Mind's Eye (Mind's Eye, #1)

by Rebecca A. Rogers

I lifted my foot off the gas as soon as I entered Goose Pond Trailer Park. There were too many potholes, and any one of them could damage my car. Mr. Pakulski—who emigrated from Poland and bought the park—knew about the problems but conveniently never had time to fix them. What this place needed was a complete renovation and a new owner. Was it too much to ask for a paved road running straight through the neighborhood, mandatory lawn care, and rules that included banning trash as front yard décor?

  Tabitha was asleep on the couch when I entered our house. Apparently, she hadn’t been napping for too long, because a cigarette was still smoking in one of the ash trays on the TV-box coffee table. I strode over and extinguished the ember, just as Tabitha woke.

  “Are you trying to burn our house down?” I asked.

  She sighed dramatically and swatted the air between us a couple of times. “Oh, shut up. If the universe wanted my house to burn to the ground, then it’d happen.”

  I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to respond. She always blamed me for her mistakes.

  “And nothing would burn if you came home after school and cleaned out these ash trays,” she continued. “I thought I told you this morning to do that.”

  “I was at Liz’s house.”

  Tabitha stared at me, blankly. “Well, tell me something I don’t know. It’s not like you have a boyfriend.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  She pinned me with her gaze. “Of course I do; I’m your mother. Plus, you’d be all giddy and shit, actin’ like you actually have something to live for. Instead, you wear black all the time and mope around.” Snatching her cigarette box from the coffee table, she pulled out another cig and stuck it between her lips. “Where’s my damn lighter?” she mumbled, searching her pockets. When she came up empty, she moved on to the kitchen.

  And I moved on to my room.

  Could my day get any worse? I crashed onto my bed, face first, and lay there for what felt like an eternity. Ryan, Jessica, Brittney, Liz, Dee, Jared, Tabitha—their faces and voices swirled through my mind in a rush, replaying the day’s crazy events and conversations. My head began to throb, painfully.

  “I don’t mope,” I mumbled in response to Tabitha’s accusation. Maybe that’s how she saw my attempts to avoid her. Who’d want to hang out with their drunk mom all the time? Not this girl.

  My bedroom door swung open so unexpectedly, I nearly broke my neck looking that way.

  “I need you to stop by David’s tonight and get some money.”

  Clean this. Go there. Get me that. How about you stop drinking for five seconds and get whatever you need yourself? That’s what I wanted to tell her.

  Instead, I asked, “Who the hell is David?”

  “If I’ve told you once,” she said, raising her voice about five octaves, “I’ve told you five times. He’s my beau.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, this isn’t the ’50s, Mom! They’re called boyfriends now, not beaus.” I flopped onto my stomach again, turning my head toward the wall, away from her.

  Everything about Tabitha annoyed me lately—her smoking, her drinking, the life she chose for us. I wanted nicer things. I didn’t want to be known at school as the girl with an alcoholic mother, who lived in a trailer park.

  Tabitha cursed under her breath as she strolled back down the hallway, stomping her feet with each new step. Eventually, she exited the house, slamming the front door behind her. I lay perfectly still as I listened to the sound of her engine starting, and her tires kicking up gravel as she sped off.

  She wasn’t always like this. When I was a little girl, she was the kind of mother any kid would be proud to have. She was happy, she was loving, and she made sure I was taken care of. There weren’t any cigarettes or alcohol in our home, and she didn’t hang out with the wrong crowd. Several years later, she changed. I never knew what caused that change, but it happened almost overnight. Gradually, she morphed into the mom I was familiar with.

  And that’s also when my ability surfaced.

  I was nine years old the first time I disappeared inside my imagination. Having just watched a BBC Masterpiece Theater rendition of Sense & Sensibility, I wanted to visit England—badly enough that when I thought about rolling, green hills and cobblestone streets, I ended up in an English village on the outskirts of London, in the late eighteenth century. At that age, I was terrified. I had no idea what had just occurred, or where I was. And I had no idea how to get back home. Once I survived the initial shock, though, I thought of my mom and wondered if she’d miss me. Just like that, I was in my house again, sitting on the sofa like nothing happened.

  Over those next few weeks, I practiced every chance I got. I tested and pushed my imagination to its limit. Every world, every character I dreamed up was real to me.

  That was eight years ago. In a way, it seemed much longer. I traveled to Paris, London, Tokyo, and all other major cities in the U.S. and abroad. I visited exotic locations like the Amazon Rainforest, the Pyramids of Giza, and the Mayan Ruins. Nothing was out of my reach, not as long as my mind was intact. I researched every country on the map, so when I imagined where I’d go next, that particular place wouldn’t be a disappointment; it’d be exactly like the brochures, textbooks, or websites I studied.

