by Sarah Noffke
Stop, I think but am disallowed from saying the word. Too strong is the hallucination in my head. And then the face of the girl flickers into focus before everything heightens. The colors grow too bright. Sounds too loud. The space a cacophony of an exaggerated world. My brain is close to exploding. Teleport away, I tell myself. Teleport. I throw all my remaining focus into that thought, but I know any real hope of getting away is useless. And then my vision is overwhelmed by a bolt of lightning. It strikes the space right before me, a lethal distance. One that I can’t survive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A cramping sensation awakens me. It’s in my brain. Something is pinching at my frontal lobe. The light is dim when I awake, but immediately I recognize the location. I’m safe. I thought I was dead. Feared where I was headed when God finally caught my soul. But I’m not dead. Not yet. Somehow I’ve been relocated to the Lucidite Institute. The implications of that boggle my mind at first. But then I piece together exactly how I’m in my current location.
I sit up, pushing away the now stabbing pain in my head. “You put me on a bloody plane?” I say to Trey, who has his head down, a book pressed into his hands. He looks up from his place beside my bed. Then he sets the book to the side and calmly folds his hands in his lap.
Finally he says, “What option did I have? You had passed out. You couldn’t Dream Travel. There were no other means to transport you.”
“I loathe flying,” I say with a groan.
“You were passed out,” he repeats.
“Tell that to the insane heaviness I have in my head. I can’t do pressure changes. You know that,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Well, that could also be a result of the submarine trip.”
I sit up more completely to find I’m wearing repulsive white scrubs, which are stiff against my skin. They’re the uniform of the Institute. Each position is colored coated. White means I’m a resident of the infirmary. “Why didn’t you leave me to die?” I say, pulling the shirt away from my chest.
“You’ve been out for over twenty-six hours,” Trey reports.
“An agent brought me in?” I ask, already having pieced together a great deal since I awoke a minute ago.
“A few actually. We sent the private plane once we learned the severity of your situation. Getting you away from the authorities was complicated,” Trey says.
“Well yeah, I passed out in the middle of a mall. I bet all sorts of people had their gross hands on me,” I say, looking over my freckled arms.
“Yes, they were about to load you onto an ambulance when we intervened. Memories have already been erased,” he says as casually as if reporting that our office supply order has arrived.
Trey is one of those men who have the power and brilliance to make almost anything happen. And yet he uses it to save the bloody world and keep the identity of his organization and its employees a secret.
I squint down at the blanket lying over my lap.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Like a fucking idiot,” I say. And I do, and it’s a first. This must be how the majority of people feel most of the time. It’s awful. Makes me pity them.
“Ren, I’m not sure what happened is something you could have avoided, but to determine that you’ll have to share the events that transpired.”
“The girl who was abducted in the second case,” I say, my voice scratchy from unemployment. “The one who had just hit puberty, but no one knew her dream travel gift. She was there, at the mall.”
“Person D,” Trey says, nodding. “Yes, her name is Sophie, we now know.”
“She has the ability to make someone hallucinate,” I say, my eyes narrowing with anger.
“That’s what happened to you? You hallucinated?”
“More than just that. The hallucination is why I passed out. And I think it was supposed to kill me,” I say, blood thundering in my head. This shit just got personal, which isn’t good for Blocker, if living is her goal.
“Yes, Mae says your subconscious had been overloaded with images. That there was little she could do and that you’d wake if and when your mind repaired itself,” Trey says, and only now do I notice the new stress on his face. He appears more tired than usual, which is incredibly impressive since the man always looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Mae is the Institute’s healer, and it’s probably due to her help that I awoke at all. “I bet you’ve been worrying yourself sick,” I say with a chuckle that makes my head feel it might shatter.
A sliver of a smile forms on Trey’s face. “So Sophie has the ability to kill thorough hallucination. That’s extremely troublesome.”
“Well, I’m certain she could probably use that skill for good, but people rarely ever do. And it appears in this instance she’s employing it as a weapon,” I say.
“You said more than just the hallucination happened,” Trey says.
“Yes, I was paralyzed also. I couldn’t will myself to move. That’s why I couldn’t intervene when the man was abducted. And that’s why I couldn’t fight the hallucination.”
Trey nods, probably having deduced that I’d failed and Person G has been abducted. “So that’s how Sophie got close enough to put you under a hallucination. You were paralyzed.”
“Yes, but my instinct tells me that she doesn’t have both powers. I think Person G has the skill to paralyze. Or Blocker, who by the way is a hot ass blonde with the eyes of a succubus,” I say, seeing the vision of her swim into my head. Blocker doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever met. She was overdressed and overdone in every way. And it was strangely incredibly attractive, showing her unmistakable confidence and power.
“Oh good, you did ID Blocker,” Trey says, the first bit of relief jumping to his features.
“Yes, but she got away too easily. The witch just walked in and grabbed Person G’s hand and walked away,” I say.
