- 14 -

                                    

                                          
I don't sleep at all that night.

                          
I can't. It just feels wrong, when the other mutants are out there. I got so used to knowing that not knowing is killing me. I'm lying on what Brandon's family calls a couch when they could be out there, sleeping under a tree in the cold, or worse, back in an induced sleep at the Dynagenesis facility. I shiver at the thought; all my hard work would have been for nothing.
                          
Janice wakes up first, running a fine-tooth comb through a tangled mess of hair. When she spots me curled up in a corner of the couch, she freezes, but I continue twisting a strand of my hair in between my fingers.
                          
"What are you doing awake?" She asks coldly, patting her hair down in a lame attempt to make it semi-presentable. I just stare at her, testing her response to me doing absolutely nothing. It's a self-conscious motion. I don't understand how people can be worried about such futile things as how their hair looks when there are dangers out there like facilities torturing kids and changing them into weapons.
                          
She flips her hair over her shoulder. "You don't ever talk, do you?" She mumbles angrily.
                          
"There's a reason for that."
                          
"I'm sure there is. Teenagers these days."
                          
I cock my head, even though she can't see it. "The rest of your family is at least partially accepting. What about me makes you hate me so much?"
                          
She whirls to face me, rage filling her eyes. "Because I knew Dynagenesis was making a serum. I had my glory days too, once. On top of that, they're weeks from forcibly kicking us off this property. My boys were in danger as soon as they got near that fence."
                          
I glance down at my fingers, crossed over my lap. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
                          
She sighs. "I know it's not your fault, but I'm worried about my family."
                          
"That's what Brandon said. I appreciate your hospitality, but I need to find my friends. I'll be fine in a day or two, if all goes as planned, and you can never think of me again."
                          
She chuckles disparagingly. "I don't think I can do that."
                          
"Please, Janice. This world is brand new to me, and your family seems like the perfect entrance. I'm not asking you to house me here for years; just long enough to get a little food and formulate a plan to meet the other mutants."
                          
There's a moment of quiet as she stands in the doorway, facing away from me. I chew my lip. I can practically feel her deliberation. I almost want to slip into her head because I know it'll be the same quiet ease as Jason's, no resistance, and I could make her turn and say "Paige, you can stay here." At the same time, I know that would only make me feel better for a moment, and the guilt would weigh heavy on my conscience later. So I hold back.
                          
"Just please don't bring the boys into this," she murmurs into the darkness.
                          
"I swear it."
                          
There's a crack of a door in the hallway behind me and Janice's head snaps up. I sink lower into the couch, feeling bioelectricity pour into the room. Janice paces silently into the kitchen, drawing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with tap water. I turn back to the strand of hair that entranced me for the past few hours, a dark grey, a few shades light of black. No wonder Janice was terrified when she first saw me; the sharp features, unnaturally colored hair and expressionless white eyes likely make me a borderline monstrous sight.
                          
It's only been a night, but the longer I spend here, the more I realize the minute differences in bioelectrical signals between the family. They were all similar to begin with, as they are related by blood, but when Jason walks into the room with a dramatic yawn, I realize his signal feels a little bit heavier than the rest. Slightly more complicated. Not more difficult to take control of if I ever needed to do so again, but even that small sense of accomplishment makes me smirk.
                          
"Hey Paige," he slurs. I notice his movements are sluggish. I never saw anyone else in my mornings at the facility, but I never thought I was like that. I don't think he's injured, but maybe it's an exhaustion thing? I don't want to ask, in case it's something he's sensitive about.
                          
"Hello, Jason." The greeting feels odd on my lips. I would have wished him a good morning, but it reminds me too much of what the doctors used to tell me at the facility, so I keep quiet.
                          
He wanders over to the kitchen, where Janice is leaning against the counter and sipping her water from a mug. "You ever had toast?" He asks, searching through the cupboards on the wall.
                          
"I got bread and rice for most meals. Sometimes, when I was good, they'd give me a sweet sauce or artificial butter. They mostly gave me fluids to make up for the lack of vitamins."
                          
Jason pauses before taking two plates from a shelf. "Well, toast is just slightly burned bread. It's a little hard, but barely. Crunches in your mouth."
                          
"Bread is crunchy." When I was little, I used to peel the crust off and throw it on the floor. I got in trouble for that.
                          
"Bread is supposed to be soft." He turns to me, a look of concern on his face. "Did they feed you stale bread?"
                          
"I don't know. They never talked to me when they gave me food."
                          
Jason blows air out of his nose and turns back to the plates, while I go back to fiddling with my fingernails as he drops it in a machine. I reach out a little farther with my ability. Brandon is still asleep in his room, and David is a floor above me. His mind is active but he's still unconscious. I figured out quickly that calmer bioelectrical signals usually mean sleep, while ones that move faster tend to mean awareness. The opposite end of the spectrum is Jax, whose mind moves so fast I can barely get a grasp on it at all. I wonder if he's doing okay. I heard by rumor alone that he takes additional anxiety medication to try to calm him down and help him recover from his violent twitching episodes he experiences randomly throughout the day, but his incidents would get worse if he didn't take them. I hope he's not at the facility, but if he's not, he has to be suffering. I don't want that for him. Mentally, I note that if I find any sort of medication that could help, I would take it, just in case I ever find him.
                          
There's a fast metallic scrape from where Jason stands and I leap to my feet, tearing the knife out of the spot behind the cushions where I had stuffed it last night. Calmly, however, Jason reaches toward the machine, where the two pieces of bread have popped out. It must have made the noise. I stand up straight, knife still clutched between white fingers, and he tosses me a concerned glance.
                          
"Sorry. Shoulda warned you about that."
                          
The noise alone is enough to remind me I don't belong here. I sink back into the couch with an uneasy feeling.
                          
He paces back into the room with two plates in hand, each with a few pieces of bread slathered in butter. I take one from him carefully and he drops on the couch next to me, making sure to keep his distance. I nibble at the corner of the bread, and I've already made up my mind; toast is amazing.
                          
"You like it?"
                          
I nod eagerly, and he chuckles. "Wait 'til you try raspberries. Those are the best."
                          
I don't know what those are, but I send him a tight-lipped smile before staring back at the pile of wood in what Brandon identified yesterday as the fireplace. Even eating toast makes me feel guilty. The image of shivering Sarah, lying cold in a forest, hits me like a bullet. I set the last piece of toast back down on the plate, suddenly feeling like I can't eat another bite.
                          
"What's up?" Jason asks when I stand.
                          
I set the plate down on the couch. "I've got to find my friends. No matter what it takes."
                          
"It's just toast!" He exclaims as I walk away, and I slip into his mind. I don't take control, just let him know I'm there, before exiting without incident. I know my limits, but I'm also more powerful than anyone ever thought.