Mindspeak

by Heather Sunseri

  “In theory,” Seth began, “you have to be able to imagine the injury or the disease. In this case, the diseased brain.”

  “Like I did when we were here before.”

  He nodded. “And you have to know what her brain would look like if it were normal. In simplistic terms, you would use your mind to move and massage the parts of the brain needing healing.”

  I sat in a chair and leaned my elbows into my knees. “So, basically, I have to have knowledge of the disease, much like that of a doctor.” I leaned my face into my hands and rubbed. This was hopeless. I was no doctor.

  “Yes and no.” Seth moved further into the room and stood closer to me. “You have much of the knowledge that you need. You took the classes. Eventually, you’ll go to medical school and know even more. But…”

  I lifted my head when his voice trailed off. “Go on.”

  Across the room, Seth flipped through Gram’s chart. “This is not about cutting a person’s brain open and doing surgery.” He looked up from the chart and focused on me. “You were created for this. You have been given a gift of healing.”

  His words slid down my back like ice cubes, chilling my very soul. “A gift,” I whispered. Could I turn my back on a gift? Wasn’t I obligated to learn and appreciate the gifts I’m blessed with in life?

  This didn’t feel like a gift to me. More like a curse. What if I failed?

  Concern etched lines across his forehead as he continued to flip through Gram’s chart.

  “What is it?” I stood and walked closer.

  “Do you know full extent of your grandmother’s health conditions?”

  “You mean the Alzheimer’s?”

  “It’s more than that, Lexi.”

  I raised both brows, urging Seth to continue.

  “Your grandmother has an inoperable cancer, and she and your father decided she would not undergo other treatments.”

  “What?” I grabbed the chart from him, but I had no idea how to read the dang thing. “Why would my father not urge Gram to get the treatment she needed?”

  “She has a very specific living will in here. She doesn’t want to be treated. Just to be kept comfortable and pain free, if possible.”

  I backed away from him. Leaned against the wall and bent over at the waist. So even if I wanted to cure Gram, to have her recognize me one last time before I was out of her life forever, I couldn’t. “So I won’t be able to help her? Not even a little?”

  Gram’s knitting needle clattered to the floor.

  I rushed to her side, picked up her needle and placed it gently in her shaky hand. “I am so sorry, Gram, I didn’t know how to help you sooner.” If I’d only known. I sucked in an uneven breath.

  “We don’t know if you even could have helped her, Lexi.” Seth’s voice startled me. He stood close. “We don’t know what you can do. Or at what age your ability would have developed. The fact that I had to show you how to see her brain tells me that you might not be ready yet. Those pills you were taking may take a while longer to wear off. Besides, a condition like Alzheimer’s is tricky. There’s a lot to consider with a disease like this.”

  I spoke without looking at Seth. “What about Addison? You don’t think I could help her, either?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Why are we even talking about this? Aren’t you planning to run away tonight?”

  I stared at my grandmother’s facial features. She was beautiful. Each hard line leading away from her eyes represented a life well-lived. Every laugh line along her lips represented a decade of happy memories.

  She had devoted so much of her life to raising me. Made me self-sufficient. Showed me how to help others. How to love.

  What did I have to show for it? What would be left of my life after tonight? Another new name. A new high school transcript. Passport. License. A new me.

  Would I be different, act different with a new name? Would I regret not helping those I loved? Would I regret leaving Jack behind?

  He loved me. I saw it in his eyes the night of our very first date.

  I closed my eyes and bowed my head onto the arm of Gram’s wheelchair. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Jack thinks you should leave,” Seth answered, though I wasn’t asking him. “I can’t say as I disagree with him. It’s probably for the best.”

  “Why are you helping me? Jack said you would drive me to the bus station.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I just don’t get it.”

  “You don’t need to.” Seth walked to the window. He kept his back to me. “I found Jack for one reason. The same reason I’m glad I found you. To give you the chance to know why you were created and let you choose what you wanted to do with it.”

