The gaping wound that used to adorn my chest, is now just a scar. It’s only been less than two weeks since I was shot, but it’s true. Emmett says, soon I won’t be able to see it at all. It’s kind of amazing, actually. A touch frightening at the same time. Apparently death is also the fountain of youth for Proprietors.
I learned that Proprietors were, in my own words, a mistake. Some crack scientists hired by the government in the late 1700’s were instructed to create a serum to essentially turn a man into soldier material. Like, super-soldier material, really. There was a controlled group of something like thirty men who were part of the trials. At first, they thought this scientist was a fraud, because nothing happened to the men. The guy got all crazy on them. His lab burned down with all of his work and notes, and he ended up disappearing. But I’m thinking they actually might’ve killed him.
That aside, those men started to get killed on the battlefield. Then they’d wake up in a wooden box while being brought back to their homes for burial. That’s when the military officials decided it was necessary to hide them. There’d be no way to explain the men being brought back to life, aside from witchcraft, in which they’d end up burning them at the stake.
Long story short, not all of the men were able to be contained. The ones who hadn’t died on the battlefield were allowed to go home. I guess they figured that they could come and collect them if they died. They didn’t get so lucky with all of them. And over the centuries, the soldiers they labeled Proprietors were able to elude the military personnel that had been ordered to keep track of them. They obviously went on to have families, their children known now as second-generation. Of course, not all of them had families right away, which explains why I was born just over thirty years ago. The fact that these people are immortal, in a manner of speaking, means they could’ve waited as long as they wanted.
That led me to a question. Why aren’t my parents Proprietor’s? I mean it’s obvious, what with Mom having burned herself several years back and being out of work for months. And Dad being the way he is. Apparently when Proprietors living on the island decide to reproduce, the child is given to a set of foster parents so that they can live a normal life, until it’s time to come home. So I guess Kaitlyn wasn’t the only adopted kid in the family. And that’s where I stop thinking about this whole thing. My real parents are gone. No one knows where they are. I can’t pretend to be too heartbroken about being adopted. I find it strange that they never told me, though.
Anyway, Proprietors are brought to the island to keep them safe. Not just us as individuals, but as a whole. If we were exposed to the world, all of us would be in great danger. I think I understand.
Reesy says to expect a variety of ages of people, top-side. First-death, at whatever age it occurred, is the age in which you live out your life as a Proprietor. I hate to think of how many people died at my age or younger. But at the same time, I’m a bit glad I didn’t live to a ripe old age.
I’m not very fond of the woman that’s been “briefing me” about the island and its rules. But then again, it might just be the rules I’m not particularly fond of. It turns out, however, that the police force I’ll be working with is actually more like a secret agency, which is kind of exciting I suppose.
I’ll be doing essentially what was done in my case; keeping steady surveillance on assigned people on the East Coast who are second-generation Proprietors and don’t know it yet. I’ll be part of the task-force that retrieves their bodies, should they die, in a timely enough fashion that they don’t come back before we can get to them. We’re also used for more obvious things, like keeping the peace on Pritchard’s Island.
I’m chalking it up to excitement, but since I’ve woken up here, I’ve felt this odd sense of peace and dare I say happiness. I can’t really explain it, but I do hope it lasts a while. It’s been a long time since I felt even remotely like this.
Tomorrow, I get to go top-side. I’ve got butterflies for the first time since prom…
Birdie stuck the journal back into the drawer, and laid back down on the cot. She smiled looking up at the ceiling, which wasn’t too far up, as it figured. Just as she doubted she’d get a wink of sleep, her eyes were quickly drifting closed…
She awoke to the sound of whispering outside her quarters. She cracked open her eyes, to peek at the clock on the side-table. 0800. Birdie quietly got up and headed to the dresser.
“I’m taking her shopping, first!” Reesy frustratedly whispered to Emmett as they argued in front of Birdie’s door.
“You’re out of your mind, Reesy! Do you know how pissed she’ll be when she finds out? It’s bad enough we waited this long to tell her anything!” he whispered back.
“We didn’t have a choice! She would’ve given us a hard time during briefing.”
“Well, we’ve got a choice now—” his sentence was cut off when the door unexpectedly swung open. “Good morning!” he turned to her and smiled.
“Morning, Em,” she returned the smile and looked between the two of them. “Something wrong?”
“Oh, no!” Reesy replied with a smile. “Are you ready?”
“All packed up,” she held up her journals and shrugged. Then she narrowed her eyes at Emmett. “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” she said as she considered the thin, black frames. “I didn’t think anyone would need them, here.”
“Oh, they’re just an accessory,” he replied. “See?” he stuck a finger behind the frame and wiggled it through the glassless eye frame. “I needed them back in the day. But since then, sometimes I feel like being nostalgic. Kind of brings me a little comfort, I guess.”
“Oh,” Birdie gave a small, sort of sad smile, trying to process the fact that Emmett was a First-gen, and all that that meant.
“I got you a little housewarming gift,” Emmett said, changing the subject and handing her a brown-paper package. “It’s not much, but I heard you used to have a collection of them. So, I thought I’d get the first in the series to get you started again.”
“Aw,” Birdie tucked her journals under her arm so she could take the package from him. “You didn’t have to do this, Em.” She tore the paper to reveal the book he’d gotten her. “Phantasmal,” she read the title out loud. “I even lost my own copy. It’s been years since I read this. I love this series. Thank you, Emmett,” she smiled and gave him a hug.
Reesy gave Emmett an annoyed glare, which he only returned with a quick sticking out of his tongue. “Are you ready?” Reesy asked her.
“I guess so,” she said, pulling away. “Can we go for coffee before anything else?”
“Wouldn’t you rather go shopping, first?” Reesy asked, as they started toward the stairs.
“Actually, I loathe shopping. I really need a coffee, and I don’t mean the swill they make here in the mess hall. Emmett told me there’s a great little coffee shop not far from here on the way to my apartment. I’d like to check it out, if that’s okay.”
Reesy did her best to continue the casual smile, instead of the grimace that was fighting its way out. “Sure thing, honey,” she said, looking back over at Emmett in anger as he gave her a smug grin.
“You’re coming with us?” Birdie asked Emmett.
“Oh, honey, I wouldn’t miss this for the greater half of Pritchard’s Isle!” he grinned, happily.
“I’m not usually into science fiction,” Birdie explained in the back seat where she sat beside Emmett as Reesy drove, “But there’s just something about S.W. Colt that makes it a really great read.” Emmett had questioned what fascinated her so much about the series, and she was more than happy to attempt to explain. “It’s a captivating story, really. You should try it.”