by Sarah Noffke
“Don’t you bloody cry. Spill the news so I can kick you the fuck out,” I say.
“Ren!” Dahlia says, slapping me on the arm. She then turns to Adelaide. “What’s going on, dear? Tell me so I can help and don’t worry, you’re not going anywhere. Your father just loves making threats. It’s a hobby of his.”
Adelaide’s mouth pops open, but nothing comes out. It closes and she shakes her head. Loses the ability to keep eye contact with us. Her shaking hands find the hem of the extra-large sweatshirt which would be baggy even on me. She tugs it up in one fluid motion, and to my relief she’s wearing another shirt and not actually stripping. Adelaide can’t say the news, so instead she’s showing Dahlia. Showing me her secret. Her lie.
The tank top is stretched to a deadly capacity, hugging the bump on her stomach. Trey said six months, but she’s probably a bit underdeveloped at this stage, due to many factors.
“Oh, dear god,” Dahlia says, her hands clapping to her mouth as she simultaneously takes a step back like she’s afraid Adelaide has a contagious disease.
“Like I said, I tried to tell you,” Adelaide says and now tears stream down her red freckled cheeks.
I turn, unable to stomach the sight before me. I’ve never been able to look at a pregnant woman, not since Eloise, the woman I watched murdered during childbirth. The one whose death I am responsible for. Culpable in every way.
“Adelaide, you’re…” Dahlia says but like me she sounds unwilling to believe it even as we stand face to face with the evidence.
“Yeah, I was afraid you’d turn me away in the beginning if you knew. Ren kept telling me to off myself so I figured if I told him I was pregnant he’d—”
“You’re right, that’s exactly what I would have told you to do. I would have told you to get rid of it straightaway,” I say, my head pinned between my hands.
“Well, I want it,” Adelaide says. “I don’t know why, but I do.”
“You’re a child. You’re not responsible enough to take care of yourself. How do you expect to take care of another person?” I say, realizing I understand nothing about the girl in front of me.
“That’s exactly why I sought you out. I needed to understand what was wrong with me so I could figure out what to do with my baby. And at first I thought I might abort, but then when I learned who I was and how incredible I was, I couldn’t get rid of it,” she says, stalling on the last word.
“How did this happen?” Dahlia says, stepping forward again, her eyes on the girl’s swollen stomach which Adelaide is now holding with a light affection.
“Sex,” Adelaide says plainly, an almost laugh in her voice.
“Right, but when? Who?” Dahlia says
“I figure I’m five or six months,” she says. “And the boy, well…” And the look of shame deepens on her face.
“Oh, bloody hell! He wasn’t consenting, was he?” I say, realizing she used mind control to make someone sleep with her.
“I don’t know, maybe he would have been. I didn’t understand how my powers worked then,” Adelaide says.
“Wait, what?” Dahlia says, looking back and forth between Adelaide and me.
“She used her mind control on some innocent boy,” I say, cringing that I’m even having this bloody conversation.
“He wasn’t innocent. He was the most popular boy in my old school. He had quite the reputation for womanizing,” Adelaide nearly screams, more tears in her throat.
“So you decided to go back to your old school, did you? And then show this boy by being the one to finally take advantage of him. Is that right?” I say.
“Don’t you act so innocent, like you’ve never forced someone to be with you using mind control,” Adelaide says.
“Oh, I’m not innocent. I’ve forced hundreds of women to be with me. Every women I’ve ever been with was forced into the act,” I say. “Well, except for Dahlia. She’s demented though.”
“I had to force guys as well. You know my record. I was a freak at every school,” she says. And then I spy something new in her. A loneliness. It makes her look so fragile, like a porcelain doll dangling over a marble floor. She’s always been dangling there too, terrified that one day she’ll fall and shatter.
“So that’s why you did it?” Dahlia says. “To feel close and accepted, didn’t you?”
Adelaide opens her mouth to answer but I cut her off. “We aren’t diving into the monster’s insufficient reasons for ruining her life,” I say.
