Josh understood my demons and my dreams. He chased away the bad thoughts and made sense of my déjà vu moments. Josh was always around to rescue me. And here he was again, playing the hero. What would I ever do without him?
“I got your usual,” Josh says as he nudges the large chai tea latte to me and stands.
I nod and my brother pulls me into a tight embrace. The safety of his arms breaks my resolve. I collapse into a crying mess. The more I cry, the tighter his arms wrap around me; a familiar pattern of security I need tonight.
“Shh,” he says. “Everything’s going to be okay. Tell me what happened.”
His voice unleashes more tears, his calm releases my panic. Time passes until the sobbing stops and my endless tears subside.
“Well, you had a lot to get out, didn’t you?” Josh teases as he releases me.
I drag my arm across my face, a feeble attempt to dry the last of the tears. “I guess so,” I manage to whimper. “Things are so screwed up. People were shooting at us.”
Josh scrunches his forehead in disbelief. “It can’t be as bad as you think.”
“Worse,” I blurt out in a garbled mess. “Mom and Dad are dead because of me.” More sobs engulf the last words.
“They just called me. They aren’t dead. What’s really going on?”
Called? How? My brain spins back into crazy town and confusion eclipses every thought.
“Dakota?” His voice compels me to spill every secret, just like always.
“I freaked out a few days ago. At the Coffee Café, with Elaine.” I take another sip of my latte. The warm spicy scent relaxes each memory. “I wound up in the hospital for a couple of days while everyone poked around in my head.”
“Did they find anything interesting?” Josh smirks.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?”
Josh laughs again. “Sorry. Go on.”
How can he laugh right now? How can he be so relaxed?
“Mom and Dad came and got me. On the way home, they told me we’ve been in hiding and my episode made the news and we had to leave.” Reliving the night raises my apprehension. The walls close. It takes every ounce of restraint not to run away. “We were run off the road by an SUV with black windows, just like something out of a spy movie. They told me to find you. I jumped out of the car and a couple of gunmen shot at us. Mom screamed. I think she’s dead, Josh. I think they’re both dead.”
Josh’s face grows serious. “This isn’t your fault.” His voice is little more than a whisper.
“Of course it’s my fault. Those people found us because of me, my breakdown. And now Mom and Dad—”
“Did you see them die?” Josh stares through me.
My body erupts in chills. “What?”
“Did you see them die?” he asks again.
“No, but—”
“They aren’t dead. At least, I’m pretty sure they aren’t.” Josh’s voice thins, becoming more and more distant. “They would’ve been prepared for this. It was only a matter of time before this happened.”
“What are you talking about ‘matter of time’? Josh?” My brain slows, chewing on every syllable.
Puzzle pieces turn, clicking into place. Josh isn’t surprised about anything. Not my freak out session, not the gunmen, none of it.
Because he already knew . . .
Everything.
“WHY AREN’T YOU UPSET, JOSH?” I wait for his answer, swallowing back the distrust as it creeps up my throat. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Josh stares down at his untouched coffee.
“I tell you about Mom and Dad being dead, about being in hiding, and you aren’t upset or even surprised. Are you going to tell me how long you’ve known? Why you think they’re still alive?”
Silence.
“Josh?”
“Yes, alright. Mom and Dad have a complicated past and they should’ve told you everything. We are in WITSEC, or at least we were. Mom and Dad expected we’d be discovered eventually. They planned for this. That’s why I don’t believe they’re dead.”
“They should’ve told me. You should’ve.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t matter now. Right now you have to get out of here. We both do.”
I bite my lip as disbelief funnels through my thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Josh pins me with his glare.
“Josh?”
His eyes stay glued to his coffee. I imagine myself rifling through his thoughts. Josh’s voice screams answers to unspoken questions. We aren’t safe . . . must leave . . . experiments . . . warn the others . . . disappear. I can’t process the words, decipher their meaning. My head spins. Josh reddens.
