Tainted Waters

by Leah Cutter

  She was also, as far as I could tell, one hundred percent straight. Didn’t set off my gay–dar at all.

  I had no idea what would have happened in the room that would have enough resonance for me to track. I wasn’t sure I was up for finding out.

  But I’d come this far. There was no sense in turning back.

  Not that I’d ever backed down from a challenge.

  Chapter Eleven

  The room was much smaller than the conference room I’d been in before. It wasn’t much more than a closet. It didn’t contain a single stick of furniture. It was painted a harsh white, with what looked like black, fish–eyed camera balls in each corner of the room. Maybe three feet square, total. Two people would have had to be in each other’s personal space if they were locked in here.

  There was nothing to distract me in the room. The carpet was the same, plain, industrial beige.

  So I closed my eyes, found my area of knowing, and pushed into the timelines.

  The main one was actually easy to find. A married couple—man and woman—having a fierce argument about money. He was spending too much on his games and hobbies. She was spending too much on her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and expensive perfumes.

  Was there a therapy office attached to this building? Where couples were encouraged to come and fight it out?

  No wonder there wasn’t anything else in the room. Or else they would have started throwing it at each other.

  I tagged the conversation, just in case, so I could watch it again later if I needed to.

  I was tempted to try some of the alternate timelines. But I also remembered what Sam had said about me going too deep. And those alternates were always so tempting.

  I resisted, for now.

  I came back out to find the same scientist madly scribbling on her board. Was she already getting feedback on my viewing?

  I waited while she wrote furiously, admiring her concentration.

  Also, her still fantastic rack. Large and luscious.

  “This way,” she finally said, all cool and professional again. But she didn’t walk as fast, and at least made an effort to stay with me.

  “So what’s your name?” I asked as we walked.

  I mean, I could be friendly.

  “You don’t need to know my name,” she said frostily.

  “Hey, hey, aren’t we on the same team here?” I asked, trying to stay friendly.

  That got me an icy, evaluating stare. “No. I don’t think we are.”

  What the fuck did she mean by that? “I’m Cassandra,” I told her as we kept walking. “Cassie, for short.”

  “I know,” she said. She seemed exasperated.

  Good. I could work with that.

  “See, you already know my name. I think it’s only fair that I have a moniker for you. Besides sexy scientist lady,” I told her.

  Sure, I might have been dating Sam. Didn’t mean I was dead.

  “Sexy? Me?” She laughed. She honestly laughed.

  God, it was a gorgeous sound.

  But the girl had some self–esteem issues that were probably bigger than her IQ.

  “Yes. Sexy,” I said seriously.

  She looked at me quizzically before she shook her head. “I’m straight, you know.”

  “And?” I asked innocently enough. “Does that mean I can’t appreciate beauty when I see it?”

  Again, she shook her head. “Theresa,” she said quietly as we reached yet another gray door. “But you can’t call me that here.”

  “I’ll just call you Dr. T,” I told her with a wink as she pushed open the door.

  “Please, don’t,” she warned as she walked through the room and disappeared out a door on the far side.

  A large chair that looked like it belonged in a dentist’s office sat in the center of the laboratory she brought me to. Two other female scientists waited there, also in white lab coats. Computer monitors were built into the walls as well as sitting on the counters. Wires were casually hung on the arms of the chair.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” the shorter scientist said.

  She had to be kidding, right? Still, I hopped up in the chair and scooted my butt around until I had some vague semblance of comfort.

  The two of them waited patiently while I got myself settled, then efficiently hooked me up with a blood monitor on my finger, a crown of electrodes with wires sticking out of it, what looked like a blood pressure cuff on my bicep, as well as a strap that they put around my waist.

  If I was into medical examination porn, I would have been in heaven.

  As it was, I tried not to squirm. Or throw up. This place smelled like antiseptic and bleach and just set my teeth on edge.

  Fortunately, as I was starting to shiver, one of the techs threw a heavy blanket over my legs.

  Finally, Dr. T came back into the room. She stayed out of view, but I recognized her lovely alto.

  “Now, sit back, relax, and tell me what you saw,” she said.

  I related as much of the argument as I could, trying to be vaguely professional about it.

  “Good,” Dr. T said. “Now, view the argument again.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.

  “You can do remote viewing, right?” Dr. T asked, coming into view and frowning at me.

  Had she taken the time to put on some lipstick? Because I would have sworn her lips were a much brighter red than they had been.

  “You mean tag an area and look at it again later, from a distance?” I asked.

  Sam had never heard of a PA being able do what I could do.

  “Exactly,” Dr. T said. “You should still be able to view it.”

  “Yes,” I told her slowly. There were others with my ability? And the consortium knew about them, but hadn’t bothered to share that knowledge with the community?

  I kept my rage to myself. However, I couldn’t wait to tell Sam.

  Maybe Dr. T and I really weren’t working on the same side.

  I went back into my area of knowing and reviewed the argument.

  When I came back out, Dr. T asked me more questions about things I’d noticed this time, pointed questions about details.

  After a few more sessions, I realized what she was doing: She was bringing my sense of knowing closer to my conscious self.

