The Fifth Healer

22.

"Yes?" Dr. Khan says to me. "Unless what?"

"You've made big claims," I say. "Can you show us any proof?"

"Proof?" she says, as if such a word is a novel concept.

"You claimed you could help Niles's friend. You claimed you could help us with our blackouts. Let's see some evidence."

Dr. Khan arches an eyebrow. "I do not know if that would be appropriate."

"If not, I'll be forced to leave," I say. "And so would my new, uh, friends." I'm not sure it's a precisely accurate term, friends. I can't say I trust any of them, not entirely. But I need all of them to trust me right now.

Dr. Khan sighs, then glances at Sloan. He shrugs. "Do each of you require such...proof?" asks Dr. Khan.

"Sorry, I'm not clear on what, exactly, you'd be proving here?" asks Ainsley, who doesn't sound interested in spending one more second here, proof or not.

"Proof of..." Dr. Khan seems to think the rest of the sentence should be so obvious she's having trouble finding the right word. "Proof of, I suppose one could say, our power."

"Oh, I've already seen plenty of proof of your power," says Ainsley, her tone adding air quotes around the words. "Specifically, your power to kidnap minors and hold them in an underwater Batcave. Oh yeah, and your power to make elaborate death traps. Love the geographic detail carvings on that glass by the way. So call me slightly wary of sticking around to see more of your so-called power."

"Ainsley, maybe we should give her a chance," I say, cautious of allying too deeply with Dr. Khan but also aware that if Ainsley walks out, Niles and Wally will probably follow.

"You're on her side?" says Ainsley. "Stockholm syndrome much?"

"I'm only saying..." I pause, struggling to figure out what it is, precisely, I'm only saying, "This facility is impressive."

"This prison, you mean?"

"They have some impressive, you know, technology. Those locks and everything. Every room is an engineering feat. Aren't you at least a little curious about what's going on?"

Ainsley's face softens. I notice, out of the corner of my eye, Dr. Khan looking at me approvingly.

"Plus, there's all the stuff we have in common," I add. "Our symptoms."

Ainsley folds her arms and absently surveys the wall of books that wraps around us.

"Fine. I'll give you, like, sixty seconds for a demo."

"I'm not sure that's enough-" Dr. Khan says.

"Fifty-nine," says Ainsley.

From Dr. Khan's expression, I get the feeling she doesn't typically have to try this hard to impress, or at least intimidate, the average person. But Ainsley is not your average person. Underneath her cool facade, she burns with molten heat, a furnace of resolve, ready to forge her will into iron.

"Fifty-eight," says Ainsley. "Should I speed up? So far, this is a fairly underwhelming demo, and I've got places to be."

Yes, please.

Dr. Khan sighs. "I hesitate to expose you to such power prematurely," says Dr. Khan, like she's trying to talk herself into it. "It is dangerous for the unprepared mind to be exposed to the mere existence of chronopathy. But this is the only way you all will willingly proceed to stage three?"

We all nod.

"So be it," she says. "Are you familiar with Victoria Tudor?"

"The anthropologist slash naturalist?" says Ainsley. "Of course."

"Then you may be aware she was injured by a chimpanzee attack," says Dr. Khan.

"I saw that on the news," I say, eager to drop on of the only current event facts I know. "She's not expected to survive."

"Correct," says Dr. Khan. "And this is how you will know that everything else I promise you will come true. By the time you complete stage three, Miss Tudor's life will be saved."

"Saved...by you?" says Wally.

"By us."

"Who's us?" asks Ainsley.

"Who will come later. For now, the proof I offer is when. He will be back on the front lines by the afternoon."

"So you're what, a fortune teller?" says Wally.

"No. But when it comes to fortunes, we do possess the power to alter those of luminaries like Victoria Tudor," says Dr. Khan.

Ainsley shakes her head. "Wally's right. It does sound like you're claiming to be clairvoyant."

Despite her protests, I note that it's been over a minute, and Ainsley's still here, which I take as a good sign. Her heart wants to stay. Now, her brain is searching for a logical reason for doing so.

"Not to predict it," says Dr. Khan. "To create it."

"How?" asks Ainsley.

"End your testing prematurely, and you will never know," says Dr. Khan.

"It sounds like time travel," says Wally, stroking a chin with a few errant white whiskers popping out.

"No, not time travel. Though we do harvest and harness time's power." Dr. Khan looks at each of us in turn. "So what do you say?"

Ainsley pauses, seeming to consider it. "And you swear we're free to go if we want?"

Dr. Khan gives a single nod. "You may end it all if you wish."

I can't help but notice this phrase she keeps using-end it all, isn't quite the same as free to go. As far as reassurances go, "ending it all" certainly skews ominous.

"But after I provide you this proof," adds Dr. Khan, holding up a finger. "I expect you to see this diagnostic process through to its completion." She looks at each of us in turn.

There's a long pause. Ainsley's the first to speak.

"Eh, screw it," says Ainsley. "My curiosity is killing me. No pun intended. I hope."

"Yeah, I'll do it," says Niles. "For Celeste."

"Sure, whatever," says Wally.

The tension in my chest melts.

Everyone is looking at me, and I realize I haven't said if I intend to leave. As if. "Count me in, I guess," I say slowly, as though fighting great reluctance.

"Excellent," says Dr. Khan. "Now, let us not waste further time."

She turns to the open door through which she and Sloan entered.

The four of us look at each other. I shrug as if to say why not, and I head through the doorway. I hear three sets of footsteps echoing behind me into what turns out to be a long, tunnel-like hallway.

The air is immediately cool and moist, but it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim tunnel, which seems to be hewn from solid rock. The stone walls, carved into an upside-down "U," are rough enough they could probably draw blood. But the floor is smooth, apparently polished by many years of use. Every ten paces is a brick archway inlaid against the vaulted stone wall. A strip light traces each arch. The warm glow reflects off the floor, creating the appearance of concentric light circles as I look down the passageway.

"So where we going, doc?" asks Wally. His voice reverberates harshly on the hard surfaces.

Dr. Khan doesn't turn back. "Up."