by Sarah Noffke
“No, what you think is that you’re bloody screwed and I’m the only one who can save your ass.”
His mouth remains neutral but I spy the smile in his eyes. “Well, I figured if I was willing to give you back the Head Strategist job that I also had to be willing to offer you a level five case. But to work on this case I do have some demands.”
“Of course you bloody do,” I say.
“We made some nearly fatal errors with the last cases,” Trey says. “We weren’t successful at apprehending the perpetrator, Blocker, let alone even getting eyes on him or her. I want technology employed this time. We are useless just intervening if we don’t find out who is behind this. And since they block energy I’m thinking there are devices that can make our job easier.”
“You know I despise technology,” I say.
“I know,” he says simply.
“And you know I hate working with that monkey scientist.”
“But if you want this case, that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do.”
“Fine, but I want permission to hypnotize Aiden until he passes out if he’s too chipper with me,” I say, meaning it.
“I’m sure you can keep your interactions with the Head Scientist brief so that’s not an issue,” Trey says.
“Let’s hope so or you’ll have two open positions at the Institute.”
***
Music that sounds more like a chainsaw plays overhead when I stroll into the daft scientist’s lab. Aiden is bent over a counter, his face screwed up with intense concentration. He has a tiny screwdriver in his hand as he tinkers with some rubbish object.
“Boo,” I say louder than the music.
Aiden startles and then freezes. He sets the tool and technology down and turns and looks at me, trying and failing to mask his frustration.
“Deep down I don’t think you enjoy being a bully,” he says, blowing out a stressed breath.
“I bet you’d love to find out what’s deep down inside of me, you bloody pervert,” I say.
Aiden pulls the pencil out from behind his ear. I didn’t even see it there since his black mound of chaos he tries to pass as hair is taking over his small pointy head. He jots something down on the paper on the counter like he’s afraid it will skip out of his monkey brain if he doesn’t. Then he turns and flashes me a wide repugnant grin. “So what can I do for you, old friend?”
I ignore his ridiculous effort to get under my skin and say, “You can start by turning down that noise that’s making my ears bleed.”
“Lightbody, volume three,” he says to no one but then the music fades but not completely.
“And if you’d quit inhaling toxic chemicals in this bloody lab then you’d know why I’m here. Trey is forcing me to use one of your brain cell–zapping devices.”
“Right,” Aiden chirps, throwing one finger in the air like he’s somehow been triumphant by remembering something trivial. He grabs a black handheld device from his pocket. I recognize it. There’s a small screen on the device now, but it used to have a dial. It looks like a mobile and then also too big for that.
“You remember the frequency detector I had you use in your first case, right?”
“Like it was cursed to permanently sit on the top of my memory,” I say.
“Well, I’ve updated the device so that it’s more powerful.”
“More powerful? Like blast more gamma rays into my brain?” I say, eyeing the device with disdain.
“Uhhh no. It’s perfectly safe,” Aiden says.
“Get on with it. Talking to you melts my soul.”
He laughs at this, like it’s a joke. Everyone in the bloody Lucidite Institute is chipper. It’s like Trey puts happy pills in the water. One of the reasons I can’t return to living here as the Head Strategist. I’m allergic to happy people.
“So before, you had to have close range to a person to detect if they were a Dream Traveler. And they had to be attempting to use a psychic power at the same time,” Aiden says.
This device measures frequencies, which register differently for a Dream Traveler than a Middling. They’re higher due to our psychic gifts. Since we know this we can spot a Dream Traveler by measuring frequencies. This is apparently how Trey hopes for me to locate Blocker in a busy public place. Not a bad idea, although I’d never tell him that.
“Now I’ve upgraded the device so that it works with broad range,” Aiden says like a ten-year-old who is announcing he stayed dry through the night. “Anyone in a thirty-foot radius to you will show up in the screen as a dot, in their respective position. Black dots indicate a Middling’s frequency. A red indicates—”
I yank the device from his hands and turn and walk for the exit. “Got it,” I say, in a hurry not to look at Aiden’s face any longer.
