Ren Series Boxed Set

by Sarah Noffke

  My reaction is too immediate. My patience low from our exchange earlier and everything else not going on in my life. I slam the tea and saucer down with a blunt force and the woman jumps. “No, I bloody don’t need a friend, so don’t even try,” I say, a sharp punishing tone in my voice.

  “Why did you say that?” the woman asks.

  I’d been so repulsed by the thought of her reaching out to befriend me that I acted suddenly. Now I’m going to have to cover for my blunder. “Because I sensed you were thinking that.”

  She regards me skeptically. “Well, maybe I was,” she says a tad sheepishly. “I just sensed you were lonely and that’s the reason you’re so rude. I’ve been there before and thought I might be able to help you.”

  “Look, you didn’t sense anything about me,” I say, a bite in my words. “You don’t have super powers. You’re not a special race of people. You’re a waitress. Get it? So don’t try to be my friend. What you need to do is go wait tables. The guy over there looks like he could use a refill actually.” I point behind her.

  The waitress dares to lay her tray down on my table. Then she leans down over the table, a strange look in her shit-brown eyes. “Actually, since you probably don’t believe a word I say, I’ll share that I’m a part of a race known as Dream Travelers and I’m empathic. That means I can sense other people’s emotions. And my gift told me that there’s a deep loneliness in you and I thought I could help,” she says, sounding both angry and sensitive.

  I freeze and try to keep my expression neutral. What are the odds of stumbling across another Dream Traveler randomly? What are the odds that we’d be thrown together like this?

  “This is when you laugh at me for telling you something so ridiculous,” she says with a dry chuckle when I don’t say anything.

  I don’t want to believe she has told the truth, but I have to. My instincts tell me she is in fact a Dream Traveler. And this explains that mature look in her eyes and why I can’t place her age. Is she thirty or forty? I can’t tell.

  “Why are you a waitress if you have a special skill like empathesis?” I finally say. “Why aren’t you a shrink or a detective or something else where you could utilize your skill at a more beneficial level?” And then I throw up a shield around my emotions. It isn’t foolproof, but totally worth a shot. I only ever knew one empath and he had a way of knowing things telepaths never knew.

  The woman slides her head to the side, giving me a cautious stare. “That’s not the retort I expected. And I also didn’t expect you to throw up a shield. Most don’t know how,” she says.

  “Well, let’s just say even though you didn’t expect me to, I believe the foolishness you just spouted.”

  “Because you’re…” She draws out the last word, the reality dawning on her.

  Behind her, a guy who drained his coffee cup six minutes ago coughs loudly.

  “I think you’ve abandoned your waitress duties for too long,” I say, pointing at the bloke. “You’re a lousy empath if you didn’t realize the chap two tables over is pretty peeved at you for ignoring him.”

  She flips her head over her shoulder at the gentleman and then back to me. Then the waitress slaps her hand over her forehead, looking overwhelmed. “Right, I was a little distracted,” she says.

  I read her name tag. “Jane, go do your job, which is to wait tables and not pester me.”

  She shakes her head at me as she turns.

  I pull my book back up from the table. I’m not granted two minutes of peace when Jane, the rude waitress, slips into the seat on the other side of my booth.

  I raise an annoyed eyebrow at her.

  “The other waitresses are covering my tables,” she says, answering my question. “I was overdue for a break anyway.”

  I grant her no reaction but instead bring my book up higher.

  “You’re one too, aren’t you?” she asks.

  I flip a page in my book and continue reading.

  “I suspected from the beginning, but I wasn’t completely sure,” she says, her tone growing cocky. “It’s why I bought that ticket this morning.”

  I don’t lower my book or respond. She can’t see the annoyed expression since the paperback blocks it.

  “So I could ask you the same question. Why is it that you work a mindless job when I sense you are terribly powerful?” the waitress says.

  I don’t lower the book, just speak to her with my face obscured. “Empaths can’t sense power.”

  “No, but we can sense the desire to use it. My empathy sensed that you miss using your power.”

  “You’re a lousy empath,” I said.

  “And you’re lousy at completely shielding your emotions.”

  I slam the book on the table, gaining the attention of a few patrons. “Actually, I’m quite excellent at it, but unfortunately it is impossible to completely guard emotions. So why don’t you mind your own bloody business and leave me alone,” I say, picking up my cold tea cup and taking a sip, my eyes low.

  “I haven’t always been a waitress,” Jane says.

  “And I don’t really care,” I say, picking up my book again.

  “I actually was a social worker. I worked with lots of abused kids and poverty-stricken families.”

  “Still don’t care,” I say, flipping a page.

  “I worked in that role for years, decades actually,” she says, completely ignoring me. It’s like she’s talking to herself. “I actually lost track of how long I did it. Was it twenty-five or thirty years, I can’t say.”

  I yawn loudly and flip yet another page, not having read the prior one.

  “I just quit one day,” she says, plainly.

  There’s a long pause and without having the gift of empathy I still sense a regret in the woman.

  I lower the book. “Let me guess, you were as lousy a social worker as you are a waitress.”

