The Awakening

by K. E. Ganshert

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I heard him shuffling around earlier this morning. His door opened and closed a half hour ago.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” Seriously, I need to take Jillian up on her offer to get me a clock from storage. It could be five in the morning or time for eight o’clock breakfast and neither would surprise me.

  “Seven fifty-five.”

  “Aren’t you going to be late for breakfast?”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Sunday’s are free days.”

  “Nobody eats on free days?”

  He chuckles a little. “Yes, we eat. But we get to eat whenever we want to eat. Cap thinks a full two-day weekend would give us too much idle time. He has no qualms about giving us Sunday, though. Which means sleeping in. No classes. No training, at least nothing mandatory. Eating, we still do.”

  “Oh. Sorry for waking you up.”

  “Your boyfriend already woke me up, remember? I’m a light sleeper.”

  I nod awkwardly.

  “I’d check the library if I were you. I saw him bringing some history books to his room before breakfast yesterday.”

  Declan is right. I find Luka sitting in a tattered armchair—the only piece of furniture in the room. I can’t tell if the yellowish color is intentional, or the result of time and wear. There’s a thick book opened in his lap that reminds me of the book I saw in his bedroom that first time he invited me over for our world history project. He chews on his thumbnail and flips a page.

  My fingers move self-consciously to my hair. For all I know, it’s sticking every which way like Declan’s. I shut my eyes, trying to blot away the memory of my brother and his dream. It’s no use. Pete’s gaunt face is forever seared in my occipital lobe, along with too many other disturbing images—the living dead at Shady Wood, my grandmother thrashing for freedom against the constraints that imprisoned her, Dr. Roth’s limp body swinging on a noose …

  “Tess?”

  I open my eyes.

  Luka stands and tosses the book onto the chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “The man with the scars. He’s tormenting Pete. He said he won’t stop until I come back. My dad’s in jail. The police think he’s the one who broke into Shady Wood.” My voice grows increasingly strained as I force the words out. “I have to go back. I can’t leave them in that mess.”

  “You’re a fugitive. Returning isn’t going to make anything better.”

  “It could set my dad free.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “But shouldn’t I try? My freedom’s not more important than his.”

  Luka comes to me in the doorway. “You think they’ll actually listen to your testimony? The second you set foot in Thornsdale, they’ll throw you in Shady Wood, and then what? Your dad will still be in jail and everything we’ve done to get here won’t matter.”

  Desperation eddies and churns inside of me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s right. I just know that my dad’s locked up because of me and Mom thinks the police are trying to lure me back. I don’t get why I matter so much. Why—in this world where drug lords and murderers roam the streets—are they using valuable time to search for me? I’m not a murderer. Despite what the media has to say, I’m not a danger to society. My fists clench by my sides. None of it makes any sense.

  Luka gently pulls me toward him. “Come here.”

  I resist at first, because I’m upset with him. He was talking to Cap about me behind my back. He didn’t help me rescue that woman. And he treated me like a little kid in front of Claire. But his skin is warm and he smells like books and I don’t have the strength to resist him. I let my body melt against his. I attempt to borrow some of his strength. “We can’t go back.”

  They are the same words I spoke to Pete in my dream, but here, in this physical, wakeful world, they are too much. The weight of them, too heavy.

  “Your parents are adults. They’ll figure out a way to get through this.”

  Sorrow curls its fingers around my throat and squeezes tight. Since when did being grown up make a person capable of getting through anything? I take a quick step back before I leak any moisture onto Luka’s shirt.

  “Tess?”

  I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands and wipe at my face. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re a horrible liar.”

  “It’s okay. Really. I just miss my mom. And Pete and my dad. Leela.” I try tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “My hair.”

  “Do you miss my hair, too?”

  It’s grown some since I buzzed it in Motel California. More moisture gathers in my eyes. I even miss that stupid room, when it was just me and him. No Keepers or Linkers or dead anima. No tormented Pete or smug Claire or reasons to be angry with one another.

  “You do. It’s making you cry.”

  I laugh a little. “You could be completely bald and you’d still be gorgeous.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Gorgeous, huh?”

  I scratch my ear “What did you and Cap talk about last night?”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. I asked you a question and you changed the subject to Cap.”

  “Gorgeous, huh is not exactly a question, especially when you already know the answer.”

  “You have entirely too much confidence in my confidence.”

  I roll my eyes. “Come on, Luka, you are well aware of the effect you have on girls.”

  “What about the effect I have on you?”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “Not a typical one.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He smiles. “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “So are you going to tell me what you and Cap talked about or not?”

  “My training schedule.”

  “Your training schedule?”

  “What—you thought I was talking to him about your training schedule?”

  “Sorta, yeah.”

  “I tried. But he’s pretty set on Link training you.”

  The sleeping dragon inside my chest stirs. “You don’t think he should?”

  “I’m not sure how much I trust the guy.”

  “Why not?”

  “You saw him last night. He was wearing this kid-in-a-candy-store look on his face, like this is all a giant game. Your life is not a game. I don’t want him treating it like one.”

