GINM

     Maman, I had a bad dream. There were people after me, scary people, who tricked me and stuffed me into the back of their car. I didn't know where they were taking me, but I prayed you and Papa were safe and that they wouldn't get to you, too.

I began to wake up, my body swaying to the motions of something not within me. I knew what this external force was, and now I knew I hadn't dreamt it. I was sitting in the back of what appeared to be a limousine, my head full and foggy, and my vision returned in waves, while I caught the scent of polished leather and something sweet, like treacle or caramel. Was this the fragrance of poison?

Merely trying to conceive what was going on brought tears to my parched eyes, and when I noticed Stefan sitting there across from me, my skin burned with resentment. What did you do to me? He must have recognized the look and stood up quickly, like he knew what I was about to do next.

"You're awake," he noted, as I pulled off my seatbelt – there were no other restraints, no ropes or tape, and that was a mistake.

In that moment, I didn't care that I was in a moving vehicle; I stood, too, and rushed towards Stefan like I was a wrestler and not a goalkeeper. I tackled him to the ground and started punching, the first connected with his chest, the next with his cheek, but he grabbed my hands before I could do any more. I resisted Stefan's hold, but he was stronger than he looked, I couldn't break free.

"Let me go!" I yelled.

"Calm down, please, I'm not gonna hurt you."

How can he sound so sincere? I rolled my eyes, his words making me sick, before the limo went over what I hoped was a speed bump, and the two of us toppled over. Stefan had finally let me go, but then I was tumbling back and falling flat on my behind. By the time we'd come to a standstill, Stefan was towering over me, offering me a hand. In refusal, I started to crawl away, but in turn he only stepped closer.

"I, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said again, making a promise out of the words. "Let me help you up."

"Who are you?" I demanded, unyielding.

"Stefan Summers," he iterated. "That's all I can tell you for now, but if you come with me –"

Just then, a man came to the door, presumably the driver. He said nothing, only held the door and waited.

"And if I don't, you're gonna drug me again?"

"No, I'm asking."

"I think we're way past that."

Stefan responded with a sigh. He stepped out of the vehicle and glanced back at me, and when it was clear I still wouldn't come with him, he grew frustrated and left. Surprised by this reaction, I approached the door, but with caution. The driver-doorman remained unmoving when I dipped out onto the road. Did they not think I would run? To my right, the road snaked into a suburb, and to my left, I could identify a theatre and a bank. I memorized the street, weighing out my options.

I could run. The thought entered my mind and was snuffed out just as swiftly when I heard someone call from behind me.

"Aimee Whitaker."

Whitaker?

Suddenly, my breath was afraid to leave my throat. I turned to face the man who had spoken, who was neither Stefan nor the driver, but a frighteningly elegant figure in an all-black suit. I couldn't see his eyes if I tried; they were hidden behind the thick tint of a pair of sunglasses. Stefan was standing next to him on the steps of whatever building we'd arrived at, his hands tucked casually into his pockets – he must have brought me here for this man. How did he know my real name? Who was I to him? What was I?

"You may call me Buckley," he introduced himself – it was then that I noted his English accent – but he was no less mysterious now than he'd been before. "I'm Stefan's father. We apologise for any unnecessary trouble he must've caused you, but rest assured, you are in no danger here. It's late, please come in."

Stefan's father? You mean there's two of them?

Whoever this Buckley guy was, he wasn't exempt from his son's actions. There was no reason for me to trust him, regardless, I feared what might happen if I disobeyed. He held so much authority, like a policeman or politician, but I had a feeling he was nothing like that. As I followed them up the steps, I looked up at the building we were about to enter, and it, too, was unreadable. It belonged to the suburb, and each house had been cut from the same cardboard box. What made this one so special, I wondered?

"For the record, I didn't cause her trouble."

I had considered how I might go out, when my time would eventually come. So many possibilities, and not once had I imagined I'd be murdered by my classmate and a wannabe James Bond – was he really Stefan's dad? The three of us entered into what seemed to be an abandoned building; the only furniture was a single desk and chair in the center of the room, and a computer that had probably been there since the dawn of its kind. We approached an elevator on our left, and despite the obvious Out of Order label taped over the button, Buckley pushed 'up'. The grey room was asleep under a blanket of dust, but that should wake it.

