Relentless

by Robin Parrish

Rising again, he stared at the fallen detective for another moment before turning and walking drunkenly down the hall and out the empty doorway.

  Drexel raised his head enough to watch Grant go. When Grant was out of sight, he craned to the left and saw his radio on the ground, under a smashed picture frame.

  He fished it out with a shaking hand, but didn’t get up.

  ‘‘This is Drexel,’’ he spoke into the radio, out of breath. ‘‘Disregard previous call. Repeat: cancel backup. False alarm.’’

  Then something smoldered behind his eyes and he slowly sat upright. He keyed the radio again and his mouth twisted into an angry snarl.

  ‘‘But get me a forensics unit down here right away. And put an unmarked car at the laboratory of Daniel Cossick. If he burps, I want a full report.’’

  22

  An hour later, Grant flung the box at Morgan. His fists were balled and shaking, his entire body barely containing his fury.

  She caught the box in her hand and examined it. ‘‘Nicely done,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Nice?’’ he nearly spat the word.

  Julie had dozed off in her chair in the far corner but jerked awake at Grant’s raised voice. She leaped from her chair and began running for Grant, but she stopped when she saw how he looked. He felt the blood in his face, and he knew his stance and expression must have looked threatening.

  Hannah stood a safe distance behind Grant, watching closely, but staying out of it.

  Morgan was unruffled, examining him. He knew he looked terrible— clothes ripped, hair askew, bruises and dirt all over. Fear and anger writhed through him, and he was barely keeping it contained.

  Grant was terrified of what he was capable of, and outraged that she’d forced him to do it.

  ‘‘You got the job done,’’ she said, appraising him.

  ‘‘You owe me answers,’’ he said shakily, but he stood up taller. ‘‘And they had better be worth it.’’

  ‘‘Indeed.’’ She looked down, gathering her thoughts. A crowd of residents gathered behind her. ‘‘Pose your questions, Grant. And I shall answer.’’

  ‘‘What am I?

  ’’

  ‘‘You are the Bringer. The fulcrum on which all of our fates will turn.’’

  He didn’t blink. ‘‘You’re going to have to do better than that.’’

  She looked around at the gathered crowd, her expression becoming resolute. She joined her hands in front and then turned back to him, leveling her gaze.

  ‘‘As it was with each of us, the Shift affected you in ways more than physical. It was mental as well.’’

  ‘‘Meaning what? I’m not me anymore?’’

  ‘‘No, you’re still you . . . more or less.’’ She paused. ‘‘Have you ever heard the statistic that says that humans only use a small percentage of their brains?’’

  His impatience was boiling over. ‘‘I heard it was a myth . . .’’

  She nodded. ‘‘The theories posited that anywhere from seventy to ninety percent of the human brain is unused. Those same theories stated that if we were ever to tap into the idle parts of our minds, we might gain enhanced mental skills. Abilities like a photographic memory might become attainable by everyone.’’

  Grant’s expression was unchanged.

  ‘‘Most modern scientists,’’ she continued, ‘‘have discounted this as nonsense, and they’re probably right. But modern science ignores most of what it refuses to understand. These theories have validity and we’re the proof. Each of us. Our mental amplifications are as unique as our fingerprints.’’

  Now she had his attention.

  ‘‘I know how this sounds. And I honestly have no idea how it works. I only know that it does. However it happens, something extra—maybe that extra seventy percent of brain power, maybe something else altogether— is switched ‘on’ in us when the Shift occurs.’’

  Grant had difficulty swallowing this. ‘‘All of them?’’ he said.

  ‘‘I have met over one hundred people over the years who wear rings like ours, and the resulting enhancements are different in each and every one of them.’’

  ‘‘Different how?’’

  ‘‘A rare few, like Hannah, have stronger, more overt skills. I cannot conceive of how she does it, but through some sort of profound mental persuasion, she’s able to convince others that they’re seeing things that aren’t there.’’

  Grant’s mind raced back to everything he’d seen Hannah do at the Inveo plant . . .

