“It was the least I could do after all I put you through.” She handed me a mug of hot, black coffee as we both sat at the table. “Here you go, just the way you like it.”
I took the coffee and tasted it. Exactly the way I like it. And how exactly does she know that? I frowned and replied, “Thank you, I think.” I took a bite of bacon, which was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to me. “Um, about last night. How much of me did you, uh, explore? It felt like you went really…deep.”
Kate leaned forward, “You have no idea. No man has ever shared himself so fully with me.” She laughed as my face blanched. “Seriously, I just probed your memories of last evening and checked to see if you were a killer. Nothing else. Needless to say, you passed the test, so please let me tell you how sorry I am about, you know, the gun thing.”
“Oh, you mean the part when you tried to kill me, that gun thing?”
“Adam, please hear me out, okay? I had good reason to be afraid, but in order for me to explain you need to know the whole story.”
Reaching for a biscuit I replied, “This should be good.”
Her eyes became serious, “Nothing good about it. Pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee because this is a long story.”
“That’s okay,” I chuckled, “I’m a good listener.”
Looking at me doubtfully, she began, “Okay. First you need to know more about me or none of this is going to make any sense. From my earliest memory until I was seven I lived in a boarding school. It looked like a typical school of its time with cinder block walls and dented radiators running along the walls. The main difference between that school and others is that in addition to math, reading and social studies we learned psionic theory, telepathy, psychokinetics, and remote viewing. Every child there was psionically gifted. Like you, Adam. Every child there was like you.”
“This is insane,” I interrupted, “You are the third person I have ever known to have these abilities. Now there are enough to fill a school? How can that be? Where do you all hide?”
Kate sipped her coffee and replied, “What happened to being a good listener? We all inherited our talents from our parents. The school was run by an organization for the psionically talented, and one day we were intended to graduate from school and devote our lives to it. We always called it the Program, not knowing the real name. Maybe that was the real name. Anyhow, it was a very unusual upbringing. None of us had lives or homes outside of the Program. Everything we knew of the outside world we learned from television. After school we would hang out together in the rec center, which had a little color TV mounted to the ceiling. God, I loved that TV. I would hang out by the TV with my friends Travis and Ashley--they were twins--and we would alternate between watching TV and watching the other kids. I can still see it now so clearly. On any given day, Stuart and Tracy would be hanging out with Nate and Justine at the pool table. They were the cool kids, and popular to the point of hero worship. Stu was witty and good looking but his defining characteristic is his pearl white hair. He doesn’t dye it; that’s his natural hair color. It lent him an air of mystery. Tracy was the blond bombshell and was always all over Stu. Nate was the opposite. Whereas Stuart was polished and refined, Nate was rough and rebellious. He and Justine were constantly getting into trouble. One time they escaped with the help of a former graduate named Clare and were gone for a whole weekend.”
“Wow,” I mocked, “What a scandal! What did they do, go to a movie?”
“Who knows for sure,” Kate answered, “but I heard later that they went to a bar. It was actually a big deal.”
“And where were your parents when all this was happening?”
Fresh pain radiated out from her mind. I struck a nerve with that question.
“All the adults, including our parents, lived and worked in the fortress.”
“The fortress?” I asked doubtfully. “Seriously?”
“Make fun,” Kate replied, “But that was what it was, sort of. What a building! It was one of the biggest, most bizarre structures I have ever seen. Stuart once told me that the compound was originally intended to be a fort in the early nineteenth century to defend against British bombardment. Everything about the surrounding countryside was built with defense in mind. The landscape sloped to expose any oncoming attackers while giving the defenders the advantage of high ground. The concrete outer wall of the building was star shaped, each point of the star being a rampart, which would have been bristling with artillery. Like this.”
She laid out the bacon pieces in a star shape, sort of.
“It was the most ambitious fort in America at the time, and expensive. So much so that it was never finished, but when it was rebuilt for the Program it maintained that fortress-like appearance. My daddy once told me that most of the structure was underground. That was where everyone…lived.”
Her face betrayed no emotion, but grief poured out of her in waves. It was enough to make it hard to breathe.
“Your father,” I whispered, “what happened to him?”
Kate got up and looked out the window. Standing up, her legs looked never-ending. I tried not to stare. Mostly.
She finally said, “One night, when we were all asleep in our beds, a light shone into the dormitory that was so bright that at first I thought someone had turned on the lights. Some of the older kids were looking out the window and crying. The ones with empathic talents were practically catatonic in their beds. I was only seven years old at the time, but I remember sneaking around the legs of the teenagers and finding a place at the window. I wish I hadn’t. Our window faced one of the protruding ramparts of the fortress, and I could see its roof engulfed in flames. Thick gray smoke was everywhere so we could not see the rest of the it, but we discovered later that the entire compound was burning.”
A solemn moment passed and I said softly, “Your parents?”
“Everyone who lived at the compound died in the fire. My daddy…went first. I could see him in my mind, trying to shield my mom from the flames with his body. He was so brave. My mom, she helped by repelling the heat using her talents, but the smoke…there was just no air left to breathe.”
