Exiled_Kenly's Story

by Sophie Davis

  The man on the ground was stirring, blindly reaching for his own pipe but unlikely to get up anytime soon. I recognized him as one of Bessie’s companions on the bus. Using my Telekinesis, I summoned the weapon. It landed in my outstretched palm as the woman brought her pipe down on my shoulder.

  I howled as a jolt of pain reverberated down my arm and nearly lost my grip on the cylinder. Bessie grinned triumphantly and raised her weapon, eyes fixed ahead. Clearly she intended to deliver a second blow in the same spot.

  The crash of metal hitting metal rang in my ears, the sound echoing off the walls, as I parried her blow. I was having trouble remaining incorporeal between the pain in my shoulder and focusing on the first real fight I’d been in since D.C. I began to flicker. Luckily, this seemed to mystify my opponent instead of helping her. She faltered just long enough for me to deliver a shot to her stomach.

  Points of weakness: throat, ribs, knees. She’s right-handed. Take out the dominate arm first.

  I drew back, readjusting my aim so that on my next swing the pipe connected with her dominant arm. Her features contorted in agony and a hiss of pain, followed by a colorful array of profanity, slipped from between clenched teeth. A twinge of something akin to guilt tickled my consciousness.

  Screw that. It’s her or you. Don’t play nice.

  I hooked my foot around her right ankle and swept her feet out from under her. She groaned and rolled into the fetal position, arms thrown protectively over her head. My leg was back, muscles tensed and ready to plant a sneaker-clad heel right in the woman’s gut.

  Fifty-six percent chance that your last hit cracked her lower two ribs. She’s temporarily incapacitated. You aren’t trying to kill her.

  You can’t be too careful. Make sure she stays down.

  My conscience warred with my practical side, the opposing thoughts causing me to hesitate. Why did I care if I hurt this woman? She was trying to hurt me. She started this fight. All I was trying to do was finish it. Still, seeing her lying there, defenseless and injured, I couldn’t find it within myself to kick her while she was down. Hopefully she’d learned to leave me alone, that’s all I needed to convey. The flickering stopped, and I was fully incorporeal again.

  The first attacker was struggling to stand. Three days of scruff covering his chin and neck had made him look older from a distance. Up close, I realized that the guy with the buzz-cut was closer to my age than I’d originally thought. He’d recovered Bessie’s weapon and was swinging the pipe in wild, sweeping arcs, his eyes wide as saucers. Like a frightened animal, the attacker spun in a circle, searching for threats. His gaze landed on James, who’d been creeping up behind the man and was just about to grab for the pipe.

  The attacker let out an inhuman battle cry. He swung the pipe with enough force that I heard the air swish past it. James’s reflexes rivaled the best fighters I’d seen at school. His long fingers caught the pipe within inches of making contact with the underside of his chin. James’s platinum eyes brightened, as if something inside of him was coming to life. And something was, I realized. His Talents.

  Electricity crackled and popped in the air as current flowed from James’s finger tips through the metal and into the assailant. The man began to convulse, his limbs flailing like a flag in a tornado. His knees buckled and he dropped the pipe. Still twitching with aftershocks, he sank to the grime-covered floor of the alley. The unmistakable stench of urine assaulted my nostrils. When I looked down I saw a dark stain covering the front of the attacker’s jeans.

  “Did you…. Is he…,” I fumbled for a tactful way to ask James if he’d just killed another human being.

  James shook his head, eyes trained on the slumped form at his feet.

  “He’ll be fine. I only gave him a couple of volts. Barely more than your standard issue Taser. Let’s get going before any others show up.” He looked back, over his shoulder. “Honora, it’s safe!” he called.

  “Do you recognize them?” Honora asked, trotting up the alleyway to join us.

  The man that James had electrocuted was on his back, eyes staring up at the overcast night sky. Every so often his body would spasm, his eyelids blinking open and closed over bloodshot eyes. The muscles around his mouth twitched as his mouth tried to form words. His companion groaned and made gurgling noises deep in her throat.

  “Yeah, it’s the girl and one of the guys from the bus,” I answered.

