Willpower

by Anna Durand

Her voice sounded pathetically breathless. She couldn't summon the will to care. She could do nothing except gaze into those blue eyes.

  He raised his hand to her cheek. "We were engaged."

  His hand felt cool against her flushed cheek.

  She forced herself to breathe. "Engaged?"

  "To be married."

  The fire inside snuffed out.

  She leaped to her feet. Shoving past him, she stumbled a few steps and halted, then spun to face him. Her cheeks flushed again, this time heated by the anger erupting inside her.

  "That's ridiculous," she spat. "I'd remember if I — if we — "

  "You don't remember anything from last summer, do you?"

  Eight months of her life she couldn't remember. She wanted to scream or kick something. Most of all, though, she wanted to remember. She wanted to know for certain he was lying.

  Except a small part of her wanted it to be true. A small part that grew bigger every minute. The insane part of her.

  The anger fizzled. Her shoulders slumped. When she spoke again, her voice was calm and even.

  "I wouldn't do that," she said, feeling not at all certain. "Get engaged to someone I'd only known for eight months. I'm way too cautious for that."

  He strode toward her, stopping a couple yards away. "You changed during those eight months. You learned things about yourself, things you couldn't believe at first, things that tore apart your sense of order and stability. What you thought the world was, you found out it was something entirely different."

  "That makes no sense."

  "Explanations won't convince you. Only experience will."

  "I'm not psychic."

  "Yes, you are."

  She felt the anger bubbling up again, about to boil over if she let it. Fear lit the fire under the pot, she knew. Fear was supposed to be cold. Instead, it heated her insides. Common knowledge could be oh so wrong.

  Maybe that was David's point.

  Christ. She did not want to know any of this.

  "What are you?" she asked, unable to stop the words. "You say you're not dead, but a living person can't appear and disappear like a ghost. Either I'm hallucinating or you're not human."

  "You're not hallucinating."

  "I know, which means you must be dead."

  He surged forward, grasped her upper arms, and crushed her to him as he kissed her hard. The heat of anger ebbed into a tingling warmth. She felt herself relax against him. Just as she was starting to enjoy the kiss, he pushed away from her.

  "Do I feel dead?" he asked.

  No, he didn't. He felt very much alive. She bristled at the annoyed tone in his voice, but she had to admit the truth. He felt real and alive.

  "Okay," she said, "if you're not dead, then how do you do it? The vanishing thing, I mean."

  "Astral projection." He shrugged. "That's the common name for it. In practice, it's a combination of remote viewing, telekinesis, and thought projection."

  She felt unsteady and disconnected, as if her body were melting as her head floated away into space.

  "It's hard to explain," David said.

  "No shit."

  He raised a hand toward her.

  She scuffled backward.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I knew how to help you accept all of this."

  "I won't accept things that cannot be true. Whatever your game is, I am not playing."

  He exhaled a loud, drawn-out sigh. "You weren't nearly this stubborn the first time around."

  "Leave," she said.

  He stared at her as if she spoke an alien language.

  "Get out of here," she said, squeezing the words out through clenched teeth. "Leave me alone."

  "No — "

  "Yes." The syllable came out as a hiss.

  His mouth dropped open. He shook his head.

  She shouted, "Go!"

  A gust of wind swirled around them.

  David raised his hands in a compliant gesture. "Calm down, Grace."

  "Do not tell me what to do."

  The wind intensified, snatching up paper scraps and dirt, twirling the debris inside a mini vortex that danced around them.

  "Don't do this," David said.

  She scowled at him. "Don't do what?"

  "Push me out. Please, give me a chance to — "

  Get out. In her mind, she screamed the words.

  The vortex slammed into him.

  He vanished.

  The little tornado evaporated.

  The silence felt unnatural, as if she'd just gone deaf. In the distance, though, a dog barked. Her knees quivered. Everything seemed to tilt and roll around her. Gasping, she dropped onto her knees.

  David was gone.

  She'd killed him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  David returned to blackness. His forehead smacked into the floor. Phantom lights flashed in the dark, a figment of his mind brought on by hitting the concrete face first. The bare floor chilled his skin through his clothes. He couldn't move.

  Strangely, he felt no pain now. He remembered the agony from seconds ago. His mind ripping. His body screaming. Blinding light. Two words blasting through his head.

  Get out.

  Grace's inner voice had shouted at him so loud his ears actually hurt. His brain hurt worse. Yet as soon as he'd slammed back into his own mind, the pain dissipated. He still couldn't move, though, and he fought the instinct to panic. That never helped. At least he could breathe. And see. And hear.

  His body twitched. Saliva dribbled from his lips. His heart beat fast. Like an invalid, he lay on the concrete with his face pressed into the hard surface, unable to control his own body. Nothing like this had happened before. He'd traveled thousands of miles and viewed hundreds of sites. No one had pushed him out before.

  And she didn't even realize she'd done it.

