Out of Darkness: The Creation of Jack, #1

Prologue

Breaking Point

Air. Where was the air? Her chest was on fire-screaming for life sustaining air and it was worse than the breathlessness that came after sprinting a mile: she couldn't breathe in. If she did, the other sustainer of life, water, would fill her lungs. At present she was more afraid of the water than the fire. Soon. It had to be soon. They wouldn't drown her would they? Oh please be soon!

Her thoughts were getting lethargic and fuzzy. What was going on? I'm drowning. The thought was calm and straightforward, like it came from someone else. It could've been funny if it didn't hurt so much. Why did it have to hurt?! Suddenly a hand from far away was pulling her hair, jerking her head back up. She felt air touch a face. Was it hers? A desperate gasp for air broke the silence and almost made her jump. Things began to become real again. That was me gasping. I didn't tell myself to gasp for air. The thought almost annoyed her and she focused on it instead of the voice. The voice. The only constant in this never-ending nightmare was that soothing voice that grated her ears. Why didn't they drown me?

With each large breath she took things came into focus. The icy cold cement floor. The hand still pulling painfully on her hair. The rain pounding on the small glass window, high up the bare wall. In front of her she saw the unreal abyss of pain and panic she had just been pulled out of. How was it so small? Why couldn't it be bigger? The voice became clearer but she didn't want to hear what it was saying. She tried to focus all her attention on her other four senses. Water was slipping slowly down her face in tiny droplets, hanging suspended on her chin and nose, and then falling mutely onto her knees. Each one counted the passing seconds like the ticking of a clock. It was only a matter of time before she went back under. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Why won't they stop!? Salty tears of frustration and despair slipped out of her eyes and sped up the meter. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. She couldn't drown it out. She couldn't drown out that voice! No, no, no, no, no! kept repeating through her head. She couldn't let down her guard. Not for a second. No, no, no, no, no, no. And then it got louder with the voice. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!! In a second her head was under the water again. I made it. I made it again!

Her thoughts progressed much the same way as last time. Not so bad. I can make it. Just wait it out. Then the urge to breath became stronger. Hold on. Just hold on. You can make it. Her body disagreed and caused her muscles to contract in an attempt to pull her head out of the water. The counter force of that hand against her head was stronger, as it always was, and only caused a rising sense of panic. I need to breathe! She began to thrash and fight against that hand with all of her might. It got her nowhere. If she hadn't been under water she would have been screaming and crying like a baby. Nothing changed. It only got worse. And then it began to fade. Her brain became fuzzy again and she began to grow numb. Maybe this time I'll die.

She took one more large breath. It wouldn't be long. Things were clearing up too fast now. They would soon put her under again. She had centered all of her strength for one task and she focused on that now, ignoring the voice that was more tempting than ever. It was asking her something now. It didn't matter what, the answer would always be ‘No.’ Suddenly she was thrust under again. Now. She had to do it now. Nothing happened. She was naturally conditioned against it. It would be more difficult than she had thought. Do it. Nothing. Do it!! Nothing. She thought for a moment, mustered all the resolve inside her, and then hastily gulped in the water that was drowning her. Her mind immediately screamed at her. Her body tried to cough it up but only exchanged water with the tub around her. Her mind was yelling that she could have been comfortably out of breath right now. She felt more panic than she thought possible. She was losing consciousness.

Suddenly her lungs were heaving. Liquid was pouring out of her mouth. Pain. Her mind raced around in confusion trying to understand. The first sane observation she made was that the hand on her head had turned cold and hard. Next, that there was no more water. Only air. But she still couldn't seem to breathe it in. Her coughing and gagging continued and a hand rolled her onto her side. There was the hand. But she wasn't kneeling with her head in the water. She was lying with her back on the floor. What happened? Her brain tried to remember. Her lungs were full of water and she was drowning. The panic returned with the memory and she breathed in sharply, but only to cough harder as her lungs attempted to expel the remaining water they contained. Now she could breathe better. Cold. Cold, wet, dark. She felt sick to her stomach. Why is it that you're never conscious enough to enjoy unconsciousness? It passes in an instant and then you have to wake up with the consequences.

Are you alright, Jack?

Oh shut up already! Jack lifted her head enough to see his shoes as he squatted in front of her. Those brand new, brown leather, hundred dollar shoes. She wished she could throw up one more time: on those shoes, but there was nothing left inside her stomach.

