The Prince's Trap

by Griffith, P. D.

  Landon leaned back into the couch, his torso sinking into the soft back cushion. He found it weird that Dr. Brighton would speak so poorly of his father. He’d suggested before that they didn’t have the best relationship, but this was overt criticism. Landon remained silent, afraid to set him off.

  “You also carry a heavy burden of responsibility and have a natural desire to do well by everyone, no matter how much it puts you in danger.” Dr. Brighton paused as he grabbed his mug and took another sip of his drink. “Usual thinking would tell you that this is an admirable quality to possess, and in most cases, it is. However, in the world that we play in, guilt can be a very serious weakness. It festers like a poison. It weighs us down, clouds our thoughts, and inhibits us from working to our full potential—something you know all too well.”

  Landon rubbed his chest as if expecting the reappearance of his bruises from that painful training day when Dr. Brighton forced him to confront his mother’s death by pelting him with river stones.

  “The point I’m trying to make, Landon, is that your actions are going to hurt your success in the end. You cannot let fear of something bad happening deter you from your own success.” Dr. Brighton’s words rang out emphatically as Landon stared down at the couch cushion. He mindlessly rubbed his finger against the coarse fabric as he processed what was being said. “I’m going to tell you something the first Apollo told me: ‘A man who wants to make a profession of goodness in everything is bound to come to ruin among many who are not good.’”

  “The first Apollo?” Landon interrupted as he looked at Dr. Brighton with a confused expression. “I thought you were the first Apollo.” And why does that phrase sound familiar? he wondered to himself.

  “No, the first was a brilliant man named Christopher Winters. I took his name after he was unnecessarily killed in action during the Pantheon’s first mission.”

  “Oh.” Landon kept his head down as he took a sizeable mouthful of tea.

  “Landon, it’s fine.” Dr. Brighton smiled in an attempt to ease the sudden awkward tension that permeated the room. “It was many, many years ago, and he gave me the greatest gift before he died . . . direction.”

  Dr. Brighton leaned back in his chair and rested his mug on the arm of the recliner, securing it with the tips of his fingers. “This may surprise you, but at one time, Landon, I also thought it was in everyone’s best interest for me to leave the Pantheon. I remember being your age. Back then I was so young and naïve. I remember thinking that every little thing was important and that any ramifications for my actions spelled, for me, the end of the world. I often asked myself in those early days, how was I supposed to handle all this responsibility and the stress of keeping my team safe? Like you, the pressure got to me, and I thought the only way to protect those I cared about was to disassociate myself completely.

  “Christopher, however, convinced me otherwise. He told me it was my destiny to lead, that even though I didn’t have the strongest abilities, I possessed an inner strength and vision that was integral to the team’s success. He convinced me that more harm would come to the team if I weren’t a part of it.

  “Think about this, Landon: If on the next mission Peregrine, or Cortland, or even Brock gets hurt, are you going to blame yourself for their injury because you weren’t there?”

  The truth of Dr. Brighton’s words made Landon uneasy. He took deep breaths as he stared pensively at the floor. A switch flipped in his mind as he accepted the profound realization about himself. He turned his head up to face Dr. Brighton, awestruck. Pangs of gratitude and guilt, coupled with a sudden sense of self-awareness, stifled the words he wanted to say.

  “I know. It makes you feel a bit narcissistic, doesn’t it?” Dr. Brighton took the words right from Landon’s thoughts. “I remember how humbling it felt when I realized it. The truth of the matter is, Landon, that even with the situation between you and Brock, you are too important to the team’s success to just quit. However, on the other hand, you have to realize that if something on a mission goes awry, it isn’t automatically your fault. You’re important but you’re not responsible for the unpredictable nature of people’s lives. If everyone’s fate was determined by your actions alone, you’d be God.”

  He’s completely right! Landon stared at his teacher, beside himself with the epiphany.

  Suddenly a loud bang rang through the living area of the apartment, like ceramic shattering on hard floor. Landon looked down and saw his mug, broken into a thousand pieces next to his leg. A puddle of tan liquid spread out from the crash. Landon stared at it in confusion. Somehow he must have dropped it, but he couldn’t figure out how. Looking down at his hand, he was surprised to see it hanging open.

  He tried to get to his feet, but something was . . . off. His body failed to respond. He tried to move his arms, his legs, even his head, but they felt disconnected from him. The sensation was strange. There was a gap between what his mind wanted to do and what his body did—a broken connection, like electricity running through a severed wire. He could see his body, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it to respond to his wishes.

  A movement as Dr. Brighton sat up in his chair caught Landon’s attention. He slowly and deliberately set his cup of tea onto the sole empty spot on the table; his hand held the mug like a crane, his fingers clutching the cup around the rim as he delicately lowered it onto the wood. Dr. Brighton began to talk without looking at Landon. He voice sounded almost apologetic as he kept his eyes on the stacks of papers on the coffee table. “Landon, please don’t be alarmed. I was expecting this to happen. This current situation you find yourself in is a prime example of what I was trying to say to you. The reason I’m doing this is because of how important you are, but please realize that you are not responsible for what I’m having to do right now, or what will transpire in the days to come. You see, this moment is the beginning of the culmination of twenty-five years of planning and waiting. You’re not to blame. I had to do this. Because of your importance, you’re just too much of a liability to leave in the game.”

