with new dread as she watched any chance she had of escaping flutter away with each step he took in her direction.
'No…'
Myriah felt her chest clench tighter and tighter with every step that brought him closer to her. 'I must still be dreaming…' The feeling was racing through her body, weakening her mind and sending her heart into overdrive.
'What is this? Betrayal? Anger? Disappointment?'
"I've always told her when she was a little girl, that she would make a beautiful woman." The voice close to her. 'How … how would he know that I'm here? Why… isn't he protecting me? Or- or demanding justice …' Myriah slowly turned around to face the carrier of the voice.
"I am relieved to say that I'm right." Lavender met dark brown and a silent battle of wills began.
"Father…" the lavender eyed girl greeted the man in a shaky voice. Seeing him in his lab coat, with a clipboard in his hand, staring at her as if she were another of his experiments.
'I… I'm your daughter...' she wondered helplessly as he examined her thoroughly, as if appraising some rare jewel. Eyes that resembled charcoal, sandy brown hair that was combed to the side. He stood over a head taller than her with the effects of time etched onto a handsome face. Myriah begrudgingly looked into the eyes of Alexander Whitman III. Her 54 year old adopted father. "Hello #33010130. How are we feeling today?"