Next was a Chinese man living in Cambodia in 1975, where he and his people were starved and worked to death and separated from their children. I circled the phrase “what is rotten must be removed”—a phrase touted in Cambodia during his lifetime—startled by how similar it sounds to our own president’s slogan today. The most recent entries date back to 2005 and were written by a Darfuri woman who lived in West Sudan and told of unspeakable horrors done to her and the rest of her village—so many raped and slaughtered by what she called “devils on horseback”.
It’s not easy reading.
The first connection I come up with is that they are all fighters. When I bring this up to Non, she looks disappointed and tells me to dig deeper. So I do. Google becomes my best friend and I repeatedly come across names like Stalin and Hitler and Pol Pot and the Janjaweed—names that might not mean much had Mr. Lotsam not been my teacher back in Thornsdale. It was the project Luka and I worked on together in World History—the one on genocides of the past.
I flop my research notes onto Non’s desk. “Each one was a victim of genocide.”
“Interesting, isn’t it?”
“I guess. Yeah.” Although I’m failing to see why it’s relevant. In fact, I’m much more interested in something I ran across the other night—a reference to some prophecy. I pored over the rest of the notebooks, but couldn’t find anything more about it. “Do you know anything about a prophecy?”
“I know many things about many prophecies.”
“I’m talking about one in particular.” I scratch the inside of my wrist. The dry air down in the hub has been irritating my eczema. “I think it relates to The Gifting. I think it might be mentioned in one of the other notebooks. Did you ever read about it?”
“Maybe I have.” Non picks up my research notes and hands them back to me. “Make sure to look for the connections.”
Non speaks in riddles.
Later that evening, I’m curled up on the couch in front of the TV, looking through a printed-out database for a rehabilitation center in Phoenix when an anchor for CNN catches my attention with the results of a boring national survey. “And finally, the number one profession on the rise in America is the mental health industry, most likely due to the dramatic increase in mental rehabilitation facilities.”
An image comes—one that is never too far from the surface. Rows and rows of patients in medically induced comas, all in the name of rehabilitation. Non’s words from earlier wiggle like a puzzle piece attempting to shift into place.
*
Cap, Luka, and I stand outside the warehouse, Anna’s flickering cloak a constant reminder that I need to learn this already. I try kicking a pile of rocks, but my foot passes right through.
“Why is this taking so long?” I hate failing. I hate even more the relief in Luka’s eyes every time that I do. He doesn’t want me to master this skill. No, he’s never come out and said it, but he doesn’t have to. My failure means that I am still relatively safe, and my safety means everything to Luka. Another point of frustration. I try kicking the rocks again. Nothing. “What if I never figure out how to do this?”
“You will,” Cap says. “Now focus.”
“I am focusing.” Harder than I’ve ever focused on anything. Figuring out how to do this is essential. Not just to add another Cloak to our number, but to get my family back. I have no idea how they are doing. I haven’t allowed myself to visit them since the night I hopped into Pete’s nightmare. I’m too afraid of what I will see.
There’s a tug behind my belly button.
I pull my shoulders back and cock my head. I know a doorway when I feel one. It’s not very often one opens up when I’m already in the spiritual realm. And this one is strong, intense. It fills me with the oddest sense of urgency. I take a couple steps in the direction of the pull.
“Tess?”
A scream fills the night, only this isn’t from a lady down the street or a young boy fighting off black mist. This is a scream that comes from the doorway. I’ve only heard my mother scream once in my life, when I was in third grade and Pete fell off a tall set of bleachers. The horrified cry left an indelible mark on my memory, so much so that I recognize beyond a shadow of a doubt who is screaming now.
Horror propels me forward.
Cap raises his voice. “Do not take another step.”
As if realizing what I’m about to do, Luka grabs my arm. Cap lunges for my ankle. But it’s too late. I’ve already jumped through, and I’m dragging them both with me. When we tumble out, we’re nowhere near the warehouse. We are on the floor of my parent’s bedroom, in my old house back in Thornsdale.
And we aren’t alone.
Scarface is there, black mist coiling from his fingertips and wrapping around my mother’s head. She arches up in bed and screams as though she’s in unbearable pain. My heart careens out of control. She needs to wake up. This pain she’s feeling isn’t real, it’s in her mind. This man is putting it there. But my father isn’t here to wake her up and somehow, my mother’s door is shut and locked. Pete is on the other side banging, banging, banging. To no avail.
“Stop!” I yell.
The man does. He stops and he turns and he looks at me with unhinged triumph. He barely takes a step toward me before Luka throws out a shield that slams him back into the wall. My mother arches up again. Her body twists—an awful, unnatural twist.
Love swells inside of me—hot and white and fierce. I dive onto the bed and I shake her. I actually shake her.
Her eyes flutter open.
Luka must be as shocked as me, because his shield falters. Scarface recovers and runs toward me. But it’s too late. I do what Cap is shouting for me to do. I startle awake.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Unfortunate Consequences
Exhilaration and terror are two very odd emotions to feel at the same time, but these are what hit me. In fact, they slam into me with such force, I can barely breathe. My mother, being terrorized in California. Me, shaking her awake when my body was here in Detroit. I grabbed a hold of her shoulders and I jarred her awake.
