Quick note: I added something pretty major to chapter 25, and if you haven't read it I'd advise you to go back or some things in this chapter might not make sense. The addition starts on the bottom page 16 of chapter 25 and goes through page 27.
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          The U-Haul wasn't in Ian's driveway. That should've been the first teller. Sol's truck was. That should've been the second.

I barge through the door headfirst, not worried that Damian is in there but that my dad and best friend are in there with him. But the kitchen is empty. As is the dining room. The living room is, too, save for a strong, male figure with curly blond hair sitting motionless on the love seat. Dad.

I run to him, but he doesn't budge — not when I sit next to him and not when I put my hands on his face and scream at him to open his eyes. Ian stands in the doorway. "What are you doing?!" I scream at him, too. "He's unconscious! You've gotta find Damian! He probably has Eli! You've gotta help them! You've gotta help me!"

Ian frowns. He comes into the room and takes the rocking chair across from the love seat, dragging it to the far wall of the room. His movements are not hurried; his aura is not worried. The only concern he shows is for me, not for the others. I drop my hands from Dad's stubble to his shoulders and listen. I hear nothing. Nothing but the hum of the refrigerator and the whirring of the A/C in the vents. I feel no other auras. There is no one else here.

I make eye contact with the man who sits before me, the only other man I've ever truly trusted besides my own father. The reality sets in. The trust had not been earned. I'd given it without thinking twice; I'd been so thirsty for answers. I stand.

"There is no Damian Ford, is there."

"Oh, there's a Damian Ford, alright," Ian says, frown still present. "He just goes by a different name now; that's all."

I hear a thud and my head shoots to my left, to the door on this side of the kitchen. The knob comes equipped with a key-sized lock. My eyelids shoot to the rocking chair. Ian opens his palm atop his lap, showing me the lock-sized key.

My hands form fists at my sides. "What do you want."

Ian pockets the key and lifts his hands in mock surrender. "I just want to talk." Another thud. "Please, have a seat."

If Eli is tied up in that room, the only way I'm going to get him out is to comply to Ian's wishes. I sit.

"Good. I have a few questions for you."

"And I, you."

"That's reasonable. Would you prefer if I go first?"

"Please." I can't imagine what he could possibly have to ask me.

"What are you doing here?"

Definitely not that. "What am I doing here? I'm here because you brought me here."

"Not here in my home. Here in York."

"I feel like you should already know the answer to that," I say. I may have decided to comply, but I never decided to be nice about it.

"Hm." He folds his hands in his lap. "Your mother always showed me where you were; every time you moved I had another dream. But what she never told me was why."

I now know he has lied to me about several things — Damian, in particular — so I can't be certain that he's not lying right now, as well. So I'd better take everything he tells me with a grain of salt. "Why would my mother show you every time I moved?"

He shrugs, and his aura is nothing. "That's what I was hoping you'd tell me."

"I've never lied to you," I counter. "Practically my whole life has been spent running from the man who killed her." I'd been so sure Gray was real. But now, sitting on Ian's love seat, I am not so sure any more. The only thing I am sure of is that Ian is not a bad guy. Maybe Dad was right. There's only one way to find out for sure. "...Did you kill her?"

He takes in a deep breath. And then... "No."

I feel all of the muscles in my body relax.

"Not intentionally."

They tighten up again just as quickly. "Well, which one is it? No or not intentionally?"

"She got sick. It's complicated," he says, the first part of Dad's story and Ian's story to match up.

I fold my arms across my chest. "I've got all night. Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me the truth. The whole truth."

"Okay," he agrees, his aura somehow still nothing. "The story I told you a couple of weeks ago wasn't entirely false. I just lied about all the names. The professor was me. And the person I said was me was actually..." He gestures lazily to the limp figure beside me that is my father. "Except she didn't take all of his memories when she left, like I said. She just took the memories of she and I away from him. You see, we had an affair, your mother and I."

"Then where's the baby?"

His forehead crinkles. "What baby?"

"You said she got pregnant. Do I have a sister? A brother? Or was that part a lie, too?"

"No, Aspen, she did... she..." He huffs. "I'll be right back, okay?" Because I have no say-so in the matter, he leaves and goes down a hall which I assume leads to his bedroom. I look to the door, wondering how quickly I could fetch a pot or pan from the kitchen to use to knock him out and then fetch the key out of his pocket. While I'm still considering it, he returns and I've missed my chance. He doesn't stop at the chair, though. He continues on to me, and he hands me an envelope not unlike the last one.

