Revived

by Sarah Noffke

  “Be careful not to limit anything but Chase while lucid dreaming,” she continues. “Also do not try to control too many aspects of your dreams. If you do, you will miss messages being sent to you. Be a quiet observer.”

  “Okay,” I say, spotting Joseph lurking by our familiar station, giving me a puzzled look. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Is everything all right?” Joseph asks when I take the chair next to him.

  “Yeah, it’s just whoever runs this universe is sending me weird messages. So everything is pretty much status quo.”

  “All right, we’ll discuss the mysterious meaning behind that statement after we news report. Have fun and get good stuff, little sis,” Joseph says, lying down in his own recliner.

  “You too, big Joe.” I smile, clapping the headphones into place and closing my eyes.

  Darkness seeps across my mind’s eye, replacing the glow of the purplish light overhead—a sign I’m about to receive a news report. I’ve entered the void, the place where all my news reports are delivered. A sound similar to thunder echoes around the blackness. A light, like sun reflecting off a mirror, pierces my vision, blinding me momentarily. The ground in the premonition rocks with a minor earthquake. Fabric arises into my vision, flowing like a flag in the wind. White and black.

  The camera lens retracts until I spy two legs marching across iridescent blue carpet in slow motion. Each confident step is a trespassing, dripping with an ominous threat. One that rockets across my chest, assuring that what comes next doesn’t just endanger me, but everyone I know.

  Everything speeds up into real time. The vision blacks out, like I’ve lost the signal. Then it flashes with a new intensity. It’s almost too bright to focus upon, like I’m staring into the sun, trying to make out its shape. Still I stay focused until the foreboding presence is as crisp as a blade of grass. Right then I know something which empties all hope from my being: soon Zhuang will invade the Institute.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Panic spears me at the sight of Zhuang. Somehow he’s more majestic than the last time I saw him. Starched black and white robes sharply whip around his body as he strides, closing the space that exists between him and a door. A yellow fingernail––filed into a sharp point––presses the button. I glimpse the placard above it:

  Head Official

  Trey Underwood

  The door hasn’t even fully slid back when Zhuang slithers into the office. A guttural sound of frustration explodes from the ancient madman. Instantly he’s back in the hallway, standing stock-still. He sniffs the air. Narrows menacing eyes. Charges forward.

  Determination marks his snakelike golden eyes, which look rimmed with coal. He reaches behind his head, his sleeve falling down to reveal long, sinewy muscles. With a jerk he rips the sword out from behind his back. The one he used to kill Whitney with. Stab Joseph with. Was a moment away from ending me with.

  A roar like that of a territorial lion erupts from Zhuang’s mouth. To my horror an individual runs out of an office, a look of concern on the white coat’s face. Instantly the man’s expression falls slack. He stumbles, dropping on his rear end and crab walks backward in sudden panic. Zhuang raises a hand up, up, up into the air. Simultaneously the scientist levitates horizontally until his nose is touching the cold stainless steel ceiling. His head rips back and forth, tortured by the uncertainty of what comes next. A cold chuckle falls out of Zhuang’s paper-thin lips. At lightning speed, he zigzags his bony hand through the air. The hovering body follows suit slamming back and forth between the Institute walls like a ping-pong ball. Each collision is harder than the last, accompanied by the sounds of cracking and screams. Finally, the body crumples to the blue carpet, blood smearing the places where it waylaid the steel walls.

  A swarm of white coats empties out into the hallway. Individually their eyes dart to the man’s body, then to Zhuang, standing squarely in the middle of the corridor, some ten feet away. Most run. One dives back into his office. A woman slumps against the wall, most likely dream traveling.

  Zhuang gives an irritated expression as he steps over the dead body, continuing on his path. “Run or hide but you will all still die.” His voice comes out in a low growl.

