Persona

By Amy Lunderman

It’s the year 2028 and an experiment that went wrong seventeen years ago sends the world in lock-down from these genetic mutations. Sixteen-year-old Moira Warner knows only fear and secrecy, but that's understandable given she spent her toddler years in a lab. Why? Because she is one of them. Now she barely gets by with hiding her true self. That doesn't mean that she's averse to breaking a rule or two.

But when her curiosity gets the better of her at a new school, she lets loose with popular jock Spencer, and realizes she's been a fool to believe that she could be anything other than what she is; a monster. Before she can confide in anyone for help, her little slip up brings in the authority's and now her secret is out. The horrific memories of her past returns and with it the man that ruined her childhood.

With the help from someone she would have never thought and a group of unlikely accomplices, she must come face to face with her past. A past she would rather forget. Moira now becomes obsessed with getting her questions answered, and Liam is the only one who can provide the information she needs. But in her drive to find the truth, will Moira push her new friends to far, forcing her to leave her family, and the identity that she's shaped? This sends her on a journey to find out what she really is and along the way she just might find herself in the process. Maybe even love, if she's not too busy running and trying to blend in.

But can you really blend in if your hair, eyes, and other things change when you lose control?

Let's hope for Moria's sake she can, because if she can't she'll lose everything, and not just her life.

*Formerly The Staying Alive Series now revised*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Lunderman
• Release date: Jun 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466196810

Amy Lunderman

I'm a stay at home mom, to a very busy two year old daughter. I live in northern Rhode Island where the weather has more ups and downs than my toddler does, but I grew up in upstate NY so I'm used to it. I've been with my husband for almost eight years now and it still feels like we never have a dull moment! I've always had a passion for writing and I try to write whenever I have a free moment. If not writing or wrangling my daughter - I also enjoy reading, writing, having dance party with my toddler, watching TV and movies, You Tube, and status updates on Facebook. And if not doing any of THAT I can probably be found watching whatever is going on around me through the backs of my eyelids, because chances are I probably fell asleep on the couch! :)

Book preview

Persona

A Novel

Copywrite 2012 By Amy Lunderman

Smashwords Edition

The past is never dead, it is not even past.

-William Faulkner

Prologue

March 31, 2011

Cell block two; chamber six; inmate Black; check, running down the patient check-list Bethany Warner prepares for her nightly rounds. Out of all the inmates at this institution, Black is her least favorite. She doesn’t know if his viral doses were stronger in the beginning, but his mood and antics are always up and down these days. Marshall Black was one of the original twenty experiments. And lately, he has grown unmanageable.

Not that any of the others can be controlled any better, but he’s worse somehow.

This makes her think about how it all started. It pains her to know that she is aware of it at all, but at least she feels remorse. It can’t be said for some of her coworkers, or for the creators of this facility for that matter. After the last time young men and woman got shipped overseas, the military was tired of losing more and more of them. So five years ago a scientist and an army general decided to play around with people’s dna strands. Who would give them the clearance or a patent for this sort thing she doesn’t know. Not that Bethany thinks herself any better than them, being a nurse for the facility and all, but it still feels wrong to her.

The scientist that prefers to call himself a doctor, Peter Fletcher was experimenting with wild wolves during the early days. He was originally studying how they’re dna was very unique enough for him to change its layers. Or maybe he was just a crazy radicalism junkie who thought pretending to be God for a half an hour was just the thing to win him a Pulitzer. Luckily for his ideas, with the help of his longtime friend General Dixon Hetch, they began devising they’re plan.

Actually, the way the story goes it all happened accidently, but Bethany doesn’t believe in accidents, at least not when Fletcher is concerned. Apparently, one of Fletcher’s lab assistants was trying to free a live specimen, only the plan backfired on him. The newly freed wolf attacked him. It would have killed him too, but a guard came in with a gun and shot it. The assistant having been mutilated went into shock almost instantly and slipped into a coma that night. Rather than calling for paramedics to collect the man, they kept him in the lab. The wolf wasn’t so lucky. But it does come into play later on. For the man however, over the span of a week he began to heal rapidly. Eventually he even woke up.

He appeared to be in perfect condition, aside from a couple side effects.