  “And you’re willing to just let me walk away.” Run, more like it. “Will people look for me if I run?”

  Seth turned. His eyes bore into mine. “There’s no doubt in my mind they’ll look for you and find you eventually. You’ll need to always be moving. Always running.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. “Can I have a moment alone with my grandmother before you take me back to Wellington?”

  ~~~~

  I entered the dorm room like a zombie. Danielle was digging through her closet, thrilled to be getting all dolled up for her debut into the art world, even if it was a stupid school gala.

  Where’d you go?

  Jack’s voice inside my head sounded nervous. I had to say goodbye to Gram.

  That’s good. I’m glad.

  I could almost hear relief in Jack’s thoughts. He didn’t even ask how I got to the nursing home and back. He probably knew.

  Can you meet me before the art showing? he asked. I want to be alone with you before… Before the dance.

  He wanted to say good-bye. I swallowed hard. I couldn’t think about that right now.

  “Lexi, are you even listening to me?” Danielle shook two dresses in front of me. “Which one?”

  I crossed an arm across my chest and cupped my chin with the opposite hand. The dress on the right was a pale pink dress, strapless, with a pleated skirt. Simple. Elegant. On the left hung a black sheath dress. Tiny rhinestones decorated the straps.

  Lexi? Did you hear me?

  Yes, sorry. I’ll meet you. Where? The stable?

  No, on the roof. Twenty minutes.

  Okay.

  “Is something wrong?” Lexi dropped the dresses to her side. “You hate them both.”

  “No. Of course not. They’re both lovely. One says, ‘I’m a sweet high school girl going off to prom with a guy who has one thing on his mind.’ The other screams sophistication and ‘I’m an artist going to my first art show’.”

  “Well, that was easy. Basic black it is.”

  “Oh, honey. There’s nothing basic about that gorgeous dress.”

  “You think so? You like it?” she asked as she slid it over her long, skinny legs—legs I’d donate a kidney for.

  I had never heard such a lack of confidence from my roommate. “Of course. It’s beautiful. And perfect for you.”

  “Is the Wi-Fi back up?” I asked, glancing at my clock. Did I even have time to run to the library?

  “Don’t know, but Bree left her computer so that I could finish the project we were working on. She’s got a card that is working somehow.”

  “Really? Do you think she’d mind if I looked something up?” Who was I kidding? Of course she’d mind. But this was the first chance I’d gotten to test my theory of the whereabouts of the journals.

  The fact that the Wi-Fi was still down was more than a little worrisome. Not to mention the cell towers that seemed to be going in and out of service.

  “Yes, but she’s not here.” Dani lifted the computer from the bed and handed it to me. “Password’s SWIM2016.”

  I lifted a brow. “The next summer Olympics?” Dani nodded. I sat the computer on my desk and booted it up.

  Dani leaned into her dre
sser mirror. “Okay, I think I’m ready. I’ll see you there?”

  “I’m right behind you. I just gotta check something on the internet.” I stood and gave my roommate a tight hug. “I love you like a sister, you know that, right?”

  She hugged me back, then held me at arm’s length. “Hey. You okay?”

  I gave a weak nod. “Yep. Now, go on. Your date’s never going to be the same after he sees you.”

  She gave me one last concerned look, before grabbing a wristlet, big enough for a key and a tube of lipstick.

  I turned my attention back to Bree’s computer. I brought up the website and stared at the tiny starfish in the bottom right-hand corner. I ran the pointer over the icon verifying there was no underlying link. Then, using the knowledge my dad had taught me, I left the pointer hovering over the starfish and pressed Ctrl + Alt + *.

  As I my finger pushed down on the asterisk, the pointer changed to a small hand, indicating a link was, in fact, hidden beneath the small picture. I clicked on it, and suddenly the website of pictures and personal facts disappeared, and in its place appeared a login screen.

  I stared at the gray screen. I tried my name and Dad’s name every which way along with the password I found inside the puzzle box. Nothing.

  I absentmindedly rubbed the charm and the key hanging around my neck. I was certain that the password was correct. It was so difficult to obtain. It had to be right.

