by Sarah Noffke
She doesn’t quite say it, but rather sings it. Her voice is deep, but soft, hauntingly beautiful. A violent shiver tingles up the back of my neck, sending a web of shocks over my scalp. And instantly I know I can’t use my mind control on her. Won’t. No matter if I’m going to die. I can’t use it. The function is shut down in regards to her.
“What have you done?” I say, my voice the opposite of hers, gruff and shaking. Something is wrong. She’s done something to me. Laced something into her words, like a siren. And I need to turn, run away from this woman who can control me with her voice.
Before I can she sings, “And no mind control on James.”
Again something switches in my cognitive center. A command in mission control has been made and I the soldier have to follow it.
“What are you?” I say, almost stutter.
“I’m a woman who makes demands,” she says and maybe it’s my imagination but she appears to sway like a plume of smoke in the air, move like a cobra. “Right now I have to go and punish a certain little girl. A promise is a promise,” she says. “But I want you to know that being in your presence is far more enticing than I imagined. I look forward to many, many more long hours with you.” And then she lays a single finger on my shoulder and swipes it down to my breast pocket where she pauses. I narrow my eyes, trying to determine how to proceed with an opponent who doesn’t appear to be fighting me. And yet instinctively I know I’m in danger but in a completely different way than I’ve ever been before.
“Who are you?” I manage through a hoarse throat.
“Your future, Ren,” she says, her lips pursed. “One day you and I are going to rule from the cliff tops.”
“What are you talking about?” I say, trying to sound like this is ridiculous instead of an intriguing notion.
“You’ll see. I’ve put it all into motion. You have to do nothing and there’s nothing you can do to stop it,” she says, an elegant confidence in her tone.
I turn my head down to stare at the hand she still has splayed on my chest. “Get your hand off me,” I say with a sneer and it’s also accompanied by a fear that she’ll listen to me. Fuck! What’s going on here?
“One day you’ll beg me to touch you. And although I could make you beg me, I want you to do it all on your own. And you will,” she says, with a wide strong smile. One that does something to me. Something wrong and also something that uncages hedonism within me.
I’m speechless. This is obviously a dangerous situation and yet I remain staring into the dark sapphire eyes of the woman in front of me.
“Vivian,” she says, a beautiful precision on each syllable. Her name sounds like a code. A way to unlock something. Something important. Something inside of me.
“Vivian,” I repeat and a seductive smile spreads on her lips.
“Until we meet again, my love,” she says, dropping her hand from my chest, and just then I feel the cold, the residual chill of her icy fingers. She turns, but keeps her gaze on me, her soul-splitting eyes searing me. Then she fades forward and prances through the sea of people who all immediately notice her as she approaches and part in a daze. I find it hard to shake my attention from her although I know there’s something important I have to do. For an instant I forget what that is and have to shake my head to clear the fuzz.
James. I have to stop James. And yet I know that it won’t involve using mind control. I can’t. No matter how much I want to. She told me I can’t. Made it so I can’t. Somehow. My greatest weapon taken out of my arsenal.
The doors to the main auditorium are closing. The keynote address is starting. I should have been in there already. I should have located James. Disarmed him. The man is dangerous and not just to his target but also to me. If he wants to kill me using his powers then I can’t stop him, and still I race for the room filled with a seated audience. Thousands of people. There are over a thousand people seated, facing forward. Eyes on a man in a loose-fitting suit standing at a podium. Why most men can’t figure out how to get a suit that properly fits continues to elude me.
Ted looks about like most, not young, not old, not attractive, not horrid, not distinct, not plain. Just a man with regular colored hair and a regular face. I wonder what that would be like.
The crowd falls still when he begins speaking, his words passing over my ears as I scan the thousands of bodies in what feels like a worthless attempt to find James. Unconcerned for social etiquette I march down the center aisle. My photographic memory takes snapshots of the people as I pass and my mind combs through the images, trying to find a positive match. I don’t stop until I arrive at the front of the auditorium and put my back to Ted, who is driveling on about the future like he’s a bloody God. Some people stare at me with mild curiosity but my demeanor of authority almost at once zaps their interests. People are hardwired to recognize authority and then feel safe in its presence. People want someone else in charge. Thankfully for them I was born.
Unavoidably, I’ve put myself straight into James’s line of sight, which would also force me into his control. At any point I could be paralyzed and then meet a deadly end. But he has a job to do and now after reflecting on my interaction with Vivian I know I’m not it. Maybe he’d attack me for self-preservation, but he won’t do it under Vivian’s orders. For some oddly interesting reason she wants me alive.
Any second now I expect Ted’s speech to be interrupted by the sound of him choking on his lack of oxygen. His lungs paralyzed, unable to pull in life-sustaining air. And every second James continues to elude me. Infuriatingly, I’ve scanned the crowd three times and found no one who matches my memory of him. But he has to be here. Somewhere unsuspecting though. That would be what Vivian would do, and instinctually I know that. I feel I know her well without knowing her, like now that I’ve met her a connection that was always there has sparked to the front of my consciousness.
