by Nat Kennedy
Reggie felt cold. “I just came—” But he was talking to an empty room.
~~~
After twenty or so minutes of sitting alone in the kitchen, Reggie poked his head back into the den. Jeremy was sitting in a leather chair on the right side of the room, reading a book. Kyle and the black guy were on the far end near the fire. The shorter man with the gut was playing solitaire at a table near the door. An empty leather couch dominated the center of the room, fronted by a coffee table. Reggie went up to Jeremy.
“So, what happens now?” Reggie asked him.
“We wait.” Jeremy did not look up from his book. The cream colored lamp shade set the man in soft colors.
Reggie snatched a look at Kyle. He was leaning in and talking to his friend in rushed whispers. He looked at Reggie for one brief second, shook his head so slightly the movement was barely noticeable, and went back to his conversation. The man, cheekbones sharp and high, the kind of bone structure people hired surgeons for, paid no attention to Reggie.
“Wait for what?” Reggie asked.
Jeremy turned a page. “For Redstoke. Take a seat. He'll be back in an hour or so.”
“And then we talk about how I can help?”
Jeremy shrugged. “That and we get the truth.”
Reggie didn't like the sound of that. He had to come up with a good excuse. He had to bury his true intentions deep behind a Shield. He couldn't put Kyle in any more risk.
At least they weren't beating him or drugging him. At least the kid had made a friend.
Reggie sat on the couch, back to the fire and his student, wondering what was going to happen once Redstoke arrived.
Chapter 12
“I'm telling you. I don't know who this jackass is.”
Reggie flinched as Kyle called him a jackass for the third time. Rod Redstoke, the second in command for the Mara Murda cult, didn't appear impressed. A select few had collected in his office on the second floor of the lodge: an established member, Jeremy, and the two new cult members, which included Kyle. Even though the office wasn't that warm, Redstoke wore a black muscle shirt. When he crossed his arms, his muscles bulged like giant hams. He easily had nearly a foot on Reggie, even beating August, Kyle's confidant, who wasn't a dwarf by any measure.
The five men stood in a malformed circle, Reggie pushed up next to an antique metal chest farthest from the door. Redstoke trailed his gaze over Kyle—Reggie grit his teeth—then the man's attention shifted to August. “August, he here for you?”
August crossed his own arms, mimicking Redstoke in a posturing fight for male dominance. “Don't know this dude. Why would I? What're you going off on?”
Redstoke paused, his aura of displeasure causing Reggie to slightly lean away. A large single-pane window allowed cool air to seep in. Outside, beyond this maelstrom of anger and testosterone, the wind brushed through the evergreens. “Says he can … what'd you call it? Untangle the Nerve?”
“I can,” Reggie said. “Knots in the Nerve are what cause Taint.” Though Reggie didn't think saying it again, this time, would make any more difference than the last five times he'd said it.
Redstoke made some Neanderthalic sound. Sometimes Reggie forgot about the habits and level of class beyond the halls of higher education. “You say so?”
Reggie stood taller, his own attention bouncing from Jeremy, to Kyle, to August then landing on Redstoke's sneer. “I know so, sir. And by untangling the Nerve, I reduce Taint.”
Jeremy had been avoiding eye contact with Reggie during most of the interrogation, but darted a glance up at that. August's mouth turned down and he nodded, impressed. Then he grinned, wide, like a boy at a birthday party. Reggie blinked at the transformation of August's face, momentarily stunned. “Sounds like a perfect addition,” August said. “Where do I sign up?”
Redstoke's face of stone didn't even twitch. “Eager?”
August's grin faded away. Reggie could see the man wasn't actually bald, his hair was just tightly trimmed to his head. He was fit and by the look of those eyebrows, they had to be tweezed by a professional. A man as focused on his appearance as Sandra was. “I am. You said you've been looking for unique powers or those with dual powers. You said you've been looking for proof of our,” he paused, lifted his eyebrows and said in a spooky voice, “evolution. Well, there you have it. You've found another one.”
Another one? Reggie wondered who else had... evolved. He wondered if there were any men out there without Taint or Corruption. Or one who hadn't eventually descended into madness. That would be the kind of evolution he'd like to see. Not more power.
