My Second Momma’s anger rippled through the dream like physical waves. Her words started out strong but midway through they shifted to reflective and worried.
“Anybody willing to pay you for Nadia won’t be looking for miracles … they’ll be looking for weapons.”
“I’m a mercenary. I’m paid not to care.” Darren’s expression sort of made a lie of his words.
Dr. Carnasis’s energy shifted downward. She leaned forward and gripped the mesh making up the cage door.
“People with that kind of money don’t buy weapons to admire how pretty they are. They use them. How long will it take before the gun you give them is leveled at your gut?”
“I’ve got assurances from my buyers,” Darren said, wincing at the weakness of his words.
“You’ve got empty promises.” Dr. Carnasis almost sounded sorry for him.
Anger flared behind Darren’s eyes.
“What should I do? Crawl back to Dr. Dean and beg for mercy? He’s about as friendly as a viper.”
“You have to call him eventually,” Dr. Carnasis noted.
“How do you know I haven’t called him already?”
“Because you haven’t killed me or come gloating about how much Dean agreed to pay for my life.”
Darren chuckled.
“Spot on logic, Doc. You win the—”
A high-pitched series of beeps sliced through whatever Darren was gonna say.
My Second Momma shot over to the gurney still holding Nadia and checked the panel on the side. She pulled out a tiny keypad and started entering codes.
“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”
Darren’s questions got little response from Dr. Carnasis. Her fingers kept furiously pounding those miniature keys for another half-minute. The beeping ended as abruptly as it had started. My Second Momma slowly lifted her hands from the control panel and gripped the metal railing meant to keep Nadia from rolling off.
“Tell me what happened!” Darren practically had his face mashed into the cage door.
Dr. Carnasis didn’t bother looking at Darren.
“Call Dean or let me wake Nadia. We’re running out of options.” She popped the control panel out and lifted it so Darren could see the readouts. He probably didn’t know what everything meant, but even I knew that half the lights being yellow and three being bright, blinky red was very bad.
“Can’t you do anything for her?”
“No. I—” My Second Momma cut herself off, looking shocked then hopeful then cautious.
“Go on,” barked Darren. “If you have a plan, let’s hear it.”
“It’s not a plan exactly,” Dr. Carnasis hedged. When she saw that Darren wasn’t gonna let the idea go unspoken, she reluctantly said more. “If my daughter were here, she could help, but it doesn’t—”
Darren pounced on the possibility.
“Which one? How can she help? Where do I find her?”
My Second Momma carefully put the control panel back and faced Darren.
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“I can make you tell me.” Darren slammed a fist against the cage door, rattling the thing.
“Perhaps,” Dr. Carnasis admitted.
Darren’s anger flipped to shock as a thought struck him.
“You’re talking about the Dreamer, aren’t you? The kid I helped grab for Dr. Dean the first time.”
Guilt charged through the dream as my Second Momma let her eyes fall shut and rubbed her forehead wearily.
“Yes,” she answered at last. “Jillian could keep Nadia unconscious without the risks, but you’d have to have a very strong hold over her to gain her cooperation.”
It was my turn to not enjoy the conversation’s direction.
“That can be arranged,” Darren said, loosening his grip on the cage door.
“You’re better off calling Dean,” Dr. Carnasis commented. In response to Darren’s questioning look, she smiled self-consciously. “The problem with hostages is that they always look for ways to fight back.”
“Does that include you, Doc?”
“Most definitely, but I’m not a Dream Shaper. I’m a scientist. You’re reasonably safe from me.”
Now that my Second Momma had planted the idea, I sort of wished Darren would come snatch me and take me to Nadia. If I could get there, I could free her.
Chapter 10:
Scattered Part 2: Dr. Devya and Aiden
ITEM 193: Jillian’s 95th post-kidnapping journal entry
Item Source: Jillian Blairington
Finding Dr. Devya’s dreams took a great deal more effort than I would have liked.
First, I tried straight process of elimination. Since I knew the white trucks had gone west and I assumed Dr. Devya’s new lab would still be in the same country, I formed grids and searched ’em one by one. Stubbornness made me keep at it for a few hours, but since stubbornness don’t translate to stupid, I dropped the method quick enough.
