The fluorescent lights buzz, emitting no heat but shedding so much light I can see it through my closed eyelids. My throat is dry, chafed from the smoke and the tube shoved down it when I entered this hospital. I cough, making the unsteady hospital bed creak loudly. I hear the rustling of people’s movements around me, a man whispers something low to a nurse. His voice sounds familiar, and my stomach lurches as I realize I am tied down. I struggle, but the bonds are strong and I can’t break free.

“Hope?” a voice calls. The sound is sweet and kind, but there is a tone behind it like fingernails on slate; grating and achingly cold.

I don’t want to open my eyes, but he knows I am awake. If I don’t show some signs of cooperation, he’ll kill me as I lie in this hospital. So I open my good eye, the other one remaining shut under its bandage. I stare, unwillingly, into his beautiful face. It’s the face of an angel, a blond, wavy haired angel with a smile so white it makes my head scream.

“Can you hear me, Hope?” He sounds genuinely concerned. I look around for the other people who must be around, but there is no one. I hear the beep of my heart monitor begin to speed up.

I know this man almost as well as I know myself. He is as unpredictable as a weather forecast, and a million times more dangerous. The best way to handle him, to keep him from losing what humanity he has left, is to humor his questions and not ask any of your own. Last time I only lasted fifteen minutes before he tried to kill me. Maybe my odds have improved since then, but I doubt it.

“I said,” the voice is getting harder, “can you hear me, Hope?”

I nod hurriedly, snapping out of the dreamish state I’ve been in, and the throbbing vein in his neck shrinks to its normal size.

“That’s good,” he purrs, “Do you remember who I am?” He looks pleading, all accept his dark, greenish gold eyes. They are daring me to say I don’t remember, daring my brain to be injured beyond repair, for me to have forgotten everything.

Oh, how I wish I had. I remember all too clearly the reason I am in this hospital bed, the reason one of my eyes is no longer an eye but a blank, charred hole in my face. I look him straight in the eyes, and my answer comes out in a strong, if slightly shaky, voice.

“You are the man who killed my mother.”

He laughs lightly, and it sounds like the laugh of a saint, rather than a devil. “Oh, come now, Hope. You know that you’re mother died in a car crash. That was eight whole years ago. I’m sorry you haven’t learned to accept it by now.”

“I’ll accept it,” I mutter, “when you’re lying on the ground with a bullet in your skull.”

He clucks his tongue against the backs of his teeth, and shakes his head knowingly. “Poor girl. Your nerves must be so raw after what you’ve been through.” I see the tiniest glint of pleasure in his eyes as he says this, and my blood goes chilly for a second, making me gasp for air. “Here,” he says, “let me get you something to drink. A soda, perhaps? Root beer is your favorite, isn’t it?”

I ignore him, hoping he’ll go and get the soda, and I can figure out a way to get out of this hospital bed. But he calls a nurse in, and makes her go. Most likely, she’s one of his dedicated workers, a drone kept around until she is no longer needed.

He pulls a chair up next to my bed, and rests his chin in his hand. “So, Hope, how about we get down to business, hmm?”

I swallow, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to propose. I’ve been through so much already, I’m not sure what more he can do to me. But then again, I’m not as brilliant as he is. He’ll think of something.

“Tell me where the book is.”

I blink slowly, confusion tracing its way through my body. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for torture, the loss of my other eye, acid, poison, broken limbs. His plan can’t really be this straightforward, can it?

“I’m not telling you where it is. I didn’t tell you when you were holding a blowtorch to my face, and I’m not telling you now.” I wince, remembering the grotesque smell of my flesh burning.

He nods sweetly, understandingly. “Tell me where the book is, and I promise you, I will never hurt you or anyone that you care for.”

“Too late.” I say, shrugging as best I can.

“Ah, yes. I suppose so.” He pauses, as if pondering his next move. But I know that he is faking. He always knows his next move. Once, he told me that we were alike in that way. It makes me nauseous just remembering it.

“Look,” I say, “there’s nothing you can offer that will make me give you that book, so you might as well just kill me now.”

He looks puzzled. “Why do you have no desire to live, Hope? Is it because of your mother? How she died protecting you? You feel you aren’t worth living since you are the reason your mother is dead?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, tears beginning to prickle in my eyes.

