I pulled her to sleep long enough to shout.
“Roll right!”
She did so and the next arrow sailed through the center of where she’d been. Thinking fast, I directed Danielle to the second route we’d plotted and searched for the shooter. Since the room wasn’t large and I could calculate his location from the cameras, finding him was easy. Pulling him to sleep proved tougher. As soon as I tried, I sensed he’d eaten something to keep himself alert. The best I could do was make him sleepy and give him multiple targets. He shot at a few of ’em, but the real Danielle safely scrambled up the wall.
When Danielle dropped over the wall, she heard the distinct, angry hisses of many poisonous snakes. I think this is where she finally appreciated having the blindfold. I painted the room for her as fast as I could, but it got difficult ’cause, unlike the axes, the snakes moved. Balancing the camera view and Danielle’s senses was like trying to juggle on a tightrope. I didn’t bother making the snakes accurate in terms of color and stripes. Noticing one of the axes had landed near Danielle, I directed her to pick it up.
A rattlesnake didn’t like the sudden movement and sent up a racket. Danielle froze. I did some quick calculations and asked Danielle if she’d let me try something. Sensing agreement, I sank her into a deeper sleep and had her switch how she held the axe. Dropping her to one knee, I released the axe with her right hand and tightened her left grip. The heavy axe head dipped toward the ground. She rose and swung the weapon as hard as she could in a sweeping gesture as the snake struck. The weapon batted the snake aside. I didn’t have Danielle wait around and inspect the damage. Instead, I moved her through the room as quickly as possible, using the axe to clear a path where necessary.
When Danielle popped into the next room, I let her wake up. She collapsed to her knees and tossed the messy axe as far as she could then balled her fists, hung her head, and sobbed.
The boy who’d been shooting at Danielle with a crossbow came and collected the axe. Before he left, he tossed a paintball pistol next to her.
Knowing the last round had already started, I made Danielle sleep so we could chat, suddenly grateful dream time and real time differ. Even in the dream, I knew Danielle’s heart raced from the many things that could have killed her.
Forming an avatar for each of us, I placed my hand on Danielle’s left shoulder and willed some of her fears away.
“You’re almost done. This part should be easier. It’ll end as soon as you hit Mr. Jones and Mr. Clark with the gun the boy left for ya.”
“I’m tired!” cried Danielle’s subconscious self. “Can’t I just wait here?”
“No!” My avatar knelt and gripped Danielle’s shoulders hard, forcing her to face me. “They ain’t using paintballs guns. If ya give up, we lose. If we lose, you die. That can’t happen! Now, wake up and fight!” I followed the words with a jolt to drive her awake so she could grab the gun.
A shot from Mr. Clark struck the ground a foot away from where Danielle had snatched up the gun. She didn’t need my help to know she should move. Her first few steps were blind, but as she got her feet under her, I had the basic room outlined. Danielle ducked behind a crate and waited for me to catch up with the details.
I purposefully left things vague, choosing to highlight Mr. Jones and Mr. Clark and objects that might prove useful or dangerous. Since this type of work didn’t require keeping one’s balance, Danielle and I used the sleepwalker mode. She staggered at first, but once she stopped unconsciously fighting me for control, our connection strengthened.
Mr. Jones and Mr. Clark could handle their guns well enough, but they weren’t experts at paintball wars. Danielle couldn’t claim much experience either, but the boy who’d shot at her with a crossbow had the tactical knowledge we needed to outsmart first Mr. Clark and then Mr. Jones.
I made Mr. Clark think he caught sight of Danielle off to his right. While he poured bullets into a defenseless crate, Danielle popped up from a different hiding spot and painted a tight circle of five shots on his chest.
The trick would only work once, so I had Danielle find the ladder the boy had used to move between parts of the Panic Room and climb to a higher vantage point. Mr. Jones was in the far corner searching systematically crate to crate. When he moved into range, Danielle filled his chest with red paint. I think she wanted to go for his head, but the rules I’d found in the boy clearly said no headshots.