  “Right,” she said, with the shallowest of smiles towards me. “But, I mean, beyond that…James?”

  “No. You?” James asked. Using the steel toe of his work book, he pushed the man’s shirt up to expose his stomach. “He’s not marked. No gang affiliation.”

  This seemed like it should have been good news in my opinion, but both James and Honora appeared bothered by the man’s lack of ties.

  “Not ones I’ve seen before either,” Honora said.

  “There were three of them earlier. We need to find the third,” I said.

  “He’s probably waiting out front,” James said.

  Footsteps sounded at the opposite end of the alley. All three of us glanced towards the newcomer. He took one look at his fallen comrades, turned, and ran. I expected one of my roommates, namely James, to shout and run after our would-be assailant. But, to my astonishment, no one moved.

  Seriously? I thought. We’re just going to let him get away? I think not.

  Taking matters into my own hands, I reached for the power coursing through my veins. Letting the energy build until I could no longer contain it, I then channeled every last ounce into my telekinetic abilities. I felt alive, giddy, drunk on my Talents as I unleased the tidal wave of power within me.

  From where I stood, it appeared as though a giant, invisible hand reached down from above and flicked the attacker from behind. He was launched forward, sailing several feet through the air, and then crashed back down to earth. After somersaulting several times, he came to a rest against the brick wall.

  For several long moments all that could be heard in the stunned silence were the moans and groans of the trio. To be completely honest, I was a little terrified by my own of strength. And maybe, just a tiny bit, impressed by it.

  When I’d first started working with Talia, my telekinetic powers had been pretty feeble. Weeks of special sessions with my former mentor and Donavon had greatly improved my skills, possibly even enough to make the Hunters. But that level was infinitesimal compared to what I’d just demonstrated.

  Apparently, after being boosted by the Creation drug, my natural gift for telekinesis had expanded exponentially. Far, far beyond even my wildest hopes. This was the first time I’d actually attempted to do anything beyond what I was capable of before, to try out my new and improved abilities. Making inanimate objects fly was one thing. Making another person fly? Yeah…that was new for me.

  Feeling emboldened by the vast improvement in my skill level, I bent over the woman, Bessie, and pulled her up by her shirt collar.

  “Why were you following us?” I demanded, glaring so hard into her blue-grey eyes that she seemed paralyzed by the weight of my gaze.

  In the distance a siren wailed.

  “Leave her. We need to get out of here,” James said.

  The siren grew louder.

  “Why? They attacked us. I want the cops to come,” I said, indignant.

  “No, you don’t,” James shot back. “Don’t be mental.”

  He was right, of course. Cops were something I needed to avoid at all costs. But these people had to pay for attacking us. They needed to appreciate that they couldn’t just go around beating other people with metal pipes. At least they’ll have bruises and maybe a broken bone or two to remind them, I thought sulkily. Just as I was about to concede to James’s warning, Bessie let her head fall backward and let loose a cackle.

  “That’s just aces you numpty moppet. You and I both know I’m not the one the bobbies be wanting, now am I? Me and the Herschel boys, we’re laying here bleedin’ while your lot ar
e the ones holdin’ the pipes. That’s all the excuse they’ll be needin’ to haul you off. The more rubbish off the streets, the better, I say. Only thing better is throwing you rubbish off the planet.”

  “Kenly, come on. Just ignore her,” Honora pleaded.

  Bessie spit a mouthful of blood and saliva in my direction. Thankfully, between her poor aim and my quick reflexes, I was able to avoid her spit. I had no desire to catch the ignorance virus.

  Disgusted, I released my hold on Bessie’s collar. Her skull thudded against the ground. She laughed harder. I stumbled backwards several steps, wanting to get as far away from Bessie as possible.

  A warm arm slipped around my waist and long fingers intertwined with mine. His breath was warm on my cheek, his lips impossibly soft as they barely skimmed my ear when he spoke. “Let’s go home, Chief,” James said softly.

  THE JOURNEY BACK to the flat was a silent one. Adrenaline and a healthy dose of curiosity over the Circus of Wonders and James’s involvement with such a place kept my fear at bay. My mind whirled like a top, spinning all of the possibilities around and around until I was only seconds away from blowing a mental fuse by overloading the circuit.

