Willpower

by Anna Durand

  Tears burned in her eyes. This time, they were tears of rage instead of despair. She needed anger to fuel her right now, and anger toward her enemies felt a whole lot better than anger at David. Not that she'd forgiven him. She simply had bigger problems.

  Their last conversation had been an argument. She told him to go to hell.

  A void. Stars. David.

  I love you.

  His words kept replaying in her mind at the most inopportune moments. She'd almost run off the road once thanks to the automatic stereo replay. Recalling the words brought back the feelings, both physical and emotional, she'd experienced with him last night. She'd remembered him, or at least she'd remembered the feelings he inspired in her. The intense, wonderful feelings. The visceral memories of what they'd shared once — and again last night. She trusted him, in a way she'd never trusted anyone. So much still eluded her, though.

  Eight months of her life still eluded her.

  Maybe that explained why she'd lost it when he told her how he felt. Feeling the truth of it, knowing it on an instinctual level, that was far different from actually remembering. She needed more than gut feelings. She needed real memories too. Recalling the feelings had instilled in her a sense of certainty — at least, it had last night. The light of day had burned off the certainty, leaving her with a disquieting sensation of floating on the ocean without a compass. Nothing made sense. One solitary goal — more of a desperate need, actually — kept her going.

  Answers. She must find them. In California.

  She'd driven for three hours without stopping, her eyes locked on the road, both hands clamped on the wheel. By then she was beyond exhausted. Against her instincts, which urged her to get to California fast, she started making hourly pit stops. At each stop, she gassed up the car, got a snack and a beverage, and forced herself to lie on the backseat for ten minutes, eyes closed, not expecting or wanting to sleep but knowing she must rest. If she could teleport herself to California, like in Star Trek, that would solve one problem. Unfortunately, as far as she knew teleporting was not possible. Manifesting a pseudo-body would work too, except for the whole enormous-energy requirement. So no manifesting. She settled for speeding across Arizona in a car she'd virtually stolen from a nice old man. Fortunately, her current bout of fear and anger overwhelmed her guilt over that incident.

  You're not evil.

  David's reassurance had, strangely, made her feel much better. It didn't make up for what he'd done, with his little psychic sleeping pill. Yeah, she knew he probably thought he was protecting her, but she still wanted to throttle him for it. Admittedly, compared to eight lost months, six hours wasted on sleeping hardly qualified as a tragedy — except for the minor issue of the bad guys on her tail and the creepy shadow figure in her dream who wanted her "golden light." Although she had no clue what that meant, she felt reasonably secure in assuming it was not good for her future well-being.

  Weariness surged through her. She turned on the radio and hit the seek button. Finding only mariachi music, she shut off the radio. Her own thoughts would have to keep her awake. Problem was, her thoughts kept returning to the menacing figure in her dream. She focused on the road, but it stretched out ahead of her in a straight, hypnotic line. Her eyelids grew heavy. She turned on the air conditioner, full blast. The noise and cold air shocked her out of drowsiness, though she doubted the effect would last long. If a six-hour nap that ended ten hours ago could not sustain her through the trip, then a blast of cold air wouldn't last long either.

  Think about something else. Anything else.

  Okay, she could do that.

  Since listening to the tape of her grandfather's last minutes, she'd shoved it out of her mind. The information the tape imparted induced fits of anger mixed with panic every time she thought about it. Someone murdered him, slowly, painfully. No mercy. No guilt. Edward McLean got in the way, and so he had to die — just like Andrew Haley, Brian Kellogg, and …

  Her parents.

  When Grandpa's plane had crashed two months ago, the authorities deemed it an accident. Something went wrong, the cabin depressurized, and the occupants died. No foul play, they said. She had demanded to know how the crash happened and exactly what sort of accident could cause the plane to depressurize. They gave her a vague explanation that she knew was a cover story, though the reason for the cover-up remained a mystery. With no recourse, she'd accepted the findings. She almost managed to convince herself Edward McLean's death had been an accident.

