Jay Budgett: The Indigo Thief

I remembered the red ribbons that had danced in the water outside the subway car, and felt sick to my stomach. My knees collapsed and my face hit the sand.

There was no running.

There was no hiding.

The megalodons were here.

Charlie’s head throbbed and her chest ached. She remembered struggling in the water, holding on to Sandra’s little hand, and being thrown back by an explosion. She remembered the air being crushed from her lungs and her brain screaming for oxygen. She remembered sucking in a deep breath, and feeling water rush in, followed by a burning in her chest, and then nothing.

She flexed her arms and legs. Everything seemed to be in working order. She felt an IV that had been shoved into the crux of one arm. She propped herself on a pillow. She was lying in a bed.

She guessed she was in a hospital.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the walls were not white, but gray. Not a hospital at all. There weren’t fluorescent lights. No lights at all, save for the sliver that tumbled in from a window in the corner.

Charlie felt her chest. Someone had covered her in a cotton nightgown.

Where were her clothes? She pulled the covers from her legs and carefully touched a foot to the floor.

Concrete. More confirmation she wasn’t in a hospital.

“Hello!” she called. “Anyone there?”

No response.

The room was small and cold. Her hair hung around her shoulders, the messy bun and chopsticks long gone. She took a step away from the bed.

“ Movement in cell sixteen .” A metallic voice echoed in the room. It was the same voice that had announced the drill on the subway.

Lights flickered on, and Charlie saw that a toilet and sink stood next to her bed, across from a steel door.

This was a prison.

A slot in the door slid open. “Charlotte Minos?” The voice belonged to someone young—her own age, maybe even younger.

“Yes?” she said. She walked toward the slot. Her knees were still weak. The slot slammed shut.

“ Identification complete .”

The room’s lights dimmed. She waited by the door, but the slot stayed closed. She returned to her bed, closed her eyes, and imagined the sound of cars outside in the street. An engine rumbled and she snapped her eyes open. The rumbling ceased—it was just her imagination.

She heard a whimper and sat upright in her bed. “Hello?” she said.

No response, but the whimpering continued. She pressed her head against the wall. The sound came from a crack.

“Hello?” she asked again, this time louder.

Still no response.

She had to get their attention with something loud. She stared at the wheels on the base of her bed. If she’d learned anything from H.E.A.L., it was to never underestimate the screeching of rusty wheels. She couldn’t count the number of times a new kid had tried adjusting their bed in the middle of the night, only to wake up half the building.

She yanked the bed, and sure enough, its wheels screeched like nails on a chalkboard. Her ears were practically bleeding.

She pressed her head back against the wall. “Hello?” she asked again. “Anyone in there?”

The whimpering stopped. Nothing.

Then, finally: “Yes. I’m here.”

Charlie’s heart raced. “What’s your name?”

“Is that you, Charlie?”

Charlie recognized the woman’s voice. She’d known it for a long time. “Mrs. B! Yeah, it’s me, Charlie.”

She heard Kai’s mom sniff back tears. “I—I thought I would die here alone. Have they been hurting you? Is Kai in there with you?”

“No,” Charlie said. “He’s not right now, but everything’s gonna be okay. We’ll get out of here and find him, Mrs. B. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

There was a sharp knock at the door.

Charlie panicked. “Hang on, Mrs. B, I’ll be right back.” She pushed the bed back against the wall. The screech deafened her again.

“Knock, knock, little boy,” called a voice from the slot.

Little boy?

The door swung open, and the room’s fluorescent lights flashed to full brightness. Chancellor Hackner, the leader of the free world, stood before her. His hair was slicked back and his suit was tight against his chest. Three guards flanked him, their hair similarly slicked and their suits equally tight. Charlie guessed they’d used ten bottles of gel between them.

The chancellor’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his teeth big and white like pieces of gum. “Mind if we join you?”

Charlie pulled the covers to her chest. She’d seen his face before, on bubbling screens, but he looked different in person. His hair was shinier and his teeth a more unnatural shade of white. His blue eyes pierced her like knives. He sat himself on her bed’s edge, and she moved her feet so they wouldn’t touch him.

“I think,” he said, stretching an arm toward her knee, “that we both know why I’m here. So let’s cut the chitchat, little Lost Boy, shall we?”

She shook her head. “I—I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr. Chancellor. I don’t know why you’ve got me here. I haven’t done anything wrong. The last thing I remember was an explosion on the subway and taking in a big gulp of water. Nothing else.”

The chancellor raised an eyebrow and glanced at his men. “And you expect us to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Hardly.”

She tried remembering what had happened before the explosion. She’d lifted Sandra out of the water. “Does this have to do with the girl?” she asked. “The little one on the subway?”

Hackner patted his greasy black hair. “I suppose she is smaller in terms of stature. But I certainly wouldn’t call her little…”

“With all due respect, Mr. Chancellor, she was scared to death, crying when we found her.”

He burst into laughter and turned to his guards. “You hear that, gentlemen? Mila Vachowski was balled up in the back of the subway crying after the bombs went off.”

They, too, burst into laughter, though their faces betrayed fear.

Mila Vachowski—one of the Lost Boys. Did they think she had helped her? Was that why she was here?

Charlie shook her head. “I—I don’t think we’re talking about the same girl.”

“No?” Hackner raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t know Mila Vachowski or Kai Bradbury? Any of the Lost Boys?”

What were they talking about? Kai was just a normal kid, like her. “Kai Bradbury isn’t one of the Lost Boys,” she said.

His smile twisted into its familiar grin. “So you do know him?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, I do. But he has nothing to do with the Lost Boys.”

Hackner smirked. “Just like you, huh, sweetheart?” He stretched a hand toward her leg. She swatted it away.

“You’re disgusting.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think that we believe your lies for even a second, Miss Charlotte Minos. Or should I say Charlie? Your H.E.A.L. file said you preferred your friends call you that.”

“You’re not my friend.”

“Ah, Charlie,” he said, “that’s where you’re wrong. In time, I think you’ll find we’ll become quite good friends. You just need more time to think. To clear your head and remember the truth. A bit of fasting ought to do the trick.”

“Sage!” he called to someone in the hall. “Would you remove Charlie’s IV? She’s recovering just fine, but have the kitchen hold her meals. She doesn’t seem to have her appetite yet.”

And with that, he was gone. A girl’s small frame replaced him in the doorway. Sage, Charlie guessed. The light caught her glazed eyes—she was blind. Despite this, she expertly navigated the room.

“Arm, please,” Sage ordered. Charlie held out her arm, and the girl withdrew the needle.