For all the times I imagined myself leaving this house I never once thought about what I would pack. Nor did it ever cross my mind that everything I own could fit in a backpack. The reality is somewhat depressing. No photos. No books. No toys. I wish I had more to pack. It would give me a reason to stall.

The Handlers are downstairs with Henry and Gretchen. The look on Gretchen's face when Mr. Handler told her was the same face she'd given me all these years when I did something she didn't like. But this time she actually looked satisfied, it was as though she finally had a real excuse to explain why I was such a disappointment and why her parenting skills hadn't helped in taming my 'rebellious intentions'. Henry however was a slew of emotions. I had to go upstairs because I couldn't bear to see him shouting and partly because I felt like crying in peace. Henry cared; maybe it was only because he saw me like a loyal pet that is lucky to keep around the house. But I have a hard time believing it, he called me his daughter and that meant something, it has to.

So I cried while I found my backpack in the closet. I cried when I packed my socks and cried when I packed my jeans. My tears stopped somewhere between the pants and shirts; my emotions stopped somewhere between shirts and hoodie. I am numb, numb because I can't afford to be anything else. My brain won't let me think of the word that is brewing in my stomach because if I speak it I might vomit. If I speak it I might run and the rest of me may never catch up. Can you outrun death? Death and I have stared at each other twice and death blinked first. Can I do the same with a virus?

There is a tap on my door. My hand tightens around one of the shoulder straps on by backpack. "Yes?" I call.

"Adie?" The door swings open, its Ms. Handler. She looks at my bag, then my face, and offers me a sad sort of smile. I'm not sure if it's real. "It's time to go," she says.

I swallow but there's nothing there. My mouth is dry. I feel as though I'm shriveling up from the inside out. I swing the bag onto one shoulder and look around the room that was never mine. For the first time I feel like I'm leaving my home. I wish I had felt this way sooner, had more time to feel a part of a home. Now I won't get another chance, because I'm dying.

I shiver and walk out of my room. Ms. Handler walks beside me, one hand gently on my shoulder for reassurance. At the bottom of the steps Mr. Handler waits by the open door. Gretchen and Henry are there too and so is Jack.

Gretchen says absolutely nothing she just folds her arms in front of her. Jack whines and presses his nose to Henry's good leg, like he knows something is wrong. Henry opens his arms and I hug him around his crutches. There are still no tears. He strokes my hair once and kisses my forehead. I will always remember the scent of his wool clothes. "Don't ever forget who you are Adie," he says quietly in my ear. I look up and his eyes are wet but he's not crying either. I nod and look at Gretchen, she still has nothing to say to me, and so I say the words for her.

"Thanks for feeding me." She sniffs and looks away with a small shrug. I know that's all of a goodbye I'll get. I go down to one knee and hug Jack around his neck. I bury my face into his soft fur and stroke his ears. "Bye Jack," I say. He drops his head as if he actually understands and licks the tips of my fingers.

"Time to go," Ms. Handler says again and places a hand on my shoulder. I offer Henry one last smile. It's the best I can muster but it's still pathetic and we both know it because he gives me one in turn. I turn my back on them and walk out the door. The sun is preparing to set on the horizon and in the distance large fluffy clouds curl and reach toward space. A black expensive looking car sits parked in the road just in front of the house.

It feels too quiet. When I imagined the worst scenario I expected the town to be pressing in around me with pitchforks and torches shouting "burn the witch". But the road is empty and except for the bleating sheep and Mr. Melberry's dogs in the distance nothing else makes a sound. Mr. Handler steps ahead of me and opens the trunk of the car. "I'll take your bag," he stretches out his hand and I hesitate. Without the bag I'll feel vulnerable and alone but I know immediately it's a stupid thought.

I'm already vulnerable and alone.

Ms. Handler opens the door and I slid into the backseat. The door closes after me and I look out the window. Henry and Jack are watching me go, but through the tinted windows of the car I'm not sure they can actually see me but I wave a hand anyway. Mr. Handler gets into the driver's side and Ms. Handler sits in the passenger seat. The car rumbles to life, unlike the farm trucks or the old Cadillac this car barely says anything when Mr. Handler pulls onto the road. I turn and watch my house fade slowly from view until there is nothing behind me to see but stone walls, green grass, and flocks of sheep.

I catch Mr. Handler glancing into the rear view mirror at me so I turn and look back out the window. I blink and we're passing through town, another blink and we're out of it. There goes my entire life, everything familiar, just like that. The sun is tucking itself under the horizon and the clouds are closer when Ms. Handler finally clears her throat and breaks the silence. I look away from the window and see that she is offering me a bottle of water. I reach out and take it. The cap has already been opened for me. I play with it nervously and twist it back and forth.

"Thank you," I say. My throat has been dry since the interview.

She nods. "Of course. I know this is all very difficult, you must be very thirsty," she says.

I take the lid off fully and bring the bottle up to my lips.