“You'd think you'd line up your singed and get them untangled.” August shook his head. “Sheesh, you are such a drama king.”
“Whalen, shut the fuck up.”
“Yeah, whatever Rod. I'm outta here.” August waved his hand through the air dismissively, and turned to go.
Jeremy finally came alive after watching the two alpha males posturing for dominance. He reached out to grab August. “August,” he said with a hint of plea.
“Whalen, you stick tight. Wait for Chance,” Redstoke said.
“The mind-reader?” Reggie asked, spurned on by his increasingly deepening dread. “I already got hammered by him.” Reggie didn't want to go through that again. He needed out of this room, out of this lodge, with Kyle at his side. He scanned the office for a weapon, not about to shy away from anything that could deliver blunt force trauma. Unfortunately, Redstoke's head was probably the hardest thing in the room.
Redstoke nearly snarled. “Yeah, but you didn't give it up, now did you?” He shifted his attention to Kyle, then August. “Might set him on you two, while we’re at it.” Kyle's pale skin faded to ghostly white, but he didn't say anything. His shoulders sagged as if he were trying to make himself smaller. It was a posture Reggie'd never expected to see on the vibrant young man.
Reggie was more than a little fed up with the cult leader wallowing in his own megalomania. “I told you. I'm here to join up. Does everyone get this grilling?”
August chucked. “Only if you want to clown out your mind-raper more,” he said to Redstoke, ignoring Reggie completely. “He's Corrupt. And mad, if you ask me. Sure he isn't huddled in his room again, lights out?” Redstoke responded once again with a growl. August, however, didn't give him the attention he craved and instead asked Reggie, “Hey, can you undo that?”
If only, Reggie thought. “Taint? Yes. Corruption. No.”
Reggie didn't look at Kyle. He didn't want to see the pity from his student, pity for his inevitable descent into complete mutation.
Redstoke uncrossed his arms. “So, you're claiming to cure madness and Taint?”
Reggie threw up his arms. “That is what I have been saying. Please pay attention.” August barked out a mad laugh. Reggie struggled to ignore him. “I want to help us, male Wielders. We got a bum deal and I want to alleviate some of that torment. God knows society hates us.”
“You curing your own madness, or is this the sign you're already mad?” August asked, all his smiles suddenly locked away.
August turned off and on with such alacrity, Reggie almost felt dizzy.
Reggie's eyes shifted to Kyle and then back to August. He sighed. This was ridiculous. “I'm not mad. I've no madness. I don't tangle up the Nerve.”
“So, you're like a woman?” Redstoke asked.
Reggie scoffed. “In that manner, I guess, yes.”
“We don't need to be like women,” Redstoke began in a tone Reggie immediately recognized as a lecture. The cult leader took a slow walk across the small room. “We are beyond women. Men are the ones who have multiple powers. New powers. We excel far and beyond women. Sure, we pay the price with madness and deformation, but to find these new horizons, it is a fair price. We don't Wield the Nerve, we Wield the Spirit. If we go far enough, Wield more, we can touch the Spirit of the World and no woman could ever equal us again.”
A noise clattered at the door. The mutated mind-reader walked in balan
cing a plate of chocolate chip cookies. They smelled divine.
“Art cooked these up. Want some, Red?”
“Sure. Leave most of 'em for the boosters, though.” Redstoke grabbed a cookie and went to sit behind his desk, the large window behind him showing little of the night beyond but the dancing shadows of trees.
The men stopped for a snack: a temporary truce. The cookie was quite good, but it only joined the anxiety baking in Reggie's gut.
“So, you want me to read him again?” Chance asked. Reggie saw bony horn-like protrusions on the man's left hand and along his face
Redstoke nodded. “Okay, Reggie. Let's go over this again.”
The bottom of Reggie's stomach dropped away, along with the cookie. Reggie shrugged and took in a deep breath.
Redstoke started with, “How'd you find us?” The sound of stone grinding against more stone rumbled through the room as Chance focused on Reggie.
