Breaking Normal (Dream Weaver #3)

by Su Williams

  I hated to pull Sabre out of his reverie, but I was absolutely positive I’d found a way to mend Jesse’s mind. “Sabre? I really believe Ari showed me how to fix Jesse. I have to try.”

  Sabre ran a trembling hand down his face like a tired old man. “Yes, I suppose you do. You will need to gather as many of his memories from his family and friends to piece together his life. You’ll have to change the perspective of the memories, as well. So they will be his memories.” Sabre was quiet for several moments, scanning my face and eyes. “I will go to his brother and retrieve those.”

  I smiled up at him. His chocolate eyes gazed down into mine. “I can do it.”

  His warm fingers trailed down my cheek. “I know you can, Em. I just…I want to save you the torture it could become for you.”

  Part of me wanted to stand my ground and retrieve the memories myself, but the sincerity and intensity in Sabre’s gaze quelled my stubbornness. “Thank you, Sabre.” His mouth twitched at one corner in some semblance of a smile, and he vanished before my eyes.

  “What’s up with him?” Nick’s voice startled me. Geez! I’m still wound up like a spring. Probably best if everyone stands back. Bad things happen when a spring is sprung.

  “Ari showed me a way to fix Jesse.”

  Nick gave a subtle shake of his head. “Em, I don’t think…”

  “Stop.” His mouth slammed shut and he peered down at me like he was tolerating a simple mind. “Why do you think I can do things most Caphar can’t?” I retorted.

  His brows scrunched together in contemplation. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s Ari. She holds the magic. She enhances my abilities and imparts the magic she’s received from other Caphar over the millennia. She showed me how to fix Jesse. Sabre went to retrieve Rico’s memories of Jesse as child. Ivy and I can gather our memories of more recently.”

  Nick’s face still pinched with uncertainty, but he held his peace. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Just help me and Ivy piece things together. Teach me how to manipulate the perspective. Is she awake?”

  “Not last time I checked.”

  I shouldered past him and strode into the living room. Ivy lay across the couch in a languorous stretch. Joints and tendons snapped and popped. I smiled down at her, so relieved she was all right.

  “Hey, Sweets,” she mumbled through a yawn.

  “Hey, Baby.”

  “How’s Jess?” Her eyes scanned my face. “Em? How’s Jesse?”

  I scowled. “Not so good, Ives. The Wraith—scrambled his brain. His memories are a jumbled mess or erased altogether.”

  Ivy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god!”

  I sat by her side and scooped her other hand into mine. “But I think I—we can fix him. And I need your help.”

  “Anything for Jess.” I knew she’d feel that way.

  I explained to her what I needed, every memory of Jesse’s life she contained. Nick sat patiently by as I rendered the memories from Ivy’s head, and guided me in the conversion to first person. The memory of Jesse’s affection toward me drifted by. “Wait! I want to change that.”

  “Em, that’s never a good idea,” Nick argued.

  “Maybe. But I’m giving Jess his memories back. Why not save him some heartache by changing the memories so he’s just my friend?”

  Nick released a long, deep breath and nodded. The three of us sat huddled around the dining room table, garnering every minute memory we could find and delicately lacing them all together to create one cohesive series of memories. Sabre drifted in an hour later.

  “You got ‘em?”

  Sabre just nodded and diverted his eyes from mine.

  What? I queried.

  Despite having seen those memories before—they’re still so—brutal.

  Jesse doesn’t need those memories. They weren’t his to begin with.

  Sabre simply nodded. “I was able to retrieve memories of when they were boys, up to and after they moved to the States from Puerto Rico and lived in foster care.” Em? There’s something you should know—Jesse was abused at one of those homes—for years before he was removed.

  “Oh god!” I dropped my face into my hands and scrubbed my eyes.

  “What?” Ivy asked.

  I ignored her. “Does anyone know? Did he ever tell anyone?” Ivy eyes widened in understanding.

  “It doesn’t appear so. Just his brother,” Sabre reported.

  “Oh! Poor Jesse!” Ivy’s wide eyes brimmed with tears.

  “And what if I don’t make him remember those things?”

  Nick spoke up, then. “How close do you want him to be to the Jesse you know? All of our life experiences make up who we are. I’ve told you this, Em. Our memories influence our decisions, and our perspective of life and people. To change those memories may have a dramatic impact on who he is now.”

  “But I’m just piecing it together anyway. He’s not going to have a fully congruent memory of his life,” I argued.

  “Emari, honey. There’s more to this than just missing memories.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I get it Nick! Really.” I turned to his mentor. “Go get Emma.”

  A conspiratorial smile curved Sabre’s mouth. Here comes Emari Sweet. Kicking ass and taking names.

  “Just kickin’ ass. Forget the names,” I told him with a smirk as he phased out of the cottage.

  *

  After our infusion of memories and some healing salve from Emma, I lulled Jesse into a deep sleep for the night. He awakened in the morning with a bit of a ‘hangover’, sprawled out on my couch, where he was accustomed to sleeping for our occasional slumber parties. I didn’t know if I’d done an adequate enough job putting his life back together for him. I knew there would be gaps, but any more memories that I discovered could be intricately woven in with rest of his life.