  Dr. Brighton leaned forward in the recliner and rested his chin on his hand. He painstakingly studied the chessboard that rested on the table. His eyes darted from one piece to the next as he weighed his next move. After what seemed like minutes to Landon, he slowly reached out, grabbed the black knight and moved it to take the white king’s bishop two squares to the right and one square up. Then with a fluid motion, he snatched the bishop off the board and clutched it in his hand.

  As he set the piece atop some of the loose papers, he continued, “If you haven’t guessed, what you’re feeling are the gradual effects of Morphium-12. I unfortunately had to lace your tea with it. You see, unlike when it’s injected, it comes on rather slowly when ingested and works in phases. In its first phase, it inhibits your frontal lobe, leaving you temporarily paralyzed until it fills your system and finally knocks you unconscious. This is not the first time you’ve tasted this particular concoction.”

  A jolt of shock coursed through Landon as Dr. Brighton’s words registered, and his head fell back against the sofa. I’ve been drugged? Landon remembered the overwhelming aroma of vanilla that saturated the air in the Metis Labs lobby, and realized that what he thought was fragrant extract added to his tea was in fact the powerful sedative.

  “There was something Christopher told me in his final breaths, which has guided me to this point. It’s also what puts me at peace with what I’m doing.” Landon’s ears started to ring as his confusion shifted to nervousness while Dr. Brighton continued. “‘In the actions of all men where there is no recourse of justice, the end is all that matters.’”

  I know I’ve heard that before. A frightening realization began to take shape in Landon’s mind, but he wasn’t certain he was right.

  “You must know this wasn’t the original plan. I never expected it to come to this.” H
e sounded sincere, which only sickened Landon. “I knew you were impulsive, but the problem with acting on impulse is it’s very difficult to predict. Don’t mistake me, however—when you stormed out and quit today, I knew immediately that you were going to call off the little technopath. That much was easy to predict, and something I could not allow. It’s just that I didn’t anticipate you quitting before I was able to put my plan into action.”

  He knows about Katie!

  “This might sound a bit complicated to you, but trust me, the plan is quite simple. There is something stored in the Gymnasium that I was meant to have; however, in order to get it, I need to employ your friend Celia and her unique talents for breaking and entering. But you know all too well that she would never help me after what I was unfortunately required to do to her parents all those years ago. She can hold onto a grudge, can’t she?” he asked rhetorically. “So the question became how to employ her help without my noticeable involvement. That’s where the technopath comes in. Katie is the domino that will set the entire chain of events in motion.”

  Landon tried to move his body again, but it was entirely unresponsive. Rage slowly grew within him as he became increasingly frustrated with his uncooperative limbs. He felt trapped, and his body was the cage. It infuriated him, but he also was terrified. All he could do was watch as Dr. Brighton revealed his true devious intentions. Celia was right the whole time! Growing ever more helpless, Landon attempted to tap into his abilities, thinking he could telekinetically control his body and perhaps even fly out of Dr. Brighton’s clutches into safety.

  “The Morphium-12 interrupts your nervous system, which means it also inhibits the use of your abilities. So I’m afraid that’s not going to work,” Dr. Brighton added nonchalantly, predicting Landon’s actions even though his body gave nothing for him to read. “You must understand, Landon, when you’ve observed people as long as I have, you realize people behave rather predictably, and with even the slightest nudge, they can behave exactly as you want them to.

  “Take Katie Leigh, for instance. At exactly midnight tonight, she will receive a windfall of information. A collection of data I’ve been withholding from her undetectable query will finally appear at her fingertips. She will voraciously scan it all and realize the severity and sensitivity of the intel she now possesses. She will then frantically search for you, intent on telling you what she has uncovered, but that won’t be possible. You’ll be here, still lying unconscious on that couch. I initially planned for you to be on a mission when this took place, but we all must adapt, now, mustn’t we?

  “Anyways, I digress. Not being able to find you, Katie Leigh will go to the one other person she thinks she can trust with the information.” Celia! “Coincidentally, the same person I, too, need: Celia.

  “Now, you know as well as I do that Celia’s grown impulsive and irrational since her coma. Thank you for that, by the way. She won’t be able to stop herself from acting on the intel, and that will have her acquiring the precise item I want. She won’t, however, know that the whole thing’s a trap.

  “Once she’s had ample time to acquire the item, the alarms will sound, and I, along with others, will storm in to stop the intruder. Imagine everyone’s surprise when they find Celia as the culprit—the Artemis they’ve been hunting for a year. It’s the perfect distraction to allow me to claim my prize unnoticed.

  “By tomorrow night, the Pantheon will have captured Celia Jackson—their most elusive enemy—and I will finally have in my possession the key to the power I so rightfully deserve. See? I told you the plan was simple.”

