Olento Research Series Boxed Set: A Paranormal Science Fiction Thriller

by Sarah Noffke

  “I just returned from maternity leave,” Roya said, crossing her arms in front of her chest to match Adelaide’s position. “I’m not even working full time yet.”

  “And may I just say that you don’t look as fat as I would have thought after multiplying,” Adelaide said, with a disingenuous smile.

  “Well, it appears that you’ve inherited your father’s humor,” Roya said, blinking her eyes to adjust them in the dark.

  “And I inherited his mind control, so I suggest that you willingly take on some projects or I’ll force you to do them.”

  “You know you’re not allowed to use mind control on Lucidites,” Roya said.

  “Yes, but also like my father, I’m such a fucking airhead and I forget the rules,” Adelaide said, enjoying this banter too much. Roya had been one of the only Lucidites to not pity her. The girl had respected her father and also detested him. And from the beginning that loathing had seeped over onto Adelaide, ensuring that she had an enemy from the beginning. Life wasn’t fun without someone to fight with and Roya didn’t have the same politeness as most Lucidites.

  “What is it that you want from me?”

  “Well, besides seeing you stop breeding?” Adelaide said, with a mock curious look.

  “You bred too,” Roya said.

  “Just the once though. Not twice like you. And I don’t even raise my little terror because I’m devoted to the Lucidites,” Adelaide said.

  “Wow, you sound like an amazing mother and citizen,” Roya said, her voice flat.

  “Anyway, since I have actual shit to do, I’m going to end this convo. I’m sending over a file with notes on ten men. You will focus all your news reporting efforts on finding the location of these men. And start with the one named Connor Luce. I want him found, and right away,” Adelaide said, and turned and marched away at once, knowing that Roya was rolling her eyes at her back.

  Trey and Trent Underwood, the Head Official and the Head Strategist for the Lucidites, were parked in the hallway when Adelaide exited the news reporting department. Well, Trey was literally parked, his wheelchair unmoving in the middle of the corridor. Trent stood beside him, looking down, worry always on the guy’s face. Even before he took over the position as head strategist from Ren, he had a heavy weight carved into his face. Ren used to enjoy telling him this, insulting him by pointing out new wrinkles on his young face.

  “Why does everyone hang out in the hallways these days?” Adelaide said, coming around the pair so she was facing them. “Does no one in this bloody place have a damn thing to do? Meanwhile I’m over here trying to save the fucking world.”

  Trey released a small smile. Adelaide’s words were a direct quote from her father, who had been Trey Underwood’s longest and closest friend.

  “Actually, we were just discussing the werewolf who went missing,” Trent said and then shot his head around to where Adelaide had just exited. “What were you doing in the Panther room?”

  “I was giving Roya news reporting instructions, obviously,” Adelaide said. “And why is that any of your concern? It’s my case.”

  “It is your case, but as your superior, I need to be aware of the ramifications of housing and trying to protect the werewolves and this to me speaks of a great concern,” Trent said.

  “What? I’ve got this under control,” Adelaide said, worry springing to her mind. The head officials had never meddled in her father’s cases after he took a demotion. Why would they be poking their nose into her first level five case? They don’t think I can handle it. That’s what this all means, she thought.

  “Everyone has complete faith in you, especially me,” Trey said, his voice soothing and full of unyielding compassion. “The concern Trent is speaking about is trying to tame these men. Connor Luce running away from a safe place where he was protected is behavior that suggests that many of these werewolves might have a psychological tendency toward irrational behavior. And this is completely understandable based on the background of the twelve men and what has been done to them. We were actually looking for you, knowing that you would already have a solution in place for this. Trent and I were simply curious what brilliant strategy you had been working on here.”

  Too much diplomacy. That’s what Ren used to say about Trey. That’s why they had been such good friends. Where Ren was straightforwardly rude, Trey was thoughtfully tactful. Adelaide didn’t know if she believed half of what came out of the Head Official’s mouth, especially based on the questioning look on Trent’s face.