"Another fake thesis?"

He's back in the rocking chair. "Just open it."

The paper inside is thick and gray, like a school report card. I unfold it. There are three columns: Mother, Child, and Alleged Father. Underneath, there's just three sets of dots and dashes, reds and blues. It's hieroglyphics to me. "What is this?"

His voice sounds very far away when he speaks. "It's a paternity test."

From one of his patients, I assume. I give him a stupid look. "Okay. And?"

"The DNA on the left is your mother's. Yours is in the middle, and mine is on the right. It's a match."

I hear the words he speaks, but I do not comprehend them. I reach blindly for a meaning to the phrase, but all I find are three syllables, three separate words, three separate meanings.

"You're my daughter, Aspen."

No. That is not what the phrase means. I'm certain of it.

I laugh heartlessly. "Ha! Right. You don't have my DNA." As if to further prove that I'm not falling for any more of his tricks, I let the paper fall to the floor at my feet, a feather from a bird, a leaf from a tree.

"Of course I do. You've visited my home. You drank from my glass."

Oh... In that case, he might have my DNA. "And my mom's?"

He eyes me as if it should be obvious. "Aspen, I created her. I made her who she was. You think I didn't keep any of her DNA? If I didn't, I'd be a really bad scientist."

"Yeah, okay," I say, two positive words that come together to form a negative connotation. "Either way, do you really expect me to believe this is real?"

"Yes, I do. Look at it; it's from the hospital where I work."

I make no sudden move to retrieve the paper from the carpet where it now lies. "No." I lay a hand on Dad's shoulder. "This man, this one here? The one that you likely shot up with some drug to knock him out? This is my dad."

"Think about it, Aspen. You two look nothing alike."

I look at my father — my tall, strong, handsome father with his blond hair and blue eyes and tanned skin. "I favor my mother," I say, this time with a little less conviction.

"Yes, you do. You have her dark hair, her fair complexion, her petite stature... and my eyes."

I shut my own, suddenly very self-conscious. What color are they? Green. And what color are Ian's? ...Green? But they can't be the same shade. Certainly they're not the same shade...

"I ran your DNA against hers in my own lab, too. And I found something... quite interesting."

Oh, no. I open my eyes, then narrow them into slits. "That we have similar DNA?" I ask, because there's no way I'm telling him anything. "Yeah, she was my mother, last time I checked." I kick the gray sheet of paper farther away from me, indicating that the paper was, in fact, the last time I checked. But that doesn't mean I believe this joker is really my bio-dad. Not a chance.

"When she was twenty-one, I injected her with a serum designed to latch on to a specific set of genes and mutate them, thus communicating a different sort of message to the brain, allowing her to access different parts of it more strongly. I already told you what she could do. Her ability surpassed any of my other students." His next sentence sounds much more sinister, and I start to entertain the notion, for the first time, that this man could be the monster I've been looking for. "You, my dear," he says, "have a similar set of mutated genes. Similar, although not identical. Delia was my little experiment. So, as her offspring, you were a product of that experiment. Do you understand?"

I think back to many moons ago, when I'd rationalized that there were three options to answering any question: tell the truth, play it off (lie), or run from it. I know that Eli is in that room and that my dad is unconscious beside of me, effectively ruling out option number three. So, by default, I try number two.

"I can't say I do, no."

"Hm." He smirks a bit. "I figured, if you were anything like your mother, you wouldn't tell me willingly. And if you're anything like me, you enjoy a little bargain now and again."

He is wrong. I don't have to bargain. I know if someone is bluffing, therefore I've no need to. But, for some reason, I've never been able to tell when Ian was bluffing. "I don't see how there's any way that this conversation could possibly turn in my favor, so I'm not sure what exactly you'd call a fair bargain."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he agrees. "I wouldn't call it a bargain because once I hold up my end of it, you'll want to tell me your ability."

Doubt it, I think. I stand my ground, which is sitting on the edge of the love seat and keeping a poker face.

"Would you be interested in learning how your mother died, Aspen?"

Poker face slips just a little. "How can I trust that you'll tell me the truth?"

He opens his hands, palms up. "Because I have nothing left to hide, and everything to gain."

Poker face back intact.

"Now, in the spirit of honesty, I will admit to you that I didn't know she was pregnant when she left. I did lie about that part. I wanted to see if you'd tell me that you knew I was your father before I ran any kind of DNA test. But now I know that you were unaware yourself.

