by Rysa Walker
He’s trying to lighten the mood. Trying to take my mind off the fact that the little round bandage on his arm completely wiped my hopes of keeping him out of this insanity.
The distraction didn’t work, but I don’t guess there’s any harm in letting him think it did. Maybe he’ll sleep better if I play along.
I snort. “Riiight. Then we’ll zip over to Hawaii for a week or two. And . . . you do know that Scooby-Doo isn’t Disney, right?”
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Don’t bother me with details, amica. I’ve got a vacation to plan. G’night.”
Deo’s asleep almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. I look at his profile and realize how much he’s changed in the past couple of years. His feet hang off the edge of the cot. The ghost of a moustache runs across his upper lip.
Definitely not a kid. Hasn’t been for a while. And present circumstances aside, does he really need me to watch out for him anymore?
That question and its implications fill me with a sense of loneliness that’s almost ironic, here in this room with its multitude of inhabitants.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’m staring at a blue horse. The horse is wearing a pink hat, and a blanket hangs over its back. On the side of the blanket is the number 713.
The image is on a computer, with a clock that reads 12:41 near the top of the screen. When the time flips to 12:42, the image changes as well. Now I’m looking at a neon purple-and-yellow zebra, wearing a blue jacket with the number 282 printed on the side.
Deo says, “Do you think this is someone’s job? I mean, does someone actually get paid to come up with these?”
“Probably. But shh for a minute . . . I’m trying to remember something.”
I keep staring at the screen. Just before it flips to 12:43, I say, “Next one is a green dog. A dachshund. Orange sweater. Number is 83 . . . 7? I think.”
A brief pause and the image shifts. The number is 831. And the sweater is closer to red, I guess.
“Whoa,” Deo says. “That’s . . .”
I turn toward Deo and—
I’ve been fading in and out of sleep for a while. I rub my eyes and lie still for a few minutes. Stupid, surreal dreams are better than the Molly dream, which I had three times tonight. The second time around, I woke up as Dacia brought the metal bar—which, upon closer inspection, I think may actually have been a metal bat—down on my forearm. Then I bounced back to Lucas and the van, so I don’t get the sense this is going to be a linear progression.
Jaden stirs uneasily in my head. He’s a quieter guest than most, definitely quieter than Molly was.
Yeah, well, I’ve had people messin’ in my head before. It’s not fun. Will. That Maria girl who likes to make a damn game out of it.
The name is familiar and I’m about to ask him about her, but he’s not done.
And that woman with the black hair.
Dacia?
Yeah. She checked my head out a few weeks back, wondering how much Will had shared with me. I think she put the last nail in my coffin, so to speak. But . . . anyway . . . I’m not sure that thing with the green wiener dog was a dream. It felt a little more like one of my visions. I don’t know if that’s good news to you or bad, but . . . thought I should let you know.
The crazy dream—or whatever it was—had almost faded away, but now I can visualize the dog again. Stubby legs. Orange sweater. A number on it. 831, I think. Or maybe 837.
When I roll onto my back, I feel the outline of my phone in my pocket. We’re clearly on Delphi Standard Time here, and testing will resume whenever Graham Cregg decides. But I remember seeing a clock on the computer—12:41?—so I check to see what time it is now.
A little before noon. I turn the phone off again and stash it back in my pocket, then lie back and stare at the ceiling. My brain is still too groggy to sort through the implications of being host not only to Jaden but also to his visions.
“You sleep okay?”
I hadn’t realized Deo was awake so the question startles me.
“Well, I slept. Some Molly dreams. Some just plain weird.”
“What kind of weird?”
“Neon-colored zebras and green dachshunds weird.” I decide not to mention Jaden’s suspicion that it’s more than a dream.
“Yep, that’s weird even for you,” he says as he digs around in the paper bag on the counter. He pulls out the rest of my sandwich from last night. “You gonna eat this?”
I tell him to go ahead, and as he’s popping the last bite into his mouth, the door opens. It’s Timmons again, which makes me wonder when the Fudds sleep.
Twelve hours on, twelve off. Four-day weeks. Three months of that, then a one-month furlough. Pay is good, especially for asshats like Timmons who are in the loop about what happens on this side of The Warren. And see, what did I tell you?
Timmons is holding a laptop computer that looks exactly like the one I saw in the dream. Or vision, I guess. He ignores us, and goes over to a table in the front left corner of the room, averting his eyes from the three bodies in the center. He may know what goes on in here, but apparently it still makes him a little squeamish. Might be a human being in there after all.
Nah. He’s just got a weak stomach. Maria said he tossed his cookies when they brought the last bunch through here.
Maria?
Yeah. She’s a real . . .
He can’t seem to find the right word, and I get an image of a teenager, about Deo’s age, maybe younger. I think she’s one of the girls from the cafeteria.
A practical joker, I guess? Maria don’t mean no harm. She’s just got this neat toy in her head and nobody ever taught her right from wrong, I guess. Will and a few of the others tried to tell her to use some restraint, but she and that other girl she hangs out with, Pavla, they like to play games.
Yeah. I think I met her in the bathroom. A little message scribbled on the mirror when I got out of the shower yesterday.