Second, I searched for Aiden’s dreams. My little brother has pretty distinctive dreams, involving lots of fire and explosions, but his dream patterns are unpredictable. His Gifts often make him uncomfortably hot, so even when he’s sleeping, he often shifts levels. One would think that might make him easy to find, but instead, the crazy shifts change his dream profile altogether, making him appear like different people. I never had this problem when I entered his dreams before ’cause I was always a lot physically closer or knew exactly where to find him.
Third, I approached the task like the search for Benny Connelly, thinking of every word I could that dealt with the case. I tried Dr. Devya, Aiden, Votive, lab, secret, dangerous, weapon, and a few dozen more. I found out lots and none of it useful. The method failed ’cause I didn’t have a whole team of scientists analyzing the data I found and suggesting possible words to search.
Finally, I got smart and searched specifically for locked dreams. Nana’s a firm believer in the cleverest things being the simplest. I shoulda known the mystery would solve itself if I let that philosophy dictate—that means control—my approach.
Every time I use a word Nadia taught me, my heart seizes up. I can honestly say this is the most helpless I have ever felt in my entire life. Even when I got kidnapped by Dr. Devya the first time, I understood I had some control ’cause he wanted something from me.
Many dreams are locked to me. Given the growth in my Gifts, I could probably work out a way to break into most of ’em, but I get the feeling most are locked for good reason. Now that I’m more familiar with what locked dreams feel like, I realize I’ve actually unknowingly busted into such dreams before. April’s dream was one example. She’s the girl who tried to kill herself with a train. Her dream had a strong lock on it, but she’d also left gaping holes in the security as a subconscious cry for help. Think: bolting a door and opening a window.
A good number of locks are actually dreamers being extra self-absorbed or worried or consumed by another intense emotion. They’re easy to break like those miniature locks you can jimmy with a paperclip. I wasn’t really interested in these sorts of dreams, but I had to identify ’em in order to form a more thorough map in my head.
Another large category of locks exists courtesy of my Gifts. I believe my makers were concerned that I maintain a sense of innocence growing up. Dreams that feature extremes of violence or what Nana terms “unspeakable” topics remain locked to me. These locks are breakable, despite being heartier, but I tend to leave ’em alone. I keep an eye out for exceptions like April’s dream though. I ain’t saying my handling of that situation was great or even good, but I do believe I helped save her life. Not everybody wants to be saved, but those that do, sometimes need to be pointed in the right direction.
The lock on Dr. Devya’s dreams is a good sight more impressive than most others. Creating children capable of reading minds has made him downright paranoid. Fortunately, that places his mind amongst a much smaller set of people and gives him a distinctive dream profile. I had
to review my experiences delivering Nadia’s thoughts on Andrew a few hundred times over the last few days to get the information, but now that I have what I need, I count the time well spent.
The new lab is buried in some Wyoming mountains. I got lucky in the sense that Dr. Devya picked a state that’s fairly lightly populated. Open space can be found in any state, but certain ones, like Wyoming, are blessed with a great deal more thinking space than places like the money sign state.
I didn’t have to break Dr. Devya’s dream lock. As soon as I found the right location, I found Maisha. Her dreams were warm and inviting and hopeful, like she’d been waiting near forever for me to find her. Every recent memory she thought might be useful flashed. She didn’t know how to assemble the memory storms, but she kept the pieces real carefully, reminding me of a puzzle fanatic who hand counts pieces.
From Maisha’s perspective, I watched the same departure from the old lab as I had from Dr. Carnasis’s dream. Maisha left in one of the earliest vehicles, so I got a better sense of the operation’s size. The underground garage was packed full of black cars and trucks with government plates. One of Dr. Devya’s security men drove. I couldn’t remember his name on sight, but the memory identified him as Anthony Allen.
