KEEP (Men of the ESRB Book 2)

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KEEP (Men of the ESRB Book 2) Page 3

by Shiloh, Hollis


  He looked at me more closely then. "I'm sorry if I woke you. Anyway, that's the address. You can call that phone number if you need transportation help to reach the appointed testing area. You'll be reimbursed for any travel fees or lost wages, if you keep accurate records."

  "Thanks," I said drolly.

  I leaned in the doorway, regarding his lean frame, wondering idly if he was hotter than Jeff underneath the suit.

  Probably not. Nobody was.

  "Hey, I'll think about it, okay?" I said, tucking the papers under one arm. "Thanks for the . . . summons."

  He gave me a small smile and moved his fingers in a faint little salute. "I hope we see you there."

  My gaze followed him as he headed back to his car, moving with swift, easy confidence. He was a quiet guy, not that hot, but I felt better for his attention.

  So, I was worth retesting, huh? I thought about it. Just what I needed to do: get my hopes up, think I had some kind of super-powered, special sauce future, and then just end up back down by the creek in this flood-prone house of mine.

  I headed back into the kitchen, shutting the door. The light was bright enough to see here. I studied the papers briefly.

  Getting my hopes up, versus missing out on a chance at a retest? I can't deny that a part of me believed I was awesome enough to show them all they'd been wrong. I was eager to prove myself, prove them wrong. Show everybody. I slapped the paper against my hand and worried my lip.

  Shit, I didn't have anything important to do on the fifteenth anyway. Couldn't hurt to show up.

  #

  Ten days later, I drove my minivan in a cloud of exhaust up to the testing facility. I'd had to drive quite a ways, but it was still cheaper than a plane ticket. Since I held out no actual hope of being reimbursed, and, not to put too fine a point on it, didn't actually have the money for a plane ticket, my credit cards being pretty full and my bills pretty high, I drove.

  It hadn't taken ten days, of course. And no, in all the time I was busy working and trying to juggle bill payments without having the electricity cut off or the hospital deciding to kneecap me, I didn't hear from Jeff.

  Okay, I might have cruised by once or twice looking for him. I might have seen him once, but he'd just given me a distant nod.

  Damn it.

  He certainly didn't come by the house.

  I tried to chalk it up to a lesson learned, but it hurt anyway. I'm pretty tough, but about some things, it's hard to be. Things like that.

  I told myself he'd be in a better mood by the time I needed his help again, that I could still count him as a friend, if enough time passed and we could both forget about the sex. He'd said we could be friends, after all. But he hadn't acted like it.

  Maybe he had some hang-ups about sleeping with a guy. Maybe I'd been too needy. Had I done that? I didn't think so, but who knew?

  I decided not to worry about it. To hell with him, anyway.

  Except I liked Jeff. I liked all my boyfriends and lovers. I didn't really go for casual; when I was with somebody, it was because I liked them and wanted them to like me. I probably seemed like the world's biggest fuckboy to Jeff because I couldn't keep boyfriends long, but that didn't mean I didn't try.

  And I mean, he'd never actually said he was gay, just seemed amused with my flirting and was pretty good at all the rumpy-pumpy when it came down to it. Maybe it was more about him than me this time. Maybe he was still in denial. Or, you know, I was.

  He'd never said he wanted a relationship. He wanted sex, and he'd gotten it. And it wasn't like we usually saw each other that often. Maybe every three weeks or something for work or a drink. This wasn't unusual. But damn it, I felt like I'd had the possibility of a good boyfriend ripped away from me and then lost his friendship, too.

  It wasn't cool with me, but I couldn't think of any way to fix it. So I'd let it go, worked, and then went to the ESRB testing thing.

  The ESRB — Extrasensory Regulatory Bureau — was there to keep people with special senses from abusing their power, or being locked up as mentally ill. Both had happened a lot before the bureau was created. Nowadays it turned out you could earn ridiculous sums of money if you scored high enough on the tests to get some kind of rating. There were jobs at police stations, in casino security, and all kinds of other places for people with that little edge of knowing what would happen next — even at the lowest levels, probabilities rather than actual foresight — or knowing when someone was telling the truth, etc.