Sounds like Maria. The writing is the other girl. But Maria is a world-class peeping Tomasina.
Deo nudges my arm. When I open my eyes, Timmons is in front of me. I can tell from his expression that I’ve been zoned out, and I can also tell that frightens him. More than a little disgust in the mix, as well.
“Get up. You’ve got work to do at the computer.”
Is it the sneer on his face or his tone of voice? Maybe both. For whatever reason, I can’t resist needling him. “Oh? Are we going to look at brightly colored animals with numbers on their sides?”
Timmons visibly startles at my words. I manage to hold back my laugh, but Deo doesn’t. And that’s all it takes for Timmons to whip out his taser.
The wires shoot out of the weapon before I can react, and Deo goes completely rigid. I yell at Timmons to stop. Either he does or the weapon has a set time, because Deo slumps forward. I catch him, but he’s heavier than me. We both go down, but at least I manage to break his fall so that he doesn’t crack his head on the cement tiles.
Timmons is already reloading and has the gun aimed at me this time. That’s a good call on his part, because right now, I would gladly hand control over to Jaden and let him demonstrate his tae kwon do skills.
Whoa. Hold up. I said I didn’t suck. I didn’t say I was Jackie Chan. I’m a blue belt. That’s only halfway through the rainbow.
I have no idea what that means, but Timmons is in my face so I can’t ask.
“Don’t try anything, freak.” He motions with the taser, but his hand is shaking. “I’ll use it on you, too. Just leave him where he is and do as you’re told.”
I ignore Timmons and look down at Deo, whose breathing is starting to return to normal. “Are you okay, D?”
He nods but doesn’t speak.
Timmons motions with the gun once more. “Move it.”
“Go,” Deo says, his voice small and weak. “I’m okay.”
I must hesitate a moment too long, because Timmons yells in my ear, “You want me to hit him again?”
/> He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. Threatening Deo gets me to my feet a lot faster than threatening to use the damn thing on me. It also buys my silence, although if any of the resident psychics are snooping right now, they’ve gotten a very graphic picture of what I’ll do to Timmons if I ever get my hands on his taser.
Pretty sure they can’t read anything in here. Will thinks they’ve shielded the rooms somehow. Did you notice that hum when you walked in the door?
No. But Cregg was talking. And I was kind of preoccupied once I saw Deo and . . . the three of you.
Timmons has a chair set up in front of the computer. He shoves me onto it with a lot more force than seems necessary, but I keep quiet.
The screen shows a teal-colored dolphin bouncing a red ball. The number 124 is on the ball and the clock at the top of the screen says 12:04.
“This computer will remain on until Mr. Lucas tells me the test is over. They didn’t give me any instructions other than to turn it on, so don’t ask.”
“I don’t need instructions. You can leave now.”
Timmons’s face is conflicted. I’m guessing he was told to leave since I’m pretty sure he wasn’t standing there when the vision began. But he’s not at all happy about being dismissed by the “freak.”
“Was already planning on it,” he says, but taps the taser one more time. “Don’t get sassy with me.”
“No, sir.” I fight to keep my expression blank, which is probably a good thing, since he’s scanning it to see if I’m being a smart-ass.
He straightens the laptop screen and pushes my chair even closer. Once he’s satisfied that he can leave without losing credibility, he casts one last glare at Deo, and—still giving the bodies a wide berth—finally leaves.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Deo, although I really have no idea what difference it will make if he answers yes or no, aside from making me feel better or worse.
“I’m fine.” He gets up and walks over to where I’m sitting, as if to prove the point. “But all things considered, I’d rather not do that again. What are we watching?”
“Sesame Street. Brought to you today by the color blue and the number 124.”
As I speak, the time changes to 12:05 and the picture flips from a red elephant holding a pink umbrella to an orange lizard on roller skates.
“Why do they want you to watch this?”
“Another test,” I say absently, trying to remember exactly what I saw in the dream. At 12:41 it was a blue horse. Something similar at 12:42. A zebra, I think . . . but I’m drawing a blank on the colors. And looking at the screen as a new image flips in front of me isn’t going to make it easier to remember.
I stare down at my shoes and whisper, “Talk to me. Tell me about . . . I don’t know. Clothes you saw online you wish you could buy. That Disney dream vacation you were planning last night. I need to focus on something other than that screen for the next thirty minutes, so assume you have unlimited funds.”
“Ohhh-kay.”
Deo’s more used to having people tell him to stop chattering than asking him for more. Not me so much as his teachers. He never even makes it to Disney World, because he spends a good five minutes on this one jacket he saw that he thinks he could replicate, which I suspect is actually more appealing to him than the possibility of buying it. Or maybe it’s just that the idea of unlimited funds is too far out there to imagine.
I glance up at the screen occasionally, to keep an eye on the time. At 12:41, the blue horse appears.
“Okay. Blue horse, pink hat, 713.” I still can’t come up with anything more than zebra for the next one, so I don’t say anything else.
As the clock flips to 12:42, a purple-and-yellow zebra in a blue coat appears. God, no wonder I couldn’t remember the color.
