“Knights are experts in the art of stealth. They can move without being detected.”
Kathryn popped up two fingers and raised an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Ever notice how Egon just appears out of thin air at assemblies?”
“He didn’t just appear—”
“Next.”
“We make weapons from thought.”
“Do Knights do that, too?”
“Yes, they can do everything we can do. Kathryn, there’s no way to know if Egon can make Psi Weapons, just like there’s no way to know if I can, unless he actually makes one. Knights are sneaky, and vile, and deceptive. They won’t do anything that draws attention to their alter egos. The only obvious thing about them is that they’ve always hung out with the wrong crowd—the Huns, the Nazis, anybody who is bad news. That’s their cover. Puts the attention on the crowd instead of the Knight.”
Kathryn drummed her fingertips on her open algebra book. “So our profile is as follows—highly skilled martial artist, master of stealth, the ability to make weapons from thought, and totally impossible to distinguish from the lunch ladies they hang out with.”
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“It’s a well-known fact that lunch ladies are nasty. Who else would serve that stuff to innocent children? They are totally the wrong crowd.”
“Our lunch ladies are nice, and the cafeteria food is good.”
“That’s their cover! Add them to the list of suspects.”
“Egon doesn’t hang out with lunch ladies. He doesn’t fit your profile, Kathryn.”
Kathryn cocked her head, closed one eye, and squinted at the ceiling. “Let’s examine the facts. Fact Number One—Egon is famous for being one of the youngest mixed martial artists to be undefeated. I’m sorry, a Knight wouldn’t flaunt the fact that he is a world-class cage fighter. That would draw unwanted attention to his alter ego. Egon doesn’t fit the profile, Rin.”
I buried my face in my hands.
“Fact Number Two—the Knights are mysterious and secretive. A real Knight wouldn’t stand out. He would be the last person we’d suspect.”
I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. The downside to being a crime fighter is that everyone is a suspect, even guys who are totally crush-worthy. Peeking out between my fingers, I said, “So have we established that, while Egon is an interesting person, he’s not a person of interest?”
“We have. Back to the drawing board. The un-obvious drawing board.”
A face we hadn’t talked about popped into my head. “Hey, what about Dr. Miliron?”
“Seriously? We just concluded it wasn’t a teacher. Why would you make me re-conclude?” Kathryn thought about it for a second, then snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “You might just be on to something, Rinster. He’s too weird to be real. Omigosh! He’s the head of the Class Project. Rinnie, that means he’s connected to Mason and the drugs. He’s our man!”
Suddenly, it made perfect sense. “You’re brilliant! I should have seen it. I mean, he’s so completely out there that nobody would ever suspect him. He’s as far from Mr. Obvious as you can get. Just the opposite of somebody who reeks of darkness and corruption, like Mason.”
Kathryn’s head snapped up. “Mason. What do you mean?”
“Well, Mason’s a complete jerk and obviously evil, but he’s not deceptive. He doesn’t cover up anything. He knows his dad will protect him. But Dr. Miliron does absolutely nothing that would make me believe he’s anything but a goofnut.”
“Rinnie, I’m going out on a limb, here. Are you afraid of Egon?”
I thought about Egon sitting next to me at the assembly and got warm. “Afraid? No. I don’t think it’s called fear, Kathryn.”
“Think about it—Egon might not be the apprentice, but he’s a mixed martial arts expert. And he’s not just extremely good, he’s a prodigy. So let me ask you this—is a Psi Fighter, with all your Mental Arts mumbo jumbo, afraid of an amazingly tough, but otherwise completely normal kid?”
“No, of course not. He’s no match for one of us. Hey, are you saying I’m not completely normal?”
“Implied it, didn’t say it. Back to the question. Can Egon defeat a Knight?”
“Umm, no, he wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Well, Mason is scared to death of him. Why would he openly cause all that havoc and devastation, yet be a little goodie-two-shoes around Egon?” Suddenly Kathryn’s eyes grew wide and she screamed like she’d just won a shopping spree. “That’s it!”