  She knew he'd worked for a company called Advanced Laboratories Inc., or ALI, and that her parents had relocated to California two years ago to work for the same company. Why then had the flash drive included a scan of a magazine article about a different company, Digital Prognostics? That company created computer software. ALI was a privately funded scientific endeavor that revolved around the study of the human brain. On the surface, the two companies shared nothing in common.

  Her grandfather would not have included the article for no reason.

  She needed to take a closer look at the information on the flash drive. The last time she'd accessed it — the only time she'd accessed it — her enemies used it to track her down at the motel. It had seemed, though, as if they could only track her once she logged into their website. If she stayed off the Internet, they might not be able to zero in on her.

  Right now, she felt like she was driving straight into danger while blindfolded. The flash drive might give her the information she needed to gain an advantage. She must risk it.

  Seven months ago, her parents had died in a car accident. Two months ago, her grandfather died in an apparent plane crash, though she now knew it had been no accident. Could her parents have been murdered too? Already, she felt as if everything she'd known, or thought she'd known, was an illusion.

  David claimed her parents not only ran, but founded the project in which he had participated. She sensed his involvement had been voluntary in the beginning, and later turned into captivity. Why on earth would someone hold people hostage?

  Control. The people she knew were being held prisoner, David and Sean, both had psychic abilities. The unknown person or persons now in charge of the research project must view those abilities as a commodity worth killing for, but why? What did they hope to gain from imprisoning and drugging their subjects?

  Give me your golden light.

  Her stalker spoke those words in her dream. It had been far more than merely a dream, she knew. It had been some kind of psychic experience. The stalker invaded her mind, though he seemed oddly limited in what he could do to her. Lack of energy perhaps. Or lack of power. It would make sense that each individual with psychic powers had different aptitudes, or at least different skill levels. If David were here, she could ask him.

  She was alone.

  What if he never came back? Her resolve to find the Mojave Desert facility had ticked him off so much that he knocked her unconscious. No, his reaction had stemmed from another emotion, not anger. He'd been scared. Of what?

  That she might find the facility. That she might encounter the people who held him prisoner. The people who wanted her. The murderers who took away her family. He was afraid she would get hurt.

  Or killed.

  David was with them now. He might die first.

  The thought of her own death sent a spike of fear through her chest. But the thought of David's death sent her spiraling down into the freezing cold depths of terror. She could not let him die.

  She would save his life whether he liked it or not.

  His eyelids wouldn't open. They felt like lead aprons over his eyes. David tried moving his arms, his legs, his toes, anything. Each responded to his instructions, though with a sluggishness that dismayed him. His last visit with Grace had drained him so thoroughly he wondered if he'd ever regain his full strength.

  Fortunately, he no longer needed to worry about th
e drugs inhibiting him. When he'd woken to find that someone unhooked the IV from his hand, he knew it must've been Grace. Even while unconscious, he'd been able to sense her presence in the room. She had left by the time he roused.

  He'd realized immediately that he must conceal the fact that the IV was no longer pumping drugs into his bloodstream. The piece of tape that once held the needle in place was, by a miracle or sheer luck, still tacky enough to adhere to his skin. He'd broken off the needle's tip and taped the broken end to his skin so that it appeared as if the IV were still in his vein — provided no one looked too closely at it. The liquid medicine from the IV line dribbled over his skin and onto the blanket. By repositioning his arm and the blanket, he'd managed to direct the barely perceptible flow down the side of the mattress instead. He prayed all of his efforts would pay off, at least for a time. When he glanced down at his hand, he saw the needle remained in place, even all these hours later.

  The room had no clock. His wardens didn't want him to know the time or the date. They liked keeping him drugged and confused, until they decided to perform another experiment with him as their guinea pig. Then and only then did they want him alert. The outside world had become a sort of dream to him.

