Ian started chuckling.
Peter’s glare could have melted steel when he gritted out, “You keep your mouth shut.”
Ian shook his head as he got on his bike, but he kept silent.
Michael spoke in a confidential tone to Peter, who now sat astride his powerful motorcycle like a man who had earned or accomplished everything he could possibly want in life.
“Look,” Michael said. “Thanks for looking out for me, but I don’t need it. Besides, I’m sure Louis Blake instructed you to help me…adjust. It’s not necessary.”
Peter tilted his head, like he was gathering his thoughts. When he focused on Michael, there was only pity in his eyes—pity and a hint of cold anger.
“Blake never said shit about helping you. He knows how things are out here. People who need help don’t make it long. But thanks for assuming I’m an asshole who needs to be told to be a nice guy.” He shrugged. “You want to be a lone wolf, that’s fine. You can start by sitting alone at meals and staying out of our way.”
A lump formed in Michael’s throat. He wanted to take it back, apologize until he was blue in the face. But Peter had already started the motorcycle, drowning out Michael’s stuttering reply with the roar of the engine. Then all he could do was watch—an ice-cold feeling pooling in his stomach—as the boys drove off down the street and disappeared around a corner.
For the hundredth time, Michael scanned the street and the surrounding trees for Peter and his friends. From his window, he had watched them leave earlier. They’d been armed with rifles and other hunting gear, ready for their trip into the mountains.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched as he approached the pink house where the girls lived. Maybe it was Charlotte, peeking through a window. He studied each, but found all the curtains to be drawn.
He knocked on the screen door. The inner one was open, and he stared into a shady hallway with sunlight coming through a window at the other end, reflecting off the floorboards. Soft, padding footsteps sounded. Suddenly, Charlotte filled the frame. She was naked except for a huge white towel wrapped around her midsection. It reached only a few inches below her hips, leaving her thighs visible. Her hair hung in heavy brown tresses over her voluptuous breasts, which had been tucked neatly into the towel. He tried not to stare.
“Is Arielle home?”
Charlotte held his gaze as she fixed her hair into a loose bun, using hard, jerking movements that made her body quiver in a way he couldn’t ignore. This had to be some sort of a test. If his eyes strayed to her breasts or legs, he would fail. He could smell the freshness of her recent shower, the fruity scent of soap.
“Okay if I ask what this is about?” Charlotte said.
Before he could answer, Charlotte’s eyes snapped open as someone gently shoved her aside. Arielle appeared, fully dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and white sandals. She was still brushing her hair.
“Hi, Michael.”
“Hey, Arielle.” Smiling, Michael shoved his hands into his pockets.
Charlotte gave them both a look of contempt. She took a step back and adjusted her towel, then turned and marched down the hall. Just before she went around the corner, Michael caught a glimpse as she whipped off the towel, the fullness of her naked curves leaving little more than a silhouette. Then she was gone, a door slamming shut after her. Arielle hadn’t noticed her sister’s scandalous towel display.
“Don’t worry about her,” she said, placing the hairbrush on the bottom step of a nearby flight of stairs. She opened the screen door all the way. “She’s been moody lately. What’s wrong?”
Michael stuttered for a bit before he found the right words. “I’m just getting used to this place.”
She nodded. “Are you sure you’re ready to go?”
“I’m fine. Where do you want to do it?”
“The café works.” She came outside, letting the screen door bang shut behind her. “It’s out in public, after all. Don’t want to start any rumors by inviting you into my bedroom.”
She flashed him a mischievous grin. Michael warmed at her playfulness. She was like a young girl in that moment, the little sister he’d never had, the precious child he would no doubt protect with his life should anyone ever threaten her. Yet, her physical beauty made his knees go weak.
“Plus,” Michael said, “I don’t think Peter would like that very much.”
Arielle’s crystalline-blue eyes darted in a sharply different direction. She was now gazing into the distance, as if she could see Peter hunting in those mountains, aiming the barrel of his rifle at an unsuspecting baby deer. She bit her lower lip.
“Did he tell you I was his girlfriend?” she asked.
“Yeah. Why, was he lying?”
She shrugged. “We’re not exactly…there yet. He’s a nice guy, and we like each other, but…it’s not easy out here. You end up loving someone, they love you right back, and then…” Her next words disturbed Michael. “And then one day, they’re gone.”
Michael wanted to reassure her, but he had no idea what to say. Maybe she was right. Maybe living out here was more dangerous than Blake had thought necessary to tell him.
They descended the front steps, starting toward downtown. Feeling like he was being watched again, Michael glanced over his shoulder at the front of the house. A curtain moved in one of the windows on the second floor as someone slipped out of sight.
Arielle made coffee and brought out homemade crackers. They sat across from each other in a booth halfway between the kitchen and the front windows. Michael insisted on facing the front of the café so he could have a view of the main entrance.
“You’re paranoid,” Arielle said.
He shook his head. “I know.”
The only light in the café was the dim, reflected sunshine coming in through the windows. It was enough so they could see each other, but not enough so people could easily see inside. He was still worried Peter and his buddies might show up and happen to catch a glimpse…
Spiteful wrath, he thought. Quit being so self-conscious and afraid all the time.
