Willpower

by Anna Durand

  Of course. In their heads. They conversed psychically. Well, she no longer had the luxury of doubting such things were possible. She knew they were.

  "Okay," she said. "Why does he think I need help?"

  Not that she didn't need help — because she absolutely did, more than anyone could know and in ways she didn't know how to articulate — but she had to ask the question anyway.

  "Don't know," Sean told her. "He said come, so I came."

  "I'm on my way," she said. "To help you and David."

  "I know. He'll be mad at you for that."

  Yeah, she'd just bet he would. Do this, don't do that. David loved issuing orders without explaining why she ought to do what he said. Well, she was coming to save him whether he liked it or not.

  A spark of annoyance flared inside her. "Tell him it's no use trying to stop me. I've made up my mind."

  Sean's mouth twitched upward at the corners. Almost a smile. "I get it. But he won't."

  To hell with him, she almost said. She kept her mouth shut, though, because she was talking to a kid — a sweet, scared kid. Decorum was a bitch.

  She didn't actually want David to go to hell anyway. Sometimes she wanted to scream at him, or throw small objects at him, but consigning him to hell was no longer on her to-do list.

  "I'm not helping," Sean said, "am I? You need him, not me, right?"

  She wanted to blurt out an emphatic yes, complete with spraying spittle. Instead, she gathered the threads of her dignity and told him, in the most ladylike fashion she could muster, "David's an adult who knows what he's getting into. You're just a boy, Sean. I can't let you risk yourself for me."

  "I get it."

  He looked so dejected that she wanted to say something reassuring. Nothing sprang to mind. Her brain felt sluggish, just like her body.

  "If you're really okay," Sean said, "I better go."

  She gave him a weak smile. It was the best she could pull off at the moment. To her amazement, her voice sounded convincing when she said, "I'm really okay. You can go."

  Without a word, he vanished.

  She settled down onto the bed again, on her side, facing the curtained window. She closed her eyes. David's face filled her mind. The image zoomed out to reveal him lying on a bed, unconscious, a needle plugged into the back of his hand while an IV dripped unknown drugs into his veins.

  Dammit, she needed rest. She must push those thoughts out of her mind. Time gave her no leeway. Her enemies raced after her, probably not far behind with her luck, and they would not pause to let her contemplate her feelings. Besides, self-pity was a quagmire she might never extricate herself from if she willingly traipsed into it. Later, she could mete out the blame, to herself and others. Tonight, she must sleep.

  She willed the thoughts away. Her mind descended into slumber, drifting into the plane where dreams lived.

  Share your golden light with me, or I'll take it from you any way I can — even if it kills you.

  The voice, fraught with a dark intensity, shocked her out of the dream as her mind rocketed up from the depths of slumber. With a gasp, she slammed through the barrier into wakefulness. Her eyes flew open.

  Seconds ticked by as she struggled to sort out where she was. In the motel room. Somewhere in New Mexico. Reality trickled into her mind as the scene around sharpened into focus. She lay on her side on the bed, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her right hand was wrapped around an object. She glanced down at it.

  Her hand gripped the gun. The safety had been disengaged. Her index finger was curled around the trigger. The barrel was jammed into her mouth.

  She flung the weapon onto the floor.

  The man in her dream, the one whose face looked like Xavier Waldron's. He had done this to her. Through some kind of psychic manipulation, he made her put the gun in her mouth. If he could force her to that then …

  Christ.

  She no longer felt certain her revelation about the shadow man's identity had been genuine and not another psychic manipulation. Anyone who could convince her to put a gun in her mouth might trick her into believing anything he wanted. To truly unmask him, she must find him in the real world.

  And she knew exactly where to look.

  She must get to California. Now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grace bit the inside of her lower lip as she scrutinized the road atlas. Twenty minutes ago, she'd given up on sleeping anymore and jogged over to the gas station next door to the motel. After buying the road atlas, she returned to her motel room. Now she sat on the bed with one leg folded under her and the other dangling off the edge of the mattress. The road atlas lay on the bed in front of her, open to the two-page spread showing California.

  The bedspread was lumped on the floor at the foot of the bed. Both the sheets and blanket were shoved aside, just as she'd left them after her second attempt to get some sleep. The first attempt ended when she woke to find a gun in her mouth. The second ended when she gave up after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, unable to get anywhere near slumber. It was hard to relax knowing that her enemy could manipulate her thoughts and actions.

  But if he could make her do whatever he wanted, why hadn't he?

  He probably wanted the flash drive, like everyone else. She also wanted her to give him — what had he called it?

  Her golden light.

  In previous dreams, he'd called her "golden girl." She had no idea what he meant by either term. The point was, he wanted something from her. Possibly more than one something. Although he threatened to kill her more than once, he hadn't actually done it or even come close to it. The incident in her car had terrified her at the time, and in the moment it had felt like attempted murder. When she thought back to the incident, however, the truth seemed far less obvious. He could've killed her. Yet he didn't. Instead, he frightened her into believing he wanted her dead.

