The psychologist's office had oddly comforting gray walls. A viewing screen played images of a serene ocean that splashed on black rocks. The splashing of the water and the distant roar were serenaded by soft instrumental music. Nessa's eyelids grew heavy, but the rest of her body felt airy. The family found places in a row of seats. Maybe a psychologist wasn’t such a bad thing.
A door opened in the back, and a man with gunmetal gray hair, a black button up shirt, and slacks strode into the seating area.
"Conner family," he greeted them.
Trevon rose and gestured to his family to do the same. Nessa’s projection followed them into a carpeted room with cushioned hovering chairs that were arranged in a circle. Dr. Adams sat behind an electric blue desk.
“So, what brings you in today?” He asked.
“My son,” Trevon answered. “Jamison.”
“And what’s going on with you, young man?” Dr. Adams asked, shifting his attention to Jamison.
Jamison opened his mouth, but Trevon’s rant kept him silent.
“It started when an alien was captured at Area 51,” Trevon said, “where I work.”
Jamison’s face drained of color. Trevon continued:
“I’ve caught him going to visit it. Now he’s getting too attached.”
Dr. Adams raised his hand at Trevon, and turned to Jamison.
“Is this true?”
“It’s true,” Jamison attested.
Dr. Adams' attention turned to Trevon. Trevon’s cheeks became crimson.
“And you’re allowing this to take place?” He interrogated.
“I-I,” Trevon stammered, “don’t know when he breaks in, or when he leaves.”
“I take a teleport, okay?” Jamison spilled.
Dr. Adams tapped his desk with swift movements.
“And where did you get a teleport?”
“I built it,” Jamison explained in a hurry, and Nessa was glad; he was trying to talk before Trevon shut him down.
Trevon jumped in at Jamison’s last syllable:
“He went to engineering camp. He brought home his inventions. Nothing big.”
Nessa’s and Jamison’s eyes widened at Enya, and fidgeted in her holding unit.
Come on, Enya, her mind pleaded. Say something. My escape depends on you.
“Things got bad the night of his gotcha day,” Trevon said.
Nessa wanted to tear fistfuls of hair from her scalp. Not YOU, she thought. Enya.
“Jamison is adopted?” Dr. Adams questioned, stroking his chin and staring, first into the distance and then at Trevon and Enya.