The color drains from the world.

My first thought is that I've gone blind.

But that's not right, I can still see but the world around me is black and white. I lower the bottle and look at the sunset, there is no color in the sky, or the grass, or the clouds, nothing no color in world. My heart starts to beat faster. I look down at the water bottle and my heart immediately slows. My entire body slows. The world slows. I hear my heart in my ears and with each pulse of my heart the water in the bottle glows brighter.

And that's exactly what the water is doing. It's glowing.

It the same thing I saw in the ocean, in the rain, and at the river. The silver-blue glow that's almost metallic churns with thousands of small tendrils that swirl and dance in sync with my own heart. I feel as though I am gazing into a galaxy with a million stars. Then I sense it too, it's not like the rain or the river or the ocean, but I sense the water trapped inside the bottle almost as if there were a small beacon calling out to me, letting me know it's near.

The more I focus on the water the more I notice that there's something else, another color swirling within the glow, and it spreading. A black tendril like smoke slowly grows and reaches out each time the water pulses and swirls. I can sense it like the water but whatever it is, it's not pure. It's not supposed to be there, it's not good.

I blink.

The world, the colors, and the sounds rush back and I take a gasp of air. The water bottle drops from my hand and spills into the floor mat. The water is no longer glowing or pulsing. The grass is green, the clouds are creamy, the sunset is red and orange, and Ms. Handlers face is white.

"Adie!" Ms. Handler says sharply. "Why did you do that?"

I open and close my mouth, no words come out. What the hell is happening to me? Is this the virus playing with my brain? Is the how it starts, makes you see things that aren't really there? I'm going crazy. I grab my head tightly. My heart is pounding fast again. The numbness I was feeling earlier is disappearing.

"Adie," Ms. Handler says clear, firm, and slow. "Answer me."

I look her in the eyes. "There was something in the water."

Mr. Handler slams on the brakes.

I'm not sure what compels me to say it, but I needed to say it out loud. To make what just happened more real. If I say what happens then it's not just me. If these things aren't just in my head, they will be real, and that means I won't be crazy. I sound crazy, even to myself. I want to cry, but more than anything I want to run. I feel trapped. Cornered. Alone.

Mr. Handler's eyes widen through the mirror and he looks at Ms. Handler. They lock gazes and before I can take another breath Ms. Handler is out of the passenger seat and opening my door. All I really notice is the syringe in her hand. I instinctively scramble across the backseat until I hit the opposite door. I try the handle but its child locked.

"I need you to calm down, Adie. I am not going to hurt you. The virus has begun to infect your brain, we need to give you a sedative until we can get to the facility where we can start to diagnose and treat you. Do you understand? That's all this is. It will help you sleep." Her words may be practiced and smooth but her eyes are wild and her hands are shaking with adrenaline. She moves to sit in my seat and reaches out to me. I watch the needle go for my exposed arm.

The colors fade from the world as the needle descends.

There is nothing but black in the syringe.

"No!" I shout, panicked.

The needle explodes in her hand. The door behind me pops open and I fall backwards. I see sky and Mr. Handlers face before my head hits the gravel. "Get the other dose!" he shouts at Ms. Handler and then his hands are grabbing me. He restrains me as I thrash and fight against him, kicking and biting like an animal.

"Let me go!" I scream. Mr. Handler is far larger and he's trained. He's left no part of himself exposed for me to attack as he pins me to the ground. The world is flashing between color and black and white, like an incandescent lightbulb experiencing electrical problems. I feel dizzy from the effect and my head has begun to throb. Gravel scraps and digs into my skin. I'm yelling something. I don't even recognize the words but I'm sure they aren't nice. The word is pulsing now, flashes of light erupt across my vision.

Ms. Handler circles around the car with another needle in her hand. Her hair is loose and wild, fallen from its perfect bun. Her eyes are alert, but her hands are steadier this time when she grabs my wrist and pulls it away from my body where it's been pinned. Mr. Handler adjusts his grip but does not loosen his hold. My heart pounds in my ears fast, but strong. The syringe flashes black and then the needle disappears into my skin. I don't register the sting.

Time slows down as I watch Ms. Handlers thumb move to the plunger and presses. But the plunger doesn't move, the black liquid remains in the syringe. She presses harder but it doesn't move.

"What are you waiting for?" Mr. Handler demands. "Stick her!"

"I'm trying!" Ms. Handler sounds panicked.

I take a breath and my thoughts settle. I'm a water filtering freak who swam across a river and saved Henry's life. I might be a Misfit, but damn it I'm not insane.

Have a taste of your own medicine.

The syringe burst and falls into little pieces to the ground. But the black liquid inside does not. It hovers above my skin like a bubble. Ms. Handler and Mr. Handler watch the bubble transfixed and then like a living thing it splits in half and shoots into their open mouths.

It takes two seconds for them to pass out.

It takes me six.