  ‘‘Most of us, however,’’ Morgan went on, ‘‘have more mundane skills.’’

  ‘‘Like what?’’

  Beside Morgan stood an elderly man. She smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘‘Nigel, what’s four hundred thirty-two thousand, six hundred ninety-one squared?’’

  ‘‘One hundred eighty-seven billion, two hundred twenty-one million, five hundred one thousand, four hundred eighty-one,’’ he replied without hesitation.

  Grant’s eyebrows popped up.

  ‘‘The majority of us have these kinds of talents—unique intuitions or expanded mental capacities based on very normal human functions. Like our human calculator here.’’

  ‘‘What about you?’’ Grant asked, beginning to calm. ‘‘What can you do?’’

  ‘‘I can remember everything that happens within my perception with perfect, absolute clarity.’’

  ‘‘You really do have a photographic memory?’’

  ‘‘It’s far more than that,’’ she said, speaking plainly and directly. ‘‘Every conversation I’ve heard since the day of the Shift, I can repeat to you verbatim. And it goes beyond words. Every smell I’ve breathed in, I can recall with the precision of a bloodhound. Every surface I’ve touched, every taste I’ve sampled. Every sound I’ve heard. Everything I see. Every word of every book I’ve read. I remember it all, without error . . . and without effort.’’

  ‘‘That’s why you have migraines.’’

  She nodded. ‘‘And why I don’t sleep. My brain simply never stops retaining, working, filing away information. I can catch brief snippets of unconscious rest every now and again, but my mind rarely lets that happen, and I can’t explain how, but my body is somehow able to manage with a lack of cognitive rest. I’ve theorized that perhaps since the body is regulated by the mind . . .’’

  ‘‘So the books that line the halls,’’ Grant interjected. ‘‘You’ve read them all?’’

  Morgan smiled a humorless smile. ‘‘Are you familiar with the saying, ‘The more you eat, the more you want to eat’?’’

  Grant nodded.

  ‘‘I’m afraid the same axiom applies to knowledge. I have read and memorized every word of every volume you see in this building—save the stack atop my desk. When I say that I am the most well-read person on this planet, it is a statement of fact, and nothing more.’’

  Grant was reeling, trying to process all of this.

  Morgan took a deep breath. ‘‘I’ve told you all this, Grant, because it’s important that you know what the rest of us can do. I need you to understand us before I can explain you.’’

  His heart fluttered. ‘‘Okay.’’

  ‘‘Each of us can do something extraordinary. But of all of the unusual skills that we possess, none of us—not one—is as powerful as you.’’

  ‘‘I’m different?’’

  ‘‘We’re all different,’’ she said. ‘‘You’re special.’’

  He swallowed.

  ‘‘Grant, it’s my belief that whatever has happened to us all . . . We’’—she motioned to herself and the others—‘‘are just the warm-up. You are the main event.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Because no one has ever manifested abilities like yours, with genuine, physical power. And more importantly, I base it on that ring on your finger.’’

  He held it up, glanced at it. ‘‘It’s just like yours. Like all of yours.’’

  ‘‘It’s similar,’’ she corrected him. ‘�
�But the markings etched into the sides are tremendously significant. None of ours have those symbols.’’

  ‘‘So? Why does that make me Mr. Special?’’

  Morgan broke away from the others and they parted as she moved toward the fireplace. ‘‘Because of this,’’ she said. With one foot, she stepped on a brick just in front of the fire, which gave way like a large button.

  Grant heard a click. The entire fireplace—mantel, bricks, and all— swiveled slowly open, like a door.

  ‘‘Follow me, please,’’ Morgan said. ‘‘Your sister may join us, as well.’’ She retrieved a long wooden match from a box by the fire and stuck it into the fire. When it lit, she entered the dark opening in the wall.

  Grant didn’t snap out of his astonishment until he felt Julie’s hand clasp his. He couldn’t see anything at all in the space Morgan had just confidently entered, but he and Julie followed nonetheless. Morgan touched something on the wall—he couldn’t see what—and the fireplace behind them swiveled shut again, sealing them into the darkness.