Ripping off the blindfold, Danielle sat down on the wall and let her legs dangle into the paintball room. Scrunching up the blindfold, she tossed the thing down at an angry looking Mr. Jones.
“Good game,” called Mr. Clark.
“Get down here,” ordered Mr. Jones.
Danielle was sweaty, tired, grossed-out, and wired from the stress. I could tell all that from the cameras, but I sank her into a split-second sleep to let her know I was glad she’d made it. I would try to see her or visit her dreams later, but for now, she’d had more than enough of me in her head.
Bringing myself fully awake, I stared at the lights above and tried to empty my mind. Dr. Lanier chattered in my ear about the wonderful performance, but I ignored him. Shutting my eyes squeezed out some tears, and many more waited to fall as my body trembled with the aftershocks.
I’d done what he had asked, but at what cost? Now that Dr. Lanier knew what I could do, what would his next training module ask of me? I’d already rubbed my wrists raw. I’d already almost killed Danielle a hundred times. How long could I keep this up before one of us broke for good?
Chapter 20:
The Gray Lady’s Speech
ITEM 203: Danielle’s fifty-eighth letter
Item Source: Danielle Matheson
Dear Dr. S.,
I’m not sure how many more letters you’ll get from me, but if this is the last one, I want it to reflect my changing heart where Cora is concerned. Perspective’s a funny thing. Three days and two conversations ago, I had her firmly lumped with the bad guys. Now, I think she fits better in a neutral zone by herself. I’ve taken to thinking of her as The Gray Lady, neither good nor evil but a champion of balance. If that sounds too much like a video game archetype, blame Varick. I think there’s a character like that in one of his games.
Talking about the previous night was the last thing I wanted to do, but the numerous scrapes and bruises raised obvious questions. A hot shower went a long way in erasing physical evidence of the nightmare, but the rock wall had nicked my face and hands a few times. Long sleeves could only hide so much. Besides, I moved with a stiffness that declared the aches in my back and limbs.
After a long sleep and a bland meal, a guard took me to Cora. When the ritual zip tie removal exercise was over, Cora got off the cot and ordered me to lie down.
“But you’re hurt,” I protested, noting that her wrists looked worse than the day before. Despite sleeping until early afternoon, weariness sank me onto Cora’s cot.
“Never mind that. Tell me everything.” With quick efficiency, Cora removed my shoes and lifted my legs around, spinning me so I faced the right wall. A light hand to my shoulder put me in the prone position. Next, she rolled up my sleeves and sat down on the edge to await my tale.
The story wasn’t as coherent as it could have been, but I explained Jillian’s arrival, Lanier’s drama, and as much of the training exercises as I could.
Cora spent the time inspecting the scrapes and bruises along my arms. When I reached the part about the climbing wall, she placed my right hand on my stomach, folded her hands in her lap, and grew very still.
“Did somebody shoot at you when you reached the top?”
“Yes. With arrows. How did you know?”
“I designed it.”
The answer made me prop myself up on elbows and draw my left leg close in case I needed to rise quickly. Shock left me speechless.
Cora rose and paced to the far side of the cell. Leaning back against the metal bars, she motioned that I should relax.
“The original ex
ercise differed in details as it was made for Varick and Brenton as toddlers. It tested their reflexes and teamwork by having new blocks come out when they pulled on certain ones.”
“Who’s Brenton?” I think if she’d said my own mother’s name, I would have asked about it at that point.
“My son. He was a prototype for the Gifts given to Varick, but when he died in a different training exercise, I insisted Dean re-work every last one of the modules.”
“You had somebody shoot at toddlers?” I could tell she didn’t want to talk about him being her son.
Cora shook her head, rubbed at her right eye, and responded absently.
“In my design, the arrows were soft balls thrown to test their ability to adapt to situation changes.”
“What’s wrong?” I wondered, sensing her mind was elsewhere.