With a quick mental shake, Bethany slides up from her deck chair and makes her way down the long corridor leading to inmate Blacks cell. The sooner she gets this over with, the sooner she can get home to her husband and share a surprise with him. She straightens her lab coat, fiddles with her key card, and then pauses just as she gets to the locked door. Sighing, she reaches into her pocket double checking for the syringe. This makes her think back again to why she needs the sedative for her patient in the first place.

The side effect that Fletcher’s lab assistant had was pure unadulterated rage. It was like rabies and that wasn’t the only problem. He turned into a monster. Literally. It was the weirdest thing. His eyes changed their color completely and became bright. His mouth filled with elongated razor sharp teeth. His nails became more like claws with their pointed tips. All of this fueled his rage. And when he became uncontrollable, it was time to keep him sedated. Oddly enough, when he was asleep the traits would disappear. What happened next is a bit of a mystery. Days of testing became the way of life, but it wasn’t long until the key to Fletcher’s lab assistant’s changes were because of what he was doing to the wolf.

It wasn’t the wolf really…it was the drugs inside the wolf.

This discovery made Fletcher and Hetch very popular with anyone that would listen. In no time at all they got the facility they wanted to run they’re tests. Over the next couple of years they were all very busy. Different cocktails of the drug used were experimented on. It basically consisted of wolf and human dna that was spliced together for human injection, all courtesy of one nameless lab assistant that never saw the light of day again. Fletcher became famous among his colleagues, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to be known as the man that changed the world, not the man that was known for creating something new. What he needed, no wanted, were live human subjects to further his testing. But not just any run of the mill individuals with nothing to lose. The original plan in the beginning was to figure out a way to make a kind of super soldier.

Staying true to that idea, twenty willing soldiers were picked for the experiment.

Testing began so quickly, no one really had time to take the outcome into consideration. Bethany remembers it like it was only yesterday. It was horrible. Upon receiving the first dose, half of the people died. The other ten had the same reaction as Fletcher’s lab assistant did, only a little differently. While the teeth and nails sharpened, and the eyes changing color, they’re hair would change color as well. With this new development something else became very clear right away. None of these subjects had the same uncontrollable rage like Fletcher’s lab assistant. This became something to celebrate. They did it, Peter Fletcher did it. A super soldier, albeit a peculiar one, was created.

That must mean it was time to sample the merchandise and send them out into the world right?

Wrong.

That first day of testing was over a year ago. None of the subjects ever left the facility. Obviously. If they had, then Bethany would probably find herself out of a job. Of course, she’s lucky to have gotten it in the first place. She signed on here months after the initial testing, so all her knowledge of what happened after is all hearsay. But people talk. Nurses talk even more, especially on the midnight shift when the coffee eventually runs low. The way she heard it, was that all the subjects were instantly locked up and it seems to have been that way ever since. There were some rumors floating around too though. Some of her colleagues think that a new serum is being designed from the blood of her patients.

She doesn’t know what to believe, but it is strange that her only function is to keep them all sedated and collect blood samples. Sure, she does check vitals and such, but it’s definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that all the subjects have taken on a human visage. For all she knows everything that happed a year ago could be a lie, they all look human to her. Not the super soldiers of trials past. However, there is the Marshall Black problem she has to contend with. Standing at the door, Bethany doesn’t hear anything from the other side, but that’s not unusual. What’s unusual is that she’s alone. Normally there is supposed to be more than one nurse on the night shift. But tonight, her usual partner in crime Dana Constance had a family emergency.

Making tonight the first time patient rounds haven’t been on schedule.

Even if her injections are off, that doesn’t mean anything…right?

Shaking off her unease, Bethany pulls her keycard out of her pocket and slides it through the key pad on the wall beside the door. The red button turns green and the door opens with a click. She walks into the room. Or rather, she tip toes into the cell, which is only a small five by eight sterile room with just a bed in its center. However, the bed is empty when Bethany walks into the room. Before she can register anything, she gets shoved from behind. In alarm she spins around and hits out with her hand holding the key card. She feels it sink into skin. Then in a blink, she sees an angry Marshall Black across the cell by the door. He now has a shallow cut across his left eyebrow. He lifts his hand to his face and it comes away with a drop of blood. Bringing it to his mouth, he licks his fingers clean.