  ‘‘Don’t be frightened,’’ Morgan said gently, as her tiny, flickering light led the way. ‘‘No one has ever been down here except me. There are stairs ahead, so watch your step.’’

  Grant found his eyes adjusting to the dark quickly, as he carefully and cautiously got his footing on each new step before placing his weight on it. He also tried to help Julie, who seemed even more unsteady than he was.

  As they neared the bottom of the steps, a new question popped into his head.

  ‘‘Why didn’t you invite Hannah to come down with us?’’

  ‘‘She can’t be trusted.’’ Immediately she stopped descending the steps and turned, a frown on her face flickering in the candlelight. ‘‘I apologize, that was a poor choice of words. I do trust her. She’s a good friend, she’s one of us, and she is indebted to me because of a matter that occurred between us several years ago.’’

  ‘‘Then—?’’

  ‘‘She’s a thief. By definition, she does not hold to the same codes and principles inherent in some others. And I make no exaggeration when I say that she is capable of anything. You’ve seen her in action; I’m sure you can attest to this.’’

  Memories of Hannah’s exploits again swam inside Grant’s mind as they reached the bottom of the stairs and came into what seemed to be some kind of underground laboratory. Only without cement or bricks or even wood. It was more like a cave, carved right out of the earth. The walls around them weren’t even perfectly vertical; it looked like huge chunks of the ground had been scooped away, and this small room beneath the asylum was the result.

  Candles lined the perimeter of the room. Some of them were already burning, and she lit a few more.

  ‘‘This room was here already when we moved in,’’ she said as an aside, ‘‘but I had the entrance upstairs specially made. I’m not sure what they might have done in here related to mental patient care, and frankly I don’t care to know. But I have found it to be an effective vault, even though no electricity runs into here.’’

  A small table almost like a flat podium stood in the middle of the room, and she approached it. The table was covered with a large piece of sandy brown burlap.

  ‘‘Grant, you are special because your ring is different from all the others. And I know that makes you special, because of this.’’ She held up the small box he’d given her, still tied with twine.

  He and Julie walked closer as she untied the box. She pulled out the small object inside and held it next to a tall candle on the edge of the center table. They looked closer.

  Candlelight danced over a small piece of brown stone, full of tiny, intricate symbols.

  ‘‘Do you understand now?’’

  He never moved his eyes from the piece of stone, but whatever she was seeing, he didn’t.

  ‘‘Not really,’’ he said, though Julie was squeezing his hand awfully hard.

  ‘‘Then I’ll bring it into focus for you,’’ she said.

  She unwrapped the cloth on the table to reveal a much larger, flat slab of brown stone that matched the one in her hand. It was about eighteen inches across and twelve inches high, with an obvious chunk missing, broken off at an angle in one corner. It too was filled with markings just like the piece in her hand. It was writing of some sort, though Grant had no idea where it might have come from.

  Cracks ran through the slab, and he realized that this wasn’t merely one piece—it was several small pieces fit together, like a jigsaw puzzle.

  Morgan placed the small stone Grant had taken from Drexel’s home on the table and slid it into the missing spot in the bottom corner. It fit perfectly. The stone—whatever it was—was now whole, complete.

  ‘‘Over the last decade, I have studied every resource I can get my hands on—ancient texts, historical records, forgotten libraries—to find out all I can about the rings we wear. Where do they come from? What do they do? How did we get them? And do you know what I found? Nothing. No record of what they are or where they came from exists, anywhere in the world.

  ‘‘Or so I believed,’’ Morgan continued, ‘‘until I came upon this artifact, many years ago. It was broken, its pieces scattered across the globe. Collecting and assembling it has been my life’s work since the Shift. I have been unable to determine where it came from, but it’s thousands of years old. Perhaps older. Do you recall what I said earlier, about how the rings have a molecular density greater than any known substance in nature? I’ve tested the chemical structure of the stone, and its molecular cohesion shows the same density as the rings.’’

  ‘‘But it was shattered.’’

  ‘‘Yes. Which worries me greatly. The power that could break this stone . . .’’

