by Sarah Noffke
I close the book, then my eyes. I have an important appointment to keep. The silver tunnel is smooth and long, full of turns. I enjoy the wind on my face and the adrenaline which always accompanies my dream travels. This time it’s also accompanied by a sense of joy.
It feels good to see their faces—Bob’s round one, Steve’s long. Hard to believe it’s been a month since the last time I was in their company.
Bob studies me. “Roya, you’ve changed.” His tone doesn’t carry a bit of criticism, only wonder.
“I’m not any taller, if that’s what you mean.”
He snickers. “No, and your days of growing may be over, but you do look stronger—like you could beat Steve in an arm wrestling contest.”
There’s no doubt about that. “I’m still the same Roya though, just more seasoned.”
“Yes,” Steve says, “and you still have that defiant look in your eyes. Don’t ever lose that.”
“No worries. It’s inborn,” I say.
They both wear skeptical expressions as they scan the surroundings. Our ghostly figures stand in tall, damp grass by the lake. Even though it’s dark, I can see Bob and Steve’s house isn’t built yet. The field where the house will stand one day is open except for a few pecan trees. The lake beats on the shore of an unprotected beach.
“All right, Roya,” Steve says at last. “What gives? Why we’d meet here? I don’t mind, but…”
Bob’s at Steve’s shoulder. He looks like he’s wondering the same thing.
“Well,” I begin, “I probably could have come up with a better location, but I knew this one would be perfect for my purposes.” They both exchange curious glances. “And besides, I wanted to return to you guys’ place. I’ve missed it. It’s just I forgot the house wouldn’t be built yet,” I say. What I don’t say is I’ve also missed the lake. It’s where I grew up and the only part of my childhood I can still fully experience.
“Why November 17, 1966, though?” Bob asks.
“I figured it would be great to have a show to watch while we catch up,” I say.
“Show? What kind of show?” Steve asks.
I point to the sky, allowing the grin I’d been suppressing to escape. “Only the largest meteor shower ever.”
Satisfied expressions unfold on both their faces.
“If my research is correct,” I continue, “then we have approximately three minutes to find a nice place to sit before the show starts.”
We settle down on a sturdy log along the beach. The first stars fall right on cue. With each passing second, the volume of meteors increases until they’re sprinkling down all around us. We’re speechless for a few minutes watching the best fireworks show in the world. It’s impossible to count the meteors streaking from every possible place in the vastness. According to what I read, on this night the meteors fell at a rate of approximately sixty per second. When I read that I could hardly believe what a display of that magnitude would look like. Now I know. Unearthly.
I recede into my thoughts and pretend I’m on a distant planet and this is the show I watch every night before I go to sleep in my antigravity chamber. These stars are a part of evolution and their falling means that more stars are being created to take their place. Bigger ones. Better ones. But one day they will fall too.
I gaze across the lake. The house I grew up in hasn’t been built yet either. As if sensing my thoughts, or maybe following my line of vision, Bob says, “You think about the family you grew up with often?”
“Only when I feel like torturing myself, so yes,” I say.
“I’m certain they feel a loss, not having you in their lives anymore,” Bob says.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” I say.
“Even though their minds have been reprogrammed, their hearts have not. That would be impossible,” Steve says.
I shrug. I don’t feel like telling them that I know for certain my absence has gone unnoticed by my fake family. Shortly after the battle with Zhuang I returned to the home where I was raised. Joseph had been the one to suggest it. Closure. That’s what he’d called it. That night he traveled to the pig farm where his father made his life hell after his mother died. I returned to the lake house to spy on the people who raised me. It felt weird to call them my parents now. I realize now the modifier, which the Institute had used to manipulate them to accept me as their child, had begun to wear off a couple of years ago. That’s the reason numerous times they acted as if I didn’t exist—or at least I believed they were acting. Now I know that for them, I didn’t truly exist in their reality. It was only once Aiden had perfected the technology that the device worked more fluidly, but it still was no match for Zhuang. He was the one to undo all its programming. He was the one who set me on a new course by getting me thrown out of my fake family’s home. Zhuang thought he was sending me in his direction, but he was wrong.
My fake brother’s space in the garage hadn’t changed a bit. The same lumpy couch sat in front of a nearly burnt out TV. Even his dirty laundry was piled in different corners of the room. My phony family was still coming to terms with his passing. Shiloh might have been an established loser, but he was also a beloved member of that family and the community. People liked his easy grin and carefree attitude. Turns out those are the same traits that made one effortless prey to Zhuang. That’s the reason Shiloh was the first to succumb to the brainwashing. He was barely functioning the last time I saw him, which is why he didn’t survive the blast that we suppose happened when Zhuang’s consciousness imploded or exploded or whatever it did.
The people I’d known as my parents for the first sixteen years of my life were lying on the couch, curled up in each other’s arms and watching a reality TV program when I visited. They seemed subdued as they chatted about their favorite characters during the commercials. There was absolutely nothing new or different about them. The modifier’s failure had proved useful in this situation at least. There didn’t seem to be any indication that I ever existed in that household. Trey explained they’d probably disposed of my stuff when in the hallucinator phase of Zhuang’s attack.
