Seven paced. He knew this was where they were, he had felt them on the beach and along the path. “Where are you?” he asked no one.
The door to the house opened and the two men filled the doorway.
“What you doin’ here, brah?” the larger of the men asked. “Haoles not welcome here.”
Seven faced the men. “I’m looking for a friend. She said she lived here.” Seven clenched his jaw and waited.
The men poured into the cramped space and circled Seven.
“No, no one livin’ here now.” The larger man took a step toward Seven.
Seven nodded and smiled. He slammed into the men’s thoughts and filled them with images drawn from their nightmares. Murder and rape. The pictures streamed in rapid succession in their minds. They both took a step back, looks of shock etched on their faces.
“You should’ve just told me what I needed to know. It would’ve been so much easier.” Seven pictured the men falling to their deaths. Imagined their eyes bulging as their carotid arteries closed and their lungs collapsed.
In moments both men fell to the ground with a heavy thud, shock and horror still painted on their faces.
“Too easy,” Seven mumbled as he stepped over one of the men and fled the house.
He walked down the rocky path to the beach, clinging to the faint sense of the Assassin. “Where did you go?” Seven whispered to the memory echo of the elusive girl. “Where can I find you?”
Is she found? The Creator’s words chased away the fading presence.
No, my master. Only a piece of her memories.
Rage, not his, bloomed in Seven’s chest and radiated upward to his mind. Rage and fear. He knew the Creator was disappointed. Angry. He had to figure out a way to find the girl.
Let’s hope it wasn’t a mistake to trust you with this mission.
Seven inhaled the threat in his Master’s words.
I trust you will know where she is when I return.
Yes, Master. Seven felt the rage subside, replaced by profound shame.
His Master was disappointed. This could not happen again.
Seven hated being on an airplane. Something about the number of people, the incessant noise of their thoughts unnerved him. He stared out the window, unable to see anything below the thick cloud deck. A crumbled picture balled in his hands. He smoothed it open and memorized every detail of the Google Earth image: the house at the top of a twisted road, the porch that wrapped around three sides of the two-story structure, and the pines that surrounded the back of the house. He was taking a risk going to Cambria. But something in his memories knew this was his best shot at finding the Assassin.
Seven looked forward and closed his eyes. Darkness gave way to images of training sessions with the Architect. She had taught Seven how to see strategy, to anticipate his opponent’s moves. They’d played chess, sparred, and developed worst-case scenarios together. Seven’s heart clenched as her image came to life in his mind. Although he hadn’t worked with her often, she was his mentor. Family. Her death had been hard. Anger mixed with sadness as Seven focused back on his memory:
“Chess?” the Architect asked in his thoughts.
“Sure. But first, I have questions for you. How are you supposed to find the Assassin? No one knows where she could be.”
The Architect smiled. “I find it’s the details that give people away. In this case, the Assassin’s mother.”
“You know her?”
“Yes. She trained with us, all of us.”
“What did she say?”
Seven smiled at the memory of his eagerness.
“She said she always wanted to live in Central California. In a small coastal town.”
“So you’ll start there?”
“Yes.”
The memory faded quickly and Seven opened his eyes. Cambria was where the Assassin had spent part of her childhood. It was her home. And exactly where she’d go to feel safe. He took another glance at the Google Earth image before ripping it into shreds.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered to the thick plexiglass of the airplane’s window. “You won’t escape me this time.”
The plane landed and Seven retrieved a car and map to the small coastal town, his fake ID proving more than a little valuable. The sun sat low on the horizon, casting the sky in shades of crimson washed with purple and orange. He sped along the twisted highway, barely aware of the beautiful ocean in the distance or the changing colors of the sunset. Each curve of the road dredged up memories from somewhere deep. Seven had never been to the West coast. At least, he didn’t think he had. But as he drove the several hours between San Jose and Cambria, he began to wonder.
More turns. More echoes of memories long forgotten. Emotions swirled as Seven reached for the thoughts. It was no use, whatever Seven thought he remembered was lost the minute he reached for it. Frustrated, he turned off the emotional side of his mind and returned his focus to his mission.
The road into town was sparsely populated. He stretched out his mind, searching through the scant noise for anything that could lead him to her. Snippets of conversations filtered past. None of them are useful, nothing to indicate that the Assassin was home.
“Where are you?” Seven asked as he brought the car to a stop in the center of town.
New conversations pushed into his thoughts. Images of the house in the picture, and pizza.
“I’m sure it was her . . . the girl who went crazy and dropped out of school before graduation. She’s back.” The words mutated and tossed in Seven’s mind.
His risk had paid off.
Seven allowed his eyes to roll back as he reached for his master’s mind. “I found her,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Good.
The Solomon Experiments 3.0
The Order
Dr. Benjamin LeMercier’s Personal Journal –
July 4, 2015:
I am disappointed in Seven’s training. Despite his obvious talent and loyalty, his mastery of skills is a slow process. Perhaps he has too much of his mother in him. I grow more impatient with each passing day. I need him to give himself over to the experiments fully, to trust in my guidance. His questions, his doubts—there is no place for them here.
