by Sarah Noffke
I swivel around to face Amber. “Surprisingly, I was able to understand the concept fairly well without my head exploding.”
She gives me a snobbish smirk and turns to address Aiden. “I was really hoping to discuss something with you. At your earliest convenience would you please come by my office?”
“Yeah, sure,” Aiden says in a clipped voice.
“Oh good,” she says, rubbing her neck. “I’m so sorry if I’ve interrupted you two.”
“No worries. I’ll come and see you in a little while.”
“Thanks,” she says, her voice sounding pained as she massages her neck with more vigor. “Ow, my neck. I’m so sore from being hunched over, doing all those reports that you asked for, Aiden.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s necessary. Those reports are crucial.”
“I know you’re right. You’re always right. I’ll get it done for you. And maybe you can help me out again with another massage,” she says, and then to my horror she winks at him. Blatantly, f-ing winks. “The last time you did, it was really helpful.”
The color drains from Aiden’s face. I draw a long breath in through my nostrils, trying not to let my jealously become apparent.
“Well, see you later, Roya,” Amber says, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder as she prances out of the lab.
Whirling in Aiden’s direction, I lower my chin and shoot an accusatory stare at him. If he didn’t know why I was mad before, he knows now. Unable to stomach looking at him any longer I start for the door.
He catches my wrist, spinning me around. “Look, Roya, I don’t know what you think is going on.”
Swiftly I break clean of his grasp. “I think it’s pretty clear.”
“Not to me,” he says.
“Well, you’re an idiot.” That’s for sure the first time he’s ever been called that.
“I’ve never given her a massage. I swear to it.”
“Why would your employee say such a thing?!”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“You don’t have a clue, or you don’t want to tell me?”
“I don’t know, Roya. Seriously. I don’t know. You have to believe me. She’s lying. I’ve never touched her.”
“Why would she lie? In front of me?”
He shakes his head. “I sincerely don’t know.” I have to give him credit, he does look the part—completely puzzled.
“So you didn’t meet her the other night? You didn’t take her up on her invite and have ‘fun’?” I say, my arms tightly crossed in front of me.
If he ever had a case it’s gone now. Sunk to the bottom of the ocean. I see it in his face. And it deflates any hopes I had too.
“I thought the whole team was supposed to be there. I didn’t know it would just be the two of us. I didn’t know…” He stops, having read the look in my eyes. It says what my mouth doesn’t: I don’t believe you.
“Do we really have to be discreet because of your position? Or is it so you can play me? And Amber? And who else?”
“No, Roya. It’s not like that.”
“Really? I can’t get more than a few minutes with you. And you’re off…” I close my eyes, feeling the heartbreak finally set in. Such a fool to ever believe him. Such a fool. Opening my eyes I find Aiden staring at me regretfully. He’s on the edge of saying something; his mouth is about to open and make excuses. Excuses I’ll believe. He’ll make this all go away. Then he’ll do it again. I won’t be made a fool though. I turn and stalk off before he has a chance to manipulate me the way he always does.
“Please don’t do this,” he calls as I approach the exit. I continue my march. “Don’t storm off like this,” he insists, but I remain focused on my path. “Let’s work this out between us.”
I halt. Turn. Find his blue eyes. I want to ensure he understands what I say and doesn’t question it. I will not be made into a fool, not by him or anyone. “Aiden, there is no ‘us.’”
Chapter Eight
The treadmill takes my abuse without complaint. Each stride hisses with anger. Each beat of my feet drums with hostility. I am so furious with Aiden that I don’t even use the iPod he gave me. I just run and try to find solace in the sound of my feet pounding against the treadmill. If George senses me down here enraged, then he’s decided to give me some space. I’m glad for that.
After dinner, I decide I’ve let off enough steam that I’m willing to be somewhat sociable. Samara and I lie on the floor of her room exchanging details of our reports.
“I investigated this elderly man. I’m not sure why he was of importance though. He’d been kicked out of his run-down little house by some guy with an accent. I followed the old man around for half an hour and listened to his thoughts,” Samara says as she braids a strand of her hair. “Then he was thinking about all sorts of unrelated stuff that I’m certain wasn’t important. I probably should have disconnected at that point, but I was afraid I’d miss something.”
“Who was the old man? And who was the guy with the accent?” I ask, intrigued.
“Haven’t got a clue,” Samara says, finishing the braid. “Truthfully, I love investigative reporting, but I wish I could news report like you. Discovering reports has to be so much cooler.”
“Yeah, well, different doubts go along with my line of work. So far the only report I’ve logged said it was unverifiable. Who knows if I’m picking up on anything of use. My wild imagination is probably making it all up.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it so much. My guess is your reports will be authenticated…maybe by me.”
“I was wondering, and you might know, why do we only log one report a day? Why not try to find as many newsworthy events as we can?” I say.
“I’m guessing it’s because it’s draining and risky. However, as an investigative reporter I’m given a few stories each day.”
“Oh, really.”
I share with Samara what I saw. She listens intently and flinches when I tell her about the French girl throwing a knife at me.