There’s commotion in the hallway. My bedroom door bangs open and the light flickers on. Cap wheels inside, his hair a mess, his white whiskers thicker than normal. “You disobeyed a direct command.”
Luka walks inside behind him wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white undershirt. “Cap, it was her mom.”
The captain rounds on him, and although he’s pointed at Luka, I catch myself shrinking back. “She never should have gone through the doorway.” He spins his chair and jabs the air with his pointer finger. “Never again, do you hear me? Never. Again.”
I swallow, unable to respond—not with words, not even with a nod.
Cap mutters a curse, then wheels back out into the hallway. He didn’t comment on the fact that I finally did it. That seeing my mother being tortured was all the emotion I needed to accomplish what I’ve been trying and failing to do for weeks now. Nor does he tell Luka to get back to his room. This, more than the former, proves just how irate he is about me disobeying orders.
“Are you okay?” Luka asks.
I open my mouth to speak, but the terror and the exhilaration has rendered me mute. I take a deep breath and try again. “My mom.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle with concern. He moves to take a step toward me, but before his foot even hits the ground Cap bangs on the wall. “Get back to your room! We’re done for the night.”
Luka doesn’t budge.
As much as I long for his warmth, his embrace (it’s been much, much too long), I think it might be my undoing. “You should listen to Cap’s orders before he kicks us both out.”
He fists his hair at the crown of his head, a world of conflict raging in his eyes.
“I’ll be okay.” I manage the weakest of smiles. “I promise.”
When I go back to sleep, I find Link in his dream and tell him exactly what happened.
*
Cap cancels our af
ternoon training the next day. He doesn’t even tell me himself. I show up to the training room to find Link attaching probes to Sticks, Claire, and Jose. No sign of Cap at all.
“Sorry Tess, I thought he told you,” Sticks says. “Dr. Carlyle is here to run some tests on Fray. Cap said he wanted to oversee the appointment.”
I have a feeling that had last night not happened, Cap wouldn’t have felt so compelled to oversee anything. With nothing else to do, I head to Link’s lair and boot up his computer. I’ve been spending enough time in here that I know his password. I type it in, pull up the database for Shady Wood, and study my grandmother’s case while fiddling with Link’s Rubik’s Cube. I can never solve it. He can in less than thirty seconds, no matter how much I twist it around.
Patient: Elaine Eckhart, Age: 72, Diagnosis: Paranoid Schizophrenia, Symptoms: advanced psychosis, Medication: olanzapine & lorazepam, Treatment: ECT, psychotherapy.
I pull up the calendar and attempt to figure out how many days it’s been since Luka and I broke in and saw her. The more days I count off, the more my guilt festers. How could we just leave her there, after everything we saw? I want to get her out of that prison. I want Elaine Eckhart to be the next patient we break out. But she’s not a Cloak. Cap would never approve it. I don’t even think Link would go for it. The only hope I have of breaking her free is by finding a cloak at Shady Wood. Maybe then, Cap would agree to rescuing my grandmother, too. Since we’d already be there.
I search the Shady Wood database all afternoon, poring over every detail of every file until my eyes sting and my shoulders ache from hunching. With twenty minutes to go until dinnertime, I find something that makes me sit up straighter.
Patient: Clive DeVant, Age: 46, Diagnosis: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Symptoms: Claims to hide important items in his dreams, compulsively looks for items during the day, unable to stop …
“What you doing on my computer, Xena?”
I spin around. Link stands in the doorway of the computer lab. Sticks must be finished training Claire and Jose for the day. I wave him over and point at the section I’ve highlighted—hides important items.
Link leans over my shoulder and peers at the screen. “I think you just found us another Cloak.”
*
Link and I make a beeline for Fray’s room, throwing each other excited, disbelieving looks as we go. After Link pulled up Clive DeVant’s individual file, there could be no denying it. On top of having dreams where he hides things so well he can never find them again in real life, his therapist reported that Clive could see things nobody else could see, and he often insisted that demons were responsible for everything he had lost. We missed him the first time around because Shady Wood didn’t tag hallucinations or delusions as a main symptom. After weeks and weeks and weeks of desperate searching, we finally found another Cloak.
Fray’s door is ajar.
When I peek inside, my excitement loses its sparkle. Fray lay in bed looking even grayer than the day Luka administered CPR, painfully thin too. Thanks to Dr. Carlyle, he wears a cannula hooked to an oxygen tank and there’s an IV that needles the vein in his bony hand, providing medicine and nutrients. It’s not enough, though. He’s creeping closer to death every single day.
Link raps lightly on the door. Fray doesn’t move, but someone does in the corner of the room that the door blocks from view. A second later, Cap appears.
“Tess found a Cloak,” Link blurts.
Cap doesn’t react. He stares up at us from his chair, then wheels out into the hallway, closing Fray’s door behind him.
“I need you to train me some more tonight so I can get the hang of it.”
