Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1)

by Sarah Noffke

  “One last thing before I dismiss you. Dream travel for four of the seven nights each week is your free time. Tonight is one of those nights. I encourage you to use this time to continue to hone this skill, traveling to new and different places. Many of you probably want to return to a familiar locations, but know they may now hold dangers. Zhuang may already know you’re on this team, and he could very well set up traps for you in places he knows you like to frequent.”

  Hmm. I don’t like the sound of that.

  Trey goes on, “Besides, traveling to new places and times will give you an opportunity to explore and this might prove advantageous for you in the future. And since I mentioned it, for those of you new to the Lucidites and our laws please know that traveling into the future is forbidden, unless approved by the Institute.” Trey looks around briefly, scanning each of our faces. “Well, that’s all for now. If you’ll please follow Shuman, she’ll show you to your rooms.”

  Shuman strolls to the exit and turns, commanding us all to line up in front of her. Misty cuts around Joseph and Trent, taking the first spot. I file into the line, dazed and disoriented. Ren, Trey, and Aiden stay behind looking cautious, like they’re waiting for us to leave.

  The shock is wearing off and now my mind is buzzing with questions. Does Zhuang still have control of my family? Maybe they’ve been released now that I’m not the challenger. What will they think of my absence? I don’t want to be on this team, but I also don’t think I have much of a choice. And I have to admit, I’m curious to learn more about the Lucidites and their Institute.

  I’m halfway down the first hallway, following the group, when I realize I left my folder behind.

  “Umm, Shuman,” I stutter to the ponytail leading the group.

  She glances over her shoulder. “What is it?”

  “I forgot my folder in the room,” I explain.

  After a sigh of annoyance she says, “Go on then, go back and get it. You are in room Z, on this level. It is at the far end of this hallway and then through the double doors.”

  I turn at once and head back to room 222. I’m glad to get away from the group. That guy named George has been stalking right beside me, giving angry sideway glances in my direction. Every time my gaze met his he’d part his lips like he was about to say something. I had the distinct impression I didn’t want to hear whatever was about to spill out of his mouth.

  The button for 222 is under my fingertips when I hear someone shout from inside the room. Instinctively I hold my breath for a second and listen. It’s Ren. No big surprises there. Something tells me he has a bad temper, and it isn’t just the stereotype about redheads.

  “You bloody well know she’s a prat. Why ever did you pick her?! She’s going to bodge this whole thing up!” he yells. I picture his face a bright shade of red, like his hair.

  “Things like this have a way of working themselves out,” Trey says in a calm voice.

  “Blimey!” Ren hollers again. “This isn’t the time for your Zen bullshit!”

  They’re talking about me. Ren is trying to turn Trey and Aiden against me. Angry tears jerk in my eyes. I suppress them.

  “I know we’re all shocked she made it as far as she did.” Aiden speaks in a soft voice that surprisingly cuts through me sharply. “Something definitely isn’t right about the situation.”

  My fingers press closely against the button. One more ounce of pressure and the button will release the door. I prepare myself for what I’ll say when I charge in and tell the three of them off.

  “We all know who should be the real challenger,” Ren says.

  Silence swallows everything around me—the space, my thoughts, my tenacity.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I forget about my folder and retrace the path I’d taken with the group minutes before. My mind races over the conversation I just overheard. Were they talking about me? If so, then that last statement Ren made doesn’t make any sense. They must be talking about Misty. I know I have a distaste for her, but is it possible that everyone else feels the same way? Trey said she’d performed well on almost every task. He said he was surprised by how well she did. Ren asked Trey why he picked her if she wasn’t right. Trey had to pick the person who performed the best, even if they weren’t likable, right? However, who did they all think should be the real challenger? My mind continues to dissect these questions as I arrive in the lodging corridor.

  The door to my room makes a sucking sound when it disappears into the wall and a shush when it closes. It’s good to have a private place to think. The room has charcoal carpet and blue fabric rippling across the walls. This softens the space, especially since I’m guessing the walls are the same brushed steel as everywhere else. It’s set up like a hotel room with a queen bed in the middle, bedside tables, dresser, and desk. I pull open the closet to find it empty except for some wooden hangers. An abstract painting hangs over the bed. Splatters of blue, gray, black, and white paint cascade together on a canvas, creating an out of control composition.

  I throw myself onto the bed and stare at the ceiling, completely exhausted and wishing I could just fall into a blissful state of sleep. My brain is full of questions and curiosities, and I can’t figure out where to start to unravel the whole mess. I press my fingers into my eyes.

  The silver tunnel closes around me, tighter and tighter, until I’m wearing it as a dress. It’s strapless, fits tight, and flares out at the bottom. I turn around to find myself standing in the main hall in the buffet line. Behind me I overhear a girl make a remark that sounds like, “I only eat things that don’t make sense.”

  I whip around, my dress flowing with my movements, and realize the voice belongs to Goat Girl. She has horns and looks embarrassed. “You didn’t hear me right. You misunderstood.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” I say to her.

  “You didn’t have to.” She looks down at the floor. “I see the way you’re judging me.”

