by Lynn Vroman
If the Synod found out, it’d probably be his last.
He checked his communicator for the thousandth time. No message.
Shit.
If Mateusz didn’t come through, he’d go to Earth anyway, try to find her. He promised.
Memories weighted his shoulders, pushing him onto the soft grass. She thought Shalen was the one place where being an Exemplian had its advantages. A slice of reality, she’d called it. Real life without real-life consequences.
The place where the authority snatched her away.
He could still feel the overwhelming static in his head when the trees came alive with at least fifty Protectors, their weapons aimed at her–
No. No memories. Not when she had been given back to him. They couldn’t take that away, the privileged assholes.
Privilege. Stupid word. Wrong description.
Being Exemplian just meant they were advanced enough to play God. Classified as Guides or Protectors, the labels were too docile for what they did to the universe.
Lena was a Guide. She called herself a soul-stealer, always saying, “How else would you describe a person whose job description involved robbing other dimensions of their most valuable resource?”
Life.
As a Protector, he had the ability to guard and transport Guides so they could do just that–steal life.
Synod elders said it was an Exemplian right, a duty. Only, no one could ask questions while doing it.
Lena liked asking questions.
Too many questions.
Questions that pissed somebody off enough to frame her.
Questions that stole her away from him.
No matter what any of the bastards said, he didn’t believe Lena would do anything to risk a Tainted. Being marked a traitor was the worst punishment the Synod could hand down, and she’d never chance leaving him forever. Guess that wasn’t a good enough argument because the Synod took her no matter how much he begged–on his knees.
If only she would’ve trusted him enough to share before they took her.
If only he were still her Protector. He would’ve had the right to follow her.
If only…
If only…
He lay back, staring at the blinking lights, wishing he’d brought his taser. Good target practice. Arms up and fingers pointed, he aimed at the invasive lights with imaginary fire. Guides couldn’t be killed in their energy form, but a clean shot would hurt like hell.
Mateusz had one more hour before–
Blip
The communicator vibrated in his pocket, and he all but ripped his pants yanking it out. Tarek jumped to his feet as he pressed the blinking indicator. Mateusz’s hologram projected onto the nearest tree. “What the hell took you so long?”
Mateusz’s image scattered and formed again, the signal not so great here in the middle of nowhere. The dim light and crap signal didn’t hide how pale and drawn his face appeared. “She was awarded the Guide. You have a month.”
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Fine. There’s just been some… The coordinates were sent to your secured line. Erase the trail before you go.”
Tarek stepped closer to the hologram. “Look, I know–”
“One month. Find the rogue and take care of it.” The hologram disappeared.
He wasted no more time. Going against the Synod probably didn’t sit well with Mateusz, but…who gave a shit?
He jumped into his shuttle, not waiting for the hatch to close before lifting it off the ground, racing a direct path back to the cottage. The home he and Lena built through the three lives they lived together, a sanctuary away from high evolution. A place that became empty after she left.
“Lights!” As soon as the front door opened, Tarek stalked toward his screens, checking his private feed while lights cast an orange glow in the room.
EH: 41.1231 ͦ N, 75.3594 ͦ W
He punched the numbers into the panel and stood back. A rusted box, which must’ve passed for a home, appeared. The faded blue skirting didn’t hide the thing’s undercarriage, the house about two feet from the muddy ground. Matter of fact, there were a cluster of houses. All the same. All rundown. But the coordinates showcased one, and on blocks in front of it sat a guy, skinny and balding. He smoked a cigarette like it was his job, taking strong pulls, exhaling slowly. No clue who the guy could be, but there was a good chance he knew Lena.
Stepping forward, Tarek adjusted the picture on the screen until it projected into his living room, the picture now a hologram right inside his house. The shriveled guy even appeared to sit on the couch, leaning on the edge, still sucking on his cigarette. Ignoring him, Tarek began to scout the area, noticing a patch of woods not far from the house. He’d open the portal in there and wait for the right time to start searching the place.
All the damn houses looked the same. A problem but not impossible. He’d bang on every door, peek through every window if he had to.
The idea of her living in one of those rust heaps…
There she was, walking right up beside him to face the smoking jerk-off on the blocks. Breathing became a second priority as she stood next to him, the image so crisp, like he could reach out and touch her.
His hand, trembling and clammy, moved to smooth her hair, short this time. It stood out like she’d spent the better part of the day in a fitful sleep. His heart jumped but sank when all his touch did was scatter the pixels in the hologram. He remembered, though. Her dark hair would be soft, thick.
The false smile on her face and the way she fidgeted indicated the relationship she had with this guy wasn’t all that great. He dropped his hand, not wanting to fudge the image, and watched.
She rubbed her lips, shrugged her shoulders…waved at some kid. All the while, the asshole on the blocks kept his beady eyes on Lena. The hate and disgust on the man’s sunken face had Tarek swiping at the image, wishing the guy could feel it, frustrated he couldn’t hear what they were saying.
When Lena disappeared into the house, he tried to follow her. Stupid because he forgot the picture was, well, just a picture, but…
“I’m coming.” His voice was loud, ragged.