Why did you have to defy me? The voice was almost pleading. Jack, I know you don’t believe it, but I’ve only wanted the best for you. It was spoken softly, with an earnest twinge to it. But her response was harsh.

You’re a psychopath!

Jack, you don’t know what I do.

About what?

About your future.

You think you know my future?

Your perspective is limited right now, there’s no way you could possibly see the big picture, but you have to trust.

Trust? Jack looked up at him incredulously, her wet hair plastered against her cheek. You never thought my trust was valuable before.

We had to push you—

You had to push me?! No. No. Do not even play that angle with me. You knew exactly what you were doing. I may not know what you were trying to achieve but I know that you succeeded in making an enemy out of me. I will never, never do anything but hate you.

You know that hate destroys, Jack.

Then I’ll self-destruct and finish what you started.

My goal was never to destroy you.

Yes, it was. Because everything that I am is a threat to you. You wanted to destroy me in order to create Jack, but something went wrong and now you have this terrible blended-beast that you can’t control.

I don’t want to control you, Jack, I want to help you—to empower you.

Lying to me is useless so just shove me under water again.

The man sat perfectly still for a moment, looking intently at Jack. Then he stood up.

Well. You men heard the lady. Put her under again.

He turned and left the room. Maybe he wasn't a man, but he was smart.

They were positioning her in front of the tub again. She realized she had one chance. Jack jerked forward and hit her head on the side of the metal tub in desperation. She woke up coughing water once again. They had put her under again anyway. It wasn't long before her head began throbbing. It was almost unbearable and she felt tears slipping down her cheek. She rolled over on her side and lay there, coughing up the remaining water in her lungs and holding her head with her eyes closed in pain. Every convulsion that expelled the hated water also made the pain in her head increase as her body jerked. There. Now she could breathe. Jack rolled gently to her back and lay still, bearing the pain. Thoughts began to return to her. No hands, no voice. Silence. She was back in her cell. The thought gave her relief from her raging headache. She was done for a couple of hours anyway…if she was lucky she would have the whole night to recuperate. Or was it daytime now? Jack had no way of knowing. She wondered how long it would take, how many sessions it would be before he realized that she meant what she said. Then he would kill her. The thought didn’t scare her at the moment. Maybe it would later. But she knew this: she had won this round. Every minute that she didn’t beg for mercy was a small victory. Not only had she remained silent but she had also proved that she still had some control. That thought gave her strength.

1

Ex-Pat

S weetie, can you get me a cart for our bags?

Why is everyone staring at us?

They're not.

Yes, they are.

You're just imagining it, sweetie.

Mom, I just came from a school where I was the only white girl. I'm used to standing out. Aren't we supposed to blend in here?

They're probably just curious about where we came from.

Because our bags are so big?

Logan, stop it! We're not even through Immigration yet. This trip has been difficult enough without you asking questions.

Logan closed her mouth obediently, but her mother hadn't eased her anxiety. She looked around her at the other travelers in the terminal. They were well dressed: businessmen, dignitaries, military, or rich tourists. All carried light bags that seemed a stamp indicating the intended length of their stay: overnight. Seven days. Definitely no more than ten—one limp bag seemed to say. The atmosphere was hushed and solemn—more like a hospital than the airport Logan remembered from when she was a child. Her father approached them with a frown across his forehead.

I'm sorry for leaving you with the bags, dear. I had to double check our entry forms.

We have all the paperwork, don’t we? his wife asked in concern.

Of course, love. He seemed to brighten up. This is our home—we're not foreigners!

Her mother was unconvinced.

Come on, Cameron's waiting for us on the other side.

They made their way toward the Immigration line that was labeled Citizens. Logan couldn't help but feel the eyes that continued to stare. Her father stepped forward to talk to the man behind the glass while she and her mother waited. The officer's face showed no expression and occasionally he would glance over at Logan, her mother, and their two carts piled with suitcases. Her father seemed to keep handing in paperwork. The man made a phone call. Then they were called forward to give finger prints. Logan extended her hand willingly enough—she’d been through this process before. But the man took it roughly, rolling each finger over the slippery glass screen in an awkward fashion.

If you’ll follow me please. A man led them off to the side, away from the stream of passengers. Logan watched two separate doors close behind her father and mother. And then she was ushered into a third room. She sat at the small desk uncertainly. Her father hadn’t warned her about this. What was supposed to happen next? After a few minutes of silence, a man entered with a file and took a seat opposite her.

