Except that as the detectives were leaving, one glanced back at him and though his mouth didn’t move, Wilburn distinctly heard the man’s voice echoing through the room. Poor bastard.
And then he was left alone, confused as all get out. Had he heard the detective’s thoughts or had he just failed to notice the man’s mouth moving? That must have been it. Hearing people’s thoughts was comic book stuff.
He checked out of the hospital that evening and, dressed in a pair of scrubs, made his way back to his shared apartment. The Houston public transportation system being what it was, the trip took nearly two hours, during which time he called his aunt and uncle to assure them that he was okay and that the police were looking into the matter and that, no, he didn’t have any idea what the whole thing had been about or why someone would want to kidnap him in the first place. Despite spending so much time laying down at the hospital, by the time Wilburn got home, all he wanted to do was climb into his bed and pass out.
Unfortunately, one of his new roommates—or possibly all of them—had decided to throw a party. Music blasted from his apartment so loud he could hear it from the stairs and by the time Wilburn actually reached his door the noise was so loud he could feel it reverberating through his bones. His head began to throb and it was only a small consolation that he didn’t have that vague, fuzzy pressure bearing down on his brain anymore.
The door flew open as he reached for the handle and a pair of drunk partygoers stumbled out, earning a scowl from Wilburn as they laughed and tripped over each other. How long had this party been going on? He sidestepped them when they nearly careened into him and made his way inside. The apartment was packed.
Everywhere he looked were people, all pressed together, half of them bouncing up and down in place with the music, and a good portion of them doing their best to engage in vertical wrestling matches that involved a lot of tongue play. It was hot, loud, and reeked of alcohol, body odor, and unless Wilburn’s nose was mistaken, burning marijuana. This was not what he’d been hoping to come home to.
“Hey man,” said one of the partiers as he stepped inside. “This ain’t a costume party! Where’s your invitation?”
Wilburn crossed his arms. “I live here.”
“No you don’t,” said the guy. He was tall, with a mane of curly red hair and freckles that overwhelmed the rest of his features. He also stank of weed and beer. “I know the guys who live here. Benny, Mitch, and Gil. Which one are you supposed to be.”
“I’m the other roommate,” Wilburn said, getting more annoyed. “Wilburn.”
“Dude, that’s sick. What is wrong with you?”
Wilburn was taken aback. “What do you mean?”
The red head rolled his eyes and made an exasperated sound in his throat. “Like you don’t know? That is so not cool, man.”
“I’m going to bed,” Wilburn muttered, and tried to move around the guy to get to his room, but the tall red head stepped in front of him.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” There was absolutely nothing remotely jovial in his expression now. Around them, several others were quieting down to gawk.
“To my room,” Wilburn said. “Now get out of the way.”
“Okay, freshmen, the joke’s gone on long enough. It’s not funny anymore. It never was.”
“What joke?” Wilburn demanded.
“Pretending to be their dead roommate,” the guy exploded. “Not cool!”
“Oh, shit! Wilburn!” Mitch, Wilburn’s shortest and broadest roommate exclaimed. “You’re alive?”
“Am I not supposed to be?” Wilburn asked, earning a laugh.
“No! I mean, no,” Mitch said, stumbling over his words. “It’s just that Benny said you were dead. He’s quit going to classes because he said if a roommate dies that the school gives you all A’s for the semester. He’s going to be pissed.”
Wilburn didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. Before he could reply, the red head, whose eyes had gone wide during the exchange, hurried to apologize. “Oh man, my bad. And you just got out of the hospital. Here, have a beer—wait!” he froze with a can halfway extended to Wilburn. “Can you drink with whatever medication they’ve got you on?”
Wilburn decided that he liked the red head. Now that he knew the guy hadn’t been going out of his way just to be rude, but had actually been trying to protect his friends, he found it hard to stay angry with him. “As far as I know they don’t have me on anything.” He accepted the beer and popped it open. He’d had beer before and didn’t especially care for it but he didn’t want to be rude, especially now that the red head was trying to make amends.
“I’m Buddy,” the red head said. “Buddy Hyde.”
“Wilburn Graves,” Wilburn said, shaking Buddy’s hand.
Buddy guffawed. “Seriously?”
“Huh?”
“You just came back from the dead and your name is Graves? That’s too perfect!” Buddy roared with laughter. So did everyone around him, though only a few of them could have heard. Buddy just radiated a kind of happy, infectious charisma.
The fatigue that had been slowly creeping up on him gained a sudden and very strong foothold. Wilburn really was ready for bed. His eyelids stung and his limbs felt heavy. “I just want to sleep like the dead, right now,” Wilburn said. Glancing around his packed apartment, that didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon. He returned his attention to Buddy. “Think you could help me out?”
He didn’t mean to do it, but as he looked at Buddy, tired and trying his best not to be a grouchy buzz-kill, Wilburn squeezed that same place in his mind as he had before when he’d asked the nurse to tell him what she knew. Something jetted out of him and struck home inside of Buddy, taking root far more easily and much more quickly than it had with the nurse.
