The Talented

by Steve Delaney

  Sensing something I turned to Alicia and she was looking at me. Her huge water bottle was almost empty.

  “Hey,” she said softly.

  I could not help but smile a bit. “Hi. Feeling better?”

  “I haven’t felt like this in years. Yes, better. Much, much better. Thank you. Thank you for what you did for me. I don’t know how you did it, but I don’t miss it. Not even a little bit. This is the first time that I have been clean in two years, and it feels great.” She looked better too, younger, more refreshed.

  My brow knitted slightly. “Hmm. You seem different. Your speech sounds…please don’t take this the wrong way…you sound more educated or something. Then again, I have a third grade education myself, so everyone sounds educated to me.”

  She smiled and said, “Yeah, the person you met at 7-mile, that…that wasn’t the real me. I had almost forgotten that. Would you have guessed that I was an A student in school? Private school, too. I went to Wolverton Academy up north.”

  “Impressive,” I said, “Isn’t that one of the best schools in the state?”

  “Number two, I think. It was tough to keep my grades up, but my dad tolerated nothing less. He expected so much of me, all the time, and I was so afraid of disappointing him. He was the same way with my mom, too. He would come home and go off on her about the dirty dishes and unmade beds. He must have suspected that she was using. One day I came home from school to find the house completely spotless. The oak floors shined and the dining room table was so polished that I could almost see my reflection in it. Every room in the house was like that. Even the silver was polished. In the center of the dining room table stood a gleaming silver candelabra burning two slender candles. On one candle was my mother’s solitaire engagement ring. On the other was her wedding band. At the base of the candelabra stood an index card folded like a sign. In my mother’s writing it read, ‘Goodbye, Deon.’ She never stepped foot in that house ever again.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said, “Divorce sucks.”

  “Oh, they didn’t get divorced,” she corrected, “Mom just left him. As far as I know they are still married. Officially, at least. Anyhow, after my mom left I got depressed and my grades started to slip. When my report card came home my dad just sat at that same dining room table staring at it. He didn’t say anything at first, but there was a vein on his forehead that only pops out when he is angry, and it stood out like a tree root. I couldn’t take it so I actually started shouting at him. We got in a huge fight. Huge. At the end of it I screamed at him that it was because he drove my mother away and he slapped me so hard it knocked me down. I couldn’t move I was so shocked. Then I heard him apologizing over and over and trying to help me up, and I slapped his hand away. That night I ran away to live with my mother. It felt so, I don’t know, freeing, like I could do anything and nobody would care. Turns out that was more right than I even knew.”

  Trying not to think of my mother who abandoned me at birth, leaving me to the mercy of her unstable, anorexic older sister, I continued to listen. From across the aisle, Kate had looked up from her laptop as well.

  “She had a lot of parties at the apartment, brought home a lot of boyfriends. I learned a lot of bad habits from them, and things just spun out of control. Mama tried to get involved when things got really bad…when I started stealing money from her purse, leaving for weeks at a time, that sort of thing, but by then it was too late. That was three years ago.” Her face took on a weary, distant expression. “Don’t ask me about life after that.”

  Pointing at my almost full bottle of water, she added, “You going to drink that?”

  Handing it over to her, I replied, “Help yourself.”

  After landing in Chicago, Kate led us outside where a shiny white Bentley limousine was waiting for us. Never having ridden in a limo of any kind, a small thrill ran through me, wondering what the interior would look like. It was not at all what I expected. The rich, supple leather seats clashed with the multiple 3D displays built into the barrier behind the front seats, both of which were streaming incomprehensible financial data that seemed to float by a foot in front of my face. Alicia seemed less intimidated than I was, so I played it cool.