I couldn’t use my typical look-for-big-emotional-shifts method ’cause Maisha was too calm and resigned to the move. I settled on setting the actual move aside and searching nearby memories for Dr. Devya’s arrival. As expected, Maisha prepared a meal from the stored supplies and stood in the underground garage as the truck bringing Aiden and Dr. Devya finally arrived.
“Welcome home, Dr. Dean. I’s gots a hot meal waiting a few floors up for ya,” greeted Maisha. “Let me jus’ climb up in that there truck and wake that precious little’un.”
“He’ll keep,” replied Dr. Devya.
“Now, Dr. Dean, that ain’t fair. A chile like that needs ta run and eat and run some more,” Maisha insisted.
“Fine. But let me get him,” said Dr. Devya. He sounded like he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a good sleep.
“I’s more than fine with that plan, Dr. Dean.” Before Dr. Devya could move, Maisha smothered him in a hug, and added, “More than fine.”
I laughed ’cause Dr. Devya looked about as uncomfortable as kid amongst a dozen, cheek-pinching aunts. I get the feeling he ain’t used to hugs. That’s sad. Now I know why Nana insists hugs are good for the soul.
Before Dr. Devya could free himself from Maisha’s embrace, his phone rang. Looking grateful for the excuse, Dr. Devya wriggled free and snatched his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
“Why are you calling me, Darren? And where are you? You missed the last two check-ins.”
“You’ll want to change your tone when you hear what I have to say.” Darren’s voice reached Maisha ’cause she was still standing close to Dr. Devya, but it sounded faint, despite the mighty unfriendly tone.
Dr. Devya’s expression darkened as he braced for bad news.
“There are very few things I want to hear from you. The first had better be a grand reason—”
A sharp thump like somebody had slammed the phone down on a table cut Dr. Devya off. Maisha glared at Dr. Devya’s phone, willing it to explain its strange behavior. Random sounds like jangling keys, creaking hinges, and things slamming about boiled out of the tiny speaker.
“You talk to him. Get him to make a deal. If I have to hear more of his arrogance, I’m likely to have a firearms mishap in here.” Darren’s words blared from the phone ’cause Dr. Devya had switched to speaker mode and turned up the volume.
A scary silence lasted until the sharp sound of flesh smacking flesh and a woman’s muffled cry disturbed the stillness. Dr. Carnasis’s voice came through a moment later.
“Dean, we have a problem.”
Dr. Devya grew pale as anger filled him from head to toe. Blood fled his fingers where he gripped the phone.
Maisha groaned and hugged herself like the situation was making her sick.
“Oh, Darren, honey, what have you gone and done?” She muttered the question then spoke louder so her next words could reach through the phone to the people waiting tensely on the other end of the line. “Dr. Evie? Are you an’ Miss Nadia all right?”
“For now,” Dr. Carnasis answered. “Dean, he’s going to sell Nadia to—”
“You’re supposed to be negotiating for your life. Stick to that,” Darren ordered. “My other plans are none of his concern.”
I could tell from the clarity of Darren’s voice that his phone had also been switched to speaker mode.
“It’s relevant if you want his help in keeping her alive long enough to sell,” argued Dr. Carnasis.
“What’s wrong with Miss Nadia?” Maisha wailed.
“He won’t let me wake her up,” Dr. Carnasis explained. “I told him the limitations on the deep coma drug, but he doesn’t believe me.”
Darren cleared his throat loudly.
“Here’s the only deal on the table today. Dr. C. tells me you have some special IV bags meant to cater to our dear Nadia’s particular needs. You will deliver a two-month supply of these and twenty million dollars to a location of my choosing in the next forty-eight hours. In return, I will deliver the good Doc here with hardly a scratch.”
“Darren, honey, Dr. Dean don’t have that kind of money,” Maisha said.
“He will if he values—”
“Forget the money.” Dr. Carnasis soaked the three words with scorn, but her tone shifted to concern as she continued. “Dean, we really need those supplements as soon as possible. Nadia’s about at the limit of where I’m comfortable keeping her under.”
“So wake her,” said Dr. Devya.
“Not an option,” argued Darren. “The freak would slag my brain and escape. No thanks.”