  “He doesn’t think my life is a game. He just—he’s not so … intense.”

  “Compared to me, you mean.”

  My lack of response hurts him. I can tell by the way his eyes turn down in the corners.

  “Link’s not your Keeper,” he says.

  “Maybe it’s good that he’s training me, then.” I’m beginning to think that if Luka were in charge of my training, it would involve extensive reading and maybe some light stretches.

  “I feel like you’re slipping away from me,” he says. “And there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening.”

  “I’m not slipping away.”

  “No?” He curls his pinky around mine. “Where were you last night?”

  I look down. I’m not sure why I don’t want to tell him about Link and the greenhouse. “I turned in early. Didn’t really feel like socializing.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A Horrible Fate

  By the time Luka and I get ready and eat big bowls of stale Cheerios for breakfast, the common room is alive and hopping. Jose and Bass play foosball in the corner while Declan watches. Ellen reads Gone With the Wind on a recliner that has a giant rip along one of its arms. Sticks stands beside one of the couches, running through some arm blocks with Claire while Ashley and Danielle look on admiringly. Jillian plays a game of solitaire on the floor and Rosie lounges beside her, throwing out shafts of light from her fingertips.

  “Turn that up,” Cap says, wheeling closer to the television.

&nb
sp; Non points the remote at the screen. Beside her, Link sits on the edge of the coffee table with his elbows on his knees, toying with his Rubik’s Cube while a recap of yesterday’s Presidential Inauguration plays on the screen. My dad usually has us watch that together, too. I push thoughts of my family away and focus on a fuzzy-looking President Cormack as she addresses the nation, talking about how now—more than ever—we must be united as one. A country is only as strong as they are united. There can be no cracks in the foundation. Sacrifices must be made in the name of safety. Everything sounds so good on the surface, it’s almost impossible to catch the ominous subtext simmering beneath the shiny veneer.

  A flash of bright light whizzes past the periphery of my vision. Luka dodges left.

  “Almost gotcha.” Rosie smirks from her place on the floor.

  Luka chuckles. “Better be careful there, Rose Bud. I can throw one back, you know.”

  “Who are you calling bud?”

  Jillian gives me an uncertain smile. Last night she attempted to strike up a conversation while we stood in line for dinner, but I was so paranoid and convinced everybody already knew about Luka being my Keeper, I sort of blew her off. I smile back—overly bright—then slip away from Luka and Rosie’s lighthearted banter so I can hear more from our dear president as she impresses upon our nation the importance of not being at war within. I take a seat next to Link on the coffee table.

  “Hey,” he says, spinning the cube so that one of its faces is completely white. “Where’d you go off to last night?”

  He’s not asking the same question Luka asked in the library. He knows very well I was with him in the greenhouse. He’s talking about dream-world. I look over my shoulder to make sure Luka is out of earshot. He has no idea that Link plans on training me while we sleep. “I thought you said you were going to find me.”

  “I tried, but you were nowhere to be found.”

  “Guess you’ll just have to look harder next time.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  I shrug imperially.

  The screen pans from President Cormack to a press conference with one of our nation’s senators. “The bill will give insurance companies more freedom to dispense funds wisely. If a woman refuses treatment when a fetal abnormality is found, insurance companies will no longer be obligated to cover the medical expenses that will undoubtedly accrue as the woman’s pregnancy progresses. It’s unfortunate that this law has become necessary, but the burden these types of decisions have had on the medical industry have been profound and impact us all. We have overwhelming support for the bill, but there will always be a few dissenters.”

  The scene changes to a protest-turned-violent outside a fetal modification clinic.

  Muttering under his breath, Cap rolls away from the television, punching the power button on the TV as he goes. There’s a snippet of B-Trix—one of her advocacy commercials touting the numerous benefits of pregnancy screenings—before the screen cuts to black. It’s obvious Cap’s had enough. Whether or not he’s disgusted with the bill or the protest or the pop star, I have no idea. I watch him approach Gabe. The two confer briefly, then call Luka over to join them. The entire room pauses to watch. I even catch Ellen peeking over the top of her book.

  “Gabe and Luka will be needing some assistance over the next few hours,” Cap calls out to the room. “Do I have a volunteer?”

  I catch Jillian’s eye.

  “I’ll do it.” Claire comes forward. I want to object, but Cap nods his thanks and Gabe motions for Luka to follow him down the hallway. Claire flicks her blonde mane over her shoulder and shoots me a vindictive look before walking after them.

  A monster roars inside my chest.

  Mine.

  Luka is mine.

  I watch them disappear, so agitated by the sudden turn of events I barely notice that everyone’s attention has shifted to me. They are no doubt wondering what Gabe could possibly be doing with Luka and why an extra body is needed. It’s a question I wouldn’t mind knowing myself. How, exactly, is Claire going to assist? If anyone is going to help Luka, shouldn’t it be me—his anima? What’s worse, Claire’s bound to find out that Luka is my Keeper. How much longer before everybody else knows, too?

