Foreseen (The Rothston Series)

by Smiles, Terri-Lynne

  “You could have been part of it, Kinzie,” he interrupted in a cool, measured voice. “With the strength of your attributes, you would have been …”

  “Part of what?” I screeched back at him, launching myself into his face.

  Greg’s hands clasped around my upper arms, pulling me back. “This isn’t the time,” he murmured, but my rage wasn’t quenched.

  “Part of what? Tell me!” I demanded, straining against Greg’s hold.

  “Yes, what could she have been part of?” Norman Reynolds asked, as he strode up, with the two Guards from Rothston behind him. The iciness of his eyes when Norman Reynolds looked at me made it clear – this was one of the people who’d condemned me to death. His arrival wasn’t helping my fate.

  “She could have been part of Rothston’s work,” Mr. Jamison answered smoothly, but it was too glib.

  Greg pulled me back to his side and nodded toward a group pointing in our direction. It was Rita Mendez, Marci Lee and Bart Pasternak. My pulse quickened wondering what would happen once they’d regrouped. If they were all here, would they execute me? Would they try their original plan again? Or would they do something else to kill me? And what about Greg? What would they do to him? I shot my panic stricken eyes toward him and he stepped slightly in front of me, forming a barrier between me and my executioners, while pushing me back against the granite wall.

  “Where is George?” Norman asked as the others reached our circle. Rita Mendez turned to look for the remaining member, but took a step back in surprise, as Melvina Whitacre walked briskly up to the group. I held my breath, uncertain what she could do to help.

  While our captors watched Mel, Greg used his body to slide me along the wall. We made it about a foot before they turned back. Melvina placed herself in the middle of the circle and gave me a friendly wink before turning around to address her former colleagues.

  “The game is up, Mr. Jamison,” she said resolutely.

  “Melvina, you shouldn’t be here,” he said soothingly, as he placed his hand on her arm.

  Mel quickly snatched it away. “And you should not have been pursuing your renegade plans. We know what you and Mr. Brolie have been up to. And Ms. Lee. All of it.”

  Mr. Jamison licked his lips as if his mouth had gone dry, but smiled with fake empathy. “And what is it I am up to?” he asked in that same patient tone he’d used with her before.

  “You’ve been confusing me,” Mel accused flatly. “You made it look like I was senile when there is nothing wrong with me. Curtis found out, and so you tortured …”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Mr. Jamison interrupted, but his usual smoothness was gone, marred by a ragged edge. “Your condition is getting worse, Mel. You need to come back to Rothston, where Dr. Sharma can take care of you.” Mr. Jamison reached out for Mel, but she smacked his hand away. We slid another foot along the wall while everyone was watching them. Another one, and we might be able to make a break for it.

  “Melvina, you’re ill,” Norman Reynolds agreed, his eyes full of sympathy. “You need to let us take you home.”

  “There is nothing wrong with her,” another voice panted just beyond the circle. A slight man in a Yale sweatshirt pushed through. Between his soiled pants and filthy hands, he looked like a homeless guy. But I wasn’t going to question another distraction. Greg nudged me and we moved a bit more before the guy drew himself up taller and lowered his hood. I gasped.

  “Curtis!” Rita Mendez cried in joy, as he stepped past her. He turned slowly, meeting the eye of each adept encircling us. “What happened to you?” His eyes and cheeks were sunken like he’d been in a desert, his face was covered in filth, and a bruise spread across his jaw. But his appearance prolonged the distraction. We gained another six inches toward escape.

  “Ask Brad Jamison,” Curtis answered with a confidence I’d never imagined from him. “I heard him plotting with Rex, and so he beat me to find out how much I knew and threw me in the dungeon to die.”

  “This boy needs medical help,” Mr. Pasternak said. “Look at him. He’s been through some sort of trauma.”

  Norman Reynolds’ brow creased with concern and he eyed Mr. Jamison. “Perhaps we should all go back to Rothston and hear this out before we do anything rash.”