“Oh my god, that’s totally gruesome,” she shrieks when I’m done. “What do you think that’s all about?”
“I haven’t got a clue. This whole thing is so new to me. But I’m wondering if in time I’ll pick up a pattern,” I say.
“What do you mean?” she asks, frowning.
“Well, it’s the second time I’ve seen the girl, so I suspect I’m seeing events that are connected.”
“That does make sense,” she muses. “Sooooo, to change the subject.” Her voice is hesitant.
“Yes?” I ask with dread.
“Well, I know it’s a secret and all, and you can always blame it on my telepathy if you need to. Anyway, I’m dying to know what’s going on with Aiden.”
“He’s toast as far as I’m concerned,” I say. I tell her about our fight and Amber, and how I really wish he’d drop off the face of the Institute.
“It sounds like she was trying to make you jealous. Do you think she knows about you and him?”
“I doubt it. He made it pretty clear that no one should know. His precious reputation could be harmed.”
She gives me a regretful frown. “He was obviously looking for some praise on his new device.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say.
“But you’ve got too much going on to know you need to stroke his ego,” she says.
I bristle at what almost sounds like an insult. “Hey, whose side are you on?” I ask. Then I chew on my lip. “He drives me crazy. How can he make me feel incredibly drawn and repulsed to him at the same time? And his act is so freaking convincing. I really thought he…” The heartache cuts off my sentence prematurely. “I’m not going to allow him to make me a fool, that’s all.”
“I know how you feel,” she says, staring off at the far wall, a strong emotion in her words.
My guess is my flash was accurate and Joseph visited her last night. I’m not sure why he’s visiting her and ignoring me. I’m actually more irritated than hurt.
“Did you by chance see Joseph last night?”
She wiggles her nose. “Nope.”
I’m not certain why she’s lying to me about this, but I suspect Joseph has put her up to it. I also suspect that he’s got her completely wrapped around his finger. He’s pretty convincing like that, but not on me.
“So are you going to tell me about the ‘complicated’ situation with George?” Samara asks, using air quotes.
I really don’t see why I should share anything with her about my personal life if she won’t even tell me she’s dating my brother. However, some people are governed by the law of reciprocation. I’m hoping Samara is one of them. And besides, I could use some advice.
“As you know, George kind of likes me and—”
Abrupt laughter erupts from Samara. “Roya, he’s completely enamored by you. You do know that, right?”
I sigh.
“Let me set you straight, if you don’t know. George is captivated by you,” she says.
“I thought you read thoughts, not emotions,” I say.
“Yes, and you’re all he really thinks about.”
I draw in a long breath, feeling suddenly heavy.
“Yeah, well, it’s more complicated than him just liking me.”
She rolls her eyes.
“George knows how to give me exactly what I want most of the time. He’s so acquainted with my emotions and we share an unmatched intimacy because of that. However, I can’t offer him the same. I don’t know what he wants. And I feel like I’m going to disappoint him, either because I’m such a moron when it comes to love or because I’m terrified when it comes to relationships.”
“And to make things even more complicated, there’s the whole Aiden factor.”
I cut my eyes at her. “Aiden is not a factor.” Not anymore.
Samara stares off at the ceiling, seeming deep in thought. “You know, you should really—” A knock at the door cuts her off. She shoots into a sitting position, her eyes wide. “Stay here,” she commands. I have absolutely no intention of doing that.
In an instant she’s on her feet, racing to the door. She hits the button and the door slides back. My knees almost lose the strength to hold me up. The image of my brother makes me think I’ll crumble. Disbelief is the only thing keeping me upright. Pain roars through me and I know it’s his pain. Weakness overwhelms me and I know it’s his weakness. But his thoughts are shrouded in a cloud. Lost to me.
“Joseph,” I say in a scared hush. I push Samara out of the way and search his hollow expression. His skin is pale. Dark circles hang around bloodshot eyes. A leather jacket hangs loosely on his sunken shoulders.
“Oh, hey, sis,” he says with an empty expression.
I worry he’ll pass out right here. He’s too frail. All the spark that makes him Joseph is gone. Although he’s moving and interacting I know it’s only through instinct. Joseph isn’t fully in his body and I want to rattle him until he rises to the surface.
I drag him into Samara’s room. He tries to resist, giving me a petrified look, but he’s too weak to overpower me. “My God, Samara, why didn’t you tell me he was like this?”
“I didn’t know,” she says, wiggling her nose.
“That’s a lie.”
She darts her eyes to the floor. “He told me not to. He said you wouldn’t understand, that it would only make you worry unnecessarily.”
“Look at him.” I wave my hand at a barely present Joseph. He’s slumped on the bed, staring off in a daze. “Shouldn’t I be worried? Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t like this last night. Not this bad. I promise,” she says in a pained voice. She’s right. He didn’t look like this in my vision.
“What you girls talking ’bout,” Joseph says in a hoarse voice. “I’m fine.”
Is he drunk? On drugs? Sleepwalking? No real clues support any of these assumptions.
