Oversight (The Community Book 2)

by Santino Hassell

  Lia exchanged looks with Elijah before swinging a much less impressed gaze back to his face. “So you’re still drinking your daddy’s Kool-Aid.”

  “Actually, I’m not. I know something isn’t right. I’m not an idiot. But I also refuse to drink your Kool-Aid and tell myself that they’ve never done anything good for anybody. I’ve seen the results of what they can do—and Elijah is an example of that and so is my brother. So are a lot of the other gay kids I’ve hired on at the club.”

  “That’s your mistake, Holden. That’s not the Community making a difference. It’s you.” Lia unwound the second scarf and let them dangle from her hand. “You’re being defensive because you think you’ve seen evidence of the fruits of their labor, but the labor was yours. You took Elijah in. You treated Chase like your brother. You hand selected troubled and homeless psys to work at Evolution. Not your daddy. Not Lukas Kyger or Michelle Hale. You.”

  The statement took the wind out of Holden’s defensive sails. “I’m not the only one who’s helped. Community Watch is—”

  “The board doesn’t run Community Watch by themselves. They put people there to run it, so yeah, there have been great success stories. People who’ve been nurtured and then sent out into the world to get jobs at companies run by successful psychics, and they use their new salaries to pay their annual Community membership fees. Lifetime membership fees.” Lia swung her scarf back and forth like a pendulum. “And then the even more successful psychics, the ones they found young and put through school—the ones with charisma and high intellect . . . Well, those guys go into policy making. They get federal jobs. Sometimes even Department of Justice or Defense. Sometimes Congress. Sometimes they go even higher than that.”

  “I’m sorry, but are you suggesting . . .” Holden tried to keep the skeptically smart-ass look off his face and failed. “Are you implying the Community exists to make money off members in some cases and use them as . . . pawns in others?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. And I’m not the only one who feels that way.” Lia’s expression didn’t flicker. She didn’t stop swinging her scarf. “There’s an entire group of people who feel just like me.”

  “Really.”

  “Really,” she said. “Ex-Community members and psychics who’ve been warned to stay away. Jericho was in that group, and that’s why he’s dead. I strongly believe that.”

  “Jericho’s dead because he knew too much about Beck and what she was up to. Or at least she must have thought so to have felt the need to silence him.”

  “Right. Beck.” Lia stopped swinging the scarf and balled it in her hand. “Beck, whose known gift was spotting rare and multitalented psychics. That’s who your father planted in Evolution to watch you. Not another empath, or an invulnerable like Six who won’t be swayed—”

  Holden’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know—”

  “—not a postcog who could’ve helped you to figure out why people were disappearing, or a precog who could have helped you avoid future problems. He put in . . . a spotter. And that makes sense to you.”

  Elijah was starting to look uneasy at the direction the conversation was going in. He wrung his hands together, shifting from foot to foot, but didn’t interrupt. He’d probably heard all this before. Maybe he even believed it. Whatever it was. That Holden’s father had wanted Beck to find rare talents for him?

  “You can’t believe he wanted her to go around eating psychic powers.”

  “Not necessarily, but you bet your sweet ass I believe the board is constantly looking for new pawns to turn into loyal drones who can be strategically placed. Maybe they didn’t expect Beck to go Hannibal on them, but it’s their fault she was there. I mean, fuck, are we even sure she killed them all? Maybe a couple got swooped up beforehand and sent up to the Farm like Chase. For realignment.” Lia shrugged. “Either way, Beck wasn’t acting on her own. It’s all part of the bigger picture, Holden. And the only reason I’m telling you this is because Elijah told me to trust you. He’s seen you working with Ex-Comm, and he believes we need you.”

  Holden’s jaw dropped. There were clearly no half measures for Lia. She was going all the way in with this conspiracy theory, and apparently Elijah was right there with her. The fact that she knew so much about the Community, about the Farm and realignment and his father, made it clear someone had been talking.

  “Elijah, what the fuck?”

  Elijah wrapped his cardigan tighter around him. “Yeah, I sort of had a vision . . . about us. And you. And Nate . . .”

  “Doing what?”

  “We were all together in this wooded area. By a river or a lake or something.” Elijah’s eyes grew far away as he talked about it. The typically vivid color faded and turned foggy, a haze that indicated he really was seeing the future. A future in which they reunited with Nate. “I can’t see anything else. My gift has never been that strong, but . . . it’s also never been this clear. We were all together, and we were with Nate.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this before?”

  “Lia explains things better than me. And I’ve only just learned about Ex-Comm.”

  “‘Ex-Comm,’” Holden repeated. “Is that your little anti-Community group?”

  “Yes,” Lia said. “Although it’s not so little anymore.”

  Holden glared at her, and Elijah rushed over to touch his arm.

  “Holden, even if you don’t believe us now, I know you will at some point. I have no doubt that you’ll be right here with us trying to figure out what the Community really wants from us all, and how Beck, Jericho, Theo, and all the others fit into that plan. How Chase and your mother are fitting into it now.”