"All I knew was that her abilities were developing wonderfully, and she was a fine young woman, and she seemed to think very highly of me. And then one day she left," he gestures to Dad, "and she took Skinny Quinny with her. And I never heard from her again.

"Fast forward about seven years. She started getting the headaches again, much like the kind she'd endured when her abilities were first developing. But this time they were dwindling. She said migraine medication didn't help. And she was scared to go to a neurologist because of what they might do to her if they found the abnormal gene... Actually, now that I think about it, that's probably why she ran with you. She feared you'd come to develop an ability and she knew I'd want to test it. Interesting.

"Anyway, she contacted me. Told me what was going on, and asked if I had an antidote. Something to take away her ability, destroy the mutated genes. I told her I didn't. A scientist doesn't make something to undo all of his work; that'd be ridiculous. So she asked me if I could. I told her it was possible, but why should I? She left me. What did I owe her? And that's when she told me."

He pauses, and I allow my poker face to dissolve. "Told you what?"

"About you," he says softly. "She said if I didn't help her, and she died, I would never get to meet you. Because Quinn thought you were his and he didn't remember me."

I'd never known my mother to lie — at least, not while she was alive — but I guess if she thought she was dying she might. But to use me as her chess piece?

"I know what you're thinking, and I didn't believe her either, at first. But then she sent me a photograph. And the girl... she had my eyes." He points to my feet. "Why don't you take another look inside that envelope?

Hesitantly, I reach for it. When I slip my hand into it, I feel another piece of paper, this one smaller. I pull it out, and it is a picture of a young girl, no more than six years old. Her hair is long and black as a raven's wings; her skin is white as cream and dotted with freckles; her eyes are green as the ocean. She is wearing a Disney Princess nightgown and a necklace made of seashells. She is looking directly at the camera and grinning. I have never seen this picture of myself before. "How did you get this?!" I demand.

"I told you. She e-mailed it to me."

Over the years, Dad went to great measures to make sure no information about either of us floated around in cyberspace. Apparently he never believed me about Gray, but he still erased us from existence, and now I don't know why. Did he really go through all that trouble just to cater to what he thought was my fantasy? Whatever the reason, there really is no other explanation as to how Ian could have obtained a photograph of me had it not been given directly to him. Whether Mom used me to try and help herself or not, this is one hundred percent a picture of young Aspen. And somehow, Ian has it.

As I continue to stare down at myself in horror, he continues his story. "So I tried to create an antidote. Not to destroy the gene, but to suppress it, perhaps. Of course, I never tested it on a human. None of the others wished to be rid of their abilities. I knew I'd never be able to get it on a plane, so I drove it all the way to Florida from my home in Colorado. I arrived in the middle of the night, and she was downstairs waiting for me. I gave her the serum, but I told her I would not administer it myself, because I was unsure of what the outcome would be. I had hoped she would keep it somewhere safe while she considered her options. But unfortunately she was, at that moment, riddled by a terrible headache, and she took the syringe from my bag."

I finally feel his aura, and it is black.

His voice is small when as he speaks again. "Delia died at her own hand. I held her in my arms as the serum caused her to seize." He clears his throat and sits back in the chair, legs crossed and rocking slightly. "And then you came downstairs. And I knew what it would look like. So I took my things, and I went home. I packed up my lab and I resigned at the university. I moved here, to a small, unassuming town in the Midwest. I changed my name. I got a job at the hospital. And now, here we are." He sighs and looks up at the ceiling. "It hasn't been a bad life, really," he says, mostly to himself. "I'm not able to bring her back, but I do save lives every day to make up for it."

The dam behind my eyes breaks, and the water falls down my face. "To make up for it?!" I cry. "You think just because you're a doctor, that excuses you for what you did? For killing my mom?!"

"I told you; I didn't kill her," he says calmly. "She killed herself."

"With your antidote!"

"That she asked me to make!"

"Which she would've never needed had you not... infected her in the first place!"

"She agreed to the experiment. She also agreed to enter into a romantic relationship with me, resulting in the creation of you. She did nothing against her will."

I wipe furiously at my eyes. The Delia he is describing to me is not that of the mother I once knew. They say becoming a parent can change you. Maybe that's why she ran. All I know is that if it weren't for this man, if it weren't for Ian or Joseph or Damian or whatever his name is, that she would still be alive today. "You're a monster," I spit, a mixture of salt, saliva, hatred, and tears.