His eyes change first from light blue, to a startling deep navy. His light blonde hair goes next. It turns a dark shade of chestnut. He grins wickedly at her revealing teeth that all go pointed at the same time. As he takes a step to her, his hands unclench at his sides, exposing razor sharp nails that are fast becoming more like claws. Chills course down her spin. All her training never prepared her for this. A scream builds in the back of her throat as she tries to take a step back. But her feet are frozen. Instead she blindly reaches for the needle in her pocket, but her frozen hesitation cost her, because he’s too fast. He’s in front of her in a heartbeat and knocks her hand from her side. His claws rake her arm as he does. The syringe falls to the floor with a soft sounding plink that sounds like a death gong to her ears. Yelling, she tries to get away from him. She manages to strike out with her fists, but they have no real effect. He jumps back mocking her, then pounces back and easily slaps the side of her face with his clawed fingers. They dig into the side of her cheeks with an instant stinging pain.

She cries out, hoping someone will come to her rescue, but even she knows it’s useless.

Helplessly she falls to the ground.

***

Marshall stands over the woman for a moment. He stares at her with something between hatred and pity. But he doesn’t hurt her anymore and neither does he try to help her. Instead, he takes his chance and runs out of the door. He races down the long corridor passing an abandoned desk station and rounds another corner. He comes to a narrow hallway that ends in two closed doors. One has a key pad next to it. The other has a picture of stairs and the word exit. He takes the latter without hesitation. An alarm goes off when he opens the door, but he doesn’t stop. The stairs just go up and he takes them two at a time until he comes to another door. This one brings him to another stairwell going up and to another door, he continues up. When he reaches the top of the stairs there is just another door. With no other choice he opens it.

On the other side is a brightly lit hallway.

The loud wailing of the alarm is louder here so that he cringes.

To his right is a stretching corridor with doors lining down almost unending. To his left is a steel door with the word exit in blinking neon above it. He’s about to turn to the door, when a dozen men in uniform carrying guns come through one of the doors on his right. He pauses. They yell at him to freeze. To emphasize this they all raise their guns to his chest. He knows he should be worried, but all he feels is strength and invincibility, grinning he rushes at them in one swift movement. They all fire at once. The sound ricochets through the hall echoing with the wailing of the alarm. But he’s faster than they thought. Marshall easily dodges the bullets as if moving in slow motion, or just moving very fast, whatever it is he loves the feeling. As he goes into the group of men, he strikes at them with his claws, and one by one they all fall to the ground in puddles of oozing blood. Marshall is the only one left standing. With a smug smile, he shrugs at the sight before him.

Stepping over bodies, he makes his way quickly to the exit door.

He doesn’t look back as he pushes it open, warm spring afternoon air rush at him.

***

Three stories underground Bethany is still lying on the floor in the empty cell.

Her body convulses in bone grinding pain. And through it all she feels paralyzed from do anything else. The scratch marks on her arm and cheek feel as if they are swollen enough to make her skin stretch tight. They burn in a terrifying way as if she is being poisoned. It’s so strong that she can’t hold back the screams. She doesn’t know how long she lies there like that, but eventually there are voices approaching her. Hands hold her down, their pressure is soft and firm, but their touch makes the pain spike up a notch. Her vision is blurry so she’s not sure who they are, but she knows one thing for sure, Marshall infected her with his claws. If that is the case then she has the gut wrenching feeling that she won’t be the only one. It shouldn’t be possible. No one ever even hinted at the possibility. But the fact that all the patients are supposed to remain sedated finally makes sense to her now.

The people roll her on her back.

Needle points pierce her arms feeling like broad swords. She can’t help wondering where these people were when she was working alone. Then something worse grates at the back of her mind. She knows that she will just be another experiment to them. It’s basically the mission statement of the facility. Anyone is subject to change during the course of their dedication. She just never thought something would ever happen to her, not like this. The need to express her wishes overrides the pain consuming her. Bethany’s weak arms reach out and grabs onto the closest person. She prays they will let her go.