  When Holden said nothing, Lia picked up the slack. Her voice softened, although there was still an edge of get your shit together in her tone.

  “The organization raised you. I get it. I get that it’s hard to open your eyes to the fact that it isn’t what you’ve thought it is, but it’s time. People have been hurt. They’ve been fucking killed. And it’s not just Evolution that was targeted.” Lia hesitated for a moment, maybe wondering if she could trust him with whatever else she was thinking about, before saying, “Ex-Comm was formed by people who escaped after being manipulated or mistreated by Community staff, but it’s populated by both psys and voids who have had extremely talented family members disappear after coming into contact with the Comm. It’s not just Evolution, Holden. It wasn’t just Beck. She let her own resentment and bitterness turn her into a monster, but I have no fucking doubts that she was placed there for the sole purpose of snapping up rare psychics. Those disappearances would have happened had she cannibalized them or not.”

  “Well maybe you should have doubts, because this is on another level of ludicrous.”

  Holden pulled away from Elijah and grabbed his coat from the side of the recliner and yanked it on. He was running away, and he didn’t care. Fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in, and they were telling him to get the fuck out of this tiny studio. Away from Lia and Elijah. Back to Hell’s Kitchen. It didn’t help that when he reached out with his talent, he felt that they one hundred percent believed what they were saying. And Elijah had really seen that vision. Which only made him want to run even farther and faster.

  “Holden, don’t go.”

  Elijah reached for him, but Lia stepped between them.

  “Let him leave. He isn’t ready.”

  “I’ll never be ready for this nonsense. Call me when you want to talk about something real.”

  It was colder when Holden returned to Manhattan. The wind cut through his clothes and skin to chill his bones, and yet he didn’t return to his apartment or Evolution. He kept walking past Ninth Avenue, then Tenth, until he was striding into the increasingly desolate streets that ran into the West Side Highway and the Hudson River.

  Holden ducked his head, hands shoved into the pockets of his wool coat, and kept walking. Without purpose at first, but then something deep inside of him
began tugging him to a specific street and a specific pier. A pier that sent dark vibes snaking through him with the speed of a spreading ice as soon as he stopped in front of the makeshift memorial for Theo Black. Even after six months, it was intact.

  Kneeling beside it, Holden ran his fingers along the dying roses and weathered cards. The flowers were new enough to have been placed there within the last week, which meant someone still cared. Maybe Lia and Elijah. Or someone else Theo had made a connection with who had nothing to do with Evolution or the Community. Someone completely uninvolved in the brewing shit-storm, and who had no idea that Theo’s death had started a downward spiral for both Comm leaders and members alike. Trust was at an all-time low among the psychics who came to Evolution, with everyone so desperate to explain what had happened that they were willing to point fingers and come up with wild theories.

  But . . . was Lia’s theory so wild?

  Holden sat on the cold pier with his legs folded under him and his head in his hands.

  He wished Chase was with him. Throughout their childhood, Chase had always been the fearless one. The one who wasn’t afraid to take matters into his own hands and then convey his findings with brutal honesty. Holden had never been able to tell if his half brother didn’t care about being sensitive and careful, or if he’d simply been born without those attributes in exchange for the multiple extrasensory abilities he had likely inherited from the Blacks. He’d always been special. And, yet, he hated that about himself. Chase often called himself a mutant and a freak, and wished he was normal.

  Holden had never understood why Chase had such self-loathing for his own gifts, why he’d sometimes told Holden to not talk about it around the Payne family or prominent members of the Community. It had almost been like he’d wanted to hide it, or himself, but Holden had never known why.

  If Lia was right, maybe he’d wanted to avoid becoming one of the people that spotters . . . collected and used as pawns. Or maybe he’d been afraid of other psychic vampires like Beck.

  Maybe that was why he’d kept the truth about Beck to himself. And why he’d reached out to another Black instead of the brother who’d been at his side all along.

  The reality that Chase hadn’t trusted him hit Holden like a punch in the gut.

  “You look homeless.”

  Holden jerked to awareness so abruptly that his neck spasmed as he looked up. Six was looming over him in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He wore running shoes and a headband to keep back his man bun.

  “And you look like Rocky Balboa goes hipsta-matic. What are you, doing a remake?”

  Six didn’t crack a smile. “Why are you crying?”

  Was he? Jesus. Holden ripped an arm over his face. “I’m not.”

  “You are. I can see tears on your face. That was a stupid lie.”

  “You know, Six, this would be an apt time to put those body-language-reading abilities to good use since your mental shield has also blocked off people skills.” Holden sniffled and wiped his face again. “For future reference, heckling someone who’s trying to hide their tears is generally not the sort of thing normal humans do.”

  “I’m not a normal human. I’m an invulnerable.”

  “Oh my God. Forget it.” Holden climbed to his feet, wincing. When had his knees become this much of a problem? He blamed the cold instead of his age. “Are you following me?”

  “Yes.”

  Holden froze with his hands poised to brush over his coat. “What?”

  “I followed you to Elijah’s house. I was jogging now though, so this part is a coincidence. I live in a loft a couple of blocks away.”