“Evelyn and I personally destroyed the paperwork. There should be no—” Cora cut herself off, and her expression morphed from puzzled to woman-on-fire. Gliding to the cell’s center, Cora squarely faced the security camera, and said, “I need to see Dr. Lanier right now.”
“Why do you need to see him?” I asked.
“Dustin,” Cora said grimly.
Before I could ask more probing questions, a guard rushed in and whisked us off to see the madman. Fearing they’d leave me behind, I scrambled into my shoes and forced myself to stand next to Cora. I even offer up my hands for the wretched cuffs. The guard hesitated, but Cora’s icy glare encouraged speed. The guard and I practically jogged to keep up with Cora’s rapid pace. She led the way through various rooms to Lanier’s library office and barged in. I found her knowledge of the mansion’s layout impressive, though I couldn’t tell you how many times she’s been brought to the office.
Lanier gallantly rose as we entered.
“Cora and Miss Matheson, welcome. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He motioned for us to sit in the two huge armchairs facing his desk.
Cora marched to the space between the two chairs.
“Stop getting your training modules from Dustin, and stop using them on Ashlynn. They were never designed for her.”
Halting a step behind Cora, I shifted right so I could see Lanier’s reaction. I needed the distraction to not correct her on Jillian’s name.
“Her performance last night was spectacular,” Lanier gushed like a kid who’d met a rock star. “We are proving the brilliance of Dr. Devya’s work. How can you protest such efforts?”
I stepped right again, so I could see Cora’s profile.
“Each module was designed for a particular project to challenge and stretch that child’s Gifts. Crossing and combining the exercises is beyond foolish.”
“There was no risk to Ashlynn,” Lanier argued. “I had her restrained.”
“You shouldn’t do that. She hates it.” I barely knew what I was muttering. Most people dislike being thrown in restraints.
The look Cora leveled at Lanier asked how he’d managed to survive so long and be so stupid.
“You really have no idea how to handle any of these children.”
“And you do?”
“I can prove it,” Cora confirmed. “Tell me, why did you select Miss Matheson and me as hostages?”
“She is close to the Soldier and the Dreamer, and you are one of Dr. Devya’s inner circle.”
“You overestimate my value to Dean,” Cora said, sounding exasperated. “As for Miss Matheson, you see her value, yet you do not understand her, these children, or the relationships that exist among them.”
I wanted to demand Cora explain better, but Lanier did it for me.
“I’m intrigued. Please elaborate. What don’t I understand?”
“The threat of violence may grant you some control, but a dead hostage, especially this one, will destroy everything you’re trying to build.” Cora gestured toward me with her bound hands.
“As I said, I had Ashlynn—”
“Physical danger is not the question, though she does work better unencumbered.” Cora’s hands clenched and the force of her convictions lifted her arms up to chest level, like she was preparing to box with Lanier. Her hands opened as she released her next words. “This is the heart of what you do not understand. If Miss Matheson perishes in one of these exercises, Ashlynn will shut down for days or weeks. She will question everything she does and hesitate to use the most basic parts of her Gift.”
“You think it will destroy her spirit,” Lanier concluded, nodding thoughtfully. “What of the Soldier? How would he react?”
Cora let her hands fall to a natural resting position.
“You do not want to make an enemy of any of these children. Dean made a mistake in alienating them.” Lanier opened his mouth to protest the slight against his idol, but Cora continued, “People can only be pushed so far.”
Lanier looked like a boy told he couldn’t have a pony.
“How should I train Ashlynn if I’m not giving her enough motivation? She must believe the stakes are high.”
“Use me.”
Cora’s answer shocked my knees into near collapse. I gripped the back of the armchair hard and my expression matched Lanier’s thunderstruck look.
“Ashlynn does not have the same emotional attachment to me as she does to Miss Matheson, but she places very high value on any life,” Cora explained. “If I die, it will hurt her, but not to a devastating point.”
“What about Devya’s reaction?” I asked, trying to recall her words from the day before.
Cora turned her head in my direction but wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Dean needn’t know. Dr. Lanier could see to that.”
