Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “You’ll get used to it, I promise. And I think you’ll find this sort of life very fulfilling. I know I have,” he looked ahead as we weaved through the cornfields. “I want you to know I’m very excited about having you here Cresta. You’re starting late, but I firmly believe that, with the right training, you could do some real good in this world.”

  He wanted to keep me here; to train me as a Breaker. But what did I want? I hadn’t even taken time to consider it.

  “Of course, the extent of your abilities will become clearer after the drugs leave your system.”

  The drugs.

  That’s right, my mother drugged me.

  “Do you have any idea who was after us?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “Well, it could have been any number of people. There are several sects of renegade Breakers who are known to use prophecies to further their own ends. There are also black market fate dealers; Breakers who sell their talents to the highest bidder; usually wealthy individuals who want to make sure they stay wealthy. There are even rumors of organizations that recruit wayward Breakers and bend them to nefarious means. I was hoping that our prisoner might help shed some light on the whos and whats surrounding the attack on you. But he’s proved less than helpful and, I’m afraid that, without knowing why your mother defected in the first place, it’s really a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “I wanna know about her,” I said, leaning on Casper as we walked and careful not to look at Echo. “What was my mother like?”

  He was quiet for a second, long enough for me to think that he didn’t want to answer. But then he spoke. “Your mother was amazing. She was kind and brave. She knew what was right, and she wasn’t afraid of anything. That’s why I’m having such a hard time making peace with what’s happened. If you’d have asked me back then, who is the last person in the world you’d ever think would run away from her responsibilities-“

  His voice trailed off. I spoke quickly, afraid I was going to lose him to the memory.

  “What happened? I mean, what did you think happened to her?”

  “It was her third field mission. We hadn’t been married very long, but already, she was a star. She’d have been a legend, if she had sur-“

  He cleared his throat and looked away.

  “Sorry. I’m still not used to the fact that she actually did. She was part of a group of Breakers sent to Russia. They were tasked with stopping the illegal trade of missile codes that, if left unchecked, would have thrown the world into a third world war. Two months into their mission, something went wrong. In their last transmission, they reported curious happenings, but before help could arrive, the facility where they had been housed blew up.”

  My mind rushed back to yesterday, to our house exploding in a mess of fire, splinters, and screams.

  “In the wake of it all, no survivors were found.” He took a deep breath and wiped some moisture from his eyes. “Whatever really happened, I suppose, is anyone’s guess now.”

  “You loved her,” I said. It wasn’t a question, but he took it up as one.

  “Our marriages have little to do with love traditionally,” he answered. Once we got through the field, we took a sharp left toward a small rounded silver building. It looked more like and outhouse that anything else but, for my part, I really hoped it wasn’t.

  “Creating a Breaker is an intentional endeavor,” Echo continued. “It takes specific genetic codes in both partners and those codes have to work together in certain ways. These genes are, for the most part, hereditary. They run in families, in bloodlines. As such, when a young Breaker is of age, their genes are examined. They’re then placed with a member of the opposite sex whose genes most perfectly match their own. That ensures the best likelihood of children with potent gifts.”

  I pulled back instinctively, sort of disgusted at the whole prospect. Where was the romance in that? Where was the love? To Breakers, it seemed marriage had all the joy of working at a factory. It was a meat market, and they were shoved together like chickens, bent on producing as many eggs as possible.

  Casper summed up my feelings pretty perfectly when he said,” That sucks! It sounds so lonely.”

  “You think so?” Echo sounded genuinely surprised. “I always thought of it as comforting actually. To know that I was going to end up with the person who, even at a biological level, was perfect for me, to take away the possibility of human error or youthful impulsiveness; it helped me through a lot of nights.”

  “Maybe my mom didn’t agree,” I said. “Maybe that’s why she left; to find love.” It didn’t seem like such a mystery to me. I mean, who would want to live under some dictatorship where you couldn’t even choose who to spend the rest of your life with?