  Samara’s by my side now. She’s wearing a pink box. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” she says. Then she looks directly at me and I hear her voice in my mind. “I said you shouldn’t believe everything you think.”

  Trent and Joseph argue at the next table. I hear Joseph yell, “But he died so you could listen to rap music.” He then throws down his plate and storms out of the room.

  I’m about to run after him when a snake slithers in front of me. I jump back, knocking into someone. He wraps his hand around my shoulder. It’s warm and soft. “I’ll protect you.” I turn and look into Aiden’s eyes. For a brief moment they paralyze me. I sink into their blue, like I’m suspended in water.

  “None of this matters. None of this matters. None of this matters,” I hear someone say over and over again.

  Aiden gazes at me, hurt evident at the corners of his eyes. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  I thrust a postcard at him. “Because of this.”

  On the front of the card is a picture of my parents and Shiloh posing on a beach. He flips it over. It reads:

  “We’re having a great time in paradise. Glad you aren’t here.”

  Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn and catch Ren in my peripheral right before he punches me in the face. I fall toward the ground, but never find it. I just fall and fall. Then there’s knocking. I’m twisted in my dress, getting more and more tangled as I fall. The knocking continues and I scream out of frustration.

  I wake up tangled in my bed sheets. Someone’s knocking loudly at my door. I fumble with shaking hands to release myself from the covers.

  “I’m coming.” My voice constricts in my throat as the incessant knocking increases. “Yes?!” I exclaim as the door slides back.

  A short gentleman with white sideburns, a hat, and a mustache stands grinning at me. He wears shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers.

  “Courier delivery for a Ms. Stark,” he sings, handing me a large box.

  Confused, I let him shove it into my arms. “Thanks,” I manage, stepping back from the
sudden weight of the box.

  He tips his hat at me as he trots off. “Anytime.”

  Why am I getting a package? I heave it into my room and put it on the bed. Confusion tunnels through my thoughts as the dream images bounce around in my head. Then I see the covers in a heap on the floor and instant panic races through me. Oh, no! I went to sleep. What if I’ve allowed Zhuang into my dreams? Bob and Steve had warned me never to fall into an unfocused dreaming state. They’d said this was how to fall prey to Zhuang’s hallucination.

  I race to the mirror to check my face, wondering if the blow Ren sent me had caused a real mark to appear on my face. Nothing. I scan my arms and legs for any signs of damage, but everything seems fine. The dream, although bizarre, appears to be just a dream. Somehow I’d been able to fall asleep without allowing Zhuang to get into my head.

  When my heart stops racing, I edge over to the box and examine it. My name is printed on the top and it’s sealed with three pieces of shiny tape. I grab a pen from the desk and use it like a knife to cut along the seam. Once I pull back the large flaps of the box I find an envelope lying on top of a layer of white tissue paper. I slip a thick card out of the envelope. On the front are two birds singing on a tree branch. I open and read:

  Dear Roya,

  We’re proud of you. This has been a crazy last few days, but you’ve handled them well. Keep doing what you’re doing and know you have our support. If things get tough try and remember that your perception is the only thing you control, so change it.

  Love,

  Bob & Steve

  I read through the note three times. Then after a minute I realize I’m holding the card to my chest, like it provides comfort. I set it on the bed and peel the tissue paper off the top of the box. Inside are clothes. Ones intended for me. Clothes with tags still on them. New clothes. A quick burst of laughter escapes my mouth as my hands run over the soft fabrics and my eyes take in the beautiful colors. I imagine this is what Christmas morning feels like when your parents actually buy you something, instead of regifting whatever generic present your father got from the office holiday party.

  A small squeal actually escapes my mouth as I unveil seven perfectly folded soft knit T-shirts encased in tissue paper. One for each day of the week. Under them I find three fleece pull-overs and six blouses in beautiful patterns with quarter-length sleeves. The excitement is intoxicating as I turn my attention back to the box. I don’t know why these people have lavished me with these gifts, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. If they’re trying to buy my love and affection then they have it. If they want me to slay a dragon to keep the Lucidites from becoming extinct then I’ll do it.

  Three pairs of designer jeans are neatly folded under the shirts. Under those, my excited fingers find shorts, pajamas, underwear, sandals and sneakers. Only one thing remains in the box. I reach out and find a soft velvet bag. Christmas morning is almost over, and although I’m grateful and excited for all my presents, I know when the contents of this bag are unveiled it will be over. I pull the draw strings that tightly clench the bag shut. I decide against looking inside, and instead plunge my hand in. It meets a silky fabric, soft like flour. It’s light. I can’t control my curiosity any longer. I wrench my hand from the bag to find a mound of black and white striped fabric. It’s a dress. The stripes are of varying horizontal widths. It’s gorgeous and absolutely not my style. I push the dress aside and peer down into the not-yet-empty bag. There’s more. A shiny pair of black, open-toed heels.

  I put the dress and shoes back in the bag. Then I take my time picking up each of the other garments, holding them up, placing them to my body, before carefully folding them back into neat squares. I’ve never had my own clothes. The things I wore all my life had been my mother’s hand-me-downs. These clothes are brand new, with the tags still on them. I’ve never worn anything brand new.