Reggie held up his hands in surrender. “I asked a female cult member. She was able to tell me general directions. That was why I was wandering around. I didn't exactly know where to go.”
“Truth,” said Chance. “Though, there's more to it.” He scrunched up his nose. “I could dig deeper.” Chance didn't sound like he wanted to though and Reggie sure as hell didn't want him plowing through his mind. He focused on the here and now, reinforcing his Shield.
“What's the more to it, Reg?” Redstoke asked. He leaned forward on his elbows, bracing himself against the desk's surface as he took another bite of his cookie. Nobody else moved.
“I don't know. There are all sorts of details he might not be getting. Like, I actually got the info from the cult member's daughter. That would be something that could trigger his sense of me holding back info. Or that she was actually accusing me of sexual harassment. Details that are not important, that I don't want to talk about.”
Chance munched on a second cookie, focusing directly on Reggie, and shrugged. “Truth.”
“You seem to know a lot about mind-reading.” Redstoke studied him and Reggie felt worried. “Is that your other power? You have two, correct?”
Reggie flexed his jaw. “Yes, I've two. I don't use the other power.”
Chance nodded.
“What is it?” Redstoke asked.
Reggie looked around, hoping for some help from the other men in the room. He felt trapped. August watched him noncommittally. Jeremy had barely said a word the entire time. Kyle wouldn't even look his way. He'd simply shut down, holed himself away from the entire confrontation. Reggie couldn't lie. He couldn't dodge. “Why does it matter?”
Redstoke opened his arms out wide to encompass the entire lodge. “Come on, you want to be a part of this grand collection of men, and you want to keep secrets from us?”
Reggie wished he'd worn his tweed jacket, so he could stuff his shaking hands into the pockets. “Of course I want to keep secrets from you. I'm here to help you, as people. I'm not here to join your cause. I don't want to deal in drugs or break into businesses. I don't want to rise up and take over. I just want to reduce people's Taint.”
Chance nodded again and stuffed another cookie in his mouth.
“Do gooder,” muttered August. Reggie glared at him and realized he would have no ally there.
“So, who's coming to get you and the new kid out?” the mind-reader asked.
Reggie's mind flashed, shocked that this man had pegged Kyle, then he slammed down his shielding, cutting off any access Chance had to his mind. Chance winced and rubbed the back of his hand.
“Someone, and I get the sense it's someone important, who can cause us problems.”
Reggie cursed himself. He knew these kinds of tricks, his sister put him through them all the time. Her idea of bonding exercises. He pressed his lips closed, determined to shell up. Not speak, not think, at least while within sight of this reader. He thought of a building. Tall, with steel girders, an empty shell, not quite finished in its construction. He considered the foundations, the strength of steel needed. He thought about the blue prints and the floors and where to put the supports.
“He's blocking hard, Red,” Chance said through a mouthful of cookie.
“So, someone is coming. For this traitor and the kid. Landon, who would be coming for you?”
Kyle shook his head, stared at Reggie, but Reggie didn't see him. Didn't look at him. Didn't think of anything but the building.
Redstoke raised his chin, lifting it towards Jeremy. “Take him to the pit.”
Chapter 13
Reggie oofed as he landed hard, twisting one ankle. He rolled and banged his already aching shoulder. Dirt and dust coated the inside of his nose along with the stench of blood and urine. With some fear, he tore the blindfold from his eyes and scanned the hole he now found himself in.
The lip was over the reach of his arms, the walls a concrete conglomerate. The floor was covered in a layer of soil, but below a finger's depth, it was that same mix of concrete and rocks. Above him, a circular mouth let in bluish light.
An oubliette. Jeremy had dumped him into an honest to God oubliette.
At least the hospitals had beds, heating and lighting. At least he could hope to be fed and have a place to use the bathroom. Here, it was like he was a war prisoner. He paced the walls, ran his fingers over the surface, grasping on larger protuberances of stone. There had to be a handhold where he could crawl out, drag himself inch by inch out of this hole.