  “Hey,” he groaned through a stretch, and nudged me with his elbow.

  I turned from my seat on the floor in front of the couch, where I’d hovered all night. I’d checked on him every few minutes, despite my exhaustion and repeated attempts by Nick to get me to sleep. “Hey back.” I gave him a tired smile. The memories I’d implanted were of an evening spent together—him, Ivy and me. It wasn’t a hard fix. We had plenty of nights spent watching movies and crashing on the living room floor. And the movie choice was a no-brainer. His latent memories could be triggered by something as familiar as It’s a Wonderful Life or Harry Potter.

  “Thanks for letting me crash last night. Rico’s been an asshole lately.”

  Rico? Oh dear. Something didn’t mesh right. I’d have to go mind spelunking again and fix a few stray memories. I just nodded understanding. “You hungry?” I asked.

  His face split with one of his charming smiles. “When am I not hungry?” We shared a laugh.

  “Baby’s in my room, if you’d like to torment her.”

  His smile twisted into a mischievous smirk and he rubbed his hands together. “Got any shaving cream and a feather?” I knew what he was up to, and I knew Ivy’d kick his butt if he did.

  “Check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. And there should be a feather hair clip on my dresser,” I told him as I headed for the kitchen.

  While I scrambled some eggs a few minutes later, I heard, “Jesse! You ass! I hate you! Oh! No I don’t. I could never hate you.” I heard Jesse’s ‘ooph!’ as Ivy threw herself into his arms. “I’m so glad to see you’re…”

  “Ahem!” I interrupted and constrained her with a scowl. She almost forgot the rules. No telling Jesse the truth about what really happened. As far as he was concerned, we spent a quiet night at home with us watching movies. I made her swear on pain of death…well, I made her swear to keep the secret because if I had to rewrite his memories again, I’d take hers, too.

  We sat down at the dining room table and ate breakfast. Before they left for town, I delved into Jesse’s mind to shore up the frayed ends of some his memories. There was no way I’d ever
be able to recover all of his memories and restore his lifetime to him. And I’d probably have to corral a few strays now and then. But, we had our Prince Charming back, as whole as I could make him.

  I checked my cell for messages. Two texts from Nick, checking up on me, and telling me he would be on watch while I got some rest after yesterday’s memory surgery, and a voicemail from Adrian. Great! Here we go.

  I cursed under my breath and played the message.

  “Emari! I do not want my daughter involved with those—men. And I resent you and Sabre barging into my home to make use of her abilities. Your father was willing to risk his life, your mother’s and yours. But I am not. I will not have my family subjected to the violence that follows them everywhere they turn. So, from now on, if you need Emma for anything, you’ll have to clear it through me.” Click!

  “Okay, wow.” But, I guess I couldn’t blame him . We had been very demanding and used Emma’s abilities a lot the last couple of weeks without conferring with him first. And just being around Nick and Sabre put a target on anyone’s back. The abduction of Jesse and Ivy confirmed that. But it sure seemed to me like there was something more going on with Adrian than just his dislike for the guys.

  To give myself some time to cool off before returning his call, I opened my laptop to check emails that hadn’t been checked in over a month. Several messages from my online high school tutor made me groan. Somehow, a high school diploma seemed so irrelevant now. But Mom and Dad would want me to graduate, and I couldn’t disappoint them, even posthumously. There were exams and finals due from weeks before that I’d neglected in all the Caphar chaos. If I wanted to walk graduation with Ivy, I had until the end of the month to complete all the credits. It was a daunting task. And the urge to use my new powers for good was a constant drone in the background. Surely the memories of every answer on the tests were implanted in someone’s brain.

  I picked up my cell to call Adrian and apologize, but found myself calling Molly instead.

  “Hey girl!” she cheered. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I was wanting to ask you about doing a ride-along.”

  “Yeah, sure. We can do that. There’s a buttload of paperwork but we can make it happen.”

  Chapter 20 Barton Hollow

  Molly was right. It took a ton of paperwork and training before I got the okay to do a ride-along with her. Without it, I’d have to ride in the back, like a criminal. And the odor of vomit, urine and things I couldn’t name was more than I could stomach. Thank goodness for the barrier between the back and front seats.

  Spokane just recently went back to ‘black and whites’ and the cars reminded me of Mayberry RFD. Only newer and cooler. The front was equipped with a state-of-the-art laptop computer, a car camera, radar and serious fire power locked into the dash. Molly gave me the guided tour and strict instructions on what my role was in the event of a call. They couldn’t have the civilians used as target practice.

  Molly squeezed the button on her shoulder radio. “This is unit 363. I’m 10-8 with a ride-along.”

  “Copy 363. Be advised: Unit 382 requires back up on a 10-18. Proceed code 2.” The dispatcher rattled off the address.

  “Copy, unit 363 responding.” Molly was in full-on cop mode now. “A 10-18 is a civilian detaining a suspect.” She flipped on the lights and siren. “Code 2, lights and siren.” She mashed on the gas pedal and the force pressed me to the back of my seat. “When we arrive…”

  “I know. Sit and stay. I’m only an observer.” I’d have given her the boy scout salute, but my hand was too busy hanging onto the ‘oh-shit’ handle above the door.

