by Sarah Noffke
One-Twenty-Six Press.
Stunned
Sarah Noffke
Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Noffke
All rights reserved
Copyeditor: Christine LePorte
Cover Design: Andrei Bat
All rights reserved. This was self-published by Sarah Noffke under One-Twenty-Six Press. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. If you are seeking permission send inquiry at www.sarahnoffke.com
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States by One-Twenty-Six Press
ISBN: 978-0-9862080-3-4
For Lydia.
May all your dreams come true.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter One
Sixty-five days. That’s how much longer I’m obligated to physically remain at the Lucidite Institute. I’m thinking of starting to count in hours. For now my consciousness is passing time at a café in Prague.
The rain makes a pitter-patter song on the canopy outside the window. People run into the café, searching for relief from the constant drizzle. They stop once they find refuge, shaking out their water-soaked coats and hats. The barista keeps eyeing each new arrival like they’re a nuisance. No doubt they’re the staff responsible for cleaning the floor later. Watching people is fun, especially when they can’t see me, and especially when I don’t know them—their flaws, their demons, their lies, their injustices.
A guy is chatting up a girl in the corner. She’s being polite, but keeps tucking her nose back in her book. He isn’t getting the hint. He also doesn’t get that he’s too old for her. My guess is he’s married. Probably runs a sham of a business selling forged art to tourists. Cheats on his taxes. Beats his cat.
Even when I don’t know the people, I still find their faults. Or invent them.
I need a vacation. I laugh. At least I still have my stellar sense of humor. Oh, and my modesty.
Absentmindedly, I twirl the frequency adjuster between my fingers.
Baffled. That’s how I felt when it wasn’t George, but rather Aiden who begged me to wear the adjuster again.
“Why? Why do you care?” I replied when a week ago he asked me to put the frequency adjuster back on.
“Because he can’t concentrate and tune into emotions if you’re not wearing it,” the Head Scientist said. He was all business. No flirtatious looks or heated glances. Just his agenda.
“Well, I’ll be gone soon enough and then I won’t interfere.”
He shook his head. I didn’t know if he was shaking off my plans to escape the Institute or my resistance to comply. “But we need you to wear it now,” Aiden pleaded.
“We? Why?” I said, trying to stand my ground.
“Because we’re working on something, and George needs his ability to read emotions to perform adequately,” he said, staring not at me but off in the distance.
“You two are working on something? Together?” I asked in disbelief. “What is it?”
Aiden averted his eyes. I sighed. More secrets. Hooray…
“Look, I can’t tell you,” he said. “It’s confidential. But...Roya, you can trust me.”
I somehow doubt that.
I dissected him with my eyes for a long time. It’s hard to like someone so much and also feel intensely frustrated by them. I love the way Aiden made me feel when we danced at the party. I love when he speaks excitedly about his newest inventions. His passion pulls me to him like a vacuum. But it isn’t enough, because at the end of it all I know he can’t commit to me. He’s always straddling some fence between his career and me. I want to have faith in him, but heartbreakingly…I don’t. Aiden loves his secrets, and sadly I’ve become one of them.
“I’m actually kind of surprised by your behavior,” Aiden said, disappointed. “You know that George suffers a great deal when you’re not wearing the frequency adjuster. It’s torture on him.”
“That was kind of the point,” I said dully.
“Well, your point has been made. Give him a break now.”
“Do you even know why I took off the adjuster in the first place?” I asked, my hands on my hips.
“He said you two had a fight. Whatever the disagreement, don’t hold your power over him. It isn’t fair.”
I was so close to telling him that George had made an ultimatum. One that involved Aiden. I wanted to make him see that I was right and George was wrong. But if I did, then everything would become even more complicated. There was no way to tell Aiden that George professed his love to me without making things uncomfortable.
I’m actually surprised that George agreed to work with Aiden at all. He was pushing me to disclose my true emotions that night because he didn’t know whether I was falling for him or Aiden. The truth is I didn’t know either. I wanted them both, for different reasons. Now I’m furious at both of them. I can’t get a break.
“Please, Roya. Will you do this for me?” Aiden asked, persuasion spiking his voice.
The frequency adjuster sat lonely on a nearby table. Just looking at it made George’s calculating eyes swim into my vision. I had no idea what Aiden and George were up to. Somehow I was interfering. To try to rid myself of some of this drama, I picked up the adjuster and tied it around my neck. A smile spread across Aiden’s face.
“Fine,” I said, tying the necklace in a double knot.
“Roya, you’re always—”
“Save it, Aiden. You got what you wanted,” I said, frustration laden in my tone.
