Gift of Death (Gifted Book 1)

by Lin Augustine

  Control. I have no control.

  “We’re sending Subject 87 in.”

  No, no, no. I don’t want to touch anyone anymore.

  I still don’t. Back in the chair, I’m shaking my head slowly, throat dry. How long is this memory going to go on for? I don’t want to see her. That woman.

  My breathing is quick and out of control. Everything feels out of control. I grip the armrests tighter, to prevent my hands from shaking. Instead, my whole arms tremble in tune with my trembling body in the memory.

  I can’t do this.

  “Shikoba,” I say, my own voice sounding small and distant from inside of the memory.

  “Yes Chrys, I’m here,” he says, miles away.

  In the memory, the door unlocks and starts to open. I clamp my hands over my ears.

  A door sounds like it’s opening in the real world too. Focusing on that instead of the memory playing out in my head takes a bit of the edge off.

  “We’re busy now,” I hear Shikoba say. “Please wait outside.”

  “Chrys,” another voice says, muffled as though I’m underwater.

  “Hunter?” I say.

  Someone holds my hand in theirs. For the first time, I don’t feel like snatching it away.

  “You can do this. Don’t give up now,” Hunter says.

  “Be quiet,” Shikoba says, “And let her go.”

  My hand is returned to the armrest. I grip it, but not as tightly as before. My arms have stopped shaking.

  “She’s nearly done. Please wait outside,” Shikoba says.

  It’s almost over, he said. Just a little bit more. I swallow, trying to ease my dry throat. I can do this. I have to do this. For Ron, for Hunter, for me.

  In the memory, someone sits on my bed, forcing my attention back to it. She grabs my shoulders and hoists me up so I’m sitting in front of her. She’s a dark-skinned thick woman with high cheekbones and a short little afro that’s so kinky-curly it has no distinct curl pattern.

  I want to lay back down. I try but she holds me upright.

  She looks at me with fear in her eyes.

  She takes one of my hands and starts to unravel the bandages.

  “Please,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “Please don’t kill me.”

  She finishes unraveling it, holding me by the forearm, careful not to touch my hand. I flex it mindlessly, bringing life back into my numb fingers. She works on the other hand.

  When she’s done, she drops my arm and just sits there.

  “Touch her, Alicia,” the man’s voice says.

  As I raise my hands to cover my ears, the woman flinches.

  I try to ignore her. I don’t want to look at her wide, scared eyes and her quivering lip. Yet I can’t look away from her.

  Subject 87. Where did they get this poor woman from? Where did they get all the others from? And what did they do with the bodies?

  I stay there, holding my ears and staring at this woman. I brace myself for a shock but then I relax. No, they stopped the shocks days ago. Or was it months? I don’t even know.

  The woman bends over and when she comes back up, she’s extending the shake to me. She must have grabbed it on her way over.

  “You really should have something,” she says, her voice and arm shaking. “Poor thing.”

  Me? I’m the poor thing?

  You’re the poor thing.

  Why is she doing this? Why is she even talking to me? They never talk. They just cry and quiver.

  “Take it,” she says. She isn’t crying—not yet—but she looks like she wants to.

  I remove my hands from my ears. It’s not doing anything to block my hearing anyway. Slowly, I extend my arm to her—my arm feel like they weigh a thousand pounds—and take the shake, holding just the cap, making sure not to touch her.

  She drops her arm, looking relived. “Go on. It’s chocolate flavored. Looks good.”

  I look at the nutrition information. It’s only 160 calories. Even if I drink this, it won’t change much.

  “Go on,” she says again.

  Sighing, I put my hand on the cap and twist. I twist as hard as I can but it doesn’t budge. Out of breath, I stop twisting.

  “Here, let me,” she says, taking it from my hands.

  She freezes, her hand and my hand on the bottle. Touching.

  She lets out a hesitant breath and then pulls the bottle away from me, our hands leaving each other. She twists off the cap and hands me the open bottle.

  I slowly wrap my fingers around it, where her fingers are.

  She smiles and her eyes water. She lets go of the bottle, leaving it with me.

  She laughs a little. “I’m alive.” She laughs more, the tears that were pooling in her eyes now flowing down her cheeks.

  I take a sip of the shake. The velvety chocolate taste coats my tongue and ignites the sleeping hunger within me. I knock the shake back, gulping it down.

  “Alicia, congratulations,” the man voice says, but not from the speaker. He’s standing at the door, a tall and bald man with stubby red cheeks wearing a black uniform. “You’re free to go.”

  The memory fades and I’m back in the armchair.

  I open my eyes slowly. Shikoba, sitting in the chair, and Hunter, standing next to him, are staring at me, wide eyed.

  “Chrys,” Shikoba says, giving a huge smile. “You did it.”

  Hunter comes over and kneels in front of me. He takes my hand again. “You relived the whole memory. On the first try.”

  That memory. It was the day I was released into the foster care system. The day I met Ron. Back then, I never talked much to her, or anyone. It took a couple years for me to open up, but only because she insisted on talking to me so much in our shared room.