  If I’d been feeling more contrarian that afternoon, I might have resented it.

  As it was, I was curious. What were the limits of my knowing? How fresh could I keep it?

  I couldn’t quite go to where I think Dr. T wanted me to go—where the knowing was as fresh and as real as a memory. Where I didn’t have to keep slipping in between the two.

  Knowing was always different, not present. But the more I interwove the present with the knowing, the more present it became.

  It was an awesome effect.

  Why the hell had the Jacobson Consortium not shared this with the rest of the community? Why wasn’t this part of the regular training that the blessed had to go through? I was positive Sam would have mentioned this—it seemed too fundamental and basic for her to have missed it.

  However, Dr. T still seemed pleased with my performance.

  Finally, Dr. T said, “One last test. Can you view the alternate timelines from your remote viewing?”

  I blinked and paused. A bunch of things suddenly came together. It all made sense.

  Only those who could see alternate timelines could also do remote viewing.

  “I don’t know,” I told her honestly. Well, honestly enough. “I haven’t tried.” Which was also honest enough. I hadn’t tried for a long, long time. Not since the first times.

  “Ah,” Dr. T said. That seemed significant for some reason. “Thank you. That will be all that we need today.”

  Just as quickly as I’d been attached with wires, they were stripped from me.

  “I believe you have an appointment with HR?” Dr. T asked me. She continued to maintain that cool professionalism with me.

  I think the o
ther technicians would have been shocked that she’d shared her name with me. And I wasn’t about to break that trust. Even if I really wanted to ask her about the ghost tripper drug.

  However, I had no idea where I was going next. I hoped I was going home. I was fucking exhausted. Though Josh had mentioned something about HR.

  “I’m not sure,” I told her honestly.

  The door opened and a very professionally made up woman stuck her head in. “Cassandra Lewis?” she asked.

  I hated this woman on sight. While Dr. T and Antonia were just doing their job, this woman enjoyed screwing people.

  And not in a way Chinaman Joe could help with.

  “I’m Julie. From HR. Please, come with me.”

  This was going to be much, much worse than any meeting with Josh.

  I sighed, but followed her into the lion’s den.

  Ξ

  It was very late afternoon by the time I got out of HR Hell.

  There had been orientation, a welcome to Jacobson Consortium that was full of crazed Kool–Aid about the great, important work they were doing, a diversity talk, more inane sensitivity training, and then all the fucking options I had to go through: Health insurance, 401K, dental, vision, life insurance. I felt like my eyes were bleeding from the dryness of the ink.

  Plus the confidentiality talks. They were dead serious about security. There wasn’t anything that had happened today that I could talk about, tell anyone about, not without violating my contract. They would be checking me in the morning. They didn’t threaten telepaths, but Julie did casually mention lie detector tests.

  They really didn’t want me talking about my day at work.

  By the end, I was just about ready to chew my own arm off to escape. Or hers.

  However, my time in hell hadn’t yet come to an end.

  Josh waited for me in the hallway when I finally escaped. He had that late–afternoon office worker look going, with his tie askew and whatever he’d had for lunch dripped down his white shirt—something brown, probably Thai.

  “We need to talk about your first assignment,” Josh said gleefully.

  I rolled my eyes at him. “I need a fucking cigarette first,” I told him bluntly. “Because I’ll be damned if I’d be able to even pay the slightest bit of attention to you without more nicotine in my system.”

  I was lying, of course. Despite how much I smoked, I actually wasn’t that much of a junkie. I could go a day or more before the nicotine withdrawal really hit.

  He didn’t need to know that, though. Let him think I had yet another weak spot, another vulnerability.

  “Fine,” Josh said. “It might be better that we have this conversation outside. I’ll escort you.”

  I honestly was too tired to come back with a snappy comeback about Josh and an escort service, maybe about how he generally had to pay for such a thing.

  Not like Josh rated that kind of money. He really wasn’t anybody’s kink: kind of chubby, going bald, out of shape, second–rate bad guy. Not the top billing on any marque. More of a shlub.

  We walked out of the building. I de–geeked immediately, putting my brand new employee badge in my pocket. The picture actually wasn’t too awful. On the one hand, it did make me look at least ten pounds overweight. On the other, it captured the fuck you expression I’d been wearing perfectly.

  Josh and I walked from the building into the soft night. It was still too goddamned hot—really, I could already predict the “Minneapolis is more scenic than the seventh ring of Hell, despite being just as hot” jokes the weatherman was sure to make that night. Only a few pedestrians still walked the office complex sidewalks. A couple of crazy joggers went by, wearing huge backpacks, probably full of water.

  I kept hoping that the weather would break soon, but I knew better. It was only mid–July. It would probably be September before it was cool again, and then, only in the evenings. Daytime was likely to still be awful.

  A nice long rain would help, at least for a while. Cool everything down. But I certainly didn’t know how to make it rain. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what god I’d contact for that.

  Josh led the way down a path I hadn’t seen before, that led from the complex and toward the river and a pathway running directly beside it. It was much quieter there.