“Shhh!” Mrs. Simmons hissed, turning toward us from her desk. Kathryn gave her a double thumbs up.
“Apparently I missed something,” I whispered.
Kathryn grabbed me by the shoulders. “You said the Knights are experts at making lies look like the truth, right?”
“So?” I gave her a looking-at-you-over-my-glasses-even-though-I-don’t-wear-glasses look.
“Mason uses tiny lies to make the real truth look like a big lie. He gets away with all sorts of hinky doings right out in the open, but then pretends to be afraid of Egon. You know what that means? I know what that means! That means Mason’s not who we think he is.”
“But Mr. Munificent said… Are you saying Mason’s not our connection to the Knight?”
Kathryn took my hand. “No, sweetheart. He’s sneaky, vile, deceptive, and he hangs out with the wrong crowd. I’m saying Mason is the Knight.”
Chapter Eight
The Stalker and Mr. Scallion
I got off the toilet and stepped out of the mineshaft. Having remembered to flush this time, I was happily dry and odor-free. Andy had once again strategically positioned himself under the yellow light bulb.
“If it’s a brilliant mind you need,” he said, pointing to the bulb glowing above his head, “I must say in all modesty that you’ve come to the right place.”
“You’re just the picture of humility.” I patted Andy on the cheek.
“True, true. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Better yet, let’s talk about me. Let me summarize my amazing grasp of the situation. First, you have a vision of Amos Munificent being attacked by some guy in a skull mask and leotards. Next, you ignore my orders and let him escape.”
“Actually,” I said, “it was the stalker who escaped.”
“Exactly! So you attack him with a weapon you can’t control, see his face and his memories, and completely botch your first mission, crushing my high hopes for you. And now you want me to help you spy on the mayor’s son because he hit you with a dodgeball. Tell me, has my uncanny mind captured the essence of the dilemma?”
“I don’t remember anybody in leotards, and the entire gym class hit me with a dodgeball.”
“There you have it. You don’t remember. If I tell you the key to everything is your memory, will you let me go back to my Three Stooges marathon?”
I flashed an eye roll at him. “I don’t think my memory is the problem here.”
“Not the problem. The solution. Something sparked that vision of Amos,” Andy said. “Every time we witness an event, or touch an object, we pick up memory fragments. The ones you picked up were very powerful. Strong enough to form pictures in your pretty little head without trying.”
“Are you saying I actually saw someone attack Mr. Munificent?”
“Either that, or you had too many Twinkies before bedtime.”
“I don’t like Twinkies.”
“Your life is so empty.” Andy shook his head. “Tell you what. Let’s project your memories and see what’s in that teeny tiny brain of yours.”
“I haven’t learned mental projection, yet. That takes years to master.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So does the Mental Blast, the Psi Weapons, levitation, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Your point?”
“I can’t levitate, either,” I said. “If I knew how to project, I could have shown you the stalker’s face and he would be behind bars. What good is seeing his face if I can’t desc
ribe it? I wish the Kilodan could scan me.”
“You saw something nasty. Something you weren’t ready for. You’re suppressing those images because they are too painful. Fortunately for your emotionally clouded mind, I am a genius. Follow me, my brother, and I will lead you to enlightenment.”
“I’m a girl, Andy. Girls are usually referred to as ‘sister’.”
“Technicality,” Andy said. “I repeat. Follow me.”
Andy took me by the hand and led me through the mines, skipping and singing The Wizard of Oz theme song. After passing several dark corridors branching off the main tunnel, we stopped at the K-Mart sign that marked the entrance to the tech lab. We were about to enter Andy’s own twisted version of the Emerald City.
Andy placed his hand on the entry panel. His hair fluffed, and the door clicked open. Inside, a man screamed as though he was in terrible pain.
“Don’t worry,” Andy said, entering the room. “It’s just an experiment. And a very successful one, I might add. Wish I’d had it working the night you saw the stalker.”