I joined her at the window and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” I asked.
Kate reached across and touched my hand. She took a deep breath and continued, “The school only suffered superficial damage due to the distance and the design of the landscape. All of us who stayed in the building survived. Some kids ran out into the smoke. No one ever saw them again as far as I know.” She paused, and we just stood there, still for a while. Then Kate turned to me and continued, “What happened next…I…I just can’t remember, but soon after we were bussed to an orphanage and one by one placed into foster care. We made a pact to find each other when we were adults, but life went on and most of us forgot all about the pact.”
“Foster care,” I commented, “That must have been rough.”
Kate crossed back to the coffeepot and filled her cup.
“You know, I got really lucky. My very first set of foster parents were great. They actually ended up adopting me and we all love each other very much. I fly back to Virginia to visit them every couple months or so. They’re good people. Anyhow,” Kate continued, “About six years ago I was reading a magazine and read that Stuart Allen was the keynote speaker at a paranormal convention at McCormick Place in Chicago. He had written a book about his psychokinetic techniques that somehow made the Times bestsellers list. It was unbelievable! Well, I just had to go see him, even though I was sure that he wouldn’t remember me. So a few weeks later, there I was in this massive convention center, waiting for Stuart to walk up on stage. When he did, I could hardly believe that he was real. He looked great, and his talk captivated everyone. When he finished the crowd gave him a standing ovation, and I fought my way to the front of the room to try and get his attention. By the time I had gotten there, it was too late. It made me want to cry. But when I walked out of the hall, there he was by the exit, laughing
it up with Tracy and Justine. Just like at school. Then he looked up and saw me, then said, ‘Katie, is that really you? You look amazing!’ I could hardly believe it. He remembered me! We got to talking and a few minutes later Nate walked up followed by the twins. It was just incredible. We saw it as a sign that we were destined to be together. It turned out that Tracy had a degree in finance and had come up with a business plan for using psionic talents to invest in the market. Stuart used the proceeds from his book to get it all off the ground. That’s how we founded Fortress Investments.”
With a puzzled look on my face, I said, “Okay, so you all use your abilities…”
“Talents,” She interrupted, “We call them psionic talents.”
I chuckled, “Alright, then, you use your fancy talents to do what, help rich people evade taxes?”
Kate smirked. “Have you ever heard of the futures market in Chicago? that’s where the rights to buy commodities like corn and beef in the future are bought and sold at locked-in prices. It’s meant to protect the buyers and sellers from unknown price fluctuations. All we do is look into the most probable futures and take a lot of the guesswork out of it.”
“I get it. You looked into the future and saw that killing me would raise the price of bacon. Makes sense.”
For that comment I was rewarded with a piece of bacon thrown at my chest.
She continued, “No. Everything was going great. We got really good at making predictions, especially when we worked together. It’s not a perfect process, so mistakes are made, but overall we have made a lot of money for our clients. Then about a month ago Nate was doing lunch with a client at one of the outdoor tables at Café Luc when they were gunned down. The police told us later that the bullets were specialized and must have been shot from a high-powered rifle from a distance. Two weeks later, Stuart was smoking outside our building and had a vision of lying bloody on the sidewalk. He turned to go inside and a bullet grazed his shoulder. We all went into hiding after that.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Wait a minute. Did you think that I was the sniper? Why? I’ve got nothing to do with any of this.”
Kate looked down and replied, “Something is clouding our ability to see the future of this. We have tried so hard to foresee the next attack, but there is a wildcard at work, someone who makes many choices that have far-reaching effects. Remote viewing into the future can work surprisingly well, but if you get a wildcard involved who is unpredictable, then all bets are off. Most wildcards have impulse control problems and constantly operate under high stress. Those impulse decisions made under stress are very difficult to foresee.”
Nodding my head, I agreed. “I know all about it. That’s why I avoid looking too far into the future…too many variables. It’s impressive that you’re able to make a living at it.”
“In this case,” Kate continued, “we finally were able to see the person at the center of it all, whose choices were to determine everything about how this turns out. Who else but the killer would have that kind of control over this situation? Our vision was shaky, but we clearly saw the sign for the Olympus Casino…and you walking into it. You are the wildcard, Adam.”
I sighed, “So you came here looking to see if I was the assassin, and when you found yourself in my condo, you thought you were abducted and that I must be the killer.”
“Exactly. I was afraid, Adam, but I’m sorry for what I did. If you didn’t, well, stop the bullets…,” her voice caught. She took a moment, holding back tears, and very softly whispered, “I almost killed an innocent person.”
I reached out and held her hand, when her expression changed and she looked up questioningly.
“How did you do it, the thing with the bullets. That’s impossible. The most powerful psychokinetic I know would have a hard time stopping a baseball. When you let me in your mind I saw your technique, but the raw power that would be required to do that is like nothing I have ever seen.”
I grinned and replied, ”I bet you say that to all the guys.”