  The ride to Stuart’s house in one of Chicago’s affluent north shore suburbs was quiet and smooth, and didn’t take long. The perimeter of the estate was encircled by a three-foot flagstone wall, over which the sprawling Georgian manor was visible. The limo driver’s thoughts were all out in the open, and it was from him that I plucked the various details about the house. Too bad I had no idea what made a house a Georgian manor. Big must have something to do with it. The scale of the place was breathtaking:four stories tall and at least 100 yards wide. The copper roof was old enough to have developed a jade green patina, and in places the red brick walls were crawling with ivy. According to the driver, it was built about 100 years ago by a Chicago industrialist. As my interest waned, his excitement flamed up and took on a life of its own. He must be really into that house. I left him to his thoughts.

  When the limo pulled into the circle drive, a wide, beefy man with thinning blond hair and a ruddy tan approached, wearing a fine Italian suit that did not match his otherwise rugged appearance. A shoulder holster was plainly visible. He approached me first with a serious, focused look in his eyes. A sweep of his mind revealed that his name was Laric, and he was one of several full-time security guards. He frisked me first, found nothing, of course, then moved on to Alicia. Kate apparently was trusted enough not to frisk. She turned to Laric and asked, “Laric, would you please have Miranda take Alicia here downtown to freshen up at a spa, then do some shopping? Please put it all on my account.” Laric grunted in the affirmative and hit a speed dial on his mobile. In less than a minute a busy-looking fashionista in her 20’s swept by and took Alicia by the arm, ranting about all the places they would go.

  Laric led us through the front door into a foyer with twenty-foot ceilings awash with sunlight. Twin staircases circled up to a loft area on the second floor. To get a better sense of the place, I began to expand my mind through the building, but barely got started before Kate grabbed my arm lightly and whispered, “I wouldn’t do that. He’ll know, and…”

  “Katherine! So glad that you have returned safely.”

  The man who spoke stood at the top of the stairs in a blue silk Armani suit, minus the tie, with the sleeves rolled slightly. Nice look. His shoulder-length hair was so white and fine it looked like strands of translucent silk framing his face. He was one of those men whose physical fitness made him look younger than his years, save for the subtle crows feet beginning to show by his bright, intensely blue eyes. As he made his way down the stairs he gave us a big smile revealing very white teeth, but the smile never made it to the man’s eyes. His eyes were cold and reptilian.

  Hugging Kate warmly, he then turned to me and the smile evaporated, his look now one of intense curiosity.

  Employing my usual social grace I offered my hand awkwardly and said, ”Adam Sharpe.”

  After a pause he returned my handshake with a surprisingly firm grip.

  “Stuart Allen. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sharpe. Welcome to my home.” After a brief pause, still gripping my hand, he continued, “Kate tells me you are something of a wild talent in the psionic arts. She believes that you’re here to help protect us from the murderer who has been targeting our partners and friends.” Taking a step toward me, close enough to smell a trace of wine on his breath, he continued smiling but spoke in a softer, more menacing voice.

  “I do not share Kate’s trust in strangers. Apparently you’re doing this without asking for anything in return. Altruism does not exist, in my experience. So what is it that you really want from us?”

  A sense of pressure began to build on my forehead, which must be Stu here trying to gauge my reaction. I used my vault door image again to block him out, this time remembering not to slam the door so forcefully this time. As soon as the imaginary door was shut t
he pressure instantly evaporated.

  Stuart’s eyes grew wide for a moment, then narrowed with a sinister smile.

  “Very impressive, Mr. Sharpe. A good introductory test of your skills. Let’s see what happens when someone with experience and training cracks the combination on that vault of yours.” For some reason all I could think about is how hungry I was, then I looked up and saw how ravishing Kate looked all of a sudden. And I felt like taking a nap. And I had to pee. Stuart was attacking my mind in a dozen different ways all at the same time. His assault didn’t feel all that powerful, but it was so elegant and fast that I found myself drawn into his distractions despite myself. The image of the vault door in my head began to fade, so in a panic I bit my lip and readied myself to counterattack with everything I had in me.