“Or is it because of your little brother?” He prods, licking his lips in anticipation of my reaction. “Because you know he would’ve been safe if you hadn’t been his sister?”

“Go to hell!” I yell, letting the tears corrode the backs of my eyes like acid.

He jots down a couple words on his clipboard before looking back up at me, his eyes glimmering. He puts down his fancy, expensive looking pen, and smiles gently at my rage. “You know, I never understood why it was you kept that book from me. It’s not like it would change the world. That book is not going to make a difference, especially since anyone who can read it won’t understand what it’s saying.”

He picks up an apple, red, crisp, beautiful. He contemplates it for a second, and then bites into it, juice bubbling from the bruising skin and dripping in an arc towards the bottom of the fruit. I swallow, my throat desperate for cool, sweet water to calm the burning pain that seems to coat my insides.

“There are people who would understand.” I whisper.

He sits forward, excited, “And who might those people be? The people who have the book right now? Come on, Hope, tell me where I can find them.”

“You’ll never find them or the book. Not by my hand anyway.”

He slumps back in his chair, a pouty, angry look on his face. I brace myself again for a blow to the head, a burn in my palms, something, anything. But he merely reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a piece of folded stationary. It smells faintly of lilacs, and the smell makes my skin tickle.

“How did you get that?” I question through my teeth, biting back a scream of rage.

“One of my guards picked it up on his way here. He said it might have belonged to anyone. But I knew it was yours.”

I draw away from his pride, like a cat from water. His childish glee in my pain makes me feel like I am drowning.

“Would you like me to read it to you, Hope?” He smiles, warm and soft like the sun, as long as the sun were a murderous lunatic.

I bite my lip, the dried out skin cracking under the pressure. This man, tall and muscular and full of devious charm is touching the most precious thing in my life. My insides burn with the pain, and I shiver involuntarily.

“Alright, I’ll read it.” He clears his throat as I struggle against my bonds, and feel the thin, unreal layer of skin on my arms break beneath the hard metal. I smell blood, metallic and sweet, and gasp in pain. He glances up, sees me bleeding, and shakes his head slight, before turning back to the letter. He perches a pair of glasses on his nose, and carefully reads aloud the letter I know by heart. The letter that has defined who I am.

“My dearest daughter,

You are sleeping now, and the doctor says you may never wake up. I know better. You are strong, and can only get stronger. You are a very special girl, and what you will do in your lifetime will be incredible. Be brave, Hope. Be independent. You have a hard road ahead of you, a task only you can fulfill. Keep the book safe, above everything else that you do. It is the only way to defeat the monster that our government has become.

I know it is not fair that such a little girl has been given such an unfathomable task. But none the less, it has been given to you, and you must fulfill it. Your power, your ability, is all this world has. When the time comes to make a choice, I know you will do what is right. protect the book long enough for it to be circulated, and you will have succeeded. I believe in you, Hope. You are the only thing left that deserves belief.

I wish you luck and safety, although I know it will not always be there. I am so sorry I will not be there to support you. Always and beyond,

your loving mother.”

Too late, I realize that I am crying. The tears are pouring down my face, streaking away the soot coating my usually pale skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but they ignore my plea and fall steadily onto my hospital gown.

“Ahh, you’re crying.” He sounds slightly disappointed as he says this, as if he were expecting better,

I glare up at him through the haze of tears. “You… will… never get that b-book.”

He ignores my proclamation and sighs heavily. “Hope,” he says, in the kind of voice that makes me a little afraid, “I’m going to give you one last offer. Now, I know that there are only five minutes until the book is circulated. I know that you know that as well. That’s why you’ve been stalling. But now it’s time to really get to work, okay?”

I stare blankly ahead, unable to say anything more, just waiting to here what he offers me.

“Now,” he mutters, snapping on a pair of latex gloves, “I developed two formulas while you were asleep,” he holds up two bottles, one filled with bubblegum pink liquid, the other filled with perfectly clear liquid, “the pink one will kill you instantly, special abilities and all. It will work quickly, because I think torturing people on their death beds is tacky.”