“Don’t you want instructions—”
“I’m a fucking genius. I’ll figure it out,” I say.
Chapter Twenty
The mobile buzzes in my pocket when I enter my flat. I expect it’s my pops checking to see if we’re still scheduled for our usual dinner. That’s why I’m surprised by the caller ID. I accept the call and press the mobile to my ear, although I remain silent.
“Ren,” she says and it’s the best sound I’ve heard in over a week.
I still don’t say anything, mostly because words are frozen in my throat.
“Are you there?” Dahlia says.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice gruff.
“What are you doing?” Dahlia says and she almost sounds like she’s demanding the information.
“It’s none of your business, dear Dahlia.”
“So nothing, as I suspected,” she’s says, now sounding unimpressed.
I flash a look at Adelaide, who is dutifully as ever holding down the couch. Her mouth had popped open when I entered the flat but slammed shut when she realized I was on the phone.
“I’m shagging someone, if you must know,” I say, making for the bedroom, where Adelaide can’t hear. Still, she heard my last statement and a laugh jumps out of her mouth.
“Oh, and you answered the phone while having sex? It must be an awful lay,” Dahlia says, her tone amused.
“She’s okay,” I say, shutting the bedroom door behind me. “What do you want?”
“Was that Adelaide I heard in the background? She’s laughing. Sounds like you two are getting along,” Dahlia says, and the hint of disapproval flares in her words.
“Would you not pretend to have the slightest bit of knowledge on my affairs? I’m training her. It’s going as it always has in these scenarios. I bestow lifesaving and priceless knowledge on a snotty reject and they ungratefully take it,” I say.
“So you’re not having fun?” Dahlia says.
“Not now or ever have I had this fun that you speak of.”
“We used to have fun,” she says.
“What in the bloody hell do you want?” I say, my voice bordering on yelling.
If I know Dahlia, and I do, she’s probably smiling at my flared anger.
“I was just calling to see how you’re doing,” she says, a false innocence in her voice.
“Why?” I say with a growl as I unfasten my cuff links and change them out for the pair my pops gave me when I left home.
“Because I care about you, Ren.”
“Oh, is that how that caring bit works? You should write a book.”
“Another one,” she says, faking an overwhelming tone. “And I know what you’re thinking. So yes, when you care about someone you do kick them out when a major life-altering event happens to them. You turn your back on them in their biggest time of need just as I have done to you recently.”
“It is because of love like this that I am the man I am today,” I say dryly.
“Yes, one with an extremely cold heart and practically impossible ability to give.”
I fake a long yawn. “Well, although this is murdering my very will to live and I’ve been l
ooking for that final way out, would you cut it short? I have to go do nothing at all and this is keeping me from it,” I say.
“Ren, I don’t want to get back together,” Dahlia says flatly.
And then the strangest thing happens. The bloody mobile shakes in my hand. Well, it’s my hand that caused it to shake, but still. That’s never happened. Most of the time I’m steady enough to be a surgeon.
“Well, that’s a relief,” I manage to say. “I’ve decided to take wives.”
“As in more than one?” she says with a laugh.
“Polygamy really is the only way.”
“It does fit your past,” she says casually.
I ground my teeth together. Only with her can I feel equal in a conversation, knowing she’ll stoop as low as I do.
“Yes, and life is too short to allow STDs to deter one’s dreams,” I say.
“True. Although I’m remaining celibate in your absence.”
“Good for fucking you,” I say.
“So I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Why don’t you take a recording for the next time you get that urge? I’ve got a message I’d like you to hear on replay. Dear Dahlia, you’re such a bi—”
“I know I’m not being fair,” she says, cutting me off.
“I wasn’t through. It’s a really good message.”
“Ren, this is hard. I miss you and yet I’m not ready to invite your craziness into my life.”
“Dahlia, you do realize in your diva brain that the Earth doesn’t revolve around you? I’m trying to save this bloody world, which is populated by apes who have nothing better to do than chew bubble gum and listen to your songs. I don’t have time for your games.”