  Grace was out there. Alone. He sensed her drawing closer. Despite his warning that she must stay away, she was coming. Even before the amnesia, when she'd known him, she rarely listened to his warnings. When she set her mind to a task, her stubborn determination kicked in and only with great patience and his own stubborn determination could he dissuade her. These days, the problem was exacerbated because she still considered him a stranger. She bristled at everything he said, shutting him out before he could explain.

  Back in the motel room, there had been a moment when he felt she trusted him. Several moments, in fact. It all ended the second he uttered those three words — followed by a command to stay away from the facility. It was his own fault and he knew it. Everything had been so easy before. Now he couldn't survive ten minutes alone with Grace without the conversation devolving into an argument. She mistrusted him. She mistrusted everyone — with good reason. Amnesia notwithstanding, the events of the past year and a half had changed her, he knew. Once he'd felt certain nothing could change her so much that he couldn't get through to her. He was wrong. She hid behind veils of anger, suspicion, and pain that he'd never seen before.

  He wouldn't give up. He couldn't.

  No place was completely safe, but the facility was the last place on the planet that she should attempt to infiltrate. The bastards in control here knew techniques Grace couldn't imagine, much less comprehend. Even if she regained her memory, she'd left before the project and the facility as a whole descended into the depths of hell. Once the bastards found her, they wouldn't ask her if she wanted to go home. They'd shackle her body and her mind, toss her into a dark room, and proceed to squeeze out of her every drop of psychic energy they could.

  It would kill her.

  He sensed her getting closer, nearing the point of no return. He must try again to convince her, if he could summon the energy for traveling. Remote viewing, though less energy intensive than manifesting, still drained him, albeit at a slower rate. Although the drugs no longer bound his powers and clouded his thoughts, he felt sluggish in every respect.

  Pain sliced through his chest. He bolted upright in the bed.

  Grace? No, she was too far away. The psychic call had come from close by.

  A voice shrieked through his mind. "Please stop!"

  Sean.

  David sucked in a breath. Sean's agony and terror ripped through him with near-physical force. Wincing, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Shadows writhed in the corners.

  His chest tightened. He gripped the edge of the bed.

  Sean's voice echoed in his mind, the words half choked by sobs. "Please don't. I didn't do — "

  A scream echoed down the corridor outside.

  Jesus, no. Not Sean.

  David leaped off the bed. Wires snapped free of the electrodes and sensors attached to him. He ran to the door and grasped the knob. It wouldn't turn. Locked.

  Another scream reverberated down the corridor outside the door.

  He yanked the knob but the lock held. He kicked the door and pounded his fists on it. He'd never get to Sean this way. Leaning against the wall, he let his eyelids flutter shut. However weak he might be, he had no choice.

  Flying out of his body. Through the field of stars. Down a black tunnel. Into a pool of light.

  An exam table stood in the center of the room. There, strapped to the table with leather restraints, lay Sean Vandenbrook. Tear tracks stained the boy's cheeks. Blood trickled from his nostrils. The flesh beneath his eyes had turned unnaturally dark, while the rest of his skin had taken on a frightening pallor. Sean's entire body trembled.

  David watched, silent and unseen. He tried to think of what to do. There would be guards posted outside the doors to this room. They would rush inside if David tried anything, and Sean might be killed in the struggle. If David did nothing, Sean would die anyway. Tesler would make sure of that.

  Clenching his hands into fists, David glared at the so-called scientist.

  Tesler hunched over Sean, a syringe in his hand. "We know you visited her. Tell us what you told her or I'll have to pull it out of you."

  Sean swallowed hard. His voice quavered. "I didn't s-see anybody. Just the site. That's all, I swear, the site. I did what you wanted."

  "You're lying." Tesler pressed the tip of the needle to Sean's arm. "Liars must be punished."

  "Please."

  Tears flowed anew from Sean's eyes. He bit his lip, drawing blood.

