Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  Her eyes darted from the exit to the other hallway.

  So far, so good.

  She could only hope Glimmer remembered the cover story. “I was asleep. The sirens woke me up. She was gone. I don’t know where she went. We don’t talk.”

  Glimmer was a good liar. Most of the true Shines could be if circumstances demanded it. Deceit was a survival skill.

  Still, she wished Glimmer had come with her.

  She stepped into the darkened mouth of the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief.

  She felt a tug. A mental tug.

  She spun around.

  The nurse/guard stood in the other hallway, back from her search. The woman’s face remained neutral, but her limbic system buzzed like a neon sign.

  The guard wasn’t scared. Yet. But her amygdala hummed. Any moment it could spark, cascading a series of hormones instructing her to run or fight.

  Something told her to keep her tendrils off this one. Didn’t look like she’d welcome a brain hug.

  She stood absolutely still and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.

  The nurse/guard stepped quickly to the desk. The woman tapped her glasses stem and spoke. Her eyes never left Cassie.

  “Ward C reporting.”

  Razor. She was dead. Didn’t even make it out of the ward. If only her Shine was better, more powerful, then maybe she could control the woman’s actions. Now the other guards would collect her, and wouldn’t that be a complete happy meal.

  “We are secure. Another ward must have tripped the alarm.” The nurse tapped her glasses again, disconnecting the call, eyes still fixed on Cassie. She felt the thick darkness of sadness dampen the woman’s mind, quelling the sparking synapses. “That should give you a few minutes.”

  “But—”

  “My daughter’s a Shine too. If she’s still alive.”

  The woman turned her back and shuffled a pile of papers on the desk.

  She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, turned, and raced down the hall, running for her life.

  *****

  Cassie pushed the door open as slowly as she could, eyes and ears straining, Shine scanning on overdrive.

  She sensed activity at the front of the building, by the entrance gate. Which was the only way out. How could she get past the guards?

  Pressed against the building, she wished her Shine could render her invisible. She was certain she couldn’t convince them to go inside with a brain hug.

  What a dog biscuit she was. If she had to be a Shine, couldn’t she at least have a decent power?

  The walls were tall and smooth. No way she could scale one.

  Frustrated, she closed her eyes. Something grew inside her, branching out from the pain. She was trapped. Fight or flight forced her to make a choice.

  This time she wouldn’t run.

  This time she would show them some claws.

  Scanning the group of guards for weakness, she honed in. Like the nurse/guard in her ward, this guard was frightened, but she detected sympathy beneath the fear.

  She’d never scanned so quickly, never felt so powerful or sure of herself.

  She could control the guard by playing on her sympathy.

  She closed her eyes and focused all her energy on that woman, reaching in to stroke the existing sympathy, coaxing it to overcome the fear.

  She sensed the change the moment it happened. The guard lowered her weapon.

  She could do this. Now that she’d subdued one, could she turn the rest too? Convince them to pity her and let her go?

  For the first time in a long time, she gave herself permission to Shine. Not just a little bit. But with every ounce of strength she could muster.

  A rumble deep inside the building interrupted her concentration.

  Focus. Concentrate. You can do this. You have to.

  The first, muted explosion drew her attention from the guards.

  The second, louder explosion terrified her.

  She turned to see flames licking the upper windows and glass shards raining down on the ground.

  The clustered guards gawked at the burning building and the freed Shine stumbling into the courtyard seeking safety.

  The cluster disbanded as the guards collected the dazed girls.

  The courtyard lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

  She focused on the gate. If the power was out, the mechanical locks wouldn’t function. Could she manually unbolt it?

  She sprinted from her hiding place to the entry gate, the outline seared on her retinas but fading fast.

  She felt the cold metal and groped for the latch as another explosion rocked the ground beneath her feet.

  Screams erupted from the girls and their guards.

  Don’t see me, she pleaded as she struggled to turn the lock.

  The thick bolt screeched as it slowly gave way to her determined efforts. The gate swung open. She ran through and pushed the gate shut behind her. With any luck, her absence wouldn’t be noted for hours while the guards focused on containing the fire and rounding up the girls.

  She dashed away, taking cover in the decorative trees and shrubs lining the driveway. The deceptive landscaping, soothing and lush, belied the true nature of this so-called rest home for troubled girls.

  Had Glimmer been hurt in the explosions? Her heart ached at the thought of her new and only friend injured or worse. How many girls were harmed? And what caused that anyway?

  She reached the main highway, dreading the many miles she’d be walking tonight to reach town. First thing she needed was a change of clothes.

  You should have come, Glimmer, she thought, the lonely road unspooling before her in an endless ribbon.

  She glared one last time at the sign that announced the facility—once a prison, now a Shine holding pen.

  ST. AUGUSTINE’S REFUGE FOR THE MENTALLY DERANGED

  “Refuge, my butt,” she muttered. “If you aren’t deranged when they send you in, you will be soon after.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Cassie ducked around the corner of a closed coffee shop and into an alleyway, barely avoiding the spotlight of a passing choppercar. Several of them hovered above the city, searchlights weaving up and down the streets. Seeking her, she was sure.

