by Sarah Noffke
“Your daughter is stable now,” he begins, his tone cold. “She’s in the intensive care unit. And the infant is in Neonatal. Adelaide’s heart rate was accelerated for quite a long time. Her blood pressure plummeted during surg—”
“Get to the bloody point. I don’t need these details,” I say.
“She awoke from surgery,” he says, sighing heavily.
“So she’s not stuck in a coma,” I say, realizing that’s the reason for his relief. That was a very real possibility.
“No, she’s not. But it’s too soon to see if there’s any damage due to the oxygen deprivation or any other long-term effects of the fluid leakage. So now all we can do is wait,” he says with a taciturnity in his voice that I actually appreciate. Russians are fucking amazing specimens. They make the best agents because of their ability to cut off emotions and see the clear contrast between duty and real people. And they have zero sense of humor and are easily put off by my jokes. Hell, usually all I have to do is smile at a Russian to make them mad. They really are my favorite people.
“The infant,” Dr. Mizin continues. “He’s small, as would be expected due to his premature arrival. Currently we have him on oxygen since his lungs are not yet deve—”
“Yeah, I don’t care,” I say, waving my hand at the man.
The doctor’s expression doesn’t change. He nods though and points to a door. “You may see your daughter if you wish,” he says and then he turns and stalks off.
***
People say they hate hospitals. I get it. It’s where people go when they’ve had an emergency. It is where death happens and sickness rots people’s bones. But these same imbeciles forget hospitals are also where people are saved. It’s where people go because it’s a place that offers solutions and hope. I loathe the way people think. It is always flawed.
My eyes don’t adjust right away when I enter the room. Clinical smells wrestle inside my nose seeking to pull a sneeze out of me. I suck back the urge, overpowering it with my sheer will. I keep my gaze down low until I’ve conquered the dark and the odors. When I bring my eyes up Adelaide is staring at me, an all wrong expression on her face. She looks in pain, but not physically. From the way her mouth is pulled to the side and her eyes seem to shake with a new weight, she’s on the verge of tears. She’s been through an ordeal and it’s written on her face. Adelaide is scared and overwhelmed and I see it too clearly in her expression.
“Do you need me to grab someone for you?” I say, wanting to believe she’s in pain due to the surgery and not the trauma.
She shakes her head roughly against the pillow. Seeing Adelaide in a bed like this is strange. And since she holds so much resemblance to my mum, this moment brings an old memory rushing to the surface. The time I spent with my mum before she died she was in a bed much like this. She was laid out like this, a heavy weight to her body. But my mum, who was the strongest person I ever knew, she didn’t look on the verge of breaking when she was in her deathbed. Adelaide appears as if anything can throw her over the edge right now and that’s more than a concern for me. I can’t watch her break. I won’t be a witness to it.
When I visited my mum before she died I left so many things unsaid. I didn’t open my heart as I wanted to. I didn’t share details about how I felt for her or how much she meant to me. I didn’t show an ounce of appreciation for the sacrifices she made for me. I kissed my mum’s forehead, told her I loved her, and let her die. I was then and am now a coward. I have never been anything else. People think I’m calloused, but the truth is I’m scared of emotions. Feeling them, showing them, and then being entirely stripped of them. I’m a strategic man who can’t stand emotions, both their presence and their absence.
Adelaide sucks in a sharp breath and the pain in her eyes retreats.
“How are you?” I ask, because it’s all I know to say, stuck by my place next to the door.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” she says, her voice trembling. And I know who the “him” is and why she can’t refer to him directly. Everything is too hard for her right now. Even saying words feels like too much.
“There’s time for that,” I say, and I almost sound soft. Sensitive.
She nods again, pressing her lips together. Her long hair lies in loose ringlets beside her face. “I almost lost him. They say—”
“You didn’t though,” I say, cutting her off. I study Adelaide now, the way she regards me. Her nonverbal cues. Analyze her speech. Try and decide if any of it points to brain damage. So far she only appears like a girl on the verge of a breakdown, which means we will keep this brief.
“While in labor I asked for you,” she says.
“I came as soon as I could,” I say.
She shrugs and her eyes fill with tears, but she keeps them at bay. Thank fucking God. “Yeah, I know. I was just hoping that you’d… I mean, it would have been nice if you… Anyway, I was just all alone and scared.”
“Yes, I realize that. But that ordeal is over with now,” I say, and I hate how cold my voice sounds and yet I’m unwilling to change it. Again I’m going to walk away without saying words people deserve to hear. I’m going to walk away without offering compassion when a person needs it. Adelaide is my mum in too many ways. She’s my second chance for redemption, the one my mum spoke about on her death bed. And yet I can’t bring myself to take this second chance.
“You should get some rest,” I say finally.
“Yes, but…” She tries and fails to push up a little. “Will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.”
I stare at her, an IV attached to her hand. Machines beside her bed. Her face pale. Eyes weighted. Lips trembling. She doesn’t look like I’ve ever seen her and yet she looks exactly as I’ve always seen her in my mind, a girl alone in the world. Afraid. Yet cold. Tortured and unwilling to deal with it.