“I didn’t ruin my life. I made a mistake,” Adelaide says and now she looks mad. Good.
“Adelaide, come here,” Dahlia says, extending a hand to her. “Let’s sit down and discuss this calmly.”
Dahlia’s cool-as-ever demeanor makes me want to punch a wall. She should be livid that this burden is about to burden us even more. I can’t turn Adelaide away now and I can’t have her in my life. I don’t want a child around. I can barely stomach teenagers. Babies make me want to barf. The thought of a baby brings a long ago memory rushing to the surface. The babies I took to Trey Underwood. They were covered in blood, tiny and squirming. On my way to Trey, I was running for my life, or so I thought. And although that horrific run through Stockholm, Sweden, was riddled with threats there were other things pressing in on my conscience, lamenting itself there. All I could see in my head was their dead mother, her throat slit.
Babies mean death. Babies mark the mistakes in my life. The ones I thought I’d atoned for but now realize still live in my bones, threatening to break me.
“No, I can’t sit,” Adelaide says, shaking her head at Dahlia and her offer.
“Adelaide, you haven’t had medical attention. You and your baby need to see someone pronto,” Dahlia says.
“Oh fuck!” I say, throwing my hands back to my head. Both women turn to look at me. “You’ve been dream traveling.”
“Yeah, so?” Adelaide says with a shrug.
“Well, if you would have told me you were pregnant I would have forbid you from dream traveling. I would have told you that as soon as that monster’s consciousness sparked to life around the fourth to sixth month that dream travel could kill you both. You can’t pull your consciousness into the dreamscape without risking creating a schism when you have another human consciousness within you,” I say, spit flying from my mouth from my rushed words
“Wait, what?” Dahlia says. “Pregnant women can’t dream travel?”
“Sometimes they can, but it’s risky. A risk I would have never allowed you to attempt if I knew!” I yell and I do now throw my fist into the wood-paneled walls. My finger, still broken from punching that bloke James in the face, screams when contact is made. And to my frustration the wall stands up to my force, not even denting. What’s the bloody point in hitting something if it doesn’t create damage?
I cradle my hand to my chest at once, careful to keep my eyes off Dahlia, who is probably giving me a punishing look of disappointment. From my peripheral I see her turn to Adelaide.
“I’m calling my doctor right now. You and your baby are having a full checkup today,” Dahlia says.
“It’s really not nec—”
“No arguments,” Dahlia says, cutting Adelaide off. Then she rushes for the phone on the corner table. She pauses and just then looks at me. I bring my eyes up to look at her. “This is unexpected, Ren, but we will deal with it. Don’t worry and stop hitting things.”
Chapter Two
The clock has ticked three hundred and sixty times since the therapist opposite of me has spoken. I had started counting the ticks and hadn’t cared to stop. It was almost soothing now to wait for the gentle click that happened every second and count it.
“Ren, I’m all too happy to sit here in silence with you if that’s what you need,” Dr. Dave Raydon says. His hands sit in his lap, his eyes resting on me. “I’ve learned in my practice that talking helps, but not always. Sometimes we need time to process our thoughts.”
Having lost track of my counting I manage a
nod.
“However, if talking about the recent developments will help, if there are thoughts sitting on top of your mind with a desire to be voiced, then I’d like you to express them,” he says.
Now I shake my head.
“Ren, for over a month we’ve sat here, sometimes talking but usually in silence. I’m not going to push you. However, I would like to ask you the question that I think we’ve both been thinking but are unwilling to voice. I, for one, didn’t think you were ready to address this question. Maybe you still aren’t, but I’m willing to anger you a bit to ask it now.”
Usually I’d have a crafty retort or an insult at the ready, but this time I don’t. Not only am I unmotivated to berate a person lately but I have no desire to criticize the man in front of me. I’m a wicked person, but one would have to be a demon to be rude to this man. “Go ahead. Ask your burning question,” I say.