With one last breathe before drugs pull her under, she whispers, I’m pregnant.

Chapter One

August 2028

Daddy, I’m not moving back there. I’m sorry. Moira Warner declares.

She’s currently sitting at her dining room table with her father and step-mother. They have been calmly explaining to her for over an hour that she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. But she refuses to listen. They live in one of Rhode Island’s biggest fast paced cities and now all of a sudden they want to move to a small town in upstate New York, one that she grew up in by the way. She doesn’t exactly have the fondest memories of it either. Moira must make a horrified face because her father reaches across the table for her hand. But she easily dodges him and pulls both hands into her lap.

She looks away with tears in her eyes.

Sitting back in the wooden chair, her father sighs loudly. I know this was going to be hard on you kiddo, but we don’t have a choice in the matter. It’s what we have to do right now. With the Bill about to pass through congress soon, I’m needed back onto base.

Now Moira is the one to sigh, she knows he’s right, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. She can barely sleep at night sometimes because of the nightmares that haunt her. It seems impossible for her to have to go back to the one place that scares her more than anything.

Moira look, I can pretty much assure you that you never have to step foot back into the facility. Will that make this a little easier? Her father pleads.

She turns back to him with a glare and pushes up out of her chair so fast it glides back into the wall.

There is a definite cracking sound of plaster being crushed. Moira doesn’t even care.

How can you even promise that? You never had a choice before! How will now be any different? She yells.

Moira is shaking with pent up rage. She grips her hands into tight fists at her sides. A tingling sensation plays all over her skin and suddenly the dimly lit room becomes brighter. She knows before her step-mother Caroline scoffs that her eyes have changed and that her Persona is upon her.

Her father slowly stands up. He gazes at her with sympathy. Sweetie, I wasn’t a Lt. General back then, and I am now. Anyone under my rank has to follow orders, you know that. I can protect like I couldn’t before. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not again.

Moira wants to believe him. She really does, but is too mad at the moment to hear reason. The tingling sensation on her skin gets stronger. She feels and sees her strawberry blonde hair change. It was hanging loosely down her back, but as it darkens to a deep auburn it rises into silky waves.

I thought you could control that young lady? Caroline says with a look of disgust on her face.

This only makes Moira even madder and she can almost feel her teeth beginning to sharpen. Then her father slams his hands onto the table, automatically Moira jumps, and feels embarrassed now more than upset. Letting her hands loosen, she steps back to her chair. As she sits down, the room dims again and her hair drops down her back once more.

Sorry daddy, but I hate this so much. I’m comfortable here, in control of it all, and now I’m going to have to start over. I mean look at me, my hair and eyes are like a mood ring on steroids. Not exactly a secret anymore if I lose control.

She pulls the chair back to the table and hides her face in her arms.

Her father reluctantly sits back down. I trust you Moira. You know better than anyone what can happen if you get caught doing that.

Peaking over her arms at her father, she says, Do you really swear I don’t have to go to the facility again? And I mean really, really swear?

I swear it. You never have to go back, not if you don’t want to. But you have to be careful. With the bill coming out, tensions are higher than ever, especially for your kind.

She snorts. "I won’t ever want to go back. You can pretty much trust me on that. Moira pauses. And daddy, I’m not part of any kind remember? That’s the whole point of all this being a secret. I just hope it lasts…"

Moira knows the truth though, things will never been easy for people like her. They call themselves werewolves, but that’s not really what they are. They are mixed with something resembling wolves dna sure, but it’s been spliced and recycled through so many different means that they are altered abominations. At least that’s what the tabloids call them. But legally they are known as people with the Marshall Black Syndrome, or the MBS disease, known for the man that was the original carrier who has been missing for seventeen years. But she, and everyone like her, doesn’t label themselves as werewolves. What happens to them is something called Persona, which is basically a new age slang term.

It works for her, calling herself a werewolf feels weird, and apparently she isn’t the only one.

It’s public knowledge that he fled the hospital he was being treated at and that he infected people where ever he went. For the last ten years since the disease became worldwide, nothing has been the same. Every hospital, doctor’s office, and any other medical worker are legally bound to report any person with the disease to the District Attorney’s office for county record. Anyone with the disease is known and is shunned as a freak. Except Moira that is, only her family knows about her.