A head poked over the hole's edge, back lit and indistinguishable. “Don't worry. You won't be there long. I've some questions for you.” Not Jeremy. This man's voice was pitched high, not like a woman's, but it brought insanity to Reggie's mind. “We're going to have some questions.” The head disappeared and Reggie felt the grip of cold dread take hold of his spine.
He heard clattering: hard objects against metal. Then scraping, punctuated by sharp, high giggles. The man oohed at something and said, “Oh, he's not going to like that.” A moment of silence, and Reggie dug his fingers into the wall once again. His finger caught on a rounded stone jutting from the wall. Fingers, which had never pinched tight to any rock wall, shook as he scrambled to find a place for his toe. If only he was a booster, he could get out easily. Or a lifter, he could hoist himself out of this abyss. A jut of rock bumped his seeking foot, and he pressed the edge of his boot onto the lip of stone. Using his fingers' weak grip, he pulled. His skin slipped; his fingernail snagged. His twisted ankle sought out another foothold while his other hand desperately slapped against the wall for another stone. The dark well of the pit kept him nearly blind. His hand slapped against a knob; he clasped it. His shoe slipped and he tumbled away from the wall, flat on his back.
His breath shooped out of his lungs. Laying there, a turtle on its back, he squeezed his eyes shut and sucked on his finger, trying to ignore the pain telegraphing all through his body. Foreign flavors inched over his tongue and he pulled the finger away, grimacing, spitting out the taste. He'd never been an athlete, never been a physical teenager. Never even got into fights. Most people liked him, wanted to be his friend. His body had little idea how to react to this recent punishment. He sat there quietly as the minutes ticked by. It was cool in the pit, but not freezing. The dirt below him leached away the heat from his exposed skin. His throat was parched, but his bladder told him all about how he didn't want to drink anything else. Not that he had anything to drink. The thought crossed his mind that if they kept him down here for long, he might have to drink his own urine.
He hoped they hadn't done this to Kyle. Well, he'd looked unbattered, and he had that manscaped cocky bastard to help him out. Reggie wondered if Kyle'd found solace with the other man. If he'd given Kyle what Reggie couldn't. At least Kyle wasn't alone.
A noise roused him to open his eyes. Something was coming over the edge of the hole. With delicate care, Reggie struggled to his feet. The dark forced his eyes wide, but the thing didn't emerge into any complete form until it reached eye height. A rope ladder.
Relief hammered down on him. He almost laughed. This was just a joke. They were trying to scare him, not forget him forever. He grasped for the ladder and climbed.
He hoisted himself over the edge, rolling on his belly like a break-dancer to get to his feet, when something stung his butt. He reached back to swat, but the sting was done. Standing there with a show of too much delight, was a man in a white lab jacket holding aloft a syringe.
“Well, that was easy.” The man grinned, revealing a wide row of teeth. He had neat, slicked back hair graying at the temples and a stethoscope dangled from his neck.
“What did you inject me with?” Reggie demanded as he got to his feet. The area on his butt had already begun to go numb.
“Oh, a new concoction. You see, I'm trying to find a way to unlock your potential, to make you more of a man.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Aren't you a lucky one?”
Reggie fell to his knees, his leg giving out. The numbness spread throughout his body like a painless wildfire. The doctor grabbed Reggie around the chest and dragged him away from the pit to a chair. Once Reggie was propped up, the doctor wrapped something around Reggie's waist, holding him in an upright position. Reggie could not see what the material was though, because he could not move his head.
“How are you feeling, Test Subject three-two-oh?” He held up a clipboard and raised a pen, looking at Reggie expectantly.
“What did you do to me?” he said, the words slurring together on his thick tongue.
“Hmm, perhaps it is too soon for the effects to take hold. I am trying to make you better, three-two-oh.” The doctor smiled encouragingly. “The first feeling of numbness can be overwhelming, but you'll soon get used to it.”
The world spun and Reggie grasped onto his Mind Shield, thinking of that tall skyscraper touching the clouds. Up and up it rose, I-beam by I-beam, each ratcheted together.
“This concoction should enable you to reach the Spirit, three-two-oh. Pluck the Spirit and none shall stop you. Isn't that what you want? To be stronger, so nobody can throw you in an oubliette?”