“Miss Nadia would do no such thing,” Maisha protested, highly offended that Darren had even dared to give the thought life.
“I really don’t have that kind of money available to pay ransoms, but I can arrange for delivering the medical supplies you need,” Dr. Devya said. “Letting Nadia wake up would still be the best option. She could probably even ransom herself.”
“What?” Darren sounded thoroughly lost.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Dr. Carnasis commented. “Nadia can probably access more money than any of your contacts, and she’s less likely to kill you when the deal is done.”
“I doubt my contacts will take kindly to me backing out,” Darren noted. “No. All my problems will disappear when I can close this deal.”
Dr. Devya chuckled.
“You must want to die if you think selling Nadia is the answer to your problems.”
“The kid’s worth billions,” Darren said defensively. “I probably should have negotiated for more, but—”
Maisha cut him off with a sympathetic noise.
“Billions don’t mean much to th’ dead, honey.”
They argued round and round for another half-hour, but they finally settled on a compromise. Dr. Devya would gather the supplies needed to support Nadia’s unconscious body. Maisha and Mr. Allen would deliver the supplies to the location Darren would send ’em piece by piece. Dr. Carnasis and one of Darren’s men would retrieve the supplies.
I wished they’d add that my Second Momma could return to Dr. Devya’s new lab, but my Gift doesn’t cover such wishes. Actually, it worked, but the words rang untrue and the dream picked up a pink haze ’cause I’d changed something that couldn’t be changed.
Chapter 11:
Tell My Sister I’m Really, Really Sorry
ITEM 194: Danielle’s fifty-fifth letter
Item Source: Danielle Matheson
Dear Dr. S.,
If you get this message, you can assume the range on Malia’s thoughts-to-words program is quite impressive. My iPad is presumably back in my dorm room along with my sister, and despite the terrible hour, I am unfortunately not in my dorm room.
Pleas
e send help to Katy as soon as you get this. I sort of drugged her with Benadryl to get her to sleep so Ethan, the budding psychopath, wouldn’t test his poison-holding necklace on her. Who invents creepy things like that anyway?
Tell my sister I’m really, really sorry about the Benadryl thing. It wouldn’t surprise me if Katy needs to start seeing you soon. For that matter, you may have just gained my entire family as clients. Crazy loves company, eh? Sorry, the stress is making me more cynical than usual.
Try to keep my parents calm. I know that’s like saying you should tell Godzilla he should play nice with the people shooting at him, but I don’t have many options. It’s probably best that my parents aren’t gun-loving people.
A normal person would either be crying hysterically, plotting an escape, or railing against the universe in general for having failed them so thoroughly. I’m too ticked off to cry hysterically or plot an escape, and since I have you and this wonderful lifeline, I choose to be more specific with my railing. Maybe if I tell you what happened, I’ll be able to think about getting out of this hot mess.
Lunch with the family was wonderful, and the afternoon passed swiftly. Katy, Dylan, and I spent about an hour flinging a Frisbee at each other. They spent another half-hour kicking a soccer ball at a tree trunk and bickering about the results. When I tired of playing referee, I herded them over to the student center and let them check out the bookstore’s pricey wares. They’re still young enough to be impressed by the T-shirts and sweatshirts bearing the TCNJ logo, so I did some Christmas shopping for them. The parents broke the Santa Claus bubble three years ago, so it’s fine that they know about the gifts. Afterward, I bought us all hot chocolate from the fancy machine in the cafeteria section of the student center. I added coffee to mine as fortification for the next few hours. We wandered the campus walkways until dinner.
The evening meal stretched longer than lunch because Dylan and Katy couldn’t decide what to eat in The Atrium at Eickoff. Mom went with French onion soup and a salad. Dad chose something with salmon, and I had a pulled barbeque chicken sandwich. I know that’s too much information, but I find it worth noting because for all their dithering, my siblings selected pepperoni pizza. Soft ice cream, cream puffs, and cookies sang their sweet siren song to Katy and Dylan soon thereafter. Normally, the parental unit would have fought harder, but they must have been feeling particularly indulgent tonight, last night, whatever you want to call it.
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