Her father keeps her secret from the people he works for.

It will last. Her father tells her. I have faith in you Moira. Besides, you still have a while to come to terms with all this. We’re not leaving until next month.

Moira only stares at him with wide eyes. A month, she thinks? A month to pack up her life, a month to accept that she’s going to be at new school for her junior year, and a month to come to terms with her worst fear ever? And worst of all, only a month to adjust her sleeping pills? Not going to happen. Her face goes hard, her blood runs cold, and in desperate act of defiance she crosses her arms in a ‘no way’ fashion. But her act goes unnoticed.

Her father and step-mother leave the room.

As they pass by her though, her dad lightly touches her head. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture she knows, but all she feels is the betrayal of it all. When Moira is finally alone, she tries to see all this from her dad’s point of view. But how can he even want to go back? She’s not the only one whose life has never been normal because of the facility. Her dad had it rough even before she was born. With heavy thoughts, she lays her head down on the table again, and tries not to be afraid.

***

May 2011

Peter Fletcher heaves the cart through the door and is pleased to see his patient still asleep. He hates it when she wakes crying and confused. Pushing the heavy cart beside her bed, he pulls the stool over and sits down. After turning the monitor on, he begins tapping onto the keyboard, and the small screen comes to life. He types in some commands before turning to the woman. He pulls down the sheet covering her, so that her stomach is exposed. Grabbing a bottle of gel, he smears it onto her, and then reaches for the Doppler stick. She doesn’t even twitch as he moves the stick onto her stomach, but he’s not paying attention to her. All he cares about is what is showing on the screen. At first the image is blurry. Then he can make out an arm, a leg, and the head.

A smile warms his usually cold face.

He reaches for the volume button on the keyboard. A soft whooshing sound fills the room, his smile becomes a full out grin. He moves the stick around the woman’s belly some more, and when he is satisfied at what he finds, he puts the stick away. He hastily covers the woman back up without cleaning the gel off her, turns off the computer, and walks over to the head of the bed.

Fletcher leans over the woman and whispers in her ear, I thought you’d like to know that you are having a bouncing baby girl Bethany. Are you thrilled?

He pauses, and then chuckles softly when he gets no response from her. No comment? Well, aren’t you a tough crowd.

Going back to the cart, he whistles to himself as he rolls it back out of the door.

***

September 2028

Moira sits in the backseat of her stepmother’s minivan and tries to ignore her half-sister giggling beside her. Distracting herself with an old Flyleaf album with her ancient IPod mini definitely helps. For the last half hour Annie has been texting her friends and going crazy for the latest Disney boy hunk. It’s pretty disgusting, Moira doubts she was ever this crazed over cute boys that she’s never ever meet. But that’s preteens for you, always their own individual personality. Sighing, she gazes out the window. She still can’t believe that they are on their way to New York right now. The van is packed to the brim.

Her father is behind them with his own truck also packed with more belongings.

Her dad used to tell her stories how you could get from Rhode Island to New York in less than six hours. She never believed him of course, it can’t be possible with all the checkpoints stationed at every State line. She would tell him this constantly. And he would only counter with saying that years ago there weren’t any checkpoints. Moira finds it hard to believe that there was ever a time when cars could just drive freely down the highways and streets. All she’s ever known are the traffic jams and the incredibly slow process of annoying checkpoint guards scanning the passports of every person.

Moira stifles a shiver as she wonders what would happen if she were ever caught by one of the guard’s for being illegal. Her father always assures her it would never happen. Her paperwork has always been legit. But she finds it hard to fathom that it could last forever. Maybe it’s just written in her dna that she’s a constant worrier. Whatever the reason may be, it’s undeniable from what the news programs advertise, when people are caught and arrested. None of it makes her feel very safe. If caught, most people just get a ticket and have to pay a large fine to the city they are going, and that’s it.

However, if you get caught and happen to be infected with MBS?

Now that’s a different situation all together.

