by Sarah Noffke
James’s concentration briefly falters when he realizes I’m standing just beside him. Then his brow wrinkles and his focus tries to maintain contact on the figures below on the main floor. His skill is obviously working to paralyze the breathing ability of three men. I can’t use mind control. As much as I want to, I can’t. It’s like the ability to fly. I could wish for it all I want and still I couldn’t do it. With his focus firmly on the subjects he’s been assigned to I know I can’t hypnotize him. I would need eye contact and right now this man is firmly motivated to complete his assigned job. Maybe it’s Vivian’s persuasion that’s keeping him locked on his task. But my guess is that it’s also the threat of losing his best friend. That is a strong motivator.
I have only one option left. One I’ve never ever considered and never employed. I hope I do it right.
I pull back my arm and then launch my fist at James’s jaw. His chin is thrown back first, followed by the rest of him. The man tumbles back, falling into a row of stadium seats. And for my first time physically assaulting someone, it looks like I’ve been successful at knocking James out. Well, and his fall caused his head to careen with the hard plastic chair and I know by the stillness of his body and closed eyes that he’s passed out. At least for now. I press my finger to my left ear. The one with the connection to outside agents.
“I need backup to apprehend the subject on east side of balcony. Mission a success,” I say.
“Copy,” I hear in my ear. I stare over the side of the balcony where three crowds have gathered around fallen men’s bodies. Maybe it was a success. Maybe they aren’t dead. That’s not my job though. My job is done. I teleport away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Adelaide is sitting just beside Pops when I enter my childhood home; an album I recognize at once is lying across her lap. They both look up at me. My pops smiles, as he usually does when he sees me. Adelaide smiles, unlike she’s ever done before. It’s one of relief.
“You’re back,” she’s says, jumping to a standing position, clutching the album to her chest like a prized doll.
“No, I didn’t die,” I say.
She’s too close to me suddenly. “Are you okay?” she says, looking at my bandaged hand. I apparently don’t know how to punch and broke a couple of fingers. Between those and the toes, I’m feeling like a first-class idiot. Next on my list is learning physical combat. Then I’m going to punch Vivian’s gorgeous face.
“I’m alive,” I say.
“Did you save the world?” she says, a playful pride in her tone.
“Hard to say at this point,” I say. Actually, the first man, in fact died. The other two are in serious comas. And they happen to all three be connected to the same company. One that manufactures technology related to smart homes. The one who died was the CEO. The other two were majority shareholders. We don’t know what Vivian is up to. But something tells me I’m going to find out, and soon, when I pay Congressman Smith a visit.
“What’s this business about you saving the world?” my pops says with a light chuckle. He knows I work for the Lucidites, but he doesn’t know who they are or much care. He’s always been strangely repulsed by things related to Dream Traveler societies, probably because most weren’t accepting of him since he married a Middling. I told him I consult for them. That seemed like the easy answer.
“Well, you know how Addy lies, right,” I say.
There’s a gasp. “I don’t,” she says, flushing red.
I half smile at her. “Easy now, only those who do lie defend themselves. The righteous know they don’t need to.”
My pops shakes off this exchange. “I was showing her your baby book.”
I swallow something sharp in my throat. “Sounds boring.”
Adelaide turns the album around and looks at a small photo framed on its center. “It wasn’t.”
She’s staring at the photo on the front with a strange nostalgia. In the photograph my mum’s face stares down at me in her arms. I’m probably an hour old. We’re locked on each other, the only two people in that moment.
“These photos are sweet,” Adelaide says.
“Children are innocent. Then they receive life-altering gifts,” I say. “Then they are dangerous.”
“Yeah, but even after that,” she says, flipping through the pages with one hand, her arm supporting the book, “even after you hit puberty, you almost looked kind of nice in these photos,” she says, pointing to one of my mum and me standing in front of the prized pig Darla at the county fair. I was fifteen.
“Mary had a way about her. She was the only one who ever made Ren soft. What can I say, she was a rare woman,” my pops says.
“Yeah, you looked very fond of her in these photos,” Adelaide says, tracing a finger over another. I’m taller than my mum and have a long arm draped over her shoulder, pulling her affectionately into my side.
“I’ve never been fonder of anyone my entire life,” I say simply. “And now it’s time that we take our leave.” Instinctively I know I have to get as far away from this moment as quickly as possible. It only serves to break me if only just a little. I can never afford to soften. Ever.
***
I tap the table in front of me. “Sit,” I say to Adelaide, who is making her way to the kitchen. We’ve only been back to my flat for an hour.
“Why?” she says, staring at the seat I indicated. “I’m starving.”
“No you’re not,” I say. “What you are is exaggerating. Sit, already.”
“Why?” she asks again.
“Because,” I say, drawing out the word.
“Because isn’t an answer, it’s the beginning of an answer,” she says in a mocking tone.