Stefan put his hand on my shoulder, nudging me into the elevator as it droned to receive us. His grip was heavier than expected, like he was keeping me grounded in case I planned to fly away, but where could I go? When we came to a stop, suddenly there was this feminine voice, vibrating through the steel box we were in.

"Welcome back, Mitchel Buckley. Welcome back, Stefan Summers. Welcome, Aimee Whitaker, or Griffiths, which do you prefer?"

"Uh – what's happening?" I asked, but was blatantly ignored.

I heard a soft click from Buckley's direction, and as I looked, his shades appeared to have adapted into spectacles, magnifying the intense blueness of his eyes. "What have I told you about using my name?"

"Aw, come now, Buckley, I'm only teasing."

Before I could figure out where the voice was coming from, if it was even human, the doors opened once more, and my senses were overwhelmed by a bright light. I shielded my eyes for as long as it took for them to adjust, and then Stefan walked me out onto a floor so clean that I could see our reflections in the pearly enamel. Swarms of people glided across it like bumblebees in jade coats. In the center of the floor was a large elliptical cavity, fenced off like a balcony or mezzanine, so you could see that there were at least a dozen levels above and below this one.

Is this even the same building?

Within the opening was an enormous column with belts of semi-holographic text circling around it. When I got closer, leaning my hands on the railing, I realized one recurring word, four letters: G-I-N-M. As if sensing my confusion, Buckley arrived next to me.

"Welcome," he paused, akin to a ringmaster presenting his show, "to The Global Institute of New Method."

I let out a small, awestruck breath. Then, I looked up, far up, and discovered that the ceiling was made of glass, a transparent dome between me and the stars. I had never been to an observatory before, but I imagined that they looked something like this. Before I could take in any more of this place, a woman in a tailored white suit approached us – she had the same jade-colored jacket as the others, but it was draped over her shoulders, like a cape rather than a coat. Her hair was kept in an obedient ebony bob, and she had eyes like chocolate buttons. They reminded me of Emma's.

"You're back." She attempted a smile, which hardly made a crease in her bronzed face, but her tone revealed how glad she was to see Stefan. He hugged her in response. However short, it was a tight hug; I could feel how personal it was just by being there, and then I noticed how it seemed to make Buckley as uncomfortable as it was making me.

"This is Dr. Jennifer Summers," he proclaimed bluntly.

'Summers' like Stefan? I wondered, feeling awkward all of a sudden, but I refrained from voicing my thoughts. Then, the woman extended her hand.

"Please, call me Jenny."

"I'm Aimee."

"Wonderful," she said, bringing her hands together with a light clap, as if she had been told good news. Am I supposed to know you? "You look confused."

"I-I don't know what I'm doing here." Do you? If I told this woman that Stefan and Buckley had abducted me, would she help me or merely pat them on the back?

Jenny nodded in comprehension. "I see."

"Yes, we should get to that," uttered Buckley, and he tugged Stefan by the arm, expecting that I'd follow. I wasn't sure what other options I had.

I glimpsed back over my shoulder and noticed a woeful look on Jenny's face. Unaware that she was being watched, Jenny sucked in a deep breath and shook off whatever she was feeling before continuing on her way with that featherweight smile. Suddenly, I felt as though I'd walked in on a secret, seen something I wasn't meant to, I just couldn't guess why.

Who is Dr. Summers, really? I turned my gaze to Buckley and Stefan, who marched on like soldiers – straight ahead with their chins up. She seemed to treat Stefan like a son, so why does Buckley seem so displeased with her? I recalled the voice in the elevator, the name it had used. Mitchel Buckley... was he not Stefan's biological father? That could be one possibility; they didn't look that much alike, and why else would they have different surnames? After a while, Stefan's gaze broke from our set path to notice my stare. Unless his parents never married, or rather, went through a divorce.

"You know, I wanted to drive you here myself," Stefan said unexpectedly, with the slightest hint of red in his cheeks. "But the limo's my dad's and he doesn't like me touching his stuff." I glanced from him to Buckley, who either hadn't heard the comment or didn't care enough to toss in his own. "What I mean to say is, sorry for the bumpy ride."