People with MBS get arrested rather easily these days. It makes Moira paranoid with her every movement. She can’t really remember exactly what happens, but that’s mostly because nothing is ever discussed about it. Imagination is the worse evil when it comes to these things. And the people in charge know it. She’s heard rumors at her old school though. People like her were all brought to a separate prison and treated like terrorists. If that’s true, then her imaginative worst fear is a pretty real thing. This thought makes her reach into her messenger bag, for the tenth time to touch her passport, and like the other times she relaxes when it’s still there.

She’s about to lean back into her seat, when a candy wrapper come’s flying in her direction from the front seat and hits her in the head. She looks up to see her half-brother Damon turned in his seat watching her with a smirk on his face from the front passenger seat. She’s not surprised by his attempt to aggravate her, as the younger sibling it’s practically a rule that he act this way, even if he’s only one year younger than Moira. She figures that fact is simply because he’s a boy and most of them are pretty lame. Glaring at him, she quickly retaliates by grabbing the fallen wrapper, and chucks it back at his head. It doesn’t even come close its target.

He just hits it aside. It gets his mother’s arm instead.

Caroline turns to glare at them, Will you two, be decent to one another at least for the drive? Please?

Whatever. Damon spits out as he gets comfortable in the seat again.

Moira tries to relax in the seat and block out everything, but it’s hard to do when irritated. They haven’t even got to the first checkpoint leaving RI yet, so there is still a ways to go for the drive. But being ticked isn’t the best way to spend a cramped car ride. So she kicks off her flats and pulls her legs up under her, wiggling to get comfy on the leather seats. Closing her eyes, she cranks up the volume to her mini and doses off.

Too soon she wakes up to someone hitting her leg, and out of reflex she kicks at them. Her foot connects with soft flesh and causes a high pitched screech. They hit her again. She opens her eyes to see Annie clutching her arm, looking like a wounded bunny.

Chuckling, Moira says, Oh, I’m sorry Ann. I didn’t hurt you did I?

Only a little, but I’m okay I guess. She pouts.

Moira notices then that the van isn’t moving. They are no longer on the road. In fact, they seem to be parked in a driveway of a very large old looking yellow house. Caroline and Damon are already out of the van checking it out from the lawn. Moira leans around Annie to get a better look at the new place. All she can think is that they had better get a maid, the house in enormous.

It’s pretty wicked, right? Annie squeals with excitement. She then opens her door and jumps out.

It’s wicked all right. Moira says to herself.

As she slides out after Annie, something falls to the ground. It’s her passport. Surprised, she can’t believe she didn’t wake up from the checkpoints. Her sister must have gotten it out of her bag for her when they reached them. She’ll have to talk to her about snooping later. Right now though, her dad coming over to her from his truck parked behind them, otherwise she’s let the kid have it.

All right guys, lets unload the cars. Her dad calls out to them. I need to get going to work. So chop chop while you got some back-up.

As Moira and her siblings let out a collective groan, he goes right to the back of the van and opens the hatch. Moira walks back to help him. She does wonder why he’d have to go to work now though. It’s already late in the afternoon. Her step-mother goes over to him and must say basically the same thing to him, because he just retorts that its business stuff, like they know what that is. But it appeases Caroline, so Moira has no choice but to go with it. So, working together, they get the van unloaded in a timely fashion. Apparently they have movers coming to unload the truck, so that’s a relief to Moira. But then her father is gone before they know it.

Not that she cares at this point; the hunt for the best bedroom is an easy distraction.

***

October 2011

Peter Fletcher storms into the operating room. He’s instantly assaulted with loud moaning screams. He sees that the room is in disorder and that at least ten of his nurses are trying to hold Bethany down to the bed. She’s thrashing, kicking, and is almost getting free of the women holding her down. He goes over to his RN Dana, who is unsuccessfully trying to see how dilated Bethany is. She keeps getting pushed back from all the movement Bethany is doing around on the bed.

Dammit people! Fletcher yells. Act like you all know how to do your jobs! Be competent and get her strapped down already!

He signals for the guards at the door to come in and assist. Two men go to the head of the bed, each hold a shoulder down. Once she is stilled, the nurses are successful in strapping her arms and legs. Bethany’s uncontrollable sobs turn into mewling. Fletcher notices that her eyes are flashing from light green to a deep emerald as if changing the channel again and again. He sighs. It’s a pity he never tried to study her. He has to wonder if maybe she would’ve been an interesting experiment. But as her fair brown hair darkens, he knows he’s getting the better experiment out of this little exchange.