  “I’m well aware that the men have a diabolical nature, which is why I’m headed to Aiden’s lab to see how far he’s come with his research. I’m confident that what has been done to these men can be undone. Until then, I plan to use mind control on the little mutts to ensure they stay at the Institute and follow all my commands. My misguided thinking was that their alpha could keep control them, but although Zephyr will be helpful collecting the pack, he is not yet the leader that will keep them in line. He proved that with Connor, but I’m already working to have the loser returned here. That was my first order to Roya,” Adelaide said.

  “And need I remind you that we don’t give orders to the news reporters? When I told you she was back at reporting, we also discussed letting the natural visions come to her without prodding,” Trent said.

  “But that was a loser approach so I decided not to listen to you,” Adelaide said, hoping that she sounded so much like Ren that she wouldn’t be disciplined. He’d gotten away with it his whole life and she desperately needed to as well. She needed to be just like Ren Lewis, or otherwise, what was the point in her miserable existence? She had too much power. Too little confidence. And a record full of mental health issues and crimes.

  She turned briefly around, catching the look of boiling anger on Trent’s face. Ren had always gotten under his dark skin too, but Trent had respected her father. “Also, I assigned an agent to infiltrate Mika Lenna’s company, Parantaa Research. They will be dream traveling there to find clues. I’m hoping we discover a lead into Olento Research by doing that. We need a location on the bloody place,” she said and then turned around, headed for Aiden’s lab.

  “Adelaide, you’re not allowed to assign—”

  “Don’t worry, you can thank me later,” Adelaide said, cutting Trent off.

  “So you can’t have blood withdrawn?” Zephyr said, shaking his head at Rox.

  She laughed, enjoying the dumbfounded look on everyone’s face. “I can’t have blood taken, get shots, or pretty much have any types of surgery, that I know of. What did you think it meant when I told you that my skin was resistant?” Rox said.

  “That you couldn’t get hurt,” Zephyr said, turning for the exit just before Adelaide entered the lab.

  “Well, when you’re resistant to pain, you’re resistant to intervention as well,” Rox said.

  “This is actually fascinating,” Aiden said, stroking his clean-shaven chin and then running his hands through his chaotic black hair. “I’ve never seen a Dream Traveler gift like this.”

  “You mean the ability to repulse with a single glance?” Adelaide said, walking further into the room. “Yeah, Rox here has this extraordinary gift to repel people from several yards away. It’s quite the feat.”

  “Actually, when I’m not busy studying the werewolves, I’d love the opportunity to run some tests on you,” Aiden said to Rox, ignoring Adelaide’s insult.

  “Didn’t you hear? You can’t take samples from her,” Kaleb said from his position leaning against a workbench. He looked utterly bored by this conversation, but Rox had observed that the almost-kid often appeared disinterested, like hanging out with a special race at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean wasn’t a big deal.

  “There’s other tests I can run to determine genetic makeup and Dream Traveler skill. MRIs, EKGs, you know, the tests that don’t depend on skin invasion,” Aiden said, his eyes now buzzing with excitement.

  “I know that Rox is a zoo animal. And we all want to kn
ow how she has resisted evolution, but our efforts need to be on studying the werewolves,” Adelaide said, and Rox just caught the hint of jealousy in her voice. Well, she hoped it was jealousy. From as far as Rox could tell, Adelaide had it all. A prestigious position. Incredible skill. The respect of everyone at the Institute. And even a degree of reverence that she didn’t understand. There was something mysterious about the redhead and Rox was going to figure it out.

  “Yes, of course. And honestly, studying Rox’s resistance will be a long-term pet project. I’m certain that if Olento Research can manufacture werewolves and give subjects invisibility, then I can do something similar. Wouldn’t it be amazing to gift an agent with resistance while in the field?” Aiden said to Adelaide.

  “I guess,” she said, her voice disinterested and her eyes on an iPad on the workbench next to Kaleb. “Wasn’t that just on the other table?” she said, pointing at the object.