Who knew what the school or town thought? Honestly, I was one of those people who didn’t make much of an impact. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if my disappearance went unnoticed.
What bothered me the most about that visit was that I felt no hurt at being obliterated from these people’s lives. The point that these things rarely upset me is the most bothersome part. Most people feel. They care. Maybe that’s the reason I’m on the verge of living a new, unmemorable life at the Institute. Obviously, I’m trying to manipulate myself into doing something about my emotional numbness, but so far it isn’t working.
Conversely the people in Joseph’s life had great difficulty forgetting him. They apparently thought he’d been in an accident or kidnapped. His paranoid father believed Joseph was hiding on the farm somewhere, waiting to attack when the old man fell into one of his usual drunken stupors. However, the townspeople organized a search party, scouring the fields and forests for weeks trying to track him down. Joseph recounted his findings to me with great pride. I knew how the town felt, because I missed Joseph too.
Now, my fake family, Joseph’s fake father, and all the people who had ever known us before we came to the Institute have been “reprogrammed.” Their memories of us have receded. They’d never remember us in their lives. We are footprints on the shore and the modifier is the ocean, erasing all marks. Trey explained this was for the best, but I hated the idea that the modifier was once again used on Middlings to manipulate their thoughts. Yet I also knew I couldn’t go back to the place I grew up. And I didn’t want to one day see my face on a missing person’s report. I acquiesced to the use of the modifier—but only in this one instance.
Meteors still rain down from the sky when I turn to Bob and Steve. “So how’s business?” I ask in an effort to take my mind off my troubles.
“Well, gold is up, which is always good for us,” Steve says.
&n
bsp; “And I’ve managed to find a few new resources,” Bob adds.
“So we won’t starve anytime soon.” Steve chuckles.
I know for certain they deal in rare antiques because it’s fascinating and not because it’s extremely lucrative. It’s one of the things I love most about them—they’re intrinsically motivated. More than that, I love that with Bob and Steve there’s no pressure. They don’t appear to want anything from me. Part of me used to wonder why they were so nice to me—buying my clothes and offering to let me live with them. However, my education in people watching has started to pay off. There are two types of humans in this world: those who function so they can get something and those who function so they can give something. The former are the majority. The latter are Bob and Steve. They’re innately driven by some power of benevolence. Maybe still in their giant hearts they pity me, see me as a charitable pet project, but I don’t really give a damn. If their aim is to fix me then I’ll hand them the tool box. I can’t think of two people I’d trust more with that job. They’re the only Lucidites who have never lied to me.
“What about you, Roya?” Steve asks. “How are you keeping busy?”
“I’m not,” I say and explain how unproductive I’ve been lately.
“Have you considered,” Bob says, not taking his eyes off the sky, “that maybe you should ask Trey to put you on a project? It might help you if you weren’t so idle.”
I shake my head. “Well, I wanted to, but then I wondered why he hadn’t approached me like he did with everyone else,” I say.
“Maybe he thought you’d had enough responsibility for a while and needed a break,” Steve offers.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, watching the tail of a star trace across the sky. “I don’t even know what I’d do for the Institute.”
“There’s plenty of stuff they could use you for.” Steve pats me on the back.
I close my eyes and make a wish that he’s right.
Chapter Three
I decide to take Bob and Steve’s advice. The only problem is I don’t know how to find Trey. He’s another one I rarely see. Since Flynn’s death, he’s taken over as the Head of the Institute and I think the new stress and responsibility has been more than overwhelming to him. The only time I see him is by accident in the hallway, or the one time when he came to debrief after the fight with Zhuang.
I’d been pretty closed off during that conversation and didn’t get as much out of it as I should have. Trey explained what I’d expect to find at my fake family home. He welcomed me to stay at the Institute as long as I liked. Then he offered to answer any questions. I had a million questions about my life, Dream Travelers, the Lucidites, and the Institute. However, I still resented that Trey had lied to me about Joseph, had the Institute keep this secret from me, and manipulated my life since the beginning. So when Trey gave me a chance to ask him anything, I just stared at the bare conference room wall and said, “Why don’t we have more artwork in the Institute?”
Trey looked disappointed, like I lacked imagination. He said if I needed anything I could always come and find him. The problem now is I don’t know where to look. I know where Ren and Shuman’s offices are, and his isn’t in that vicinity. Most people probably would ask someone for this information. I’m obviously not most people.
My search for Trey takes me to the second level, where the residential corridor and a bunch of meeting rooms are located. There are also a few large classrooms, storage areas, and a door on one long single hallway. It’s unmarked and locked.
I move my search to the third level. More locked doors, the kung fu studios, and offices with people who look annoyed when I happen into their space. Defeated, I turn, ready to abandon my mission. A voice halts me. Not only do I recognize it, but it’s uncharacteristically high. I listen, hiding my presence behind the corner.
