He smiled and looked at the smoke. Tracing its tendrils, he moved it into the shape of a complex figure known as an icosahedron; it was a construct with an outer edge that consisted of twenty joined triangles. Without much scrutiny, it had the rough shape of a circle. As it was completed, he smiled, holding it in place. Through it, he could see the Champs Élysées and the horses and carriages that passed up and down there.
A young boy was approaching on his right, and he dragged at his mother’s overcoat and pointed toward the incredible shape hovering in front of Max as he passed by it. Max smiled at him and waved a hand through the smoke. The incredible construct disappeared. The boy stopped moving, and within seconds, his mother was dragging him. The look on his face caused Max’s heart to sink, though, so he smiled at him widely and winked.
He continued up the street, having approached from the bottom end, and passed by several small shops until he reached his destination. For a brief moment, he had the sensation that the ground was covered in desert sand. He stopped walking and searched his mind for a reason for his, but he quickly came upon a wall, and it was as though he was pushed back from further exploration. Psychogenic manipulation! he thought as adrenaline filled his veins—an unusual feeling in this generally relaxed time. But that thought too was ripped from his mind. He frowned, but there was nothing further to consider about the subject, for he couldn’t remember anything. So he continued toward the cafe he had been heading for.
It was 1915, and the air was clear. It was late November, and although the temperature was low, the sun still shone. As he walked, he refashioned the molecules in his clothing to make it more amenable to the cold, giving himself a wrapped, silk black scarf and thicker coat. Nobody noticed. He continued to walk toward George V cafe and made his way up the steps. An attendant approached him inside the door and took off Max’s coat as he entered.
Max thanked him, then walked into the seating area, where he was offered a brandy. He refused and ordered a coffee with biscotti. He lifted the complimentary newspaper, and with a quick scan of the room, he began to read. In glancing around, he noticed several contemporary people of note, but he paid them no notice. When faced with what was likely to be an eternity, the brief, useless fame of the moment meant nothing to him.
After a few more moments, his coffee arrived. He lifted it to his lips and drank. No matter how many times he consumed the beverage, it was still just as wonderful to him. He had, of course, tried his luck with alcohol, but found it too intoxicating; it was fun briefly, but overall, he had found it a general waste of resources. However, it seemed that, for this culture, it represented the ideal escape. He took a bite of the biscotti and turned the page, trying to ignore the reports about the war. He could, of course, understand it perfectly. He had thought of many simple ways that he could end it.
He could ignite vast storms across the various nations. He could manipulate leaders to become more amenable to his suggestions. He could dismantle the technologies they were using, simple that they were. But such things were gross interferences, and he would be immediately banished from Earth for interfering in such a simple culture. As yet, this world was not due to reach the plane of the psychic for at least a hundred years, and such interference at this early stage would be totally unacceptable. No, the culture would have to evolve by itself first. Then, at some point in the future, he and his contemporaries could perhaps introduce themselves in a more direct manner, assisting them toward the precipice.
So instead of interfering, he mostly ignored the reports and tuned out any conversation that referred to it. He glanced at some well-dressed people as they walked by. As he returned his attention to the newspaper, something caught his eye. There was a picture of a young woman in the bottom right corner who appeared to be in her late teens. Somehow, she looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen her. Such a thing was ridiculous, of course, since he remembered everything, and so he ignored it and turned the page.
***
For a moment, Jane was looking at the distant sea of stars from the other planet where she had first visited with Max as a child. But the stars twinkled in an unusual fashion, and it seemed as though they were prompting her.
Her eyes opened to near total darkness. She was lying on a soft surface somewhere, and as she took a sharp breath, she realized it was freezing. She sat up and looked around. After a few moments, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she realized she was in the sitting room of her own house.