  Aiden blanched, his eyes widening. “I think it was,” he said, walking over and taking the iPad. “That’s odd, it looks like someone was playing games on it.”

  Adelaide rounded on Rox. “Seriously, go back to the FBI unless you’re going to do some real work,” she said to the other girl.

  “Ha-ha. It wasn’t me. Now didn’t you say you’d have a case for Zep and me?” Rox said.

  “Yes, I said I would have one for you and Zephyr,” Adelaide said, stressing his name. “Go get your hooking done now because I expect Roya to have a report for us soon.”

  “Who is Roya?” Zephyr said.

  “She’s the reason that all of Rox’s flirtations don’t work on Aiden, aka, his wife. And she’s going to tell us where we can find Connor, as well as the rest of the pack,” Adelaide said.

  “Married?” Rox said, pouting her lips at Aiden. “Too bad, because I love a guy with great hair.” This over-the-top flirtation was meant to provoke both a grimace from Adelaide and a reaction from Zephyr. From Rox’s peripheral she realized she’d been successful. However, Zephyr was the one who grimaced and Adelaide actually turned and stalked from the room. It was really too easy to get under her freckled skin and make her angry. It was becoming Rox’s favorite hobby and one of the many reasons she wanted to become a full-time resident of the Institute.

  Chapter Six

  “Connor Luce – Age: Twenty-two. Height: Five foot, eleven inches. Weight: One hundred sixty-five pounds. Hair: Brown/Red. Eyes: Green. Ethnicity: White. Employment: None/Discharged from Rehab. Skill: Psychometry. Rank: NA/Missing.”

  - Lucidite Institute, Werewolf Project File

  “What was that commotion I heard the other night?” the woman with a head of fake auburn curls said. Women in their seventies didn’t have vibrant red hair or tight skin stretched over their cheekbones. However, Mrs. Wilson wasn’t a typical elderly lady.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Orion said, his chin down, eyes on the wood floors of the brownstone apartment building.

  If her face could allow such things the old woman would probably have raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “I think you do know what I mean. That racket always comes from your room, usually on the weekends.”

  What was he supposed to say, that she was right and it was the werewolf destroying the room he rented because he wanted out of the padlocked door? The dumb beast never knew where Orion hid the key because as far as he could tell it didn’t have a memory of his life, but the reverse wasn’t true. He always remembered what happened when he changed. He remembered the destruction. The way the animal stood looking out the three-story window, thinking of breaking it and taking the jump, the one that might kill Orion Murray. The wolf terrified him, but everything did, really.

  “Are you playing one of those video games? The ones with werewolves?” Mrs. Wilson said.

  “No!” Orion said, backing up suddenly toward his door, where safety could be found away from the nosy woman.

  “Well, the howling came from your room the other night. I would have asked you about it sooner, but you never come out of that room,” she said, disapproval heavy in her voice.

  What did she expect? Was he supposed to power walk down the streets of Hartford, like she did every morning? He could tell what time it was by glancing out his window to find Mrs. Wilson bouncing down the stoop in her jogging suit. Then he would watch the regimented woman until she power walked down several blocks thanks to his telescopic vision. The power had first come on right after the breakout from the lab. It was strange to look out at the city, honing in on things miles away, seeing that the world was really as chaotic as he thought it was. Why he, an already anxious person, was given the ability to see farther eluded him.

  “Yes, sorry. It’s a video game. Quite compelling, which is why I don’t leave often,” he said, glad that the antique artifact of a woman had given him an excuse for the howling.

  “Well, speaking of your room. Rent is due,” she said and then added, “two days ago.”

  Orion sank his hands into his pale brown hair. “Yes, of course. I’ll have it to you tonight. I’ll slip it under your door.”

  “Or you could give it to me right now,” she said.

  “I-I-I have to go by the bank,” he lied. The truth was that he had to go dig it up. Never before the abduction had Orion been glad that he was a paranoid schizophrenic who didn’t trust banks. He’d hidden the money he’d made as an orderly at the state hospital all over the city. He hadn’t even trusted to keep it in the apartment that he had since abandoned, too afraid that the bad men would come back after him.

