THE LIGHT BRINGER’S WAY
C.F. Fruzzetti
M.I. Pearsall
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One: Acuity
Chapter Two: Bear Hug
Chapter Three: History Repeats Itself
Chapter Four: The Dogon
Chapter Five: Houdini
Chapter Six: Trip the Light Fantastic
Chapter Seven: Targets
Chapter Eight: Free Fall
Chapter Nine: Grounded
Chapter Ten: Actions Speak Louder Than Words
Chapter Eleven: Lost in Translation
Chapter Twelve: Patrick
Chapter Thirteen: Blair
Chapter Fourteen: Canary in a Coal Mine
Chapter Fifteen: A Rightful End
Chapter Sixteen: Impetus
Chapter Seventeen: Faith
Chapter Eighteen: Elevation
Chapter Nineteen: Blindside
Chapter Twenty: Moment of Truth
Chapter Twenty-One: Haunted
Chapter Twenty-Two: Clarity
Copyright
Prologue
Strong, smart, and intuitive, sixteen-year-old Whitney Forbes is considered an asset for the CIA’s Clarion program—a government-trained group of psychics who help monitor and destroy international threats.
Trained in martial arts and military strategy by her instructor, Mr. Parks, Whitney is used to taking care of herself and counts little on others except for her best friend, Blair. Whitney’s goal of blending in and surviving another day at high school is derailed when she literally keeps running into handsome and witty Reid Wallace. He manages to garner her attention and seems to possess the uncanny ability to make her faint. Leery but intrigued, Whitney finds she is drawn to Reid despite her escalating blackouts and the feeling he is hiding something.
Frustrated, Whitney makes an appointment with Dr. West, who remedies her fainting problem and diagnoses Reid as an empath. Whitney and Reid are tested to see if they can work as a team just before the danger factor amps up and Whitney learns she is the Sundial—a paranormal with the gift of perfect timing.
Whitney turns adversity into her advantage in the right moments during a precarious adventure, but the exit strategy does not go as planned; she arrives home after her first mission and is left wondering if or when her eyesight will return…
Chapter One: Acuity
The truck engine shook to a halt and I heard the door wrench open with a loud squeak. Suddenly, I was moving up in the air. It caught me off guard that Reid had decided to carry me and it compounded my feeling of helplessness. I struggled to get down and he tightened his grip. “I can walk, Reid!” I snapped.
“It’s almost noon and I’m not wasting any time getting you to Dr. West,” Reid muttered tightly. “I’ll gladly toss you over my shoulder if you are worried about too much special treatment, but I might point out this isn’t the first time you couldn’t see and had to trust me.” Reid’s voice was as firm and resolute as his stride. I was trained to recognize what I could and could not change and to conserve energy by not wasting time on the latter. Arguing with Reid that a removable blindfold on a boat was not the same as being blinded after a jaunt through a nuclear reactor wouldn’t help me. Reid was not going to put me down.
The clanging of bells filled the air and I heard the unmistakable chimes of the Glockenspiel clock tower. I did not need my sight to know we were in Munich, Germany. At least I had my hearing and my other senses, I optimistically told myself. Optimism was a survival skill and I had to find something positive to turn this adversity into my advantage. I had done that with my nut allergy and could credit it with forcing me to make deliberate food choices. As a result, I was healthier and more aware of my environment. Change was not bad—it was the inability to adapt that was bad. If my blindness was not something that could be fixed, then it was another obstacle to overcome. I simply needed to figure out how to do it.
Dr. West took command as soon as Reid and I entered the safe house. He told Reid to put me on the bed in the master bedroom. I mentally raced into Dr. West’s mind and told him I felt fine—except I was unable to see. The room was full of familiar voices talking over each other trying to explain what had happened. I heard Helga pull out her portable dosimeter to show Dr. West there was no radiation. Reid refused to let go of my arm.
To my surprise, Dr. West telepathically answered me that he needed to do a quick blood draw. I felt the needle punch into my arm and he cursed as the vein rolled. Another jab went into the top of my hand. He was not messing around. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m not a cadaver!” I protested. The cold needle found its mark and I felt the pressure of the blood leaving my vein.
“No time for jokes, Whitney,” he answered aloud. “I need to get a complete blood count to check for internal bleeding.” Then he fired off questions—did I have any vomiting, gastrointestinal distress, or nausea? I was grateful I could respond “no” to his interrogation, realizing that the ride back in the truck could have been even worse than I imagined.
Reid was recounting what happened while we were in the reactor and, even without my sight, I sensed Dr. West’s percolating anger. I braced myself for his telepathic explosion. “What were you thinking, Whitney? You went INSIDE the reactor?” I could take his anger at me but once he began to vent on his wavelength that Reid was a terrible guardian I lost it.
Furious, I telepathically yelled back, “At least we came back alive! You knew Reid was not supposed to return and you did nothing about it. The future is always changing and you could have done more than watch him drive off to his death!”
Helga was running another dosimeter scan over me while Dr. West explained to everyone else in the room he was checking for acute radiation syndrome. Meanwhile, our telepathic conversation continued and I crisply suggested he stop jabbing me for a second so I could explain what I thought was going on with my vision. He tartly asked me where I received my medical degree.