Logan, right? He gazed at her with a friendly smile.

She nodded nervously. Is—is everything alright?

He looked up at her with wide eyes. Hmm? Oh, yes, certainly. Our records show you haven’t been in the States for five years. So you understand your immigration process is a little longer. We’d like to ask you a few questions, for our records. Nothing to be worried about.

Logan wasn’t sure she understood, but she took his word for it.

Some of these questions may seem obvious, but I just need you to answer them, officially, so please bear with me.

Logan nodded uncertainly.

Please state your full name.

Logan Theresa Bailey.

He nodded pleasantly as if she had said something profound. Your parents’ names?

Neil and Lois Bailey.

And you have a brother, is that correct?

Cameron. Logan thought this was odd. Their names were stamped clearly in their passports. Why would this man need her to say them out loud?

Logan, please tell me what your father does for a living.

He is a U.S Dignitary.

Tell me how he came to be stationed abroad.

Logan paused. I’m sure he’d be much better at answering these questions—

Oh, he’s doing paperwork. We thought we’d kill two birds with one stone and get you all out of here as quickly as possible.

He was assigned overseas ten years ago.

Any specific reason that you know of?

He has a doctorate in Relief and Development.

I see. And the assignment was for ten years?

No. I think the original assignment was two years. He asked permission to extend three more. Then he submitted for another five-year term.

He must’ve really enjoyed his work?

He felt he’d left his job incomplete.

How do you mean?

The first term the embassy kept him mainly inside the International Zone. But the real work was behind the DZ boundary.

I’m sure he wanted to do his job to the best of his ability.

Relief and Development isn’t very applicable in a zone that’s meticulously maintained for rich tourists. Logan smiled slightly at the irony.

The man across from her smiled too. That sounds frustrating.

My father is very passionate about his work.

I believe you. So he moved you all behind the Domestic Zone?

With the Embassy’s permission, Logan said quickly.

Of course. That must have been an adjustment for you.

I loved it. We’d taken trips over the boundary of course, but it was fantastic to actually live inside another culture.

Did you help with your father’s work?

No—I mean, not really. That is, I helped with the events he would host.

What kind of events? He sounded interested.

Sanitation clinics, English workshops—he called them community enrichment activities.

And how did the local government feel about these activities?

They supported him. My father kept in good relationship with local authorities. He said it was important.

I’m sure he became friends with some of them.

He did. We all did. My mom would invite them for dinner.

It must have been difficult to relate at times. I know American policy isn’t the most popular overseas. I’m sure people have very different views over there.

Everyone’s entitled to their opinions. We tried not to make friends based on a political agenda.

Of course. Well, Logan, it sounds like you’ve had an interesting life. How do you feel about coming home to the States?

I think it will be very different. But I am excited to see my brother.

When are you going back?

Oh…we’re not, Logan said a little sadly.

You’re not going back? the man asked in surprise.

No. My father says his job there is done and it’s time to move into a new stage, here, in America.

And how do you feel about that?

It feels strange—I don’t think it will feel like home.

Well, the man smiled, we wish you all the best.

Is that all? Logan asked in surprise.

Yep. You’re all done. Your father and mother are wrapping up their paperwork and will meet you outside. Thank you for talking to me, Logan. The man opened the door and let Logan pass in front of him, then directed her to a waiting area.

Ten minutes later her father and mother emerged, both looking tired and perturbed. Logan wondered what kind of grumpy immigration officers they had to deal with. They made eye contact and her father raised his eyebrows. Lois Bailey smiled in response and his face relaxed. They spotted Logan and shifted their attention.

Now that’s over, we’ll be out of here in no time, her father said cheerfully, changing his manner. They began walking toward the exit where they would be reunited with their luggage.

Logan, I’m sorry you had to wait so long—you must have thought something had happened to us, her mother said lightly.

Logan frowned. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted.

Ah, Cameron’s calling. Hello? Yes, we’re nearly through. We just got our luggage back. We’ll be up the ramp in no time.

Logan, can you give me a hand, dear?

Lois, this gentleman’s trying to get through—

Where’s my purse?

Ah, Logan, look! Your first glimpse of American soil in five years. Does it look different?

There’s Cam! Somehow the three of them managed to push through the crowd to reach the young man waving at them enthusiastically.