“Yeah, no problem,” Buddy said, fishing in his pocket until he pulled out a set of keys. “My apartment’s one building over. 351A. Third floor. You can crash in my room.”
Wilburn hesitantly accepted the keys. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” said Buddy. “It’s no sweat. I never know where I’m going to wake up anyway.”
Wilburn didn’t have trouble believing that. He turned to go, pausing to point a finger at Mitch with the hand holding his beer. “You tell Benny to quit telling everyone I’m dead, alright?”
Another squeeze and another easy taking.
Mitch bobbed his head and hurried to agree. “Sure thing. I’ll go tell him now.”
Wilburn watched him go, a little perplexed. He didn’t know any of his roommates well but Mitch rarely did what anyone told him to do. Actually, he had a tendency to do the opposite of whatever someone told him to do just to be contrary.
Shaking his head, Wilburn went for the door and opened it to find a snow leopard woman standing on the other side, a hand raised to knock.
“Wilburn?” she asked.
He blinked. “Zuha. Hi.”
She glanced down and blushed. “Hi.”
She was holding something, and when he looked a little closer, he recognized it. “My unicycle!”
“I rescued this from Demetrius,” she said, holding it out for him.
He took it, and for a second considered stashing it in his apartment, but the party was going full swing and he wasn’t sure that was a good idea. People tended to want to try wild things when they were drunk or high and giving them access to a unicycle just seemed like a bad idea.,
“Thanks a ton,” he said, tucking it under his arm. “If you want to join in the party feel free.”
She beamed at him, then her ears fell in obvious puzzlement. “You’re not staying?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m going to crash at a new friend’s place and wait this out. I just got out of the hospital and—”
She gasped, interrupting him. “Did Demetrius do something to you?”
“What? No. Actually, I’m still not sure what did happen,” Wilbu
rn said. “I was heading back to my place to study after running into you two and then next thing I know I’m waking up in the hospital and it’s been a whole week.”
It dawned on him a little belatedly that he was having an actual, honest to God conversation with Zuha. He wasn’t stuttering or tripping over his own words. He could talk!
His sense of elation was not shared by Zuha. If anything, she seemed even more upset than before. “And you’re sure it wasn’t anything Demetrius did?”
“Pretty sure,” Wilburn said. “I mean, the guy’s such a big asshole he kind of stands out.”
She laughed. “I guess he does. But, you’re all right?”
He shrugged. “Looks like.”
She pursed her lips for a moment, considering something. “I’ll walk you to where you’re staying. Just to be safe.”
He grinned at her. “My hero. And they say chivalry’s dead.”
She hip checked him and he actually bounced off the railing that served to keep drunks and idiots from staggering off of the second floor where his apartment was and falling to the ground below.
“Dang you’re strong,” he said, and her smile widened. “Can I ask you something? It’s kind of a weird question, so you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
She shrugged. “Sure. What is it?”
“How come you look like a cat?”
Zuha stared at him for a second and then there was no more distance between them. Her claws sank into the shirt of his hospital scrubs and she hurled him over the railing.
Chapter Three
Wilburn didn’t hit the ground. In fact, he didn’t fall at all. One moment he was experiencing the sensation of leaving his stomach behind and feeling the wind rush past him as he flew up over the balcony railing and the next there was nothing but stillness and starlight.
It was as if Zuha had hurled him into the night sky, far away from suns, moons, or planets. There was darkness and there were stars in every direction. And within that infinite expanse there was nothing. Nothing, save for him and the distant stars.
Which was why when not one, but two voices spoken in perfect tandem, Wilburn jumped.
“You are not alone, Wilburn Graves,” the voices said. “We are with you. We will guide you.” The voices were soft and feminine, speaking with a clipped precision that spoke of either being very cultured or very deliberate.
He twisted, trying to spin around, and awkwardly managed to spin in place. There was no one there. “Who are you?”
“You still don’t remember us?” the voices asked. “That’s alright. We’ve remembered you. We’re going to make your dreams come true.”
“Right,” Wilburn said. “How come I can’t see you?”
“Because we are not actually here,” said the voices. “We are…you enjoy videogames?”
The question caught him off guard. “Yeah, my cousin Stacy and I used to play together.” It was one of the few things he and she could do that didn’t end up with them locked in some kind of bitter argument.
As he thought of this, several stars flashed at him, drawing his attention.
“Yes,” said the voices. “We see that. That will be a helpful metaphor to guide you through your transition.”
“Transition?” Wilburn asked. “What transition? Where are we?”
“Have you ever heard of a mind palace?” The voices asked.
Wilburn was starting to get annoyed. “I think so. It’s that trick people use to envision a place so that they can store their memories. Supposedly when you put one together you never forget anything.” He shrugged. “I never could get the hang of it. What do they have to do with anything?”
“This,” the voices said, and their words were accompanied by a sensation not unlike a hand being waved before him, presenting the expanse to him as if it were a gift. “Is your mind palace.”
“I uh, thought mind palaces were supposed to be structures, like a building or something,” Wilburn said.
“The typical mind is chaotic and unstructured. Yours is not so different. It is why you have not received all of the powers we have gifted to you all at once.”