  Their conversation must've sounded quite normal, if not exactly cordial. She was angry with him — and scared, though not of him or because of him, he sensed. She wanted him to answer her questions. He'd intended to but, well, he was concerned about her reaction when he shared the full truth with her. The news about her own abilities shocked her more than he'd expected, which made telling her more seem like an unwise option. She didn't remember any of it. Hearing the facts from someone she considered a stranger might not convince her.

  He must convince her. Fast.

  She'd gotten so frustrated with him that she struck out at him, unwittingly, in a way even she failed to see. She'd tapped into the invisible streams of power that permeated the universe. He'd seen her do it before, but given her current memory problems, he hadn't been sure she could still do it.

  Until he felt the pressure hit him. A wave of unseen energy as powerful as a tsunami.

  Then he knew. Grace was forcing him out.

  The twitching ceased. David held still, gasping for breaths. The air was cold yet soothing. He pushed up with his hands, raising his body off the floor. His arms trembled. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to hold himself up. His arms gave out and he collapsed back onto the floor. Dammit.

  A throbbing erupted in his head, a pulsating kind of pressure, as if his head were a balloon inflated to near the breaking point. He marshaled enough energy to slide one arm across the floor so he could rub his temple. Even that small effort left him shaking.

  Behind him, the door knob jiggled.

  He must get up. Now. If they found him in this state …

  He rolled onto his side. With both arms, he levered his torso off the floor until he was sitting. For a few horrible seconds he felt as if he might pass out. The sensation faded, though, and he shifted into a kneeling position. His strength grew with each passing moment. He prayed it returned fast enough.

  His body canted sideways. He flung his hands out, seizing the meta
l chair he'd occupied during his excursion. Since it was bolted to the floor, the chair offered a secure handhold. With the chair as his crutch, he managed to rise from the floor into a hunched standing position. Electrode wires, their ends ripped free from the chair, dangled from his head.

  The chair. He rubbed his eyes to clear the fuzziness. The electrode wires were attached to the chair, or at least they were supposed to be. He must've torn them free when he flew out of the chair. But something else bothered him far more than the electrode wires.

  The leather restraints. Some force had rent them apart, scattering the buckles across the floor. He couldn't have done that. The same force that hurled him out of the chair must've severed the restraints as well.

  Grace had forced him out with a hell of a lot of power. More than he'd ever seen before.

  The lights clicked on with a buzz and a flicker. He squinted. The door was slammed inward. Shoes clapped on the concrete.

  David twisted around to look at the doorway.

  Tesler raced across the room to him. "What happened to you?"

  No compassion filled Tesler's voice. Rather, he spoke in an irritated, accusing tone.

  The room tilted. David gripped the chair harder. "I don't know. I did what you told me to."

  "Your vitals were off the chart," Tesler said. "A routine excursion shouldn't kill you."

  "I'm not dead."

  Tesler harrumphed, shaking his head. "You look like walking death."

  "Thanks." David suppressed a chuckle. "Guess that makes you the grim reaper."

  Tesler grasped an electrode wire and yanked it. The electrode ripped away from his temple. He winced. Pale hairs clung to the sticky surface of the electrode.

  Tesler gestured toward the chair. "How did you remove the restraints?"

  David looked at the chair and shrugged.

  "You know what happens," Tesler said, "when you don't cooperate."

  "You still don't understand." David took a step toward Tesler. "Nothing you do can stop me. Not even the drugs. Eventually, I'll be free."

  "One thing would stop you."

  David didn't need to read Tesler's thoughts to know what the man was thinking. He had the ingenuity of a fungus.

  "Go ahead," David said. "Kill me. See how far you get reconstructing eight years of your damn research without me. Your leader won't be pleased with you then."

  Tesler tilted his head back. He examined David over the tip of his nose. They both knew he could reconstruct the data without David like he could exist without his heart pumping lifeblood through his veins.

  Oh wait. That assumed he had a heart.

  Tesler flicked his wrist.

  Two guards trotted through the doorway and around Tesler. They grabbed David's arms, secured his hands behind his back with cuffs, and shackled his feet. As they hauled him past Tesler into the hallway, David twisted his torso to glance back at Tesler.

  "I told you," he said, "that I won't kill for you."

  "Then you will die for the research."

  The guards dragged David down the corridor toward the elevator. He let his feet drag on the floor. Why make it easy for them? Cooperation had gotten him nowhere and nothing, except separated from Grace. No more easygoing lab rat. He would fight them with every step, every breath, every ounce of power within him — even if it drained the very life out of him.

  One of the guards kicked him in the shin. Pain shot through his leg. He clamped his jaw shut and swallowed the pain. He already felt as if a tornado had sucked him into its vortex, shaken the life out of him, and spit him out again. Fighting took energy.

  Well then he'd get some. All he needed was a little rest.

  In the elevator, the guards relaxed their grips on him. The guard named Battaglia, a huge man with a thin mustache and the eyes of a Pekinese, chatted with his partner about the outdoors. The two men agreed that it "totally sucked" to be stuck inside the facility for weeks at a time. The shorter guard, a young man named Norris whose frame resembled a troll's, lamented the lack of large-breasted women in the facility.