A smile twitches under his mustache. “Ren, don’t you think it’s obvious what you’re doing? How long are you going to keep hiding?”
A frustrated breath falls out of my mouth. “That was actually two questions. And I hid for eighteen bloody years. I’m thinking of doubling it this time.”
The smile reaches up and touches his blue eyes. “Before, you were in danger. Now the circumstances are quite different.”
I tie my arms in front of my chest. “There’s a deranged lunatic who’s out there, need I remind you,” I say, pointing at the stainless steel wall, but meaning America. “This lunatic, Vivian, is obsessed with me. And she’s instigated the murder of her father and attempted murder on her uncles. She’s seeking to implant devices into homes so she can control people. Vivian Bishop is one of the most cunning and dangerous adversaries I’ve ever encountered and she can disable me with a couple of words. I am in danger, but no, I’m not hiding like you think or for the reasons you think. I’m fucking trying to save humanity. So keep running your judgmental eyes over me but you’ll be thanking my ass when I save this bloody circus we call the Institute.”
Dr. Raydon tucks his head to the side like he’s just thought of something. “I do believe that’s the most you’ve said in a month. Good progress.”
“Yeah, and now I’m bloody exhausted,” I say. “Thank you very much.”
“I do realize your position with the Lucidites is extremely demanding. And I commend you on the commitment you show. However, you haven’t left the Institute in over thirty days,” he says.
“I’ve been busy. There’s a fucking mole in this place who is giving all our secrets to Vivian. And the only way I’m going to find this dipshit who’s reporting my actions to Vivian is by hanging around this hell hole and investigating,” I say.
“So,” he says, drawing out the word. “You’re not avoiding your pregnant daughter then?”
I fake a long yawn. “Oh, I totally forgot the little dumbass got herself knocked up. Thanks again, Doc.”
Even under his bushy mustache I still spy the purse of the doctor’s lips. And even adorning a skeptical expression, he looks accepting. “Don’t you think that at this time in Adelaide’s life she could use her father?”
So now the good doctor has decided to play hardball with his questions. I wondered how long he’d allow me to take up a spot in his armchair and only answer his questions with one-word responses.
“No, Doc, I don’t. She doesn’t need me and I’m fairly certain she doesn’t really need anyone,” I say. “This is a girl who has spent her entire life alone in one regard or another. I have every confidence that she’s fine growing that little monster in her womb and plotting how they are going to be a drain on my finances for the rest of their lives.”
“But have you at least spoken to her?” Dr. Raydon asks.
“No!” I fire back, an inferno erupting in my head.
“Then how do you know that she’s fine as she embarks on this incredibly scary change?” he says.
“Because I know the girl. I know her better than she knows herself. I know how she thinks and how easy it is for her to cut off emotions. I know how incredibly deluded she was to make the decision that got her pregnant. And I know that’s she’s strong enough to get through this,” I say too fast, the words seeking to tear out my throat if I don’t finally say them all.
Dr. Raydon presses back into his chair, a knowing look on his round face. “To have this level of understanding of another person is quite the gift, Ren. You do see that, don’t you?”
“I also understand how criminal minds work. So excuse me for not indulging you with your attempts to make this sound like a sentimental relationship,” I say.
The day I found out Adelaide had hidden a pregnancy from me I moved back into my former residence in the Institute. I told Dahlia that I had to fill in as interim Head Strategist until Trey occupied the position with some half-wit. I told her that intervening in the Smart Pod/Vivian case was top priority. I told her that I’d return as soon as I could. Dahlia just nodded, listening to my excuses. Not once did she object. Not once did she accuse me of running or hiding. And that’s why I love her.
Dahlia set up for Adelaide to see a doctor. She hired a midwife and made other arrangements that would ensure my spawn would be safe and taken care of. And then just like me Dahlia threw herself into her career, disclosing that her recording contract required that she spend the next month or two in New York. Maybe Dahlia would have stuck around if I did, but without me there she probably felt uncomfortable. And since I ran away she had every excuse to do the same.