  The ESRB wasn't exactly open and forthcoming about all the details in the program, and still seemed like junk science to some folks. But for people like me, who'd always been just a bit different and good at things most people weren't, it had been pretty exciting to go in for the test the first time and wonder if they'd come out famous as a rock star, with super special abilities and a high-flying job to go with them.

  Of course, chugging up the second time round, older as well as more cynical and world-weary, I had much lower hopes, and even lower expectations.

  Still, any hope was hard to let go of, and there was always the possibility I'd have a great job by the end of this. Something that required travel to exotic climates and doing nothing more strenuous than things I did every day already without thinking about it or being able to stop myself.

  Instead of being annoying at knowing when people were being disingenuous (shall we say), I would be prized for that knowledge. It was a heady hope, even if a not very realistic one.

  After I parked in the huge parking lot, I headed into the sprawling, long, squat gray building. I was checked in by a woman who tried (at first) not to sneer too visibly down her nose at me. Then I was checked in by a comfortably older lady who was much nicer.

  She gave me a badge, some paperwork to fill out, and a room key. I had expected to be escorted to a room or something, but nope, I had to fill out the papers first, balancing on a squeaky plastic chair, trying to write on my knees without dropping the clipboard or sliding in a heap to the floor.

  At last it was more or less done, and I turned it in. "And here's Mr. Gillis, who will take you to your room," said the lady in a relaxed voice.

  I turned to see the man arrive and shut a door quietly behind him. He was a handsome fellow with his hair just a bit too neat, and a look of smoothness to him that didn't quite hide the strain around his eyes. I looked at him for a beat longer than I should've, aware of his dishonest vibes before he'd said a word.

  I wouldn't be able to trust whatever he told me. I tried to cover this knowledge — ingrained habit, and besides, nobody wants to be called a liar to their face before they've said a word — and then moved forward smoothly to shake his hand. I was tired, hungry, and wanted a shower. It had been a long ride. I just wanted to get to this fabled room and crash. The tests didn't start till tomorrow.

  I wondered that there weren't more people here, but maybe the arrivals were all at different times. Or most people were flying in and the plane hadn't landed yet.

  "This way," said Mr. Gillis, motioning for me to accompany him. "Sorry for the delay. I was held up."

  "No problem. You have hot showers, right?"

  He gave a slightly uncomfortable laugh. "Of course."

  "Oh, I wasn't coming on to you. Don't worry. Sorry if it sounded like that. I mean, you're probably straight anyway. But no worries. I mean, if you are or aren't. I wasn't trying to harass you sexually or something. I'm just filthy and need a shower."

  Oh, damn. My tiredness was making my mouth run away with me. It kept getting worse and worse. I listened with horror as I found myself assuring him that he was plenty attractive and shouldn't feel bad about himself. Why couldn't I shut up?

  "Don't worry about it." He laughed uncomfortably, but his gaze and attention were ahead, barely focused on me at all. I looked ahead too, and now I saw that the long hallway held two men coming towards us. We'd have to stand aside, or they would. They seemed to fill the space, walking shoulder to shoulder and looking tough.

&nb
sp; Then I gave a startled blink. They were trying to look calm and confident and easygoing . . . but they wanted to hurt me. Me, specifically. Predators trying to conceal themselves, their attention was all on me. I knew it in whatever way I knew about the lying.

  It scared the shit out of me. I usually don't inspire that reaction in people until they've at least met me.

  I found myself backpedaling without conscious choice or decision-making. "Uh, gotta go," I said, and scrambled back the way we'd come. I didn't care where I had to go or how much of a fool I looked like; I wasn't facing two gigantic men who wanted to kill me in a cramped hallway.

  "Peter," said Mr. Gillis. "Aren't you coming?" He sounded casual, but that was a lie too. Was he in on it?