I followed, wondering what kind of experiment involved a screaming man. The room was round like the inside of an igloo, with plasma screens where walls should have been. In the center of the white floor, a white box rested on a white stand next to a white chair. At the front of the igloo, Moe was pulling Curly’s tooth with a large pair of pliers, and Larry stood nearby with a mallet.
“Only you would experiment with Three Stooges movies. What are you trying to do, extract a sense of humor?”
“Not exactly.” Andy glanced over his shoulder. His face was unusually serious, and the snappy comeback I expected never came. “Look behind you.”
I turned toward the door we had come through. While the Stooges acted out their scene on the set in front of us, cameramen and stagehands worked at the back of the room. The director sat smiling in his tall chair, and, high above him, a boy fiddled with a huge stage light.
“Hey, I never saw that in this episode. Where did you get this footage?” I turned back toward the front of the room. Moe held a large molar victoriously in his pliers, and Curly moaned theatrically while holding his jaw.
“That’s the experiment,” Andy said.
“Big deal. You found some extra clips that show how they made the episode, then you projected in three-sixty.”
“Not quite. You know how some civilizations won’t let you take their picture, because they think you’ll steal their soul?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, a soul is too powerful to be captured by a camera, but thoughts can be captured by anything. Handwriting, a drawing…a movie. I have equipment that extracts memory fragments from a handwritten note. You can see who wrote it and what they were feeling at the time. So I asked myself, if it can be done with handwriting, why not film? And I answered myself—with the right combination of technology and incredible good looks, it should work. Voila! Stooges memories.”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this.”
“We have to project that memory of yours.”
“I told you, I can’t project. The Kilodan tried to teach me, but my mind just goes blank.”
“Gasp,” Andy said. “Your mind a blank! In shock, I find myself! Well, darling, maybe the Kilodan doesn’t have what it takes to read a weak mind, but this baby does.” He patted the white box.
“Ha ha. What’s that?”
“The Psi Fighter MPU 3000.”
“MPU 3000?”
“Mental Projection Unit, currently the lightest mental projector on the planet. Actually, the only one. Bright image. High resolution. Excellent color. With surround sound!” Andy pushed a button and a tray slid out of the projector. “Blu-ray, too. A complete portable cinema for a low, low price.”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“Well,” Andy said, “it hasn’t hit Walmart’s shelves yet. I built it. Sit.”
“I’m a person, not a DVD.” Duh. “I won’t fit in the Blu-ray slot.”
“Better yet, you’re the original memory source. We should pick up a lot of detail. Expect to see more than you remember.”
“Andy, nobody can see more than they remember.”
“Ever watch a movie the second time and see things you missed the first time?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” I slouched skeptically into the chair next to the projector and Andy hit a few buttons. A glaring white screen replaced the Stooges on the front wall.
“Put your hand on the electrode,” Andy instructed.
I placed my fingertips on the silvery plate attached to the chair’s arm. The MPU 3000 hummed with energy, and static filled the air. Psychic sparks jumped from the plate to my fingers, and my hand was drawn down like iron to a magnet.
“Okay, go ahead,” Andy said expectantly. He stared at the blank screen, bouncing on his toes, hands folded behind his back.
“And…do what?”
Andy smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And our delusional Kilodan calls you his top student. Remember, silly girl. Remember, so the 3000 can see it.”
“I knew that.” I concentrated. The 3000 tugged on my brain, and the glaring white screen turned black, then brown and blurry. Slowly, Egon’s brilliant green eyes and adorable smile came into focus and filled the screen. Oops.
“How sweet,” Andy muttered. “Back to the mission. This isn’t about your love life.”
“Sorry.” I concentrated on the stalker. The back of Elmo’s head appeared on the screen with my hand snaking toward it, snatching away the mask. Instantly, anger and the stench of unwashed bad guy filled the room. I couldn’t tell if my memory was that vivid, or if the odor was real, somehow extracted by Andy’s gizmo. “Do you smell that?”