“James. We know now that the person abducted in Dallas was named James. He’s been reported missing by his family,” Trey says. “And as you’ve already guessed his skill is paralysis. On multiple levels he can paralyze a person.”
“Oh fuck. That stupid bitch. She had him paralyze me. I knew it,” I say, throwing my head back into the pillow, which of course was a horrid idea and sends a stabbing pain to my frontal lobe.
“Yes, it seems as though you’re right and Blocker was controlling him somehow,” Trey begins. “James is pretty powerful according to his wife, who we’ve already interviewed. His skill is based on his proximity to a person, but even still it operates at a pretty impressive distance. And he doesn’t have to be looking at the person to paralyze them, only focusing on them in their respective location.”
“I was twenty feet away and directly behind him,” I say, slightly overwhelmed by a person with that kind of power. My powers can operate remotely, but most people need to be close to the person they are trying to use their skill on, like the way I sense Sophie needs proximity to make someone hallucinate. She had been just in front of me when I passed out.
Trey nods. “And James can freeze a person in place or just a single part of them, although that takes more focus.”
“He can freeze a heart,” I say.
“That’s my thought,” Trey says, and the weight of the implications behind all this is perfectly written on his face.
“Blocker is abducting an army of assassins,” I say.
“I think so. But the thing is that these people, James and Sophie, are good citizens. Everyone has vouched for their honor during our investigations,” Trey says.
“But they have skills that are dangerous,” I say, not concerned with other people’s opinions. I operate on facts.
“Yes, it appears so. And based on what happened to you it’s unnerving how Blocker has control over them,” Trey says.
“How does she have this control? She walked up to this man, who is seemingly a stranger, whispered something in his ear, and then led him away. No
fight, nothing.”
Trey shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s a mystery. But there’s more. James’s best friend, who lives in Flint, Michigan, was also abducted on the same day. We’ve been able to link the news reports.”
“What’s his skill?” I say.
“He’s a Middling.”
I press my finger to my throbbing temple. “That makes no sense. Blocker must have abducted him, but why?”
“Well, maybe it will come to you when you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling the collar of the scrub shirt away from my neck. I’ll probably get a nasty rash from wearing something so gross. “Who can I yell at for putting me in this get-up?”
“Mae and her staff. Your clothes are over there,” Trey says, pointing at my suit which is neatly folded and lying on a chair next to the bed.
“They no doubt peeped at my knob when they changed me,” I say, hating the idea that I was seen in such a ridiculous state. It might take therapy to deal with this.
“Yes, people will no doubt be even more obsessed with you now. You’re the talk of the Institute,” Trey says, rising from the chair.
“Next time just leave me to die,” I say, mostly meaning it.
He walks for the exit on the other side of the bed-lined infirmary and then pauses at the door and turns to look at me. Trey’s sincere eyes have that look about them now. That subtle fondness. “Ren, I’m relieved you woke up.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Still too weak to dream travel, let alone teleport, I’m forced to take the Lucidite jet to London. If I didn’t want to die already, then I do now. How Middlings handle their lowly lives, I will never comprehend.
Adelaide is actually sitting at the dining room table sketching when I drag myself into my flat.
“Well, well, well. I see you’ve decided to stop contaminating the couch with your odor,” I say, throwing my suit jacket on the chair beside the door. Usually I’d hang it up, but that would take energy I don’t have presently.
Adelaide scowls at me and it’s almost satisfying to see that look on her face. “I get bored hanging around this place you’ve imprisoned me.”
“Soon your training will be complete and I’ll set you free,” I say, pretending not to eye the sketches sprawled out around her. “I’m thinking of releasing you in the Sahara or some other equally dangerous territory.”
She runs her eyes over me, a not quite concerned look on her face, but the emotion is simmering under the surface. “Are you all right?”
“Not even a little bit,” I say, throwing myself down with a grunt in my armchair.
Adelaide turns from her place at the table, a dozen or so colored pencils meticulously arranged by hue beside her drawings. “I met your boss,” she says, a teasing quality to her voice.
“Trey is more like my contemporary,” I say.
“He said you work for him at that place, the Lucidite Institute.”
“Trey pays my salary. I don’t work for anyone. I do things and receive money,” I say.
“Have you always been so pedantic?” She grabs one of the colored pencils and busies herself sharpening it.
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Big word. And used correctly. I do believe some of my cultured ways are rubbing off on you, Miss Eliza Doolittle.”
“Oh, shove it up your ass,” she says and then blows on the pencil, sending bits of shaving and dust on the floor.
I click my tongue at her. “Well, maybe not.”
“When Trey came by he said you were hurt and he couldn’t advise on when or if you’d recover,” she says, laying the pencil back in its spot, careful to put it even with its brethren.
“God decided he wasn’t ready to deal with my sorry ass just yet,” I say and then I’m overwhelmed by a yawn, which makes my head feel like I’ve had a brick dropped on it.
“Yeah, I bet you’re going to burn when your time comes,” Adelaide says casually.
“Probably,” I say with an indifferent shrug.