A man at the front coughs at my back as I peel to the right side of the auditorium, concerned now that James is stationed backstage, unseen. I whip around, sure that it’s Ted coughing, on the verge of starting his end. He’s not. He has paused though and his eyes are directly on me, a look on his face that reeks of worry. Does he know he’s in danger? Does he know I’m here to save his sorry ass? The congressman clears his throat as he readjusts his tie. Maybe if I get into his head I can prevent the cue from James that will send his body into paralysis. It’s such a horrible idea that I almost bark out a scream due to my frustration.
There’s more coughing. Two or three people, which grabs my attention at once. That isn’t right. I scan and catch the sight of three red-faced men, all separated by different rows and seated in different sections. The one closest to me grabs his throat. He’s the victim. And the other men. But not Ted. Instinctively I know this. Know it in my core. And the men still cough, desperate for air.
Here we go. Show fucking time. And I still haven’t located James and I’m powerless to stop him. I’m going to stand by like a bloody Middling and just watch these men die, and their death will be linked to something. Each of them is no doubt someone.
Ted speaks in broken sentences, undeniably distracted by these men’s coughs and gasping fits. Not distracted, I realize when he pauses and stares straight at me, a strange expression on his face, and it’s definitely not one of concern. People have turned to regard the coughing men. A man slaps the one gasping for air on the back. He’s clutching his throat. The slap to his back does nothing. The man on the far side stands up, tethers out to the aisle, holding his throat as well.
“Are you all all right?” Ted says, but there’s no concern in his words. There is a strangeness to his voice, a pleased tone. I whip around to look at him. And then I’m bombarded by an idea. One that again I know to be true. My instinct is never wrong and right now it’s screaming a clear message at me. Ted is in on this. Has to be. But that’s not my concern. And then I spy it. The thinnest of eye movements from Ted, the congressman. His eyes swivel up to the balcony, far opposite side f
rom where I stand. I shoot my focus in that direction. For fuck sake, why didn’t I think of that already? There by the railing in plain sight stands James, his face tight with concentration. How is he doing this to three people at once, paralyzing their lungs so they can’t breathe, and from such a far distance?
I’m running in the opposite direction for the stairs when a crowd of people stand and block my path. They’re rushing to help the three men who are suffocating. One has already collapsed. A woman is administering CPR. Ted’s security hurries him off the stage, guards on either side of him speaking into ear pieces. And the chaos in front of me has thickened. Getting to James would be impossible for most. I close my eyes. Focus. Which for some it would be impossible with the chaos all around them, but I’m not most and my skills are exemplary.
My gut rockets to my throat as my heart echoes like it’s going to explode. And although most might think they’re dying, I know that the sensation means I’ve been successful. I open my eyes to find I’m standing right beside James. We’re perched on an empty balcony. I’m guessing it was heavily guarded or blocked off altogether. Ted probably got him up here. And Vivian probably didn’t count on me having teleporting ability. Most don’t. Most don’t know Trey Underwood.
James’s concentration briefly falters when he realizes I’m standing just beside him. Then his brow wrinkles and his focus tries to maintain contact on the figures below on the main floor. His skill is obviously working to paralyze the breathing ability of three men. I can’t use mind control. As much as I want to, I can’t. It’s like the ability to fly. I could wish for it all I want and still I couldn’t do it. With his focus firmly on the subjects he’s been assigned to I know I can’t hypnotize him. I would need eye contact and right now this man is firmly motivated to complete his assigned job. Maybe it’s Vivian’s persuasion that’s keeping him locked on his task. But my guess is that it’s also the threat of losing his best friend. That is a strong motivator.
I have only one option left. One I’ve never ever considered and never employed. I hope I do it right.
I pull back my arm and then launch my fist at James’s jaw. His chin is thrown back first, followed by the rest of him. The man tumbles back, falling into a row of stadium seats. And for my first time physically assaulting someone, it looks like I’ve been successful at knocking James out. Well, and his fall caused his head to careen with the hard plastic chair and I know by the stillness of his body and closed eyes that he’s passed out. At least for now. I press my finger to my left ear. The one with the connection to outside agents.
“I need backup to apprehend the subject on east side of balcony. Mission a success,” I say.
“Copy,” I hear in my ear. I stare over the side of the balcony where three crowds have gathered around fallen men’s bodies. Maybe it was a success. Maybe they aren’t dead. That’s not my job though. My job is done. I teleport away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Adelaide is sitting just beside Pops when I enter my childhood home; an album I recognize at once is lying across her lap. They both look up at me. My pops smiles, as he usually does when he sees me. Adelaide smiles, unlike she’s ever done before. It’s one of relief.
“You’re back,” she’s says, jumping to a standing position, clutching the album to her chest like a prized doll.
“No, I didn’t die,” I say.
She’s too close to me suddenly. “Are you okay?” she says, looking at my bandaged hand. I apparently don’t know how to punch and broke a couple of fingers. Between those and the toes, I’m feeling like a first-class idiot. Next on my list is learning physical combat. Then I’m going to punch Vivian’s gorgeous face.
“I’m alive,” I say.
“Did you save the world?” she says, a playful pride in her tone.