  I pull off my stiff clothes and tug on a pair of shorts and a striped shirt. I slip on the pair of new sandals. It feels good to finally have shoes.

  Smoothing my hair back down I steal a glance at the clock beside the bed. Shit! It’s after one. I’m late for my first training.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Without a second thought I bolt down the hallway toward the elevators. Once I arrive on level five I stand frozen. The last time I was down here I’d gotten in trouble. I don’t know what room number indicates Aiden’s lab. My folder is still upstairs in the meeting room. Tentatively I walk in the opposite direction as last time, thinking it best to avoid the lady in the purple scrubs.

  The rooms on this level aren’t marked with numbers. They say things like, “Panther room,” “Scape’s Escapes,” “Equipment storage,” and “Shhhh.” Confusion mounts in my mind as I travel deeper into the passageways of level five. When I’m just about to give up I hear music drumming from the end of the hallway. Curious, I pick up my pace and jog until I find an open door. Beside it a sign reads, “Aiden’s lab.” I smile.

  I poke my head through the door to find Misty, the alternates, and Aiden standing in a circle.

  “Come on in,” Aiden says, offering me a smile and waving me into the room.

  The dream is still fresh in my mind and reverberates through my body, making me instantly look away from him. He has a weird effect on me, one that leaves me breathless.

  “Did you get lost?” he asks, handing me my folder. “You left this behind.”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice winded. “Thanks.”

  The other alternates give me strange expressions. They’re still wearing the green scrubs and T-shirts. I must look a bit out of place in my fresh, clean clothes.

  “You missed lunch,” Joseph says like he’s convicting me of a crime.

  “Oh, well, I couldn’t make it.” I chew on my lip. “I was busy.”

  Everyone follows Aiden to the back of his lab. Joseph narrows his eyes at me and turns to follow the group.

  Aiden’s lab is the size of a furniture store. Around the perimeter countertops line the workspace. Computers and pieces of odd-looking equipment are stacked in piles on their surfaces. Black cabinets streak the silver walls above and below the workspace. In one corner is a large mounted TV. It displays geometric shapes which morph in unison with the music pouring out of the speakers. Below it sits an iPod. The center of the lab is mostly open with a table here and there covered in random objects, wires, and food wrappers. In one area a tarp sits on the ground covering up what appears to be a mound of dirt. I lean down to get a closer look when Aiden interrupts me. “We’re back here.”

  He points to a long table maybe fifteen feet in length, covered in a white sheet. Once we’re all gathered around the table Aiden begins, “You’re about to choose your protective charm. For those of you who don’t know, these objects should be worn at all times from this point forward. There’s a special force fixed into these items and once it attaches to you it won’t work for anyone else. For this reason, don’t touch a charm unless that’s the one you choose.”

  Aiden pauses, scanning the group for understanding. “All right, now here’s the skinny on protective charms for those of you who didn’t receive the Lucidite manual at birth.” He winks at me. Without my consent my face blushes. Aiden continues, “There’s a special technology we’ve harnessed and installed into these objects. It protects you from most outside thoughts being embedded into your conscious and subconscious. This is the most important use of these items, although there can be other benefits.”

  I think back to when I learned about protective charms from Bob and Steve. It seemed like so long ago, but it had only been days. My family was already suffering from hallucinations. They’d been brainwashed and were harsher than normal because of it. Zhuang had tampered with their thoughts, making them believe I was to be feared. Whatever he did was powerful enough that my mother told me she never wanted to see me again. Bob and Steve had explained this much.

  “Then how do I know anything is real? How do you even know I’m real, or each ot
her for that matter?” I had asked them skeptically.

  “You don’t,” Bob answered at once. “You’ll need your very own protective charm. Until you have something that’s specifically yours then you must question everything. We”—he motioned to himself and Steve—“are wearing protective shields that currently Zhuang can’t penetrate.”

  Steve stepped forward and pointed to the tiny silver loop in his right earlobe. Behind him, Bob pointed to a thin gold bracelet on his wrist.

  “These pieces of jewelry were specifically created for us and they protect us from foreign thoughts being embedded in our memory,” Bob said. “You’ve met some of the others. You probably will remember that they too wear a distinct piece of jewelry. This is their protective charm.”

  My mind now flashes to Trey’s amulet. Then to the gold ring Ren wears.

  Aiden claps his hands together, rousing me from my reverie. “All right, without further ado let the protective charm hunt begin. Take as long as you need to explore,” Aiden says. “I’ll be up front if you have any questions.” He pulls the sheet from one end of the table and wads it up in his arms.

  Along the table are roughly four dozen objects all calling our attention. Most of the group makes a quick rush for the table. I hang back a minute, and observe the others search for their own charm.

  Tentatively I step up to the table. Once I’m closer, the choices are overwhelming. No doubt each of the objects has a luster and draw to it, but there’s nothing I see that pulls me in, compelling me to wear it forever.

  A gold and black watch with Roman numerals sits on the table eyeing me. Next to it, a small flawless diamond stud. There’s a large looped chain with a box locket at the end, a gold beaded necklace, large silver rings, earrings of all types, sizes, and shapes, and so many other choices and options.