Cameron! You’ve put on weight, college life suits you!

Mom, Dad, Logan! I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour!

Where did you park?

Level 26. Everything below was packed!

Always is.

Here, mom, I’ll get that.

Mrs. Bailey beamed at her son as he took the lead. The others followed him through the terminal.

They didn’t give you too much trouble, did they? Cameron asked in a lower voice. Mr. and Mrs. Bailey exchanged glances.

It was about what we expected, Mr. Bailey sighed. I’m actually surprised they gave up so easily.

I guess they didn’t have time to turn you into a traitor.

Cameron, Mrs. Bailey spoke sharply, that’s nothing to joke about.

They were crossing the busy street now. Logan looked left and right at the endless line of cars. She glanced up about the middle of the street, just where the divider was and caught a glimpse of the five road levels above her.

Oh, come on, Mom. You know it’s ridiculous. They’re trying to avoid internal scandal by scape-goating the international community.

It’s a serious issue, Cameron. I’m sure they have a lot of responsibility on their shoulders. They had entered the elevator and were flying upwards.

That doesn’t justify discrimination against innocent people. It’s McCarthyism all over again.

That’s a strong statement, Cameron, Mrs. Bailey said.

I think he may be right, Lois. There’s a lot of finger pointing going on and very little evidence. Unless something’s done about it, this could go down a very bad road.

What kind of evidence are they looking for? Logan spoke up for the first time, her voice raspy.

Well, after the Sabbatini case, they don’t need much, her father said.

He sold State secrets to the Chinese government, Logan said.

Exactly.

But what does that have to do with us?

Lo, that case took nine months. There were twelve people involved, all working internationally either directly, or indirectly for the government. Our government’s reputation was tarnished. People got scared. When that happens, there’s usually a backlash.

Can’t we talk about something else? Mrs. Bailey spoke tiredly as they loaded into the van. But Logan pretended that she hadn’t heard her.

Are they going to investigate you? she asked.

They just did. Mr. Bailey didn’t seem to have heard his wife either. Well, they may keep an eye on me for a few months. But they don’t have anything to work with.

Logan felt a small sense of relief. Because you haven’t done anything.

He raised his eyebrows ironically at her statement and then corrected her. Because they don’t have eyes overseas. After Mr. Larson left three years ago, we were their only contact in the DZ. They have no agreement with the government to obtain Intel. That’s the ironic part. They have to go off my word. If they wanted to check up on me and verify my activity, they’d have to breach some of their own international guidelines and throw suspicion back on themselves.

Logan’s stomach contracted and her muscles felt paralyzed.

But we’re back now. And we made it through immigration, Mrs. Bailey said firmly. We need to think about dinner.

The conversation in the front of the vehicle switched to Cameron. How were his classes? Who were his roommates? No one seemed to notice that Logan had gone strangely silent in the back seat.

It was eleven thirty and Logan was still awake, staring at the ceiling. They had gone to dinner and then a movie, attempting to wear themselves out in order to sleep through the night and overcome jet lag. But it wasn’t jet lag that was keeping her awake. All through the evening a small voice had been trying to comfort her: maybe she hadn’t said anything wrong. If she had, wouldn’t they have taken action right away? But they let them go. Maybe it was all over. But Logan knew she had to tell her parents. She wouldn’t be able to live like this. Her conscience was taking over her nervous system and wreaking havoc on her peace of mind. She had never been so terrified to talk to her parents in her entire life. Summoning all of her courage, she pulled her covers back, got out of bed and made her way quietly to her parents’ bedroom.

The small apartment was deathly still. Logan had grown accustomed to the street noises of her old home. She knew there were rows and rows of neighbors on all sides, even beneath them, but it was difficult to tell with the sound dampeners. Her eyes fell on the front door just before she turned up the hallway. An image flashed before her eyes—the police were pounding on the front door with sirens and lights blazing in the background. But the vision vanished as quickly as it had come. The silence it left in its wake was foreboding. Logan turned and hurried the rest of the way to the door of the master bedroom. She tapped gently then turned the door knob slowly. A dark shape stirred under the covers.

Logan?

Her stomach cramped suddenly and she wished with all her might that she could vanish. Her dad leaned over and switched on the lamp. She advanced slowly to the bed.

What’s wrong?

Now her mother was stirring, aware that a light had