“What?” she said aloud. She glanced around and looked out through the net curtains behind her. Seeing that the road was quiet, she looked at the other side of the room, where only shadowed objects and silhouettes greeted her. She sat up slowly, feeling weak, and placing her hands on her knees, she faced downward, getting her bearings. Then she glanced up, and her attention was drawn through the door on the right toward the kitchen beyond, where she could see shadows moving. She gasped. A minute trace of her frozen breath danced in front of her and then vanished.
She looked left toward the lamp in the corner, reached out with her power, and turned it on. It was slow to respond, as if the temperature had slowed the electrical current, but after a few flickers, it came to life and lit up the room. No longer was the room just shadows and darkness, and as she looked around, everything appeared relatively normal, although somewhat dated. It was as though a layer of dust or wax had settled over everything, including the furniture. She stood up and began walking toward the kitchen.
As she approached the entrance to the hallway, she looked right. The hall door was just ten feet away, and through the frosted glass, the world outside seemed far too quiet. She looked to her left, across the small hallway to where the entrance to the kitchen was. Suddenly, the darkness that enshrouded her was more ominous, and she took a slow, deep breath through her mouth. Her shoulders moved up and down as the icy air ran across her tongue and then down into her lungs. Carefully, she placed one foot in front of the other on the carpet and began to silently walk toward the kitchen doorway. As she crossed the threshold, she could hear the sound of metal hitting against porcelain. She paused. It seemed as though telepathic whispers were clawing at her mind, and she glanced behind her briefly. Only the dimly illuminated living room was there to see; otherwise, the house appeared empty.
She stepped inside and saw her mother standing at the stove at the far end of the kitchen with her back facing her. Jane frowned as a feeling of confusion overcame her. What’s going on? she thought. I was somewhere else, but—
Her mother turned around. For a moment, it seemed as though her eyes were orbs of black obsidian, and Jane gasped in shock. Immediately, she was caught in the thing’s psychic gravity, and she began to lose all apprehension or thought for her wellbeing. A warm light began to build up around them, coming both from the lamps and seemingly also from nowhere—it appeared to be coming out of space itself and illuminating the room.
Jane grasped one last time for a sense of normality, but whatever metaphorical hand she reached out with, it lost its grip, and her awareness that something was very wrong with the scene faded. She was staring directly into her mother’s eyes now, and they appeared normal; there was nothing else untoward about her appearance anymore, and Jane smiled.
Nora was holding a cup in each hand, and steam was rising off the top of them. “Hi, Jane!” Nora said cheerily as she placed the two mugs on the counter.
Jane looked down into the swirling liquid that was contained in the cups as her mother pulled out a stool at the counter and sat down. When Jane looked up, she watched Nora lean forward and balance her chin on her upturned palms.
“Mom…?” Jane said, partly in a question.
“Yes. It’s your favorite,” Nora said, smiling widely. It was the smile of a person on recreational drugs, and for a moment, it disturbed Jane. She felt something tingle in her mind. She groaned softly, and as her mind lit up with pleasure, the feeling vanished. She smiled and
reached her hands out toward the chocolate. A dash of cream had been added to the top, and it swirled around, melting into the liquid.
Jane took hold of the cup and allowed the warmth to flow through her hands. Looking into it, the swirling bubbles of foam took on the appearance of stars, reminding her of a galaxy. The road flashed in her mind, along with an image of Max’s face as he had glanced at her in that memory. The voices from the memory echoed back to her then.
What was it made for?
In simplistic terms, it’s an interdimensional gateway—
She gasped and took a step back, letting go of the cup and looking back up at Nora.
“What about Max?” Jane asked, feeling her mind grasp at the impossibility of the situation, but also knowing she was unable to exert control over it.
“Max is fine, dear. Don’t worry.”
Jane began to relax as she once again felt that same something reach out for her, and her mind became tranquil. She found herself drawn inexorably back toward the kitchen counter, and she took out a stool and sat down. She took one more look into the swirling cocoa and saw that the dash of cream had melted. Glancing back up at her mother, she lifted the cup to her lips.