There is no pity in that, at least not on his end.

He calmly walks over to the beeping fetal monitor. The shrill noise panics him, but he’s not a man that loses control. How is the baby Dana? He asks.

It seems to be in distress. Dana goes to Bethany’s side and is feeling around her swollen belly. The mother’s stress is causing it to decline Sir.

Bethany spasms as another contraction hits her, when she screams her teeth change into pointed tips. Blood falls out of her mouth, she must have bitten her tongue, and Dana has to move aside as Bethany’s hands clench and unclench revealing claw like nails. She’s struggling to get free again. Fletcher starts to get frustrated when the fetal monitor indicates the baby is slowly fading. He can hear his staff trying to get her to calm down, while Dana is arguing about the baby’s health. He understands that Bethany is causing harm to the baby. He has to decide quickly which of them is more important.

It really doesn’t take him that long to decide.

Without pause, he goes over the one of the guards that is back to the door. He reaches for his handgun strapped to his side, pulls it free, and turns back to the room. Walking over to Bethany he lifts the gun up to her head and pulls the trigger. She goes still. Everyone in the room is stilled into silence. The monitor continues to wail it’s insisted beeping.

Get the baby out. Fletcher says as he goes over to the guard and returns the gun. Now Dana, before the infant is lost would be optimal.

By the time he turns back around, he hears the first cry of Bethany’s baby. He smiles as he walks over to where Dana is cradling the infant. He reaches out a hand and gently touches the baby’s cheek.

I think we should call you Moira. He says.

The baby coos in response.

Chapter Two

September 2028

Hearing the beeping noise of her alarm clock, Moira rolls over in her bed and hits the snooze button. With a tired sigh, she rolls back and snuggles into the blankets. She has to get up soon to get ready for her first day of school. That alone just makes her want to stay in bed even longer. Yawning, she wishes she hadn’t stayed up so late unpacking her room. The movers had arrived shortly after they room hunted. She then spent the rest of the evening organizing with her family. That really only gave her a short time to do her room, since it was a Sunday that they arrived.

Why her father insisted they move the day before school is beyond her, she blames Caroline.

Tossing aside the blankets, Moira sits up in her bed, and takes a look around her room. She definitely feels satisfied with it. Plus the fact that she kicked her sister’s butt in rock paper scissors the night before basically makes her like the room just on principal. The room is pretty big. With a bay window at the back wall, her four poster bed fits perfectly with her matching dresser and deck, all of which are dark mahogany wood. She never had the chance to get up her curtains though. So the room is shining with early morning light. Stretching, she stands up and heads to her walk in closet across the room.

She can’t help feeling a little disappointed at what greets her from within. On first days of school she likes to dress up, but today is different. She’s going to be the new girl. And it doesn’t settle well with her. Blending in has never been her thing. It’s usually just come naturally. But now she’s not sure what will make her not stand out. That’s not the only thing that worries her. She hasn’t been uncomfortable around new people since she was seven, and doesn’t know what will happen with her Persona. Knowing the rules doesn’t make it any easier. It’s strictly forbidden to use ones Persona in public. But it’s mostly reserved for under aged students in school.

Not really caring anymore, Moira just grabs a pair of skinny jeans and a light camisole.

Thinking she might need cover if control becomes an issue she snags a hoody. Not seeing one hanging, she reaches into a box at the bottom of the closet. As she does, another box in the back falls onto its side and spills its contents. She bends down to pick them up. Then freezes at what she sees, its pictures, and old ones by the look of them. All of them are of her father and mother before she was born. Moira was wondering where she packed those. Picking up one that catches her eyes, it’s one of her mother. She’s standing in the sand at a beach. A wave splashes her feet making her laugh. Her mother looks so happy and carefree and for once Moira see’s that they really do like mother and daughter.