  “Enough!” Kate interjected, wedging her way between us, and placed her palms on Stuart’s chest. Same move she used on me at my place. So much for being special. “Adam is on our side, Stu. Well…my side anyway. He opened his mind to me completely and definitely is not deceiving us.“ She let the hint of a sweet smile show at the corner of her lips, looking back to me, “He wants to save me…be my hero. That’s his only motive.”

  Stuart let up on his assault and over Kate’s shoulder he gave me an appraising look. “Fine,” he reluctantly agreed, “I will take Katherine’s recommendation at face value. No hard feelings?”

  “Sure, why not,” I answered, “With that out of the way, maybe we should get back to the reason that I’m here. You know, the whole sniper thing?”

  “Quite right. But that we should discuss as a team. Follow me.”

  Stuart led us through the tasteful opulence of his house to stairs leading to a wine cellar that was larger than my condo. Past the wine cellar was a spacious conference room. At the center of the room sat a large, round table carved entirely from speckled black and green granite. Surrounding the table were twelve chairs, three of which were currently occupied. A rather sloppy-looking man wearing khaki pants and a half untucked polo shirt kept running his fingers through his greasy black hair. His constant fidgeting made me nervous just looking at him. Surprisingly, his mind was not nearly as well protected as the others, and traces of his thoughts were out in the open. His name was Travis, and his barely contained fear was not so much for himself, but for someone else at the table. A twin sister named Ashley. I shut out the rest of his thoughts to avoid being accused of prying. This psionic etiquette still baffles me, but I had better learn quickly. Sitting a few seats apart from him was the young woman who must be Ashley. She was on the petite side, and shared the dark hair and eyes of her twin. The oxford men’s shirt that she wore was a size too large and made her appear small and vulnerable. Before her was a stack of yellow legal pads and a cup of sharpened pencils. Looking up as we approached, she put down the pencil and attempted a wan smile.

  Seated apart from them was the last person at the table. Based on their body language, this woman was clearly in charge. Her sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a single large braid that almost reached her waistline. The black, rectangular frames of her glasses and her immaculate white business suit gave her a severe, no nonsense appearance. Just by looking at her it was obvious that she was a beautiful woman, but somehow unattractive at the same time; a cold, austere beauty. At our approach she rose and approached me directly.

  “Mr. Sharpe, I am Stuart’s wife, Tracy, and these are the twins, Travis and Ashley…”

  “Adam,” I interjected, “Please call me Adam, everybody. It’s nice to meet all of you.”

  My greeting merited a quick nod of the head from Travis, while Ashley squinted out a pained smile. I tried to remember that they are probably scared to death, which most likely explained their rude behavior. Probably. Most likely.

  Tracy continued, “Adam. Very well. Since we’re are all Talented here, this would be the time to share our specialties, find a way to best combine our Talents to maximum effect. Travis there is an excellent remote viewer. He can see into the past, present and future, anywhere on earth with unusual clarity. His sister has a particular gift for clairvoyant drawing of future events. She can reproduce images of her visions with almost photographic detail. Kate and I are telepaths and empaths, primarily. Our remote viewing is limited to present events. Stuart can do all of these with ease and much more.” Her pride for Stuart showed through her otherwise stoic exterior. “He was without question the star pupil at the Program academy.”

  She took a breath then asked, “So, Adam, what Talents have you developed? I understand that you have received no formal training or guidance, so feel free to describe it in colloquial terms.”

  This was it, the moment when I would truly reveal the extent of my abilities—my Psionic Talents, to use their expression. Gus always warned me never to show my hand, under any circumstances. Perhaps I can be vague and honest at the same time. Doing my best to keep my apprehension at bay, I answered, “When I use my, uh, talents, I approach it very differently from what you describe as your experience. It’s always felt to me that there’s no barrier between my nervous system and the world around me. While I have a great deal of control over my body, you know, like making temporary changes to my physical self, or slowing down my perception of time, even greater control extends into the world around me, including people.” I paused to collect my thoughts, then continued, “Remote viewing of the past and present is pretty reliable for me, but the future contains so many alternate paths that I seldom attempt to see it. That’s pretty much everything.”