“I suspected that, but I wanted to talk,” she says simply.
“And now we have,” I say.
“I love you, Ren. No matter what. Even if we can’t make things work. I love you.”
I switch off the mobile and throw it across the room, where I hear it crack and break, or break something. Or both. What I feel is something in me break.
***
“Was that Dahlia?” Adelaide says from her normal spot on the couch.
“If you keep sitting around all day you’re going to get fat,” I say.
She sighs and stretches out her legs, propping her feet on the coffee table. “Someone won’t let me leave the flat.”
“An incredibly smart someone who is keeping you from destroying the world I work so hard to protect,” I say.
“In that super-secret job of yours? The one you go to by disappearing in your room and then stomping through the front door a few hours later? Is that when you’re protecting the world?”
“Yes, that one,” I say, buttoning my suit jacket. “And I don’t stomp.”
“You’re always grouchiest after work,” Adelaide says.
“Did you not hear the part about saving the fucking world? It’s a little stressful.”
“What do you do for these Lucidite people?”
“Mostly I tolerate them,” I say.
“Will you take me there? To their headquarters? To your office?”
“No, not yet. Maybe ever.” I check my hair in the mirror. It’s perfect as usual, all red spikes going in the perfect directions.
“You can’t keep me hidden forever,” she says.
“I don’t plan on it. And I’m doing you a favor. The Lucidite Institute is full of happy people.”
“Happy people are the worst,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “The majority of them have no bloody reason for being happy. If most people really saw themselves for the rejects they are they’d wipe that stupid grin off their face.”
I pull my eyes off my image and gaze at Adelaide in the mirror. “That sounded rehearsed,” I say.
She nods. “I’ve said it before. I hate people.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the feeling is mutual.”
“Ha-ha,” she says with zero inflection. “So what did Dahlia want? Are you two getting back together?”
“That wasn’t Dahlia,” I lie. “It was Santa Claus.”
“Why would you tell Santa that you’re shagging someone?”
“Because I like to be on the naughty list. It’s an annual goal.” I turn and face her directly and snap, “Now go and get dressed already.”
“Don’t snap at me like I’m your terrier,” she says, glaring at me.
“Don’t be absurd. You’re not smart enough to be compared to a loyal terrier.”
She looks down at her body, which is swimming in a sweater and jogging pants. “I am dressed.”
“Those aren’t clothes. Those are things that should be banned in Great Britain and made the uniform of fat Americans.”
“Prideful, are we?”
“Infinitely so,” I say, pulling the sleeves of my suit jacket down, snug with my wrist. “My motto is, dress like you give a fuck.”
“What if I don’t?” she sings.
“Fake it in my presence. I had clothes purchased for you. Go put them on and brush your hair.”
“Why?” she says, looking at me with both skepticism and hope. “Are we going somewhere?”
I sigh loudly. “Not if you don’t get your ass dressed.”
“We’re going to the Lucidite place?”
“No. To get there you have to know how to use a GAD-C to generate your body,” I say with an exaggerated sigh, like she should already know this information.
“What’s that? A GAD-C?”
“I’m going to teach you that, if you hurry the fuck up. I don’t like to be late,” I say.
“For what?” she says, peeling herself off the couch which shows evidence of her long stint on it.
I bulge my eyes at her.
Adelaide throws up her hands. “Fine. I’m going. I’m going.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Where are we?” Adelaide says as she bustles to keep up with me as we make our way out of the train station. Thank God we’ll be dream traveling back using a GAD-C. I loathe public transport.
“The holy pits of hell. Also known as Peavey, England,” I say my, eyes low so that no one recognizes me, although I kind of stick out no matter what with my dashing looks and vibrant red hair.
“Why are we here?” she says, sniffing a bit. “And what’s that smell?”
“Shit. It’s the town’s currency,” I say.
“Why did you bring me to a Podunk town? Is this a part of a dream travel lesson?”