Tarek went to his room and opened the trunk containing the contego suit he hadn’t worn in almost twenty years. In minutes, he was ready. He put out the fire, disabled the screens, the image disappearing, and fried the circuits with his UV pen.
The coordinates cemented in his brain, he raised his fist. The ceiling above his hand grew blurry, wavy. A calming breath escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, letting the wind kicking from the open portal pull him through.
Lena
Mom and I had to go through the same routine as last night. Only this time, Dad didn’t want anyone touching him. The shakes and sweating seemed uncontrollable, and by the way he twitched and scratched at his skin, he looked uncomfortable, too. He acted like a douche, but no one got hit, and so I deemed the evening of sitcoms and canned meat sandwiches a success.
By eight, Dad decided it was time for all of us to go to bed after we prayed together.
Holy Jes–I mean, ah, praying?
He kept saying, “Yes, Lord. I won’t, Lord. I will, Lord.”
We knelt in front of his chair while he talked to someone inside his mushy head. When he released our hands, I pushed off my knees and helped Mom from hers, giving her a hug before heading to my room.
“‘Night, Dad,” I said with a wave.
He held up a shaky hand. “‘Night, peanut.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
∞ ∞ ∞
Time dragged waiting for the clock to hit ten. Leaving then would give Dad enough time to fall asleep, plus ensure I’d be here when Mom came to check on me before going to bed.
Who knew what Wilma would tell me, but it’d be more than what I had now. I just wanted her to tell me how to stop it–whatever it was.
A glance at the bed had panic inching its way into my gut. It looked so innocent, but laying on it was out
of the question. Sitting on the floor was good enough. I tried to read, make the time go by faster, but the warning Wilma had given caused the words on the pages to get all blurry. Control my fear?
Yeah, sure, let me get right on that.
After spending so much time chasing it, fear finally decided to chase me. I couldn’t even look at my bed without my stomach performing gymnastics.
When the clock hit ten, I pushed out the screen, meeting the frigid air. The temperatures still dipped into the thirties some nights, and tonight happened to be one of those arctic spells.
Grabbing a sweatshirt, I climbed out, waiting a second to adjust to the cold before walking toward Wilma’s, avoiding the few light posts casting dim glows.
I hurried past the menagerie of mailboxes, noticing a few shiny new locks. After stomping up to her porch and pounding on Wilma’s door for a few minutes, I rubbed my hands together, trying not to get annoyed.
From the way she acted in the cafeteria, I’d have thought she’d at least be home waiting, but the windows revealed no lights and no Wilma. One more smack on the front door made me feel better before taking a seat on her porch steps.
A few kids walked by on their way to the woods. A couple nodded before going to the usual spot near the stream where they smoked the pot their parents forgot to hide. The tree line was only about twenty feet away, but the stream was deeper in, preventing the skunk smell from permeating the stale park air. Well, the kids’ skunk smells, at least.
Plenty of the trailers had windows open for ventilation, you know, so the little kids sleeping only feet away from the living room or the kitchen couldn’t smell their parents’ habit. Idiots.
At least ten minutes passed after the boys went into the woods and still no sign of Wilma. Toes and fingers now popsicles, I decided to head back home to spend another sleepless night on the floor.
A movement at the edge of the forest caught my attention, causing me to grip the railing. At first, I thought it was Wilma, but the shape was too big, too masculine. Maybe one of the potheads decided to come back without his friends? Nope. The size of the guy didn’t match any of the skinny boys who walked in minutes before.
When he made it to the edge of the woods, twinges of…something…prickled my skin.
“Finally.” His voice was a whisper, but that didn’t stop what he said from carrying across the road as he moved closer. Sadness covering his face gave me an odd urge to reassure him, let him know everything was okay.
His hand covered his heart. “It’s been so long.”
I took sporadic, small steps off the porch, not wanting to spook him. That’s when I noticed his clothes.
Dressed all in black, the tight shirt and pants made his blond hair glow. I’d never seen anyone outside of actors in movies wear what passed for a leotard, which moved with him as though his clothes were a living organism leeching onto his body, needing it to survive.
“Who are you?” My nails dug into the wood.
He shook his head as the sadness surrounding his eyes tightened to anger so vivid waves of it floated in the frosty air.
The sudden change definitely helped erase any desire to soothe him. I had no clue what pissed him off, but sticking around to find out didn’t sound like a good idea.
The ripples and sways of his shirt as he stalked across the road were beautiful, graceful, but the look on his face said I should forget about his grace and run.
My hands pushed down the air in hopes he understood the universal signal for calm down.
If he understood, he didn’t listen because he ate up the rest of the space between us in seconds.
I took off, running to the back of the park, not wanting to lead him to my doorstep. He was right behind me, so close I imagined his breath hitting the back of my neck when he spoke. “Wait!”
Hell no!
I ran a full circle around the park before hitting the woods. My speed picked up as I made a path straight to the caves us kids used to play in until we were too cool to play cavemen and dinosaurs. When the spot came into view, the idea didn’t sound so great.
I’d cornered myself.
