by Jeremy Flagg
“You will not take me,” she spat between heaving breaths.
It was like staring at a ghost as he emerged from the shadows. His bulky chest and vacant gaze made him intimidating. He had died, psyche killed by her and body by Conthan. He still visited her regularly, and that made him frightening. He laughed, a deep bass filled the infinite space, threatening to force her down to her knees.
“I already have you, Angel,” he said.
He had infected her mind and each night she fell asleep to the sound of his taunts. The dead man had found a way to live eternally, torturing her for his death. Old habits died hard as she reached for her hip, where a sword rested in this virtual world. She spent the months since their encounter learning to focus her mental prowess. Her eyes narrowed and she flexed her claw-like hands. The leathery wings attached to her shoulders spread out, ready to launch her into the air.
“You have no power over me.”
Vanessa thrust her hands forward, and a chunk of the large man shattered like he was made of glass. With another swipe, the man burst into a thousand pieces, littering the ground. She huffed and puffed, waiting for him to make another move. She tried to slow her breathing and steady her body. As her chest started to move in a smooth rhythm, a hand shot up out of the ground, grabbing her leg.
Her eyes opened and she was resting on her stomach in a small room. The bed resided in the center, letting her wings drape onto either side of the mattress. The rest of the room looked like every other hotel she had encountered. A small chair in one corner with a table, and a television on a dresser despite no longer having cable. Candles littered the room, often the only light available in the evening as she crawled into bed.
It had only been the last two months she had moved into the hotel with the others. Before, she resided in the church at the end of the street, perpetuating her Angel of the Outlands guise. It had been six months since she revealed herself to the others, shown them little about her was angelic. Owning her pale green skin, thinning dark hair, and yellow eyes had changed her view of the world.
She pushed herself upright on the bed and leaned on the dresser, staring at the mirror. Skits had convinced her to shave her head, and while it didn’t look bad, she was amazed at the transformation she had gone through in such a short time. She pulled a black tank top over her head and pushed together the Velcro on the sides just under her wings. She looked over to the closet where the robes still hung, reminding her of the personal journey she undertook. She pulled the black leggings up over her bulky legs. At some point she would have to ask for Jasmine for more age appropriate fashion, but for now, it was practical.
The whispers at the edge of her thoughts raced in, growing louder as her senses shook away the last of her sleep. There were fewer voices to listen to this far from civilization, each one distinct enough she could sort out the owners without using her gifts. There weren’t many of them left; only the Nighthawks remained in the wastelands of Boston. The rest of the Children escaped, fleeing to a town in upstate New York where they could attempt some semblance of normalcy. Now, it was six voices, six sets of thoughts bombarding her mind.
With the slightest effort she focused on one of their voices and pushed away the others. She could listen to everything crossing their mind. Unlike her teammates’, her gifts appeared long before the Nostradamus Effect. Born a mentalist, she was a rare human with the ability to manipulate the world with only her thoughts. She was a telepath, and until a year ago, she believed she was the last. They were few and far between, eradicated during a period of American history referred to as the Culling. Years late, fate, cruel and ironic fate, blessed her as a Child of Nostradamus. Undergoing drastic changes, she’d had her young adult life robbed from her as she became the gargoyle she was now.
Unlike other Children of Nostradamus, she had the ability to hide. Mastering her telepathy, she could blend in, hiding the green skin and growing wings from those around her. It wasn’t long before she found herself in the Outlands. Escaping humanity, the Angel of the Outlands was born. Only recently her assumptions about mentalists, or even her own abilities, had come into question. Now, she was fully aware there were more, and they had learned to use their abilities in manners that never crossed her mind.
She shook her head as the Warden came to mind. That vile creature had left his mark, corrupting her thoughts like a plague and haunting her dreams at night. He claimed he had won the fight, and while he was dead, she wondered if he had been right. Would the memory of him, or the totality of his abilities, be enough to haunt her for the rest of her life? In the back of her mind, in a place she tried to lock away, the stain of his presence remained.
Chapter 2
1993
The bottle opened with a pop. The last two pills fell into the palm of his hand. He stared at the red circles and contemplated throwing them away, avoiding the chalky taste that drowned out the faux strawberry flavoring. As if in protest, bile rose in his esophagus, burning at his throat. He popped the antacids in his mouth and chewed, trying to ignore the disgusting taste coating his tongue.
He threw the bottle at the corner of his office, where it bounced off one wall and then the other until it landed in the silver waste basket. He grabbed a bottle of water stored in the mini fridge hidden underneath his desk. He popped off the cap and stopped as the plastic touched his lips. The dying plant on his desk caught his eye. Its leaves were starting to whither and fall away.
“You’re the only person who understands me, Simon.”
He poured some of the water into the colorful pot. He had been told the walls of the complex were shielded from the radiation, but he had a feeling Simon suffered from radiation poisoning. He hoped that was the reason behind its slow demise and not lack of care. He wouldn’t be surprised if the plant was responding to his own health; he felt as wilted as the plant looked.
