I hope it hasn't been too long of a wait for chapter two, but here it is! Again, this is a romance between two women with supernatural elements. I wouldn't recommend it as a stand-alone story, as you'd get lost in it all.
Obnoxious thank you to
LesbianChickLit
whose continued support and encouragement helped this story develop into what it is. Your help is irreplaceable and you rock.
Feedback is appreciated.
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A faint creaking informed Camille Silva that her lunch was being shoved through the compartment at the bottom of the steel door to her cell. With a sigh, she sat up, stretching her legs over the edge of the lumpy cot, and she took in her despondent surroundings. The distant scent of over-cooked mush was filling the small space at an alarming rate. The room was eight by ten, no larger than an average prison cell, and just as confining. A toilet with built a in sink was placed in the corner and the solid steel door loomed beside it.
Pulling back her mop of black hair, she fastened the unruly mess together with a strip of fabric she ripped from the bland gray of the garb provided.
Her stomach turned at the sight of the food that was unceremoniously tossed to her. She stood, unwavering as she walked the few feet to the door. Picking up the hideous 'food' offered, she slipped it back through the compartment. The tray clattered to the floor, and although she couldn't see, she was sure the food splattered on to the concrete surface and hoped as much.
She crossed to the toilet/sink combo, washing her hands of the mush. Hesitantly, she peered at her reflection in the clouded mirror. Wisps of black hair stuck out in various places, her vibrant hazel eyes dulled and cheeks slightly sunken from the short weeks of exploitation.
Camille knew she was being punished for not cooperating with Dr. Thorn and her people. She didn't give a shit. From the moment she volunteered for the project, she'd been lied to, promised money, money she desperately needed to finish her degree and provide an education to her younger brother, Malcolm. Their parents had saved just enough to send Camille to college but not enough to complete her desired degree. After depleting the entire fund, the guilt was real when Malcolm set forth applying to colleges with little means of paying for the endeavor.
They probably think I'm dead in a ditch somewhere
. She cringed at her internal assumption.
It had been just over four weeks since Camille signed up for the exciting and enticing study the Ohio State University's psychology department was conducting. If a qualified applicant, the research group was offering a great deal of money as reimbursement for individuals who volunteered. The only pre-requisite required was having an extra sensory perceptive ability. At first glance, Camille assumed the study to be a spoof or made up of a bunch of geeks trying to prove the existence of some pseudoscientific claim.
When she arrived at the intake for the study, she was welcomed by Dr. Miranda Thorn, a renowned doctor of genetics and immunology as well as a handful of reputable members of the scientific community on the board of research. It was impressive surprise to have such a member of the scientific community conducting the study. It only added to the nervousness Camille was already feeling about the intake.
"Good morning, Miss Silva and welcome. Please, have a seat," Dr. Thorn announced curtly, her hand motioning to an empty chair. She was the only member from the research team present during the intake, much to Camille's relief. From first glance, she seemed pleasant enough, her graying dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, flawless make-up and an air of authority floating around her. A tiny camera was set up on a tripod about ten feet from the desk and chairs, not yet engaged.
"My visit at the University is brief, so let us begin. This interview will be recorded for determination of our choice in volunteers," Dr. Thorn asserted, pressing a button on a small remote, initiating the camera to start recording.
"If you could explain your alleged extra sensory perception, for documentation purposes, please Miss Silva," Dr. Thorn stated flatly. Her stare was hawk-like, her eyes narrowing in on Camille. Her hand hovered over a blank notebook, a fountain pen grasped between her fingers. Camille cleared her throat, her hands suddenly sweaty, her solicitude stealing her voice.
She sputtered clumsily, "I, uh...," taking a deep breath, Camille thought about a hot air balloon, swept up by a violent wind on a brisk spring day. One breezy spring afternoon, her father had taken her to a field as a race was being held. She remembered the experience with blithe nostalgia, watching the heavy basket dangling from its cables, skirting too closely to the grass covered hill before it landed.
She stared at Dr. Thorn, projecting the image, pushing it forth from her mind. She willed the doctor to draw the image with precise detail. Dr. Thorn's hand began to move swiftly across the paper on the desk, her eyes still locked onto Camille's.
When she finally was broken from the trance, Dr. Thorn dropped the pen from her hand with a start peering down at her notepad. A billowy hot air balloon was scrawled on the pad, floating over a hill covered in a patch of grass. The balloon was impeccably shaded with the black ink of the pen.
Dr. Thorn's astonishment was clear by the pallor her face took on, her eyes widening and a tremor running through the hand that had held the pen. Camille smiled smugly at her reaction.
Two days later, Camille came back for the beginning of the project, to Dr. Thorn's enthusiasm. She went on to tell Camille that her abilities were remarkable and unique, something she hadn't seen since the dawn of their study.
Camille didn't pay attention to the paperwork she signed, her naïveté and ego overshadowing her common sense. It had been years since she was able to show off her skills, the only person around her knowing was her brother. He shared the strange anomalous ability and she had stressed to him the importance of disclosing the information to a limited amount of people, or risk judgement. If only she had followed her own goddamned advice.
Camille knew now it was a mistake admitting herself into the study, probably the biggest in her life. It seemed harmless at first but, after that, Camille was detained. She was transported to a facility in a location she wasn't conscious to see.
Her distorted reflection combined with the lack of food made a wave of nausea hit her, forcing her back to the uncomfortable bed. She lay on her back, staring up at the textured ceiling, wishing for a plan. She wondered if her parents knew, if Dr. Thorn's people told them anything. If they told her family she was a freak of natural. A creature born of a disrupted genome; a mutant, an aberration, a deformity.
Maybe them thinking she was dead in a ditch wouldn't be so bad after all.
**
A chickadee gracefully landed on the glass table in front of Roland, and she frowned, her concentration ripped from the murder mystery in her hands. Just as the killer was to be unveiled. The bird's opaque eyes stared at her, it's head tilting slightly to the side, studiously.
"Shoo," she whispered, leaning forward and flailing the open paperback at the bird until it fluttered away. Roland looked up as Jude and her new brunette shadow walked up to the table, hand in hand.