  “Perhaps,” he choked out. “It’s just, I thought that we-I suppose it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?”

  Echo placed a palm on the silver outhouse. The door glowed and then opened. We stepped through.

  What looked like a small oval building was huge on the inside; much bigger than it had any right to be from looking at it. I wondered if, since this was apparently the place where prisoners were held, it had some sort of special guise around it; one that even Breakers couldn’t see through. If that was the case, Echo didn’t let on as we advanced.

  The walls were metal and studded with vent-like holes. A long hall stretched straight ahead with a green stripe running along the floor that seemed to point to a door at the end. Aside from that, and twin fluorescent lights that buzzed along the ceiling, the place was bare; without the flourish that existed in the rest of Weathersby.

  We headed toward the door, with only the buzz of the lights overhead to break the silence.

  “Stand down,” Echo said as we settled in front of the door.

  The air shimmered and solidified around us. The nothing rippled like a wave, revealing two armed guards. They, like the guards in Echo’s office the night before, held twin crossbows.

  I guess Breakers aren’t really ‘gun type’ people.

  Gold stars crisscrossed their skin, in absence of the ‘W’s I had gotten used to seeing. I smirked. Turned out I was right about the extra security. That slight feeling of accomplishment grew cold when I realized I had no way of knowing what else was being hid from me.

  The guards parted and, as they did, the door they did, the door behind them melted away into nothing.

  Breath caught in my throat, but not because of the physics bending illusions. After a day of floating amputees, surround sound holograms, vanishing plantations, and buildings that were bigger on the inside, a melting door was nothing.

  What was behind the door though, that was another story.

  I had prepared myself for one of the monstrosities that barged into my house the day my mother died. Bile burned in my throat at the thought of seeing one of them again; of watching Ezra float in front of me with his gruesome smile and deceiving eyes, of watching the fluorescent lights illuminate the scar on Jiqui’s face, of looking at the bloodied knuckles of one of those brutes who very likely beat my mother to death.

  But what I had not prepared myself for, what I doubt I could have ever prepared myself for, was the set of deep blue eyes that peered back at me now.

  Owen sat chained to a metal chair in the center of a padded room. His face was swollen and red. His nose was bent and bruised, and his jaw was a puffed and purple marble on his cheek. His clothes; the same clothes he wore the last time I saw him, were tattered and torn. Blood had dried and clotted in his hair, sending the dark hair that I used to love up in soiled and unruly spikes.

  His hands trembled, strapped against the arms of the chair. My first instinct was to run to him, to untie him, to clean him up, and take care of him.

  I hated myself for that instinct. I should hate Owen. He lied to me for two years. He set all of this in motion. He was part of whatever mysterious group set out to kill me; succeeded in killing my mother.

  But he also saved you.

  I shook t
hat thought from my head, and resided my weakness to old habits. They were, after all, hard to break. I had loved him for so long, or who I thought he was anyway. Even after all that had happened, it was hard to turn that off, especially now; seeing him so completely broken.

  “This is the Breaker formerly known as Agent G-77,” Echo stomped over, stood behind Owen, and jerked his head back violently. Owen winced and jutted forward; his mouth clenched tight. “And he has some explaining to do.”

  My heart jumped, partly because of how forcefully Echo was handling him, partly because of Owen’s pained reaction to it, and partly because of the way Echo had introduced him.

  Agent G-77

  The seventh letter of the alphabet followed by twin sevens.

  Seven, it was always seven.

  Chapter 9

  Girl in the Tower

  IT TOOK ALL I could do to hold myself back, not to rush Owen, to push Echo away, and stop him from hurting him. I hated myself for that. Of course, just because I was able to stop myself didn’t mean I was ready for what came next.

  Owen started to scream; horrible, blood-curdling, heartbreaking screams that cut through whatever thin defenses I had managed to guard myself with. Tears ran down Owen’s bruised and ruined face. Look at him. He had lied to me. He had lied to the people that I love. He had caused hurt and pain and God knows what else, but hadn’t he been through enough? What was Echo hoping to accomplish by being so rough with him?