  But what would Dad choose for a username?

  I rubbed the starfish back and forth along my lips. That’s when it came to me. My father’s personal email address—he only used it for communication with me.

  Mylittlestarfish@gmail.com, after the nickname he gave me when I was a little girl.

  I typed it into the username field—mylittlestarfish. Then the password.

  The screen faded to black in front of me. A moment later, various icons flashed upon the screen—several PDF documents, word documents, and an excel spreadsheet—all labeled.

  I didn’t have time to look through every document. I pulled up my online email account and emailed each of the documents to myself so that I could pull them up on my phone later.

  I double clicked on the PDF titled “Journals 1988-1994”—a six-hundred-twenty-four-page document. I glanced at my watch. I didn’t have time. But I had found them. My father’s journals that everyone wanted so badly.

  Another PDF was titled “Journals 1995-2010”. And still another titled “Journals 2011-”. The third one had no end date.

  An excel spreadsheet titled “Survivors” caught my eye. I double clicked. The columns were labeled: Name, Known aliases, Last known address, Original, Genes manipulated, Known abilities.

  What was this? Most of the names were filled in. But many fields for address or known abilities were blank.

  I looked up and stared at a picture on a shelf above me of Gram, dad and me from when I first came to Wellington. We’d changed my name. This was supposed to be a safe place for me. Dad always said the name change was to protect me because he participated in controversial medical research, but that wasn’t true.

  He was hiding me. While searching for others like me. Did he know about Jack?

  I scrolled through the names.

  There must be over a hundred names.

  I found Jack. Last known address: California. Known abilities: General healing, injuries, pain management.

  Why were there so many listed here? Including mine, Sarah Alexandra Roslin.

  As I scrolled through the list, I began to notice something in common—the last known address for several on the list.

  Wellington Boarding School.

  Others were blank.

  I recognized many of the names. Lower classmen, mostly. Sixth, seventh and some eighth graders.

  At the bottom of the spreadsheet was a second tab: Test Group.

  That tab brought up the same information as the first, but only seven names were listed: Jack DeWeese, Sarah Roslin, Kyle Jones, Briana Howard and three names I didn’t recognize.

  I stared at the screen, paralyzed. My heart beat wildly out-of-control. If I didn’t get a handle on my breathing soon I would pass out.

  Where are you? Jack’s thought startled me.

  Jack.

  I’m waiting.

  I closed my mind off from him. Think, Lexi. I closed the spreadsheet. Returned to the main page where I found another icon titled, Letter to Lexi.

  Jack, I’m sorry. I’ll have to meet you at the gala.

  What’s wrong?

  Nothing. I tried to keep my thoughts controlled. Like nothing was wrong. I’m just having trouble picking out the right shoes.

  I opened the letter. My hands shook, and my palms turned into a cold, clammy mess. These would be the last words my father had written to me.

  Dearest Lexi:

  If you are reading this letter, I waited too long to tell you the truth and to get you out of Wellington. I’m sorry. I wanted to explain your creation to you myself. However, I thought it was best to wait until you were of an age to make your own important decisions. I should have trusted you with the truth sooner.

  I’m assuming that you know by now that you are the nearly identical clone of Sandra Whitmeyer. I have just gotten back in touch with Dr. John DeWeese, as you know, and I hope that he will help you understand why I did what I did and the reality that you must live with now.

  If you are reading this, I am most likely dead. My only regret is that I didn’t make you safe sooner. If I am dead, you are in danger. Trust no one completely, Sarah.

  Dr. Roger Wellington is the mastermind behind The Program. This “program” is in the early stages of development and was initially designed to teach you about who you are and the talents you were given before you were born. I had hoped to find the others like you before now. At the time I’m writing this letter, there are two other original clones at Wellington with you. Kyle Jones and Briana Howard. And, of course, you now know Jack DeWeese.