"No. I am a scientist. Which is why you need to tell me your ability. Your mother lived with hers for less than a decade before it killed her. You, on the other hand, have been alive for nearly two. And I need to figure out how, in case any of the others were to get sick."

"What others?" I throw my hands in the air. "What are you talking about?"

He shakes his head. "Delia sent you to me for a reason. I need to find out what that is."

"Sent me to you?! She didn't send me to you; I've been running from you my whole life!"

"Yet I've been living quietly in York, Nebraska all this time. You told me you would have visions of a gray man, and when you did, you would pack up and leave because you assumed those visions were a warning that he was near. But I've never once tried to find you, because I always knew where you were, what city you were in. Delia always showed me. Now, I don't know how she's still able to use her abilities from beyond the grave. But you never stayed in one place for too long, did you?" When I don't answer, he goes on. "So the only sense I can make of it is that she was trying to get you here — to York, to me. But you don't seem sick at all."

I sniffle like a little coward. "I'm not sick. And I can't do anything. I don't know what you want from me."

He grunts. "Listen, Aspen, all I need to know is are you going to help me out or not?"

I don't know what's the truth and I don't know what's a lie. I don't know if my dad is my dad or if my mom was selfish or if Ian and I have the same eyes. I don't know how he was able to lie so bluntly to my face without me being able to see it in his aura. I don't know why my mom got sick and I don't know who these "others" are or if my DNA holds the key to helping them. I just want for my dad to wake up and for Eli to come out and for all of us to go home and go to sleep and wake up and this will all be over.

"Just let us go," I plead like a little coward. "You already have my DNA from the cup; do whatever you want with it; I don't care. I don't get headaches, and I don't know a single thing about my mother's ability or how it works. I never even knew she had one. There's no way I can help you. So, please, just let us go."

"I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this," Ian answers with a frown. He stands and begins to walk towards me. Time slows. I hold on tightly to my father's arm. Mom, if you're there, please help me. At the last moment, Ian pivots and goes to the door to my left, twisting the key inside the knob. "You can come on out now, son."

I hear another thud, and the door to my left twists open, and Eli steps out of it. My Eli, tall and slim and dark in his dress clothes but with his hands tied up, a strip of duct tape covering his mouth, and a metal helmet on his head. His eyes are glassy and when I say his name he looks at me and it breaks me. Ian stands behind him, his hands on Eli's arms in case Eli were to try to make a run for it.

"What is that thing?" I ask, the tone of my voice communicating my utter disgust, although the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that I think I already know.

"This is the Memory Machine," he states proudly. "It is one of my greatest experiments, and it has proved to be quite useful over the years. And I know what your next question is: What does it do? Well, it damages the parts of the brain that control short term memory. It is already armed and set; all I have to do is push a button and these last few months will simply — poof! — disappear." He steps to the side of Eli, moving his grip to one arm so that he can see me better. "Remind me; when did you two meet? A couple of months ago, was it?"

I was wrong. Ian is a bad guy.

Eli makes a noise and jerks forward, tries to shake Ian off, but Ian pulls him back with a force that is much stronger than Eli's. "Now, now... What did I tell you about trying to run?" Ian warns. "I press this button, and she disappears." He pulls a small black rectangle out of his pocket and presses it to the helmet. A tear falls down Eli's cheeks. I lock my teary eyes with his and I wish with everything in me that he could read my aura, so that he could feel everything I wish I'd gotten to tell him but didn't. That I'm sorry, that I do maroon him, and that everything's going to be okay.

"You can save him, you know," Ian tells me. "Just come back with me to my lab in Colorado."

"What?!" I stand abruptly. "No! You said all you wanted was to know what my ability was!"

He grins. "And she finally admits it. But I'm afraid that my lab here just isn't what it once was. I could do much more back at the university."

"I'll give you my blood," I decide rashly. Eli disagrees from behind the tape. "I'll give you my blood, and then you'll have all the DNA you need."

He looks as though he's going to consider it, and needles prick the inside of my chest where my lungs are housed. "You see, I might have accepted that offer had you made it the first time I asked. But now I'm just really curious. You must be able to do something fairly unique if you're willing to let your boyfriend forget you to keep it from me."

"Don't you dare touch him," I growl.

"Let's do the process of elimination, shall we? We know you aren't clairvoyant, or you would've seen all of this coming and tried to prevent it by skipping graduation. We know you're not telekinetic because you surely would've thrown this remote from my hands by now or used it earlier to get the key from my pocket. We know you aren't telepathic because, again, you would've known this was coming..."

And that's when Eli tenses up.

