by Jena Leigh
“You should have told someone, Lex,” he continued. “At the very least, you should have asked Aiden to reschedule your training session to this afternoon. He would have understood.”
She shook her head. “No. No way. I… I…”
Suddenly, Alex couldn’t remember what it was she planned to say.
“Whoa, Lex.” Declan reached for her.
She gripped the front of his shirt to steady herself against a sudden feeling of lightheadedness.
“Jesus. Your nose is bleeding.” His right hand cupped her face as he flattened the palm of his left hand against her forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you feel okay?”
“I think…” Her words came out at a drawl, her mouth suddenly watering. “I think I’m going to be…”
Alex pushed off against Declan’s chest, took a few lurching steps, then fell to her knees, dry heaving into the grass. She’d had nothing to eat since yesterday and only a small amount to drink while training with Aiden. There was nothing left for her body to expel.
When the wave of nausea finally let up, Alex got shakily to her feet. With Declan holding tight to her arm, Alex walked forward a few steps—and promptly passed out.
Twelve
“How long has he been sitting there?”
Drip.
“Since this morning.”
Drop.
“He’s been sitting in the same spot for eleven hours? He hasn’t moved?”
Drip.
“I saw him get up to pace once. Does that count?”
Declan heard his cousin heave a tired sigh from somewhere in the living area of the main house.
Isolating Aiden’s and Kenzie’s whispered voices, Declan shut them out until only the steady drip, drop, drip of Alex’s IV remained.
Her breathing grew ragged and Declan slowly held a breath of his own, watching her sleeping face carefully for any signs that he needed to call for Oz again… And then, finally, she inhaled long and slow, returning to what had lately passed for “normal” in Ozzie’s mind and what had kept Declan rooted to the spot, watching her intently for the last few hours.
In the bed, Alex’s cheek twitched and her shoulder gave a small jerk. The subtle movements and occasional stutter of breath were the only evidence of the storm currently raging in her mind.
“Whoa. Shit,” Aiden mumbled from the foot of Alex’s bed. “She’s moving.”
Declan glanced up to find Aiden and Nate standing nearby and Cassie and Kenzie sitting atop his sister’s bed. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, the four of them had entered the room.
“No… Hang on.” Aiden tilted his head and watched her more closely. “She’s dreaming.”
Nate frowned. “I thought Oz said the sedative would be strong enough to stop that from happening?”
“No,” said Kenzie. “Just that he hoped it would be. Apparently she’s been stuck in REM sleep for a while now.”
Hours earlier, when Declan first noticed her movements, he demanded Oz up the dosage of the sedative in order to prevent Alex from dreaming while they kept her under. The small man had fixed him with an angry glower before throwing around a bunch of big words that essentially boiled down to no.
Alex was already being given a dangerously high dosage just to keep her from waking up. Her body’s natural defenses and the remains of Holls’ regenerative ability were burning it away so quickly that it was proving difficult to keep her under.
The only way they might have sedated her more effectively was with the aid of an anesthetizing agent only found in Agency labs. And they wouldn’t be getting their hands on that any time soon.
So instead, Alex was left to dream.
Although the word “dream” suggested something entirely different from what the girl was currently experiencing.
On the surface it looked peaceful, but underneath…
Well, underneath Alex was trapped in limbo. In the suffocating prison of her own personal hell.
He gripped her hand a little more tightly.
After Declan realized what was happening, he dragged one of the chairs from Grayson’s office across the expanse of the main house and placed it next to Alex’s twin bed.
He hadn’t left since.
People came and went from the room repeatedly throughout the day, usually only staying for a few minutes at a time. At some point, they would come to realize there was nothing they could really do to help—and that Alex was completely oblivious to their presence—and then they would wander off again. Out of everyone, Kenzie, Cassie, and Alex’s Aunt Cil had been her most persistent visitors.
Only Declan remained by her side for the duration.
“How much longer is Oz planning to keep her under?” Nate asked Kenzie.
Their sister had been Oz’s unofficial assistant in all things medical since the uprising began. Thanks to Grayson’s encouragement, and to her own interest in the subject, she’d taken more than a few first aid courses over the years. It was a helpful hobby for her to have picked up, considering how often she’d found herself responsible for patching up their collective injuries.
After Oz, Kenzie had the most experience out of everyone at the compound. Even still, Alex’s situation was more than a little out of his baby sister’s league.
Declan was beginning to wonder if it was out of Ozzie’s, as well.
Kenzie shrugged. “He hasn’t really given a timeline yet. The sleep she’s getting isn’t very restful, thanks to her nightmares. I heard him say something to Grayson earlier about waking her up for a while tomorrow morning so she could eat.”
“Can’t they just give her something through the IV?” asked Cassie.
Kenzie shook her head. “We don’t have what we’d need here at the safe house to get her body nutrients while she’s unconscious. The only choice we have is to repeatedly wake her up and force her to eat.”
