“I’m here, Viktor,” says a voice from the darkness, a voice that is much different than I remember…yet it is a voice I would recognize anywhere.
“Aleksei,” I whisper in disbelief, my heart pounding. And suddenly, the room is tilting. The candlelight grows brighter and brighter until I am overcome by its brilliance. I feel as if I am falling down a terribly deep pit, straight through the heart of the sun. And I know deep in my bones that this is not how I remember it. This is not the truth of things.
This is—
Chapter Fourteen
IT was as if a monstrous black vortex had whipped Devon around and around like a spinning bola and then flung him at mind-warping speed across the universe. He thought for sure that the gray matter had liquefied between his ears by the time he arrived—screaming at the top of his lungs—back into his body. He was certain that something terrible had happened to Alya.
“ALYA!” The cry ripped from his throat even before he had full control of his senses. His heart pounded as he blinked his eyes and willed his body to move. Something had gone dreadfully wrong during her replay. And a million unanswered questions swirled around in his brain like an F5 tornado.
“Alya!” he said again, though far from the ear-splitting volume of his first savage outcry. This time, he found that he could move his arms, and the grass was once again tickling his feet through the fabric tears along the sides of his shoes. Yes! He was finally back and standing at the head of the wooden lounge just where he had been before Bai Lee had replayed her memories.
“Alya,” he said softly this time, looking down at her still form. The branches of the tree were slowly uncoiling themselves from around Alya’s body. Devon exhaled in frustration. He needed to find her wrist and check for a pulse. “Alya, please…stay with me.”
Scooting around the wooden bench as the tree’s tendrils further withdrew, Devon took her limp hand and felt for the soft rhythm of her heart. To his utter relief, it was there—faint, but apparent just the same.
“She’s alive,” said Bai Lee from behind him.
“No thanks to you,” Devon snapped. “You assured me this wasn’t going to happen. You said she’d be all right.”
“And she is,” Bai Lee replied matter-of-factly. “I think she just fainted or something.”
“Or something?” Devon whirled on Bai Lee. “I told you she was too weak to handle this!”
Bai Lee didn’t move. Only her frown lines deepened. “Then she must be too weak to escape with us. Is that what you’re saying?”
The question shot straight through Devon and he felt his insides explode into a million useless pieces. This was his worst fear realized—the thing he had hoped to prevent. And all because of his stupid lies and bravado.
“No, no,” he said quickly, the anger gone from his voice. “That’s not what I meant.” He lowered his gaze and turned back to Alya. “Is she going to be all right?” he asked weakly.
“I don’t know,” Bai Lee said. “She needs a doctor.”
“It’s Viktor’s fault,” said Alek, from somewhere behind Devon. “His disease has ravaged her. I knew I should have come for her sooner.”
Devon brushed aside a stray lock of hair from Alya’s face. “I don’t think Alya or Viktor had a choice, Alek. You were there—Viktor gave up his life so that she could be free. There’s no greater sacrifice than that.”
“Devon?” said Vahn, as the big guy approached. “Is there anything I can do?”
Devon glanced over at him. “Yeah. Maybe you—”
“Devon?”
Devon leaned closer to the Romanian beauty. “Alya?”
Her eyes opened slightly as she smiled wearily up at him. “I’m still here.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” he said, a bit too exuberantly. And Alya’s smile grew as she weakly chuckled.
“How could you ever think that I would leave you so soon?” Her voice was as soft as the flutter of butterfly wings, but it was the sparkling light in her eyes that calmed his fears. “I’m going to be fine. All I need is rest.”
“Then we’ll get you some,” Devon said, and he knew he had to be beaming at her like a lovesick fool. But he didn’t care, because Alya didn’t seem to mind. And that was all the permission he needed to be himself around her.
He turned to Vahn. “Could you give me a hand?”
“Sure thing,” the psi-blade replied.