  Had James worked at the Circus of Wonders? He not only knew his way around, he knew the access codes for the doors, after all. Or maybe he was a regular patron? I tried to picture pissed-off James among the crowd surrounding the stage, his platinum eyes enraptured by fire-leaping lions, twirling acrobats, and scantily feathered lady peacocks. I lacked the imagination to conjure such a vision.

  More importantly, though, who were Bessie and her buddies? Why on earth would they chase us? What was their motivation? Why did they hate us so much? Being scared, I understood. Non-Talents fearing the Talented because they didn’t understand our powers was illogical but not abnormal. People frequently feared what they didn’t understand. But hatred? It didn’t make sense.

  My fault.

  The two words were like a broken record playing in my mind. I hadn’t told James and Honora that I’d overhead the woman, Bessie, say that she’d guessed we were Talented because of my superior gaming skills. I also hadn’t admitted that she overhead me speaking to Honora, picked up on my accent, and that had been the proverbial nail in the coffin. I would tell them. Eventually. Maybe. Probably not. It was a sixty-seven percent chance that James would go on a tirade that started and ended with, “I told you so,” once he learned the truth.

  My new roommates had been cautious prior to the attack. Now, they were downright spooked. We fled the alley with impressive speed, running harder and faster than I had since escaping D.C. Honora was fidgety, constantly tugging the end of her ponytail and jumping at every sound. James was stone-faced, his blank expression making it impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. Both visually swept the spaces around us with a renewed fervor—Honora’s from apprehension, James’s from a frightening determination. Every so often he barked orders at Honora and me, which we followed without question. When I wanted to protest, offering an alternative route that would be faster, I held my tongue. Even when he hauled us onto another hoverbus. It didn’t seem like the best idea, considering I’d already been thrown out of one today, but I trudged aboard obediently.

  My fault. My fault. My fault.

  When we finally got back to the Barracks, the tension didn’t dissipate at all. Dinner was an edgy and pointless affair. Neither of my roommates wanted to discuss the attack, despite my repeated attempts to broach the subject. James was back to being the brooding, borderline rude, guy I’d met the previous day. The small comfort he’d offered by holding my hand in the alleyway was long gone. When I started to ask a question, he would cut me off or change the subject. Honora wasn’t much better. She wasn’t mean or impolite, she just made it crystal clear that she didn’t want to rehash the evening. The only thing I got out of her about it was, “All’s well that ends well.”

  Following dinner, Honora pled exhaustion and plodded off to our bedroom. James sat on the futon, scrutinizing the ceiling as if the cracked plaster held the meaning of life. Watching him watch a rusty-colored water stain grow larger bit by microscopic bit wasn’t my idea of a good time. James wouldn’t tear his eyes away to look at me, let alone speak to me. Whenever I opened my mouth his lips twitched, like he was struggling to hold in words that he was aching to say to me.

  After waiting expectantly for several prolonged minutes, I simply gave up and gave in. I followed Honora and figured a long night’s sleep wouldn’t hurt me.

  Honora stripped down to her underwear and crawled into the bottom bunk, muttering, “Night,” as an afterthought.

  I changed into the same pajamas I’d worn the night before—were there laundry facilities here?—and climbed into my own bunk. Before my butt had found a comfortable spot on the lumpy mattress, Honora’s breathing became shallow and even. Lucky girl, I thought.

  Our run-in with the trio of thugs behind the Circus of Wonders and subsequent escape from authorities had left me wide awake. I rolled to my side and curled into the fetal position, finding it slightly more comfortable than lying flat on my back.

  The wall next to the bunk beds was cinderblock painted a pale mint color. It reminded me of milky green tea. In some spots, the paint had faded to a dull, sickly yellow. I wondered what previously hung over the non-faded areas. Whose posters or pictures had preserved the wall underneath, protecting it from the harsh overhead lighting? Some other homeless Talent whom Honora and the boys had taken in? A past resident? A soldier from the time of the Great Contamination?

