Brian doesn’t answer. His gaze flickers over Alex’s face, scrutinizing every detail.
“We all know what you’re working on,” Alex continues.
“What else do you know, Alex?” he asks.
After a moment, Alex shrugs. “The booster is designed to make ESP sharper for those people who have it. It also gives ESP to people who don’t.” He pauses. “Like you.”
My uncle casts a sidelong glance at me, as if silently accusing me of sharing information that should have been our family’s business alone. But I’m with Alex; this is hardly our family’s business anymore. Three people are dead. More may die very soon.
“Professor Black, it is true that your drug could work on the wider population, isn’t it?” Alex demands.
Brian turns back to the closed door at the end of the hall. “ Yes,” he admits.
“So if it’s that powerful, why don’t we all give it a shot?”
“Because I don’t know if it’s safe,” Brian snaps. “The drug is still an x factor. I won’t risk harming any one of you with it.”
I shake my head, not caring that he sees. He’s lying. At the very least, he’s covering up, given how he’s treated us to date. He’ll deny me contact with my own father; he’ll keep us on campus with terrorists at large; but he won’t let us try out this drug that he’s certain will work? Yet even as I lay out the conditions and contradictions in my mind, I get the logic: this isn’t his decision. It’s coming from Christopher Figg. Now that Brian has joined up with his old friend again, I wonder how much control my great-uncle really has . . . over not only his life, but ours.
The room is empty but for five soft brown leather chairs, lined up and facing the back wall. Directly across from each chair is a semirecessed light, its caged bulb partially protruding from the wall. It’s like the set of a bizarro sixties game show.
“Please take your seats in this order,” Brian says. “Mara, Pankaj, Kass, Alex.”
“Restraints?” Mara says, wagging the straps on the sides of her seat.
“ You need not concern yourselves with those,” Brian says. “We won’t be using them for this experiment.”
Pankaj shoots me a look. You caught that, right?
For this experiment, I answer silently. Yeah, I caught that.
Mara describes a commercial landscape full of strip malls, fast-food places, and budget hotel chains. “Felt like what you see when you’re driving on an Interstate in the heartland.” In the distance she saw a car dealership’s giant American flag waving in the wind. But what she heard was the sound of screaming, a small voice begging, “Stop!” She then saw the terrified face of a little girl. “And all of a sudden, there was this thundering crash,” she says. “And the screaming ended . . . The little girl’s screaming ended.”
Alex reports seeing something similar, though his scene is more detailed: big American flag, McDonald’s playground abutting a prefab hotel that was designed to look like a château. “The girl was tortured before she was killed,” he says. “And I heard the crash too. It was the sound of her skull smashing against a brightly colored slide.”
Pankaj reels off a string of numbers: 6102429587. He describes his vision by saying it was like a computer overlay on his brain. He then gives a data dump, stating chains of numerals, all separated by dots, making them sound like geolocation coordinates.
I see nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After the experiment, Uncle Brian asks me to join him for lunch. His tone makes it clear that it’s more an order than an invitation. I know he’s worried that I was the only one who said I came up blank after hearing the prompts. Maybe he thinks that I was holding back. He doesn’t know that I have reason to be worried myself: three had information to give him; one did not . . . and I genuinely didn’t see anything. Maybe this is the moment when that partial vision I shared with Pankaj finally comes true. I’m the odd one out, and the other three are closing the circle without me.
Brian is pensive as we sit in a booth at the local pizza joint, our slices untouched. I know he’s wondering if what the others gave will be enough to satisfy Figg. It seems hard to imagine how any of it could be considered useful. But since Uncle Brian has yet to ask me about the experiment, I decide to begin with my own question.
“Why do you trust him?”
Brian glances around the restaurant before answering. He leans in. “What do you mean precisely?”
I look around before replying too, but since I don’t know what I’m looking for, I just start talking. “ You know who I mean. I know you need money for the lab at this point, but you told me you left the CIA all those years ago because you stopped believing in the mission. Because you didn’t like what they were doing. What makes you think ‘the mission’ or Chris Figg’s motives are any different now?”
“People change, Kass.”
“Do you mean him or you?”
He takes a bite to buy himself some time, then puts down his slice and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Both, I suppose,” he says after a while. “It’s important to remember that the only thing that stays constant is our own evolution. We all change mentally and physically. Our wants change; our needs change.”
I push my pizza away, feeling vaguely ill. What is it that he needs? Is it the glory? Is he putting us all at risk just because he wants his ESP back? Is there yet another reason still unknown to me? I stare at my uncle, but I can’t read his thoughts. They are locked behind those world-weary eyes staring back at me.
When we return to the lab, the other three are already seated at their workstations. I want—I need—to check in with Pankaj, but he stares out the window and doesn’t acknowledge me. When he finally turns, I smile at him. He immediately looks away, shifting his attention to the ground. I continue staring at him, but he won’t glance back in my direction.
Something’s off. I feel it the way you know something’s wrong when a text goes unanswered for too long, or your calls keep going to voice mail.