  Though I never intended for Sandra’s experiment to go as far as it did, I can’t change the outcome. I have never regretted that you are my daughter. I love you, Sarah. But now, if you are to live the life you were meant to live, you must stand strong and face the facts laid out within this website.

  Hidden in this website is my research and all the evidence I have gathered to prove that Sandra Whitmeyer had always intended for the cloned embryos to become actual human beings. She was secretly funded by the International Intelligence Agency, and she planted evidence to incriminate the rest of us in her plan. When the lab went up in flames, so did her plan.

  However, evidence shows that the IIA did not stop. Neither did Sandra. Besides the original test group, the IIA continued to clone and genetically alter embryos. You will find more information regarding this in the files. Be careful who you share this information with.

  Wellington Boarding School was supposed to be a safe haven for the clones we found over the years. And a school where you could obtain the education you need to go on to college and medical school, but also a school where you could learn the medical knowledge necessary to enhance the powers you were given at birth.

  I do not know how long Wellington will be safe for you and the others. That is why I have equipped a safe house for you. The key I sent you is the key to that house. Everything you could need is secure within that house. If you have to run, RUN! You know where this house is.

  I’m sorry, Sarah. My hope was to tell you everything by the time you turned eighteen, so that you would be ready to face the reality of your gifts, and with the help of a college education and medical school, you would use your gifts for good.

  Your mother and I are very proud of the woman you have become.

  Love,

  Dad

  I stared at the computer screen. The words blurred in front of me. I lost all feeling in my fingers and hands.

  Trust no one. A tear fell from one eye, and I shoved it away with one violent swipe of my palm.

&nbs
p; A safe house. Where?

  And my mother? Dad was in contact with my mother?

  “Lexi.”

  I jumped to my feet, knocking my chair over. Jack stood in the doorway.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice was low, hesitant.

  Trust no one. I studied Jack’s face while keeping my thoughts shut completely off from him. I felt his mind knocking on the barrier I erected. I could trust him, couldn’t I? I didn’t know anymore.

  He stepped toward me. “What is it? Why aren’t you dressed for the gala?”

  “I…” I looked around the room. For what? I had no idea.

  Jack glanced at the computer. The letter from Dad was still up on the screen. I quickly punched the “x” at the top of the screen. Closed out of the letter and the website, then closed the laptop.

  “What’s got you so freaked out?” He closed the distance between us. He placed his hands on either side of my face and tilted my head back to look directly in my eyes. “Whatever it is… just tell me. I can’t help you unless I know.”

  The fear in his eyes sent a chill down my spine. I searched my heart. My eyes darted back and forth between his. My father’s words played over and over.

  But then I saw it. His eyes softened. What I thought was fear of me knowing the truth was fear for me. “You love me,” I whispered.

  “Unconditionally. I’ll do anything for you. You must know that.”

  I knew his words were true. He already knew almost everything in the letter from Dad. Jack was willing to sacrifice his life to help me escape. He was willing to sacrifice his own safety in the miniscule hope that he might still save a young girl’s life.

  Jack lowered his head closer, his lips hovering over mine. His breath warmed against my face. I hungered for his kiss, and when his lips pressed against mine, I felt the familiar tingling in my stomach.

  His hand roamed up the back of my shirt. The warmth of his palm pressed against my bare skin, pushing my body against his. I slid my fingers into his hair. Desire erupted between us.

  When we were both out of breath, he released me. But only a little. Our heads remained millimeters apart. Our chests rose and fell at a heavy, synchronized rate.

  “I love you,” I finally said.

  “I know.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I love you.”

  How would I ever say good-bye to him? But how could I possibly stay?

  Chapter Thirty-Two