Her father tells her all the time they look alike, but Moira never feels beautiful like her. But she can almost see it now. She can’t help wondering if her mother ever had the problem of hiding who and what she was. She doubts it, but it’s a nice thought to have something in common with the stranger that is her mother. Dropping the picture onto the floor with the others she stands up, grabs the closest hoody at the top of a box, and goes off to get ready.

By the time Moira makes it downstairs, she knows she’s running late. Caroline and Annie are already in the kitchen putting breakfast together. Her father is nowhere to be seen. Silently, she just goes into the kitchen to grab something simple. When she sits down at the counter with a pop tart, Damon is making his way into the kitchen. Looking at him, Moira can’t believe that they are related. He’s completely opposite of her, with his dark hair and eyes. But then he does take after his mother and not their father. Annie is a mixture of the both of them it seems, with her light hair and dark eyes. Damon greets his mother and Annie, but studiously ignores her. She wonders when the instigating switched to animosity between them, but it’s always been this way since she came home when she was seven. He’s only one year younger than her. It might have something to do with her being so different. Not that they’ve ever shared in any way about their feelings.

Avoidance is the key in this family.

Damon grabs his mom’s van keys and heads for the door without offering her a ride. She knows right off that she’s destined for the bus. Moira finishes off her breakfast and runs for the door, only stopping to grab her messenger bag and slip on her blue flats before she hurls herself out the door. Good thing she studied the bus route schedule that they had for Annie the night before. Living in Wilmington, it’s kind of back woodsy, so the houses are spaced apart on this end. It would’ve been one heck of a walk. By the time she makes it to the end of the road, the bus is just pulling up, and Moira sighs in relief. There are some other kids her age climbing on when she walks up, but they don’t pay her any attention.

The bus fumes overwhelm her senses and she cringes. The bus is already full when she climbs on. Everyone is consumed with one another. A shyness she’s never felt before overtakes her as she makes her way towards the back not looking at anyone. The only available seat is almost at the last row of seats with the cages. Now she knows there is no way to blend in if she’s sitting back here. Its reserved seating for the Persona challenged.

It’s the same everywhere. All public transportation has separate seating where people are immersed. In this case, the back two rows are blocked off with cage type bars. It doesn’t have a door, so the middle is open. It must have come across as inhumane to have a door, as if it’s not already inhumane. As usual, the seats in front of the cage are empty, as no one likes to sit too closely to them. Well…mostly. There is one guy sitting behind them.

He regards her with interest. She does the same and notes that he’s the same age as her. He doesn’t look that all that friendly though. In fact, he looks like an older version of her brother, all dark and menacing. Not a good combination. Not wanting to come off as afraid, and not caring what anyone thinks, she sits down in front of the cage. Feeling the eyes of the guy behind her, she gets uncomfortable. Nervousness flits through her, but not all of it is because of the daggers from the boy. She is getting closer to the school too. And the beginning of the end, dramatic yes, but still true. She can feel her skin tingling the more nervous she gets. Not good. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tries to ignore it. When it persists, she bites her cheek harder tasting blood, and flips up her hoody for the rest of the ride.

They make it to the school in about the most awkward forty minutes of Moira’s life. She gets off the bus as fast as she can. She revels in getting lost in the group of anonymous bodies, and makes her way to the entrance. Gazing up at the school as she goes to the door, she can’t help finding it odd that with a small town that they have a large high school. She comes to a stop inside the door as the group in front of her slows down. She peers around the skinny cheerleaders and see’s the metal detector inside. A security guard stands at irritated attention at the door. Her blood runs cold. She can’t believe they have a metal detector. Not even her old school in a city had one. What could they be looking for? It’s not like people like her can stuff they’re teeth and nails in a Prada bag. Or even evidence of lying, like false records, even if it’s impossible.

Moira still feels worried as she steps through the narrow machine and walks through the door.

Clear of anything metal or illegal, Moira rejoins the bustle of a regular hallway. With her shoulders hunched, she reaches into her bag for her schedule. She memorized it the night before, but feels better knowing she won’t walk to the wrong room or something. Her first class is history, on the second floor. So she hurries toward the stairs off to the right. She makes it to the classroom just before the bell rings. Eye’s follow her as she finds an empty seat in the back. She notices that the eyes belong to the dark haired boy from the