The Source (The Mindbender Series Book 1)

by C. S Luis

  Speechless, I sat there and cried, wiping at the tears breaking loose from my eyes. I didn't know what to say. I didn't believe it, but it was the truth. I knew it.

  “Is that why you're here?” I asked, trying to stop myself from crying, but it was no use.

  “I was instructed to take you to a friend,” he said. He opened the door of the Lincoln. At any other time, I would not have believed a stranger. Of course, no one in their right mind would have just accepted anything so outrageous without certain proof, but I knew how to tell a person's truths from their lies. Mostly, I heard it in their thoughts.

  I wanted to run from the truth, from him and everything real, but I just stood there. He held open the door of the Lincoln and gazed at me.

  “I have something for you from your father. He instructed me to give it to you, if anything ever were to happen to him or your mother…”

  I took a breath and climbed into the Lincoln. The chauffeur stepped out of the driver's seat and grabbed hold of my luggage. Mr. West closed the door behind me and climbed into the car. It was quiet for a moment before the chauffeur took his seat again and drove.

  “Your father made this for you,” Mr. West said. “He asked me to come, if anything ever happened. I'm an attorney.”

  “Are you my father's attorney?” I asked. He wasn't, I suddenly realized.

  He took a moment. “I helped your father make the arrangements with my client.”

  “Arrangements?” But he didn't answer, busy pulling a device from his briefcase.

  I already knew. Father had hired him to handle the paperwork for someone else. I stared at Mr. West, and one name rang clearly from his mind—Edwards. This Edwards was someone my father had trusted.

  He took out an iPad. “He asked me to give you a message.”

  “What is it?” Mr. West angled the device toward me, and I realized it was a video. When I grabbed the iPad and pressed play, my father's face appeared on the screen.

  “Claudia,” he said, “if you're seeing this, then I'm afraid…” He paused. “You must listen very carefully. Listen to what Mr. West tells you. I can't fully explain everything, but with time, you will discover the truth on your own. Right now, you must go with Mr. West. I've secured a place for you with a person I trust. He will care for you now. All the arrangements have been made for your comfort and your safety. You must believe me, that I did all this to protect you. We love you. Never forget that. We love you.”

  “Nicholas, please let me…” my mother pleaded off camera. “I love you…” she said before breaking into sobs, unable to continue.

  “Stay safe…” Those were my father's last words, and then the image was lost.

  Mr. West pulled the iPad back and tucked it into his briefcase, sitting up silently. “That's the message. I received word of the accident early this morning. Again, I'm so sorry for your loss.”

  Early this morning, I thought. I had left the night before. He said a car would be there for me. I thought he meant a car with him and my mother inside it. Or perhaps he'd planned on sending a company vehicle. He said we were going on a family vacation. Then his job called, and things changed. It felt oddly staged.

  “All final burial arrangements have been taken care of by your father's employer. The details are in these documents.” Mr. West pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “I don't understand. We were going on a cruise… and now…” The car exited the airport pick-up lane and turned onto the exit road that would take us out to the highway.

  “Honey, did you hear what I said?” he asked.

  “How did they die?” I asked.

  Mr. West looked at me with wide, surprised eyes, hesitant to answer. “They were hit by a passing truck on their way to the airport…” As far as he believed it, that was what happened. It was all he knew. “It was a bad accident. Nothing anyone could have done.” He returned to his documents.

  “Where will the funeral be held?” I asked, looking down at my lap.

  “There won't be one. Your father's employer gave specific instructions on the handling of your parents' remains. Their bodies will be cremated immediately. Your father signed off on this before he died.”

  I glared at him. I was their daughter. Didn't I have any say in this?

  Mr. West's phone rang, and through the muffled speaker, I heard the name Edwards again. “Yes, she's with me now,” he said. “I've just picked her up at the airport. I'll be dropping her off at your residence— No?” He frowned and blinked, unable to look at me. “That won't be a problem. The school is fine. No, I won't be coming in. I hope you understand. I have urgent business back at the office… Very well, then.”

  “I want you to do something for me…”

  A memory crept into my mind. I'd been standing outside my school at the end of the day, and he'd come to pick me up himself in his own car. Normally, he sent one for me, or if he ever decided to join me himself, he hired a driver and traveled with his security.

  “What's going on?” I joked, realizing he'd seen me looking around for his bodyguards. “Where your friends?” I got into the car and set my school bag on the floor between my feet.

  “I gave them the day off,” he replied, but I could tell he was hiding something.

  I took a moment to look at him. His blond hair was always so well groomed, and that day he wore a dark grey suit and black tie. I couldn't recall ever seeing him in casual attire, even when we were alone at home. I often wondered how I could be his daughter and still look nothing like him.

  “What's the occasion?” I asked. There had to be reason for his decision to get me himself; he'd never gone out of his way to lose the bodyguards on my account. I pushed back my long brown hair and pulled it into a ponytail, then let it fall back over my shoulders.

  “I can't pick up my daughter from school?”

  I made a face at him, noticing for the millionth time how light his skin was compared to my golden-brown tone. My mother was the same color.