I pull the black leather case out from beside me, the one I requested from the Institute. “Because I need to take a blood sample,” I say.
As I expected her eyes widen. Her mouth pops open. “You what?” she says, offense covering her face.
I could avoid this by being upfront about my motives, but I’d rather play a game with her. More fun for me. And later, more humiliating for her. “God, you don’t bloody listen. I need to take a blood sample,” I say slowly, like she doesn’t speak English.
“Why?” she says, her voice half shaking.
Unzipping the case, I say, “Obviously to have a paternity test done.”
“Ren, how could you not think…? After everything… I don’t understand…” she stutters out.
The way she just said my name sounded strange. And then I realize it’s one of the few time she’s called me that. She usually doesn’t call me anything, well, except for vulgar names.
“Well, if things check out and you do prove to be my DNA then we’re sending you to uni so you can learn to form a real sentence,” I say.
With a hostile force she ties her arms across her chest. “Why? Why do I have to go to school? You never went. Granddad said as much,” she says, all her words hot, her green eyes smoldering.
My gaze reflexively narrows at the mention of her calling my pops that and with such ease. “No, I didn’t go to uni, but I can speak in a manner that others easily understand. You cannot. I hardly know what you’re driveling on about half the time.”
“I can’t believe you!” she shouts. “After everything.”
“Just covering all my bases,” I say with a shrug. The mischievous grin I’m suppressing is begging to surface.
“Fuck you,” she says, jerking the chair out and slamming herself down. “I’ll do it just so you realize what a bloody git you are for questioning me.”
I nod, pulling out the syringe. “That’s right, give me what I want to show me I’m the idiot. Great plan,” I say and then withdraw an empty vial. “Now roll up that ridiculous huge sleeve so we can get this done.”
***
“I fucking hate you,” Adelaide says as she secures a bandage over the small prick.
I despise the sight of blood but I can manage the task of drawing it for clinical purposes. I snap the
cap on the vial of crimson liquid before securing it in the leather pouch. “Well, then you must be my daughter because all girls hate their fathers. Just ask my dear sister, Lyza,” I say, and then realize I actually called Adelaide my daughter and didn’t vomit.
“Your pops says she’s unstable,” Adelaide says.
I raise an eyebrow at her, noticing how she’s changed the way she’s referring to Pops. “You know I don’t really doubt that you’re my blood,” I say, leaning back in my chair, casually pinning my hands behind my head.
“You don’t?” she says, giving me a practiced skeptical stare. “Then what’s with the blood test?”
I push up off the floor, leaning the chair on its back two legs. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after you’re fully trained? You know, like what do you want to be when you grow up sort of thing?”
Adelaide blinks at me, and then a fear springs to her eyes. She’s used to hiding it but I’m used to spying it in others. “What do you mean? Like move out? Get my own place?” Her voice rises in pitch with each sentence.
I shake my head, still pinned in my hands. “No, I mean occupation wise,” I say.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, a little bit of relief filling her eyes. “So no, I guess I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, I have,” I say, and this conversation suddenly makes me feel odd. Sentimental. It’s the strangest feeling I’ve ever harbored, like fish are swimming around in my gut.
“You have?” she asks, perplexed.
“I’m going to tell you something and firstly, I don’t want it going to your head. Secondly, I don’t want you reminding me of it ever again.” I pause, watching for her reaction, which she doesn’t give me, just remains frozen, waiting. “You know, I didn’t make the connection to the hostages in my case until you mentioned it, which was a full on shock to me.”
“Well, I am a fucking genius,” she says, her voice deep, impersonating mine.
I almost smile. “Your insights might have been helpful.”
“Might have been?”
I release my pressure on the floor and the chair tips forward back on all four legs. “Yes, you have good instincts. And therefore, I think you might make a good agent. Well, once the attitude is sufficiently whipped and beaten out of you.”
“Agent? That’s why you took my blood? You think I’d make a good agent for the Lucidites? Doing what you do?”
“Yes, for the Lucidites. But no, not doing what I do. You might qualify to work level one cases, but not for a while. Agents have a long training program they have to pass. Most don’t because I created it to weed out ninety-five percent of the losers who can’t hack an agent role. But if you pass, then one day you might find yourself working a level one case, maybe even a level two,” I say.
Something skirts across her face. I pause to study her. It takes me a long moment to realize I don’t know what it is in her expression that’s wrong, but there’s definitely something not right about it. Then she says, “I don’t want to be an agent.”
“What?” I say, leaning forward suddenly, my eyes low, staring at her. “How can you not want to be an agent? You thought it was so cool that I was one and worked for a secret agency. Why wouldn’t you also want to be cool like that?”
Adelaide shrugs. Diverts her eyes. “I just don’t,” she lies. It’s plain on her face, but she isn’t giving anything else away.
“What do you want to be, a bloody artist?” I say, throwing my hand in the direction of her artwork, which sits at the end of the table.