“I really enjoyed seeing you last night.” A giggle. “Thanks so much for joining me,” Amber, Aiden’s assistant, says in a voice unlike her usual clinical one.
“Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for the invite,” Aiden says.
What!?
“We should do it again soon, Aiden,” Amber says.
Do what!?
“Actually, should I call you Dr. Livingston now? Since you’ve completed your PhD?” she says in a voice that’s making my skin cringe.
“Aiden is fine,” he says. I imagine he shrugs and blushes.
“Look, I’m glad I ran into you because I’m having a tough time understanding the coding for the upgraded GAD-Cs. Do you think you could run me through it one more time?” Amber sounds like a lost puppy. I loathe dogs.
“Oh, definitely,” Aiden says with his typical enthusiasm. “It really is quite simple, but not until you understand a few principles.”
“Well, I’ve read through your notes, but something isn’t clicking in my head,” Amber says with an exasperated sigh. “I do so much better with one-on-one instruction.”
“Cool, well, why don’t you buzz down to my lab this afternoon? I’ll sort you out.”
“Oh, that would be really wonderful,” she says. I feel like gagging at the oh-so-bright eagerness in her voice.
“K, until then.”
Footsteps retreat to the elevator. Another set patter in the opposite direction. I slide up against the wall and watch Amber’s brown ponytail trot down the hallway to the left. The urge to reach out and yank it courses through me.
Once the door to her office slides closed, I throw my head back until it hits the brushed stainless steel wall. A sharp pain echoes through my body. I welcome it.
Is this really happening? Is Aiden putting the moves on Amber now? How long has it been since we kissed? Not even two weeks.
I throw my head back again, ramming it loudly into the wall. The ache is now dull, but as intended, numbs my emotional frustration. I storm off to the elevator. I’ll go to the fourth level, but no farther. I don’t care if Trey’s office is on the fifth level, that’s where Aiden’s lab is and I’m not setting foot there for as long as I possibly can.
The fourth level’s aquamarine carpet under my feet doesn’t greet me the same way as the treadmill, but it still feels good to run. I jog past doors, not even stopping to inspect them. I’ve completely abandoned my mission now. Each step I take is another one away from Aiden. His games. His secrets. Maybe I should have seen this coming. But I never see anything, it seems, until it’s right in front of me.
Racing around a corner I slam into Shuman. Her amethyst eyes bore into me, irritation heavy in her gaze. A normal person might have been pushed over by my assault, but Shuman doesn’t even waver.
“You all right, Roya?” she asks, flattening her leather vest and staring at me hesitantly.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, still startled. “I’m sorry. I just…”
Shuman raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you looking for someone?”
Yes.
“No, I’m just exploring,” I say.
“Hmm,” Shuman says, skepticism loaded in her tone. “Well, since I have you here, I want to ask you a question.”
I straighten. Prepare myself. “Yes?”
Shuman’s hair is tightly pinned in its usual braid. The hairstyle makes her appear young and innocent, which is the opposite impression her demeanor gives off. I wouldn’t say she’s older than thirty, but she has an air of maturity—or maybe it’s entitlement. Whatever it is, Shuman commands a level of respect, which I’ve only threatened once.
“Roya,” she says in an airy voice, “I could use your help in my department. I am not sure if you would be interested, but if you wanted to explore the possibility then I would welcome you.”
“Really? Me?” I ask.
“I can always use the help of a clairvoyant. With practice I think your insights could give us access to significant events in the immediate future. You and your brother together would be an impressive force, but by yourself you are an asset.”
Me as a News Reporter? They’re such an elite group,
revered by most Lucidites. They’re also a complete mystery. Hell, yes, I’m interested.
“Sure, I’ll check out the opportunity,” I say, trying to sound indifferent.
“Good,” Shuman says softly. “My department is on the fifth level in the Panther room. Meet me there tomorrow morning. I will give you a tour, then we will see if you are interested in participating.”
Damn it! The fifth level? I feign a smile. “Sure, I’ll be there. Thanks.” I turn and head to the elevator.
“Roya,” Shuman says, not having moved.
Turning, I face her.
“Before, when you ran into me, I had the impression you were upset.”
Always the observant one, isn’t she?
“I’m just feeling a little lost,” I say, averting my eyes.
“That is not such a bad place to be,” she says, looking characteristically stoic.
I think about Aiden and how much I want to slap him right now. “Yeah, well, I’d settle for a hundred other places right now.”
“I understand that, but also consider that the way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost.”
Nodding, I turn back around. I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. This is so typical of Shuman that I don’t even question it anymore. Hell, the day she starts making sense is when I’ve officially lost my mind. Might be tomorrow.
♦
For the rest of the day I lie low in the workout facility, listening to music that tugs on my heart like ropes on a sail. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when George shows up.
“Oh, you’re in here? I had no idea,” he says in an unconvincing voice. Slinging a towel over his shoulder, he sets off for the treadmill beside mine.