Codename: Chameleon

A hundred terminally ill patients were given an experimental treatment that was said to be able to cure almost anything with only one side effect: the permanent loss of hair. However, only one of the patients survived the year out, and that was a six-year-old girl named Stephanie Loon. She recovered completely, but within a couple of years unanticipated side effects surfaced. She started learning at a rate so extreme nobody could explain it, her mental capacity grew unbelievably every single year, and soon her old doctors started examining her to find out what the cause of this was.

When the girl was sixteen she had enough of the examinations and experiments, and she fled. Ever since she has been living under the radar, on the run from a government willing to anything to find her, attempting to find an explanation on her own.


1. A nightly visit

A loud buzzing sound violently tore her out of the fuzzy comfort of her dreams. Confused by what had woken her up, she blinked rapidly and then rubbed her eyes to make them focus in the darkness of her bedroom. She rolled onto her back, tangled up in both comforter and sheet, and reached toward the nightstand for her phone. She fumbled a bit before her hand struck the cold aluminum. Squinting, she turned on the phone only to find that it was no more than 4:30 in the morning. Confused and mildly annoyed she rolled over and curled up, determined to go back to sleep. But then the buzzing sound filled the apartment again, and this time she recognized it to be her doorbell.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, debating whether she should open the door or not. The thought of talking to whoever was out there at this hour wasn't exactly appealing. Besides, it was probably just somebody mistaking her place for someone else's, or a bunch of kids or drunks playing around and making jokes. But then again, it could also be someone who desperately needed her help. Otherwise why would they show up in the middle of the night?

With a sigh she dragged herself out of the warmth of her bed and into the cold emptiness of her bedroom. She grabbed a shirt she had thrown over the back of a decorative chair in the corner and pulled it over her head, so used to the feeling of the fabric scraping against her scalp that she didn't notice. As she entered her living room, heading for the door, the bell buzzed another three times rapidly after each other, and she mumbled into the empty air that she was on her way. She would've loved to have a window turned towards the entrance, so she could inspect her visitor, but her apartment was on the other side of the building surveying the park, so she could only hope that either the stranger would identify oneself or she'd be able to recognize the voice. 

Tired she leaned her head against the cool, bumpy wall next to the intercom so she wouldn't have to hold it herself, and then she pressed down the button. For a second she engaged in another mental argument regarding if she was doing the right thing or should just go back to bed and hide under a pillow, but then she pulled herself together and spoke out: "Yes?"

"Cammie?", the voice was mildly distorted from travelling through the cobber wires, but as soon as the word had been spoken, she knew who she was dealing with. Nolan. And judging by his slurred pronunciation of her nickname, he was quite drunk. She had no idea what he was doing at her place, but the fact that he was intoxicated was not exactly a surprise. Actually, saying that she expected him to be so would be the understatement of the year - and it was only the beginning of April. 

"Do you have any idea what time it is?", she asked him, fully aware that it was probably not going to be easy to make him go away. But one could always hope. 

"Not really...", he said hesitatingly, drawing it out as if it would make the whole situation less uncomfortable. "Late?"

"Or very early, depending on where one is in the course of their day."

"Wha?", he cut off the t of the word, which was a habit he had taken with him from England, the only actual clue there was to his childhood in London. He always fell back on that when he was tired, and it had been one of those things she had always found awfully cute about him. 

"Never mind", she rolled her head to get rid of some of the tension that was gathering in her neck. Couldn't he just go? "Why are you here anyway?"

"I want another chance, Cammie", he mumbled, and her heart fell into her stomach. 

"We've been through this already, remember?", she tried to sound tough, but it wasn't really working. Because she was missing him. But it would just go wrong again, and she'd have to start this all over - again. 

"I know, but...", he stopped for a second, as if he just had to gather his drunken thoughts. "It's just so empty back home. Without you. So empty. So wrong."

She bit her lower lip, fighting the tears that were gathering in her eyes. She had to stay strong, she had to stick to her decision. It wasn't like she hadn't though it through seven thousand times and always reached the same conclusion. She knew she had to blow him off, and she had been preparing herself to do so, but it was just a whole damn lot harder when hearing his voice heavy with liquor and regret. 

"Camille?", he whispered, and she could easily imagine how he'd have to lean against either the red brick wall or the heavily set wooden door to keep on his feet. 

"Go home, Nolan", she forced out. "There's no future for the two of us, you know that. And it's your own fault, so just go home."

It got completely silent in the other end of the intercom, and when it was still that way after a couple of minutes she reached the conclusion that he had indeed left. And that's when the dam broke and tears started running down her cheeks. Her knees gave in underneath her, so she sank to the floor against the door. Sobbing, she curled up on the floor, and eventually she fell asleep.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...