I found my voice and responded aloud, “Oh good. I guess I can assume I am not dying. You wouldn’t ruin my final moments of being alive by essentially calling me an idiot and telling me you are too busy to let me give you my opinion.”
Dr. West took a deep breath before he answered me.
“Perhaps it is hysterical blindness then, Dr. Whitney. That is a conversion disorder that presents with neurological symptoms such as numbness, blindness, paralysis, or fits without a neurological cause. It’s a stress response considered by most to be a psychiatric disorder,” Dr. West zinged at me as he peeled back an eyelid. I heard the click of his little flashlight and smelled his Aqua Velva as he loomed over me.
“OK. If the shoe fits. Although you made quite a mistake picking a psychiatric screw-up for the leader of Sunrise. Somehow, I have the feeling the pure energy that released into the atmosphere has a more direct impact since that was approximately the same time I went blind.” I channeled my anger that I couldn’t see the light I was sure he was shining in my eyes into a blistering verbal punch.
Dr. West paused for a moment in his examination. “Go on,” he said thoughtfully. I had finally caught his attention. I crossed over into his mind and saw him reviewing the chart of the psychic who died in the experiment ten years ago. The name on the file was Marlin Steele and it had a picture of a black man with dark brown eyes and an amiable grin stapled to the inside. The chart listed his precognitive gifts, great intelligence, and incredible eyesight.
“Dr. Cohen said Einstein’s theory of relativity was the basis of your pure energy lab experiment and string theory, right? Well, if energy cannot be created or destroyed and only changed, then I think when the pure energy tran
sferred into a gas I absorbed some of it from the atmosphere. The released pure energy is improving or enhancing me somehow. My eyes feel like they are tingling,” I tried to explain. “I think the psychic who died—his evolved DNA is part of the pure energy and that has changed my eyes.” I spoke aloud so Reid, Helga, and Mr. Parks could figure out what was going on between Dr. West and me. There was a moment of surprised silence.
“If you absorbed some of Marlin’s pure energy and also acquired some of his phenomenal eyesight, remind me never to play you in tennis. Not only could he physically see better than anyone on the planet, he was immune to sun blindness. He could serve with the sun in his eyes and never miss the ball,” Dr. West said in whispered disbelief. “Marlin was a great friend of mine. He was a wonderfully bright and intelligent man. It made his death from the experiment Stephen Cohen and I conducted to capture pure energy that much more horrific, if that was possible. Of course, I never would have tried it if I thought it would have harmed him. I am amazed the pure energy in the vial contained some of his evolved genetic abilities or that Whitney would be able to utilize them. Another case of time bringing the truth to light and spotlighting my ignorance.” Dr. West’s arms fell to his sides as he recognized my vision was beyond an issue of medical science.
There was hurt in his voice and I regretted verbally swiping at him earlier. I was frustrated and tired and I lashed out at him because I knew he would forgive me. It was no excuse, but before I could apologize Mr. Parks interrupted my thoughts.
“Unfortunately, we are all human, Reginald. As I like to say, there are no mistakes, only lessons. We have learned a great deal because you have made the best choices you could with the information you had. It is always better to do something rather than nothing. So, Whitney’s blindness is only temporary?” Mr. Parks verified from the back of the room. His quiet but steady focus reminded us all to concentrate on the problem at hand.
“Yes. Everything else seems normal, including, for better or for worse, the patient’s fiery temperament. I think if Whitney’s body is able to extract and use Marlin’s pure energy, then her eyesight will eventually become better than it was before. All that remains is when she will regain it. Her eyes are responding to light and they don’t appear damaged. I’m the only person left who may still need treatment—Reid gave me a heart attack when I saw him carrying her inside like a rag doll.”
“Are you sure it was not Reid himself that gave you the heart attack? That must have been a shock to see him,” I mentioned to Dr. West privately through my mind.
He silently answered me, “It’s not that I didn’t want him to come back. His future is linked to yours and I cannot see everything. You must be mindful that when you risk your life, you are risking the lives of many others as well. There is no Sunrise without you, Whitney. Don’t doubt me on that.”
His reminder that Sunrise members were depending on me felt overwhelming in the midst of my blindness. I took a deep breath and asked myself my survival camp instructor’s favorite question: “How do you eat an elephant?” The answer was piece by piece and it was a good reminder not to take on too many problems at once. I tried not to let myself feel incompetent without my vision but it was a difficult adjustment.
Mr. Parks clapped his hands and said it was time for Reid and me to practice. It made sense to replenish our chi with our breathing exercises and meditation. It caught me off guard when he suggested a rematch. What?
“But I can’t see anything,” I groaned as I sat up in bed. To my dismay, Reid grabbed my hand and led me out of the room. The muffled reverberations of the bedroom were replaced with cooler air and the scrapping echo of someone sliding furniture around a large room. I tensed as I sensed the expansive dimensions of the new location and heard Reid laughing.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. Besides, your lack of sight seems fair enough to me. It is one less way for you to cheat, which seems to happen every time we compete.” His smugness that he had won this match before it began was starting to annoy me, as did his light rub of my shoulders as if to warm me up before he walked away. Well, I had news for him. I was not going to make it easy for him just because I couldn’t see. Mr. Parks often said, “Get knocked down seven times, get up eight.” I was not a quitter.