Ian eyes him sternly, then he looks at me slowly, so slowly, with that stupid grin. "Is that it? You're a mind-reader?" He laughs. "Well, whaddaya know. I haven't yet figured out how to make a serum for that. As far as the brain goes, I'm mostly just good at well, you know—" he taps the remote to the helmet, "taking things out. So what is it? Can you hear voices? See pictures? What?"

I stand firm and silent, looking at Eli and only Eli. I don't say a word. Not out loud, at least. In my head, I'm yelling, and I'm whispering, and I'm willing Eli to know that I'm sorry, that I love him, and that everything's going to be okay. And then he starts to yell, too, but out loud. Each sound has a definite starting and stopping point, making me think he's trying to talk. Trying to tell me something.

"What was that, lover boy? You've got something to say?" Ian takes a step forward, pushing Eli. "Please, feel free to say your goodbyes."

Ian rips the tape from Eli's mouth. Eli winces. "Frick! Ow! Okay. Aspen? Literally? Just go call the cops. Go call the— mmrrrrhmrmm!!!" He is cut off by the tape going back on his mouth. He continues to mumble and grumble until Ian speaks.

"Now. I'm willing to let you say your goodbyes. Are you going to cooperate this time?" Eli nods. "Okay. Just tell her goodbye and that you'll try your hardest to remember her. Anything else and I flip the switch. Got it?" Eli nods a second time. Ian rips off the tape, gentler this time. He pushes Eli forward. "Run, and I press this button," Ian warns once more.

"I'm so sorry," Eli says as I close the space between us. I put my hands on either side of his face and pull him down to me. "I'm so sorry," he repeats. "I came here with your dad... he told us Damian was here... I didn't know..."

"Shh, shhhh," I shush him. "I didn't know either. We had no way of knowing. This isn't anyone's fault. Don't blame yourself."

"You don't have to tell him," he says quietly. "If you don't want to. I'll be okay. I won't even be sad that you're gone."

"Because you won't remember me," I interject.

"The clock is ticking," says Ian.

A look of fury ignites Eli's eyes. "So just do it already!" he yells. "We all know how this is going to end! Aspen doesn't tell you; you take my memories; she still doesn't tell you; you tie her up 'til she does. Or she does tell you; you take her to Colorado; and you take my memories anyway so that I don't run and tell the cops. Neither way ends good for either of us. So stop threatening us, and if you're gonna do it, wanóⁿqthiⁿ! Just go ahead and do it!"

Ian shrugs. "Suit yourself." He takes two steps to Eli and touches the remote to the helmet. Eli clenches his eyes shut.

"Maroon," he whispers.

I cannot let it end like this.

I scream and jump into Ian. My shoulder hits his chest and I knock him off his balance, but he bounces back. He drops the remote but catches me, pressing my back to him and bringing an arm around my neck. "Nice try," he says. But Eli has already run. Ian chuckles. "The signal will reach a couple hundred feet. I just held it to his head for dramatic effect." He lifts his foot, raises it above the remote, and begins to lower it, lower it; Eli isn't out of range yet; lower it...

"Stop!" I shout. "Wait!"

Ian's foot hovers just above the remote. "Yes?"

"I'll tell you. Just, please. Let him go. He has nothing to do with this."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. We can't get the police involved." He raises his foot and lowers it once more, much faster this time.

"I'll go with you!" I offer, tears streaming. "I'll go with you. I can read minds. I'll go with you."

He sets me free. "Extraordinary," he says with a smile as he steps on the remote.

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I'm not 100% sure how I feel about this chapter. (Actually, I'm kinda positive that I'm not satisfied with it.) The ending of Chameleon was never really certain; I was brainstorming different endings and juggling between them every time I wrote each new chapter. We're coming to a close, so I wanna know what questions you have. I obviously know the answer to everything because I wrote it, but I need to know from a reader's perspective. What questions do you have that weren't answered by this chapter (except for the new questions that were presented in this chapter, obv.) Point out any plot holes you may find. I really wanna do a good job on this. I wanted to wrap this up neatly with a bow, but the reality is that I'm going to have to go back and change a few things to match the ending, I'm afraid. Or maybe this won't be the set-in-stone ending at all. Help me, please!!
(P.S. If I change anything else important, I will let you guys know!)

Really cool thing: My sister works with small animals, and they got an actual chameleon in recently. So I got to go meet him! His name is Pascal, and he is my friend.

wanóⁿqthiⁿ - hurry; hasten