As they helped Alya sit up, Devon noticed that the willow’s branches were assisting them. With the tree’s help, Alya scooted to the edge of the wooden lounge, and then the lounge lowered itself until she could comfortably place her feet on the ground. Once she managed to stand, leaning heavily on Devon for support, the wooden lounge returned to its original height.
Glancing at Bai Lee, Devon wasn’t surprised to see her eyes closed in concentration as she manipulated the tree’s actions. And he thought that maybe there was a small chance that Bai Lee would like Alya enough to allow her to escape with the rest of them, despite her apparent illness. At least, that was Devon’s hope. He could accept any fate the baselines in Washington threw at him, as long as he knew that Alya was alive and free.
“Why don’t I help you both to your seats?” Vahn suggested as he stood beside Alya, looking very tall and…concerned.
“That would be lovely,” she replied. She allowed him to reach around her waist, while Devon supported her from the other side. They had no sooner taken three steps than Alya’s knees buckled and she sank to the ground between them. “How about right here?” she said, joking about her obvious infirmity.
Vahn smiled. “Fine by me.”
“Me too,” echoed Devon. But he felt a tiny pang of jealousy as the buff psi-blade helped Alya sit comfortably on the grass. Dang, if only Devon could be cut like that! And his mind flashed to the images inside the arena—of what it had been like to be Vahn—along with the terrible responsibility and burden of authority that had accompanied his position. All in all, behind every sculpted bicep and chiseled ab, there had been a world of hurt.
And no loving family besides.
Vahn had Devon sit down on the grass behind Alya, and then he helped her sit closer to him so that she could lean back against Devon for support. It was exactly how they had been sitting before, and Devon was elated to find himself holding her once again. Even if it was only going to be for a little while longer.
“Thanks, Vahn,” Devon said, and the psi-blade nodded.
“My pleasure.”
“Well, now that we got that over with—who’s next?” said Bai Lee, looking smug and defiant in her yellow robes. “Alek?” Bai Lee’s gaze swept over to Devon. “Loverboy?”
“Me,” said Miguel, rising from beside Nevada. “I will go next.”
“Then get your ass up here.” Bai Lee was already manipulating the wooden lounge as the branches withdrew to allow room for the untrained telepath to lie down.
“Miguel,” Nevada said, her eyes bright with worry. When he turned to look at her, she added, “Good luck.”
He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll need it, where I’ve been.”
Devon turned his attention back to the wooden lounge as Miguel made his way up front. It was then that he spotted Alek gazing back at his sister with a sad, conflicted look on his face. Devon wondered if he would ever be able to forgive Alya’s seeming abandonment of him when they were children. It probably hadn’t been easy to survive in that Romanian psi facility, let alone get out of there in one piece.
Growing up without a loving family was as foreign to Devon as speaking fluent Russian. Yet it was the reality that most psions faced. And Devon wondered if that lack of parental guidance and—dare he think it—unconditional love made the chasm he felt among his fellow psions that much wider.
Perhaps it wasn’t simply his lame powers that had kept him forever on the outs with his peers. Perhaps it was something deeper than that. Something a bit more primal and far simpler.
He had a family who loved him.
As that insight swirled around in his brain, he felt Alya’s heart lightly beating against his chest. Caught up in the intimacy of the moment, he gave her a little hug and breathed in the scent of her hair. To his surprise, he heard her pleasantly sigh and cling tighter to his protective arms wrapped around her.
Tilting her head up so that their eyes met, Alya smiled. “You know, when I said that I wish I could heal you?”
Devon grinned. “Yeah. Back in the real world, I think my arm’s still pretty messed up.”
Alya shook her head. “Nothing about you is messed up, Devon McWilliams. You’re perfect just the way you are. Always remember that.” She reached up then and pulled Devon’s face down to her own. Her soft full lips touched his, and a joyous warmth blossomed inside his chest like a blooming rose. Was this what love felt like? He hadn’t a clue, but it sure as heck felt amazing! He could have kept on kissing her for the rest of eternity, but he didn’t dare push it when he felt Alya pull away with a bashful smile and a gleam in her eyes.