She continued, “Adam, with your power you could help us find the killer and stop him. That must be what the visions meant, that you have the power to change everything. Only you can do this.” Kate stood and approached me, and I rose to meet her. She put her hands flat on my chest and looked up into my eyes, “You have every reason to throw me out of here and I could not blame you, but there are five good people who, I promise you, will be dead if you do not help me. Please, Adam, don’t make me beg. We can pay you, anything you want.”
She is right, I thought, I should throw her out. Her people are in all kinds of bad trouble, and I want no part of it. Yes, they offered to pay, and maybe it is the right thing to do, but it’s practically suicide. I have my own problems, and have no desire to take on someone who kills people like me. With these thoughts in mind, naturally I said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”
I’m an idiot.
“But, there are a few things I need to do first.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Shortly after Kate left, I stopped by the ATM to get some cash, since my wallet was being held hostage at the casino. Then I set out in a cab for my old home, St. Jude Psychiatric Institute. St. Jude’s was built in the early 1950s, when Detroit was at its peak population, and the planners of the building planned to accommodate future growth, not decline. As a result, most of the sprawling concrete structure was abandoned years before. From the sky it must look like an enormous cross, a feature that the Catholic founders must have found inspiring. The “foot” of that cross is called the south wing, currently the only operational wing of the hospital, and for most of my childhood, it was home.
By my ninth birthday, my adoptive parents had tried everything to cure me of what they called my “mental illness”. First came the speech therapists when I was still not talking by age 4. Then they called me autistic because I could not stand to be around other people. What they could not have known is that anyone within 20 yards radiated uncontrolled waves of disorganized thoughts, feelings and subconscious desires. The assault on my senses was so violent and overpowering that I shut down and eventually became catatonic. In my own mind I developed a fantasy world where I was a superhero called the Prophesier, the most powerful being in the universe, who knows everything that will happen in the future and is afraid of nothing. My experience as the Prophesier was rich and beautiful. It was vastly beyond the scope of normal dreaming, and in my fantasy I had friends and enemies, traveled to distant worlds and pursued countless adventures.
On one such quest I found myself flying through a blue tinted rainforest, and burst into a bright clearing. There before me was a most curious sight. A thin man with curly blond hair and kind eyes that bespoke fierce intelligence was strolling through the field smoking a fragrant curved pipe. Initially he appeared somewhat young and handsome, but as he drew near a profound sadness eminated from him that made him seem older. He wore an old-fashioned gray three-piece suit, and his round, silver-framed spectacles rested near the tip of his nose. He peered at me over the top of his glasses and said, “Greetings, young man. This is quite a place you have here. Extraordinary, really.” He extended his hand. “My name is August Mandel.” He smiled, “Call me Gus.”
I made no motion to return the handshake. “I am the Prophesier, and this is my realm. You do not belong here.”
The older man’s brows lifted, “Oh, really. That is very interesting, because according to the nurses you’re a nine-year-old boy named Adam Sharpe. You have been in a coma, like me. We are roommates, you see, in a sort of a hospital. This place only exists in your mind. The hospital is real. Do you understand?”
His words confused me, although I knew I was once called Adam, it seemed so very long ago. A lifetime, really. My true identity slowly rose to the surface, and the fantasy world vanished into mist. It was just me and the man in the gray wool suit.
“I…I think so, but I don’t like it up there. Too much noise…too many voices.”
Gus knelt do
wn to my level. “Adam, those aren’t voices. They are the hearts and minds of the people around you. The problem is that you have never been shown how to properly listen. With practice you can learn to experience only one person at a time, or none at all.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, then asked, “How do you know all this about me?”
Gus replied, “I know it because I’ve been through it. Like you, I’m a mind reader, although now that I have met you I doubt that my mild talents really compare to yours. But I learned how to handle it the hard way, so maybe I can help you.”
I stared him down hard and asked, “Why would you help me? How do I know I can trust you?”
His eyes widened, “Such questions from one as young as you! You never got to be a child, did you? Anyhow, you can trust me because unlike you I am trapped in this coma and cannot escape. I can experience the minds of the other patients and staff here, but I cannot talk to them as we talk now.” Gus took a breath, then continued. “I’m lonely, Adam. Simple as that. Trust that.”
So that was how I met my best friend and mentor. Over the next nine years he never stopped teaching me. I owed everything to him.
My thoughts were a million miles away as I checked in with the security guard and headed for the elevator. As I stepped off the elevator at the third floor, I waved a greeting to Estelle and Maria, the nurses at the reception desk. Because they both started working here after I was a patient, they didn’t fear me like the old timers did. There is an old janitor named Pavel who gives me the evil eye when I’m not looking. Not these ladies. They were accustomed to my regular visits, although my visits were somewhat less regular lately, and didn’t make me sign in anymore.
This visit was overdue. Any time I really needed advice, Gus has always been there, and there is no excuse for me not to be there for him. Then I realized, with a pang of guilt, that the only reason that I was here was because I wanted his advice. I needed something from him yet again. I pledged silently to visit him more often, once this was all over.
The Talented Page 3