The Architect urges patience. And perhaps she is correct. But, every time Seven fails, every time he questions me, my need for the Assassin grows. She never questioned my motives, she never hesitated or allowed her ethics to override her orders. Seven is too emotional. He needs to believe that every action serves humanity. He needs to believe the Order wants global peace. He needs to envision a future within their collective.
And perhaps he wants to gain my position within the Order, to replace me.
I will not allow this. I need him to remember that I, alone, determine his fate. That will never change.
The rest of the recruits perform as expected. The Architect is proving to be a strong leader. She proves her devotion to me and my cause daily.
The Order continues to express their frustration. They want to capture the others now. Bring the Assassin home. Moving too quickly has its own risks, however. The Assassin must be brought here willingly. It is the easiest way for me to extract her memories and ensure fealty.
The Architect understands this.
Seven does not understand the need for the Assassin and the others. He does not see their value. I will keep him hidden, keep his existence a secret from her.
When the time is right, the Assassin will get her partner. When it’s right, they will both learn their true fate.
I have no words to answer Elaine’s questions.
“Dakota?”
“I...I’m not sure what happened.”
“You’re psychic aren’t you?” There was no accusation in Mark’s tone, just fascination. Curiosity. “You attacked me.”
“No, I—”
“I know what a psychic attack is. And I know you were the cause.”
“Mark, what are you talking about?” Elain
e’s gaze bounces between Mark and me. “She’s not one of the characters in your comic books.”
“Oh I know. She’s your best friend. The one from the newspaper article.”
“Mark!”
“What? I’m not saying she’s crazy.” Mark focuses on me. “You’re not, right? You’re just psychic. What happened in the coffee shop, that was an attack on you. You just didn’t know it.”
My mind swirls. I’ve never known anyone outside of my family and the experiments who believed in psychic phenomena. Sure, X-file fans and conspiracy crazies do. But, they don’t really count. I don’t know how to respond to Mark, how to explain things to Elaine. I want to run away. Hide.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I had a panic attack at the coffee shop. I don’t know anything about psychic whatever. And I have no idea what happened to you.” I turn and walk into the kitchen.
Mark and Elaine share whispered words. I push into their minds, desperate to know exactly how much they suspect. Elaine’s mind is confused, torn. Mark is curious. No malice exists in either of them. No judgment. No fear.
Maybe I can trust them. I want to trust them.
Elaine meets me in the kitchen. She grabs a glass of water for Mark. A pretense, I know, but I don’t call her out for it.
“So,” she says. “I know there’s something you aren’t telling me. And maybe you don’t feel comfortable talking in front of Mark. But you are going to spill everything today. Later.” She smiles and takes the water to her boyfriend.
I stow away my worries and rejoin Elaine and Mark in the front room.
“So, you’re the boyfriend?” I ask, desperate to keep the topic away from me.
“Yep.”
“Why did you come by? Did Elaine call you?” I sit.
“Actually yeah. She said the lights were flickering and wanted me to take a look at the wiring this morning since neither of us has class. I think I wasted my time, that you already know what caused the flickering.”
So much for keeping the topic away from my crazy-town behavior and X-men-like abilities.
Elaine shifts her focus, confusion in every line of her face. “Someone want to explain all of this to me, please?”
“Sure,” Mark says. “Your best friend clearly has some psychic skills she can’t quite control. She’s trying to cover them up and she’s not very good at it.” He pins me with his stare. “Does that about cover it?”
Silence is my only reply.
Elaine stands up. “You’re being ridiculous,” she says. “I’m making coffee. This morning requires caffeine. Want some?”
Mark and I nod as Elaine goes to the kitchen.
“How do you know all this stuff?” I ask. I’m fairly certain he spends his life watching too many DC shows, his nose in too many sci-fi comics. But if he can help with my control, I need his help.
“Actually, I spent some time studying paranormal experiences when I was in high school. It’s always been a fascination of mine. Ever since I was little.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. In fact, I read about your mom. She used to be part of Project Stargate, right?”
“Yes,” I say, stunned. Mark knows more about my mom’s past than I do.
“Cool.” Mark smiles, his eyes wide like an excited child on Christmas. “So you grew up learning this stuff?”
“More or less.”
Elaine comes out with fresh coffee and we settle on the couches. “You ready to talk yet?” she asks.
There’s no point to avoiding this conversation. Elaine has always been able to get me to spill my secrets. “Okay, fine. I apparently have a few psychic skills. And yes, my mom and dad dabbled in this stuff in the 60s and 70s. But that’s all I know.”
Mark glares and Elaine puts on her best I-don’t-believe-you expression.
“Seriously. This isn’t something we’ve ever talked about as a family.”
“And what you did to Mark?” Elaine’s tone shifts from curious to concerned.
“I was scared. Sometimes things happen when I’m freaked out. I’m getting better at controlling it though.” I wrap my hands around each other, desperate to hold myself together.