Nora was smiling at her, and for an instant, Jane hesitated. Then she tipped the cup and drank from it, feeling the warm, soothing, chocolate drink flow down her throat as she swallowed. She wiped her lips, and as the incredible sweetness overcame her—a taste that seemed to overcome every one of her senses—she smiled. She thought of the road once more, but now it seemed like a dream, and as she looked back up, Nora winked at her.
“I suppose… I suppose Max is… off doing something else.”
“Always busy, isn’t he? And… didn’t he leave you by yourself for quite a while?”
“Yes. Yes, he did.” She felt sadness well up inside her, and it was as if this emotion hadn’t existed until that moment. It even felt for a split second as though the emotion was coming from nowhere. She had been staring at her mother when she glanced back down at the cocoa and put the cup to her lips again, taking another large sip.
“Hardly seems fair. He’s always off doing something.”
“Yes. Like…”
“Like your father?”
Jane had been staring into the cup, and now she slowly brought her gaze up to meet Nora’s again. She frowned. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said in weak voice. Something about this exchange struck her as manipulative, but she couldn’t understand exactly what it was. This line of thinking was interrupted as the light around her flickered. She thought the glimmer had come from behind, and so she turned on her stool and looked over her shoulder. She saw the lamp through the open doors in the corner of the sitting room, and it was flickering on and off, as though the electricity was fading.
Jane.
She gasped as she heard his voice clearly. For a moment, she could see the desert sands and his black coat. In this brief vision, she floated close to the ground as she approached from behind him. In her mind’s eye, she saw his coat flutter in the gentle breeze. The bottom of it was covered with a layer of dust.
Jane shuddered as the image faded. The living room came into view once again, and the light there grew dim as the lamp flickered once more and then turned off. Slowly, she turned back around to face her mother. She saw for a brief second that her mother’s eyes were once again that same black color. She was staring over Jane’s shoulder directly toward the lamp in the corner of the living room. As if caught off guard, she smiled and returned her focus to Jane. At that moment, Jane got the first true impression that something was wrong, and her stomach turned. She placed one foot on the floor, preparing to stand up off the stool. Nora’s gaze drifted down to it, and Jane stopped moving automatically. She frowned, looking down at her foot. There was no external force pressing down on it, but still, it appeared to be frozen in place. She could not move. As Jane looked back at her mother once again, she beamed a smile at her.
There was something in that smile, something that was at the same time dark and inviting, and Jane felt herself relaxing back into the comfortable stool. She frowned as she glanced down at the other stools that surrounded the island in the kitchen. She couldn’t ever recall there being such good furniture in the kitchen; her mother could never afford it. It was Jane who fixed most things in the house when they broke—often using her psychokinetic abilities, forcing chunks of wood back into place, etc. But that thought went away too as she felt a wave of pleasure wash over her mind and body. Groaning, she forgot all of those concerns, and glancing down into the swirling chocolate, she took another drink.
“So tell me,” Nora said, “how have you been?”
“I’ve been doing good, Mom. I was looking for something. A man, I think. He wears a black coat, but I can’t—or I couldn’t—find him. I don’t know where he is now. I forget what I wanted him for.”
“Was it something to do with the Machine?”
Jane frowned. “The Machine… The Machine—yes, the Machine. I wanted him to explain it to me. I wanted—”
“You wanted to understand how it worked and who built it… and why.”
“Yes! And more.” For a moment, Jane had a direct memory of the Machine in her mind, but it was as though it had been sectioned off from all other thought. In her mind, the Machine was surrounded by blackness on each side. Still, she could clearly see the rings spinning in their circular orbits. She remembered Max one more time, and for a moment, confusion overcame her. She glanced at the woman sitting across from her, who smiled at her again. For the first time, real doubt stirred within her, and this time, it would not be overcome by the entity’s manipulations. Still, Jane had some awareness of the extreme danger she was in now, and so she continued to play the game—sipping cocoa and smiling.