  I know now why I couldn’t bare to see that memory. It isn’t because of the pain of starving to death or because it was some sort of awful event. It’s because that was the first time my hands didn’t kill someone. The first time I felt some sort of hope that maybe I’m not actually an uncontrollable monster.

  And that made me feel guilty. Guilty because I thought someone like me didn’t deserve hope.

  So I buried it, along with all the memories of the deaths I’ve caused.

  I yawn, the exhaustion coming back full force.

  “Thanks Shikoba,” I say, “I really needed to see that.”

  He nods. “Some things should not be forgotten.”

  “Yeah…” I look at Hunter in front of me, realizing that he’s still holding my hand. “I don’t think I would have been able to get through it if you hadn’t come. I was just about to give up.”

  He smiles and lets go of my hand quickly, as if just noticing that he was still holding it. He stands up. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize.” I get up too. “Let’s go to the cabin. I want to finish that game.”

  “But what about Li?” he asks. “You did all three tasks. You can have your gift removed now.”

  I shrug. “That can wait.”

  Chapter 37

  Ron, who was sleeping on the couch, is woken up by a microwave beeping. Groggily, she sits up and looks back. Today, Giselle is in the kitchen.

  Ron checks the time. It’s just past noon. She has an hour or so left.

  She also has a missed call from Chrys, but Ron decides not to call her back. She’s going to go out there for 1:13 and wait, like they promised yesterday. She’s afraid that if she calls now, Chrys might say they can’t leave after all.

  “You’re up?” Giselle says from the kitchen.

  Ron rubs her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want some instant oats? You’ll have to make your own though.”

  Ron gets up and stretches. “Sure.”

  She goes into the kitchen. A box of apple
cinnamon oats is still out on the counter. Ron usually likes to eat two packets at once, but she doesn’t want to impose, so she takes one packet and pours it in a bowl. She adds more milk than the instructions say because she likes her oats watery. She pops it in the microwave and stands at the counter waiting.

  “I bought a domain name,” Giselle says. Normally, she’d almost be done by now, but she’s just nibbling on the oats.

  “For what?”

  “The newspaper.”

  “Oh, awesome. You decided on a name?”

  She sighs. “It’s just something Iris said she would have called the Normal News instead.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Regularity.”

  The microwave beeps so Ron takes out the bowl and brings it to the table. She stirs it.

  “Why did she want to call it that?” Ron asks and then eats a spoonful of oats. It burns the roof of her mouth but it doesn’t really bother her.

  Giselle shrugs. “She just insisted it sounds better.” She mixes around the oatmeal slowly, not really eating it. “You probably think I’m dumb for leaving everything here to start a newspaper.”

  “No, I don’t. Besides, it’s not like you’re leaving because of the newspaper.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Have you decided where you’re going to go?”

  She puts a small spoonful of oats in her mouth and swallows it without chewing. “New York. It’s the base of the Normal News too. There’s a lot more happening out there. The gifted seem to either flock to the forest here or the city there. Not much goes on here though so, I guess I have to go back home if I want to have a fighting chance.”

  “New York is your home?”

  She nods. “I was born in the suburbs but after my parents’ death, my aunt raised me in Manhattan, where she lived. She said I can stay with her for a while, so—I don’t know—that just seems like the best option. I spoke to Agnes and Bill this morning. They said they’ll buy the place.”

  “That’s great. I’m glad you figured it out. I’m actually going to leave today.”

  Giselle lets go of her spoon in her bowl and puts her hand on the table. “You’re not staying for the funeral?”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to but, you know my friend Chrys? I contacted her and she said she and Hunter are still nearby so they’re going to drop by in an hour or so and I’ll go with them.”

  “Ah… You’re leaving in an hour.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s just… I kind of thought maybe you’d want to come to New York with me. I could use the company.”

  “You’re going to be staying with your aunt though. And I’ve already imposed a lot, being here.”

  “Just for a bit, until I find my own place. And you haven’t imposed. Iris and I really liked having you here. It was so much fun. Every day was like an adventure.”

  “I appreciate that but I’d just feel like a mooch. I mean, I have no money or job prospects.”

  Giselle shrugs. “We could do research together for the paper.”

  Ron passes a hand over her hair, feeling her tight, bouncy curls. “That sounds fun but I don’t really think I’m qualified. Besides, my friends are already coming. Let’s keep in touch and if I end up in New York, I’ll let you know.”

  She gives a sad smile. “Okay, sure.”

  Ron scrapes her bowl clean. “I’ll keep an eye on your paper.”

  “Thanks.”

  Giselle picks up her spoon again and starts nibbling on her oatmeal.

  Ron washes her dishes and then goes to the living room and packs up what few belongings she has left.

  After half an hour or so, Giselle is still at the table, her bowl still full of oats, now cold.

  Ron goes over to her. “I think I should head out now.”

  Giselle stands up and hugs Ron tightly. “Bye.”

  “Bye.” She pulls away. “I’ll keep in touch.”

