I heard a door slide closed behind me and turned toward the sound. The fluorescent lights were so intense that I had to hold my hand up to shield them; I could see at once that I was lying on a long cot in a large empty room. There was only one other piece of furniture, a wide table in the center of the floor with chairs surrounding it, but even it was dwarfed by the size of the space. The concrete walls were nearly invisible under layers of paper; the only section not plastered with maps or photographs or sheaves of precise, typewritten notes was the wall just opposite me, the entire width of which was spanned by an enormous black shade.
This was definitely not a dream.
“Hello?” My voice traveled back to me on an echo. I was overcome with loneliness and dread. I almost wished the pain from before would return, just so I’d have something to concentrate on other than the ominous silence that blanketed the room.
“Hello?” I cried out again, louder now, hoping the sound of my own voice would comfort me, but instead the word came out strangled and half crazed. I was restless, my nerves thrumming; I couldn’t stay in that bed one more second. I rushed to the door and began banging on it. “Let me out of here! Somebody help me! Let me out!”
There was a window in the door, but it was small, and there was no angle I could find that would allow me to see anything in the hallway that might give me a clue as to where I was. I thought back to what Thomas had said to me about Libertas, what they would do if they’d gotten ahold of me, and I wondered if I was their prisoner now. If that was the case, then where was Thomas? Surely his concern back in the alley wasn’t for my safety alone, if he even cared about that at all; if they’d caught us, then what were they doing to him?
“Thomas!” I screamed. It was more likely, I figured, that Thomas had succeeded in his mission and brought me … where? Where I needed to be, he’d said. And where the hell was that? I shouted his name again, slamming my fist against the door. I’d pound until my hands were raw if that was what it took. He would come. He’d have to. I pressed my forehead against the cool metal and squeezed my eyes shut. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. I gave the door one last halfhearted thump with my open palm, then turned my back to it and let one heavy sob escape my throat, just one.
My gaze drifted around the room until something hanging nearby caught my eye. I walked over to the collage of documents tacked up to the wall. There, among the various papers, was a photograph of Granddad, a blown-up, grainy reproduction of the image that appeared on his faculty page on the University of Chicago website. Next to it hung a map of Hyde Park, with the location of my house—and Grant’s—marked with big red Xs. There also was my most recent yearbook photo, my class schedule, and the Lab Schools’ annual calendar with the date of prom highlighted, last semester’s grade report, a picture of the Victorian and hand drawn blueprints showing the rooms on every floor, and several other photos—me and Gina making faces at the camera, Granddad walking into the physics building carrying his briefcase, and, worst of all, a scan of the picture that sat on Granddad’s mantle, the one that showed me and my parents at Disney World.
Sasha Lawson, I thought. This is your life.
He’d planned it all. I guess I knew that deep down, but I hadn’t had much time to consider it before now. Thomas hadn’t merely stumbled into my life; he’d invaded it, coldly calculating his entry and playing me like a fiddle until he ripped me out of my world and into his. The knowledge that I’d fallen for it hit me like a punch to the gut. Whatever my faults—and I had plenty—I’d never, ever thought I was capable of being such a fool, of not seeing what was right in front of my eyes.
On the opposite side of the room hung two huge maps. At first glance, they were almost identical; they both showed the North American continent, with its odd, familiar shape. But upon closer examination, I realized they were in fact quite different. One was a map of the United States in the present day. I located Chicago easily; it was marked by an orange pushpin, teetering on the edge of Lake Michigan. But the other map was different, to say the least. Instead of the fifty states, it depicted two countries, separated by a long winding black border that skirted the Mississippi River. The eastern half, the United Commonwealth of Columbia, was partitioned into twenty or so “King’s Dominions”: the original thirteen colonies, plus West Florida, East Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Michigan. Some states had been combined, or simply never existed in the first place. Maine was annexed to Massachusetts, Virginia and West Virginia were a single Dominion, Indiana included Kentucky and Tennessee, and Michigan and Wisconsin were joined together. The western half of the map was labeled “Farnham,” and it, too, was divided, by two vertical lines, creating three “Regions”: Louisiana, Mountain, and California.
What had happened in this world to make it look this way? I wondered as I traced the borders idly with my fingertip. And what, if anything, did it have to do with me?
The door slid open and I jumped, shocked half to death by the first sound that wasn’t of my own making. Thomas strode into the room, his expression placid but alert. Before I even knew what I was doing, I flew at him, meaning to hit him, but he caught my wrists and held me at arm’s length.
“I’ll thank you not to assault my employees, Miss Lawson.” I heard the voice before I saw the man. A moment later, he stepped out from behind Thomas, and I got a good look at him. He was no more than two inches taller than me, with dark hair, too dark given his age; in the harsh fluorescent light his face looked dry and creased. He was in his early sixties, definitely; he wore a pair of rimless glasses that reminded me of Granddad.
In all other ways, though, this man was nothing like Granddad. He was impeccably dressed in a pressed gray pinstripe suit with a white shirt and a silver tie, his shoes perfectly shined. He made no sound as he slowly crossed the linoleum floor.
The older man’s presence in the room was unsettling, but all I cared about was extricating myself from Thomas’s steel grip.
“Let go of me,” I snapped. Thomas was completely unfazed and held me fast, though gently, as if he was doing his best not to hurt me. He must’ve been under orders not to damage the merchandise.
“Only if you stop trying to bash my face in,” he said in a low voice.
“No promises,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Agent Mayhew, release her,” the man commanded. Thomas did so at once and stepped back, clearly believing I’d swing at him again as soon as I was able, but I no longer had the strength. Besides, it was clear that Thomas wasn’t the one in charge here, and giving him a good thump on the head wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
“Good girl,” the man said in a patronizing tone that made my fingers clench into fists. “Now, why don’t you have a seat?”
“I’ll stand, thanks.” I wasn’t really in a position to be mouthing off, but I couldn’t resist.
“You’ll sit,” the man said coldly, gripping the back of the chair. When I hesitated, he continued, “You’ll sit or I’ll have Agent Mayhew strap you down.”
Reluctantly, I sank into the chair, seeing that it was fruitless to argue. For the first time, I noticed just how cold the room was, like a walk-in refrigerator. Was it always this cold, or was it for my benefit, to shake me up even more than I already was? I was shaken, deeply. My insolence was more a reflex than a show of bravery, and even then I wasn’t sure I had either Thomas or his nameless superior convinced. But it made me feel better, to give him a little lip.