I get daily reports from Dahlia’s staff on Adelaide. It involves more details than I care to know. Her activity, mood, health, and sometimes a message from her. I haven’t returned the messages nor do I have any plans to do so.
“Are you mad at Adelaide for getting pregnant?” Dr. Raydon says.
“Of course I am,” I say before I consider my answer.
“Now you probably think that you’re mad at her for being irresponsible, am I right?”
“Yes. She had her whole life ahead of her. One full of potential. Now this kid is going to ruin it for her,” I say.
“Is it also possible that you’re afraid this kid will change the relationship you and Adelaide were forming?”
“No,” I say, biting on the word.
“Because if I remember correctly, you two, against your mighty attempts to keep distance between you, were bonding.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth. I was training Adelaide, just as I have thousands of snotty teenagers,” I say.
“But none of the Dream Travelers you trained here at the Institute were your own flesh and blood and mirrored you like your daughter.”
I shoot into a standing position. “I do believe we’re over our time,” I say, my eyes firmly centered on the clock on the wall.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, waving a hand to me. “I don’t mind spending another half hour with you. I dare say we’re making progress.”
“If by progress you mean you’ve figured out how to bring my breakfast back up then sure. And I can easily believe that you have nothing better to do than ask me daft questions. I however don’t have the luxury of hanging around with you discussing absurdities. I have a fucking mole to catch and club over the head,” I say.
“Yes, best of luck with that,” the doctor sings as I exit.
Chapter Three
There are roughly two hundred residents and employees in the Lucidite Institute. Of those, I’ve cleared fifty, having firmly determined they aren’t the mole. Dr. Raydon is one of those that I’ve cleared. Trey Underwood another. And all twenty in the strategic department have passed my investigation. That was a fairly simple task because I know how my agents’ minds work. I trained my agents. Hell, I know every-fucking-thing about the people in my department. It’s how I vetted them and thereby determined they could hack an agent position.
Now the real detective work begins. There are a lot of suspicious types in the other departments and it won’t be as straightforwar
d to investigate them and determine if they’re the mole. The clairvoyance and telepaths in the news reporting department are the sketchiest people around. And they have the ability to lock down their minds or just feed certain information to an agent detective. Conversely, the scientists are dumb little sheep that split atoms and ask big questions. And they follow their doctrine of facts while dismissing anything unexplainable. They lack the creativity to realize that that which is a mystery holds the greatest power. That’s mostly why I loathe scientists. They want answers to everything, not realizing that they’ve deluded themselves into thinking that everything has an answer. That’s the most pompous short-sighted thing a person can think. Investigating the science department will indeed not be brain surgery. However, the last thing I wish to do is pollute my body sitting in a room with a bunch of sticky, crusty scientists. And then there are the administrative positions and maintenance workers. I suspect that they’ll be the easiest to investigate and therefore shouldn’t be my problem.
I pause at the door to Scapes Escapes, my old department room. I took pity on Trey and assumed my old position as Head Strategist. It’s only in an interim capacity. And I only agreed because I recognize how desperate the situation is with Vivian planning a secret diabolical takeover of the American home. Furthermore, I only agreed to take the position if at my discretion I could work as the agent on this case, which we’re calling Smart Pod Takeover since that’s apparently the role of the devices in homes. To take over minds using voice control. We don’t know any more than that. Vivian’s powers of voice control will no doubt echo through the little handy devices that some techy father thought would be fun technology to add to his entertainment center. And once installed, the thing will listen and then give orders. And who knows what she plans to do to people, but anyone who would recruit an army of assassins can’t have a wholesome agenda. So I wasn’t lying when I told Dr. Raydon that I didn’t have the time to leave the Institute. I’m giving orders on hundreds of cases, managing a dozen agents, investigating a mole, and trying to cut the head off of Medusa aka Vivian.
