Destruction - The Oasis Project Book 2 (Complete)

Six - Ira

Eva, is it?

Those eyes filled with colour - alien blue and green - that was Jaysen. He'd gotten his eyes infected saving Linkin from the pool, or was it the sea? Eva, Eva, Eva, Eva. Other people had called me that. A blonde photogenic man, ironically with a camera hanging from his neck. Another man leaning over the kitchen counter with irritating indie music playing. I stuck a heavy briefcase in his hand and patted him on the back.

Hands held me down by the neck. I flailed. Water rushed into my lungs. A gunshot. Jaysen was floating on the water, only moving with the waves. His blood coloured the ocean.

Eagle, you missed.

I jerked sideways, becoming fully awake. Air rushed in and out of me too quickly, and my head was getting lighter. I dug an elbow into the mattress, frowning. Did I kill him? Had the man who called me Eagle ordered me to kill him? I was shivering like a leaf in the fall gusts. After my breaths lengthened, I got out of bed, leaned on the wall and let it support me to the bathroom. I turned on the polished chrome bath taps.

Collapsing in the chair by the mirror, I tried to rub the ache from behind my forehead. I didn't recognize my reflection, but from what I knew about mirrors, the wild-haired woman with translucent skin had to be me. Still, it resembled someone else more than what I could remember I looked like. Someone called Clare Wiley - for some reason, the name stuck clearly in my head - I must have seen her in a newspaper or a wanted poster somewhere.

The water was too hot but I stepped into the bath anyway. The heat relaxed me but the more I used the bath as an escape, the less of a comfort it was becoming. Doctor A had been encouraging me to go outside my room once I got used to eating regular meals again. I'd forgotten that there was a world beyond these bluish walls and off-white carpet, and I didn't know how to face it. Not when I still wasn't used to my body, which for a long time didn't feel like it existed. I traced the bullet hole from Russia down my arm to the track marks along my veins, raging dots lining my forearms that weren't there before. Memories of the numbness caused by the needles revisited, and I quickly looked away.

Walking barefoot back into the bedroom, I opened every wardrobe door along the wall. There were so many things to wear, more options than I'd ever had. The wardrobes were full of dresses, shirts, coats, and I discovered that my body had shrunk too much in the dark room for most of the pants to fit without a belt. Of course, I found a number of belts with the shoes. They were all my size and were all strangely cool to the touch.

I put on a loose-fitting green t-shirt and stepped into faded blue jeans. I looked at the shoes and admired the boots in particular, but I left my feet bare. It wasn't time to go outside. Not yet. My head still spun regularly and I was lightweight, easily taken down if attacked. Lucky for me, Doctor A came into the room with my lunch before my stomach started growling.

"You look a lot better, Ira," she said, nodding, while I devoured a bowl of beef noodles.

I was relieved that I remembered how to use chopsticks, although there was a fork on the side. I paid Doctor A's compliment no attention; it was no thanks to her. The noodles were flavoured with warm spices, so I concentrated on that instead. I felt sweat making its way up through the pores of my skin.

"You can't stay in here forever, you know," Doctor A said. "There's a lot of things outside that you might like."

Where do you want to be after you leave here? I gulped. Anything could be a threat. I had to be careful. Passing the empty bowl back to Doctor A, I nodded. She seemed satisfied enough to leave me alone until the next meal.

󠁌♟♙♟♙

I gave up keeping track of days. It didn't matter since I had the giant hole in my memory anyway. I didn't know how many days I had lost in the pitch black cell before Doctor A walked me out. I didn't know how many omelettes I had before my hollow cheeks started to fill up again. My reflection became less of a prisoner and more of a new person, someone I hardly knew. After hours of convincing myself that I was no longer a prisoner, I finally mustered up the courage to push down the door handle and open it a crack. I immediately heard chatter drift into the room along with a blast of cold air. I went back to put on a thick jacket before I stepped out of the room.

As I closed the grey door behind me, I saw that it was marked clearly with a silver-plated "1". Doctor A had called me by that number before. It was no surprise that I was only a number to them now, but their numbering system didn't make any sense. I knew that Desmond and Celestia were here much earlier than me, and there were probably others here too. Why would they leave the first room and number empty for me?

A long corridor stretched to the left, like a sterile hospital trying too hard with nicer-looking wall lights and a carpet, but to my right was a well-lit open space. Hesitantly, I walked over and almost immediately regretted my decision. Next to a square pillar, Desmond glared at me through strands of long blonde hair, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the edge. The stark fluorescent lights made his tanned skin a little lighter. I screwed my eyes shut in frustration and it took all my will to not run back into my room.

I didn't notice that the chatter was coming from the open space until it stopped. There were round tables with fixed stools around them, comfortably spaced all the way to the back wall. Six East Asian youths scattered across several tables had their bodies turned to me, eyes wide in surprise. They looked nervously between Desmond and me and started to whisper.

Iha, Iha. I thought I caught something resembling my name being passed around the tables under their breaths. Some shook their heads, some frowned at Desmond as they spoke. After their discussions became more heated, they ushered a young man with hair tousled stylishly with gel to stand up. Putting his hand in his pockets, he walked towards me, visibly tense and avoiding Desmond's gaze.

"One?" he asked with a trace of an accent. I narrowed one eye. It began to twitch. "I am Five," he said, offering his hand with doubt, "or Wu. You must be Yihao, number one."

I didn't shake his hand. Instead, I stared at him quizzically until he backed away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Desmond walk off with an indignant huff.