“Don’t use that word,” I say, grimacing.
“Which one?”
“That ‘p’ word,” I say like it’s something foul. “And yes and no.”
“Because it’s an American expression?” she says.
“Because it’s a dumb one.”
She looks around, her eyes studying the drab surroundings. Peavey is a mostly colorless town this time of year. Well most times of year. “So let me guess, you’ve brought me out to the middle of nowhere, but aren’t going to divulge why. I’m on a need to know basis, and you’re not revealing anything until you feel like it.”
I pause in the middle of the road, which doesn’t matter since traffic is unheard of in Peavey.
Adelaide turns and looks at me. “What?”
“I do believe against your efforts to resist evolution and education, you’re actually learning. Be careful, your head might explode.”
She tosses her long hair off her shoulder and wraps the scarf tighter around her neck. “Oh, whatever.”
“We’re down here,” I say, pointing to a dirt lane. When we pass the Gretchens’ farm my chest tightens, the same way it does on every one of these visits. They don’t feel forced, but it definitely doesn’t feel natural. I stop a few feet from the old oak door. It’s still the same faded red it’s always been, although it gets repainted every few years.
Adelaide looks at me, curiosity heavy in her eyes.
I open my mouth to say something. To give her information. To explain why I’ve brought her here. Why I’ve been, in my opinion, charitable. And yet there are no words that sound right. So I just shake my head and knock at the door.
Since he was probably sitting close by on the couch in the living room, my pops opens the door within a minute. He was no doubt expecting me, since this is our normal time to catch up. He’s brandishing a large grin, his clear brown eyes sparkling with life when he sets his focus on me.
“Right on schedule, as always,” he says, a chuckle in his voice, and with a grace I inherited he throws an arm around my shoulder, clapping my back once as he tugs me into him. My pops then freezes. I feel the tension press throughout his body. He pulls back his large frame and as I suspected his eyes have found Adelaide at my back.
“Hey, Pops,” I say, feeling an unsteady sensation spread through my abdomen. Suddenly this decision to bring Adelaide here seems like the worst one ever. Well, besides the one where I shagged her mum, thereby knocking her up. I just thought Adelaide could use this. And really I’m doing it more for my pops than anyone. I know he’s always wished our family was bigger; well, and not estranged.
“This is Adelaide,” I begin. “She’s—”
“My granddaughter,” he says, his voice cracking, his eyes glued to the girl in front of him. The one who is watching my pops, studying him in that way she does. That one where I know she’s cataloging.
“Yes,” I say, my voice deep.
He presses past me, his back straight, the position of his shoulders telling of his excitement. “Jesus Christ,” he says, awe written in his words. “You look just like her.” He’s addressing Adelaide.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The word streams through my head as I press my palm into my forehead. It does little to ease the growing pressure in my head.
“What? Who?” Adelaide says, and from my dizzy vision I spy her step forward, toward my pops, her eyes wide and intrigue written on her face.
“Mary,” Pops says, and the way he speaks my mum’s name makes me miss her, makes me realize that almost twenty years later and he does too. “Your grandmum. You look just like her. Like the girl I married.” He chuckles loudly now, but it’s covered in a weighty emotion. When he turns back to me there’s a smile on his face I haven’t seen in too long, the smile he used to adorn when she was alive. It burns my insides. “She’s gorgeous, Ren. Your mum in every way. Uncanny, really,” he says, shaking his head and turning back around to stare at the girl who even I admit reminds me of the only woman I ever truly trusted. My mum wasn’t the type who people grew to trust. She earned that the moment she turned her earnest green eyes on a person and smiled with the light of an angel. She gave people too much credit. Loved them more than they deserved. Bestowed her unwavering attention on them. And it’s because of her that there’s any good in me. Most boys love their mum because they are their mum. I loved my mum because she was remarkable in every way. I knew why my pops chose her, a Middling, over partnering with a Dream Traveler. He would rather have had a short fifty years with her than a long eighty with someone from his own race.