“Mr. Davis, your one thirty has arrived.”
He jumped at the squawking over the telephone intercom. The heartburn in his chest continued, a rumble stinging in his throat as he thought about the meeting he was about to attend. He wanted nothing more than to cancel and reschedule the day after tomorrow. While he was a far ways from Washington D.C., his bosses liked to remind him he was still their subordinate.
“Send him to the conference room, Cindy,” he said into the box.
He leaned forward in his high back office chair, resting his forehead against his forearm. Staring him in the face were thousands of little notes on a giant calendar resting on his desk. He turned his head and looked at the computer. Cursing at the machine’s inability to do as he told it, he ultimately gave up and went back to writing notes. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could even turn it on without his secretary providing emotional support. He couldn’t help but feel the calendar and computer were a metaphor for his life. Working at the Advanced Development of Sciences for the last year made him feel antiquated.
The door to his office opened and Cindy stood there holding a thermos with coffee. She gave a slight huff at her boss’s condition. “Mr. Davis, you need to pull yourself together. You can’t go into a meeting in this state.”
It was only a matter of time before the stress ate away at his stomach or began turning his hair gray. He hadn’t seen his family in a month and while they talked every night, he already missed his son’s first teeth, his crawling, and now his constantly saying, “Mommeeeee.” The president had assigned him this detail, told him to prove himself, and she patiently awaited his success or failure. Right now, his team was still fresh, but he had faith that there was a way he could protect the future of mankind without the mindless bloodshed that resulted from the Culling.
He pushed himself up and grabbed the folder on his desk. He had been reluctant to take this meeting, but when the President of the United States of America and the Secretary of State demand you see a specialist, you nod your head and say absolutely. He tucked the folder under his arm and stepped into his assistant’s office. The look on Cindy�
��s face gave away her lack of amusement. She took the folder from him and set it on a table along with his coffee. She was, for all intents and purpose, his work wife. He carried the stress of the entire fate of mankind; she made she he was fed, clothed, and that his desk was always stocked with antacids. She was a Godsend for him.
“Seriously, Mr. Davis? There is no way you’re walking into this meeting looking like a homeless man stole a suit.” She fixed the button on his shirt. It was the first time all day he realized he buttoned his shirt incorrectly. Her fingers corrected his mistake along his increasingly growing gut. He didn’t resist as she took off his tie and flipped his collar. “You do not have to like this man. You do not have to like what he says. But you need to remember why you are here, Mr. Davis. You are attempting to stop a genocide. You are attempting to research and understand the future of our coexistence with mentalists. You are doing God’s work.”
His shoulders straightened at her compliment. He didn’t want to think more of the position than what it was, but she did have a knack for boosting his confidence. Cindy straightened his tie. She always managed the perfect length. She had spent thirty years practicing on her late husband and even now, she still did it with a sense of pride. He admired her gusto and ability to stay positive. A smile started to spread across his lips as she licked her thumb and wiped a smudge from his cheek.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
It was a game they played. “I’m here to save innocent lives.”
“Why are you really here?”
“Mankind needs people to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”
She gave him a pat on the chest. “You’re ready, Mr. Davis. Go save them.”
He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She smelled of lilacs, and for a moment, he was reminded of a woman from the past. He rest his head on the back of his chair and eyed her curiously. She might not look the same, but there was something in her demeanor at that moment that evoked a tender lady who changed the course of his future. He rested his hands on her shoulders and the smile grew wider.
“Cindy, you are an amazing woman.”
She blushed.
“Did you ever...” He knew it was going to sound crazy. “Ever receive a letter from a woman you never met?”
She gave a slight giggle. “Mr. Davis, I’m sure a handsome man such as yourself receives letters from interested ladies all the time. Your wife is a lucky woman. Me, though, my suitor days are long gone.”
She unknowingly answered his question. “All right, Cindy, it’s time to go save the world.”
“It’s what we do.” She handed him his thermos and file and feigned a slight salute as he walked into the waiting area of his office. He continued onward, into the hallway leading toward the more public areas of the facility. The hallways were bare, almost to the point that they became a maze if you hadn’t walked through them before. Past the offices of his research team and through the sleeping quarters of his security staff, he found himself standing at the metal doors separating him from the lobby. He slid his ID badge through the slot and listened to the computer inside read the card.
Like every time before, he jumped as a spot in the wall opened and a scanner appeared. He always wondered what kind of advancements the government had made, technologies that had yet to reach the public. The idea of a machine doing his work for him didn’t rest well. He barely used the computer in his office and most often found himself still using the typewriter to send memos to his staff. But there was something fascinating, alluring even, of what was possible. His research facility was one of the most advanced in the world. He had scientists working on things he barely understood. During department head meetings he would have to ask the men to dumb down their explanations so he could comprehend enough to relay it to his superiors.