“Stop!” His voice is low, belying a threat between the syllables. “I’m serious, Dakota. Stop it now!”
“What? I’m not doing anything.”
More questions tick by too fast. Josh’s disembodied voice continues to speak in silent cadences.
“That. Prying into my mind. Stop!”
Josh’s eyes roll back and close. In an instant the noise quiets—every noise. Josh’s voice no longer answers my incessant questions, no more ideas collide together. Nothing. Even the background sounds of the espresso machine and chatter from the baristas stop.
The world is too still, too empty. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I pinch my brows together, willing my ears to work, the internal conversations to start once more.
“How are you doing that?” My voice cracks. “What—”
“Relax,” he says. His concern calms me. “I needed your attention.” Josh opens his eyes and stares deep into mine. You must learn to control your mind now, Dakota.
My skin erupts in gooseflesh. Josh’s voice is again inside my head. The more he stares at me, the louder his presence.
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask.
A smile is the only response.
“You’re in my head?”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“And before?”
“That was you; your abilities.”
My mind closes around his words. “I don’t understand.”
“You can read other people’s thoughts, Dakota. Force them to tell you things.” There’s no shame in his voice, no accusations. Josh takes my hands in his. “You pushed yourself into my head and ordered me to answer you.”
I pull away from his grasp. “No. Impossible.” I can’t swallow the lie. Dr. Donaldson, the gunman—I’d bent them to my will. Not only them. A random teacher. A friend. Every time I get too upset, too emotional, I think of what I want and it starts to happen.
I’m a freak, a total and complete nut-job.
“This is why I, we, have to leave, isn’t it?” I clear my throat, loosening the words that don’t want to come. “Mom and Dad didn’t witness a crime. I am the crime. The problem.”
“Dakota,” Josh reaches for me again.
I push the chair out and stand. “I can’t stay here.” The air thins. “You should have told me.” I walk out of the café.
“Dakota! Wait!” Josh catches my arm as I attempt to leave the cramped space. “Please, wait.”
“Why? So you can tell me how no one told me for my own good or some other crap?” I break free from his grasp and run to the parking lot.
Josh calls for me, follows.
“This is so messed up,” I say as I spin to face him, unable to control my anger. “You knew I was a freak and you didn’t say anything. We were in hiding, my life was a lie and still you said nothing. ” I’m screaming now, my voice harsh against my throat.
“Dakota, please.”
“Mom and Dad are dead because of me!”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“I heard them scream!” I can’t even think now. The words come too fast, the accusations too strong.
“You’re scared. I am, too,” Josh says.”But right now we have to get someplace safe and figure this all out.”
“There is no place safe for me anymore.
I’m crazy. This is all my fault.”
Josh hesitates. “You’re wrong. We aren’t in hiding because of you. Mom and Dad did witness a crime. Some very bad people wanted to hurt us, so Mom and Dad went into hiding to protect our family.”
I listen to the lies I want to be true.
“Your breakdown, the things you can do, it’s all over the news. These people are relentless. They found you once. They’ll find you again. And this time they’ll kill you. They’ll kill all of us.”
“Like Mom and Dad,” I whisper.
Josh swallows hard. “I don’t believe they’re dead. But if they are, they died protecting you. Don’t let it be for nothing.”
Thoughts and fears settle on my skin as I reflect again on the past couple of days: Dr. Donaldson, mute; the gunman, unconscious; Josh, obeying every command.
“What’s wrong with me? How can I get into people’s heads? Why?”
“Now’s not the time to think about it. I promise I’ll tell you everything. First we need to get out of here.” Josh guides me to his car. “Let’s go.”
Something in his voice sends chills exploding across my skin. “Okay,” I say as I hop in and we speed out of the parking lot.
Night darkens around us. We drive away from town and up the familiar hills toward our house. “Why are we going home?” I ask, certain nothing good waits for me there.
“I need to get something.” Josh stares straight ahead, his jaw stiff.