  After awhile, realistic settings bored me. The places I saw when I watched movies, or read books, were the places I wanted to visit. But even those weren’t enough. I began creating worlds that didn’t exist, with creatures and people who weren’t real. My imagination was infinite.

  If there was one constant thing I’d learned while gliding through my mind’s reaches, it was that the experience was too much fun. Anything I said or did could change in an instant, just because I imagined it happening that way. But the end result was always the same, and I always came out of my head knowing I’d made a few friends along the way.

  My dearest sidekick had been patiently waiting for me on Cyeor, and I thought it was time I return to him. Borphan was never pleased when I drifted off for too long, especially when my people needed me. I was their Empress, after all.

  Closing my eyes, I imagined the thick, stony walls of my fortress on the red-sand plateau. We were about to plan a sneak attack at night, while they slept. My commanders, along with Borphan, wouldn’t be pleased that I disappeared again, not on the eve of battle. The majority of the time, they had minds of their own. Maybe I allowed my brain too much freedom when it came to thoughts and memories and dreams, but that freedom added a little something extra to my imaginings.

  I appeared outside of the Great Hall’s door. Borphan and the other commanders stood around a lengthy rectangular table, studying the battle plans for the night. They quietly argued over where we should be positioned, from which direction we should attack, and what would happen if Plan A didn’t work the way they had hoped.

  I cleared my throat, and they all looked up, subsequently bowing. They returned to their normal positions, but there was no mistaking the questions lingering behind their eyes. It’d be so easy to make all my imaginary friends puppet-like, but that’d defeat the purpose of my dream worlds. I wanted them to think on their own. I wanted their interactions to be as realistic as possible. So far, that idea had worked out flawlessly.

  “Empress,” my First Commander began, peering up at me through golden lashes, “we need you to examine these sketches. If they meet with your approval, I will have my men prepare to strike by nightfall.”

  And by his men, he meant his archers; the First Commander was in charge of archery and ranged attacks. The Second Commander, a short, plump guy, was in charge of hand-to-hand combat and ground assault. The Third Commander? She was exotic, with pale, mint-green skin and large, black eyes. She was in charge of trapping and ensnaring enemies. And Borphan? He was in charge of all three commanders.

  I ambled over to the table, where I examined the night’s plans. They were good, possibly better than anything I could’ve produced. We’d surround them from the west, south, and east. While the ea
stern group would attack first, gaining attention from the Dreds, the south and west would follow, essentially cutting off all but one escape route—north, to their homeland.

  “It’s damn near perfect,” I told my commanders and Borphan. “Do we have a Plan B, just in case this doesn’t resolve itself?”

  “It’s nearly foolproof, Empress,” the Third Commander chimed in, her eyelids double-blinking—once horizontally, once vertically. “The only way this might fail is if they have reinforcements stationed elsewhere, and they call upon them in the midst of the attack. But that’s nearly impossible when one is fighting for their life.”

  I bobbed my head back and forth in mutual agreement. “True. All right, let’s organize the men. The battle begins in an hour.”

  The two moons were prominent in the sky, their brightness spanning across my kingdom. After meeting with my commanders and Borphan, I returned outdoors, where I surveyed the Dred’s camp, remotely. We wouldn’t have any cover protecting us from view, but we could make do without torches, and the sand would soften our footsteps. My heart raced at the idea of battle. In all my dreamscapes, I’d never imagined something this epic, this intense. I’d need to keep myself in check and ensure I didn’t get so involved I forgot I was in charge of my mind; otherwise, the result could be disastrous.

  The next hour disintegrated. Every man, woman, and child was prepared for what lay ahead. Those who couldn’t fight were taken to the dungeons deep below the fortress, where they’d be safe until our return, and where several of my men would stand watch over the women and children while we were gone.

  Borphan, my commanders, and I silently led the army across the flat, sandy terrain. We stuck to the plans exactly as they had been written. There wasn’t room for error. This was life or death for many of my imaginary friends, and Death himself would both spare and acquire tonight.

  I urged my comrades before we set out to save their words. In a wide open space such as this desert, our voices would carry straight to the enemy’s ears. Using a few hand signals, I motioned for our groups to split up. Borphan stayed by my side, and we fell behind while the First, Second, and Third Commanders took their positions along the west, south, and eastern areas of the camp. They all looked at me one last time, and I raised my arm straight into the air, balling my hand into a fist, then swiftly brought it down.