"No offense," I started, "but I honestly don't care. I just want to know what's going on, who the heck all you guys are and what you want with me."

With a side glance, Stefan smirked teasingly. "So aggressive," he said.

It took a lot of willpower for me not to entertain that, not to tell him that I hadn't even scratched aggressive yet.

"What he means to say is that, regrettably, we can't answer any of your questions at this time," Buckley said, as we came to a standstill at a door. "It will make sense soon enough. Please, be patient with us."

He proceeded to let us into the room and directed his gaze toward Stefan, before taking his leave. I wasn't sure I cared to know what he'd meant or where he was going, so I focused on where I was instead. The room was relatively big, some kind of office by the looks of it, with a (modern) computer and sleek filing cabinets all along the walls. Stefan took a seat at the desk, at which point I gave up wondering what we were doing here. Was this the part where he tortured me or something?

"Okay, Aimee, here's the thing," he said. "I know you don't know me very well, but unfortunately, I have to ask you a few questions."

"I don't know you at all." I shuddered, trying to take a peek at the large file he had bared in front of him. "What kind of questions?"

"Where you were born, parents' names; things like that."

I faltered at first; why had he brought me all the way here for some trivial questions? That voice in the elevator knew who I was, and they did, too, or I wouldn't be here. What more could they want from me? Stefan clicked the button on what seemed like some fancy audio recorder. I dreaded knowing what sort of consequences came with agreeing to this, but I got the feeling I should comply. The moment I sat down, he grabbed a pen, and we began.

"Can I have your full name, please?"

"Aimee Isobel Griffiths."

"How old are you?"

"Turning eighteen in September."

As I swallowed the lump in my throat, Stefan wrote down every word in black ink. For all the technology in this place, the sight of a pen and paper was almost surprising.

"Who are your foster parents?"

"Clifford and Molly Griffiths... how do you –?"

Before I could become even more suspicious, Stefan continued. The questions poured out of his mouth, about my hobbies, my school life, my friends. But whenever I wanted to know something, he changed the subject. After a while, it became unbearable; if he was going to ask me all this stuff, we could at least make it a conversation, that's how normal people operated, right? I didn't want to tell my life story to a brick wall, so, I snapped.

"Stefan, enough! Tell me how you and your father know me. What do you want from me? Does my being here have something to do with my birth parents? They both died, you know that, right?"

Stefan looked up at me through his dark eyelashes, his calm starkly contrasting my storm. "What happened to them?"

"Car crash," I said, and I noticed that he wasn't writing this down. "I was five." It wasn't something I had to tell him, and yet I spoke without reservation.

Stefan gulped, and what hardened demeanor he'd had melted away in a matter of seconds. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago."

I thought I'd be strong enough by now not to shed a tear over it. Apparently not. A beat of silence enveloped the room. It sat on my shoulders and bowed Stefan's head, and then it lingered in the way his gaze flittered apologetically and indecisively between me and the floor.

He shut file #211 and stood up from his chair.

I peeked at the folder in Stefan's hand; my name was on its face in printed lettering. So, this was no accident; they were waiting for me.

"That's all I need you to answer, thank you. Please stay here, Aimee," he requested. "I'll return soon."

With that, he left the room. As the door closed behind him, I couldn't help but wonder what else was in that sizeable file. Where was he taking it? What were they going to use it for? Was my family at risk now because of me? I couldn't stay in that room like a sitting duck; what if Stefan didn't come back? It was these questions that urged me to ignore his words and follow him instead. I refused to leave without some answers. That is, if I were to leave this place at all. I wouldn't be surprised if they kept me here as a hostage – this was still technically a kidnapping – I couldn't expect them to send me on my way after one round of twenty questions.

When I spotted Stefan, he was standing in the elevator, and I ran as fast as I could to make it inside, which I managed to do with about a second to spare before the doors shut. Slowly, we descended. Stefan said nothing about my disobedience; he just stood there as though a part of him had known I would follow. I wasn't sure what to make of his indifference, but I dared not breathe a word – suddenly, the elevator was unnervingly quiet without that lady's voice. Finally, we stepped out into what appeared to be the underground parking.