  Echo pulled harder at his head. Owen jerked back; his body arched and rigid. I looked at Casper, hoping for some sort of direction, but only found a similar confusion. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to feel.

  Owen’s screams sharpened into a shrill guttural thing, like someone was pulling out his insides, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “That’s enough!” I screamed, but didn’t move. No matter what was happening, and regardless of the tears that I had failed to keep from pouring past my eyes, I couldn’t make my body run to him. I just couldn’t.

  Echo looked up at me, his hand still pressed to the back of Owen’s head. “Almost, but not quite yet.”

  He yanked again and Owen pulled one last time. I though he was going to die or pass out or something, but as Echo inched away, Owen let out a sigh of relief.

  “Extraction’s complete,” Echo said, looking at the guards. “You can let him go now.” He bent so that he was close to Owen, who was panting exhaustedly. “You did good, kid.”

  The guards marched over to Owen. Crouching, they loosened the shackles at his hands and feet. He slumped as they lifted him, letting his legs go limp as if all the life had drained from him.

  Echo walked toward me. A rounded silver disc that I didn’t see in his hand before caught the light. Owen murmured as the guards pulled him forward; the tips of his feet dragging helplessly along the floor.

  “I didn’t…I swear…you mother…I would never…promise.” Blood and spittle flew from his mouth and he was looking to the floor, but I knew he was talking to me.

  “Promise,” he said over and over again. “Promise. I promise.”

  I didn’t know what to do, except that I had to say something; but what? I certainly couldn’t tell him it was okay; that I forgave him. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I opened my mouth, still unsure of what I was going to say. Owen moaned again. His eyes fluttered and then closed. He slumped even more in the guards arms; so much so that the leftmost archer picked him up like a baby and carried him away.

  “You didn’t have to be so rough with him,” I said when I was sure he couldn’t hear me, wiping my eyes. Casper rubbed my back and squeezed my shoulder. “Where are you taking him?” Casper asked.

  “To the infirmary,” Echo said. “He’s exhausted and more than a little beat up. We’ll put some liquids in him and try to fix what’s broken.” He held the silver disc out to me. “And as for the roughness; I’m afraid it couldn’t be avoided, though I took no pleasure in it.”

  “What is that?” I motioned to the disc.

  “That is as many answers as I’m able to provide for you at the moment. When we captured your friend trying to break into Weathersby, I questioned him; fully expecting him to lie within an inch of his life. But he didn’t. He was truthful with me and, honestly, I found his answers curious.”

  “Yeah, well at least you got some,” I muttered, still not taking the disc. “All I ever got from that boy was lies.”

  “Why don’t you try a little truth on for size then?” He grinned. “This is a glimpsing disc. It’s used to extract thoughts. Time was, the Breakers of old used it for interrogation purposes, but we’ve since developed less intrusive measures for that.”

  “So why’d you use it one Owen then?” Casper asked, the usual lightness gone from his voice.

  “Glimpsing discs are the only method of recording thoughts. Your friend has found himself in a bit of hot water, and I’m afraid the Council of Masons is requiring a record of what’s gone on.”

  “And what is that?” I was tired of questions. I wanted to know why Owen did what he did; why he lied to me, why he saved me, and what side he was really on.

  “See for yourself,” Echo said and pressed the glimpsing disc to my palm.

  “I don’t- does this go into a DVD player?”

  “Not exactly,” Echo smiled. “But you’re new at this, so let me get you started.”

  He made smooth circular motions above the disc in my palm. Slowly, the disc started moving, mimicking the motions of his hands. It tickled as it turned; slowly, and then faster, spinning like it was in a cd player.

  “What do I do?” I asked.

  “Open your mind,” Echo said. “And enjoy the show.”

  I closed my eyes and let my mind go blank; purging it of the stress and questions that had lingered for days. It was easier than I thought it would be actually.

