Page 89 of On a Fault Line

The assignment…

I am the assignment.

I am the pathetic assignment.

Pathetic…

I am the dramatic, pathetic assignment.

I am the whiny and dramatic, pathetic assignment.

I am…

“Pen?”

I am…

“Penny?”

I am…

“Penelope?”

I am…

“Princess?”

I…

17

COLLINS

“Penny? I need you to come back to me.”

I’m kneeling on the rocky ground of the river’s shore, rubbing soothing circles along her cheekbones.

C’mon, dammit.

Penny rocks back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes are blank, like she is looking right through me.

Snap out of this!

“She’s in shock. What happened here?” I demand. “Did something spook her? Did someone say something wrong to her? How did this happen?”

Not many things cause me to panic, but seeing Penny in this state again—after all the months of progress made at the facility—is causing me a high level of unease.

“Nothing that I saw,” the man with the camera says. “One second I’m getting beautiful shots of her at peace. The next, I’m getting beautiful shots but with tears rolling down her cheeks.”

Something had to set her off. “Penny, what scared you?”

I glance around the space. Nothing seems off, except for all the eyes watching us, and the mild feeling of unrest I have itching at my spine.

“Get rid of the audience,” I yell at the security guards who are surrounding us. “I’m moving her.”

“Should we contact Mr. Hoffman?” one of them asks, obviously talking about the one who supplements his paychecks with what are most likely weekly bonuses.

“I’ll fill him in.”

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