“Whitney, Reginald was correct that there is no day off for you anymore. That is why when you find yourself with an obstacle you practice going over it. You never know when you will need to know your enemy even when you cannot see him, and this is a chance to have one less thing you have to fear,” Mr. Parks directed, not allowing me any room for negotiation.
I inhaled Reid’s woodsy scent coming closer to me again. He playfully tapped me on the shoulder and then talked to me from the other side. “I don’t know, Mr. Parks. This is going to be too easy. I don’t think I can spar her,” Reid taunted, now directly in front of me.
He snapped his fingers on either side of me and I did not move but listened to his watch as his arm came toward me again. I caught it in midair. There was laughter in his voice as he said, “Whoa. Maybe this match will be more of the caliber I am used to. You do have the upper hand of not being distracted by my muscles and elegant fighting style.”
Reid was doing a good job of being obnoxious to try to make anger cloud my mind. This was something a crane would do to a panther in an attempt to cause them to lose focus and energy before the match. Reid was succeeding in making me angry, but I was using the anger to fuel my determination.
“I need different clothes,” I said, effectively agreeing in a calm voice. I was wearing the silk pajamas Helga gave me after I passed through the decontamination process. They were comfortable while we were riding in the truck but I didn’t know if I could fight in them.
“Yeah. It would be better for me as well if you changed out of those slinky black pajamas. Something bulky and ugly is a much better idea. Maybe a snowsuit?” Reid suggested casually. I heard Mr. Parks cluck his tongue at Reid. It was one of his habits that served as a warning. Reid was pushing me to the limit.
My blood was boiling but I outwardly kept my cool as I answered. “Never mind. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter to me what I am wearing while I beat him.” I tried to orient myself to the room. My mind shifted to figure out how to best adapt to my situation while my senses and intuition became razor sharp. It would be hard for me to find him so my best bet was to find a way to make contact with him and not let go.
I held out my fists, waiting for him to tap them and signal the start of the match. I listened for the ticking of his diving watch and the sound of his breathing while I formulated a strategy. His footwork was fast and agile so I needed to go for either his torso or his arms.
Reid was slowly walking around the perimeter of the room and I used the sound of his footsteps to get a sense of the space. His lack of action was frustrating me and that was his goal. Frustration is a weapon to provoke mistakes and as a crane fighter, Reid would first try to make me beat myself. He wanted me to come for him to get the match started and be at a disadvantage.
Instead, I sighed and pretended I was bored to try to goad him into attacking me. I wanted to appear small and helpless so I squatted down and rested on the balls of my feet with my arms extended in small fists. Compact, I would conserve my energy and could somersault or spring up once Reid crouched down to tap my fists and start the match.
Nothing happened so I yawned to exaggerate the impression his plan was working. I pretended to stretch my neck from side to side as I moved my ears to place him in the room. Interestingly, the ticking of his watch was coming from one location but his breathing was behind me. He had taken off his watch and I smiled slightly at the compliment. He knew it would be harder for me to catch his scent when I was facing the opposite way and that I would use his watch to place his location. At least he considered me a formidable opponent.
Next, I started whistling and kept my head focused on where he left his watch. The calf muscles of my legs quivered in readiness. I was
mentally prepared for him now that I realized I would not be fighting in my usual panther style. For this match, I would call upon my knowledge of one of the other classic Shaolin animals and use everything I could remember about how to fight like the snake.
A snake stylist fights low to the ground and uses accuracy, speed, and timing. They try to allow only one contact—but to make it count. That was the key to my strategy. When he made contact with me I would need to attack since I would have difficulty finding him again.
My plan was to grab his arm and try to hit a pressure point on his side with a middle knuckle punch. If I connected, it would give him what is called dead arm and hurt enough that I could take him off guard and sweep his legs. Ideally, the match would be over in a few seconds.
Tap. He swiftly touched my fists and then I heard him move fast to the right. My opportunity to hit the pressure point was moot. He had anticipated me and was too quick on his feet. I rolled to the left to create space away from him but remained low to the ground. Standing left me too vulnerable and I could deflect him with my feet more powerfully than with a punch. One good kick was my only hope to end the match.
My options were dwindling and my mind was working overtime as I allowed my instinct and intuition to help me gauge the situation. I sensed Reid would try to go around me and use a grappling technique or a wrestling hold instead of a punch or kick. Luckily, I was already on the floor so he couldn’t throw or take me down, but to succeed in this match I couldn’t get caught.
I could hear Reid’s breathing and I remained frozen, waiting for his move. My silk pajama top tugged ever so slightly under the weight of his foot and it gave me the blueprint to his plan. He would try to pin me by using my clothes to trap me to the surface. This was called a staple hold and he could easily follow it with a cradle hold, which would press me with his weight into the ground. He was too heavy for me to move and that would end the match…except I wasn’t ready to give up.
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