The look Arielle was giving him didn’t help his self-confidence—or lack thereof. She was as pretty as ever in the low light, with her hair around her shoulders, the sunlight picking out strands at the edges. There was something pure about her that was missing from Charlotte, yet Michael knew he would have felt a dozen times more comfortable with Charlotte sitting across from him. She had her own demons, Michael could tell, and it made it easier to be around her. Clearly, she was a lot like him.
But Arielle…
Sitting across from her was like being face to face with an angel.
“Now,” Arielle said, “you have to let me in, okay? Your mind isn’t going to allow it at first, but you have to overcome that part of yourself. I can’t walk through a closed door. Got it?”
“How do I open it?”
She mused over the answer. “Once I start, it’s going to feel like a finger is poking you behind the forehead. Then it’s going to feel like hands are wrapping around your brain and squeezing. But it’s not going to hurt, so don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not. I mean, why would I be?”
She shrugged. “Most people don’t want others catching glimpses of what’s in their brains. I’m hoping you’re not scared of anything I might see.”
“I could say the same to you,” Michael said.
“What?”
“Scared of what you might see.”
She smiled. “Trust me, I’ve seen some pretty bad things.”
“Hold on a minute,” Michael said. “I thought telepaths couldn’t read minds.”
“That’s true. It’s never been done before. But I won’t be reading your mind. I’ll be…coaxing it, like luring a stray cat out of a hole by offering it catnip.”
“I’ll be sending you those images,” Michael said, “kinda like you sent your voice into my head earlier.”
She nodded. “Sorry about that, by the way. Some
see it as an invasion of privacy when we do that.”
“I’ll forgive you—if you can teach me how to do it.”
A ripple of worry flashed across her face. “Telepathic training is illegal in Gulch. It’s the one big rule John Meacham enforces like his life depends on it. But maybe Louis or Dominic will give you…” She lowered her voice to a whisper, even cupped her hand around her mouth. “…a couple of hints, if you know what I mean?”
Michael felt rage rising inside him, tensing his muscles and clouding his mind. “But that’s stupid. Who better to protect this town than telepaths? What kind of an idiot would limit an ability that could literally save his life if we were being hunted or attacked?”
Arielle sat back as if Michael’s anger was hot air blowing against her sensitive skin. “Whoa,” she said. “Don’t let it get to you. Put yourself in his shoes. John Meacham isn’t a telepath, nor does he understand our gift like we do. He probably thinks we can read his mind, and we’re just lying about not being able to do that sort of thing. Not to mention all the destruction that certain telepaths…” She wagged her eyebrows at him. “Like someone I won’t name, if you catch my drift, happen to cause when they’re upset.”
“I wasn’t just upset,” Michael said. “I watched two of Kole’s agents slaughter my family in cold blood.”
Arielle closed her eyes briefly, as if the hot wind from Michael’s previous anger had suddenly become a freezing gust. Shivering slightly, she opened them again, then placed her hands on the table.
“Relax,” she told him.
“Don’t,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me to relax. I can’t relax here. Everyone’s on my back. I don’t fit in. I…I…”
Arielle took his hands into her own. The tension in his shoulders immediately drained. He felt his entire body relax.
“Whoa…”
Slowly, Arielle nodded. “You just got here,” she said. “Give it time.” She laced her fingers around his, then closed her eyes again. “Cold,” she said, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.
“You have no idea.”
She smiled. “I’m about to, Michael Cairne.”
Her voice rose inside his head. Relax.
Michael obeyed, letting his shoulders drop and his every breath slow to a crawl. Arielle’s telepathic voice was like warm ocean waves lapping against the walls of his mind. He wanted to swim in those waves, drown in them.
Close your eyes. They’re still open.
He did as told. The effect was immediate. His entire being—his soul, if such a thing could be said to exist—suddenly plunged into the depths of a vast and silent space. It was a dark and private place where Michael could float peacefully on his back with not a care in the world.
Breathe in and out, came her gentle voice, filling the infinite calm. Steadily. Deep, measured breaths…
Another voice—this one a man’s—broke through like an alarm.
I’ll press the button, T1-07.
The peaceful space became a nightmare chamber, and Michael was trapped. He was a child again. A child strapped to a chair in a lifeless room where the walls were painted white. The voice was coming in through overhead speakers.
No, please, Michael begged.
Do the test now, the voice urged. Or… the button.
Anything but the button. Last time, the button made the chair sting. It had hurt so bad Michael couldn’t help but pee himself. The pee had been warm, sticky, and so embarrassing. The men in the white coats were laughing at him. He couldn’t see them, but he knew.
The test, T1-07… Tell the man to do it…
Michael shut his eyes—but who was Michael? Someone different inside his head? An imaginary friend?
No, it was just a name. He’d probably heard one of the guards calling someone that.
He wasn’t Michael. He was T1-07.
And he wasn’t alone.
Open your eyes. Now. Do as I say.
Okay, T1-07 said. Okay, okay, okay, fine!