  Grant was still confused. ‘‘But what does any of this prove?’’

  ‘‘Do you not see it? The symbols on the tablet—look closely. Here,’’ Morgan pointed, ‘‘the piece you just retrieved is the final one, and there are more of the symbols there. Grant, a section of the symbols on this tablet match the etchings on your ring precisely.’’

  He pulled away from the table, suddenly not liking where this conversation was going. ‘‘But . . . if the tablet talks about this ring, and it’s as ancient as you say it is, why do you assume that it has anything to do with me? Couldn’t anyone have worn this ring in all that time?’’

  A hesitant look shadowed her face. ‘‘There’s more. I’ve never quite come up with a complete word-for-word translation, but I’ve been able to decipher many of the meanings behind these symbols. One key area I’ve decoded is numbers.

  ‘‘I’ve discovered a date on the tablet, Grant,’’ she said portentously, taking a step closer to him as he continued to slowly creep backward. ‘‘The date refers to you.’’

  ‘‘How do you know that?’’

  ‘‘Because it matches the date you experienced the Shift.’’

  Grant moved backward until his back hit the wall. He caused a few of the candles to tumble to the ground, but Morgan ignored them. Julie, meanwhile, was speechless, her eyes bouncing hopelessly between Morgan and Grant.

  The date on this ancient hunk of rock matches the date I spotted myself walking down the sidewalk downtown? The day all of this began?

  ‘‘That’s preposterous,’’ he blurted out, but the shock and concern never left his features.

  ‘‘Whatever is happening to all of us,’’ Morgan said with conviction, ‘‘it hinges on you. The Shift. The rings. This tablet. Our enhanced abilities. You are the key to it all, Grant.’’

  Grant swallowed and fought the urge to pass out. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be true . . . He shook his head. There were no words, no other response.

  She moved closer to him, her eyes piercing his soul.

  ‘‘The bits of the stone tablet I’ve been able to translate speak of a ‘miracle man’ called ‘the Bringer,’ whose destiny it is to ‘shape the future.’ That man . . . is you.’’

  23


  Morning came, and once again Grant had been up all night. Only this time, he had been talking with Morgan. Julie had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. Morgan had no more details or speculation to offer him, but she helped him sort through the stone tablet’s implications, and gave him her word that she would always help him with all of the resources at her disposal. She also promised that she would keep working to translate the entire tablet, encouraged now that it was completed and a full translation was possible.

  When they finally emerged from the hidden room, the Common Room was louder than usual. There seemed to be a buzz about the room, which for the first time featured no one who stopped to stare at him for long periods of time. Instead, the Loci were coming and going, to and fro, busy little workers. They had purpose in their movements, and Grant realized that all of this commotion was because of him.

  They knew, and they understood.

  Julie walked away, lost in her own thoughts.

  Grant noticed that Hannah was still around, helping with chores and other tasks. He was a little surprised to find himself encouraged to see her friendly face, considering Morgan’s earlier warning, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on when it was he’d begun thinking of her face as ‘‘friendly.’’

  Grant was about to break away from Morgan and approach Hannah when Morgan touched his arm and pulled him aside.

  ‘‘May I ask you one last personal question before you go?’’ she said quietly.

  ‘‘Sure.’’

  ‘‘Who were you, before all this? Before the Shift?’’

  ‘‘My name was—’’

  ‘‘No no no. I’m not asking for a name. Who were you? What was your identity, your purpose, your path? What was your existence like?’’

  He looked into her gaze until he could look no more. Finally, he spoke again. ‘‘I was . . . alone.’’

  Morgan examined him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘‘I thought as much. What would you say was your greatest weakness?’’

  He looked away, stunned at her forthright manner regarding his deepest, most hidden feelings. ‘‘I had some problems, growing up. At the orphanage . . . sometimes I would pick fights with other kids. On purpose. And I almost always lost. When I finally got out of that place, I told myself it was all over, and now was my chance to make a clean break, to start again. But there were a few times, in public places . . . when I lashed out. My anger would just build and build . . . until it exploded.’’