Reluctant Psychic

by Dima Zales

  I shoot again.

  Chapter Thirty

  I half expect Rose’s muted screams to carry all the way from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Maybe I’m projecting, though. I’d love to scream my own lungs out, but I contain the urge.

  The Johnny falls—a new red stain in the middle of his gown.

  I wait a beat to see if he will get up, Koschei style.

  He stays dead.

  Felix’s gun beeps again; he must’ve shot at another target.

  “Let’s move!” I yell at him and hurry down the hallway.

  His back sticking to mine, Felix follows me, only stopping to shoot three times.

  From the hallway, we enter a small room.

  Felix smacks the door behind us to close it, turns on his heel, and shoots a Johnny running at us from the south corner of the room.

  Without hesitation, I get my lock picks ready and work on the door, hoping that locking a door is simply the reverse of picking a lock to open it.

  There’s a thud of a body hitting the floor.

  I manage to jam the lock.

  Instantly, there’s a scraping of Johnnies’ nails on the other side.

  “It won’t hold for long,” Felix says. “Where to now?”

  Aside from the door I just locked, there are three more doors.

  My adrenaline-spiked intuition leads me to the farthest one to the right.

  Felix follows me.

  Just as I reach the door, dread swamps me like a tidal wave. And this isn’t the usual “Baba Yaga calling” dread, either. It’s more targeted and is clearly associated with the room beyond this door.

  Pushing aside the feeling, I check the door but find it locked.

  The hallway door creaks like it’s going to break at any moment.

  I use my lock picks to defeat the lock without making any noise. As I work, the proximity to the damn door makes my insides feel like an underground glacier.

  This must be where they’re keeping Ariel, and the psychic angst must be due to my vision.

  It’s about to come true.

  “If I walk into that room, I’m dead,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

  “So don’t,” Felix says. “We’ll walk in together. You were alone in your vision; now there are two of us.”

  As soon I register his suggestion, the dread intensity changes for the better.

  Does that mean he’s right?

  Strategically, it might make more sense to leave Felix here in the hallway to deal with the enemies who are about to break through, but his presence would throw a monkey wrench into my earlier vision.

  Yet something about his offer to go together doesn’t feel right. In fact, an intuition similar to my road awareness tells me it’s a terrible idea.

  Since I’m trying to trust my powers, I can’t ignore feelings such as this.

  But if we don’t go together, what do we do?

  Should Felix go alone?

  No, that generates an even worse anxiety.

  Damn it.

  The indecision is killing me.

  Ariel is just beyond this stupid door, and Vlad is fighting for his life out there.

  If only I could have a vision to see what would happen if Felix and I go in together—seemingly our best plan of action at the moment. But seeing a vision would require me to meditate amidst all this insanity. I might have an easier time sprouting a tail.

  Then again, the bannik said there are other ways to gather the prerequisite mental focus…

  This is when a realization hits me like a punch from Vlad.

  The constant bouts of focused thought I’ve been enjoying throughout this rescue, the ones I attributed to adrenaline—it was not adrenaline at all.

  Or at least not adrenaline alone. It’s Focusall—the drug designed to make one feel exactly as I’ve been feeling. If I’d had a moment to think, I would’ve realized it sooner. I took a pill, and it has now fully kicked in.

  I take in a deep breath and let it out.

  Was the bannik right? Are there other ways to get the focus necessary for a vision?

  More importantly, can I use the focus from this drug?

  “Give me a moment,” I tell Felix and close my eyes.

  Putting all the noises and the thoughts of my imminent demise out of my mind, I even out my breathing.

  So many things can mess this up—like the fact that I already had a vision today, albeit a short one. I’ve never been able to reach Headspace twice in one day before, but I ignore this fact and breathe slower still.

  Now that I know to look for it, I can feel the drug in my system. The “centering” that usually takes many minutes of meditation is on the cusp of my mind.

  My palms get very warm.

  “Are you okay?” Felix asks, messing up my game.

  “Dude.” I resist the urge to strangle him. “I need a few seconds of silence. I want to summon a vision to see what we should do next, but I can only do it without distraction—if at all.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought it was obvious that we go together.”

  “We will,” I say. “After I do this. The sooner you let me focus, the sooner we can proceed.”

  “Fine.” He looks at his phone. “You have two minutes.”

  Ignoring that, I close my eyes once more and attempt to focus.

  My breathing evens out again, and my mind clears even quicker, but seeking out that special focus for a few seconds yields no results.

  I relax my breathing further and let go of the worries about failure.

  My palms get warm, and before I can lose focus, lightning explodes in my vision.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I float in Headspace for a moment, as though catching my nonexistent breath. Then I bring my attention to the surrounding shapes.

  They’re the familiar warm, purple, popcorn-tasting roundish octahedrons that brought me the vision of my death before.

  How kind of them to be right where I need them.

  Maybe Felix was right when he thought that the visions I need might be the very first shapes I encounter upon entry. But if so, how does that work? How do they know I need them?