“No, I mean, maybe. I don’t know. I just don’t want to be an agent.” Her eyes still aren’t on me, but the lie is so evident on her face and in her words. I’m a master at reading people and spotting their deceits.
“Yes, you do,” I say through clenched teeth.
“No, I don’t,” she says. “Don’t try to push your profession on me. I may be your daughter but that doesn’t mean I have to go into the family business.”
“Adelaide, do you realize how difficult it is to be elected for a position as an agent?” I say, stunned that we’re even having this argument. I honestly thought that she’d be thrilled. Zero hesitation. “Agents are hand selected. Few make it through training. Hell, few pass the blood test that says that you’re fit and genetically stable enough to even enter the training. But I hand selected those agents for twenty years and I suspect you’ll pass. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
“I just don’t!” she says, bolting to a standing position, knocking over the chair behind her.
I’m about to scold her for probably scratching my mahogany chair when a knock sounds at the door.
“Go the fuck away!” I yell, my eyes on Adelaide, who is shaking with sudden anger. She can’t be angrier than me. She should be thanking me. The girl should be on the verge of having her first happy emotion, but instead she’s shaking her head at me and regarding me with tense eyes.
The door at my back opens and the gait that I know so well click-clacks across the floor. And then I smell that familiar perfume. When she halts three feet from me I say, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Adelaide’s eyes are on Dahlia. Dahlia’s eyes are probably on my back.
“Apparently interrupting a family feud, by the sounds of it. I could hear you two in the hallway,” Dahlia says.
“And if you had any manners you would have stayed the fuck out of my flat and not interrupted. You know how much I love to fight,” I say.
“Well, I do apologize for barging in, but we need to talk,” Dahlia says.
I turn and look at the woman who all too well knows she has a force over me. “What do you want?” I say, not making eye contact. Still I notice her run those intense blue eyes over me.
“Are you all right? I saw the news. That was you, wasn’t it?” Dahlia says.
“No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill that CEO, or put those shareholders in a coma,” I say.
“No, I meant that you stopped it. You did, didn’t you?” Dahlia says.
“Yes,” I say, turning back to Adelaide. “Looks like I get the pleasure of fighting with two people today. We will finish this later. Go to your room. Dahlia and I are going to berate each other for a half hour. Then it’s your turn.”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Dahlia says, stepping forward beside Adelaide and me, creating an uneven triangle. “I want to say something to both of you.” Dahlia then looks at me. “And Ren, we aren’t going to fight. That’s not why I came here today.”
“Well, then I’m uninterested in talking to you,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest a bit childishly.
“Ren, I came to apologize,” Dahlia says plainly, her hand on her hip.
“Oh fuck, how can this day get any worse?” I say.
She brandishes a smile at me and then looks at Adelaide. “Fine, then I’ll start with you. Maybe your father will soften up then.”
Adelaide regards Dahlia with a menacing stare. It’s a good one, cold and hard and the perfect degree of intimidation. “What do you want to say to me?”
“That I haven’t been fair to you or Ren. I kicked him out because of all of these recent events,” she says, all composure. “And I realize that I communicated that I didn’t approve of you in his life. I was being selfish. But you see, Ren and I have a sordid past and our relationship has been a hard thing for me to accept. I’m afraid…” And just then Dahlia’s voice breaks. It’s an odd thing for her to do. “I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me again.”
“Dahlia, this is not her business,” I say, cutting in.
She turns and looks at me, that old pain in her eyes “No, it’s not. But it’s my business and I want to share it with Adelaide so she understands why I acted the way I did.” She then returns those soulful eyes to Adelaide. “When you showed up in Ren’s life, I realized that the dynamics were going to shift dramatically and it scared me. It made me think that again I’d been deceived to think Ren and I had a chance. I’m the m
ost selfish person you’ll ever meet, Adelaide, and I didn’t want to share him. Not only that but I wanted to punish him for making a mistake so long ago.”
“I’m not a mistake,” Adelaide says, her eyes murderous.
“No, you’re not,” Dahlia says, not deterred. “From everything I’ve seen, you’re an incredible young woman with many of the characteristics that I love and cherish in your father.”
“Dahlia…” I say, wanting this unbelievable circus act to end and then also needing it to continue. I can’t hear any more and I simultaneously want to slow down this moment. To bottle it. Keep it preserved in my memory forever.
“I’m not done yet,” she says to me, her eyes on Adelaide. “I’m sorry for how I treated you and for how my actions might have made you feel.”
Adelaide’s expression shifts from one of quiet anger to one of soft composure. Then she simply nods her acceptance.
Dahlia turns and looks at me and I know I should run right now. I should teleport to Morocco. Leave my life behind. Start a new one. One where I’m neither happy nor sad but complacent nonetheless. One where this woman can’t chisel past the barriers around my heart and make me want her. Need her.