“Trey, who by the way is really nice and nothing like you, said you’re an agent for the Lucidites. He was surprised when I didn’t know that you intervene on world affairs to create peaceful solutions,” Adelaide says.
“Oh, for the love of fucking God. Why does Mr. Do-Gooder have to be such a blabbermouth?”
“I am your daughter. I think him sharing that information with me was acceptable,” she says.
I lower my eyes but leave my response to that statement tucked in my mouth.
“I think it’s cool that you’re a secret agent for a secret organization,” she says.
“And I don’t care what you think.”
“If you’re so evil, then why do you do things to help the world?” she says, her voice rising in pitch with curiosity.
“I got bored,” I lie. “I ran out of books to read so it seemed like a nice distraction until death takes me away from this bloody planet.”
She kind of smiles, looking amused. “And how long have you been distracting yourself with this hobby of sorts?”
“Nineteen years.”
Adelaide’s mouth falls open, an idea dawning on her. “That’s why my mum could never find you. She said she searched for you. That she wanted your help with me, but you had disappeared.”
“Right,” I say, remembering how Dahlia spent millions of dollars trying to find me when I disappeared and she was unsuccessful. Adelaide’s mum had zero chance. I was as good as dead while stationed inside the Institute.
A sudden knock hammers on the front door, almost making me jump. My nerves are frayed after my encounter with Blocker and her minions.
“Are you expecting someone?” I say to Adelaide.
She narrows her eyes at me. “What do you think?”
“Has the cleaning woman been by today?”
“Yes, and the woman has a name, you know,” she says.
“Oh really, what is it?” I say, although I don’t care.
“I don’t know. She told me but I always call her some random name that I know isn’t hers,” Adelaide says with a proud smile.
“You don’t…” I say, an irritated heat in my voice.
“I do,” she chirps. “And I eat crumbly biscuits with a dangerous force in places where she’s already cleaned.”
I catch myself before I smile.
The knock sounds again.
“Well, go get it already,” I say, waving my hand at the door. “Maybe it’s a solicitor and you can berate them for the better part of an hour. I’m quite bored and could use the entertainment.”
“Me too. I hope it’s a Jehovah’s Witness. I love messing with those people,” Adelaide says, making for the door. She opens it and releases a frustrated sigh that sounds like she’s half gagging. “It’s her,” she says with a growl. She leaves the door open and turns, walking back to the table. “And she’s wearing enough perfume to make me barf.”
There, just framed in the opening of the door, is Dahlia. Two guards stand at her back. She’s wearing a black mink coat and winking out under it is the red dress I always tell her clashes horribly with my hair.
She leaves the guards in the hall, closing the door behind her. Her eyes on me the whole time. Everything about her is rushed, all worrying movements. “Ren, are you okay?” she says, her heels hammering across the parquet as she crosses the space. “Trey called. Told me your condition was uncertain.”
“Fuck that man,” I say under my breath.
“Then he just phoned again to say you were well and he felt it was his responsibility to update me on your state,” Dahlia says.
Because he knew I was unlikely to, I think. “Isn’t he a doll,” I say, throwing my head back on the cushion behind me. My skull feels close to splintering into a thousand gross pieces. “I’m fine,” I say, feeling Dahlia too close. Smelling her.
“That’s not what you told me,” Adelaide sings from the dining room. “I believe you said �
��not even a little bit’ when I inquired into your physical state.”
“Shut up, little girl,” I say, my voice monotone.
I catch Dahlia give Adelaide a look over her shoulder. Not a nice look.
“What happened?” Dahlia says back in my direction.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, irritated on a new level. Dahlia staring down at me with a half pissed, half concerned look is more than I care to wrap my mind around right now. Honestly, God couldn’t be shoving any more down my throat presently, which means there’s probably a shit storm brewing just outside the walls of my flat.
“It does matter. You were almost killed,” Dahlia says, click-clacking to the other side of my chair. She sits on the couch so we’re eye level, but I keep my gaze off her.
“Almost doesn’t count,” I say.
“Trey says you were in a coma of sorts. That they had done everything they could for you and were just hoping you’d wake up,” Dahlia says, really working herself up with each word.
“Wow, that’s kind of cool,” Adelaide says, her eyes on the sketch before her.
I ignore her obvious eavesdropping and say, “And I woke up, so there.”
“It was a level five case, wasn’t it? You convinced Trey to give you one,” Dahlia says, her voice punishing.
“What’s a level five case?” Adelaide asks from the dining room.
“Color me a picture and mind your own bloody business,” I say to Adelaide.
I hear a long exaggerated gasp from the table.
“Ren,” Dahlia begins. “I knew this kind of thing was going to happen. It’s just a matter of time―”
“What?” I bark at Dahlia. “Before I get myself killed? Yes, the life expectancy of level five agents isn’t entirely long. I wrote the fucking book for them. But now it’s my time to jump in the bloody book and be one of those agents.”
“Even if it gets you killed?”
“Dahlia…” I say, using all my reserves to keep myself from exploding with anger.