Hey, are you okay?
Pankaj doesn’t respond. I stare more intently, willing him to look at me, to explain what’s wrong. He keeps his head down; it’s answer enough. He’s not okay. Does the fact that the others had visions and I didn’t mean they shared something that I couldn’t ? Has this altered what he thinks of me?
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Brian says.
My head snaps in his direction, and I’m about to tell him to butt out when I realize he’s not speaking to me. He’s simply responding to a question Alex asked that I hadn’t even heard. But seeing the expression on my face, he says, “ Yes, Kass?”
“No, I . . . Sorry, never mind.”
Brian opens his mouth, but right then his cell phone rings on his desk. “I have to take this,” he says with a glance at the caller ID. “We’ll reconvene later this afternoon. See you back here at four o’clock.”
Pankaj is first to leave the lab. He practically sprints out, making it clear he doesn’t want company, so I hang back and wait for Uncle Brian to finish his call. But when he sees me lurking by the door alone, he motions that I too should leave.
Close the door behind you, he mouths.
Mara and Alex have disappeared too by this point, and by the time I get outside, I feel more depressed and alone than when I first arrived on campus. I start walking, not knowing where to go or what to do. Eventually I realize I’m heading in the direction of the boathouse where Pankaj and I shared our first vision.
That’s where I find him.
He’s sitting by himself on the dock, staring out over the lake. He doesn’t turn as I approach, but he knows it’s me. “I was wondering when you’d get here,” he murmurs. Finally he turns and brushes that long black hair away from his amber eyes.
“Where are Mara and Alex?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” he replies.
“Kass, this isn’t about you,” he interrupts. “It’s something else, I swear . . . I spoke to my mom.”
“ Your mom?” I repeat. Is this some kind of dodge? My mind races to put things together, but I can’t make anything connect. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
“Mara kept mentioning my mother when she read my cards. She made it seem like my mom had some kind of knowledge, and that I needed to talk to her. Of course I didn’t buy it at first—my mom and I don’t have a good relationship—so I kept ignoring the advice to talk to her. But after I saw those pictures and you said Nisha and I had both been here before, I had to find out more. So before our testing session this morning, I called her.”
“Okay . . . and?”
“The very first thing my mom says to me is, ‘Have you seen Nisha?’” He gives a WTF shrug. “Have I seen Nisha? I’m like, Mom, I’m at Henley. She goes, ‘Yeah, I know.’”
I shake my head, feeling like I’ve missed a step. “I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either,” he replies. “I figured my sister just pulled another one of her disappearing routines—she does that, just leaves home with no warning, no note. But she always comes back eventually, so we’ve gotten used to it. That’s why I couldn’t understand why my mom would ask if Nisha was here, at Henley of all places.” His eyes widen as he seems to be reliving the conversation. “She says, ‘Because of the man who called for her. You know, the one with the ponytail who took you to Henley when you were kids—Figgy -something.’”
“But what does Figg want with your sister now?”
“Mom didn’t know. And now my mind is racing; I start thinking about the camp again, and I asked her how we got picked for it as kids. She goes, ‘Pankaj, they never picked you. Nisha was the one they wanted. But I told them you were a package deal: you can’t have my daughter unless you take my son.’” He turns from me and stares out over the lake.
I know what Pankaj is thinking: He doesn’t belong. He never did. “But you have ESP,” I whisper. “Of course you’re supposed to be here with us.”
He turns back to me. “Think about it, Kass. Think about our vision. I’m obviously not part of the group that matters. I never have been. I’m not one of the chosen three.”
I see the pain on his face, and I want to tell him the “union of three” thing doesn’t matter. But I’m not sure I believe that. “Of course you are. Think about us, about you and me.” I take his hand.
He shakes his head; it’s not enough for him.
“Then what about the experiment today? You were the one who rattled off all those numbers. Alex, Mara—they both saw something. I was the one who had nothing.”
He pulls his hand from mine and looks me in the eyes. “I made it up.”
“What?”
His lips turn upward in a sad smile. “I was so out of my head and screwed up after talking to my mom, I couldn’t see anything. So I just started rattling off a bunch of numbers. Nisha’s birthday, her cell phone number, her zip code. Totally meaningless stuff.”
I don’t know how to respond, but I do know there’s only one person who can explain it to us. “When we get back to the lab,” I say, “we tell my uncle nothing else happens until we speak to Figg. Nothing else happens until we get answers.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It’s three when Pankaj and I get back to the lab, and we find Brian sitting at his desk, writing notes on a legal pad.
“Uncle Brian?”
Startled, he jumps at the sound of my voice, then checks his watch. “What are you two doing back here so soon?”
“We need to speak to Figg,” I say. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But I believe he has some business to take care of just now. So why don’t you come back at four?” He stands and walks over to us, making a “shoo!” gesture with his hand. “Four, like I said earlier.” There’s a look of concern on his face as he tries to move us to the door. “Go outside and enjoy the nice day!” He flashes an unconvincing smile.