  Insults fired through Landon’s mind, but he couldn’t utter a word. I defended you, he thought, as he recollected all the times he had sworn to Celia that Dr. Brighton was just taking orders and was not the evil mastermind she’d made him out to be. I believed in you!

  “I must thank you, though. You were a pivotal player. But I’ve come to understand that you’re rather unpredictable. You’ve required me to adjust my plans quite a few times, but Landon, your role on this day has always been the same. You’re not included.”

  Dr. Brighton wore a conceited smile as he anticipated the successful outcome of his plan. He then rose from the recliner and started toward the door. As he slid open the shoji screen, he turned back. With the Morphium-12 moments away from taking full effect, Landon could just make out the black, fuzzy outline of Dr. Brighton’s body as he stared back at him from the door.

  “I really tried, Landon. I even left you the same book Christopher left me, hoping it would help you understand when this all happened.”

  Landon suddenly realized his earlier suspicions regarding the quotations’ source were correct. He didn’t want to believe it because he’d chosen to place his faith in Dr. Brighton’s goodness, but the more he heard, the more he realized he’d been terribly wrong. He’d been duped—played. Even though his eyes were glazing over, Landon now saw Dr. Brighton clearly for what he was.

  “That book changed my life,” he continued as Landon silently drifted off. “It inspired me so much that I took its title as my moniker. . . . What’s funny is that it was also the very first nickname I ever had. It’s what the scientists called me whenever my father was actually proud of me. What would you call the first psychokinetic in history who happens to also be the son of the lead scientist for the most critical weapons development project of the Cold War?” There was a tremble in Dr. Brighton’s voice that hinted at a longstanding emotional wound that had festered and grown over countless years. “Do you know what they called me? Is it obvious to you now?” He paused as if expecting Landon to venture a guess. If Landon could talk, he would have answered correctly. “They called me ‘the Prince.’”

  The door slid shut as Dr. Brighton descended the staircase, leaving Landon alone in the apartment at the top floor of the pagoda. As the final vestiges of light from the evening sun disappeared behind the mountains, Landon faded into a dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE VAULT

  Landon’s eyelids lazily opened as he woke from a dreamless slumber. Feeling disoriented, he pushed himself upright on the couch as he looked around to get his bearings. The room was pitch black, but a mellow silver light from the moon shone in the windows behind him, allowing him to see that he was in Dr. Brighton’s apartment. No one else was around. The place was deserted.

  With sudden clarity, the moments before he passed out in that very spot roared through his mind. Panic struck him with the force of a hammer, and without delay, he bolted from the couch and out of the pagoda. As he sped down the stairs with reckless abandon, all he could think about was Celia being tortured by Washington Sykes. Landon had no idea how long he’d been out. It could have been an hour, or days for all he knew. His uncertainty and fear for her filled him with determination to find and rescue her.

  The humid night air felt cold on Landon’s face as he burst through the door of the pagoda and onto the cold stone path that led out of the Secret Garden. As a gentle breeze blew off the lake, steam appeared to rise off of Landon’s bare arms and from the top of his head. The fiery strength of his abilities festered in his core with such intensity that Landon felt like his blood was on fire. His skin tingled with energy.

  He harnessed that raw power surging through him and wrapped himself in a telekinetic field. Effortlessly, he rose off the ground and flew as fast as he could ten feet over the lake, creating a powerful wake that displaced the water behind him like a jet flying too low to the ground. His hair whipped about on his head, and he squinted to see through the blustering wind that hit his face. Nervous about how long he was taking, Landon mustered all of his energy and burst forward with augmented speed. He could feel the g-force tugging on his body and stretching the skin on his face, his cheeks and lips pulled back from the pressure.

  He maneuvered quickly around the mountains that jutted into the la
ke and emerged in front of the Gymnasium. In the middle of the night, the facility looked magnificent and alluring. The light of the full moon gave the massive stone façade a soft, silver sheen. The tall glass dome in its center glowed like a burning ember as undulating waves of firelight reflected off the cone of mirrors that descended into the dome’s core.

  Landon moved toward the northern entrance with dangerous speed, but the fast-approaching doors didn’t slow his pace. His need to find Celia and Katie Leigh made him abandon all barriers he placed around his abilities, and he felt in complete control. With perfect timing, Landon reached out and pulled the double doors open telekinetically, allowing him to speed into the massive halls of the facility like a cruise missile laser-guided on its target. He took a wide right, setting his sights directly on the entrance to the Olympic Tower. The powerful wind Landon carried with him snuffed out the flames of the gas lanterns one by one, leaving a trail of darkness behind him.

  As if by second nature, Landon halted just before the massive metal door that led into the Olympic Tower. He floated a foot above the ground for an extended moment and then slowly descended. His naked toes connected with the surface first as he reined in his psychokinetic strength.

  “Landon!”

  Surprised, he swiftly spun around; he held his hands up at the ready to fend off anyone who tried to stop him from rescuing Celia. Out from behind one of the large stone pillars peeked Katie Leigh. She looked scared and nervous. With hesitant steps, she moved out so Landon could see her in full. She attempted to smooth her disheveled hair, which had been blown into a state of disarray by the wind Landon carried in his wake.