  “I was bloody brilliant at it actually,” Jane says, smugly. “I had stellar success rates. More of the parents in my cases completed rehabilitation than any other. The kids I worked with had great results, improving behavior and grades.”

  I just stare at her.

  “But for every person I saved, there were thirty waiting for help,” she says, her voice dropping an octave. “Our office was overwhelmed with cases. There was no end in sight. I had helped so many and I still felt defeated. I quit because no matter what I did it didn’t make enough of an impact. Does that make sense?”

  More than she will ever realize. Maybe Jane sensed my story as I knew she has the potential to do. Whatever reason she has for sharing this with me, it does slightly endear her to me. We are both quitters. Complex people, seeking a simple life. Tired of the losing battle. And yet I resent God for sending this person into my life. He intervenes in my life about like the Lucidites do into other people’s affairs. God, I just want to be left alone.

  Jane shrugs her shoulders when I remain stone-faced and silent. “Anyway, that’s my story.”

  I stand, pulling on my jacket as I do. “Well, cheerio,” I say, turning to leave.

  “Wait,” Jane says to my back.

  I turn and regard her with disinterest. “What?”

  “What’s your gift?”

  “I’m apathetic,” I say and turn back around and leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I hadn’t even completely left the pub when my mobile rang in my pocket. I’m not sure why I even kept the irritating device after Oregon. I didn’t really do technology. I was pretty certain every time I stuck the stupid thing to my head it was scorching my brain cells like dove eggs in a frying pan. Only two people have my number and I’m fairly certain this call isn’t from my pops since we’d just had dinner the night before.

  I pull the phone out of my pocket. As I suspected. Trey Underwood.

  I tap the screen. “If this is about the fly fishing trip, I’m still checking dates. I’m super busy for the next decade or two,” I say, strolling the noisy pavement.

  “Ver
y funny, Ren,” Trey says on the other side of the line. “I’m not calling about the trip that’s never going to happen.”

  “Ouch, you don’t have to be so harsh,” I say. “I was really looking forward to the trip.”

  “Look, Ren, I’m calling to ask you to please consider one more job. I need your help.”

  “Trey, you’ve always been so economical. When did you decide to start wasting your own time and energy?”

  Silence on the other side. He clears his throat. “Hear me out, would you?”

  I stroll down the street. “Only because I like to hear your voice,” I say. I thought the Lucidites would leave me the bloody hell alone after all my years of service. Not in this life.

  “The news reporters have seen a problem brewing with this terrorist organization, Group X. It’s the one I told you about before and it’s going to get worse,” Trey says.

  Why in the hell we had to spy on the future, I’ll never know. Can’t we just let some things be a mystery? No, because we’re bloody Dream Travelers with too many powers, and not enough willpower. We’ve got to stick our noses into the past and the future, but God forbid we actually live in the bloody present.

  “Group X made their first attack this morning. They blew up a school in Africa,” Trey says, his voice gruff.

  I pause and stare out at the busy street.

  “There’s six more attacks planned and because they have such a large following it’s hard to find and stop them,” Trey continues. “We can intervene in the attacks but never stop the next one that’s planned. There’s always another and another. We have to stop the source, which is the leader, Antonio. No one here has the power to help. But with your mind control you could get into their headquarters and take over the leader. You could stop him. We’ve got a plan that will work but we need your help.”

  “Why don’t you just go in there or have an agent,” I say, too loudly, overcompensating for the traffic noise. “If you’re trying to apprehend him then you don’t need me.”

  “We can’t get in there,” Trey says at once. “It’s locked down, about how the Grotte was. We need someone with mind control who can convince the guards to allow him in. And a series of attacks are planned on innocent people, if anyone attempts to capture Antonio. He’s warned that his minions have been instructed to act if he’s apprehended. But if you got to them first and made them not act then Antonio could be apprehended.”

  “In your recruiting, haven’t you found another bloke with mind control?” I say.

  Over the speaker I hear a long breath. “Not one strong enough for this kind of thing,” Trey says with defeat. “I tried with another agent and they were caught.”

  I press the phone more firmly into my head. “One of my agents was caught?” I shake my head. Not mine. That isn’t my department anymore. “What’s happened to them?” I say.

  “They’re dead.”

  “Damn it, Trey,” I say loudly.

  “I told you this was serious,” Trey says and then an ambulance with its sirens blaring speeds down the motorway, drowning out his other words.

  I duck into a large bookstore on the corner. “Hold up. I can’t hear you. There’s too much noise,” I say as I move around a crowd at the front.

  “All right, repeat what you said,” I say, moving around a line of teenagers. They’re talking as loud as the bloody sirens on the motorway.

  Again Trey says something and again I can’t make it out.

  “Blimey, it’s a book shop, will you lot be quiet!” I yell, my face flushing hot with frustration. I gaze up then and notice a horde of teens staring at me, horrified looks on their faces. Then my eyes flick to the huge vertical banner hanging in the middle of the bookshop. A line snakes throughout the oversized bookstore. On the banner is a picture of Dahlia holding a hardback, with a glossy cover. She’s written a book. A memoir. I better not be in it. Under her beautiful picture it says: Book Signing Today at 3 pm. I flick my eyes to my watch. Trey is speaking in my ear, but I can’t hear him over the chatter in my head. The shop is completely quiet, all eyes on me. I twist my watch around.