  Outside, other parents picked up their children and cars lined the side street, crowding the main road. Then he veered out of the pickup lane and drove forward, leaving it all behind.

  “No, really. What's this all about?” I asked.

  He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace of disappointment. I thought maybe it pained him that our meetings always indicated something bad. “I just want to talk to you. See how things are going in your life. We haven't talked—”

  “We never talk, Dad.”

  “Exactly. And that's why… that's why we should.”

  I wished he would just tell me. I wanted to read his mind, but breaking that rule made him angry. I wasn't supposed to do it with anyone, and I didn't dare try it with him.

  We took the long ride home and stopped at the ice cream store. When he pulled up in the parking lot, I didn't know what to say. Was he dying? Were we going to have the talk along with a cone of vanilla ice cream?

  “What are we doing?” I asked.

  He turned off the engine and smiled. “We're getting ice cream.” Then he opened the door and got out.

  I didn't know what to think or what to make of it, and things seemed oddly normal until halfway through our after-school treat.

  “I want you to do something for me…” he started. I knew it couldn't have lasted—both of us happy and me finally meeting all his expectations. “Claudia, if something ever happens to me and your mother, I want you to forget.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. This was not the kind of conversation had with one's father over ice cream. “Dad, stop.”

  “No, listen. This is important, okay?”

  I stared at his baby-blue eyes, unwavering in their deadly seriousness. We looked like an odd pair sitting there—him in his business suit, me in my school uniform, sitting in rigid silence with ice cream melting over our cones. People always gave us critical glances when we were out together. Dad ignored them with efficient detachment, but I w
as still learning—and I still worked on my control. Everything spun, pulled, and tugged at me, the voices of those around us growing louder, whispering their insecurities and suspicions. The minute he sensed I was losing it, he redirected me.

  “Stop,” he snapped, and something inside me returned to normalcy—like it had never happened.

  “Okay.”

  “Things will happen that you can't stop,” he continued. “Things you will not agree with, perhaps that you might think are not right. No matter what you feel, what you've lost… your things, your paintings… I want you to forget them. All of it. Including us.”

  I wrinkle a brow. “What? Why?” I looked up in disbelief, and he's just staring at me. No change, no emotion—I just had to do what he said.

  “They're nothing but things.”

  “And you. And our memories. Are those just things?” I'd asked.

  “Listen… Yes, but you don't need them. Not when we're up here.” He tapped his head. “All those things can be replaced. Your clothes, your paints. The important difference is that you never worry about them. We might lose what we have, but they're just things. Okay?”

  “Okay.” It didn't make sense to me, but I agreed, just to keep from inciting an argument.

  “Let them have those things.” He smiled and took a bite of vanilla. In that moment, I saw a peace in his eyes, but I still didn't understand.

  Let them have those things?

  “So, you don't have to worry about anything,” Mr. West continued, pulling me back to the car and our impossible situation. “All the arrangements have been taken care of. There's nothing for you to be concerned about.” He gave a sympathetic half-smile.

  “Who is Dr. Edwards?” I asked. The name kept popping into his head, and I had to bring it up, though I'd absolutely expected his wide-eyed reaction of shock.

  “Your father gave specific instructions that you should be brought to Dr. Edwards if anything happened to him and your mother,” he said quickly. “Dr. Edwards is your grandfather.” He stopped, waiting for my reaction, but I didn't have one.

  I'd only known one man who was remotely close to grandfatherly, and Mr. Valentine was a rich man Father knew. Father brought me to see him a few times in his large, extravagant house. Apparently, the man had been like a parent to my own father, had raised him and given him the tools he needed to succeed. Father hated bringing me to see him; he always grew tense and irritable on the days we visited. But he always prepared me for the day. He told me to limit my power when I met with him. The man knew about our ability and it had made him rich.

  “Never impress them,” he'd said. “If they ask you a question with their mind, don't answer. The less you can do, the better.” So that was what I'd done. No matter what they did to test me, I never answered.

  Chapter 2:

  Arrival

  The Lincoln came to a stopped just outside an abandoned building. At least, it looked that way. At the side entrance, I caught a face or two peering through the door's small windows. I cringed. Where had he taken me?

  I pulled out my earbuds; the faded crash of Rammstein playing on my iPod would have to wait as I looked at our new surroundings. The building was definitely old, with an exciting creepiness to its deserted appearance. It was characterized by semi-circular arches of medieval European design, things I only saw in cathedrals. A Romanesque exterior—thick, round arches, sturdy pillars, and decorative arcading—seemed to be the only thing I enjoyed about the building at first glance. My father had been a great fan of architecture and had taken every opportunity to teach me what he knew of different styles.

  A blond-haired man, who from this distance looked like an actor whose name I couldn't remember—stepped through the front doors. With him was another very tall man with a greenish-gray suit and a thick mustache. They looked like a strange pair.

  “This is it,” Mr. West said.

  I looked over at Mr. West, who didn't seem prepared to move though the driver was already opening his car door to get out.

  “This is where you get out, my dear. I won't be coming with you. I'm needed at the office. Don't worry. Dr. Edwards is aware of your arrival.” He looked out the window.