  Dead silence filled the conference room, and everyone there was looking at me with an empty expression, looking unimpressed.

  “He can stop bullets,” Kate added. That raised some eyebrows.

  At this time I noticed the bulletin board behind them covered in black and white photographs. Looking more closely I could see that these were not photographs, they were penciled sketches, mostly of me. Me entering the casino. Me sitting on a rock in the woods. Me lying in a pool of blood. Okay, I really didn’t like that one.

  “Those are mine,” Ashley said in her monotone, perpetually bored voice, “I’ve been seeing you a lot. It’s a real problem. I can’t get myself to draw anything else.”

  At that point Tracy went over much of what Kate already told me about the shooting. There seemed to be no decent physical evidence.

  “The worst part about it, “ Travis complained, “is that none of us can remotely view what is going to happen. When we try, all we get is an image of…well…of you.”

  “But,” Kate quickly interrupted, “It’s a fact that Adam is not responsible, that I know for sure. He was in Detroit the entire time.”

  “Yes,” Stuart added, “That appears to be true. So can anyone explain it? Why we see Adam when we try to see the future attacks?”

  Kate spoke up again. “My theory is that Adam is somehow central to all of this, and some kind of decision that he will make is going to change everything. Until that decision is made and acted upon, images of Adam will continue to block our remote viewing.”

  Speaking up for the first time, I suggested, “So remote viewing is out. So what? We know that the rifle was a military style assault rifle. Is there any reason why the government might want you dead?”

  “No.” Stuart said, a little too quickly, as Travis and Ashley looked at each other a bit uncertainly. “Why would you suggest that?”

  “The Program!” I kind of shouted, “Don’t you see? You are the only survivors of the fire. Someone is trying to remove all remaining traces of the Program!”

  My brilliant exclamation drew only a lackluster reaction from the group. Sighs all around. Eye-rolls.

  “Possible,“ Kate conceded, “but we all considered that possibility, and found it unlikely. Why wait all this time?”

  I stood and gestured all around me, “Look at this place. It’s obvious now that the surviving children of the Program, you guys, have developed some serious Talents of your own. Someone decided that th
ey didn’t want that to continue.” Taking a breath, I continued, “This is all guesswork, I know, but it feels very right, and we are psychic, after all.”

  “Psionic,” Stuart corrected.

  “Whatever,” I replied. “True or not, whoever is doing this knows about your abilities and apparently can block them. We have got to follow up on this angle.”

  “How about,” Tracy offered coolly, “you and Kate go do that. The rest of us will stay here and focus on the possibility that our corporate enemies are behind it,” and under her breath, added, “which is our prevailing theory, anyway.” That drew a few chuckles from the rest of them.

  That was fine to me. We were getting nowhere standing around doing nothing.

  As I walked out the front door into the amber light of dusk, Kate gently grabbed my arm and as I turned she took a step in so I could hear her whispering, “Adam, I’m so sorry for that. Tracy is…well, I guess we are just used to her. She is not that bad most of the time. It’s just that we are all so stressed out about this. To make matters worse, several clients have already found out and have dropped the company in order to distance themselves from scandal.”

  Giving her my most reassuring look, I soothed, “Don’t worry about me, it takes more than that to chase me away.” Taking a deep breath, I went back to what was really on my mind. “The Program, Kate, think. Did anyone survive the fire other than your friends?”

  Grimacing, Kate shook her head and replied, “We were kids, Adam. They told us no one survived, but it was a secret Program, so if anyone did survive, no one told us about it. It was a running joke how secretive and paranoid Dr. Kildare was.”

  Finally a name. “Who was Dr. Kildare?”

  “He was in charge of everything. I only saw him in the morning sometimes, driving up in his big, black Mercedes-Benz.”

  “Hey,” I blurted out, “Didn’t you say that the fire happened at night when everyone was asleep?”