  Mrs. Wilson gave him a curt nod. “All right, you do that and try and keep the noise down from your room. The other residents don’t need to be disturbed by your silly game playing.”

  “Of course,” Orion said, turning for his door. The crowding feeling had grown with intensity and was now overwhelming his head. He’d hoped to make it to the store for food, but that would have to wait. The hunger pangs had driven him out into the world, but now the social anxiety was driving him back to his room. However, he’d have to force himself to leave the brownstone tonight to get Mrs. Wilson’s money. It had been his mental disorders that had caused him to lose his job and settle for disability. If it hadn’t been for those checks then he’d have a lot less money stashed under bridges in coffee cans throughout the city.

  Chapter Seven

  “Kaleb Magner – Age: Eighteen. Height: Five foot, eight inches. Weight: One hundred fifty-five pounds. Hair: Brown. Eyes: Brown. Ethnicity: White. Employment: None/High school dropout. Skill: Unclassified. Rank: Proposed to be an omega.”

  - Olento Research, Canis Lupus Project File

  The smell of overly fried food and sweat met Connor’s nose, making his stomach instantly sour. He’d always like carnivals, probably because the people who ran it were more of a freak than he was. And also because the patrons who shelled out too much money for the events were like him, looking for a quick high.

  “Object reading?” the fat man with a sleeve of tattoos said, pushing the toothpick between his teeth. “You want to run a booth for me called ‘Object Reading’? You realize I’m in the business of making money, right?”

  “Call it whatever you want. But people will line up, about like they do for psychic reading,” Connor said, scratching his chin, then his neck, then his chest.

  The old carny eyed him, a knowing dawning on his face. “Can’t you come up with a better gimmick that will support your habit? The Gottimer twins balance things the audience gives them on their chin, all while dancing. Pete runs the Coke bottle game, which is frustratingly unbeatable. Why don’t I give you one of the game booths? Those always do great. You take ten percent and I take the rest,” the man said.

  Connor considered his options. It would be easy money, and he’d have a place to crash every night in the back of the semis. No, he thought. If I’m reducing myself to shit, then I’m at least using my Dream Traveler skill to do it. “Is that your hat?” he said, pointing at the guy’s head.

  “Wh
y else would I be wearing it?” the sweaty guy said with a chuckle that was marked by years of smoking and a buildup of too much phlegm.

  “I just have to ask. It has to belong to you,” Connor said. “Hand it over and I’ll show you how entertaining my booth will be. It has the potential to be the talk of each town.”

  The owner of Ferocity Carnival eyed Connor for a moment before pulling the trucker’s cap off his head and handing it over. As soon as Connor’s fingers touched the sweaty hat, a sea of images poured through his head, all memories associated with the hat and granted to him based on his gift of psychometry. His green eyes sprung open and he pointed to the man’s bicep. “You were wearing this hat when you got that tattoo of the belly dancer,” he said, indicating the scantily clad woman who jiggled her belly when he flexed his muscles. “But it was to cover up the initials of your ex-girlfriend, Jenna. JC,” Connor said, seeing the memory in his mind.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the guy said, slapping his knee. “How in the hell did you guess all that?”

  “I have a good eye and kind of spied the letters under the belly dancer and then by the wear and tear on the hat, I figured you never took it off,” Connor said, enjoying how confident his lie sounded. Tattoos really said so much about a person. This guy’s spoke of his mistakes and his lust for beautiful women who would never have him.

  “That’s pretty impressive and you’re right, it’s something people would pay for. We’ll call it…” The man trailed away, trying to think of a good name for the booth.

  “Wolf Predictions,” Connor said, almost laughing. He still felt high from the day before. Or maybe the craving was producing the high in his body. That often happened to addicts in an attempt to push them to seek out the drug to make the feeling more real.

  “Ha! I like it. I’ll get the guys to spray paint wolves on the front of the booth and you can pretend to sniff the objects, like that’s how you work your hocus-pocus,” the guy said.