The sky is black as the moon hides behind clouds. As the darkness surrounds us, I settle down in the seat and close my eyes, desperate to believe the day never happened.
Pictures immediately flood my mind. Each turn opens a fresh crop of images.
A man in a dark sedan, his head in excruciating pain before he drops dead from an unseen force. dead. A girl careening around corners, her car swerving and skidding at ever-increasing speeds. Death coats my senses and I forget how to breathe. I grab a fistful of Josh’s shirt, my hands cramped into compliance. A final image blooms across my vision. Mari, the girl from the hospital, the girl driving too fast, stares into my eyes and screams a single word onto Josh as a final image of Mari, the girl from the hospital blooms, screaming a single word . . .
Run!
THE ARCHITECT WAITED, HER CAR IN IDLE, CAREFUL TO REMAIN HIDDEN IN THE DARKNESS. Her target rushed past, the stereo in the second-hand Honda blasting loud enough to vibrate the seats of her black sedan. The girl bounced to the music, unaware of the eyes following her as she pulled the car into the driveway of the darkened house.
She’d been following her all day. First to school, then the library, followed by a too-long stay at a local coffee shop. She considered taking the seventeen-year-old girl at the café, picturing all of the ways the girl could be persuaded to end her life. But, she had to be certain first; had to make sure.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in an eerie combination of navy and crimson. The Architect pulled forward, the headlights off. The car crept past the house as the girl opened the door of her Civic. Noise poured from the car, vibrating the pavement in loud, staccato rhythms.
Turn off the car, the Architect breathed as the girl cut the ignition, climbed from the car and grabbed her few belongings—a white handbag, out of place for this time of year, a denim messenger bag and a large binder. Dark auburn hair bounced along her shoulders as she disappeared into her house, never noticing the black sedan.
The Architect stared, her mind lost in thought. She hadn’t seen the girl’s face clearly yet. Sure, she was the right age, the right general appearance. But what if the Architect had tracked the wrong family? What if the girl wasn’t Mari? Finding those who wanted to disappear, especially those familiar with the Architect’s methods, was difficult under the best of circumstances.
And this was hardly the best situation.
The Architect glanced in her mirror, noting the evidence of age and stress that had crept over her skin and hair these past ten years. She didn’t like this mission, didn’t want to be the one responsible for more deaths. But she had no choice—their lives, or hers.
She grabbed the picture tucked in the mirror’s plastic visor, staring at five-year-old version of Mari as blocks floated around her head. They’d called each other friend then. They had been close. Before the episode that changed everything; before the Architect chose life over friendship.
The Architect threw the car into Park and considered the small house. Nothing about the two-story colonial with blue shutters stood out. It resembled every other house in the quiet subdivision, each with its manicured yard and cookie cutter architecture. Nondescript. Expected.
A light drew her attention upstairs. She followed the girl’s shadow moving across blind-covered windows. Within a few moments the movements stopped.
“Nothing to do but wait. Make sure.” Her voice held a hint of all-too-familiar concern. She scrutinized the picture once more, settling on the slight scar extending from Mari’s nose to her lip. The Architect remembered the origins of the mark: the fight with other recruits days before the end, the glass that broke across Mari’s lip during a fit of rage and jealousy, the crimson blood that suddenly made the experiments, the dangers, too real.
Moments stretched as the Architect wrestled with her memories. She gripped the wheel, tapping out her annoyance. Make a decision, she said to herself. Decide! She laid a finger to her temple and centered her thoughts. Her eyes instinctively rolled back as the lids closed.
Darkness eclipsed her sight for a heartbeat, replaced by four brightly colored walls that slowly blurred into view. A white bed was placed in one corner, flanked by a white desk with a computer. She glanced around the room, noting every detail and comparing them to her memories.
Clothes littered the floor—just like before.
Makeup tossed carelessly about the room—no organization, no order.
Posters of bands she’d never heard of covered the walls. On the bed, the girl lay on her side, phone in hand.
