by Sarah Noffke
Worse than feeling like my bones have been reduced to dust and then reassembled is visiting a bloody mall. I fucking hate malls. Hundreds of repulsive people milling about with their dumb faces and their sick obsession with scoring a buyer’s high. They fill up their shopping bags with rubbish they don’t need all while emptying their already pathetically low bank accounts.
The toxic fumes wafting from the food court assault my nostrils at first landing. Trey better double my salary after dealing with this shit. I withdraw the brain cell–frying gadget from my pocket. If this thing works then it might have even been worth the torture I endured listening to Aiden’s nasally-ass babble.
The screen registers each individual in my thirty-foot proximity when I switch it on, which unfortunately is more bloody dots than I care to count. There are so many dots that they overlap. Worse than that is that only one red dot sits on the screen. Mine.
Roya’s description of the person being abducted was pretty worthless. Sixty years old. Gray. Male. The only detail I got her to see was a football helmet which in the state of Texas does me no bloody good. Shit related to football is plastered everywhere. It’s like books were banned in this city and head-crushing sports assigned as a mandatory obsession.
A black dot moves on the screen and reveals a single red dot at my two o’clock. I whip my head in that direction, but there’s a sea of people in front of a shiny store front, some passing by, a few pausing to browse. I turn my attention back to the device. Another red dot appears. Then another. There’s four now. Two at my back. I swing around to find more hordes of people. But my photographic memory is excellent at snapping a picture and sifting through it until something meets the criteria of what I’m looking for. And that’s when I see him. A man, sixty-something. Gray receding hair. But the thing that grabs my attention is what he’s wearing. His back, which is to me, is covered in a huge emblem of a Cowboys football helmet. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and wind pants. Two articles of clothing that should be outlawed.
The man stands stock-still, the moving crowd parting to make their way around him. His hands hang loose by his side. His shoulders slack. This position is reminiscent of a person under hypnosis, but he’s still standing. He’s the abductee, which means… I flick my eyes to the screen. The closest red dot has moved in. It’s right in front of him. Something else on the screen catches my attention. The first red dot is moving. Roya’s vision only centered on Person G, who is to be abducted by Blocker. There should only be three Dream Travelers. This other one on the screen could just be a random Dream Traveler, but we only make up less than ten percent of the population. So to find a random one here is odd. Then that strange red dot moves in my direction. I can’t worry about this. I have to intervene and identify the blocker.
I switch my gaze to the man, Person G. He’s still in place but now beside him is a woman. She’s excessively blonde, her hair obviously the result of too many chemicals. And if that isn’t distracting enough she’s wearing a corseted red dress; the length is conservative but the slit up the side is the opposite of modest. And her heels make it so she’s eye to eye with the man beside her. She leans in and whispers something in his ear. He lifts his hand like it’s weighted by lead, slow and deliberate. Then she wraps her hand around his fingers, and I’m overwhelmed by the idea that it’s not a deal that’s been made, but rather a partnership.
And I just watch. Lamely stand and watch. Unmoving. The scene in front of me shifts suddenly. It swirls. Turns into large pixels. It’s an unnatural change. One that almost feels drug induced. I press my eyes closed. Throw my focus on strengthening the shield I already had in place, the one that is supposed to prevent anyone tampering with my mind or getting into my thoughts, which is what I now suspect has happened. When I open my eyes the scene is clear. The hallucination gone. But things have progressed. The woman is leading the man away, her hand in his as if this twenty-something vixen is stealing herself a new daddy.
No, I think but that’s the only resistance I’m allowed. My feet remain planted. My muscles somehow paralyzed, although I remain upright. Again my vision starts to morph, like it’s made of cotton candy being spun on a cone. I fight the assault on my mind and too briefly the image of the pair snaps into focus. The woman, Blocker, turns back, her hand still pressed into the wrinkled man’s. Her eyes connect with mine and she winks one large dark eye at me. And then as the corners of my vision turn into singed pieces of parchment, burning in on itself, the woman’s eyes snap to something just behind me. I whip around and there standing before me is a figure. A blur of a figure, like I’m seeing it in a funhouse mirror.
Stop, I think but am disallowed from saying the word. Too strong is the hallucination in my head. And then the face of the girl flickers into focus before everything heightens. The colors grow too bright. Sounds too loud. The space a cacophony of an exaggerated world. My brain is close to exploding. Teleport away, I tell myself. Teleport. I throw all my remaining focus into that thought, but I know any real hope of getting away is useless. And then my vision is overwhelmed by a bolt of lightning. It strikes the space right before me, a lethal distance. One that I can’t survive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A cramping sensation awakens me. It’s in my brain. Something is pinching at my frontal lobe. The light is dim when I awake, but immediately I recognize the location. I’m safe. I thought I was dead. Feared where I was headed when God finally caught my soul. But I’m not dead. Not yet. Somehow I’ve been relocated to the Lucidite Institute. The implications of that boggle my mind at first. But then I piece together exactly how I’m in my current location.