“Do you think this is someone’s job?” Deo asks. “I mean, does someone actually get paid to come up with these?”
Major déjà vu. I try to remember what I said next, but again, I can’t.
“Probably,” I say. “But shh for a minute . . . I’m trying to remember something.”
Green . . . dog. Green Chihuahua?
Nah. It’s a wiener dog, ummm . . . whatchamacallem . . . .a . . . dachshund. Yeah.
I wait a few more seconds and then say, “Next one is a green dog. A dachshund. Orange sweater. Number is 83 . . . 7? I think.”
When the image comes up, it is indeed a green dachshund. The sweater is reddish-orange and the number is 831.
“Whoa,” Deo says. “That’s . . .”
I turn toward Deo and nod. “Freaky. Yeah.”
“So what’s the next one?”
“I have no idea. That’s when it ended. I thought it was a dream, at first. I just . . .” I look around the room, searching for recording devices, and say in a louder voice. “I just hope someone was watching. Because I have no idea if or when that will happen again.”
There’s no response. Deo and I just sit there, watching as the rainbow zoo parades in front of us.
“Do you think this is some sort of psychological torture?” he asks after a few minutes. “Like making us watch that singing purple dinosaur?”
I shudder. “You really shouldn’t give them ideas.”
At 2:27 (red-and-blue giraffe, pink scarf, number 584) Timmons enters. Now that we’re closer to the doorway, I hear the hum that Jaden mentioned. It’s faint but definitely electrical. It reminds me of the buzzing noise from the faulty ballast in the light fixture at the police station.
“Move back to the cots.” He tosses Deo another paper bag. I get a whiff of tuna when he catches it. I think Deo does too, because his nose wrinkles. He’s not a fan.
We do as we’re told and Timmons goes over to the computer, keeping an eye on us and a hand on his taser. He stops the animal show and brings up the intranet.
“Boss says you can watch something ’til he gets back. Could be a while. But if you get any other sneak previews, you’re to speak up, you hear?”
So . . . we watch Marvel movies. Deo has seen them all. He’d forgo clothes and possibly even food in order to be in the theater on the day of release. The last one I saw was the second Ant-Man, which means I’m three or four movies behind, but Deo is more than happy to see them a second—or in several cases, third—time.
Unfortunately, I’ll need to watch them again at some point, because my mind keeps straying back to reality. I envy Deo’s ability to lose himself in fantasy for a while. That type of break seems almost as useful as sleep for keeping stress at bay, and I’ve never really mastered it.
We’re on movie number four when Lucas comes in. He snaps the computer shut, cutting off this villain named Thanos who’s going on and on about some stone he wants.
“So . . . no more visions?” Lucas’s tone is sarcastic. I’m not sure why. He’s clearly had solid proof that all of this is real. But I guess it’s part of his nature to act like a jerk.
“No. Just the one.”
Lucas tucks the computer under his arm. “Move on to the second body then. Let me know when . . . if . . . you’re done.”
No explanation as to why we’ve been just sitting here for nearly eight hours. He simply heads for the door.
I wait until he’s gone, then turn toward the bodies. I’ve avoided looking at that side of the room since last night, although they’ve definitely loomed large in the lab, like the proverbial eight-hundred-pound gorilla.
As I get closer, I see that the blood has now dried or congealed. Somehow, that makes it worse. The coppery tang hits my nose more strongly and I fight back a gag.
Which one, Jaden? You knew them both. Which one should I go for?
He hesitates a long time. That makes me pretty sure that what he really wants to say is neither. But he finally answers.
It depends. Oksana won’t stick around, but . . . I’m not really sure the full extent of her talent or even what it is. She might have picked up that chair the normal way when she hurled it at Lucas’s head . . . I hear
d two different versions of that event. The only thing I know for certain is that she’s not the most stable isotope in the lab . . . and here in The Warren, that’s sayin’ a lot. Something definitely rattled a few of Oksana’s screws loose.
That’s considerably less than comforting, and I step toward Will. But Jaden isn’t finished.
Thing is . . . Will was a little flaky, too. But the biggest downside there is he’s got a huge chip on his shoulder about this whole Delphi thing. He might not be so eager to leave. Personally, I’d pick Will, because crazy kind of scares me, but . . . your head, your call.
Crazy kind of scares me, too.
“So, which one?” Deo asks.
“Jaden thinks he’s our best bet.” I can’t bring myself to look at him directly, but I nod toward Will.
Crouching down, I place one hand on his knee. Yesterday, when I did this with Jaden, the body was still warm. Will’s leg is cold and hard beneath my palm.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
I visualize pulling one of the mental bricks from my wall very slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time.
Picking up Will is no more difficult than picking up Jaden was. But this time, the others are ready.
My walls come crashing down.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When I open my eyes, I’m on one of the cots, with Deo standing over me. Worried. I think he’s saying my name, asking me something, but I can’t quite hear him. I start to ask him what happened, where we are, when it all comes rushing back.
Unfortunately, the memory of what happened isn’t all that comes rushing in. My return to consciousness stirs the pot and the inside of my head goes from silence to the busy roar of Glenmont station at rush hour. A swarm of voices in different languages.