Nate crossed his arms over his chest. “So instead of getting this over with quickly, we’re going to drag it all out. And in the meantime, Alex gets to remain trapped in her nightmares for days on end,” he said. “That’s just great. You’re sure Oz didn’t give any indication as to how long he planned to keep torturing her like this? Hasn’t said when he might let her wake up for good?”
“It really doesn’t make a difference, right now, when Oz chooses to wake her up,” said Declan, his throat rough from so many hours of silence. “If she’s still having these nightmares it’s not going matter.”
The sound of Declan’s voice stunned the rest of them into a momentary silence.
“I don’t understand, Decks,” Cassie said, finally. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that there’s no point waking her up until she’s battled her demons and won,” he said. “Because until she’s able to do that, this is just going to keep happening over and over again. We can fix her for right now, but if Alex doesn’t fix herself by facing down the root of her issues, then eventually she’ll just burn herself out again.”
Nate’s gaze turned quizzical. “So… what? We keep her trapped in her own head—in her own damn nightmares—until she finds a way out?” His voice was practically overflowing with disgust. “Declan, how could you possibly suggest that?”
Alex lay silent and sleeping in the bed between them. The formerly pale, dry tracks at her temple glistened with fresh tears. She was crying. Again.
“Because we won’t be trapping her in there alone,” said Declan, getting to his feet. He kept Alex’s fingers loosely entwined with his as he stood, not wanting to break the contact.
His sister was the first to understand what it was he was proposing.
She stared at him, incredulous. “Decks, next to giving someone a psychic KO, dream-walking is the most insanely dangerous thing a telepath can attempt. I love Alex. You know that I’d do just about anything for her… but I’m not suicidal. There has to be another way.”
Declan stared blankly back at her wide-eyed reaction. “I wasn’t suggesting that it be you, Kenzie.”
Realization dawned throughout the room.
“Oh, hell no,” said Kenzie, shaking her head violently as she leapt from the bed. “No way, Declan. You may be stronger than me, but your control absolutely sucks. There’s no way you’d be able to manage it! And might I remind you that it’s not just your mind you’d be putting on the line here. You screw this up, you could hurt Alex, too.”
“Look at her, Kenzie,” said Declan. “Does she look any better than she did when I first carried her in here? Does it look like this is actually helping anything?”
Cassie stared down at Alex’s sleeping face. “Do you really think you can help her by attempting this dream-walking thing, Declan?”
He nodded.
Aiden shrugged. “I say we let him try.”
“I agree,” said Cassie. At Kenzie’s look of betrayal, she added. “He’s right, Red. She’s not getting any better. And if being stuck in her own head is even half as terrible as everyone’s suggesting, well, I don’t want her to be trapped in there by herself. Not if what Declan’s suggesting could help her in some way.”
Kenzie crossed her arms over her chest and looked away, shaking her head in silent disagreement.
His sister was in the right, of course.
Dream-walking had a certain reputation within the Variant community. One closely tied to the idiom, “pride goeth before the fall.” Only the most reckless telepaths would even consider attempting it.
The consequences of screwing up were beyond steep—both for the walker and for their target.
“What about therapy?” Kenzie asked suddenly. At everyone’s bemused expressions, she added, “What? I’m serious! There are other, far more pleasant ways to force Alex to face her issues. Therapy is just as effective and a million times safer.”
“Anyone know where we’re going to find a licensed psychiatrist in northern Montana?” Aiden asked. “No, seriously. Because I’m pretty sure the closest thing we’ve got around here is the Oz-man. And I don’t know about the rest of you, but I would not want that guy rearranging the furniture in my subconscious.”
Cassie sighed. “Do we even have the time to put Lexie in therapy? I mean, I have absolutely nothing against it. My older brother has been seeing a therapist for years and it’s definitely helped him... but aren’t we on something of a clock here?”
“Let him try it, Kenzie,” Nate said, surprising them all.
Kenzie let out a vague noise of protest. “But—”
“Would you rather she keep going through it by herself?” Nate asked, gesturing to the bed. “We might be standing right here next to her, but she clearly doesn’t know it. Alex thinks she’s all alone right now. How much longer do you want her to keep thinking that?”
Her expression shifted from desperate to sullen as Kenzie sank back down onto the bed beside Cassie.
“Please, Red,” said Declan. “Will you teach me how to do it?”
Kenzie rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “You ask me that question like you think this is something I’ve actually been stupid enough to try before.” She sighed. “I’ll tell you what I know about it. The steps are simple enough to understand, but before we start, you should know… Finding your way into her dreams is going to be the easy part. Putting yourself into them is going to be a hell of a lot harder. And getting out again? Next to impossible. So please, before we start, are you absolutely certain this is the only way to help her?”
Declan nodded.
Looking more defeated than he’d ever seen her, Kenzie began the lesson.
* * *
Brandt lay slouched on one of the great room’s couches, thumbing through Hanako’s old leather journal with his feet propped on an antique cedar chest serving double duty as an ottoman.
He’d nicked the well-worn book from the Parker girl’s bedroom earlier that morning while she trained with the water-wielder.