"You haven't sent me back. Why do I get the feeling you wanted me to follow you here?" I asked, but Stefan looked away without a reply. "Why don't you answer any of my questions?"

"Someone's coming, walk with me."

"How convenient for y–" Before I knew it, Stefan threw his arm across my torso, holding me from behind with one hand and putting another over my mouth. He pulled me along like I was a puppet on a string. I didn't like the feeling.

While Stefan had his back to a pillar, I had mine against him, wondering if that concrete felt as hard as he did. We waited out of sight as a cluster of people walked by – these ones wore green-and-black – before the elevator carried them up to one of the countless levels above. They were gone, whoever they were, but Stefan had yet to take his hand back. So, I licked it.

"Did you just do what I think you just did?" He finally removed his palm and stepped away, looking more flabbergasted than disgusted.

"I licked you, yeah."

"Pretty brave, considering there could still be remnants of the serum that knocked you out before."

So, that's what happened. I wanted to gasp, but I stopped myself. "But there isn't any... is there?"

A faint chuckle escaped Stefan's lips as he watched my eyes grow wide, and then he shook his head. "It's worn off by now."

"Right," I sighed in relief. "So, why were you hiding from your own people?"

"You know how I told you to stay in that room? They can't see you here," he said. "We're neither holding you captive nor training you, but you're an outsider, which means you shouldn't be roaming around so freely. But seeing as you're incapable of sitting tight, I'm just going to take you home now instead of later."

Who are you people? I tried to process his words, particularly what he meant by 'training' and 'captive', but I had no idea. However, that was the most straight-forward answer Stefan had supplied since I'd gotten here; maybe this was my chance to learn more about this place. But that wasn't going to happen if I went home now.

"Okay, I'm sorry I lick– whoa!" Without warning, Stefan hoisted me up, laid me over his shoulder and carried me across the parking lot. So much for that idea.

I pounded on him furiously, but he refused to let go until we arrived beside a candy-yellow-coated Volkswagen New Beetle.

"You drive a Beetle?" I asked, sounding more surprised than I'd thought I would. It was kind of sexy actually, the car, like something you'd find in a museum instead of on the road. And not a history museum either, it was like something from the future.

"Were you expecting a Batmobile?"

"Is that a joke?"

Stefan smirked, setting me down as he opened the passenger side door. "Hop in."

In the Beetle, Stefan proceeded to lock the doors and gave me a haughty look as if to say that I couldn't escape him now. Not that I needed to be reminded. The car rumbled readily until we made it out onto the main road. When we emerged from the underground, all we heard was the onslaught of messages coming through to my cell. I'd almost forgotten I had it, or rather, I'd just assumed they'd confiscated it while I was unconscious. But I pulled it out of my jeans pocket, held it there on my lap. The absurdity of this situation had officially sunk in, making me hesitant to do anything else.

"GINM jams unauthorized networks and devices. You may answer those if you want," Stefan permitted. "They could be from the past hour, your friends or family looking for you. You did disappear after all."

I disappeared? I scoffed at him before checking my notifications, the majority of which were panicked exclamations and missed calls from Emma. I bit my lip, wondering how I would explain all of this to her, or anyone else for that matter, especially when I could hardly make sense of this myself.

"Will you take me back to Coach Kirkwood's?" I asked, shooting Stefan a sideways glance.

"You want to go back to the party?" – I nodded – "Alright. I'm sure I don't have to warn you about what happens if you tell anyone about this."

"What, you'll kill me and everyone I love?"

"No, of course not," he smiled. "We're the good guys."

"Then what? Actually, never mind. I don't want to know," I said, and he gave me a look of approval.

"Smart choice."

Paying no mind to that comment, I conjured up a reply for Emma, hoping it would suffice until we got back to Kirkwood's.

'Sorry for missing your calls, my phone was on mute. I'm with Stefan... he took me for a drive... We're on our way back now.'

"Hey, 'good guy'," I turned to face Stefan as I put my phone away. "Don't ever pick me up like that again."

He chuckled, but I really wasn't joking.

"I'll try not to make a habit of it."