His chin rested on the device and a bright blue light shone in his eye. He blinked in response and the device flashed red at him. Several more blinks passed without success. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to contact his head of security to open the doors for him. He relaxed his face and took a steadying breath as he returned it to the pad. The light appeared and a moment later flashed blue as the doors opened. He was thankful the security was in place to keep his operation safe, but there were times when he wondered if the doors were there to keep the bad people out, or to keep the good people in.
The public lobby was grand. The building was meant to be flagship of its kind, housing the world’s brightest scientific minds and promoting technological growth for the entire race. The president had created the center to show the other nations they were dedicated to being the best humanity had to offer. Its mission had changed with the emergence of mentalists, a rare breed of human with extrasensory mental abilities. He had only ever met two. The first had been a gentle, caring woman who, only an hour after meeting him, attempted to assassinate the President of the United States of America. The action resulted in the Culling, a massive American initiative to eliminate all mentalists. In turn, a freedom group destroyed multiple nuclear power plants to warn the government.
He, Mark Davis, was the man in the middle trying to save these people from elimination.
As he stepped into the three-story lobby, he gave a slight nod to the secretary at the front desk. He always found it funny how she sat there, in an empty room nearly every day. The center was hours away from civilization, just inside what they started calling the Danger Zone. People living in the area had been shipped away to prevent radiation poisoning. Inside these walls, they were safe from the exposure, but even guests were required to take medicine to prevent long term effects. The loss of the center to radiation was the only reason he had been granted the ability to take it over.
The woman gestured to a gentleman sitting in one of the plush seats to the side of the desk. Mark was surprised as the man stood—he had to be nearing seven feet tall. It was rare that anybody made his six foot six stature feel small, but the man dwarfed him. However, where Mark was a large man in all aspects, this man was thin, almost wiry, his body appearing to be stretched a bit too far. He was very aware of the long spindly fingers wrapping around his hands as they clasped.
“Hello, Mr. Davis,” the new arrival said with a dry voice.
“Dr. Volkov, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
It wasn’t entirely a pleasure. The man had been assigned to his team. Up to this point Mark had the luxury of hand-selecting his staff. He had flown across the world, requesting the participation of some of the brightest men and women in existence. The center continued to fulfill its mission, advancing the sciences in at least a dozen fields, but there was one he was under constant bombardment to advance: the study of parapsychology.
“I fully understand I am not here upon your request, Mr. Davis. I am hoping despite being thrust upon you in this horribly bureaucratic manner, you will find my talents to be quite useful.”
“Blunt and to the point,” Mark said. “I can appreciate that.”
“I am eager to prove myself, Mr. Davis.”
“Mark,” he corrected. “You can call me Mark.”
The man gave a slight nod. “Ivan.”
“You’ll be set up with an office and a private lab. I currently have department heads discussing who will be joining your team. The government is giving us an uncanny amount of leeway and funding to make advancements with this project.”
Before they reached the security doors, a gentleman in black pants and a black turtleneck stepped out from a room behind the front desk. The shirt hugged the man in a way that revealed the muscles underneath, forming to his chest and hugging his narrow waist.
“Goddard,” Mark said with his best authoritative voice, “what have I said about weapons in my facility?”
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Davis,” the man said, dismissing Mark, “but this is still a military operation. All the men assigned in the research areas have been assigned non-lethal projectile weapons, but any many working the perimeter o
r in the main entrance will be armed.”
“I will…”
“Per order of the President of the United States of America,” the man said flatly.
Mark understood the argument was over. He might be in charge of the center, but for the moment, one arm would always remain tied behind his back. He didn’t like it, but he learned by this point that nothing ever went entirely in his favor.
“Goddard, this is Ivan Volkov. He will be heading up our parapsychology division. If you could begin working on his credentials, it would be much appreciated.”
“Yes sir,” Goddard said with a slight nod. “We need to discuss some of the transient population who have been spotted in the area. It seems there are a number of people who refuse to vacate their homes. None of them appear to pose any sort of security risk. But if I were the domestic terrorists, hiding amongst the locals would be the first tactic I would use to attack one of the most secluded research facilities in the Northeast.”
He hated to admit it, but Goddard wasn’t an idiot. He had proved valuable in multiple situations where they had received threats from terrorists. While the interior of the building was extremely secure from the outside world, Mark knew firsthand the dangers of pissing off a mentalist.
“See to it,” he said, “but as always, use non-lethal tactics.”
The man nodded in response. Mark had to wonder if the nod was a subordinate agreeing or an asshole begrudgingly accepting authority. He tried to ignore what may actually happen beyond these walls. He was a pacifist, but the world being created around them wouldn’t be won with good intentions. Men like Goddard still had a place, and while he didn’t like the man, he did need to rely on him.
As they walked away Ivan whispered to his newly appointed boss. “Brutes will never understand enlightenment.”
Mark gave a light chuckle. He was quickly becoming a fan of the new department chair. “Let me show you your facilities. After that I can take you to meet Ariel.”