  “You look snarly,” Link says.

  “What?”

  “Just now. You were glaring at the hallway.”

  “I wasn’t glaring. I was looking.”

  “You were definitely glaring.”

  I can’t help myself. I look down the hallway again, as if Luka might suddenly reappear and decide to use Sunday how it’s supposed to be used—as a day off. We could play foosball. I could show him the greenhouse. We could lounge about in the common room reading books or watching TV or playing chess.

  “Wanna help me with our next rescue mission?” Link asks.

  Luka’s not coming back. He’ll be spending his Sunday morning with Claire. Which means I will be spending my Sunday morning thinking about Luka with Claire. A vision of the two sparring, Claire’s lithe, athletic body entirely too close to Luka’s, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Poring through databases could serve as a much needed distraction.

  I follow Link to the computer lab. He shows me how to pull up lists within lists based on specific keywords and flag any individuals who might possess the gifting. Once all the patients are flagged in a database, Link pulls up their case files, which provide a lot more detail.

  A half hour in, he gives me a nudge. “So what’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  He leans back in his seat, flattening a cowlick with his palm. “Luka’s your Keeper. You’re his anima. That has to be intense.”

  I focus on the screen in front of me. “Uh, yeah. Intense.”

  We work some more with nothing but the clacking of computer keys for noise. I find one patient to flag. When Link leans back in his chair again, I think he’s going to push for more information. Instead, he pulls out a large piece of cardboard from between two of the desks. A map of the United States has been taped to one side, marked up with different colored pens. Circles within circles, to be exact—a yellow one around the city of Detroit inside a purple one around Detroit’s surrounding suburbs inside a blue one around the eastern region of the state inside a green one that spans all of Michigan along with a large chunk of the Midwest. Inside the circles are several red pushpins.

  “What’s all that?”

  “Territories. The yellow circle represents the ground Jose can cover. The purple is Claire’s. The blue is Sticks’, and the green is Cap’s”

  “His is a lot bigger.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s an amazing fighter.”

  “Where’s his Keeper, then? If he’s as powerful a Fighter as everyone here makes him out to be, why doesn’t he have one?”

  “He must not be powerful enough.”

  I dip my chin. “You’re saying I’m more powerful than Cap?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe his Keeper hasn’t found him yet.”

  “Could that happen?”

  “Sticks doesn’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “According to Sticks, the forces of light work to bring Keepers and their anima together.”

  My forehead scrunches. A Ouija board and a séance-gone-terribly wrong brought me to Thornsdale. After the horrible things I saw all those nights ago in Jude, I can confidently say there was no light involved. “What would Sticks say if I told him that darkness was the catalyst that brought me and Luka together?”

  “He’d probably say that God works in mysterious ways.”

  It’s weird, hearing Link mention God so casually. So naturally. Logically, it makes sense. I mean, if I can see supernatural beings like angels and demons, if the supernatural realm is alive and thriving, then of course it stands to reason that there’s a God. Still though, after growing up in a world—in a home—that so definitively squashed God out of existence, Link’s statement sounds silly. Ingrained beliefs die hard, I guess. “So
Sticks thinks God uses darkness to achieve his ends?”

  “Confusing, right?”

  Enough to make my head hurt, that’s for sure. “What do the pins represent?”

  “Psych wards located within our reach. Right now, we’re looking through a database for a ‘mental rehabilitation center’ in Lansing.”

  “What happens if the government realizes you’ve hacked into their system?”

  Link smirks. “I don’t get caught.”

  We work until our stomachs growls, eat big bowls of bean soup and thick slices of sourdough bread for lunch (there’s no sign of Luka or Claire or Gabe), then come back for more research. My eyes glaze over as I scan the files, trying not to imagine Luka throwing out force fields to protect Claire. I keep checking the hallway. How long can three people train? I find another patient to flag, my leg jiggling like a hyperactive pogo stick. “Hey Link?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What happened to Gabe’s anima?”

  “He lost her three years ago on a mission much like this one.”

  My face blanches. I can feel the color seeping away. “She died in a dream?”

  “It’s not a dream, remember? Not when we’ve stepped through a doorway into the supernatural realm. Her abilities made her a target. She and Gabe were separated, the other side got her, and when he woke up, she was gone.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  “Her body was still there. Her heart was still beating. Her physical self was fine. But the other side killed her soul.”

  “So what happened?”

  “She never woke up. She wasted away, and then she died.”

  “That is awful.”

  “It’s about as bad as a story can get.”

  That’s for sure. And Luka can’t know about it. Not ever. If he does, he’ll do everything within his power to keep me from fighting. “So is that why Gabe is so …?”

  “Tortured?” Link offers.

  I roll the descriptor around in my mind. I would have said devoid of personality, but now, with this new information, I see Gabe in a different light. He doesn’t have a dull personality; he simply lost his breath of life. It breaks my heart. Not for Gabe, like it probably should, but for Luka. Because if something happens to me, will he meet the same fate? Will my death be Luka’s undoing?