Good thing, too, seeing as how the bed sheets she’d hastily concealed the journal between were to be occupied again shortly thereafter. If he hadn’t stolen it, that self-righteous windbag they referred to as a medic might have discovered it first.
Oswald would almost certainly have taken Hanako’s book directly to Jonathan… and that would very quickly have been the end of that.
As he flipped through the pages, Brandt listened idly to the O’Connell girl giving her elder brother a crash course in a particularly dangerous telepathic maneuver. One that, if the Variant rumor mill was to be believed, had inspired fewer than half a dozen attempts over the course of his forty-six years on the planet. Each time yielding disastrous results.
Having been sitting there a while, Brandt had also heard the argument preceding the lesson.
It was reckless, what they were attempting. Stupid, too. But he wasn’t about to stop them and he saw no point in tattling to Jonathan or Cil.
To be entirely honest, as foolhardy as the attempt might eventually prove to be, it really was the best option on the table. Repeatedly forcing Alex Parker into the role of Sleeping Beauty only to watch her self-destruct all over again a week later certainly wasn’t about to solve anything.
And it sure as hell wouldn’t prove convenient to have their most powerful weapon lying about in a drug-induced stupor when the Agency finally got around to raiding the safe house. An event which should prove fairly inevitable, now that Grayson’s spies had been so thoroughly unmasked and just as thoroughly dispatched.
This compound’s location had probably been one of the first pieces of information extracted during the culling.
Why the Agency hadn’t already shown up looking for a fight, he couldn’t rightly say, but he was sure it wouldn’t be long now.
The front door creaked open and Grayson’s son wandered in from outside, a behemoth of a book carried beneath one small arm. Not bothering to look up, Brandt watched him take a seat in an adjacent chair from out of the corner of his eye.
Instead of opening the book, the boy sat there and stared wordlessly at Brandt as though he were patiently waiting for something to happen.
Eventually, Brandt grew tired of the boy’s silent observation.
“Can I help you, miniature Grayson?” he asked, still leafing slowly through the pages.
“Doing what’s right can be difficult, but it can lead you down the right path in return.”
Brandt finally looked up.
The boy, Brian, was staring back at him with a solemn expression on his face.
“Do you always begin your conversations with fortune cookie platitudes?”
“Only to those who won’t listen to me otherwise.”
Brandt forced down a smile. “You thought your best sales pitch would be to speak to me in aphorisms? Have you not heard of the direct approach, child?”
“The greatest risk is not taking one.”
“You really ought to cut back on the Chinese food.”
The boy shrugged. “It is your choice, you know,” he said, “the path you end up taking.”
“You don’t say.”
The boy stood, having apparently said his piece. Smiling, book in hand, he headed back out the front door. As it closed softly in the child’s wake, he could hear the girl’s lesson coming to an end. Wouldn’t be much longer now, he supposed.
Brandt sighed.
The right thing.
Always easier said than done, he’d found. Especially in situations such as these.
Pre-cogs, he mused. Never can make it easy for you. Even when they do decide to give you the bloody details.
Closing the book, Brandt turned the journal over in his hands. If the girl was searching for secrets hiding in the beautifully scripted black ink filling these pages, she wasn’t going to find anything.
Flipping open the back cover, Brandt smiled at the blank pages he found there. He and Hanako had never been close, per se, but he’d always understood her better than most.
After all, she was like him. A fire-wielder.
And like him, she valued control above all else.
The journal was a tool that helped her maintain that control. It helped Hanako keep her life in order.
But more than likely, it was helping her to keep something else, too.
Not wanting to distract the O’Connell boy from his current undertaking by conjuring a flame inside the house, Carson decided to go for an evening stroll.
After all, it was a nice night, he had a few long dead secrets to revive… and it was high time he finally decided which path to walk.
Thirteen
The darkness smothered her, the pressure bearing down and forcing Alex’s rib cage to tighten around her lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
Her mind, frantic with desperation, failed to find purchase in the emptiness that surrounded her, making it impossible for her to think.
Her body, wracked as it was by the unbearable wrenching sensation that went hand in hand with the void, was heavy and unresponsive, making it impossible for her to move.
And in that state, Alex had drifted for so long that minutes and hours and days had once again ceased to mean anything at all.
She had returned to limbo. For good, this time.
Alex was back in Hell…
…and then she wasn’t.
Her vision flickered between the two scenes as though she were watching a projection of two celluloid film reels that had been poorly spliced together.
She was in limbo, stretching, suffocating, sightless.
She was in a storm-laden sky, falling down, down, down toward an endless black mass writhing below her.
She was in limbo, crying out in silence, terrified, alone.
She was hitting the boiling surface of the icy waters with an almighty crash, stunned and senseless from the force of the blow.
And then she was in the ocean, cold and drifting and lost beneath the waves, one pitch-black void traded for another as limbo slowly retreated to the realm of memory and an equally painful recollection took its place. Her clothes became an anchor, dragging her further down into the depths and making it difficult to move.