  ♦

  A choking scream rips me out of the premonition. “They have to get away! They have to!” I yell. Shooting upright, I cause my headphones to be yanked off my head and clatter to the floor. Sweat drenches my shirt, making it cling to my chest. Joseph flings his headphones off and is at my side at once.

  “What is it?” he says, gripping my arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Third level! They have to get away!” I say through hyperventilated breaths.

  “Stark.” Joseph searches my eyes, which wildly dart around my head. “Is someone in danger?”

  “We all are.” A shiver shoots down my spine, worsened by the sweat against my back. “Come on.” I tug Joseph’s hand as I sprint out of my chair and down the darkened hallway.

  How long do we have? What if we have only minutes? What if all the white coats are already in danger? The adrenaline has a hold of me right now, but as soon as it abates I’m going to be riddled with anxiety.

  I scan the conference room and don’t find Shuman. Still sprinting, I check each of the training areas with haste. Left with no other options I slam my hand against the button for the door at the end of the long corridor. It slides back and gold light streams through the dark hallway, causing my eyes to squint. Shuman jerks to a standing position behind the table in the center of the room. A map sits in front of her.

  “Excuse me, Roya,” she says, confounded and enraged by my interruption. “These are private quarters.”

  “I’ll remember that next time.” I stride across the room in three steps. “For now I have a report that needs your immediate attention.”

  I take a tentative glance at Joseph beside me. His expression makes me certain that he half suspects what I’m about to divulge.

  “Well, go on.” Shuman’s voice is calm but anxious.

  “Zhuang,” I say, trying to steady my breath.

  Joseph straightens. Shuman blinks with disbelief.

  “You have seen a report that involves Zhuang?” she asks, her words uncharacteristically fast.

  I nod. “In the future, maybe in a few minutes or several weeks, Zhuang is going to break into the Institute.” My words taste like cement in my mouth. I want to spit them out, but instead I swallow the harsh bits of rock.

  Shuman’s chin, which is held high, slowly lowers until it is an inch from her chest. Her eyes shift from side to side. Mouth pinched. “Go on.”

  “Zhuang was looking for Trey,” I say, feeling Joseph jerk beside me but unwilling to look at him. “That’s where the vision started. At Trey’s office.”

  “He did not find him?” Shuman asks.

  “He did not.”

  “What did you see of Zhuang’s actions?”

  I shudder, too easily remembering the man’s broken body. “Murder. A scientist. Third level. And he was after more,” I say in chopped sentences.

  “He’s coming to destroy the Institute,” Joseph undertones as if talking to himself.

  “I suspect he is coming for much more than that,” Shuman says, drawing in a long breath. “He is coming to steal power. Trey’s for sure. And yours,” she says, eyes pinning on me.

  “But he’s still gonna kill us all,” Joseph says.

  “I only saw him kill one person.” My attempt at reassurance is lousy. This is the news Joseph has been bracing himself for, but not exactly in this way. He knew Zhuang would return, but none of us could have guessed he would enter the Institute. I actually didn’t even think it was possible.

  “I will need a description of this person Zhuang killed.” Shuman appears to be calculating. “Your report might have just prevented the deaths of many scientists.”

  “But the rest of us are doomed,” Joseph says in a ghostly whisper.

  Although we’re usually pretty dis
agreeable, I lock my eyes on my brother and nod. He’s right. Soon we’re headed for a catastrophe.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joseph and I agree not to discuss Zhuang over lunch. I feel the regret and shame swelling in him like rising dough. With each passing minute the pressure grows and soon I think it will cocoon both of us. I nudge him under the table, a gesture he’s done to me a dozen times when I’m wearing a melancholy face. He nods in understanding and plasters a giant, fake smile across his mouth. “Better?” he whispers through clenched teeth.

  “Now people are going to stare at you for totally different reasons. Tone it down a bit,” I say in a hush, careful not to let anyone else at the table pick up on our conversation.

  “How’s it that you’re so calm? Zhuang is coming after you.”