“Well, thank you.”
My eyes drifted to the monitor hanging overhead. Its cascading graphics were morphing in perfect choreography to a Frou Frou song.
“Is there anything else? Any other reasons you called me down to your lab?” I asked, hoping my tone di
dn’t sound too expectant.
A smile tugged on his mouth. “Unfortunately, no. Right now I’ve got to get caught up on some work.”
A curt nod. “Right. See you around.”
That was the last time I’d seen Aiden. A week ago. Too long. Apparently, he had a lot of work to catch up on.
My mind shifts back to my current surroundings, shaking off my irritation at Aiden. The tax-evading, animal-abusing adulterer has gotten up to order a few more coffees from the barista. His smug attitude oozes off him and is more repelling than his cologne. I have half a mind to push out a chair suddenly to trip him when he waltzes past my table. If it wasn’t for the Lucidites’ damn laws against such things then I would—with no guilt. The girl is already engrossed back in her book. She’s got to be thinking about how she’s going to handle this guy when he returns, ready to make his next move. Maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s like me—reactionary under romantic tensions.
When I had torn off the adjuster, George disappeared, no doubt dealing with the torture my frequency caused him. On the day I once again tied it around my neck, he plopped down next to me at lunch. His nonchalant attitude was enough to make me want to tear off the adjuster again and throw it in his mashed potatoes. However, when I met his eager gaze, I lost my resolve. It was hard to be furious with him since I knew he was reading my angry emotions and deciding to act friendly despite them. He was obviously trying to mend relations, but I’m North Korea. I don’t want to get along with the rest of the free world. Mostly, I want to be left alone. Fat chance that will happen though.
“Hey,” he said to me, taking a sip of water.
I cut my eyes at him.
“Thanks for putting the frequency adjuster back on,” he said.
Again I didn’t respond verbally. Instead I shot all my disappointment at him. Everything had been intensely emotional since my fight with Zhuang. George was a huge part of that fight. In a way I felt closer to him than I did to Aiden because we were in battle together. Had shared those horrors. However, he pushed me at my weakest moment and demanded more than I was willing to give. If Aiden would have done this then I would have understood, because he was always ignoring boundaries. But George had the ability to recognize my emotional states and therefore know when to back off. We had potential, but George couldn’t live in the moment. He had to assert pressure on a relationship which was going along just fine. He had to ruin everything.
The way he chewed his lip made me certain he’d read my emotions. I pushed my plate away, having lost my appetite. “What’s this project that you’re working on with Aiden?” I asked him.
“It’s confidential,” he said in a mechanical voice.
So I had heard.
“I think we both know I can be trusted with confidential information,” I said. “I never leaked a bit of the emotional data you confided in me during our training, did I?”
“No, but this is different. Trey has asked—”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, never mind then. If Trey said to keep it a secret, then I won’t know unless he’s the one who chooses to tell me. My own brother didn’t even rebel against the Head Official the last time he made a demand like that.” I turned to Samara, who was doing a lousy job of pretending not to listen. “Speaking of Joseph, have you seen him around lately?”
“Hardly,” she admitted.
“Yeah, me either.” I sighed. I really needed his counsel, but he hadn’t been coming by my room in the evenings like he normally did. At meal times he was mostly absent or rushed. Strange that he’s the one who begged me to stay at the Institute and he was missing most of the time. “What about you, Trent? Have you seen Joseph?”
“Girl,” Trent said, tucking a dreadlock behind his ear, “I’m lucky to see my own image in the mirror as of late. I’ve been working too much to keep up with anyone.”
Trent had been recruited by Ren to work in his department. Although I thought Ren’s full time job was being a middle-aged, red-headed jerk with a chip on his shoulder, he apparently was pretty successful as the Head Strategist for the Lucidite Institute.
“I know what you mean,” Samara said, turning to Trent. “The news reporting orientation is pretty time consuming.” She stood up from the table. “Hey, maybe Trey has Joseph working on a project too.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said.
“Well, speaking of work, I’ve got to run,” Samara said.
“Me too,” Trent said, and followed Samara out.
Since I didn’t want to be alone with George, I made up an excuse about having something to do and left the main hall. The truth was I didn’t have a single thing to do. Everyone from my team had a project to keep them busy during the day. Not me. This left me hours to idle around my room and read books. When I couldn’t stand it any longer I’d throw on my sneakers, grab the iPod Aiden gave me, and go for a run. Other than these activities I didn’t have any way to occupy my time at the Institute. The only relief I had was when night approached and I traveled to whatever place and time on earth I chose. Most of my dream travel was spent searching the past for interesting times in history. This is apparently what most new Dream Travelers spend their time doing.