  “Wait. Rewind. Why the hell did you follow me to Elijah’s apartment?”

  “To see what you were doing.”

  Holden was going to kill him. He really was. “Why?”

  “Because you seem emotionally unstable lately, and I wondered where you were going.”

  “Again—why?”

  Six shrugged. “I have nothing else to do.”

  “So you just go around following people?” Holden demanded. “This is not okay.”

  “Why? Was I not supposed to know you were meeting him?”

  “You’re not supposed to be fucking following me,” Holden shouted, his voice carrying over the water. “Did my father put you up to this?”

  “No.” Six scanned the area around them. With the exception of the cars speeding along the highway, there appeared to be nobody around for blocks. And yet he kept looking. “Let’s just say I wanted to make sure I’m the only one who was sent to keep an eye on you.”

  Holden stopped wanting to throttle Six long enough to look at him sideways. “Excuse me?”

  “I was given a job. That job was to keep you and your stupid club out of trouble.” Six stopped analyzing the desolate streets to meet Holden’s confused gaze. “Which means there should be no other Community thugs following you around the way they do your friends. You feel me?”

  “I . . . No. I don’t.” Holden shook his head. “So you’re saying you followed me . . . to make sure nobody else was following me?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for catching up.”

  Holden flipped him off. “Your logic is completely off.”

  “Maybe, but that’s how I operate.”

  “What would you have done if you’d found out someone else was following me?”

  “I would have found out why.”

  “And would you have told me?”

  Six started walking backward. “Yes.”

  There was no reason in the world why Holden should have believed Six, but for some reason . . . he did.

  “Let’s go,” Six said, turning. “It’s cold.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get something to eat.”

  It was the most unexpected invitation Holden had ever received, but he took it without a second thought.

  They walked up to Eleventh Avenue through the increasingly cold wind until Six silently led him to a place between Forty-fourth and Forty-third streets. There was an empty lot on the spot with a gate around it and the beginning signs of construction.

  “I mean, I guess it’s possible that the construction workers would have been here on Christmas to share their sandwiches . . .”

  Six gave him a cold look. “There used to be a diner here. It was my favorite place to eat.”

  “Welp, now it’s being turned into . . .” Holden squinted at the sign on the gate. “A high-rise apartment building.”

  In an uncharacteristic show of absolute sullen irritation, Six kicked the gate. “Fucking New York. This shit always happens.”

  “What always happens?”

  “They tear everything down to make way for chain stores or condos. This place had real character,” Six said, pointing at the empty lot. “It was here for decades. Rat Pack era. The Westies used to go there.”

  “The who?”

  Six glared. “Where is your family from, man?”

  “The Paynes have been in Manhattan since the turn of the century.”

  “What part of Manhattan?”

  “Upper East Side.”

  “Then you do not count.”

  “How nice of you.” This was sort of amusing, and a nice distraction from the emo mess Holden had been not even ten minutes ago. Who knew real estate in NYC was what really got Sixtus going? “Now tell me what a Westie is.”

  “It’s an Irish American gang that ran Hell’s Kitchen until the nineties. But it doesn’t matter. Clearly everything from that era will be bulldozed to make way for twenty-year-olds from out of town.” Six kicked the gate again. “This used to be my favorite spot.”

  “When?”

  “Before I went to the Farm, I’d scrap for money and get dinner here. Over a decade ago.”

  “A decade ago?” Holden demanded. “They had you upstate for that long?”

  “Yes. I was upstate for most of the past fifteen years and worked there for about ten.”

  “Christ. No wonder
you’re a virgin with no social skills.”

  Six’s eyes narrowed. “What happened to your hypothesis about me just being a cyborg with no empathy?”

  “Do you really have no empathy? I can’t tell if it’s really blocked because of your mental shield or if you’re just . . . an asshole.”

  Six kept giving him the same irritated look. “My shield is so strong that I can’t remove it, and it blocks out everything. Most people can tell when someone is tense or annoyed even without psychic powers. But I can’t. At all. It’s the same reason why I have difficulties with sarcasm. And jokes. And why my social life is lacking.”

  “I’d say being forced to work at an isolated farm as a goddamn security guard for ten years would have more of an impact on your social life.”

  “Heh. You just might be right.”

  They went back to staring at the lot, and Holden’s mind returned to his father. He’d taken Six off a ten-year stint on the Farm to babysit Holden. Regardless of whether Six was really invested in the assignment or if he knew anything more than what he’d been told, he was still there to keep an eye on Holden.

  The relief to be doing and thinking about something other than Elijah and Chase crashed into fiery bits at Holden’s feet. There was no way to escape the questions surrounding the Comm and the situation with Beck, because he was constantly reminded that his own father was part of the reason there was so much uncertainty in the first place.

  “I don’t feel like eating anymore.”

  “Fine.” Six shoved his hands into his pockets, looked Holden up and down, and then started to turn away.

  Holden grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “I wasn’t trying to dismiss you from my presence, Sixtus. I just have no appetite.” He sensed Six about to yank away and held on tighter. “We could do something else.”

  “Like what?”