  The Third Commander was the first to strike, charging into the eastern side of the camp with as much ferocity as a lion. She and her men used spike strips and nets to delay the Dreds from advancing any further. All efforts were focused on the eastern side of the camp. The Dreds woke from their sleep, emerging from their tents one by one to join the fight. Swords clanged against swords. A few of my men collapsed from stab wounds, but the Dreds apparently didn’t think that was enough; they lit torches and threw the flaming sticks at the Third Commander’s small army.

  I raised my arm again, creating a fist, and then brought it down in one swift motion—the second signal, the indication the First and Second Commander had been waiting for. They ran into the Dred’s camp from the west and south, heading directly for the rear of the Dreds, where the Third Commander and her men were being attacked. Borphan and I, and my men, sat in the darkness and watched. How the Dreds didn’t see the First and Second Commander was beyond me; the torches were a dead giveaway, lighting a small radius around the camp—enough that had they turned around, they would’ve seen the commanders and a large portion of my militia waiting.

  My group remained rooted in place, until I was positive every clan member and leader was out of their tent and in the heart of combat. I twisted my body halfway, looking toward my men and nodding my head toward the Dred camp. I raised my sword, and we charged with angry battle cries leaving our throats and a sense of harmony only found between comrades in arms. There was a sharp nip around my eyeballs as I attempted to hold back satisfied tears.

  The leader of the Dreds, Üroth the Berserk, caught my eye. He stood at least a foot taller than his clan members, and his face was painted red, like the wasteland surrounding us. If I could wipe him out, the Dreds would not only lose their commander, they’d lose their morale.

  Üroth swung his sword into a man’s neck, nearly severing his head from his body. I cringed, and my stomach flipped. How was I supposed to be a fearsome war leader if I was nauseated at the sight of gore?

  Eliminating that thought, I continued to slice my way through the throng of Dreds, until I was close enough to catch the attention of Üroth. His black eyes didn’t stray from mine, and we began marching toward one another. The flames from lit torches lying on the ground emitted ghostly shadows across everyone’s face, bestowing each of us with a monstrous appearance. Üroth and I shoved several men out of our way, our eyes focused solely on each other. My stomach was in knots, the constant tugging and stretching resulting in queasiness.

  You’re in charge here, I reminded myself. This was my imagination. This was my dream world. Nobody could defeat me, unless I allowed them.

  But my characters in these dreamscapes had free rein the majority of the time. What if I let this loss of control go on for so long, I couldn’t stop it any longer? There was only one way to find out, and my hope was that it didn’t end in death.

  Our swords united, the sound of metal against metal falling in sync with the chorus of at least five hundred other blades. Üroth leaned forward, across our clashed weapons, and bared his spiked teeth. His breath smelled like sulfur and two-week-old shit. Stomach acid rose up my esophagus and into my throat, but I gulped it down. Üroth reared back, altering his stance and jabbing his sword in my direction. I dodged from the right, from the left, and even ducked to miss his weapon sticking into the side of my neck. Üroth swung his blade again, clipping my arm with the tip. I cried out. My skin pulsated and oozed blood. Üroth laughed, obviously pleased with his miniature victory.

  Using my good arm, I sliced through the air with my sword. Üroth evaded me, his throaty chuckle toying with my head. I wanted to stab him. I wanted him to die. It’d be so simple to imagine those minor events happening, believe in them, and then watch them play out with ease. But that wasn’t what I wished for. What I wished for was single-handedly annihilating this monster, so I could be the badass Empress everyone thought I was, even if everyone, collectively, was just a figment of my imagination.

  “Let’s finish this,” I coolly stated.

  Üroth sneered.

  We paced back and forth across a short span, each of us stalking the other like we were the last mortals on the planet and only one of us could claim Cyeor as theirs. Üroth’s grip tightened on his sword’s hilt, and his lips peeled back in a wicked grin. Ready to finish not only our battle but also the battle surrounding us, I hurtled myself forward.

  My blade clanged and singed against his. I jabbed my weapon toward his torso, but he blocked me. I jabbed my weapon upward, toward his head and neck, but he blocked me. I jabbed my weapon downward, toward his legs, but—surprise!—he blocked me. During his attempt to take me out, he made an impressive attempt at whirling around, and I didn’t hesitate to strike the backs of his thighs in one blow. Üroth’s head reared back, and he roared. Was that pain? Aggravation? A little bit of both?

  I didn’t have time to map out his feelings. My body and mind were tired, and I wanted to go home—my real home—and sleep. After this skirmish, there was no doubt plenty of ale, wine, and other spirits would be waiting at the tavern inside my fortress’s walls. Just the thought of seeing my people happy again gave me the motivation I needed to end this fight.