  She leaned back against the brick wall, gasping for air, her quivering legs exhausted. The last meal she’d eaten had been a tray of bland mush at St. Augustine’s the day before yesterday. She needed food. But she hadn’t been able to stop long enough to find something to eat. SSS members and choppercars dogged her every move. No matter where she went, she had to dodge someone. Staying out of sight was hard work.

  She couldn’t keep running like this forever. Her heavy eyelids reminded her how much she needed to rest. She debated whether she was desperate enough to crawl under a Dumpster to sleep for a few hours.

  Before she made a decision, a door she hadn’t noticed opened. She jumped, eyes darting, looking for an escape route.

  A teenage boy appeared in the doorway, humming to himself. He didn’t notice her.

  She chastised herself for letting someone sneak up on her—a sure sign of her extreme exhaustion. She scanned him. No wonder he got past her—he was emotionally relaxed, no synapses making noise. This was a pretty chill guy.

  He closed the door and locked it, dimly illuminated by the streetlight on the corner. His silhouette hinted at a nice build. And here she stood in clothing lifted off a dollar rack left outside a thrift shop. Nothing was open last night—or rather early this morning—when she finally made it to town. Anything was better than wandering the streets in ward wear that would brand her an escaped Shine.

  He was cute.

  “Hey,” he said, as though he often bumped into strangers hiding in the alley.

  She felt part of his brain light up, but it was only gentle curiosity, like fireflies flickering at dusk, no firestorm of fear.

  He might have fireflies in his brain, but he gave her butterflies in her stomach.
When was the last time she showered? Good Gandhi, what must her hair look like?

  The boy took her in, coming to rest on her eyes. She was familiar with the effect her strange eye color had on other people. This boy was no exception. A filament of golden fascination snaked through his neurons.

  “I’ve never seen eyes that color,” he said.

  Reactions to her bizarre, frosty irises differed very little. Fear and rejection were all too common.

  His brow wrinkled when she didn’t reply. “You okay?”

  What could she say? Not really, I’m being chased like a criminal? And by the way, you’re really hot? That didn’t seem smart.

  A choppercar overhead swept its bright white beam near the mouth of the alley.

  She jumped, leaning into the darkness. And closer to Tall and Cute.

  The boy blanched. “Those things give me the creeps, too. Need a ride?”

  Startled by the offer of help, she stared at him, scanning for ulterior motives—anything dark like anger or malice. Nothing. She was afraid to trust anyone, even someone who seemed as chill as this boy.

  But what choice did she have?

  “A ride would be great.”

  “I worked the closing shift tonight. Haven’t had dinner yet. You hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Razor. We can grab something to eat on the way to your house.”

  “My house?”

  “You need a lift home, right?”

  The fireflies of curiosity blipped across his neurons again. How could she explain this?

  “Ummm…I can’t go home. I…” How would this boy feel about her if she admitted she was a Shine? Was he a sympathizer? Or would he call the SSS Tipline and collect the reward money? Gandhi, she wanted to be judged by something other than her Shine. Why couldn’t people look beyond that? It wasn’t her fault she was a Shine. She never asked to be one and couldn’t stop being one.

  His face clouded. “Did you run away from home?” He eyed her face and arms, focusing on the bruises and scrapes from the explosion.

  She saw compassion in his eyes and felt his amygdala soften. She wished she could drape herself in that feeling, wrap it around her like a warm blanket. But it remained intangible and inaccessible. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she also didn’t want to divulge the truth. He could draw whatever conclusions he wanted from her silence and her injuries.

  “It’s diggin, you don’t have to give me any details. I don’t need to know. Let’s grab some food. We can eat at my place. My mom works at a shelter—I bet she can help you tomorrow. Come on.”

  He smiled, and she followed him to his car.

  “I’m Derrick, by the way.”

  “Cassandra. But I hope you’ll call me Cassie.”

  *****

  Cassie hadn’t been to school since she was dragged from her home by the Patrol. Her parents protected her as long as they could. But when the Patrol showed up, there was nothing they could do.

  As Derrick pulled into the parking lot of his student apartment complex, Cassie marveled that something as normal as college continued to exist. Her world had ground to a halt with her incarceration. But here was proof the world continued to turn for everyone else. She would never complete her senior year of high school, never graduate, never choose a university.

  She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. That thought process did nothing to help her survive.

  “Keep in mind I wasn’t expecting company,” Derrick said as he opened his car door. “The place is kind of a mess.” His sheepish grin sent another round of butterflies through her stomach. Okay, so he’s messy. Not perfect. Who is?

  Get a grip. No one will overlook your imperfection.

  “No problem.” She picked up the bag of midnight drive-thru they’d snagged on the way. Her stomach growled. “I’m grateful for a place to crash.”

  She tried to give him a brain hug, but she was so tired she knew it was a feeble, one-armed hug. Her sluggish brain longed for rest. Her thoughts were thick. She needed time to form a plan, but she couldn’t string together any coherent thought beyond her desire for food and sleep.

  He glanced at her and smiled. More butterflies. Why did he make her feel so giddy silly? And why was he so nice to her? Gandhi knew, she was a total dog biscuit.