His lips draw into a thin line; his silver eyes turn to steel. “No.”
“What?” Surely, he can’t mean it. He’s upset that I didn’t listen to him, I get that. But this is bigger than hurt feelings. This is bigger than Cap’s sense of pride. “I had a breakthrough last night.”
“You disobeyed a direct order last night.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I’m making sure of that.”
“If you’re upset because—”
“I will not bring an insubordinate soldier onto the battle field. Nor will I bring an impulsive one. Impulsive is what got me in this wheelchair. Impulsive is what killed Gabe’s sister. I can’t have you risking your life and the lives of everyone else all because you’re feeling impulsive. There will be no loose cannons here.”
“Come on, Cap, it was only one time.”
The captain rounds on Link, his eyes flashing like bolts of lightning. I’ve never seen him look angrier, or more imposing. “Once is all it takes.”
With that, he wheels down the hallway, toward the cafeteria for dinner.
I shove both hands through my hair and kick the wall. Pain stabs my big toe. “I need to practice tonight. Not tomorrow or the next day. If I wait, I might forget how I did it.”
A slow smile pulls up the corners of Link’s mouth. “Cap said he wasn’t going to train you tonight.”
“I know!” It’s nothing to smile about.
“He never said you couldn’t train on your own. Or that I couldn’t join you.”
*
I find Link sitting in the stands of what appears to be an ancient gladiatorial arena. I quirk one of my eyebrows.
“I thought you should have your own arena. I’ve never actually been to The Coliseum, but I’ve seen lots of pictures. I think I did a pretty good job, don’t you?”
“Yes, excellent.” I close my eyes, eager to feel the tug of a doorway.
“Aren’t you going to get Luka first?”
“I thought we’d give him the night off.”
Link makes a sound.
I open one of my eyes. “Do you have something to say?”
He shrugs a shrug that speaks volumes. He knows I’m not concerned with giving Luka the night off. I’m more concerned that he’d put a stop to our plans the second I pulled him into this arena. He’s not comfortable with my training when Cap’s around. I can’t imagine he’d be too thrilled to learn that I made plans with Link to do that very same training without Cap’s supervision.
I push thoughts of Luka out of my head and focus on the tugging. I step to the right and the thin pulse strengthens. Another step to the right and it turns into a pull. “You feel that?” I ask.
“Sure do.”
We clasp hands and walk through together. When we step over the threshold, we aren’t where we normally are—directly outside the warehouse. We’ve gone further than usual. We’re standing outside the rundown tattoo parlor, the one with a dragon painted on the window. It sits on the corner of the street that leads to the warehouse, and another street that’s not quite so abandoned. A scantily-dressed woman hangs out kitty-corner across from us, showing off long legs and crooking her finger at a car that drives past. The vehicle slows to a stop. The woman climbs inside and the street is deserted again.
“Can you feel that?” I ask Link.
“The cold?” He rubs his hands together. “I never understood why we can feel cold when we’re not in our physical bodies.”
No, not the cold.
It’s a heaviness. As though something dark lurks around the corner. It makes me uneasy. I step closer to the tattoo parlor, next to a bolted-down garbage can (just in case someone’s in the mood to pilfer a garbage can, I guess). A crushed beer can sits on the ground beside it. I close my eyes and let myself feel the emotions I felt last night—the fear and the anger, and most of all, the love. My mother, the woman who raised me. I think about the way she played with my hair whenever I had a nightmare as a little girl. The motherly way she peppered me with questions the minute Pete and I walked through the door after school. The embarrassing tour she gave Leela of our house. Her happiness when I started making friends in Thornsdale. What it must have been like for her when she had to pack a bag for me and send it with Luka. I miss her so terribly it feels as though all the world’s gravit
y takes up residence in my chest. I let it swirl and build until I can’t handle it anymore, then I swing back my leg and kick the can.
It whizzes past Link’s nose.
My eyes widen. I did it. For the second time now, I have moved something in the physical realm without being there in physical form.
Link looks from me to the can. “Do it again.”
So I do. Again and again and again, until I’m exhausted, replete, absolutely wrung dry. And just as I’m learning some control, just as I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t send the can sailing, but scoot it a few subtle inches with my toe, the sound of clapping breaks through my concentration.
“Well done! Well done, Little Rabbit.”
I whip around, dread crawling up my throat.
He’s here in Detroit, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
It’s so startling that my eyes fly open in bed. I sit upright and look about, as if the man is here in my room. How did he find me? How did he get from California to Detroit? Last night, when I finally obeyed Cap’s orders and startled, it was only after Scarface lunged at me. Did I give him enough time to grab on? To travel through the door and find us here?
If this is true, I’ve put everyone in serious danger. Anna’s cloak is failing. It’s only a matter of time before he finds us.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Prophecy
Never mind purpling, I have to talk about what happened. Besides, it’s four fifty-five, which makes it more early morning than middle of the night. I step out into the darkened antechamber, prepared to head down the boy’s hallway when a light flickers to life down the corridor that leads to the cafeteria.
The Awakening Page 20
