The Flames that Engulfed Us

Chapter 31: Glowstick as Named by Clam Chowder

Lincoln slept that night, and I stood, restless, and paced. When the men all came back again in the morning, I barely had time to shake Lincoln's shoulder to wake him before they were lifting him to his feet and forcing him down the hall. I kept pace, always next to him. No one touched me.

We rode the elevator even further down for what seemed to be hours. I lost track of what the floors looked like. I only know that the doors slid open to reveal a room with a tile floor and fluorescent lights. They pulled Lincoln into it, seeming to forget I existed. I followed him, momentarily stunned by the cold that waited inside. Lincoln's arm wrapped around me, his arm rubbing me to try and generate friction to warm us both up.

But I had a better way. I looked down and I was starting to gently glow. I felt warmth surge through my veins, and Lincoln even stopped chattering after a few seconds pressed against me.

Men filed into the room, and I almost wanted to cower into Lincoln, to get absorbed into him, but I held myself erect, confident that they weren't after me. I wasn't the one who needed to be protected. Even Lincoln seemed to have gotten that in his head because his arm seemed scared, not protective. I don't know what got it into his head, but I was happy it was in there.

"What are you going to do?" I asked them all quietly.

"Nothing to you," one of the men answered swiftly, "and we won't even hurt him too bad. He's a level two, which considering, isn't that bad. And we wouldn't want to separate him from you since you might burn us, Glowstick."

"Glowstick?"

"Yeah." He grunted. "You're glowing, and you're skinny like a stick, so Glowstick."

"Hey, it's better than Angel," I leaned on Lincoln's shoulder, "so props for creativity."

"See," the man told all his companions, "I'm creative. Glowstick says so."

I hadn't stopped to look at him specifically. He looked alive. He looked like he'd seen some things, but he also had eyes that danced. Not the hard eyes of the majority of the room. Lincoln's arm was still around me, and I was glad for the warmth that coursed through me.

"Did you give yourself a nickname?"

"Yep. I'm Clam Chowder."

"Clam Chowder?"

"It's a long story," he chuckled dismissively, "but you can call me C.C."

"What's your real name?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"You never said what's happening now."

"I didn't."

"So, C.C., could you tell me?"

"I could."

"Pretty please."

"Okay, Glowstick, you'll see. We just need you to be not glowing, Glowstick."

I wasn't sure that was in my best interest to stop giving off heat and light, but I could feel it start to sap my energy, so I let myself dim until I was back to normal. The cold replaced the heat, and I shivered into Lincoln. I looked down at his arm, running my hand over the goosebumps that covered it.

"Glowstick," C.C. started again, "I need you to step away from the Soul."

Fat chance.

"Or we'll do it by force."

Force always sounds pleasant, doesn't it? Lincoln's arm dropped on its own and he stepped away from me. I wanted to reach out, to pull him back to me, but bodies already moved to separate us.

"Glowstick," C.C. told me sympathetically, "come sit in a chair here. My advice would be to stay out of it all."

He sat me down in a hard plastic chair and hovered over me, I suspect to enforce his advice. From my position, I saw Lincoln clearly. He stood, his chin jutting out defiantly, his fists clenched, but he did whatever they barked at him, seeming to hold his pride while also becoming submissive.

One of the men had a book in his hands, and his cold, calculating eyes scanned it before reading aloud.

"Level Two Souls tend not to have done any great mark of damage on the world; therefore, their punishments should not and will not leave any suffering from one solitary incident for more than a century. There are two ways to determine the punishment. You can determine it by each wrong they committed, giving each one a momentary bit of pain, taking after the human punishment of whipping or things of the same likeness, or you can judge by entire character, allowing for larger amounts of pain at once. This will be unique to the Soul, and therefore cannot have guidelines, but it has largely been favored to choose based on individual actions."

Lincoln turned and met my eyes. I'll be fine, he mouthed, but he was lying. C.C. stood over me, and I was only likely to get Lincoln hurt, so all I did was curl my nails into the chair and hope for the best.

My fingers started to hurt and I used them to cling to the plastic. Lincoln didn't seem phased by the discussion that took over the room, and I tried to be just as aloof, but I couldn't.

I wanted to run up and hug him, but I also wanted to be far away from it all, so to compromise, I stayed right where I was. Was that really all it took to tame us, to separate us and make us think disobedience would hurt each other? Because it worked. And I hated myself for that. But I wouldn't have changed anything about myself.

So I stayed in the chair, watching and holding my breath.