Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

There were cameras in the hallway. Eyes on them at all times. Guards were stationed, although the guards were usually bored and detested watching a bunch of little girls they thought harmless, especially one vomiting in her room. Some of the guards felt sorry for her and would sneak in to try to help her. Others were indifferent. Some moved down the hall to avoid hearing her.

Jonquille covered her distinctly blond hair. It wasn’t even blond. It was white. Just as Flame’s hair was bright red, Jonquille’s was as platinum as could be. Due to her looks, the guards called her “freaky” looking. The other girls were protective over her. Jonquille did her best not to cry at the hurtful things the men said, because they said the things to all the girls and seemed to hold them in contempt the way Whitney did. She wanted to be like Flame.

Being so small, she could secret herself in the tiniest cracks, or the smallest vents. She’d found that out when she was barely a year and a half. Now, she took off the grate and pulled herself up into the small hole, sliding into the pipe that connected her room to Flame’s. The pipe was extremely narrow and she had to round her shoulders and push with her toes and fingers, but she did so, no problem.

She had tiny hairs or setae embedded in her palms and fingers as well as in the soles of her feet and toes, so tiny no one could see them. She never told the other girls because the hairs embarrassed her when she realized they didn’t have them. The setae allowed her to climb straight up the walls and across the ceiling, which she did often when she was alone. She enjoyed climbing and practiced over and over, but never when anyone might see her.

Instinctively, she hid everything she could do from Whitney as well. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust the guards and was careful to stay out of their way. She was so small, they often overlooked her, which allowed her to see and overhear things she might not have heard if they’d known she was listening. Fortunately, even at three, she had above-average intelligence. What she didn’t understand, she asked one of the older girls she trusted to explain to her.

Whitney didn’t like the girls, and his dislike of them spilled over to the guards. He really didn’t like Flame and another girl, Thorn. He thought they were the worst and he intended to get rid of them one way or another, but not before he got his money’s worth out of them. Jonquille wasn’t certain what that meant, but she knew it wasn’t a good thing.

Jonquille used the setae on her hands to pull her way through the vent as fast as possible while still remaining silent, not making a whisper of sound. Whitney had a way of recording them, his cameras and audio equipment very sensitive.

Flame writhed on the bed, occasionally leaning over to violently vomit into a wastepaper basket located on the floor to the side of the bed. She clutched a wet cloth in her hand and would wipe at her mouth afterward and then lie back down. There were beads of sweat on her forehead, and her thin shirt was twisted and looked damp and uncomfortable on her body. Her hair, normally a bright red, was dark, soaked with sweat.

Two soldiers whispered to each other, one almost pushing the other toward the door. “I’ll take care of this little brat, Jerry. She’s mostly faking. I’ve seen her do this before. She can make herself get sick. She does it to make everyone feel sorry for her.”

The other guard had his hand over his mouth. “I don’t think so, Vern. She looks really sick to me. I’ve just never been good with this. It reeks in here. We should at least open the window.” He made a move to do so, but Vern blocked him.

“I’ll do it. You go on out before you hurl, man. I don’t want to clean up your mess. Just go down the hall and drink some water. Get some air. I’ll cover for you. Take fifteen.”

Jonquille had always been able to hear false notes in voices, and there was something wrong with Vern’s solicitation. He wasn’t in the least concerned with Jerry. Vern had “bad” energy, and it was coming at her in waves. He was excited in a bad way. He wanted Jerry gone. Jerry was genuinely concerned for Flame, but felt sick and wanted to get away. His energy was low. Jonquille watched through the grille as he turned his head away and staggered out the door. Vern stood in the door frame until Jerry had gone all the way down the hall and then he stepped fully into the room, closed the door and slowly turned to face Flame.