  Also, much darker. Great place to be mugged. I felt uneasy as we walked along, despite the streetlights from the nearby road.

  It wasn’t safe here.

  Or was this another fucking test?

  I was too tired to be their lab rat anymore. “So what the hell do you want?” I asked Josh, stopping as I lit my second cigarette. Hell if I was taking another step without some sort of explanation.

  Josh looked back at me, puzzled. “Just a little ways more,” he said.

  I raised a single eyebrow at him and stayed standing exactly where I was.

  “All right, fine,” Josh said, coming back to me. “As you’re aware, I’m a recruiter of sorts.”

  I nodded cautiously. Why was Josh admitting to this?

  “And remember, there isn’t a thing you can say to your girlfriend about any of this,” Josh added smugly.

  I sighed, admitting defeat. “I know,” I said quietly. Not until I quit, you asshole. Then not only was Sam getting an earful, so was Michael John Adams, my mother’s lawyer.

  “I want to introduce you to some of the guys I regularly talk with,” Josh said. “So you can see how it’s done.”

  I didn’t roll my eyes at him, though just barely. Really, asshole? You mean you want me to see how it’s not done.

  “Why?” I asked him, suspicious. He didn’t expect me to go recruit people like Hunter, did he?

  Those with paranormal ability made up less than ten percent of the entire population. All of them were supposedly found through the existing programs. Less than one one–hundredth of a percent didn’t respond to the tests.

  I wondered just how many the Jacobson Consortium deliberately let slip through the cracks. And if the estimates about the number of the blessed weren’t accurate in the least, if there were a hell of a lot more like me, like Hunter, who didn’t fit their precise definitions.

  “We’re going to expand our recruitment program,” Josh said proudly. “Now, while I’ve been able to get close to a number of the homeless population, in particular, the vets, I haven’t made any headway with other communities.”

  “Like?” I asked. I wasn’t going to give him an inch if I could help it.

  “Like the working girls,” Josh said. He seemed quite pleased with himself, as if he’d just come up with something brilliant.

  “Charge you too much just to talk with them?” I guessed.

  As I said before, Josh wasn’t anyone’s kink.

  “No,” Josh said, scowling.

  I bet he was lying. I bet he’d also been rolled by more than one of the girls.

  “But since you already are well acquainted with that community, it just made sense that you should try to recruit there,” Josh said, trying to sound logical.

  “Are you accusing me of being a working girl?” I said, pretending to be steamed and insulted.

  “No! No, not at all,” Josh said. He looked me up and down.

  I bristled more. I could hear his unspoken comment, As if anyone would pay for that.

  “But through your connections at Chinaman Joe’s, you have access to a different community of potentials,” Josh assured me.

  I nodded. It actually kind of made sense. Working girls who had some kind of pre–cog abilities probably took better johns than the average.

  Plus, I’d known a working girl who’d had some kind of ability. What the hell. I figured I could ask about her.

  “You mean like Angela?” I asked.

  Josh shrugged. “Who?”

  “Angela. I saw her stuck in a pre–cog loop, once,” I told him. “She said she’d taken a correspondence course and ranked highest in the class.”

  Josh’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Exactl
y! That’s exactly the type of client we’re trying to reach. Where is she now? She could be your first successful recruit!”

  “She’s dead,” I told him flatly as I finished my cigarette, crushing the butt under my toe. “Her soul was stolen by Loki.” Like Kyle’s had been.

  “Ah. Right,” Josh said. He pressed his lips together.

  Josh didn’t believe me? What the hell? I had thought that was a huge part of why he’d wanted me for the Jacobson Consortium. The fact that I could see the non–men, gods, demons, whatever.

  “So what happens to the girls I recruit for you?” I asked.

  “You bring them into the institute to be tested,” Josh said. “Then we find the appropriate place for them.”

  “You mean you decide if they should stay on the street, crazy and touched, or if you dump them,” I interpreted.

  “If they turn out to have talent that we can’t use, you can certainly make sure that they get the appropriate training,” Josh said smoothly.

  Lying bastard. If they didn’t have the right talent, or enough talent, they’d be dumped back where I’d found them, possibly worse off.

  Particularly if they’d already been exposed to some of the Jacobson Consortium’s drug programs.

  “So you want me to go talk with the working girls,” I said slowly.

  Josh nodded. “Form a relationship with them. We’ll provide you with a stipend—a very small stipend—that you can use as part of that relationship–building.”

  “For smokes?” I asked. That generally was a good way to get a lot of the girls to talk with me.

  “Exactly!” Josh said. “Plus, you’ll have a recruitment quota to make every month.”

  “Wait, I need to find you new girls every month?” I asked, flabbergasted. Then I paused. Shit. I had to ask. “Or are you more interested in boys?”

  Josh took a moment to process that. “Just new recruits,” he said coldly. “Your quotas will be spelled out in detail, all the paperwork ready for you in the morning.”

  “Great,” I told him. “So can I go now?” I asked. I was fucking tired. And I really wanted to take a shower.

  Wash off some of the slime from the day.

  “If you think you’ll be able to handle it without more training,” Josh said slowly.