  2:59 pm.

  I raise my eyes to the sky. “No fucking way, God. Stop messing with my life,” I say under my breath.

  “What?” Trey says, confusion in his tone.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say and switch off the phone as I sprint for the exit.

  I don’t stop running until I’m two blocks away. I can’t see Dahlia. I can’t. Ever. I don’t know what kind of shenanigans the guy upstairs is playing. I’m sure it’s for his amusement. Dahlia and I don’t need to see each other. I don’t need to help Trey. I need peace, quiet, and solitude. Fat chance I’m getting that.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “You’re back,” Jane, the irritating waitress says, looking surprised and pleased.

  I unfold the newspaper, blocking my view of her. “I’m a creature of habit. This is my pub.”

  “What?” she says. “I’ve been working in this pub a whole year and I have never seen you in here.”

  “Well, I used to come here every day,” I say.

  “But…?” she asked, fishing for details I’m not willing to throw over.

  “Are you going to take my order or are you trying to see if I’ll die from this conversation first, because I might at this rate.”

  Jane turns and walks off.

  “Where are you going?” I say to her back. “You didn’t get my order.”

  “If you’re a creature of habit then you’re having what you did yesterday,” she calls over her shoulder.

  I fold up the newspaper with repugnance. The pages are quickly filling up with events related to Group X. I’m confident now that whoever took over for me as Head Strategist is as incompetent as a box of rocks.

  Jane returns with a cup of Earl Grey. I regard her and then the tea with annoyance. “I was going to order green tea actually.”

  “No, you weren’t.” She crosses her arms and looks at me with a tough expression. “You’ve been gone from London for a long time,” she says, taking a different stance in the nonexistent conversation.

  “Good guess,” I say.

  “Not a guess,” she says. “My empathy read that you’ve missed the city and this pub.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Stay out of my head.”

  “I don’t read thoughts,” she says, tapping her head and then her chest. “I read emotions from the heart.”

  “I don’t have a heart,” I say.

  “That’s not the impression I’m getting,” she says.

  I try again like I did yesterday to shield her. Empaths are hard to block. I know this.

  She eyes me for several seconds. “That was a weak attempt,” she says with a proud smirk.

  “I’m done with your service. You may go now. I’ll whistle if I need something.”

  To my irritation Jane sits down, just like she did yesterday.

  “By all means, slack off so you get yourself fired,” I say, waving at where she sits in the booth across from me. “Then I won’t have to deal with you. But please slack off elsewhere. I’m busy.”

  She looks at the folded up newspaper. “You look like it.”

  Then she waves at the mostly empty pub. “As you can see, I’m not needed. And besides, I’m not getting fired. I’m shagging the owner.”

  “Very classy, aren’t you?” I say. “I’ve seen how dirty the pint glasses are here. I think you should devote some time to them and leave me be.”

  “Your accent, it’s Estuary, am I right?” she says, settling more into the booth. “Where are you from?”

  “A place where people can take a hint,” I say, my eyes seeking to cut her like a laser.

  “Well, tell me where that is. Maybe I’ll go and observe and learn.”

  “I doubt that,” I say. My tea is cold when I take a sip. “I’m from a small town, you wouldn’t know it.”

  “Try me, I grew up in the southeast too,” she says.

&nb
sp; I sigh melodramatically. “Peavey,” I say.

  “Oh,” she chirps loudly. “I can’t believe it. I lived a town over in Miller.”

  “Good for you,” I say flatly.

  “It’s uncanny how many things we have in common.”

  “We have nothing in common,” I say.

  “Oh, come on. We’re from the same area, both Dream Travelers, and both working in menial jobs because we’re tired of having our powers,” she says.

  “I’m not tired of having my pow—” I stop myself and throw down the napkin I was kneading during this conversation. “Oh, fine,” I say in surrender. “What’s the use? You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

  “Probably not. It’s not that I fancy you, I just know you could use a friend.”

  I scowl at her.

  She holds up her hands. “Just calling it how I sense it,” she says and then pauses. “So I’m right, you’re tired of your powers, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not that simple, but sure.”

  “Well, you don’t take me as the simple kind of guy.”

  “I’m aspiring,” I say.

  “That’s the reason for the ticketing job, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I have to pay the bills now, don’t I?”

  Her eyes drop to the gold ring on my finger. It’s a gift from the Lucidites and of the highest quality, just like everything in the Institute. “You used to have money though, didn’t you?” she says, studying me.

  I’m actually intrigued by her ability to observe. Coupled with her empathy she would be a good agent. Damn it! I can’t keep my mind away from thinking like the Head Strategist. It’s just a habit, though, and has to be broken.

  “So what is your gift?” she asks.

  “I have a few,” I say.

  She waves her hand at me. Imploring me to keep sharing. “This friend thing only works if you elaborate from time to time or otherwise I’m doing all the talking.”