  The car lurched to a stop at a little convenience store on North Monroe. An officer stood in the traditional cop pose I was sure they taught at the academy. Molly silenced the siren but left the lights flashing. She exited the car, and donned her aviator glasses: regulation issue. I watched as the other cop filled her in and she nodded agreement, and spoke with the store owner, who still clutched the arm of a very frightened girl.

  I watched the young woman’s face. She was younger than she looked, only sixteen, but already had the worry lines of someone much older etched her face. The fear that radiated from her eyes gave my heart a twinge. I may not be allowed to leave the car—physically—but I could reach out to this girl with my mind.

  A baby screams in a dim, grungy apartment that smells of soiled diapers, and spoiled, moldy food.

  “Mama, I don’t have any more money. I gave you the last of it yesterday to give to your…to Alejandro.”

  The slap that follows is not unexpected and she is practically numb to it, it happens so often. “Don’t sass me, you little whore. It ain’t my fault your babe’s goin’ hungry. I told you to stay away from that boy, but you just didn’t wanna listen. And now look! One more brat to feed.”

  “Mama, if I didn’t give you so much money for—rent, I could afford the baby’s formula. If I could just…” This time she does flinch away before the hand makes contact.

  “You need to shut that kid up! I’m sick of hearing him. That’s all he ever does—wah, wah, wah. It’s about to drive me batty.”

  “He needs formula, Mama. I don’t have money for formula because I paid for your day’s habit. How am I supposed to feed him now?”

  The tattered mother steps up into her daughter’s face. “I don’t give a damn how you do it—drown the damn thing for all I care. And I don’t care how you get formula—steal it if you have to, just shut that damn kid up!”

  Oh god! Were there really people like that? Did I live that sheltered of a life that I didn’t know things like this were happening in the city I loved? Probably more than I wanted to admit. I had to do something to help this girl. She was standing there in the store keeper’s clutches, trying through tears to explain why she had four cans of powdered baby formula in her oversized bag.

  “Give the kid a break,” I told the old man. He shook his head as the thought entered his mind. So I nudged his memory of time when he and his family had not been so fortunate.

  The other policeman took the girl’s arm from the owner’s grasp and reached for his handcuffs with a sigh.

  “No. No. Perhaps I change my mind,” said the old man in a distinctive Middle Eastern accent, and took back possession of the girl. “I don’t press charges. This time.” He looked pointedly at the girl, but his eyes softened with affection. “My family has struggled once also. We help this young one.”

  “Thank you, sir, but….” Molly began.

  “No. No. It is my decision.”

  The two cops glanced at each other. It wasn’t often situations evolved like this. Molly fished around in her breast pocket and withdrew a business card. I smiled, remembering the one she’d handed me just a few months ago.

  “This is the address and number to Northwest Neighborhood Center. They have a Mothers and Babies Program that will help you get formula for your little one. Only formula and baby food,” she said and pinned the girl with a knowing stare. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where her wages went. “Are you clean?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I don’t use. I lost my brother to drugs. I won’t touch the stuff. Won’t ever drink either. That took my daddy.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and then she truly looked like a lost sixteen year old girl.

  The store keeper’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. “You come back inside with me. My Mina will take you to this place.”

  “So, no charges?” the cop asked.

  “No. There will be no charges today.” With that the old man escorted the sobbing girl back into his store. The cops exchanged cocked eyebrows, and, after a few parting pleasantries, returned to their respective vehicles.

  Molly released a long breath as she leaned back in her seat. “Well, I have to say that doesn’t happen every day. Could you hear what was going on?”

  “Yeah, I heard. That poor girl. Are there a lot of people like her in Spokane?”

  Molly frowned. “Yeah, unfortunately. With meth
so prevalent in this city and the increasing gang presence, there are more and more kids like her every year. And all we can do is try to lead them to the programs that can help them.”

  “Looks like she’s taking you up on the offer,” I nodded toward the store where the girl and woman in a beautiful emerald Indian dress and pants exited the front doors.

  “A win for the good guys,” Molly joked.

  “Definitely a win for the good guys.”

  Molly turned to her shoulder radio. “Unit 363 is 10-8.”

  “Copy 363,” buzzed over the radio.

  “So what now?” I asked as she signaled and entered northbound traffic.

  “Just patrol and keep an eye out for anything that needs our attention. And wait for the next call.”

  Molly rattled on about some of the more interesting history of the Spokane Police Department. They had a bit of a tainted past, and even present, for the number of ‘officer-involved’ shootings. They caught a lot of flack from the press.

  “Without getting too technical,” she explained, “a suspect may be facing an officer in a threatening manner, like wielding a knife or gun. If the officer feels the threat is real, he may decide to shoot. In the meantime, the suspect has decided to try and run for it, but the cop’s muscles are responding to the message from the brain to shoot an imminent threat. In those tiny fractions of seconds for the message to relay, the body is carrying out its last command.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “Does that make sense? There’s a more technical explanation. Sheriff Willie from County explains it much better.”