  “It’s called a poker face. I inherited it from Trey.”

  “Yeah, you must have. It’s brilliant.”

  “I’m even better at pretending doom isn’t about to fall down on me. Watch this,” I murmur, pushing my asparagus and white bean salad away. “Hey, George.” I turn my attention to him sitting on the other side of me, not quite as close as Joseph.

  He finishes the line he’s reading in his book and looks up at me. “Hey.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I say.

  He flicks his eyes across my face, studying me. A knowing smile forms on his mouth. “No you’re not.”

  “Oh, all right, I’m not,” I say, grabbing a bean from my plate and tossing it at him. “Just trying to be polite.”

  He ducks out of the trajectory of the bean. “You don’t have to use pretenses with me.”

  “What are you reading?” I say, gesturing to the book his hand is still pinned between so he doesn’t lose his place.

  “Love in the Time of Cholera,” he says, tucking his bookmark between the pages and showing me the cover.

  “Is it good?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll start it. I like the idea of us reading the same book at the same time.”

  “Me too,” he says with understated satisfaction.

  “It would give us more to talk about.”

  “Yes, more.”

  “Maybe we should start a book club,” Joseph says, breaking the lovely tension that was building. “But we can only read stuff that’s ancient, written with flowery language, and about characters that live miserable lives of lost love and sacrifice. I for one cannot wait to curl up, eat a scone, and bore myself to death reading that drivel.”

  I turn and give Joseph a wink that only he can see. Of course he’s fantastic at pretending. It’s his thing. “Those sentences you just constructed are the most intelligent things I’ve ever heard you say. I don’t think your hillbilly accent flared up once during your monologue. I already see that this book club idea is going to be good for you.”

  “Oh, it will do somethin’ for me, that’s for sure,” he says, over-embellishing his southern drawl.

  Turning back to George, I say, “Some people just can’t be helped. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d help me practice emotional shielding this afternoon. Ren thinks it might help me against Chase.”

  “He’s probably right.” George nods. “And absolutely I will. I’m meeting with Aiden after lunch, but how about as soon as I’m done?”

  “Sure,” I say slowly.

  Aiden and George are still working on the emotional modifier together? I’m not sure why this surprises me, but it does. It’s not that I worry like I used to that they’re perfecting a device that manipulates people’s emotions without them knowing it. What bothers me is that the two of them are working together and I still feel strangely tethered between them, even though Aiden and I are history. But we still have just that: history. I wonder if they talk about me during these meetings.

  “I think the emotional modifier is close to complete,” George says, interrupting my thoughts. “Then Aiden can begin working on the patch for your protective charm. We think that it will prevent Chase from embedding you.”

  “I hope so,” I say.

  “Aiden’s been working on it nonstop, churning out different models that get closer and closer to working seamlessly.”

  Although I’m glad they’re trying to help, it still feels strange to know their work is centered on me. For a person who is used to a whole lot less attention, I’m kind of on overload. And the two guys who’ve owned pieces of my heart, teaming up to protect me from a love affair from a third guy, is the most peculiar arrangement I can imagine. I feign a smile. “Well, thanks for working on the project, although I know you have mixed feelings on the whole device.”

  “My feelings aren’t mixed,” George says, voice low. “It’s wrong to manipulate emotions, even if against a dangerous person. There are other ways to protect ourselves. I wish I would have known that before I started the work. Then you wouldn’t be in the situation you are.”

  I’m shaking my head before he’s even done speaking. “Don’t. You can’t berate yourself for hindsight. You’re working to save me now and for that I’m grateful.”

  “I need everyone’s attention.” Trey’s voice echoes from the front of the room. “At one-thirty this afternoon everyone is required to attend a meeting in the auditorium. That is all. Thank you.” Trey walks across the stage with practiced grace. His confidence looks unmarked by the weight of what I know he’s dealing with. And although I wish I didn’t care, I still take in his every movement, studying him for the similarities that I undeniably share with him.

