Peter followed Ella down the long hallway. “Ella! Wait!”
She stopped. “I’m all right, Peter. Just . . . a little frustrated, okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
She smiled. “Why are you so nice to me?”
Peter paused, staring at her face. Her brown eyes shone in the sunlight streaming through one of the hallway’s narrow windows; her face, though sweat-streaked, was flushed with a healthy, rosy color. He reached out and brushed some damp strands of hair away from her smooth forehead, then leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a delicate, whispery kiss. As soon as their lips touched Ella broke away, taking a few trembling backwards steps.
“No, stop. We can’t . . . I . . . ”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head firmly. “I just can’t. Not-not with you, per se, but . . . I can’t.”
Peter nodded. “It’s because I’m the dummy, isn’t it?”
Ella stopped in her tracks, raising one eyebrow while glaring with the other. “The what?”
Peter looked down at his shoes. “Well, I mean . . . Mike is smart and Micky’s funny and Davy’s cute . . . it’s no wonder you don’t like me.”
Ella lunged, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and pushing him forcefully against the wall. Her eyes were burning with a familiar intensity—Peter had seen a similar look in Mike’s eyes many times.
“That is NOT true, and I don’t want you to talk like that, understand?”
Peter nodded nervously and Ella released him with an apologetic shake of her head. “Look, Peter, it’s not that I don’t like you. Quite the opposite, in fact. You’re kind and gentle and funny, and you make me feel good—like I’m loved. But I’m going back to England in a few days. You’re not going to leave your friends and come live with me, and I can’t move to California. If we . . . become more than friends it would just be . . . too difficult. So I think it’s best for both of us if we leave it at that, hmm?”
Peter nodded, trying to hold back his tears.
“Don’t cry. Who knows—someday I might change my mind and decide to settle here. We can still write letters to each other, and I promise that when I’m here I’ll visit you, okay?”
Peter smiled. “You mean it? You won’t forget me?”
“Do you honestly think I could forget that smile? Not a chance,” she replied, nudging him teasingly. “Come on. We’d better go join the others before they get the wrong idea about us.” She turned and was just beginning to head back down the corridor when a thick forearm slammed into her chest, knocking the wind out of her as she hit the floor.
“El!” Peter cried, darting forward. The tall man whose arm had interrupted her progress stepped out of the shadows and grabbed Peter, swinging him around and slamming him into the wall. Peter twisted in the man’s iron grip and took the brunt of the blow with his shoulder instead of his back, but the impact still numbed his arm from shoulder to fingers; intense pain followed a few moments later.
“Meddler,” the man snarled, jabbing a long syringe into Peter’s arm.
“El! El!” he cried, hoping she’d respond before the world completely dissolved around him. To his foggy-brained dismay, Ella didn’t move. “El, please . . . wake . . . up . . . ”
The man with the cold blue eyes watched as Peter slipped into unconsciousness. He looked down at Ella, whose eyes, though open, were unfocused and cloudy.
“That should just about do it,” he murmured.
~*~
The first thing Peter saw when he awoke was Mike staring down at him. Relief so intense it was almost painful flooded into him, replaced only a few moments later with gut-wrenching dread.
“M-Mike?”
Mike cocked his head in a puzzled manner. His dark hair stuck out wildly in all directions, and his black shirt was ripped in several places. He continued to stare at Peter, his dark eyes boring into Peter’s soul. “Gu-rah,” he intoned solemnly.
As soon as the word left Mike’s lips Peter knew exactly what it meant and where it came from, and he also recognized the cold, murderous look in Mike’s eyes.
The breath returned to his lungs and he screamed. “MIKE’S THE MONSTER!”
“What??” a voice shouted. Peter realized that his hands were bound behind his back, and that there was someone else sitting behind him. The voice was far too low to be either Ella or Micky, so it could only be—
“Davy? They got you, too?”
“‘They’?” Davy replied. “There was only one guy, Peter. He caught me when I came back down ‘ere. What’s going on?”
“Mike’s the monster,” Peter said, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how, but he’s the monster!”
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