  “Nothing’s happening,” I said, but when I opened my eyes, I saw that I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  I wasn’t in the silver outhouse anymore. Casper and Echo were gone. I-I wasn’t even me anymore. I was Owen, standing in the bright sunshine; surrounded by people. I saw from his eyes, and more than that, I thought from his mind.

  Houses stretched out around me, set in sections that looked like a bunch of villages pushed into one space. I knew it was the Hourglass, and not just from the high walls that seemed to cut off the outside world or the myriad of shops, temples, and farmlands that left it self-sustaining. It was his memories. Owen had lived here all his life. The woman on the corner, she had run the bakery ever since he could remember. Every Sunday, before worship, Owen would walk past the bakery and the woman would sneak him a sliver of lemon cake. The man walking ahead of him, with the broad shoulders and heavy stride; that was his father. And, more than anything in the world, Owen wanted to make him proud. The girl beside him had dark hair and a familiar touch. Her hand was wrapped in his. It was comfortable. She was-

  Suddenly, I was away from there. I was Owen again, but younger, and surrounded by staunch looking men and women in strange black cloaks. A man and woman; Owen’s mother and father stood next to me.

  “Please,” his mother said as tears pooled in her big brown eyes. “There has to be a way.”

  One of the cloaked men raised his hand as if to stop her. “It is a fixed point; written in the stars. You know what that means.”

  “There has to be something!” Owen’s mother screamed. But the cloaked crows turned and walked away.

  That world disappeared around me and, the next thing I knew, I was bent over a table. I, as Owen, was shirtless and there was a searing pain in my back. It hurt like nothing I had ever felt before; like I had swallowed a flaming sword and it was fighting its way out of me.

  Owen’s mother was in front of me. Her brown eyes were red and puffy, and she held my hand tight.

  “It hurts so bad, Momma,” I heard Owen say in a young, tired voice. “I can’t do it.”

  “You can my darling,” his
mother said. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You have to. It’s the only way.”

  I thought the pain was going to kill me; that I was going to die trapped in someone else’s body; which was a thought I had never considered before, but then I was gone.

  It was night, and I was in a place like Weathersby, only larger. I had been carted out of my bed, dragged to an empty room and approached by a group of men. I didn’t know any of them, save for one. Edwin James, known as Avalanche. No, not me, I didn’t know him. But Owen did. He had taught Owen since he had got here, to Atlantia, the Weathersby-like facility. He was the man who was going to make sure Owen became every bit the Breaker he could be, every bit the Breaker his father expected of him.

  Avalanche approached him and, in a voice that sounded like rumbling gravel, said, “I have a proposition for you.”

  I was gone again. Now, I was in Crestview, watching a girl sit at the worn feet of a golden statue. She was picking at her nails and pulling at a locket around her neck. She was –she was me.

  I remembered this moment. I was bored, feeling hopeless and horribly heartbroken. I wanted, more than anything else, to be back in Chicago, with my father’s arms wrapped around me. But, at that moment, I’d have settled for Owen’s.

  He didn’t know that though, just as I didn’t know he was watching me then. I could feel it, seeing the memory from his angle, from both angles. He took pictures of me, the pictures I would later find on his phone. He was focused, intent on knowing me, on learning about me. It was his mission. Avalanche had made it clear; find the girl, befriend the girl, learn all you can about her, and wait for further instructions. His fingers, my fingers, moved again and another picture snapped. He studied my movements, deciphering what they meant. The way my leg shook said I was restless, unhappy where I was.

  The girl I used to be hung her head and leaned against the statue. If I remembered correctly, this is when I would start to cry. As the tears rolled down my face, Cresta’s face, Owen’s hands dropped. He wasn’t taking pictures of me anymore. He wasn’t thinking of me as a mission or a mark. I was just a girl; a girl in pain. Something other than focus tickled at the back of his mind, and I was gone again.