  Tesler plunged the needle into Sean's arm.

  David lunged across the room toward Tesler. He seized the needle, ripping it from Sean's arm. Shouting for the guards, Tesler swung his arms up in self-defense, waving them around as if he were blind. Tesler couldn't see him, David realized.

  He spun around and stabbed the needle into the Tesler's neck. He shoved the plunger downward.

  Tesler's mouth gaped, the cry caught in his throat. His eyes went glassy. He crumpled to the floor.

  The door lock chunked as one of the guards unlocked it.

  David concentrated on the lock, visualizing it snapping into position. The lock chunked. Metal scraped as the guard struggled to turn the key. The lock held. David gritted his teeth. He didn't how long he could hold back the guards, which meant he had no time to waste.

  Unfortunately, he had no clue what to do with Sean.

  "Who's there?" Sean asked in a tremulous voice.

  David leaned over the table so that the boy could see him. If Sean could see him. Tesler obviously could not.

  "It's you," Sean said, his attention focusing on David's face.

  Shawn could see him after all. He presumed that, in his weakened state, he lacked the power to project his thoughts into the mind of anyone except another individual gifted with psychic faculties.

  "Did you see her?" David asked Sean.

  "Yeah."

  David unbuckled the restraints. "Did she see you?"

  "Wasn't my fault."

  "Dammit, I told you not to show yourself."

  "Don't know how it happened. I didn't do it, I swear."

  David's hold on the door shattered. He stumbled backward.

  Sean slid off the table onto his feet.

  The door exploded inward. Four guards rushed into the room. They halted a dozen feet inside the doorway. Jerking their guns back and forth, they surveyed the room as if searching for a ghost. Meanwhile, a technician hurried into the room and made a beeline for Tesler. The young man knelt beside his supervisor and felt for a pulse in Tesler's neck. Discovering one, the technician ordered two guards to help him carry Tesler out of the room.

  While the others attended to Tesler, th
e remaining two guards grabbed Sean's arms. David recognized the men as his old friends, Norris and Battaglia. Norris pulled out a pair of handcuffs and moved to clamp them around Sean's wrists.

  The technician and the two other guards carried Tesler out of the room.

  David threw himself at Norris. He didn't need to hurl his astral body at the guard, since without manifesting, he didn't really have a body in the physical sense. His actions served as more of a focusing device. It still felt good as he knocked Norris to the floor. The man's hand popped open, sending the handcuffs skittering across the concrete.

  Battaglia grabbed for Sean's arm.

  David hurled himself at the muscular guard. Battaglia flew backward, smacking into the concrete wall. Dazed, he slumped sideways.

  Norris started to get up.

  David slammed his foot down on the man's chest, pinning him to the floor. Glancing back at Sean, David said, "I can't hold them for long and I can't help you escape. I'm sorry."

  Sean nodded. "It's okay. I know a place to hide."

  "You do?"

  The boy managed a faint smile. "I kinda explored this place while they thought I was asleep. A lotta times."

  An odd feeling of pride swelled inside David's chest. Sean wasn't as meek as their captors thought.

  "Run," David said.

  Sean ran.

  David wanted to follow Sean, to make sure the boy reached his hiding place. He couldn't risk draining any more of his energy. So instead he issued a silent prayer and returned to his room.

  His eyelids opened. He was standing in front of the door, just like before, with his hand resting on the knob.

  Outside, footsteps resounded in the corridor.

  He trotted to the bed and hopped onto it. After taping the broken IV needle to the back of his hand again, he reattached the wires to the electrodes on his head and the sensor clamped around his finger. The wires fed data to the machines that monitored his brain activity and heart rate. Plugged in again, he settled onto the mattress and pulled the sheets over his legs and hips. His heart was racing. He rested his head on the pillow and took several deep breaths to calm his heart rate. The staff seemed to have slacked off lately in their monitoring of their subjects, and he hoped that held true today.