Andy hit a button, and the man’s face froze on the screen, twisted with anger. “I do. This baby is loaded. Visual, audio, emotional, and olfactory transmitters and receivers. It will completely change the way we watch SpongeBob. Imagine, if you will, a future where you turn on the TV and the fragrance of pineapple and dead fish delights your senses.”
“To think iPods used to impress me.”
“Well, you know, small minds. I see why you didn’t recognize Elmo. This guy is low profile.”
“You know him?”
Andy walked to the screen and studied the stalker’s face, completely silent for several seconds. “Name’s Norman LaReau,” he finally said. “His mother owns Sinclair Park. Show me the skull mask.”
I tried to remember how it looked, but the memory blurred. It had flashed through my mind so quickly that night. All I could think of was the Jolly Roger on a pirate flag. Instantly, the cemetery in Sinclair Park filled the screen. The sun was setting, and I felt myself sinking into LaReau’s mind. Suddenly, his hand appeared on the screen, caressing a tombstone like it was a kitten. His voice purred from the speakers.
“I love the park at dusk. It makes your grave feel so…I don’t know, final. Like a real accomplishment. You shouldn’t have sent me away, Daddy. On the plus side, I found some new friends while I was gone. And a hobby.”
The screen flickered as though Norman had blinked. His hand came away from the tombstone and turned to reveal a watch. “Late again, are we, Mr. Scallion? I certainly hope you’ll bring my package. And a bit of that freakish chemical that makes my hobby so much more interesting…la la, la-la…la la, la-la, Elmo’s song.”
“Having happy thoughts, are we?” a voice said.
Norman’s fingers clamped together. Fear and confusion bounced from the screen. “Did you bring it, Mr. Scallion?”
The image panned slowly from Norman’s clenched fist, across the graveyard to a man wearing a skull and black armor. He laughed quietly and tossed a small baggie. It sailed across the screen and Norman reached out to catch it.
“My thanks,” Norman said. “Did you bring the child?”
Scallion stood motionless. “That would be reckless, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t you tru
st me? I paid in advance.”
“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of process. That was step one.”
“Tell me about step two.”
“I acquire her.”
Norman’s frustration filled the room. “You don’t even have her? Do you understand my sense of urgency?”
“I understand it perfectly. I also understand your taste. You have very stringent requirements, do you not?”
“I do,” Norman agreed.
“And I don’t want to disappoint you. Meet me at the Shadow Passage. I’ll contact you. She’ll be gift wrapped.”
“That’s how I like them.” Norman’s eyelids came together and the screen went blank for a full second. When he opened them, he was alone with the tombstones. “But I’m not waiting.”
“Got it!” Andy froze the screen again.
“Andy, I don’t remember any of this. All I saw was a flash of a skull, not an entire conversation. Where did all that come from?”
“When the Memory Lash connected you to LaReau, your mind recorded everything. But the sight of the caged children traumatized you so much that you suppressed the rest of the memory. Fortunately, my equipment doesn’t feel trauma. It brings up everything. Girl, this is big! Do you have any idea what this means?”
I frowned. “Norman LaReau used costumes and a creeper van to stalk kids. When the police turned up the heat, he got nervous and paid Mason, disguised as Mr. Scallion, to do his dirty work. While Scallion was setting up the next victim, LaReau got impatient, and went after someone on his own. That must be what he was doing in the Elmo mask. And I let him get away!” My mind raced off in a thousand directions. If I had only controlled the Memory Lash, LaReau would be in jail. “Andy, this is awful. We might have two kidnappers. Now we don’t know whether Mason or LaReau took Christie Jasmine. Or whether another child is missing somewhere that we don’t know about. Andy, this is crazy, even for Mason.”
Andy looked at me blankly. “I was going to say I found the leotards, but let’s go with that.”
I smacked Andy. “You know something you aren’t telling me.”
“I know plenty of things that I don’t tell you. Most of them aren’t any of your business. But this particular thing may be. The hobby LaReau mentioned? Human trafficking. We never had any hard evidence against him. Just a gut feeling on the part of our glorious leader.”
Psi Another Day (Psi Fighter Academy) Page 9