“Everyone is always obsessed with the past,” Shuman informed me one day during lunch. “Nothing is as real as the past. It is that surreal aspect that draws people to it repeatedly,” she said in her airy tone. “However, a time will come when you realize the past holds fewer answers than the present. Those who live in the moment are the most powerful.”
For a while, I hardly spent any of my time dream traveling in the present. Apparently I wasn’t after answers as much as distraction. There were so many times in history I wanted to see with my own eyes. In a little over a week of dream traveling I’d witnessed everything from Lincoln’s assassination to the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. My nights were a history book of education. However, I did learn that I had to limit my time travels. It was more draining than present time dream traveling. It was difficult too. Going back too far, for too long cost energy and required me to return to my body where I was forced to fall into mindless sleep. Luckily, my night spent with Bruce Lee, when I learned kung fu, had worked because it wasn’t too far into the past and didn’t take too much out of me.
Currently I was distracting myself by brushing up on present-day sociology. Right now, Eastern Europe was on my curriculum list. Cafes like this one in Prague offer richness that can’t be found in museums. For hours I listen to conversations, watch interactions, and study the human condition. And as a bonus, I’m learning Czech.
Still, the people watching isn’t enough. Exploring the major points in history isn’t enough. My dream travels have failed to take my mind off my loneliness. A few weeks ago I didn’t want to die because I’d lose all the people I’d come to love. Now I’m miserable because I’m alive and very much alone.
The older gentleman sets down his coffee cup and slips the girl his phone number. She politely accepts it, but I’m guessing she’ll only use it as a bookmark. People are so unbelievably convoluted. Soon I’ll forget all the complicated people and emotions inside this tin box where I’m forced to physically reside. Soon I’ll be living with Bob and Steve, who aren’t difficult at all, but rather simple. From their place I’m going to soak up normalcy. Right now I’m craving that more than nineteenth-century poetry.
Chapter Two
No one speaks to me at breakfast the next morning. They’re all too busy shoveling food into their mouths so they can get to work. George looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t dare.
If it wasn’t for Patrick, the Institute’s courier, then I would have taken a vow of silence for the day—just for the hell of it. He stops me in the hallway. “How you liking your stay at the Institute thus far, sweetheart?” he says, tipping his baseball cap at me.
“Fine.” I sort of shrug. “I could use a window in my room though.”
“Couldn’t we all.” His chuckle makes his mustache twitch. “Sweethear
t, you need to badger your admirers to send you more gifts, that way I have an excuse to grace you with my presence.”
“I’ll get right on that. Actually, I wanted to send a letter this morning.”
“Well then, I’m your man. You got it with you?”
“No, haven’t written it yet. I was wondering, though, does the Institute have internet?”
“Well, sure,” he says with a laugh. “We’re underwater, not in the dark ages.”
“Oh good. I was thinking that for letters and stuff I could send emails. That would save you the trouble.”
He frowns. “Whoever said it was trouble?”
“Well…I…just…”
He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Oh stop now. You send your emails. I’ll find a way to see your pretty face, even if I have to write letters to you myself.”
I laugh. “Patrick, you’re a charmer, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called many things, but that’s not one of them,” he says.
After getting directions from Patrick I take off for the computer lab. I find it on the third level. Of course, email! Why hadn’t I considered that before? Must have been that whole fear of being murdered thing that overwhelmed my practical nature.
The rest of the day I spend reading Stephen Crane’s The Open Boat. This classic is one I was waiting to devour on a lonely day, just like this one. Strange emotions arise as I read. Passages are completed in my mind before my eyes finish them. The entire book is like a long-lost best friend—or twin brother. It’s like I’ve already read this book, although I haven’t. Something in this particular fiction speaks to me and I can’t shake the feeling. And I also don’t understand it. Crane wrote, “When it occurs to a man that nature does not regard him as important . . . he at first wishes to throw bricks at the temple, and he hates deeply the fact that there are no bricks and no temples . . . .”
If I’m truly delving into my psyche, as George would have me do, then I admit that on a subtle level this passage makes me wonder if we’re truly all alone. I wonder this more lately with all my solitary hours. If God reigned in this world, would Zhuang have been capable of doing what he did? But what people did to stop a man like Zhuang was an inspiration. And I’ve read enough to have an idea of where most great writers believe inspiration comes from—a holy source. Still, the passage keeps me wondering, not just about God, but also about whether we’re always grasping at straws that aren’t really there. That’s what keeps me up most nights. Those damn straws.