  Maybe he would kill her, eventually, after he got what he wanted. For now, he clearly needed her alive.

  Which meant she had a chance. A slim one, but hell, she'd take any chance the universe offered her.

  She tapped her pen on the map, on the spot where she'd drawn a big black circle around her destination. Reston, California, was a tiny dot on the map identified with tiny text.

  A cool draft rushed over her.

  He's here.

  Her heart beat faster as she looked up from the map. David stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his pants pockets. He wore a gray T-shirt and blue jeans. His eyes were a crystalline blue, not the fiery azure she'd seen on other occasions. The drape of the T-shirt revealed hints of the muscles underneath.

  An image flashed in her mind. David's bare chest. Her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles.

  Oh for pete's sake. Very bad people wanted to capture or kill her and she was fantasizing about some guy's muscles.

  Not just some guy. Her ex-fiancé.

  Were they ex? He'd never mentioned a breakup.

  "You pulled out the needle," David said. "Thank you."

  Grace dropped the pen. It rolled into the little valley where the facing pages of the atlas met. "You're welcome. How are you feeling?"

  "Better. Clearer."

  "Glad to hear it." She glanced down at her left hand, then back up at him. "If we were engaged, where's the ring?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Edward hid it when he realized you had amnesia. When he made the decision to keep the truth from you for your own protection."

  "Yeah," she snorted, "I've sure been protected good."

  Walking around the corner of the bed, he sat down directly in front of her. Only the road atlas separated them. She thought about squirming backward to get some more space from him, until she realized, with a suddenness that made her heart skip a beat, that she didn't want more space. She liked sitting near him, gazing into thos
e crystalline eyes. She felt safe.

  It was insane, of course. She had only his word that they knew each other at all, much less with the intimacy implied by their alleged engagement. Whenever he was around, two parts of her battled for control. Half of her needed to doubt what he said, while the other half believed without reservation. The contradiction left her feeling off-kilter. That was why she tried not to think about it.

  She studied David. Maybe she had contradictory feelings about him because her instincts were trying to tell her he wasn't who he claimed to be. The figure in her dreams, the real shadow man, wielded the power to control her, to make her believe what he wished.

  Apparently he wielded that power. She didn't understand this psychic stuff.

  David lifted his eyebrows. "Are you all right?"

  "Huh?" She blinked, realizing her gaze was aimed at his mouth. She raised her focus to his eyes. "How does all this psychic stuff work?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "How do you do this?" She waved a hand, palm out, in his general direction. "I mean, you're not really here. You're in California. But it looks like you're here — " She patted her palm on his chest. " — and it feels like you're here."

  She let her palm linger on his chest. The warmth of his body filtered through the fabric of his T-shirt. He looked down at her hand, then back up at her face.

  "When I asked you before," she said, "you told me it was a combination of telekinesis, remote viewing, and thought projection."

  "Yes."

  She let out a sharp sigh. "Please elaborate."

  "You know as much about it as I do, if not more."

  She yanked her hand away and glared at him. "I have amnesia, dammit. I don't have a clue what you're talking about and I need you to explain it to me."

  His lips worked as if he were trying to remember how to form words. Then he said, "It might be best if you remember on your own."

  "I don't have time for that. Very bad people are hunting me and some of them apparently have psychic abilities. I can't protect myself if I don't know how the hell this works."

  "Fine." He settled a hand on the bed, leaning against it for support. "This is all theoretical, you understand. No one really knows how it works."

  She rolled her eyes. "Just get on with it."

  "Telekinesis is the ability to move objects without touching them. It seems to involve affecting matter at the molecular level — for instance, shifting air molecules to make an object move. Thought control is, well, influencing another person's mind in order to convince them to believe or see what you want them to." He paused, frowning. "Remote viewing is harder to explain. Essentially, it's the ability to visualize any location, object, or event anywhere in the world — past, present, or future — simply by thinking about it."

  "Like looking at a photo?"

  "Sometimes it's like that, but it can also be much more." Without looking down, he lowered his index finger onto the road atlas like a needle dropping onto a vinyl record. His fingertip traced the blue lines of interstates. "A powerful remote viewer can actually send his mind to the desired location. He can float around, like an invisible bird, to get a broad view of the area and even to listen in on conversations. That's why we nicknamed it traveling."

  He closed his eyes. Grace watched his finger moving around on the map. Despite his apparent lack of vision, his finger continued to trace the road lines on the atlas.

  "A traveler can sense things," he said, "without knowing where or when it is. RV is a type of ESP, similar to clairvoyance.

  "Are you doing it now?" she asked. "Remote viewing, I mean."

  "Sort of. I'm sensing the lines on the map, though I wasn't trying to. When you use psychic abilities on a regular basis, you start to do things without realizing it. The powers become second nature." His mouth twisted into a crooked smile as he met her gaze. "Convinced yet?"