“Couldn’t he cover up my death as well,” I argued, silently admitting the whole conversation had moved to a ridiculous zone.
Lanier cleared up my confusion.
“Ashlynn would know either way, but she’d be less likely to convey such news to Dr. Devya as she would to the Soldier.” He lapsed into silence, and his next question was directed at Cora. “Why are you doing this?”
“I have my reasons,” Cora returned. “You still shouldn’t use training meant for Varick on Ashlynn, but if you insist, then so do I.”
“Done,” agreed Lanier.
“Wait. What just happened?” My eyes darted between the two verbal combatants.
“Cora volunteered to take your place in the next training module,” Lanier explained.
The announcement sparked relief and strong denial.
“You can’t.” I didn’t want to call the woman old, but even twenty years her junior, I felt every ache from the previous night.
“She can and she will because she is right. You are too valuable to risk this way.”
“Cora, tell him you can’t. This is crazy.”
She didn’t respond until guards came to guide us back to our respective cells. As she was led out, Cora said, “This is fitting, but don’t worry, Jillian will see to it that I do not come to harm.”
I felt like a death row prisoner granted a pardon. Guilt for letting Cora take my place battled anger with Lanier for running such dangerous exercises.
I trust Jillian can keep Cora safe, but I hate needing the protection.
The One Granted a Huge Reprieve,
Danielle Matheson.
Chapter 21:
Allies and Updates
ITEM 204: Varick’s fourth letter
Item Source: Varick Allard Ayers
Dear Dr. Sokolowski,
I’m sorry I’ve not had a chance to update you before now. Much has happened. I’ve sent Dr. Robinson ahead to New York to begin preparations on a plan to rescue Jillian, Danielle, Cora, and Dustin. Meanwhile, I’m headed west for Dr. Carnasis and Nadia. Our travel arrangements are far slower than I’d like, but that can’t be helped. The government may wish to keep Dr. Robinson’s escape out of the news, but they’ve not given up hopes of a quiet recapture. It’s a good thing Jillian became proficient with reading maps and projecting the information in dreams.
At least we have end goals to aim for.
Malia’s standing by in case we need her. I cannot access her Gifts like Jillian or Nadia, but Malia has built a headset that will allow us to communicate. Aside from Cora, Malia can understand people like no other. In some cases, her emotional Gifts allow her to predict behavior. The ability makes her a right genius when it comes to tactics.
You may be surprised to find Dr. Robinson as our ally, but as I have said, much has transpired. At a recent top-secret meeting, she was ordered to place Jillian, Malia, and Michio in protective custody. She refused to the point that her superiors ordered her arrest. Soon after the events at the Lehigh Valley Hospital, I’d given Dr. Robinson a ring with a simple GPS locator to activate if she ran into trouble. The signal led me to Federal Prison Camp Alderson in West Virginia. Dr. Robinson could have escaped from the minimum-security facility without my help, but she needed to capture my attention anyway.
While it’s safe to say Dr. Robinson may not have a job to return to amongst the Guardians, she maintains a network of contacts we may need to draw upon. She is also a fair shot with a handgun and has a keen interest in keeping Malia and Michio free. This Lanier bloke went awfully far to reach Jillian and Danielle. He’ll certainly pursue the others too if we don’t show him the error of his ways.
Lanier left a phone for me with Mrs. Blairington, a right low move if you ask me. Jillian’s mum left a message to call her, so I did. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to explain. I was on my way back to the college from checking on Anastasia, so I kept on until reaching the Blairingtons. When I arrived, Jillian’s mum told me the legal rubbish used as an excuse to walk off with my sister. As soon as possible, I left to find a quiet spot to contact Lanier as per the instructions on the note with the phone.
He answered on the fifth ring.
“Please confirm that you are the Soldier designed and created by Dr. Dean Devya.”
“I am Varick.”
“Wonderful. I believe I have a friend of yours, a Miss Matheson, and your sister, the Dreamer, will soon be joining us as well. If you care for their welfare, you will keep this phone with you and await my instructions.”
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