Runaways: Book II

III

The needle full of transparent yellow serum rested between my thumb and index finger.
I stared at it for a while, with an uneasy feeling in my chest.
I had worked so hard to make this, so why I am I so hesitant to use it?
My attention was stolen by the brown paper parcel resting on the table. I set the needle down gently with a ping of the glass, and walked over to it.
The box had no return address and was small enough to fit in my hand. I curiously tore open the package, leaving the brown paper scattered across the table.
It contained no letter, note, or any form of identification of who could've sent it. All it contained, resting among the scraps of parchment, was a single plastic-encased cassette tape.
I stood motionless when I realized of who could've sent it.
A sudden urge to just throw the cassette away right then and there washed over me like a tidal wave. It wasn't because I didn't want to see him. There were days and nights where I came close to going back there, to running into his arms with tears flowing down my face and burying my nose into his chest. Too many to count.
But I couldn't.
Because if I did, I wouldn't be able to come back, to leave him again and protect him from what I am.
That's why I couldn't listen to the tape, couldn't think about him again, couldn't say his name.
I shoved the cassette into the pocket of my jacket, convincing myself if I couldn't see then it didn't exist.
If I couldn't see him, then he didn't exist.
I stepped out into the hall, walking hastily towards my room down the long corridor. Hank passed by me, whipping his head around to ask casually,
"Hey, did you find out who sent the package?"
I bit my lip in anxiety,
"Uh, no. Nope. No idea. None whatsoever."
Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind.
He was calm, replying now partially distracted by some handheld device he was fiddling with,
"Oh. Well that's weird. See you around."
My teeth unclamped from my bottom lip long enough to reply,
"See ya."
I whipped around the corner into my room, firmly shutting the door behind me and sliding down to the floor. I pulled the cassette from my pocket.
Just the feeling of the smooth, cold plastic of the tape's case mercilessly dragged my arm back to the past.
I suddenly winced at the stinging pain in my lip, realizing my teeth had never released from it, and were in fact digging deeper with every moment the cassette brushed my fingertips.
I touched my hand to my mouth and drew it back red-stained.
I could almost feel the brick exterior of Sit and Spin Records on my back now.
"If you're fine, then why is your lip bleeding?"
I closed my eyes and allowed the air to fill my lungs, circulate, and then back out into the room again.
Then I clicked the cassette into the player.
The audio began abruptly, with a voice hoarsely stating my name,
"___."
After shifting through the raspy layer of the speaker's tone I realize that it wasn't who I had thought it was. It wasn't him. It was Bo.
Bo continued on slowly, with a tome that seemed as if he was almost struggling to form the words escaping his mouth.
"I...I need help. I n-need to get out of here. Dorchester Medical Re...research Center. You need to bring him to...to help you. Bring Peter."
And the tape ended as abruptly as it started, leaving behind a chilling silence. A single whisper escaped my bleeding lips,
"Peter."