  “What is this place?” I asked, finding my voice at last. The sounds of my favorite band had me wishing I could go back to the world of industrial metal and muffle the cries of reality.

  “This is Milton High School,” he said. I had a hard time believing my father had left me with a teacher. “Ah, and here he is now.”

  Two more men joined the others through the double doors. Both were older, one with a full head of white hair. As he stepped onto the top rise of the staircase, his large eyes met mine from beneath thick black brows. He wore a gentle, patient smile.

  The other man with him looked even older; he also had white hair, but it was thinning, and he was significantly heavier. They both wore white dress shirts and ties.

  The driver took my one bag from the trunk.

  “What will happen to my parents' house?” I asked. “All our stuff? Will I be able to go back?” I wanted our picture albums, my paintings, all the things we'd shared.

  “I'm afraid all that's been left to your father's employer. They will take care of those things. The house will be put up for sale, though I'm not sure about everything else…” He glanced at the paperwork in his folder. “I don't see anything on that here.” Somehow, he didn't look concerned.

  Father's words came back with glaring meaning. 'Let them have those things.' Everything I had left behind was now gone. I couldn't take anything with me beyond what I'd packed for a nonexistent cruise.

  Mr. West frowned, seeming genuinely concerned for my emotional state. “I'm sorry, my dear. Those are all the details and instructions I was given. I'll check for any documentation of a storage unit. I might have missed that.”

  “Don't worry about it,” I muttered. This was the way it had to be.

  'Forget them. Forget us… we're up here. Let them have those things.' Father tapped his head.

  “I'll prepare an envelope for you and have it delivered to Dr. Edward's house within the following week.”

  “An envelope?”

  “Yes, detailing information of the inheritance your parents have left for you.” Mr. West looked at his watch. “I have to go. Again, my condolences for your loss.” He pushed open the door for me and quite literally shoved me out. I grabbed my backpack and pushed the door open, though the driver had already grabbed it to help me.

  Emerging from the car, I glanced at the four strange men staring down at me from the top of the steps. The driver placed my one suitcase near my feet, and the men walked down the stairs.

  I put the iPod back into my backpack and took in my new reality. “This is a school?” I managed when the men finally stood in front of me. The parking lot had been filled with gravel, and a few pebbles slipped into my shoe as I slid my foot across the ground.

  “It's an old building rich with history,” the man with white hair and thick black brows said. I frowned at him, but I believed him. “I assure you, you'll never find any place quite like Milton.” It made me wonder who he was trying to convince.

  The two other men, the strange pair, stood behind him, looking kind of silly as they both grinned. The one wearing the greenish suit looked like an overgrown kid—very tall with a thick mustache, light brown hair in thick waves, and a light tan. His grey-green eyes flashed back at me, though he looked friendly enough. The man beside him wore a white, long-sleeve shirt rolled up to the elbows, his tie black, and blue eyes gazed at me beneath thinning, ghostly strands of blond hair and barely visible eyebrows.

  “Welcome, Claudia,” the older, heavier man said as he glanced curiously at me. I immediately wondered if he knew what I could do. “This knowledgeable individual,” he added, gesturing toward the man with white hair and black eyebrows, “is Mr. Michael McClellan, our assistant principal.” Mr. McClellan smiled and nodded.

  “You must be him. Dr. Edwards,” I
interjected before he could introduce himself. He looked surprise for a mere second, but then his eyes softened, and he finally smiled too.

  His companion's minds whirled with excitement, and I heard them. It's her! That's his granddaughter. She's so beautiful. She's really here. Dr. Edwards was more in control than they were, I could sense that. He had the gift. Like Father, like me. If he was my grandfather, there was no doubt our abilities had come from him. But he refrained from connecting with me. He wasn't stronger than me, but he was more in control of himself than I ever had been. Still, I knew even he was overwhelmed.

  The uncertainty here scared me. I had so many questions, most of them centering around why Father had taken such measures to bring me here instead of leaving me with someone I knew.

  I looked at the building behind the men, hesitating to believe this would be my new home. Would this be my new reality, too?

  “Yes, I'm Dr. Edwards, principal of Milton High.” His smile slowly widened. “I'm also your grandfather.”

  The other men stared at me, waiting for my reaction. I didn't think they expected the disapproval or doubt I couldn't hide. “My grandfather…”

  “But you already knew that,” Dr. Edwards replied, and I frowned. 'Didn't you?'

  'Yes,' I replied in my mind, and when his eyes narrowed, I realized he'd heard me just as I had heard him. “Why haven't I met you until now?” I asked aloud. My stomach lurched. I didn't know what else to say, confused by the apparent fact that it had taken their deaths to discover the truth.

  “I'm sure your father had his reasons,” Dr. Edwards replied. He gave a sympathetic frown, and our eyes met again. We shared the gift—the gift my father and I had shared. “I've been waiting a long time to meet you,” he added. “Now, here you are.”

  “I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me.” I blinked up at him and tried to look into his mind. It was easier than I'd expected to get a hold on him. I could feel the hazy trance within his mind at my touch, and he froze, unblinking. I found his conversation with father in his memories.