“You know,” Mark starts, “I might be able to help you with that. I don’t have any abilities myself, but I’ve read everything I can on the subject. My foster mom used to say I was obsessed.”
“Foster care?” I ask.
“Mark was in foster care. His bio-mom gave him up when he was very young.”
“It’s okay though,” Mark says. “I was lucky and landed with a great family.”
The attraction in Elaine’s eyes as Mark talked about his past was unmistakable. She was falling for him. Hard.
The three of us spend the next hour talking about my so-called gifts. Mark tells us everything he can remember on the topic—which is a lot. Remote viewing, telekinesis, telepathy, psychic invasions. With each topic, Mark explains as much as he can, listing every control strategy he can remember.
Obsession is an understatement
Elaine and Mark ask me to try all of Mark’s suggestions, demonstrate the extent of my abilities. No way! At least, not with them. I can’t let anyone see what I am capable of; I am not ready to admit that truth yet.
I listen to Mark’s advice and tuck away as many of the details as I can remember. When I’m alone, I’ll test out his theories.
“Was Josh like you?”
Elaine’s question takes me by surprise and chokes off my reply.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. That was really rude of me. This is too painful to talk about isn’t it?” Elaine could always read my moods.
“No, it’s okay,” I push past my lips. “Josh and I never talked about it, so I don’t know if he had these abilities.” As much as I want to tell her the truth, I just can’t.
“Oh, okay. I was just curious. I mean, being psychic would be so cool, right?”
Umm, no. Not right. It’s more like a curse.
The doorbell rings, saving me from an awkward response. I unfold my legs and stand, happy for the distraction and a chance to change the topic again.
A postal worker waves from the car as I bend to retrieve a large envelop addressed to me. I inspect the package. Nothing. No return address, no indication where it came from or who sent it. My thoughts tighten as my senses explode.
Calm down, I say in my mind. Will I ever stop seeing the world as one big threat to my survival?
“Who is it?” Elaine calls from inside.
“The mail. I received a package.” I walk into the house with the envelope, feeling around the edges. “I’m not sure I should open it.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Who would send me anything?”
“Maybe your parents?”
Not likely.
I nod “okay” and slowly open the clasp. Several black and white photos float to the ground as I tip the envelope upside down. A small leather journal, similar to the one Josh and I found in the safe house, slides into my hand.
“What is this?” I ask, half to myself. I shake the envelope for more contents. Empty.
Elaine retrieves the pictures from the floor. “This looks like your mom,” she says. “When she was young. And look, the kids look like you and Josh. And a baby.”
I grab the photo from Elaine. Staring up from the old photo paper is mom, Josh, and me. Josh is no more than three and I must be nearly two. A baby lies across mom’s arms. He looks no more than a few months old, wrapped tightly in a blanket and clinging to mom’s fingers.
I don’t remember anything in the picture. Not the room or the clothes. And definitely not the baby.
I turn over the picture. Nothing. No clue as to when it was taken. Or where.
I open the journal. Mom’s distinctive handwriting covers every page. I flip through the pages, reading small sections. Mom talks about being pregnant, worried. She’s afraid of what people will think. Of what a mysterious “he” will do. I
immediately wonder if she is referring to my father.
Page after page refers to “Ben” and her work in the experiments, confirming my guess.. She talks about psychic abilities and her knowledge that Josh and I may have inherited ours.
Half way through the journal her tone grows even darker. She speaks about her husband and his emotional abuse. She speaks of her love for Ben.
My stomach twists into knots. Dr. Benjamin LeMercier. I can’t imagine anyone loving him in any way at all, least of all my mother.
More pages, more words I don’t want to read. I toss the journal to the floor and walk outside, my thoughts spinning.
“Are you okay?” Elaine’s voice soothes me, just like always.
“Not really. There’s so much more to my mom, to her life, than I realized.”
“I’m sure all parents have their secrets.”
“Not like these.”
“Tell me”
“I . . . shouldn’t . . . can’t.”
Mark joins us on the porch and grabs Elaine’s hands. “I’m going to go,” he says, his voice more somber than it had been. “You guys need to talk. Nice to meet you, Dakota. Maybe we can chat again sometime.” He gives Elaine a soft kiss before driving away.
“He’s a great guy, Elaine. You’re lucky”
“I know. I think I love him.”
“I know you do.”
Elaine beams. “Let’s go inside. I want you to tell me everything. I promise you can trust me. I’ll never let anyone know your secrets.”
It isn’t her trust I worry about.
We walk inside and I retrieve the journal from the floor. “I don’t know where to begin,” I say.
“Let’s start with the picture. It’s you and Josh, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Mom confirms it in the journal.”
“What else did she say?”
I tell Elaine about Mom’s affairs and her involvement with the experiments. I talk about the “gifts” Josh and I demonstrated, her concerns about the baby, her feelings for Ben and her husband. My eyes fill with tears and I toss the journal to Elaine. I can’t read anymore. I don’t know what to think.
Outbreak Page 7