  They passed a pool, a slight rippling sound rising off the shimmering surface that reflected the image of the moon. She couldn’t remember the last time she swam and longed to jump in and tread water.

  Strains of music drifted from an open window through the night air. She had no idea what was happening on her favorite shows. Months without television left her feeling completely unconnected.

  “This is it,” Derrick said. He took the stairs two at a time to the third floor of the indicated building and opened the door for her. He flipped on the lights.

  It wasn’t a complete mess—in fact, it was completely diggin. A little cluttered, perhaps, but comfortable, and the closest thing to home she’d experienced in months. Posters. Pictures. Furniture. Color. Life. She drank it all in, a massive sense of relief washing away some of the fear and dread she’d carried for so long. Was this how people felt when she used her Shine on them? Too bad she couldn’t apply it to herself. She’d be glad to feel better whenever she needed to.

  “This is really nice.” She stepped inside and slid her shoes off, afraid to track anything onto the carpet.

  “Looks like my roommate’s out late tonight. Typical.” He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. “I usually eat in front of the TV, but heck, let’s use the table.”

  He pulled out a chair and gestured her into it. The tight space meant she had to press past him to get to the chair. The close proximity sent a shiver of nerves down her spine. She distracted herself by opening the bag of food and removing their late dinner while he took the seat beside her.

  A cat crept from a hallway into the living room, golden eyes glowing. It grumbled a greeting before spotting the intruder, then halted its padding approach.

  “Hey, Nero, come say hi to Cassie.”

  The cat remained absolutely still, piercing her with his gaze. A suspicious sound rumbled in its throat.

  She’d never tried to influence an animal before and wondered if it was even possible. She reached out, penetrating its skull, searching for the right place to stroke.

  The cat cocked its head. She stroked again, not sure the effect a full-fledged brain hug might have. Better to stick with petting.

  You mustn’t Shine. It’s dangerous. Look what happened in Seattle and Santa Monica. How would you feel if you caused destruction like that?

  The therapist’s words, repeated daily during her incarceration, still nauseated her.

  Nero scampered across the room and twined about her ankles, purring like a revving engine.

  “Look at that. He likes you.” Derrick grinned and reached for his fries.

  No explosions. Nothing bad. Just a new cat friend and a happy owner.

  She’d never seen anything bad happen as a result of Shine—not when she Shined, not when others around her Shined. Certainly hers was harmless enough. Pretty lame as Shines went. It helped her understand people and sometimes allowed her to help others feel good—or at least better. At best, mildly helpful, and arguably pretty worthless. But harmful? No way.

  She’d never met any girl whose Shine caused bad results, much less mass destruction. People believed Shines caused those explosions, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. What girl would use her Shine to hurt people?

  But something strange happened when she Shined her way out of St. Augustine’s. Explosions. When she Shined with as much force as she could muster. Did she cause that? Surely not.

  Surely not.

  The possibility that her Shine destroyed a building, potentially hurting innocent people—including her friend Glimmer—killed her appetite. She unwrapped the burgers anyway and passed one to Derrick. No telling when she’d eat again, she realized, as she choked down
a bite. The money Glimmer gave her was already gone.

  Nero purred and curled around her legs while she forced the food down. She needed her strength.

  Her heavy eyelids reminded her how many hours she’d gone without sleep. She fought to keep her eyes open, but it was a losing battle.

  Nero leaped into her lap.

  “Get down from there,” Derrick scolded, mouth full of food. “Just shove him off.”

  “No, he’s fine.” She scratched the furry head that nudged against her, grateful for the affection.

  “He thinks he’s the apartment emperor. That’s what I get for naming him Nero.” Derrick reached over and scratched the cat’s head. His hand brushed against hers, sending shivers down her spine again. “His nickname is Brat Cat. Feel free.”

  Brat Cat rubbed his nose against her neck and kneaded her lap with his paws before lapping her cheek with his raspy tongue.

  “He’s not a brat. He’s a big sweetie.”

  “I can’t believe this. He’s completely taken with you.” His eyes shifted from the cat to her. “I guess I can see why.”

  An entirely different part of his limbic system lit up, something she wasn’t used to registering. At least not when a guy looked at her. She blushed and returned her attention to Nero.

  “Maybe I remind him of someone else,” she murmured. Nero stretched his back and mashed his head harder against her hand.

  “I’ve never seen him so friendly with anyone. Not even…” He shook his head and didn’t continue. “Course, you’re the first girl I’ve had in the apartment.”

  “That’s hard to believe.” She’d never been in a situation like this. If she wasn’t so tired and he wasn’t so flicking sweet, she’d probably be more concerned about crashing in a complete stranger’s apartment for the night. A college boy, no less. What if he offered to let her stay longer? Where was she going to go now? She needed a plan. But given her extreme lack of sleep and this boy’s extreme cuteness, her thoughts were muddled.

  “Listen, I reek of coffee and pretentious coffee consumers. I’m gonna shower. Make yourself at home. Watch TV, whatever. Ice cream in the freezer if you want.” He flashed a grin and ruffed Nero’s head again. “Still can’t get over that cat.”