  Setting aside my analysis of Headspace metaphysics, I note that these shapes are subtly different from the ones before.

  In fact, even their music is slightly less foreboding than the last time.

  “I’m not leaving Headspace until I see this,” I mentally state, as I did the last time, in case an ultimatum helps in any way.

  Recalling that excursion, I decide that I need to determine the vision duration.

  If I’m to have a second vision in one day, it will need to be short. Yet, if I make this too short, it might be as useless as the vision where I saw my name written in Russian—and nothing else.

  No.

  The vision has to at least be as long as the one in which I died.

  Thus determined, I zoom in on the shapes over and over.

  Rolling up my imaginary sleeves, I reach out with my nebulous appendage and will it to touch the nearest shape.

  It doesn’t work, but I’ve been here before, so I try again.

  And again.

  And fifty more times.

  Have I reached my daily limit after all?

  I zoom in once more on the shape. Maybe if the vision is a tad shorter, it will work after all?

  I reach out.

  Once.

  Twice.

  On my third try, some kind of metaphorical ice breaks, and I tumble into the shape, like Alice into Wonderland.

  Felix places his hand on the doorknob and determinedly opens the door.

  I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going without me. Recalling the last vision, I check the clock on my phone. It’s 3:27 p.m. It was 3:24 the last time, which is good. The more differences between vision and reality, the better.

  Nodding to Felix, I let go of his shoulder.

  There’s a crack of a door breaking behind us. We look back to see a horde of Johnnies pouring into the r
oom.

  Ignoring them, we barge into the room I just unlocked.

  Felix locks the door behind us as I verify that the windowless and barren giant room is indeed the one I saw in my vision.

  And it is, down to Ariel, who’s sitting in the middle eating soup.

  We pay no attention to her, however, and point our weapons to the left—the place where the admiral was in my vision.

  Muscles bulging under his wife-beater shirt, the admiral is exactly where he should be.

  Unfortunately, so is his knife.

  I aim the gun at the admiral’s frowning forehead and squeeze the trigger.

  A glimmer of the hologram screen informs me that Felix aimed his Gomorrah gun at the admiral as well.

  Our adversary throws his knife just as I press the trigger.

  Felix’s gun makes that soft beeping sound that indicates it’s been fired.

  The admiral’s shoulder goes bloody, proving once again that the future likes to follow certain patterns.

  It’s made me miss his head in exactly the same way again.

  This time, however, the admiral doesn’t yell something incoherent in Russian.

  Instead, he drops dead.

  Score. Felix’s gun strikes again.

  What about the knife?

  I’m alive, so it can’t be in my throat.

  No, wait…

  There’s a horrific gurgle at my side.

  My heart sinking through the floor, I look at Felix.

  He’s clutching at the fountain of blood pouring from his neck as he collapses to his knees.

  “No.” I lean over him. “This can’t be—”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I’m back in my body.

  My neck is knotted tight, and I wish I were in the meditation position after all.

  The Focusall in my blood causes my thoughts to race at supersonic speed as I analyze what I just witnessed.

  I was in a vision, that much is obvious.

  Felix is alive—also obvious.

  What I don’t get is why the admiral threw the knife quicker this time around. Was it because we wasted a moment locking the door? Or was it because he felt more threatened facing two opponents instead of one? Maybe he was less wary of me in my original vision because I’m a girl?

  Opening my eyes, I stare at Felix’s worried face.

  I want to hug him and shout how glad I am that he’s alive, but I resist. He might not care about my vision and insist on coming with me into that room.

  That’s what I would do in his place.

  In fact, that is what I am going to do, in a way.

  I’m going to go face certain death in that room alone, instead of having Felix die in my stead.

  “Did you have your vision?” he asks, his unibrow bunching tighter by the second.

  “Yes,” I say. “It was trippy—I knew about that previous vision while I was inside this vision, but I didn’t know I was having a vision, which kind of made it seem more real.”

  That last bit was a lie.

  His death was what made it seem all too real, but I’m not going to share that.

  “Wow,” he says. “That is trippy. Now if you managed to do it again, you’d know you had a vision that featured a vision. In general, how do you know that you’re not in a vision right now?”

  “I know,” I say, part of my awe not an act. “How do I know my whole adult life isn’t some super-long vision the teenage me is currently having on her couch?”

  Felix’s eyes are wide. “We’ll need to discuss this further the next time I take psilocybin. Now isn’t the best time.”

  The clawing and banging on the hallway door intensify, as though in reply to Felix’s words.

  “Right,” I say, continuing to act nonchalant. “Stay here and deal with the Johnnies when they break the door.” I nod toward the source of the noise. “I’ll go—”

  “Wait, what about going together?”

  “Can’t. Firstly, as I said, that door is about to break—I saw that in my vision. Second, since I knew I had the prior vision inside this vision, I was able to defeat the admiral without trouble.”

  Felix frowns.

  Is he not buying my story?