“Give us a minute or two. I need to talk to him,” I say to Samara, not taking my eyes off my brother.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be outside.”
When the door slides closed I cautiously approach Joseph. He’s gone somehow. Had he even witnessed the last few minutes? I can’t be sure. I sit beside him, curling my feet underneath me.
“Please tell me what’s going on,” I plead.
With a thud he lies back on the bed. “Oh, nothing much, sis,” he says, looking at the ceiling. “What’s goin’ on with you?”
“Well, my life is falling apart and on top of that now I’m super worried about you,” I say. Joseph’s eyes shoot wildly around the room, like they’re watching a fly buzz in the air.
“Oh man, that sounds tough, Stark,” he sings with a whistle. “How ’bouts you sleep on it and we’ll discuss it something fierce tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking now works better for me.”
“I’m kinda feeling out of sorts right now though.” He wraps his arms on either side of his head like he’s trying to block out a sharp noise.
I go to reach for him, but pause, afraid I’ll disturb him even more. “Joseph, what’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”
“Shhhh…do have to be so loud?” he says, an ache in his voice.
I’m not even yelling. Not yet, but I feel a frustration building in my chest. Still I manage to bring my tone down a degree. “You know the only reason I stayed at the Institute is because of you. You asked me to stay and I did. I thought you needed me. You said I could work a project with you. But you’ve disappeared and now look at you. What are you doing?”
With a great effort Joseph turns over on his stomach and rests his chin on his hands. “I don’t need help with the project. Thought I did, but you can’t be involved.”
“Why not? What is it? Who you working for? And what kind of ‘project’ has this kind of effect on someone?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says in raspy voice.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You’re gonna like this one.”
For some reason I don’t believe him. “And why in the hell are you coming to see Samara, when I’ve hardly seen you in almost a week?”
“’Cause I knew you’d ask me about the project and I can’t tell you,” he says.
“What? You’re really not going to tell me what you’re doing?” I ask, hurt, frustrated.
“Yeah,” he says, looking at the bed. His short blond hair is matted to his head. “I can’t tell you yet, but you have to believe in me.”
“Believe in you? How can I do that when you won’t be honest with me? How can I believe in you when you look deathly ill?”
“Well, that’s kinda disappointing.” Joseph turns to face me for the first time since he arrived.
“If you think that’s disappointing then you’re really about to be upset.” I lock onto his cold, dark eyes. “I’m leaving the Institute. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m not going to watch you kill yourself, which is what it looks like you’re about to do.” I shove off the bed and stand up, shaking.
“No, you can’t do that!” Joseph exclaims, pushing himself up to an awkward standing position. He staggers a bit. “You promised.”
“If you’re going to sneak around and refuse to tell me why you look like a heroin addict, then I have no problem breaking my promise to you.”
“I need you though,” he says, lunging forward.
“You don’t need me.” I slip easily from his feeble attempt to detain me. “All you need is my energy and I’m not giving you any more unless you tell me what you’re doing.”
He sinks down on his knees, his eyes wide as he begs. “I can’t. I just can’t. Please, you gotta believe me. Please don’t leave. Please.”
The Joseph I know would never beg. He’d never reduce himself to look so pitiful. Whatever Joseph is mixed up in, it’s stripping him of his integrity, along with everything else.
“If you can’t tell me what you’re working on then I can’t stay here. That’s the deal. No neg
otiations.”
He shakes his head, a look of horror on his face. “Please. Please.”
“No,” I say firmly and stride out of the room before he can say another word.
Samara sits beside the door braiding her hair. “Good luck,” I say over my shoulder. “He’s a goner. I wouldn’t kiss him tonight; he’s vampire status at this point.”
Only once I’m safe on the other side of my door do I breathe properly. The only thing good that has come of the last twenty-four hours is that I’m absolutely certain of one thing: I’m getting out of here.
Chapter Nine
Changed My Mind
Roya Stark
to bobandsteve
Hey Bob and Steve,
My brother and I don’t need as much time together as I thought. Also the Institute is starting to creep me out. I think they need to rename this place the Secret Institute. Everyone here is lying about something. I’m really tired of getting tangled up in all the drama that ensues from the treachery. I’m looking forward to returning to the land of the living, where people walk in real sunshine. Will you please pick me up at the GAD-C in Oklahoma on June 27th. I’ll totally wash all your windows, repaint your house, mow your lawn, hell I’ll even clean the gutters—just say you’ll take me in.
Love,
Ms. Completely-Over-This-Place
I hit the send key with a silent prayer. If they don’t take me in then maybe I’ll join the circus. No, that’s just trading one band of freaks for another.
♦
Hemingway once said, “I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” Yes, old friend, I do know. That night sleep doesn’t come though. No matter how hard I try I can’t get the constant babbling in my brain to shush. I’m thinking of naming my inner voice Chatty Kathy. Or Katherine Chatterson. Or Chatty McChatterson. Having a name would at least give me a way to address her.
Hey, Ms. Chatterson, shut up already.