  Giselle nods and then sits back down at the table.

  Ron puts on her backpack and walks out the door.

  Chapter 38

  “You’re really leaving?” Ana Maria says with a pout. She’s hovering by me at my desk as I pack up, but I’m trying my best to ignore her.

  Last night while we all finished playing the board game, I made the mistake of mentioning that I’ll be leaving the next day. Hunter and Remington made a couple comments about it but Ana Maria has been bugging me about it constantly, only taking a break to sleep.

  I slept for just a few minutes here and there last night, spending most of my time in the computer room reading Madeline Taylor’s journal entries. Luckily, I didn’t encounter Carl last night—probably because I didn’t really sleep long enough to get into REM sleep. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, but I don’t want to risk it because I don’t understand how the gift works.

  Can he be alerted or something every time I start to dream? So far, Madeline hasn’t talked about anything like that or about making dreams a reality in her entries. My 24 hour access code expired in the early morning so I went back to the cabin and snatched some brief and fitful minutes of sleep, waking up often.

  “Why are you leaving? Just stay here,” Ana Maria whines.

  I’m really not in the mood to deal with her early morning nagging. Still, I try to be civil.

  “I told you a thousand times already,” I say. “I have to go meet my friend.”

  “But aren’t we your friends? Wouldn’t you rather stay here with your many friends over leaving to be with your one friend?”

  I sigh. “I’m leaving, okay? Nothing you say can convince me to stay.”

  She makes a whining sound like a puppy.

  Hunter, who’s sitting up in his bed, says, “Ana Maria, I know you just got here, but after a while, you’ll want to leave too.”

  Remington, who I thought was asleep up in his bunk, says in a sleepy voice, “That’s not true. I’ve been here for almost my whole life and I don’t want to leave.”

  “That’s because you don’t know anything else,” Hunter says.

  “So you want to leave too, Hunter?” Ana Maria says. “But it’s so great here!”

  “No one’s stopping you from leaving,” Remington says.

  Ana Maria scuttles away from me and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “It’s not like I have anywhere to go though,” Hunter says.

  “Why don’t you just go with Chrys and her friend then?” Remington says.

  Hunter doesn’t reply.

  Everything stuffed in the tote bag, including a couple bottles of water and some burritos I made this morning in the kitchen, I rest it on the desk and sit down on the chair. I blink back sleep.

  Maybe once I start walking through the forest, I’ll feel more awake. I hope so, at least. I’ve already eaten one of the burritos, trying to give myself some more energy.

  Ana Maria comes back to me, holding her black and white sea bunny, the one with the most wear and tear, but at some point she stitched up the side so the stuffing is no longer spilling out.

  She holds it out to me. “Here. This one is my favorite.”

  “Shouldn’t you be giving me one you don’t care about?” I say.

  “I care about all of them.”

  “Then give me one that’s less special.”

  She sighs. “You’re such an idiot, Chrys. I’m giving you this one because it’s special. One day, you’re going to give it back to me.”

  I take it. “Okay, fine. I’ll give it back to you the next time we meet.”

  She smiles and gestures for me to put it in my bag, so I do.

  Three knocks on the cabin door echo through the room.

  The cabin door opens.

  “Hello?” Li says quietly as she enters, looking around. “Ah, you’re
all awake. Good.”

  She walks to Hunter’s bed. “Hunter, do you mind coming down for a bit?”

  He climbs down the ladder and combs through his hair with his fingers as if trying to tame his bed hair but it already looks fine.

  “Hunter,” Li says, “I was talking to my friend about you and he is very interested in your gift. He runs a refuge and research lab in New York City. He thinks you may be the next Madeline Taylor.”

  “Madeline Taylor?” Hunter asks.

  “Yes. My friend manages a website with all of Madeline’s journals. Madeline did extensive research on her own gift, you see. When I told him about your gift, he figured your potential could be equal to hers—or perhaps even greater. He’s wondering if you’d be interested in experimenting with the limits of your gift.”

  “I don’t really want to use my gift though,” Hunter says. “It has bad effects.”

  “I doubt you would use it for that long. He is mostly interested in testing your range. That only requires a short period of manipulation.”

  Hunter rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know… I’m not really into research.”

  I stand up from my chair. “Hunter, you were just saying you want to leave but have nowhere to go. This is somewhere! And I mean, New York? Sounds like a dream. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “You can go too, Chrys, if you like,” Li says.

  I blink quickly a couple times. “Really? But I definitely don’t want to do any research on my gift. And my friend…”

  “Like I said, my friend runs a refuge too, sort of like this one, but more in plain sight I guess. He owns a hotel franchise but one of the branches is really just a home for gifted who have nowhere else to go. Your friend is welcome to join you there too. And I know you and your friend are… on the run. That can be fixed too.”

  My heart is quickening and I’m starting to feel more alert.

  “How?” I say.

  “Well, we can arrange a car to New York for you and once you get there, my friend can report that he found you and offer to be your legal guardian instead of putting you back in the foster care system.”