  "Gotta go. See ya." I didn't bother waving. I jogged back the way we'd come. Then I ran.

  Their attention didn't waver from me, although they hadn't started chasing me — yet.

  They halted alongside Mr. Gillis. A glance back showed all three men staring after me.

  I got back to the reception area, breathing hard. "Um, listen," I started to tell the lady at the desk. "I don't think it's going to work out after all."

  So sue me; I'm a wimp. I wasn't going through with it if it was going to be that dangerous. I'd rather outwit bill collectors another way, thanks. The last thing I wanted was to end up in the hospital again because of a stupid attack I could've avoided. And two guys that size, with malice that strong? I'd probably have ended up dead.

  Just then a woman stepped out of another door, and smiled at me, looking more pleased than not. "Well done, Mr. Durphy!" She held out a hand and shook mine with real pleasure. "You've passed the first test!"

  Holy shit.

  That was a test? Remind me to read the small print next time.

  #

  After that she spoke to me in a comfortable, calm manner, setting me almost at ease. "I'm sure you understand, we can't let people know about the first test, but the rest won't be such a surprise."

  She led me into a plush office and showed me a video of the hall. It was weird watching myself freak out like that.

  "Detecting hostility at that great a distance is a very good sign for your eventual rating and job opportunities. Empaths are well-regarded by police departments as well as many private industries. The ability to know when someone's telling the truth, whether intensions are good or hostile, can be a key factor in many fields. And it pays well." She beamed at me. "You will, of course, have other tests to pass, but I can promise you they won't be nearly so . . . surprising. You'll move on to that, and training, should it go that far and you wish to proceed."

  I'd relaxed under her words. "What if I don't?" I asked. "I mean, I'm pretty excited about this, but what if I change my mind and don't want to change careers?"

  She smiled back genially. "It's all right. There's certainly no problem with not going through the training. However, you will still have to be rated, and whatever rating you end up with — if any — will have to go in your permanent record, along with the fact that you've had no professional training on using it."

  I grappled with that. "But I wouldn't be in trouble or anything?"

  "Oh, no. It's not as though your abilities would lend themselves to anything dangerous, such as controlling others or manipulating people or the future. You simply have a greater awareness than most people, a special skill. Now if you could predict the future with any degree of accuracy, then there could be certain legal hurdles to not receiving training, but really, we're not in the habit of conscripting anyone. This is important work, but there are plenty who wish to receive the training. We haven't been reduced to forcing it on anyone!"

  She genuinely believed that, which made me relax a little.

  "Well, I definitely am interested. But will I be able to take a shower and get something to eat and maybe start fresh tomorrow? It was a long drive."

  "Of course. I'll show you to your room myself. With no surprises along the way." Her smile twinkled at me, and I found I believed her.

  As we walked along, she explained a little about the reason they'd changed the tests and decided to retest a bunch of earlier applicants. "A lot of things don't test easily on paper, or with computer models. We had to create individualized tests for many of the abilities. It seems to be working well, more able to show the actual real life, nuts-and-bolts strengths of each individual. It's far more effective than the old ways."

  I was sure she was right, but it was all I could do not to crack my jaw with yawns. I was really, really tired.

  #

  After a shower, some sleep, and a good meal from the cafeteria, I felt almost human again, refreshed and much more optimistic. I might actually qualify for an awesome and well-paying job this time.

  Grey met me and gave me an apologetic smile that was more honest this time. "I can't get used to doing that," he admitted, sitting down beside me as I finished my meal.

  He pointed to my plate, still loaded with French fries, potato chips, and lasagna. "How can you eat like that and still look like that?"

  I shrugged and delicately ate another French fry. "Maybe he's born with it. Maybe it's Gay-belline."

  He rolled his eyes, but looked away, probably hoping I wouldn't see his involuntary, dimpled grin.

  If he wasn't going to hold a grudge about my running mouth, I wasn't going to hold a grudge about his leading me into a test that way. Besides, he seemed truthful enough now.