“You’ll rest better without disturbances,” I say. “I won’t be far though.” And I just catch the heartbreak in her eyes as I turn for the door. I whip it open and bolt out as the sounds of her sobs fill the room.
I march away from her room. Away from her sobs. Away from her, although she needs me. I can’t be what she needs. I will fail time and again to meet Adelaide’s expectations. That’s why I leave the hospital, abandoning her when I said I would stay. She will resent me for it when she asks for me and I don’t return. She will fester with frustration that I wasn’t there for her in her greatest time of need. And hopefully she’ll hate me and stop expecting what I can’t give her. So I leave and don’t look back.
***
Some people believe that God is dead. The reason these morons think that is because it’s easier to digest than the truth. God is alive and he doesn’t fucking care about us, the humans he created and allows to suffer.
Chapter Twelve
“That’s the Smart Pod?” I say, pointing at the black plastic cone sitting on Aiden’s work station. It’s less than a foot high. “Where does it open up and shoot bullets at its owner?”
Aiden turns from the table and flashes me a dumb grin. “I’ve actually taken the device apart and surprisingly there’s no bombs or anything lethal in it,” he says with a sniveling little laugh.
I eye the lanky scientist, really studying him. I’m still alert for any indications that he’s deceiving me and is actually the mole. He checked out when I questioned him, but I’m still keeping my eye on everything. Vivian might try and recruit more moles now that her plan is in motion. And Aiden would be in the best position to thwart my plans. I’m relying on him to disable the Smart Pods. And hopefully Vivian doesn’t know that. It’s hard for me to determine what all this mole is feeding her. She knows about me and the news reporting department and I also believe she’s somehow disabled Roya’s clairvoyance. I’m not sure what else she has eyes on.
“Okay, space chimp, why don’t you give me some good news,” I say.
He shrugs, his fat lips pursed. “No good news yet. I studied the wiring and it’s an incredibly sophisticated
design which unfortunately means any of my ideas for disabling these things remotely won’t work.”
“God, you’re such a fuck up,” I say, shaking my head at the kid with a PhD in quantum physics.
A half smile forms on his face. “Don’t worry. I’m confident I’ll find the hack, but it’s going to take time.”
“Oh, fine. While you take your time, we will just wait around to see what destruction Vivian has in store for us,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“Yes, master,” the cone says at once, a stream of red lights glowing around the base. I straighten at the sound of Vivian’s voice, which I hadn’t forgotten is soft like water flowing, calming as silence and high like a violin. An elegantly beautiful voice. It’s more perfect than Dahlia’s and yet I never thought that was possible.
“Sleep, Vivian,” Aiden says to the device, and the red light disappears. “The Smart Pod has incredible hearing and responds to voice commands from an impressive distance away.”
I eye the cone again, wanting to activate the voice but unwilling to do it in front of the daft scientist.
“Do you have a soundproof vault of some kind?” I ask.
Aiden raises one of his black bushy eyebrows at me. “Of course I do.”
“Well, when you’re not working on discovering the hack then you need to have this succubus machine in that vault,” I say, pointing at the seemingly unassuming device.
“Oh right. Mind control. Good call. I hadn’t thought of that,” he says.
“I’m not surprised,” I say, turning to leave.
I spin around to find Trey standing in the doorway; beside him stands the tallest woman in the Institute. Shuman is the Head Mentalist and also in charge of the news reporting department. I’ve known her for the entire time I’ve worked at the Institute and never once have I seen her smile. I respect that she finds the gesture wasteful and usually insincere.
“Hey, intervener,” I say to Trey, still bitter that he brought Adelaide to the Institute. “Have you found new ways to stick your nose in my business?”
“I actually was stopping by to make your life easier,” he says.
“Oh, good, you’re getting rid of your son,” I say. “Good call. Joseph really is the absolute worst. We’ve all voted and it was unanimous.”
Trey shakes his head. “No, Ren. I had Shuman investigate her department for the mole. Everyone checked out.”
I eye Shuman, who has her arms crossed in front of her chest, her rattlesnake tattoo visible on her wrist and hand where it’s wrapped around. Her face as usual is impassive.
“Oh, for fuck sake,” I say to the ceiling. “God, why did you curse me to work with such idiots?” I then look back at Trey. “Did you also announce that we have a mole in our midst on the Lucidites’ newsfeed? Blog about it? Update your Facebook status with the information?” I say, my voice rising with each sentence. I hadn’t checked out Shuman or her department yet; well, besides Joseph, who fit the criteria for a mole due to past behavior. I only just cleared the scientist, which almost rotted my soul and stole my will to live.
“There’s a mole at the Institute?” Aiden says at my back.
I turn and give him a punishing look. “Forget what you’ve heard and don’t breathe a word of it or I’ll make you strangle yourself,” I say.
“Ren,” Trey says, “I knew you had enough responsibility and now with Adelaide’s condition—”
“Don’t talk about that,” I say, cutting him off.
“The point is that Shuman cleared her department, which is a huge burden off you,” Trey says.
“And who cleared Shuman?” I say, watching the Native American’s expression for the slightest shift.