  "Hmm … " She folded her arms over her chest. "That's a nice party trick, but how do I know you're not peeking?"

  "Here." He took her hands and lifted them to his face, placing one of her palms over each of his eyes. "Now I definitely can't see."

  At first, his skin felt cool against her palms. Second by second, his warmth seeped into her palms, setting off a chain reaction inside her. He was close enough that if she leaned forward just a little her lips would brush against his.

  "Satisfied?" he murmured.

  Oh no. She wasn't satisfied at all, not that she would ever admit that to him.

  His tone became irritated. "Well?"

  She suddenly remembered the map and the point of this little exercise. With her hand still covering his eyes, she glanced down at the atlas. His fingertip was tracing the twisting, arching path of roads.

  His breath tickled her wrists. Against her will, her gaze wandered back to his face. To his lips.

  Her cheeks flushed. She yanked her hands away from his face.

  He opened his eyes, looking straight at her. "What's wrong with you?"

  "N-nothing."

  Time to change the subject. Fast.

  Clasping her hands on her lap, she cleared her throat. "I get the remote viewing thing — I think. But how do you make yourself a body? Or is that a trick? Influencing my thoughts to make me think you're a solid object when you're not even actually here."

  "It's not a trick. Not the way you mean."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Remember what I said about telekinesis? It's the manipulation of matter. And remote viewing is kind of like an out-of-body experience or astral projection. The third element, thought projection, is pretty much what it sounds like."

  "So you are screwing with my mind."

  "No."

  He spoke the word with such vehemence that she felt a need to apologize, until she remembered he was the one avoiding her questions.

  His voice softened as he said, "I wouldn't do that to you even if I could. I can suggest that you see and hear me, and you decide subconsciously whether to let it happen. If you let me in, then I continue to project my thoughts into your mind, which you interpret as spoken words. It's a conversation, not an intrusion."

  She opened her mouth to ask another question.

  He raised a hand to silence her. "I'm getting there. Once I've knocked on the door, so to speak, and you've let me in, then I can affect matter in the environment to build a physical form."

  "You make it sound like you're baking a cake."

  "I've given you a simplistic explanation of an extremely complex and esoteric process that involves multiple psychic faculties and requires an enormous amount of energy. Even I don't fully understand how it works, and I do this all the time."

  "Really? All the time?"

  He shrugged one shoulder. "In the past few days, it's been all the time."

  "Before the past few days, how often had you done this creating-a-body thing?"

  "We call it manifesting." His finger, still on the map, began drawing invisible, random spirals on the paper. "I've done it a number of times before, but not since last summer."

  She wanted to ask the question but feared the answer. At the same time, she craved the answer. Last summer fell squarely into the blank spot in her memory. If she really had known David during those eight months, then anything that happened to him during that time could involve her. She wanted to know, yet didn't want to know. She needed to know.

  Oh what the hell.

  She asked, "Why not since last summer?"

  "That's when I learned how to manifest." He straightened, his gaze fixed on hers. "You taught me how to do it. I've never used the ability with anyone else."

  A shiver rippled through her. A strangely warm shiver.

  "Oh," she said, her throat suddenly tight. "That's … sweet. I guess."

  He watched her, not saying a word.

  She slapped her han
ds onto her knees and stared down at the atlas. Lines of different colors snaked across the page, intersecting and diverging, some dead-ending and others stretching onward toward the edge of the map. Human lives did the same thing. Her life's path had intersected David's, but would it dead-end or continue onward?

  For now, she knew one thing. Her path would take her straight into the Mojave Desert. Where it went after that remained a mystery. If it went on after that.

  She glanced up at David. "How do you find me?"

  "Via remote viewing. Even if I don't know where you are, I can sense you. It's like there's an invisible string between us and, if I let it, the string will guide me to you." The crooked smile returned. "Or sometimes you drag me here."

  She felt her own lips curving upward, just a touch. "I drag you here. Right. I'm so good at making you do anything I want."

  "You're more powerful than you realize."

  "Oh please."

  "It's true." He lifted a hand to touch her cheek. "You were the strongest of us all."

  The lovely sense of warmth and security evaporated in an instant. She thrust his hand away.

  He scrunched his forehead.

  She scowled at him. "What do you mean us all? What aren't you telling me, David?"

  "You and I were part of a scientific project funded by a multinational corporation. The objective was to prove psychic abilities exist — and to figure out how they work."

  She felt ice forming at the core of her and, as much as she did not want to, she asked, "For what purpose?"

  "Originally, the goal was strictly to expand scientific knowledge."

  "And now?"

  "I don't know. After your parents died, everything changed."

  "What do my parents have to do with anything?"

  He shoved a hand through his hair and stared into the corner. "They founded the project."

  Silence filled the room, as if the lack of sound exerted air pressure. David watched Grace's expression for some clue about how she'd handled the avalanche of information he'd dumped on her. The revelation about her parents must've hit her especially hard. It was a lot for anyone to take.