  Üroth struggled to stand up, and I took the opportunity to strike him again—this time, on his back. He fell forward, into the red sand. Üroth strained, using his arms to push his upper body off the ground. Glancing up at me over his shoulder, the defiant glare of a warrior was no longer present and accounted for. He was defeated, and he knew it.

  “Finish him!” cried Borphan.

  Several of my men, as well as the Dreds, halte
d their combat to watch.

  “Do it,” Üroth growled, “or I will have your head flaunted on a stake.”

  My sword descended, meeting his neck, effectively severing his head from his body in one clean swipe. Shouts engulfed the air as my people rejoiced that the Dreds were no more. What few remained, as well as the ones who were dead, burst into thousands of particles. They were all linked by blood through their leader, and when Üroth died, so did they.

  Borphan picked me up and hoisted me onto his shoulder, where I sat. My men smiled and sang the entire way to the fortress. The archers lowered their bows upon our return, and were promptly informed of the victory. One of my men ran to the dungeons, to notify the women and children we came back, most of us in one piece. There’d definitely be some major parties tonight, but I wouldn’t stay long for any of them. I did, after all, have school the next day.

  I ducked as Borphan burst through the wooden door leading into the town’s pub. Men quickly filled up the remaining tables, and mugs were brimming with only the finest drinks.

  “Eternal cheers for our Empress,” shouted Borphan, raising his mug, “for defeating Üroth the Berserk!”

  His toast was met with raucous approval, and everyone drank to me. I couldn’t help the smile on my face—it was so wide, my cheeks hurt. Nothing was better than knowing I was needed, that I had accomplished something. That I wasn’t just some loser from Central Falls, Rhode Island.

  A loud, slow clap began at one end of the tavern after everyone else had stopped applauding. My people stopped conversing, and I glanced up at the young man—no older than me—standing across the room. His hair was as dark as mine and barely reached the top of his shoulders. He wore a white shirt that exhibited his strong build, dark jeans that were slightly baggy, and a black, leather jacket. His boots were messily hanging open, laces dragging the floor. His eyes were so dark they appeared sinister, soulless. A slight five o’clock shadow grew along his jaw line, and there was a fullness to his bottom lip that triggered a vision of me kissing it softly.

  I shook my head. Who was he? I definitely didn’t imagine him. Although, if he was somebody my mind created, then I seriously needed to visualize hot guys more often.

  With each new clap, he took a step toward me, until we were face to face. “A not-so-surprising victory for the one who pretends to be a fierce idol by using her mind.”

  What the hell?

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “An enforcer. A Realist,” he replied, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And the person who will be your downfall if you don’t stop using your ability.”

  My eyes expanded. “How…?”

  “Ah, yes. The inevitable question: how do I know about your skill?” His eyes skimmed over my face, pausing briefly at my lips, then flicked upward and met my gaze once again. “I work for an organization that specializes in healing people like you.”

  People like me? “I’m not the only one?”

  He grinned and blew air out of his nose in one short huff. “No, my dear, you aren’t alone. There are others like you around the world, and there are others like me, destined to stop you from using your imagination.”

  I frowned. “Everyone has an imagination, though…”

  “Not like yours. Not with the power to physically disappear inside their dreamscapes.”

  He had a point. My ability went above and beyond what was normal, but I knew that since I was a child—from the time I asked my friends if they had traveled to alternate realities and they said no. I understood I was different, that I had a secret talent nobody else could be made aware of.

  “And how are you able to appear inside my mind? I didn’t dream of you.”

  “No, you didn’t. It’s part of my ability. We can track who uses their imagination too often, who disappears inside their own head, and who has been too carefree with their secret. Damage control is always the worst part, especially if the media gets a hold of a story like this. Do you know the impact your kind can have, to just disappear into thin air and visit your dream worlds? There’d be uproar.”

  “So, instead of letting my kind use their ability peacefully, without harming anyone, you and your kind remove it from us? What kind of bullshit is that?”

  “A precautionary measure. Remember, Kearly, I only give one warning, and if you don’t listen, I’ll bring you in and eradicate your ability. Do you understand?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he cupped his fingers over my lips, his face mere inches away. Those dark eyes entrapped me, until I caved and nodded.

  “Good,” he said, removing his hand. “It’d be in your best interest to keep your mind clear.” He slowly backed away, and the crowd around us stepped backward, as well. “Consider yourself lucky. Most of our other agents wouldn’t even dream of giving you prior notice. It was a pleasure meeting you, but I sincerely hope we never meet again.”

  A shadowy vapor secreted from his skin, coiling around his body in a dense fog, until he was shrouded from sight. The mist contracted, then exploded. Everyone gasped. The leftovers of the haze hung in the air and, eventually, faded away.

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