I sit up, pushing away the now stabbing pain in my head. “You put me on a bloody plane?” I say to Trey, who has his head down, a book pressed into his hands. He looks up from his place beside my bed. Then he sets the book to the side and calmly folds his hands in his lap.
Finally he says, “What option did I have? You had passed out. You couldn’t Dream Travel. There were no other means to transport you.”
“I loathe flying,” I say with a groan.
“You were passed out,” he repeats.
“Tell that to the insane heaviness I have in my head. I can’t do pressure changes. You know that,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Well, that could also be a result of the submarine trip.”
I sit up more completely to find I’m wearing repulsive white scrubs, which are stiff against my skin. They’re the uniform of the Institute. Each position is colored coated. White means I’m a resident of the infirmary. “Why didn’t you leave me to die?” I say, pulling the shirt away from my chest.
“You’ve been out for over twenty-six hours,” Trey reports.
“An agent brought me in?” I ask, already having pieced together a great deal since I awoke a minute ago.
“A few actually. We sent the private plane once we learned the severity of your situation. Getting you away from the authorities was complicated,” Trey says.
“Well yeah, I passed out in the middle of a mall. I bet all sorts of people had their gross hands on me,” I say, looking over my freckled arms.
“Yes, they were about to load you onto an ambulance when we intervened. Memories have already been erased,” he says as casually as if reporting that our office supply order has arrived.
Trey is one of those men who have the power and brilliance to make almost anything happen. And yet he uses it to save the bloody world and keep the identity of his organization and its employees a secret.
I squint down at the blanket lying over my lap.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Like a fucking idiot,” I say. And I do, and it’s a first. This must be how the majority of people feel most of the time. It’s awful. Makes me pity them.
“Ren, I’m not sure what happened is something you could have avoided, but to determine that you’ll have to share the events that transpired.”
“The girl who was abducted in the second case,” I
say, my voice scratchy from unemployment. “The one who had just hit puberty, but no one knew her dream travel gift. She was there, at the mall.”
“Person D,” Trey says, nodding. “Yes, her name is Sophie, we now know.”
“She has the ability to make someone hallucinate,” I say, my eyes narrowing with anger.
“That’s what happened to you? You hallucinated?”
“More than just that. The hallucination is why I passed out. And I think it was supposed to kill me,” I say, blood thundering in my head. This shit just got personal, which isn’t good for Blocker, if living is her goal.
“Yes, Mae says your subconscious had been overloaded with images. That there was little she could do and that you’d wake if and when your mind repaired itself,” Trey says, and only now do I notice the new stress on his face. He appears more tired than usual, which is incredibly impressive since the man always looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Mae is the Institute’s healer, and it’s probably due to her help that I awoke at all. “I bet you’ve been worrying yourself sick,” I say with a chuckle that makes my head feel it might shatter.
A sliver of a smile forms on Trey’s face. “So Sophie has the ability to kill thorough hallucination. That’s extremely troublesome.”
“Well, I’m certain she could probably use that skill for good, but people rarely ever do. And it appears in this instance she’s employing it as a weapon,” I say.
“You said more than just the hallucination happened,” Trey says.
“Yes, I was paralyzed also. I couldn’t will myself to move. That’s why I couldn’t intervene when the man was abducted. And that’s why I couldn’t fight the hallucination.”
Trey nods, probably having deduced that I’d failed and Person G has been abducted. “So that’s how Sophie got close enough to put you under a hallucination. You were paralyzed.”
“Yes, but my instinct tells me that she doesn’t have both powers. I think Person G has the skill to paralyze. Or Blocker, who by the way is a hot ass blonde with the eyes of a succubus,” I say, seeing the vision of her swim into my head. Blocker doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever met. She was overdressed and overdone in every way. And it was strangely incredibly attractive, showing her unmistakable confidence and power.
“Oh good, you did ID Blocker,” Trey says, the first bit of relief jumping to his features.
“Yes, but she got away too easily. The witch just walked in and grabbed Person G’s hand and walked away,” I say.
“James. We know now that the person abducted in Dallas was named James. He’s been reported missing by his family,” Trey says. “And as you’ve already guessed his skill is paralysis. On multiple levels he can paralyze a person.”
“Oh fuck. That stupid bitch. She had him paralyze me. I knew it,” I say, throwing my head back into the pillow, which of course was a horrid idea and sends a stabbing pain to my frontal lobe.
“Yes, it seems as though you’re right and Blocker was controlling him somehow,” Trey begins. “James is pretty powerful according to his wife, who we’ve already interviewed. His skill is based on his proximity to a person, but even still it operates at a pretty impressive distance. And he doesn’t have to be looking at the person to paralyze them, only focusing on them in their respective location.”