  "So, what's your job here?" I pressed, pushing my plate over to offer him a nibble.

  He shook his head and raised a hand. "I can't eat like that. I mostly just show people around, odd jobs, background information, things like that."

  He looked at me, and I looked at him, assessing. "You dig into people's backgrounds? I do that, too. I'm a private eye." I ate another chunk of fried potato.

  He barely restrained a smile. "I know. I researched you, too."

  "Oh! Wow. I feel privileged." I puffed my chest out, exaggerating. "It's not often I get to be on the other end of the stick."

  He raised a single brow, like he didn't quite believe that and thought it was probably innuendo.

  I waggled my eyebrows at him as I ate. No need to let an innuendo pass me by, even if I hadn't meant it that way.

  He looked away first, pursing his lips. Maybe I was a ridiculous figure, flirting and eating like that. Oh, well. It wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last.

  "If you'll finish up, I can show you to your next test," he informed me.

  Then he led me to a room where a man in a lab coat wanted me to pick, out of a lineup, which man was telling the truth. Each one was asked a simple question requiring a yes or no answer. One of them was lying.

  This was child's play for me, even though the emotional level of the men was almost neutral. The man in the coat, Dr. Baer, wanted to ask me several questions then, and we went over what I could normally sense, what I felt from the men, and whether I ever had difficulty knowing this sort of thing.

  There were a lot of questions, but he was a pleasant enough guy, and I love to talk. It was easy.

  The tests continued along that vein for the next few days. Sometimes I had one test a day, fairly easy, and a lot of talking. Sometimes I had a more complicated test, made difficult by a variety of factors such as age, distance, emotion, complexity of the emotion in question, and so on. Truthfulness or concealment had to be the primary question in all the tests, but there were a lot of nuances interfering, or things they wanted to know as well as the yes or no, nuts and bolts answers.

  It was a good time for me. None of the exercises caused me pain. The food was good. My room was nice. I was the center of attention and my talents were being taken seriously. It was kind of amazing.

  The other candidates minded their own business, and I minded mine.

  I also got to know Gillis a bit better. He was a nice guy, rather formal, rather shy. He was embarrassed if he had to talk too much about himself, terrible at deceit (wh
ich I didn't mind), and generally quite thoughtful and quiet. Since I was loud and often not very thoughtful, tended to be informal, and stood a lot shorter than he did, we made an odd couple for sure.

  But I didn't find him annoying at all, and he smiled whenever he saw me, so I couldn't have been too much of a bother to him. When he wasn't doing his duties and I wasn't taking tests, we often ate together and discussed movies or the ESRB.

  I was curious about the ESRB, and he knew a lot and was good at patiently explaining. When he got going on a subject, he could be very intelligent and at the same time explain things in a way that made listening easy.

  He confidentially told me I was doing pretty well so far, but also seemed to think I shouldn't get my hopes up for a "really high rating." I told him not to worry, that my hopes were suitably humble this time around.

  He teased me about my love of greasy potato dishes. I teased him with gentle sexual innuendo. He seemed to like it, being as flattered as most guys are if you let them know they're attractive in just the right ways.

  Well, he was. He had that whole tall, slim, hot-but-slightly-nerdy thing going on, with his crisp suits, his slim glasses and big, soft, dark eyes. I have a thing for dark eyes, in case I haven't mentioned it.

  He was clean-cut and kind, and he had a lovely face and soft, wavy dark hair, when he wasn't combing it too tightly to his head. He seemed like the sort of guy you'd take home to see your family, and they'd like him better than you, and wouldn't be able to believe he'd settled for lil' ol' you.

  I wasn't head over heels with him, but I felt comfortable and happy around him. It was good. I wasn't pushing for more, and I didn't expect he wanted it, either . . .

  . . . Until he came on to me one night, about halfway through my testing.

  He'd brought beers to my room, a six-pack, and we'd shared them, sitting on the bed and watching TV, getting buzzed and making jokes.

 

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