“Hard to say at this point,” I say. Actually, the first man, in fact died. The other two are in serious comas. And they happen to all three be connected to the same company. One that manufactures technology related to smart homes. The one who died was the CEO. The other two were majority shareholders. We don’t know what Vivian is up to. But something tells me I’m going to find out, and soon, when I pay Congressman Smith a visit.
“What’s this business about you saving the world?” my pops says with a light chuckle. He knows I work for the Lucidites, but he doesn’t know who they are or much care. He’s always been strangely repulsed by things related to Dream Traveler societies, probably because most weren’t accepting of him since he married a Middling. I told him I consult for them. That seemed like the easy answer.
“Well, you know how Addy lies, right,” I say.
There’s a gasp. “I don’t,” she says, flushing red.
I half smile at her. “Easy now, only those who do lie defend themselves. The righteous know they don’t need to.”
My pops shakes off this exchange. “I was showing her your baby book.”
I swallow something sharp in my throat. “Sounds boring.”
Adelaide turns the album around and looks at a small photo framed on its center. “It wasn’t.”
She’s staring at the photo on the front with a strange nostalgia. In the photograph my mum’s face stares down at me in her arms. I’m probably an hour old. We’re locked on each other, the only two people in that moment.
“These photos are sweet,” Adelaide says.
“Children are innocent. Then they receive life-altering gifts,” I say. “Then they are dangerous.”
“Yeah, but even after that,” she says, flipping through the pages with one hand, her arm supporting the book, “even after you hit puberty, you almost looked kind of nice in these photos,” she says, pointing to one of my mum and me standing in front of the prized pig Darla at the county fair. I was fifteen.
“Mary had a way about her. She was the only one who ever made Ren soft. What can I say, she was a rare woman,” my pops says.
“Yeah, you looked very fond of her in these photos,” Adelaide says, tracing a finger over another. I’m taller than my mum and have a long arm draped over her shoulder, pulling her affectionately into my side.
“I’ve never been fonder of anyone my entire life,” I say simply. “And now it’s time that we take our leave.” Instinctively I know I have to get as far away from this moment as quickly as possible. It only serves to break me if only just a little. I can never afford to soften. Ever.
***
I tap the table in front of me. “Sit,” I say to Adelaide, who is making her way to the kitchen. We’ve only been back to my flat for an hour.
“Why?” she says, staring at the seat I indicated. “I’m starving.”
“No you’re not,” I say. “What you are is exaggerating. Sit, already.”
“Why?” she asks again.
“Because,” I say, drawing out the word.
“Because isn’t an answer, it’s the beginning of an answer,” she says in a mocking tone.
I pull the black leather case out from beside me, the one I requested from the Institute. “Because I need to take a blood sample,” I say.
As I expected her eyes widen. Her mouth pops open. “You what?” she says, offense covering her face.
I could avoid this by being upfront about my motives, but I’d rather play a game with her. More fun for me. And later, more humiliating for her. “God, you don’t bloody listen. I need to take a blood sample,” I say slowly, like she doesn’t speak English.
“Why?” she says, her voice half shaking.
Unzipping the case, I say, “Obviously to have a paternity test done.”
“Ren, how could you not think…? After everything… I don’t understand…” she stutters out.
The way she just said my name sounded strange. And then I realize it’s one of the few time she’s called me that. She usually doesn’t call me anything, well, except for vulgar names.
“Well, if things check out and you do prove to be my DNA then we’re sending you to uni so you can learn to form a real sente
nce,” I say.
With a hostile force she ties her arms across her chest. “Why? Why do I have to go to school? You never went. Granddad said as much,” she says, all her words hot, her green eyes smoldering.
My gaze reflexively narrows at the mention of her calling my pops that and with such ease. “No, I didn’t go to uni, but I can speak in a manner that others easily understand. You cannot. I hardly know what you’re driveling on about half the time.”
“I can’t believe you!” she shouts. “After everything.”
“Just covering all my bases,” I say with a shrug. The mischievous grin I’m suppressing is begging to surface.
“Fuck you,” she says, jerking the chair out and slamming herself down. “I’ll do it just so you realize what a bloody git you are for questioning me.”
I nod, pulling out the syringe. “That’s right, give me what I want to show me I’m the idiot. Great plan,” I say and then withdraw an empty vial. “Now roll up that ridiculous huge sleeve so we can get this done.”
***
“I fucking hate you,” Adelaide says as she secures a bandage over the small prick.
I despise the sight of blood but I can manage the task of drawing it for clinical purposes. I snap the cap on the vial of crimson liquid before securing it in the leather pouch. “Well, then you must be my daughter because all girls hate their fathers. Just ask my dear sister, Lyza,” I say, and then realize I actually called Adelaide my daughter and didn’t vomit.
“Your pops says she’s unstable,” Adelaide says.
I raise an eyebrow at her, noticing how she’s changed the way she’s referring to Pops. “You know I don’t really doubt that you’re my blood,” I say, leaning back in my chair, casually pinning my hands behind my head.
“You don’t?” she says, giving me a practiced skeptical stare. “Then what’s with the blood test?”