I laugh harshly, “I’d describe it more as barbaric, but—“

He ignores me and keeps talking. “The second, the clear one is a very complex sort of antibiotic. It will rid your body of the formula that was given to you when you were born, the one that made it possible for you to fulfill your mother’s goal.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I hear the heart monitor’s steady beeps get closer and closer together, in sync with my panicking heart. “That’s impossible.” I mutter, trying to convince myself, “my mother made that formula indestructible.”

He shakes his head and chuckles at my stupidity. “Your mother was a brilliant scientist. No one can deny that. But she wasn’t flawless, and neither was the formula she gave to you.” He smiles at my shocked look. ”All you have to do to be rid of your powers is to tell me where the book is. I promise you, Hope, no harm will come to you if you tell me where it is.”

I glance at the clock hanging opposite me. Two minutes and fifteen seconds. Oh, god, to be rid of these unearthly powers. I feel giddy just thinking about it. I look back at him, his gaze hungry and anxious, waiting for me to give in. This man is relentless, and right now I am on the verge of cracking.

His offer is the most beautiful thing in the world to me. It means a chance to be free, to live an uninhibited, uncomplicated life. It’s more than I have ever been able to dream of, and more than anyone else thought to offer me.

I stare back at the clock, only one minute and thirty seconds to go. I look at him and his sparkling, crazed eyes. This is the man who killed my mother, who destroyed my brother and murdered every one of my chances at normality. This is the psychotic being who blinded me in my right eye, and burned most of skin into flaky, powdery dust.

It’s only one book, I think, one book that won’t make a difference in the world anyway. I try to convince myself of this, hold onto it, try to justify it. It’s only a book. It’s only a book. Tick, tick, tick, tick. One minute left. Only a book, only a book, only a book.

He stares at me, mutters, “Choose, Hope; your mother’s book, or your life.”

Forty seconds. Only forty seconds until I either walk away without my powers, or crash forever into darkness and the harsh smell of this hospital. It’s a choice no sixteen year old, super or not, should have to make. But I have to. I have to, and I have to now, or else everyone loses.

I flash back to the day I awoke from my eight year coma. I see the two letters, the one from my mom, and the note from the government. It’s pristine, cold and unfriendly. It congratulates me on my recovery, and informs me that I have been imbued with special talents. I feel the feelings all over again. Excitement, pain, sorrow, joy.

I see my brother, half of his body paralyzed forever, the result of this heartless man’s brutality. I see myself laughing with my mother before the accident, see her rolling cookie dough, see the shine of her hair, the glow of her eyes. I breathe slowly, steadily, my mind whirling as I focus on the letter she wrote to me, on the last thing she said.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

“Ten seconds, Hope,” the sickly sweet voice calls to me through my daydream.

I open my eyes, see his face staring at me, his glasses sliding to the end of his nose. I smile softly, my mind stops moving, my choice made. I see his eyes go wide, and the vein in his neck pops out, a violent purple against his milky skin.

“I’m sorry,” I say, although the emotion I feel is much closer to relief, “that book is going to be published. And you will never know where it is.”

Four, three, two, one.

He screams, agony and rage lighting his face. This moment is the beginning of the end for him. Of course, my end began almost an hour ago, the second a awoke in this hospital. And now, as he fits the syringe into my I.V. and pushes the lever down with his fury shaken hands, the end of my end is coming. I see the thin line of pink making its way through the clear tube.

It reaches the end of its long, sick journey, and I can almost feel it hitting my bloodstream. The tiles above me swim. And his face appears.

“You’re an idiot,” he rasps out, his voice quivering with pain, “a selfish idiot who thinks she can save the world.”

“No,” I say, sleepy, ready to drift into the nothing that is approaching me, “I can’t save the world,” I pause, drawing what might be my last breath, “I can’t save the world…” I struggle to stay awake, and my mother’s formula fights for my last words, “but… that book… that insignificant, unreadable book…” I gasp, “that…”I cough weakly, “can help the world to save… itself.”

I stare up at his furious face, savoring my last snapshot of the world, and the world’s last snapshot of its unquestioned ruler. It feels beautiful to lay my head down, and let my destiny fall to those who would see it fulfilled. I have done my part. And now it's up to the world to do the rest.