  Lying is a necessary skill for an illusionist, so I’m very good at it, but Felix has always been a difficult spectator—

  The door to the hallway breaks apart, like in my vision.

  “Don’t let them get into that room!” I shout at Felix. “Else my last vision is useless.”

  Determination replaces doubt on Felix’s face as he aims his gun at the newcomers.

  This time, I don’t check my phone.

  I just place my palm on the doorknob and open the fateful door.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I barge into the same room, again.

  I guess it was too much to hope that the room would be different than in my visions.

  Raising my gun, I pivot to the left.

  The knife is in the admiral’s hand. Again.

  Instead of shooting at his head, or even aiming, I point the gun at his torso and instantly squeeze the trigger.

  Acting differently from the way I had in my visions is my only hope—albeit a faint one.

  To that end, I next perform a maneuver I’ve only seen in movies—the one where a G.I. Joe type throws himself to the side and rolls to avoid enemy fire.

  The admiral’s knife slices through my ear, cleaving it nearly in half.

  I land on the floor, all air escaping my lungs as my vision blurs with black-and-white blotches.

  The only thing that rolls is my gun—away from me.

  I do my best to suck in some oxygen.

  The admiral is yelling something incoherent in Russian again.

  I must’ve shot him, like in my visions, but didn’t kill him. If I were a betting woman, I’d bet the bullet hit his shoulder again—stubborn future being what it is.

  Ignoring the agonizing stinging and burning of my cut ear, I force a few breaths into my damaged ribcage.

  Breathing hurts worse than my ear. My ribs must either be cracked or broken.

  Clenching my jaws, I take in another breath.

  When the blotches slow their dancing in my vision, I glance at the admiral and grunt in frustration—which causes my ribs to scream once more.

  The wounded asshole is walking my way, a knife clutched in his undamaged left hand.

  I was right about his shoulder injury.

  At first, I wonder if this is a second knife, but then I see a bloody trail on the floor. He went to pick up this knife—which somehow seems extra sinister. Then again, at least he didn’t pick up my gun.

  Then I recall what Maya said he likes to do to women with this very knife, and I gulp in another agonizing breath.

  No.

  I didn’t beat my original crap future just to die from that stupid knife a little later and a lot more painfully.

  If I am going to die, I’d rather he choke or shoot me.

  A crazy plan congeals in my mind, and I pretend to meekly crawl away from him. In reality, I use the bigger motion of crawling to cover the two smaller movements of my hands going into my pockets.

  With my still-bleeding ear stinging and my ribs howling in pain, acting pathetic is extremely easy.

  My performance must impress the admiral. Grinning menacingly, he looms over me with his knife outstretched and his pants bulging for reasons I’d rather not think about.

  I crawl another inch and moan proportionally to my pain.

  His grin widens as he bends lower, and a whiff of garlic hits my nostrils as he rolls me over.

  I rip my hands from my pockets and spring the cards into his face.

  My gambit works. As the cards fly at his face like starving butterflies at nectar, he tries to swat them away.

  Which is why he misses it when I slash his weapon-wielding arm with Ariel’s M9 knife.

  My disgust mixes with satisfaction as the knife slices through meaty flesh and crunchy
tendon.

  The admiral’s animalistic cry of pain is music to my ears.

  I slash at his leg, then raise my knife higher and stab his foot.

  He starts to topple onto me.

  No, not topple.

  Despite his wounds, he’s trying to perform a wrestling maneuver.

  My ribs revolt as I throw myself to the side.

  His elbow lands an inch away from my chin.

  He grunts but recovers surprisingly quickly, reaching for my throat with his injured hands.

  If he came down to the ground on purpose and not because his injured leg couldn’t hold him, it was a strategic mistake.

  Now that I can reach it, I stab his torso with my knife, avoiding his grasping hands.

  The blade penetrates something squishy, and there’s much more disgust in my satisfaction this time as he cries out in pain.

  Gritting my teeth, I recall what happened to me in my first vision, and stab the admiral again.

  His yelping stops, but his hands are still twitching, as if reaching for me.

  I remind myself what he did to Felix in my second vision, and stab him again, driving the knife deeper this time.

  He goes limp.

  Ignoring the anguished screams of my ribs, I stab him one last time—just in case.

  A soup bowl hits the floor in the distance.

  At least I assume that’s what the sound is, since Ariel was eating soup in my vision.

  Did all the bleeding and stabbing finally ruin her appetite?

  Leaving the knife buried in the admiral’s chest, I struggle to my feet and face my friend.

  My ribs hurt so much I’m sick and dizzy from the pain—though it could be the blood loss from my cleaved ear.

  Ariel is walking toward me briskly, her expression unreadable under those aviator sunglasses.

  “What’s with the sunglasses?” I ask loudly, even as an awful intuition grows in my gut.

  She doesn’t reply.

  Instead, she picks up her pace and rushes at me, her movements erratic and exaggerated, just like in my prior vision.

  “Ariel, stop.” I back away.

  She moves even faster, swiftly closing the distance between us.