  David kept his gaze on the elevator doors.

  Norris jabbed him in the ribs. "Hey, freak. You ever had a girl?"

  David concentrated on the doors. He had learned long ago that interacting with the guards provoked them. They had the brains of rabbits and the tempers of killer bees.

  Right now he had no strength to deal with them.

  Norris jabbed him in the small of his back. Pain branched up his spine. His knees shook. He stumbled backward, bumped the elevator's rear wall, and slumped against it for support.

  "Well, freak?" the guard said. "You like girls?"

  David gritted his teeth.

  Battaglia sniggered. "Maybe he likes you better, Norris."

  The elevator eased to a stop. David pushed away from the wall.

  A chime rang. Through speakers in the ceiling, a recorded female voice issued instructions in a neutral tone. "Access to this area requires handprint identification. Please place your palm on the reader."

  A panel beside the doors slid open to reveal a cavity that housed a square of smooth plastic etched with the outline of hand.

  Norris slapped his hand onto the reader.

  The chime sounded. The voice intoned, "Thank you."

  The panel lowered. The doors slid apart.

  The guards dragged him into the corridor. The three of them moved past rows of closed doors. A number on each door represented the room's tenant — or more accurately, the room's inmate. David and his colleagues had no names here, just ID numbers to help the guards and technicians tell them apart. No one really cared who they were, how they felt, or what happened to them after the tests were completed.

  Lights along the floor illuminated the corridor. Security cameras, hidden in every tenth light, observed their progress. David had discovered many of their "secret" security measures. Guards babbled about everything when they thought they were alone. Why on earth they felt safely alone inside a facility populated with psychics, David couldn't fathom.

  Battaglia unlocked the door to David's room. Norris shoved him inside, then clomped through the door behind him. Battaglia followed them inside, shutting the door.

  Norris removed the cuffs. "Get in bed."

  David complied. His head throbbed again. His muscles felt weak and heavy. His throat was parched.

  "Water," he croaked.

  Battaglia observed as Norris shackled David's wrists and ankles to the bed rails. A single lamp burned in the far corner.

  "Water," David repeated.

  The guards left. The door lock clicked as they engaged it from the outside.

  "Are you all right?"

  Sean shuffled out of the shadows. His voice was soft, his face pinched. The glow of the lamp lent his red hair a liquid quality, like molten copper.

  "I'm alive," David said. "Thirsty and tired, but alive."

  "You were gone a long time."

  "I know."

  He had volunteered for extra tests, so he could use the time to help Grace. Edward had asked him to watch out for her, and though he'd promised not to interact with her, he'd also promised to do whatever he could to help her. He would keep that promise, despite Tesler's suspicions, despite the damage it inflicted on his body.

  Despite how much it worried Sean.

  The boy had no one else to trust. He'd come to the facility two years before but, despite amazing progress, he hadn't lived enough to know how to handle Tesler and his goons. He hadn't developed the willpower.

  He was only sixteen.

  These days, Sean looked much older. His cheeks were sunken. Worry lines creased his forehead.

  Sean slouched beside the bed. "They're gonna kill you."

  "They won't."

  "They'll give you the stuff."

  Da
vid met the boy's gaze. "It'll be all right."

  Sean hunched his shoulders and looked at the floor.

  "Need a favor," David said.

  "Sure, anything."

  "I need you to keep looking out for her."

  "I'm not good at it, not like you."

  "You can do it."

  Sean contemplated the linoleum.

  David knew he was pushing Sean to the limits of his abilities and beyond. Although Sean possessed an amazing talent for healing, he could travel only with assistance and interacting with the world was impossible for him — without an intense boost of power from someone skilled in that area. David knew Sean disliked traveling, but he hated manifesting. It was intrusive and unsettling, even for a veteran. Pushing Sean over a threshold he feared crossing troubled David. He had no choice.

  Grace was alone out there.

  "Okay," Sean said, sounding miserable. "But she won't see me this time."

  This time. The phrase set off alarms in David's head. "What do you mean this time?"

  Sean stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  David shut his eyes. Sleep beckoned him with its siren song. He forced his eyes open.

  "She saw me when I healed her," Sean said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I don't know how, I swear, I can't do that without your help."

  "Doesn't matter," David said. "Just watch out for her."

  "Okay."

  Sean left.

  David sucked in a deep breath. He needed rest, but he sensed he must wait a little longer before giving in to sleep. He counted the panels in the ceiling instead. When that failed to banish the drowsiness, he focused on spotting patterns in the swirls and dots on the ceiling panels. One group looked like Abraham Lincoln.

  A few minutes later, Tesler entered the room. He stopped beside the bed, looking down on David with a slight smile as he brandished a syringe in his right hand. The needle glistened in the twilight of the room.

  Tesler leaned over the bed and murmured, "You never could follow directions. Tell me where you really went. Perhaps I can keep them from killing you."

  "I viewed the target."

  "And?"

  "That's it."

  "David," Tesler said, wagging the needle in his face. "We both know you went somewhere else. Tell me where."