“Powers? What powers?” Despite the voices earlier words, he kept trying to turn in place to see them. Hearing them perpetually come from behind him was more than a little disconcerting. It made him feel like someone was about to lay a hand in between his shoulder blades or perhaps even attack him.
“Surely you’ve noticed?” Several stars flashed and from their light came the elderly nurse from the hospital who had told him about his own kidnapping and condition. Then there was the face of the detective as he was leaving, the words Poor bastard echoing through the night sky, and finally there was Buddy, nodding along when Wilburn said he needed somewhere to stay and handing over his keys. Even Mitch briefly appeared, hurrying off to talk to Buddy at Wilburn’s direction.
“I wasn’t using any powers,” Wilburn said. “That was just people telling me stuff.”
“Doing what you wanted,” the voices said, and they sounded as if they were smiling. “A lot of people will be doing what you want soon. And more besides. You will be our greatest creation.”
Invisible hands seemed to run over Wilburn’s shoulders, back, and chest. Soft and small but pressing in with a needy firmness. “We wish we could be there with you now. Whoever has just tried to hurt you would be pulled apart piece by piece, our Darling. Our, hero.”
Wilburn shivered, only half in fear.
“You’re going to be so powerful,” the voices whispered. “You have no idea everything we have given to you. But you are not powerful yet. You need to begin constructing your mind palace. Once that is built, you can save yourself.”
“Save myself from what?” Wilburn asked.
“Dying,” the voices said, as if it were obvious. “When we pulled you into your own mindscape, you were falling. If you don’t land right it could kill you. And we did not sacrifice so much and wait so long just so that you could die now.”
“Who are you?” Wilburn asked. “This is more than a little overwhelming. Wait—are you the ones who kidnapped me?”
“Is that really important right now?” the voices asked. “If you do not follow our instructions you leave your survival to chance. Do you really want to do that?”
“Uh, no,” Wilburn said. “I guess not.”
“Good,” said the voices, and Wilburn experienced the feeling of phantom lips pressing in on both of his cheeks to deliver a kiss. “Because we really don’t want you to die. Now, let us begin pulling your mindscape together. This first part is pretty simple. Imagine a building. Any will do.”
Wilburn did. A simple, almost cartoonish castle sprang into existence before him, simply floating through the nexus of space. It had high walls with those things at the top to protect archers while they shot their arrows—he couldn’t remember what they were called—and two towers sticking up from behind those walls. All in all, it was a small but effective looking fortress.
The voices giggled and sounded very pleased. “Do you remember yet? No, you don’t. That’s okay. Some part of you does. We’ve waited this long, a little longer won’t hurt.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wilburn said.
“We know,” the voices answered. “But that’s okay. Now, focus. Within this castle you need to place every experience you’ve ever had. Every memory you possess, even the ones you don’t know you possess, are somewhere in here. You can organize it later. For now, focus on imagining them all in the castle.”
Wilburn gave a slow nod. It was difficult, more difficult than he would have thought, imagining that every one of his memories were in there. As he focused on this idea, however, stars began shooting into the castle, entering through the lowered drawbridge.
“What are those?” he asked the voices.
“Your memories,” they answered. “Keep going. You’re doing wonderful, Darling.”
See
ing the stars flowing into his castle and understanding what they were sent a thrill of excitement racing through him and made it easier for Wilburn to continue feeding his memories into the castle, imagining that it held everything. Soon, he was standing upon its lowered drawbridge looking to the towers beyond its walls beneath an empty sky.
He let out a sigh, and realized that this had taken quite a bit of energy. “Okay, they’re all in there. Now what? What’s this whole thing for?”
“Now you need to organize them,” the voices said. “They’re easier for you to draw upon now, but that’s right now they’ve been tossed in all willy-nilly.”
“And having access to all of my memories is supposed to give me superpowers?” he asked, trying not to sound skeptical. After all, he had just built this place from nothing and presumably filled it with his memories.
“Memories and experiences create who you are,” the voices said. “They are critical to your powers and allowing you to decide who and what you are going to be.”
Deciding who and what he was going to be? Wasn’t that choice already his?
“No, you don’t,” the voices said, and he knew that somehow, they had heard his thoughts. “You’ve never had a real choice,” they said, sounding bitter. “Your entire life starting from your conception was planned out and then, when there was a deviation, you were discarded.” Not just bitter. Furious. Whatever had been done to him, the voices positively frothed with frozen angry. “But you can now.”
Wilburn swallowed. He did not think that he would enjoy the experience were those voices to turn their fury on him.
“Don’t worry,” the voices said, and once again he felt invisible hands caressing him. “We would never hurt you.”
“Only kidnap me and put me in the hospital,” he said dryly. If they could hear his thoughts then there wasn’t much point in biting his tongue.
The seemingly omniscient, omnipotent voices giggled. “That was for your own good. You’re going to have to let that go.”
He nodded. “Okay. So what’s in the towers? Are those where my memories are?”
Psychic Awakening: A Dragon Shifter LitRPG Harem Psychic Thriller (Primus Vitae Book 1) Page 2