As she snuggled back into him, his spirit soared. He might not have had much longer to hold his lovely Romanian healer, but he promised himself that he would cherish these last minutes fully. And right now, not even the thought of his possible demise in a Washington, DC, prison could wipe the beaming grin off of his face.
“You have anything to tell us before we begin, Miguel?” Bai Lee asked as she took her seat on the edge of the wooden lounge.
Miguel’s head was resting on the leafy pillow. The tree’s serpentine branches had become downright ornate as they cradled Miguel’s body with a strange, unearthly reverence. It reminded Devon of an intricate wooden sarcophagus, like something a mourning wood nymph would create for a forest king.
“Actually, yes, I would like to say something.” He turned his head to face his peers and offered everyone a genuine smile. But his smile nervously faded just before he spoke.
“I know we hardly know one another, but our suffering is universal…because that is what life is. We endure for the beautiful moments in our lives—a child’s smile, a glorious sunset, a lover’s embrace. We live for fleeting periods of happiness and then we endure some more.
“But I must tell you, my friends, that I endured the best I could. Moments of peace have been far too few in my life. After the general shot my mother in the head, I stupidly lashed out with powers I could barely control and murdered not only the general, but all of his officers as well. It was a death sentence for my entire village. And I was the one to blame.
“But then something marvelous happened. The people in the village told me to run. ‘Run to Father Gálvez,’ they said. And they placed canteens of water around my neck and handed me a sack full of food. I was only five years old at the time…five years old and witness to my first miracle.
“My father looked me straight in the eyes and told me to say my prayers at night and to obey Father Gálvez. He told me not to worry about him, or my brothers and sisters, that they would be fine. I knew his words to me were far from the truth of things, but I chose to believe him and hoped that God would protect my family from the retaliation the Guatemalan Army was sure to send.”
“So, what happened to them?” asked Nevada, rising to her knees. “Were they killed too?”
“Yes,” Miguel replied softly. “Every last member of my village was gunned down the following week because of what I had done.”
“And there wasn’t an outcry?” asked Alek. “Baselines are killing baselines, and there’s no demand for justice?”
Miguel shook his head. “No one cares about the poor, my friend. That is the way of things.”
Devon could see Alek’s scowl deepen as he considered Miguel’s words, but instead of arguing, the Romanian settled back onto the grass without another word.
After several long moments, Miguel took a deep breath and slowly released it. “It took me two weeks of walking the back roads at night before I reached Father Gálvez’s church in Chajul. Though I was an untrained telepath, I could use my powers to remain undetected in plain sight, and this worked against humans as well as hungry predators.
“Father Gálvez was a good and gentle man. He taught me to read and write and work numbers. He also taught me about God, and in his unfaltering devotion to my protection, he showed me what true bravery is.” Miguel paused for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes.
“‘Sister Mary Francis is coming for you from America,’ Father Gálvez said to me when I was seven. ‘She can take you to the people who can truly protect you.’
“After hearing this, I was so excited that I packed a small sack containing my few possessions. I was ready to leave for America at a moment’s notice…only she never showed up. Three whole years passed, and still no sign of Sister Mary Francis. But Father Gálvez told me to be patient—that life ran on God’s time, not man’s, and that in the end everything works out as it should.
“Then one chilly winter’s day, the army arrived. They had a telepath of their own, an older girl with hateful eyes who revealed my presence with a wave of her hand. The army was merciless. They murdered Farther Gálvez and took me back to Guatemala City with them.
“They told me that I would be their weapon. I was to torture their captives and read the minds of prominent people. I was to protect Guatemala from its true enemies.”
Miguel sighed again and shook his head in disappointment. “But I resisted. I resisted because I was afraid of my telepathy. I knew I might kill the people whose minds I touched. But the government officials hardly cared. They beat me and starved me, but they could not force me to obey. I would rather die than willingly take a life.