  “We are wasting our time and Rothston’s valuable resources,” Marci Lee whined. She stamped her foot causing her heavy jowls to shake. “We reached a decision, irregardless of whatever this … this boy has been through. These are unrelated matters and …”

  Greg jabbed me and we took off along the wall. Bart Pastnernak leapt out, crouched to block us, but Greg drove the knotted mass of his shoulder into the fat man’s solar plexus. I heard a grunt followed by a soft hiss of breath as he staggered backwards. Greg rolled away from him and we ran back toward the tunnels that led down to platforms

  The Guards reacted as if they’d expected us to make the break, launching themselves from behind Norman Reynolds as we bolted down the sidewall. The sea of bodies waiting for the subway flashed through my head, and I didn’t want to go back there, but anything was better than being here. I reached the first doorway, with Greg right behind me. I latched my fingers on the doorway’s stone molding to spin me around, but my shirt yanked tight and pain roared through my bad arm as my body jerked to a stop. The arms of one of the Guards clamped around me and a howl tore from my throat. His hand flew up to my mouth to stifle the noise. I kicked at his shins and tried to yell through the hand over my mouth, but the few people who had noticed were turning away. From the Guard’s dazed eyes, I knew he was influencing them. And the police were still busy with the earlier commotion. The other Guard was having a hard time holding Greg but the guy was huge and they dragged us kicking and struggling, away from the passageway that lead to freedom.

  The Seven, their eyes vacant, closed in around us in the corner of the room. “Fire!” I yelled, and the hand pressed harder on my mouth. Greg joined in with his own muffled cry. But no one cared. No one even noticed we were there.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw George Alphonse’s imposing form joining the group with a thunderous expression. “Let go of the girl,” his deep basso boomed. I stopped struggling, but the Guard didn’t move. I must have heard it wrong, but Greg stopped struggling also.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Rita Mendez demanded of her colleague.

  “Let go of the girl,” George ordered again, and this time, the Guard dropped his vice-like grip. My head swam in agony as my broken arm dropped unsupported to my side and I staggered. Greg twisted, trying to catch me, but couldn’t get free. The burly man took a step closer to Greg. “Who is this?” he questioned.

  “The common who came to Rothston to save Kinzie,” Mel answered. “I’d have never found Curtis without him.”

  George shook his head, giving Greg a look that at once condemned his foolishness while admiring his brazen action. “Release him too,” he said calmly. The Guard complied with some reluctance as Mr. Alphonse addressed his colleagues. “What are you doing?” he began in a thunderous tone. “Curtis Mechenbaum is alive, in front of you. Have you forgotten that his apparent death was the deciding factor in our judgment against this girl?” Several brows knotted. “Someone is working very hard to make sure none of us consider what Mel and Curtis – or Kinzie, it would appear – have to say,” he announced, glaring between Rex and Mr. Jamison. “As I left the platform, I was detained by a police officer certain he had orders to arrest me, who could then neither verify the order nor remember why he’d thought he had one. I suspect you were uncertain how much Mel had managed to tell me before the incident on the platform, presumably also inspired by one of you, separated us.” A ruffle spread through his colleagues as he spoke.

  Curtis stepped forward. “You beat me and put a QIT on me to make sure I couldn’t tell anyone what I knew,” he spat bitterly at Mr. Jamison.

  “QIT?” guffawed Jamison. “All the QITs are accounted for, isn’t that right?” he asked the larger Guard.r />
  “Yes, sir,” the Guard responded, as Greg pulled something out of his pocket.

  “You mean a QIT like this?” he asked, holding it up. “I doubt many commons have one.”

  “What are you doing with that?” hissed Norman Reynolds, as he grabbed for the dull blue cord.

  Greg snatched out of his reach and shoved it back into his pocket. “Not so fast, old man. I may need this. Someone might think I’m crazy when they hear what’s been going on.”

  Rita Mendez glared at Greg for a moment, then stepped forward to face Mr. Jamison. “Explain yourself,” she demanded.

  Mr. Jamison’s smiling eyes grew cold and Norman Reynolds nodded to the Guards who stepped behind them, blocking their exit. One grabbed Rex’s arm upper arm to hold him, clamping down harder as Rex tried to shake himself loose.

  Rex’s steely eyes flashed. “Who are you going to listen to? Me or –” His lips twisted in a sneer, “Sniveling Curtis? I’m one of you! One of the Seven!”