T1-07 opened his eyes, seeing the man seated across from him, also strapped to a chair that could sting him if he didn’t cooperate. The man’s name, age, who his mommy and daddy were—none of that mattered in here. Only pain lived in this room.
Very good, said the voice from the speakers. Finish it.
And he did.
T1-07 sobbed at the sight of all that blood.
It was sluicing from the man’s head, from the holes where his eyes had been. One even dangled from the socket, twisted and loose, like a fleshy ball, and the man was screaming—screaming so loud and in such a ragged way it was as though he had a pair of claw-shaped hands deep inside of him, trying to scratch their way out of his body much like his real hands had scratched out his own eyes.
T1-07 had passed the test. Now, all he wanted was to go back to his room and never hear screams like that again.
“Let me out.” He struggled against the binds. “Let me out of here!”
A girl’s voice pleaded. “Let go of me!”
T1-07 opened his eyes. The next thing he saw was a pretty blonde girl, eyes wrenched open in terror. Managing to yank her wrists out of his grip, she slapped him. Hard.
Michael… Your name is Michael…
“Oh, my God,” he said, coming out of it.
Arielle sat pressed against her seat, arms over her chest like a shield.
“I’m so sorry,” Michael said. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I know. It’s okay.”
Her breaths were shallow, panicked. Because of him. Michael didn’t belong here. He would just hurt these people. He would be their downfall, not their savior.
It had begun to rain. Darkness was the only thing visible outside the windows.
“How long were we…”
“Over an hour,” Arielle said, studying him. Her eyes were wide, but she no longer seemed afraid, only curious. “I saw everything. The tests, the people you…”
Killed.
She didn’t mean to send the word into his mind, but he heard it nonetheless.
“That’s what I am, apparently,” Michael said, shifting his eyes down in shame. “A killer. It’s what they wanted.”
“You don’t have to be,” Arielle said.
Michael said nothing. He peered past the rain-soaked windows, trying to see the darkened street. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“I think it’s time to go,” Michael said, sliding out of the booth.
“Wait,” Arielle said, standing and reaching out to him.
He kept moving.
She stopped him at the front door. He pivoted toward her, having to crane his neck slightly to look into her eyes. He was easily six or seven inches taller. Again, he saw the innocent, frightened girl she had once been.
“I remember it now,” Michael said. “I don’t know how you did that, but I remember it. Bits and pieces.”
“I’m sorry,” Arielle said. “I’m so sorry. That it happened to you. That I made you remember.”
“I’m not,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I’m not sorry about any of it. They wanted me to be a killer…” She flinched, clearly seeing something in his eyes that disturbed her. “…and that’s exactly what they’re going to get. Harris Kole, the men who did those tests and killed my mom, the same men who are making millions of people starve back home… They’re all going to wake up in bed one night and see my face, and it’s going to be the last spiteful thing any of them ever see again.”
Yanking the door open, he stormed out into the cold rain. Once the door shut, he moved slowly, even though he felt like running—running for days and days, headed west instead of east, all the way back home to fulfill the promise he’d made moments earlier inside the café.
You’re all dead men.
He wished he could send those words directly into their minds, like knives slicing through their skulls.
I’m coming for you…
Lightning flashed, followed by the boom of thunder, as rain fell into the canyon
.
It was a bad night to be alone. Dominic knew this. On his back beneath the covers, he tossed and turned, dreaming of pounding his own fist into John Meacham’s face until it was a bloody pulp. His older brother Paul was in the dream, howling in agony, his neck gushing blood. The dream chilled Dominic to such an extent he awoke with a sudden gasp.
He hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight, which was why he’d allowed Reggie to come in, dressed in a black raincoat, his hair still wet from the rain, a set of dry pajamas bundled in the crook of his arm. Reggie had smiled like a nervous boy, still unsure as to why Dominic summoned him.
Now, Reggie lay curled up next to him, snoring as softly as a child. His pajamas lay scattered across the floor.
“Goddamn it,” Dominic said, sitting up.
Reggie came out of sleep with a murmured, “What’s wrong?”
Dominic sat on the edge of the bed, bent over his knees, and massaging both temples. “I’m getting some interference.”
“Maybe it’s that kid. The new boy.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Reggie sat up. He put his hand on Dominic’s lower back. “Get back in bed.”
Dominic got up, visibly naked for a brief second as lightning flashed, illuminating the room. He went about picking the pajamas off the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Dominic flung the pajamas against Reggie’s chest.
“Get the hell out,” he said.
Louis Blake lay awake in the bedroom of his shack, where he’d been sent to live after being kicked off the Council. The mansions were only for Meacham and his cronies, all of whom lived next to each other on Apple Orchard Road. The sprawling house Blake once inhabited remained empty, and he was stuck in a leaking shack at the ass end of town, rejected and despised by the men he was forced to serve.
He didn’t mind so much anymore. His shack—it was really a dilapidated old bungalow with brown siding that made it look like a shack—was far enough away from Apple Orchard Road, and the rest of town, that sometimes, when he closed his eyes and smoked, he felt like he was alone in the world.
Ascendant- Nation of Nowhere Page 6