“So, I prayed.
“I prayed for an end to my misery.”
He looked over at Nevada and smiled warmly at her. “And then one day, the Lord answered my prayer.”
Despite the tears brimming in her eyes, Devon saw a beautiful smile spreading across Nevada’s face, but by the time he looked back at Miguel, it was only to see his eyes close. Oh, crap! A heartbeat later, Devon flashed out of existence, pulled along in the powerful wake of Miguel’s replay.
Miguel’s Story
Chapter Fifteen
MY cell smells like a sewer, because I have not been allowed to empty my latrine buckets in over a week. The guards find it amusing to torment me. Some of the less-religious ones have taken to calling me San Miguelito, or Little Saint Michael, because of my preference for prayer over torturing others. Baseline or psion, it makes no difference to me. I believe we are all God’s children. And I refuse to knowingly harm another soul, let alone take someone’s life.
And deep in my heart, I know that God has not forsaken me.
One way or another, He will answer my prayers.
Only, it will be in His way.
In His time.
The morning prayer tumbles from my cracked and bleeding lips as I sit on the cement floor, my voice barely a whisper. I hardly notice the damp chill in the room, or the rodents gorging on the rotten food the guards slide beneath my door twice a day.
As I recite the prayer, I open my mind and release my spirit to the rhythm of the words. I am transported away from my body, from this horrible little room, from the vermin that feast beside me. I become one with my prayer and I imagine my soul soaring toward the heavens, a loving tribute to all that is good in this world. I find myself no longer tethered to the fear and the physical hunger that consumes my body. I am free now, one with all creation. There is nothing in this world that can harm me as long as I hold the Lord God fully in my heart.
The cell door is thrown open with a terrible bang. The rats screech in alarm as they scurry back into the shadows.
“Get up,” the captain orders. He steps into my cell, wearing a crisp, pressed uniform.
I look up at Captain Rivera, saddened that I have been disturbed, and meet his hardened gaze. “I—I don’t think I can.”
He scowls down at me, and then signals two of the guards standing outside of my cell door. “
Get him up! Now!”
The men grab me roughly by the arms and haul me to my feet. My legs and bottom have gone numb from sitting so long, and the sharp, prickly sensation that follows makes me want to cry out in pain. But I bite my swollen lips instead, refusing to show the captain anything but a tranquil exterior. I will not allow my more human moments to lead to more beatings, torture, or manipulation for the captain’s amusement. I could care less about my own welfare, but Captain Rivera is a persistent man. And, after weeks of interrogation, he has finally found my weakness.
I just pray that merciful death will come for me soon, before any more innocent lives are taken on my account.
“Come on,” the captain says with a frown. And the two guards drag me out the door.
I squint in the bright hallway. My eyes are used to the velvet shadows of my dimly lit cell—a small window high on the far wall is its only source of light. I am disoriented by the twists and turns of the corridors that the guards take at a quick pace. They drag me up two long staircases and then past a security checkpoint. I have no idea where I am or where I am going within Guatemala City’s new Justice Center.
We emerge in the enormous marble and glass lobby, where tall windows allow the sunlight to flood the entire room. I rapidly blink my eyes as they adjust to the bright light and colors. I’m surprised to see adults in business suits walking though the lobby. For the most part, they ignore my presence; however, I do catch one man stopping in his tracks at the sight of me. Judging by his expression, I’m not sure if he is more revolted by my dirty clothing or my starburst eyes.
We round a corner. The circulation has returned to my legs, but when I try to walk of my own accord, I find that the guards won’t allow me to. Their grips become viselike around my arms and they hoist me up between them, making it impossible for my feet to touch the floor. Being half-dragged was better than this, but once again I divert my pain and frustration and let it go. I’m not about to give Captain Rivera any more ammunition than he already has.
Freaks of Nature (The Psion Chronicles) Page 16