  Mr. Jamison raised his hands and stepped away from Rex, chuckling in mock surrender. “This is just a misunderstanding,” he started, “I had no idea what Rex here …”

  But Jamison’s accusation stopped short when the Guard holding Rex vanished into thin air. Rex shoved Rita Mendez’s frail form out of his way, slamming her against the wall, and took off into the crowd. The old woman slid to the stone floor, unconscious, before anybody moved.

  “Holy shit!” hissed Curtis, staring along with everyone else at the empty space where the Guard had been only an instant before.

  “He’s getting away!” Mel squeaked.

  “Brolie’s mine,” Greg growled, bolting after him.

  My stomach dropped. “No!” I held my broken arm tight to me as I stumbled into the crowd after him. “Stop!” I called, but either he didn’t hear, or he ignored me, relishing this chance to get even for everything Rex had done, starting with –

  Oh God. Rex had just murdered the Guard. His body, maybe hideously deformed, could be anywhere from fifty meters down, encased in solid rock, to floating in outer space. We’d thought Rex wouldn’t have shed any tears had Murphy died, but even Greg didn’t want to admit Brolie was a murderer. Now, it was unmistakable. Goosebumps raised on my skin as I remembered what he’d said on the platform. Gordon Prescott and me, brought to an end by his hand. My pulse pounded as I weaved through the crowd. The truck driver had said Gordy appeared from nowhere in front of his truck. A wave of nausea swept through me as I pushed through another clutch of people. The damage to his body from being run over would have hidden any transposition errors. Jamison had spent a lot of time with the driver. He knew what Rex had done, probably even ordered it, and covered it up. Rex was a cold-blooded murderer and, now, Greg was chasing him.

  Through the mass of bodies, I spotted Greg dodging as people kept stepping in front of him, blocking his way. I tried to catch up, but a woman scolding the little boy beside her plowed into my side. I convulsed in pain, bending over my broken arm as I gasped for breath. She didn’t apologize. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed. But when I straightened, Greg was lost in the crowd. People swarmed around me and the more familiar panic stole over me. My stomach clenched tighter and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. I needed to get out of here before I locked up completely. The wall. There would be fewer people at the side of the room. I nearly closed my eyes, pushing my way through the press, wincing with the pain as I squeezed through to reach the cool stone. I leaned against it wanting a moment to pull myself together, but I didn’t have time.

  I ran along the side, holding my breath as I cut through the lines waiting to place their orders at the food stands. I needed to keep going. Keep moving. Rex would head for another exit – the archway halfway up the room, with the ramps leading to the main floor. I began reading people up ahead as I ran, trying to find some way to stop him. The “whisper vault,” some of them called it in their thoughts. That must have been where I’d been before with Mr. Jamison – where I’d heard the woman who wasn’t anywhere around me. It gave me an idea. I let my eyes glaze over, and ran forward blindly, manipulating the turbula as I went. But it had been too long. Rex would be gone by now. And maybe Greg too.

  I dashed past a group of diners at the side of the archway, turning the corner quickly, and ran smack into Rex as he tried in vain to push through the masses of families, tour groups and a troop of Boy Scouts, lined up across the vaulted landing, clamoring to hear the acoustic effect of the space for themselves.

  Rex spun around. “You did this, Nicolosi,” he snapped like a hyena. I staggered back in surprise. What was I supposed to do now? I had no plan! “Get ready to meet your uncle,” he snarled and the path in the turbula was set. He was about to translocate me to wherever the body of that Guard was now.

  “NO!” I yelled as panic flooded through me. But Rex’s brow, above his vacant eyes, knotted in thought.

  I threw myself against him to break his concentration while guarding my broken arm. But he was fast, grabbing my arm and wrenching it around. I screamed in pain and dropped to the ground, nearly passing out as the bones scraped together and muscles slid over the ragged, broken ends. Rex’s eyes went blank again and my skin began to crawl like I was covered in maggots. It was too late. Rex was going to win. People like Rex always won. They won because they didn’t care who they had to crush. And now it was over. Gasping on the floor, I closed my eyes for the last time.

  And the maggots were gone.