“Oh, Ren, come on. It’s Shuman,” Trey says, waving a hand at her.
“This is why you didn’t see that your son was brainwashed or that your daughter was shagging this monkey,” I say, throwing a finger at Aiden. “You’re too trusting. Just because you know someone doesn’t mean you can trust them. Actually the people you trust are in the best position to fool you. Everyone is a suspect and no one should be trusted.”
“Does that mean you shouldn’t be trusted, Ren? Maybe you’re the mole,” Aiden says with a sniveling little laugh.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m secretly giving that siren information, disabling Roya’s clairvoyance, all while killing myself to stop Smart Solutions,” I say with a hot sigh. “God, Aiden, you’d make a worst detective than you do a scientist, you bloody prat.” I then turn back to Trey. “As I was saying before the toddler interrupted, no one, with the exception of me, should be trusted.”
“I disagree,” Trey begins.
“Ren is right,” Shuman says, her voice deep.
Trey turns and regards her.
“I am in the perfect position to be the mole. Furthermore, it is my department most affected by what Vivian is doing to sabotage our efforts. Roya, who has fully lost her ability to news report, is my reporter,” she says, her tone reminiscent of a chant.
Trey blinks at the woman blankly. “Well, I guess that’s a valid point but I trust—”
“It is not about trust, Trey,” she says, always the picture of poise. “What Vivian can do to a person undermines trust. She controls through voice commands. She disabled Ren’s powers in San Francisco with simple words. Vivian made an innocent person kill her father. This woman could very well have infiltrated the Institute and have any of us under her persuasion. It is possible that she chose the one person no one would suspect to be her mole. Because the perfect spy is the one no one sees,” Shuman states. She loves to talk in riddles and throw useless proverbs into conversations.
“So what do you propose?” Trey says.
“Ren needs to use his telepathy on me to confirm I’m not the mole and that I in fact cleared my department,” she says.
It’s about bloody time I work with someone with a fucking brain in their head. I don’t say that though. Instead I say, “Oh, crafty strategy, Shuman. You’ve finally figured out a way to get me to touch you,” I say, striding forward.
Shuman narrows her lavender eyes at me, but doesn’t say a word in response.
“Hold out your hand,” I say. “Against your deepest darkest wishes I’m not touching your private parts, only your hand.”
The stoic woman holds out her hand. I place two fingers on the top of her arm, where the rattlesnake’s tail rests. Shuman is a master of abilities and teaches Lucidites how to hone theirs. She’s been doing it for thirty years. She knows how to open her mind, and therefore it only takes me a few seconds to determine she has had no involvement in giving information to Vivian.
“She’s clear,” I say, pulling my hand away and experiencing a great relief, and then I’m flooded with dread. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The news reporting department was the last I needed to investigate. If the mole isn’t there then I’ve missed them. Or one of my agents has.
Chapter Thirteen
Two week after giving birth and three blood transfusions later Adelaide has returned home. I visited her during her stay at the hospital, but never for long. Dahlia said I never spent enough time with Adelaide, but that I did more than anyone expected. She was always alone, in the intensive care unit. Thankfully the little monster was always absent, too weak to leave the neonatal.
I open the front door for Mae. “Go through,” I say to the old woman who moves too slowly when she’s not in the infirmary. I dream traveled with her to the GAD-C in Los Angeles. I thought I was going to drop dead from boredom waiting for her to generate her body and walk to the parking lot where the limo was waiting. When I told her as much, the healer informed me she’d do her best to bring me back if that happened.
This is the first time I’ve allowed someone from the Lucidite Institute in my residence. I would have hired my own healer but I can’t argue with Trey on this one; Mae is the best. And Adelaide apparently is in a lot of pain. She complains about the pain medicine. About needing it, but not liking how it makes h
er feel.
A baby is wailing when I close the door. “Fuck my life,” I whisper to myself.
“What’s that, dear?” Mae says, her eyes scanning the gigantic entry hall, which is flanked by columns and lined with too many gaudy statues.
“Nothing,” I say, stalking off to the staircase.
“I didn’t take this kind of place as your style,” Mae says five paces behind me.
“It’s not,” I say simply.
“Oh, so the decor is Dahlia’s taste then?” she says, nearing me at a speed that would make a sloth appear quick. “Does she do all the designing?”
“Up there,” I say, pointing to the second floor. “It’s the third door on the right. You’ll find your patient there. By the sound of that incessant crying I’m guessing you’ll find both your patients up there. Do your job and I’ll return you to the Institute before you get a sunburn from this exposure to sun.”
Mae is not known for leaving the Institute. She’s committed to her position and has no family outside of that place. She had a daughter, but because she allowed her to work for the Lucidites, the girl died prematurely. That’s the reality a Lucidite faces. We take on missions that are dangerous so that Middlings can go to the gym and indulge in frozen yogurt and take dumb vacations. None of them realize there’s a race of people killing themselves fighting evil so they can live repugnant lives. And Mae hasn’t really been the same since a year ago when her daughter was murdered on one of these missions to save humanity. She hasn’t left the Institute or ventured far from the infirmary. This is probably the first time Mae’s skin has felt real sun in many years.