Gee, I can’t tell if he wants us to leave, I silently say to Pankaj.
He’s being so subtle about it . . . Let’s push him a little, see what we learn. Pankaj turns to Brian. “I think we should just wait here,” he says out loud. “It’s really important that we speak to Mr. Figg.”
Brian shakes his head. “No, no, no. You’ll see him later. Go on, get out of here, you kids,” he replies, desperately trying to sound jokey. The tone doesn’t work on us or on Alex, who overhears this as he strolls into the lab.
“Wow,” Alex chuckles as he repositions the large gym bag he’s carrying on his shoulder. “ You don’t have to be a psychic to see someone doesn’t want you to stay here, huh?” Unlike Brian, Alex appears genuinely upbeat, as if he’s somehow shaken off the sorrow consuming the rest of us. Whatever workout he’s just done seems to have worked wonders on his mood. He takes a seat at one of the lab tables and drops the gym bag at his feet.
I watch my great-uncle, now literally wringing his hands. Though I don’t know what’s up, my goal is not to antagonize him. “Okay, guys, let’s vamoose,” I say, acquiescing to his wishes.
Pankaj shrugs, then nods.
“ You two go on ahead,” Alex says. He spins on his stool. “I’m actually wanted here.” He looks at Brian with expectant eyes. “Right, Professor?”
Brian glances at his watch again. “I, uh.” He gives a hesitant shrug. “That’s very possible.”
That’s very possible? That’s very weird. I wonder if this has to do with the vision Alex had in the experiment earlier today. Maybe Pankaj and I are being excluded from . . . whatever this is because neither one of us saw anything.
“Where’s Mara?” I ask. I look at Uncle Brian first. He shrugs, so my eyes go back to Alex.
“I don’t think she got a written invitation like I did.” He holds up his phone. From a distance, I can see texts have gone back and forth. “But it wasn’t Professor Black who told me to come back here now. It was his old pal Chris Figg.”
As if on cue, Figg walks into the lab.
Alex gives a jovial laugh. “Well, speak of the devil!”
Figg glances around the room. He turns when he hears footsteps behind him. It’s Mara. “ You’re all here.” But he seems not only surprised to see us; he seems angry.
Brian’s head shakes as if he’s hoping to deflect the anger. “Chris,” he says, “I promise you I told them to come back at four.”
“He did,” I confirm with a nod. “But now that we’re all here, maybe you can answer some of our questions, Mr. Figg.”
“Not now, Kassandra.” Figg’s eyes stay in motion, sharklike, as they survey the room. “In fact, I suggest you take your little friends out of here for a while.”
“That’s okay,” I reply. “We’ll wait.”
“Point, Kass!” Alex laughs, clearly enjoying this. “ Your move, Figg.”
“Alex, why don’t you just come with me?” Figg says. “We’ll leave, so the rest of them can stay. Save us all a lot of trouble.”
“That’s okay,” Alex says, his voice teasing. “I’m good here too.”
“It’s not a suggestion, son.”
Alex shakes his head as he moves his bag from the floor to the table. “I’m not your son. And even if I were, I’d still disobey you. ’Cause that’s the kind of son I am.” An eerily familiar grin crosses his face. In that moment, as I witness that grin—somehow boyish and somehow menacing—an intense feeling of déjà vu crashes over me. But it’s not because of any ESP.
Faking a sneeze, I turn awa
y, rattling the CVS bag looped around my wrist. Instead of rummaging for tissues, I rifle through the stack of recently developed photos. Mara catches the commotion, and in the charged stillness of the room, she strides toward me.
“I still have your tissues from earlier, Kass,” she says. “Sorry about that. Here you go.” She holds the package out to me as I come to the picture of the blue-lipped dead girl. Our hands collide just as Mara sees the picture.
She makes a barely audible gasp.
That’s the little girl I saw screaming during the experiment, Mara says silently, her voice coming through clearly in my head. She’s the girl whose skull got smashed.
I flip to the next picture, a close-up of the grinning little boy.
And he’s the one who killed her.
Even though she’s speaking soundlessly, I hear her distress. I turn back to Alex. There’s no doubt; I recognize that same grinning boy, even though he’s a decade older. One section of this puzzle has come together, at least. Now I understand Brian’s urgency in getting rid of us. Figg’s “business” is to take Alex away. And our presence throws a wrench in the plan.
“ You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret, Alex,” Figg says.
“I’m not so worried about that, Mr. Figg. Regret’s not one of my go-to emotions. Anger, yes.” He stands and starts pacing. “Jealousy, of course. If I ‘regret’ anything, it’s probably that I care too much, but it’s not like I have any psychological or emotional hang-ups about it.”
Pankaj laughs, not yet seeing what I do, not sensing the danger. “Dude,” he muses, “the lady doth protest too much, methinks!”
“ You’re right, Desai.” Alex nods with appreciation. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering to justify myself to this clown. Especially when I know he would have done the same thing had he been so wronged.”
Pankaj’s smile drops. “Uh, what?”
HEAR Page 21