A quick change in direction and I headed toward town where people were bound to be roaming.
He called out again. “Lena, wait, please!”
My feet caught up in the underbrush, and I fell on my ass. “Who are you?” I should’ve kept running, as any sane person would have. But the anguish in his voice tore at my heart. He knew my name…
The guy stood right above me by then, one booted foot planted on either side of my hips. Without saying anything, he held out a hand. When I didn’t lift an arm to accept, he grabbed the front of my sweatshirt, lifting me to my feet.
Crap, he was going to kiss me.
I positioned my knee to meet his jewels as he bent closer, peering into my eyes. “They’re so green.”
Again, running would’ve been smart, but he was so big, close to a foot taller and more than twice my size.
He must’ve been able to read my mind because his full lips carried a hint of a smile. “You won’t get far, Lena, you never could.”
Crazy son of a…“Who the hell are you?” I said for the third time, trying to pull his fist from my shirt. I did manage to kick his shin, but that only succeeded in him lifting me off the ground.
“As feisty as ever, aren’t you, love?” His smile widened, his gray eyes shining.
Gray eyes…
“It’s you! You’re Him.” Words spewed out in an incoherent mess. My fingers pried his eyes open wider to get a better look. Yeah, probably a stupid move.
His brow scrunched a little and he shook my hands away. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”
Come on! Not even a little scared? There in the woods, alone with only the potheads a half-mile downstream? Nope. I felt alive, happy. I even had to suppress an urge to wrap my arms around his thick neck and laugh. No probably about it–stupid was too nice an adjective.
But it was Him.
“Where did you come from?” Was that a smile stretching my face? A smile? Really?
He set me down and squeezed my upper arms, though not hard like Zander did this afternoon. It felt more like a desperate need to touch me. “I–”
“Goddamn it! Should’ve known it was you sending me on a goose chase. How’d you find us?”
I looked around him. “Wilma?”
She ignored me, while the giant ignored her, keeping his eyes on my face.
“Hey, asshole!” She waved her hand, sending him flying ten feet and landing with a thud on the frozen ground.
The vision in the cafeteria! What the…?
I stumbled, backing up against a tree. “What…How the–”
She waved her hand toward me, freezing my mouth. “Not now.” Wilma turned to the giant. “You can’t be here.”
“I’m not leaving.” He struggled to get up, but another wave of Wilma’s hand knocked him back to the ground.
“The hell you aren’t.” She threw an arm up, opening her fist to the sky. A tear, the only way I could describe it, ripped open the dark as the wind swirled and hissed around it. Her free hand guided his body toward the hole. All I could do was stand by that tree, my lips frozen shut and heart pounding.
He held out a hand, struggling against the wind, his voice deep and loud. “Wilma, there’s trouble! Let me–”
She didn’t listen.
Him turned his attention to me. “I won’t leave you, ever again.”
The voodoo Wilma performed on my mouth made it impossible to speak.
One final look and he was gone–sucked into the tear that mended as soon as his body disappeared. Sadness settled deep in my chest, a feeling closer to mourning, actually.
Really?
As soon as Wilma waved a hand in my direction, I screamed loud enough for one of the potheads to yell back, asking if everything was okay. When I kept at it, Wilma waved her hand again before answering him. “Just fine,” she said, cupping her han
ds around her mouth, “ran into a raccoon, is all.”
When the guy laughed, she began to pace, a whole string of new and creative cursing spouting from her lips. She started to flip the night off and kick dirt in the air. After a few minutes, she relaxed with deep breaths and waved a hand toward me. This time, my mouth stayed shut.
“Tell me exactly what happened.” She waited about five seconds. “Tell me!”
After a few deep breaths of my own, I headed back home, not bothering to look at her.
She reached for my arm, her strength like a bodybuilder’s. “What did he say to you?”
I wanted to ignore her, hating that she made him leave. “You didn’t let him stick around long enough to say anything.”
Curses again flew from her mouth, things like “big blond bastard” and “empty-headed jackass.” I watched her rant, hoping she’d reveal something, anything.
She turned to me with hands planted on her hips. “So, what’d you think?”
“Of what?” My legs and arms shook–and not from the cold.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe of how that big blond son of a bitch got sucked into the sky?”
“Why don’t you tell me what the hell I’m supposed to think?” Control slipped with every syllable.
She smirked, lowering her scowl some.
Nope, I wasn’t gonna take any more of her shit. “Christ, tell me something, goddamn it! My life turned upside down in less than a week. Am I crazy? Are you even real?”
Her raspy voice softened. “You’re not crazy, Lena.”
“Then tell me something!”
She hesitated a few times, her throat bobbing up and down. “You’ve just met Tarek Montague.”
“Who?”
She grabbed my hand, holding it as if I were her child. “He’s the reason you choose to be a Guide and recycle your energy to Exemplar every time your body gives out.” She snorted. “With the exception of this cycle.” She shook her head as if to force herself to stay on track.
A tear slipped down my cheek. “What?”
Wilma met my eyes, a hint of wistfulness deepening the blue. “Yours is the energy his was made for.”