  My eyes flew open to see Curtis bowling Rex onto the stone floor. Curtis shoved him with his leg, then lunged forward, landing a punch on Rex’s jaw, but it wasn’t much of a blow. Rex dodged the next punch and laughed as Curtis fell. Rex had him pinned in a flash and was raining blows on his face. I tried to crawl over to pull Rex away, but waves of pain shot up my arm and I collapsed, breathless.

  Hands hit my back, and Greg vaulted over me and plowed into Rex like a bull. They tumbled off of Curtis and rolled across the floor in a flurry of arms, legs, teeth, and swearing. I’d never seen a fight – not in real life. It wasn’t like watching them on TV or in the movies; this was horrifying. Everyone backed away and some ran, shrieking, from the melee. Seconds stretched into an eternity as one tried to gain advantage over the other. Most of it was a blur, but I saw Rex bite Greg, and Greg stuck his finger in Rex’s eye to get him to stop. Greg wasn’t quite as tall as Rex but he was more powerful and seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Within the eternity of ten seconds, he was sitting on Rex’s chest, blood dripping from somewhere.

  “Give it up, Brolie,” Greg panted, his arm cocked to deliver a blow that would smash Rex’s face between his fist and the concrete floor. “Everyone knows what you are now.”

  “You think you got me beat, huh, Langston?” Rex spat back. “You stupid common fuck.”

  My heart stuttered as, in the turbula, there was only one branch in front of Rex: killing Greg the first chance he got. But he wasn’t trying yet. Their bodies were too entwined. Translocating the Guard while he was holding Rex’s arm had been a tough feat for him. He knew he’d kill both of them if he tried it now. That bought us time, but probably not much. And as calm as Rex was, he must have a plan.

  Rex’s eyes glazed over and a huge wooden bench from the coffee bar appeared, hovering a foot above where his head lay on the floor. I pushed hard in the turbula to get him to stop the repeated translocations it so it would fall on him, but I couldn’t budge his thoughts. People in the vaulted landing shrieked and backed away as the pew began to move on its own. Rex grunted with effort, as the seat hit Greg squarely in the chest, pushing him back. But Greg pressed forward, resisting the flying furniture to stay with Rex. I hoped Rex couldn’t keep it up for long. The repeated transposition errors would eventually disintegrate the … Crap!

  “Greg, get away from the bench!” I called frantically.

  “No way in hell I’m letting him go,” he shouted back, twisting as he shot his legs under it to kick at Rex. He tangled their legs together
as the bench pressed closer against his shoulder.

  “He makes mistakes,” I shrieked, but as I did, Greg flung himself backwards from the mass of wood like he’d been burned. His hand raised to his shoulder where a five inch hole in his shirt now exposed his reddening flesh.

  Rex quickly pulled his legs out from under the hovering bench, but Greg dove, head first, after him, flattening himself against the floor to avoid having any more of him translocated into the bench. Greg grabbed Rex’s ankle and pulled him back, but the bench instantly repositioned itself, pushing toward Greg again, to force him away. As soon as Rex was free, he’d turn his translocation skills on Greg. I needed a way to stop him. To wear him out or …

  The QIT! Rex was still sprawled on the floor, caught in Greg’s grip, with the bench hovering above him. I closed my eyes and reached out in my head for the band in Greg’s pocket, trying to simultaneously envision it, snapped around Rex’s ankle, but I couldn’t hold it. Pieces kept falling out and it stayed in Greg’s pocket. Between the pain, the tension, and yells and shuffling of the people all around us, I couldn’t concentrate. Bystanders were shrieking and holding their cell phones up taking pictures and video of the impossible floating object. I needed to calm down. I needed to be able to focus.

  A frustrated howl burst from Greg’s throat as his hand slipped off Rex’s ankle. He rolled to avoid the advancing church-like pew, then his hand flailed back under it, closing on thin air as he grabbed for Rex’s legs. I clenched my teeth against the pain from my arm and struggled to my feet. And lunged forward, dropping to the floor again a few feet from Greg.

  “Give me your hand!” I called to him.

  But Greg moved the other way, grasping under the bench for his nemesis. “Kinzie! He’s going to get away,” he blasted. Then his hand closed around Rex’s foot, and he yanked Rex along the floor, closer to us. But the bench repositioned again, ready for another assault. Greg readied himself to resist.