***
Was it something to do with the Machine?
Max heard the voice resound clearly in his mind and jumped out of his chair, standing upright. The paper was still in his hand, though it was forgotten now, and he dropped it, letting it fall to the floor. He glanced up and down the hallway, scanning the thoughts of the mortals in the room. He knew within seconds that the thought had not come from any of them. He grimaced, knowing whatever the voice had referred to, it wasn’t good. He picked up the paper and walked out toward the front entrance.
Immediately, the attendant came with his coat and helped him put it on. He walked out of the main entrance of the cafe, stepping out onto the street. Above him, the sun seemed strangely artificial, and the sounds of the horses as they passed by were hollow. He glanced down at the paper again.
Machine? he thought. What Machine? But he had no explanation, and nothing else came to mind.
On the paper, he saw another headline, which, translated from French, read, “Boy recovers from a fugue state.” Max frowned at this. Why was this relevant? he wondered, but he knew it was. He looked up again and began walking upward toward the Arc de Triomphe. As he reached the top, he crossed the circular street there and entered the outer section that led to the monument. On instinct, he walked around the side, past the many people, and went to the back of the monument. He looked up at it, marveling at its beauty. As he looked left, for a brief moment he saw an image of the cube—the prison—and a loud gasp escaped him. The image was gone almost immediately.
“What’s happening here? Where am I?” he asked aloud as disorientation overcame him. He held the newspaper up once more and looked at it. Now, on another page, he saw a picture of a young woman, and it took up half the page. Somehow, he recognized her. The caption read, “Young woman, Jane Connor, caught in dangerous web of manipulation.”
His jaw gaped open. He dropped the paper to the ground as he was overcome with immediate understanding. He closed his eyes, and concentrated fiercely.
“Door!” he said in a commanding voice. He opened his eyes and looked forward. For a brief second, right in fron
t of him, the outline of a door appeared, surrounded in etheric light. It vanished just seconds later. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “DOOR!” he yelled louder, willing it into existence. In a matter of seconds, a solid oak doorframe appeared in front of him. For a few moments, it was shrouded in the same light, and then that faded.
He walked toward it and pushed on the handle. The door swung open, and Paris faded from view around him. As he stepped through, he found he was once again back in the desert.
***
“You know, it’s incredible,” Nora said with a sigh, “the power that that Machine gives you now. You could go anywhere, visit anyone or any place—even travel through time. You could correct the mistakes of your past.”
Jane considered this. “Well, I don’t know that I would do that, exactly.”
There was a flicker at the edge of her mother’s smile. “Oh? Why not?”
“Because I think things happen the way they are supposed to. We learn from our mistakes. It gives life meaning, doesn’t it?”
Her mother’s face quivered slightly as Jane continued to look at her. For a split second, Jane felt threatened by her mother’s gaze, for in it, she saw a sliver of malice.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t change a thing?”
Jane considered the question.
“You could go back and undo the accident. Maybe your father would have stayed,” her mother pressed.
Jane winced. She had been holding the cup of cocoa with both hands, and now she released it, leaving the steaming mug on the counter. She looked down at her lap and placed her hands there, unsure of what to say.
“You know that is the main reason he left,” Nora continued. “You could go there now. You could stand on the road and wait for them and your past self. You could prevent the accident from occurring at all, and you and me would know a different life. You could use your power to burn the rain clear off the road. The car would never even slip.”
There was something in her mother’s urging that continued to change the way Jane was thinking. Suddenly, this place seemed unreal. Leaning back a little, she glanced down the hallway at the frosted glass in the front door. There was no crack that arched across it, cutting it in two. That had happened two years ago and had never been repaired. Why wasn’t there a crack in the window now? she wondered. She glanced away from it for a moment, and when she looked back at it, the crack was there. She gasped, and this time, she sensed the entity’s psychic manipulation and its attempt to interfere with her thought processes.
Rise (The Ethereal Vision Book 2) Page 27