“I was twenty feet away and directly behind him,” I say, slightly overwhelmed by a person with that kind of power. My powers can operate remotely, but most people need to be close to the person they are trying to use their skill on, like the way I sense Sophie needs proximity to make someone hallucinate. She had been just in front of me when I passed out.
Trey nods. “And James can freeze a person in place or just a single part of them, although that takes more focus.”
“He can freeze a heart,” I say.
“That’s my thought,” Trey says, and the weight of the implications behind all this is perfectly written on his face.
“Blocker is abducting an army of assassins,” I say.
“I think so. But the thing is that these people, James and Sophie, are good citizens. Everyone has vouched for their honor during our investigations,” Trey says.
“But they have skills that are dangerous,” I say, not concerned with other people’s opinions. I operate on facts.
“Yes, it appears so. And based on what happened to you it’s unnerving how Blocker has control over them,” Trey says.
“How does she have this control? She walked up to this man, who is seemingly a stranger, whispered something in his ear, and then led him away. No fight, nothing.”
Trey shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s a mystery. But there’s more. James’s best friend, who lives in Flint, Michigan, was also abducted on the same day. We’ve been able to link the news reports.”
“What’s his skill?” I say.
“He’s a Middling.”
I press my finger to my throbbing temple. “That makes no sense. Blocker must have abducted him, but why?”
“Well, maybe it will come to you when you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling the collar of the scrub shirt away from my neck. I’ll probably get a nasty rash from wearing something so gross. “Who can I yell at for putting me in this get-up?”
“Mae and her staff. Your clothes are over there,” Trey says, pointing at my suit which is neatly folded and lying on a chair next to the bed.
“They no doubt peeped at my knob when they changed me,” I say, hating the idea that I was seen in such a ridiculous state. It might take therapy to deal with this.
“Yes, people will no doubt be even more obsessed with you now. You’re the talk of the Institute,” Trey says, rising from the chair.
“Next time just leave me to die,” I say, mostly meaning it.
He walks for the exit on the other side of the bed-lined infirmary and then pauses at the door and turns to look at me. Trey’s sincere eyes have that look about them now. That subtle fondness. “Ren, I’m relieved you woke up.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Still too weak to dream travel, let alone teleport, I’m forced to take the Lucidite jet to London. If I didn’t want to die already, then I do now. How Middlings handle their lowly lives, I will never comprehend.
Adelaide is actually sitting at the dining room table sketching when I drag myself into my flat.
“Well, well, well. I see you’ve decided to stop contaminating the couch with your odor,” I say, throwing my suit jacket on the chair beside the door. Usually I’d hang it up, but that would take energy I don’t have presently.
Adelaide scowls at me and it’s almost satisfying to see that look on her face. “I get bored hanging around this place you’ve imprisoned me.”
“Soon your training will be complete and I’ll set you free,” I say, pretending not to eye the sketches sprawled out around her. “I’m thinking of releasing you in the Sahara or some other equally dangerous territory.”
She runs her eyes over me, a not quite concerned look on her face, but the emotion is simmering under the surface. “Are you all right?”
“Not even a little bit,” I say, throwing myself down with a grunt in my armchair.
Adelaide turns from her place at the table, a dozen or so colored pencils meticulously arranged by hue beside her drawings. “I met your boss,” she says, a teasing quality to her voice.
“Trey is more like my contemporary,” I say.
“He said you work for him at that place, the Lucidite Institute.”
“Trey pays my salary. I don’t work for anyone. I do things and receive money,” I say.
“Have you always been so pedantic?” She grabs one of the colored pencils and busies herself sharpening it.
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Big word. And used correctly. I do believe some of my cultured ways are rubbing off on you, Miss Eliza Doolittle.”
“Oh, shove it up your ass,” she says and then blows on the pencil, sending bits of shaving and dust on
the floor.
I click my tongue at her. “Well, maybe not.”
“When Trey came by he said you were hurt and he couldn’t advise on when or if you’d recover,” she says, laying the pencil back in its spot, careful to put it even with its brethren.
“God decided he wasn’t ready to deal with my sorry ass just yet,” I say and then I’m overwhelmed by a yawn, which makes my head feel like I’ve had a brick dropped on it.
“Yeah, I bet you’re going to burn when your time comes,” Adelaide says casually.
“Probably,” I say with an indifferent shrug.
“Trey, who by the way is really nice and nothing like you, said you’re an agent for the Lucidites. He was surprised when I didn’t know that you intervene on world affairs to create peaceful solutions,” Adelaide says.
“Oh, for the love of fucking God. Why does Mr. Do-Gooder have to be such a blabbermouth?”
“I am your daughter. I think him sharing that information with me was acceptable,” she says.
I lower my eyes but leave my response to that statement tucked in my mouth.
“I think it’s cool that you’re a secret agent for a secret organization,” she says.
“And I don’t care what you think.”