  I considered browsing the news on my communicator. But after the earlier report about the mini-tsunami in Miami, I decided ignorance was bliss. For tonight anyway. Instead of the news, I concentrated on relaxing, giving myself over to my Talents.

  It took more time and energy than it should have. Sweat beaded across my upper lip and my vision crossed. Falling. It felt like falling. My legs were leaden, while my head was light as a cloud. The two halves of my body were at odds, each pulling me in a different direction until I thought I was going to rip in half at the waist.

  The pain was excruciating. I stuffed a fist in my mouth to keep from crying out, and just when I was sure I couldn’t stand it an instant longer, the pain abated. My entire body, from hair follicles to toenails, went numb. I no longer felt…anything.

  Without understanding how, I knew it had worked. Like last time, my mind had transcended time, while my body had remained in the present. Or was it the past? Very confusing.

  It was like opening my eyes, but I had no eyes to open. Maybe more like opening my awareness? Whatever the case, when I looked around, I didn’t see cinder block walls or over spilling shelves just inches away. I saw a girl. She was sitting in a window seat, knees tucked to her chest, head turned to look out the window. Sunlight threaded warm highlights through her light brown hair, which fell in a curtain over her bare legs.

  The door to the room opened. The girl didn’t look up, but I did. Libby Monroe, in all her haughty glory, stood framed in the doorway. Rays of late afternoon sun streamed in through the window, wrapping Libby in a soft golden glow, enhancing her beauty, and giving her an angelic appearance that she didn’t deserve.

  “I’m rather short on patience today,” she snapped as the door banged shut behind her. A bolt slammed into place, yet Libby never took her hands off of her slim hips. Belatedly, I realized that Vision-Kenly and Libby were locked in a room together, alone. This couldn’t be good. “Your boyfriend has all but cracked. Don’t be daft, Kenly. Save yourself. This is your final opportunity.”

  Boyfriend? Who was she talking about?

  “Leave him out of this,” Vision-Kenly mumbled. Whether out of defiance or something less noble, she didn’t bother turning to face Libby when she spoke.

  The golden-haired girl crowed like a deranged witch. If I’d had a body, I definitely would’ve flinched. Vision-Kenly didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.

  “The mind is a terribly fa
scinating place. It has loads of hidey holes and secret corridors. So many areas to explore. And you could say that I have a knack for locks—I’ve yet to meet one that can keep me out.” Libby’s full lips turned down in a pout that men probably found irresistible. To me, and probably to most women, it was nauseating. “The difficulty is, once I break a lock, it never seems to work again. Ever. So very frustrating.”

  Vision-Kenly didn’t react. Maybe she was used to Libby’s odd ranting, but I wanted to demand the girl stop talking in riddles.

  “There’s nothing to find. James doesn’t know anything.” Vision-Kenly finally turned, sable eyes blazing as she matched Libby’s bitchy look. Pride swelled up inside me. She—I? Was I giving myself kudos?—had a steel backbone. “And if you’re so damn confident in your abilities, just take the information from my head. Leave. James. Alone.”

  Vision-Kenly was pale and too thin, but appeared otherwise unharmed. No scratches or cuts or other telltale signs of abuse or torture. That was a relief. She also wasn’t sick, like she’d been in the last Vision. Interesting.

  Some of Libby’s bravado waivered. I had no inkling whether Vision-Kenly understood why. But I did. Libby Monroe was a Telepath, probably a full-fledged Manipulator even. But she couldn’t read my mind, at least not entirely.

  Those sessions with Donavon and his mother, learning to block mental invasions, must’ve been paying off, I thought.

  Libby seemed to brush it off, her smile falling easily back into place.

  “No. That’s not how this works, Kenly. The deal, the one you agreed to, was that you would aid us. My father made you a very generous, very gracious proposal. One which you readily consented to, if you’ll recall. So far, you have not provided us with any suitable information, nor have you assisted in any acquisitions. Still, we have looked after you—fed you, clothed you, and protected you. Presently, all that remains is for you to reciprocate.” Libby’s grin widened at Vision-Kenly’s bored expression. Apparently she wasn’t feeling a hint of frustration, nor was she giving up.