Mari.
The Architect moved closer. The girl turned, her gaze looking through the Architect. She stopped and sucked in a sharp breath. The girl pinched her brow, boring into the blank spaces in front of her. The Architect knew the girl sensed her. She stared at the girl’s face. Same translucent skin and green eyes. Same high cheek bones, full lips, wide eyes. Same deep scar.
Found you.
The girl inhaled a strangled breath, still peering into the emptiness of her room. She rolled over, swung her legs to the floor and stood.
“You’re curious,” the Architect muttered aloud. She stepped closer to her, wondering what she would do.
Mari edged forward, collapsing the distance between them. The Architect felt her breath on her neck. “You sense me, don’t you?” She visually traced the slight imperfection that reached from the left side of Mari’s nose toward her lip. “I’m sorry”, the Architect whispered. “I have no choice.”
The girl’s arms erupted in goose flesh. She stepped back, the color in her face all but gone. She reached out, slicing her hand through the space. Nothing. Once more she touched the air in her room. After a few moments she shook her head and retrieved her phone.
The Architect opened her eyes and blinked. Her breath came in rapid pants as she nodded. She had found her. Finally. “Forgive me,” she said as new shadows danced against the blinds in the upstairs bedroom.
Is it done? The Creator’s voice stole her concentration.
Almost. She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice, even in her thoughts. The Architect didn’t like sharing her mind with the Order.
Finish it now. The presence left her mind, leaving only an ever-present threat.
She clenched her teeth, compelled to both retreat and move forward. The lights in the house blackened and Mari came outside. She hopped into her car and sped down the empty street. Whoever she’d been texting had certainly gotten her attention.
The Architect turned the key and the sedan’s engine purr
ed to life. She turned the car around and followed. The sky had blackened now, nothing but inky darkness punctuated with the yellow-orange glow of the street lights. This would be easier now that night had descended and the streets had emptied.
The car sped up the hills behind Mari’s house, taking the turns faster and faster. The Architect followed, oblivious to her surroundings. She narrowed in on Mari. The Architect saw the inside of the car, the dark grey vinyl, Mari’s iPhone lodged in the cup-holder next to her, the music pounding from the old speakers. A deep sob escaped Mari’s throat as she blinked back an endless river of tears.
I’ll end your misery, the Architect thought. She closed the gap between the cars, her thoughts never leaving Mari’s.
The Architect pushed into Mari’s mind and watched the phone light up and vibrate. Mari focused on the road and the hairpin turn just ahead. The phone vibrated again. The Architect compelled Mari’s hand to grab the shaking metal. Mari resisted, her forehead wrinkling with the strain. Again the Architect pushed, and again Mari resisted.
The Architect carved deeper into Mari’s thoughts, taking them as her own. Tears poured over Mari’s cheeks. “No” filled her mind as her arm shook.
“I’m sorry,” the Architect said as she forced herself past Mari’s pain and urged her to again reach for her phone.
The Architect pressed the accelerator, absorbing the power of her car as it caught up and hugged the Honda’s bumper. Mari continued to block the invasion, her arm cramping with the effort.
The Architect doubled her efforts. “Grab the phone,” she screamed in the empty car while she pictured Mari’s hand on the phone. “Grab it now!”
The Architect looked through Mari’s eyes, noting the turn coming too fast. Their hearts pounded in unison. She forced Mari’s head to the right. Mari’s skull squeezed around her and tightened from the attack. Controlling her arms at last, the Architect forced Mari to pick up the phone. Mari’s eyes focused away from the road as she fixated on the illuminated text.
Mari’s head, arm, hand shook. Her heart beat faster and faster. Uneven breaths turned into fear-laced pants. She forced her will on the Architect, desperate to regain control. But it was no use. The Architect had trained for almost as many years as she had lived. She had too much experience, too many other victims she’d claimed for the Order.
Collide (The Solomon Experiments Book 1) Page 4