  My eyes flick to Joseph. He’s already looking at me, obvious apprehension covering his features. Usually I’d just imagine how a person like him felt in his position. However, now I know how awful Joseph feels. Guilt and dread swim around, threatening to tear him into pieces from the inside out. The only other person who feels this as keenly as me is George. I can’t be certain that he knows the details of what’s coming next, but from the expression on his face I believe he’s aware of the torment that’s slowly scraping away at Joseph’s insides.

  ♦

  Half an hour later I dutifully head to the auditorium. I’m rounding the corner into the large room when I collide with Aiden, who’s scribbling on a notepad as he hurries in from the opposite direction.

  “Hey,” Aiden says, almost knocking me over. “Sorry.” Something skirts across his face before he recovers his stone expression. Angst maybe?

  “Hey,” I say as casually as I can muster. We pause in the doorway, letting people jostle past us into the auditorium. I could stand here forever enjoying the torment in my heart and the opportunity to watch him bury his own. I must love abuse.

  “Nice work,” he finally says after an awkward moment of silence.

  “Huh?”

  “Your report.”

  “Oh.”

  “Your father is really proud of you.”

  “Hmmm…funny I learn this from you and not him.” I roll my shoulders, a sudden tension gripping my back.

  “He’s been very busy.”

  A hand grabs my arm from behind with a gentle yank. “Hey, sis,” Joseph says, biting on the words. “Saved you a seat.”

  I turn to see him not staring at me but giving Aiden a threatening look.

  “Thanks.” I turn and let Joseph guide me, not saying another word to Aiden. However, as I walk down the main aisle I feel him behind me, his presence crowding, hoarding every available place in my head.

  “Right here.” Joseph stops, encouraging me into the row second from the front. “Right next to my squire,” he says, indicating a seat beside George. Aiden takes the seat in front of me in the front row––just between Ren and Shuman.

  “I suppose you’re deluding yourself into thinking you’re a knight, then?” I jab Joseph in the ribs as he takes the seat on the other side of me.

  “Suppose whatever you like,” he says, fending off my mild attack.

  I turn to George, ready to commiserate over my brother’s immaturity. He halts me with an appraisi
ng gaze, worry growing in his eyes.

  “Bad news, huh?” George states after searching me. During lunch I had up a shield, which I’ve taken down now since he and everyone else is about to find out about Zhuang.

  “The worst,” I reply.

  “Anders,” Joseph says, leaning across me. “I find it creepy that you ransack Stark’s emotions every chance you get.”

  “I only read emotions Roya gives access to,” George says evenly, unflustered by Joseph’s obvious aggression. “She knows how to shield me.”

  “It’s true,” I say, angling Joseph back into his seat with my shoulder. “And I don’t mind.”

  George rewards me with a gentle smile which reaches his brown eyes, making them glow. “Reading your emotions is like watching a sunrise,” he says, all his attention on me. “You want to do it every chance you get.”

  Aiden sits forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, head hanging low. There’s no convincing myself that he hasn’t heard this exchange.

  “It’s strange to think that the last time I was in this room was when I first entered the Institute,” I say, breaking away from George’s eyes, pretending to take in the details of the auditorium. “You know, when I came here it was because someone”—I jab a finger in Shuman’s direction—“told me I was the one to challenge Zhuang. They forgot to mention that I would compete for that role.”

  “I still remember seeing your face and wet hair when Ren shoved you into the room in front of all of us.” George’s voice carries a hint of nostalgia.

  “Yeah, you were the epitome of a deer in the headlights.” Joseph laughs.

  “I should have realized right then that this place was going to be a confusing mess of games and lies,” I say, keeping my voice low so hopefully just George and Joseph can hear me. “Instead I decided to willingly compete for an honor I didn’t want while Trey hid the real details of my life.”

  “Hey, Stark,” Joseph says, looking around the room watching the various people take seats.