“What’s your ability again?” I asked Brendan at breakfast the next morning. With so few memories to clog my brain, I shouldn’t have forgotten this quickly.
“Ditching best friends for a pretty face, is what it’s called.”
My body tensed as the newcomer’s voice blared directly behind me. When he rounded The Circle’s dining table and plopped into a seat next to Brendan, I relaxed, wondering at the white-knuckled grip I still had on my fork. Why had I thought eating with the masses was a good idea? The surrounding bodies were almost worse than the elevator experience.
Brendan gave the young man a warning look. “You’re gonna make her run for the hills, dude.”
“Funny. I thought that was your job.” The man’s teeth flashed neon bright against his dark skin. He winked a hazel eye at me even as Brendan shoved his shoulder.
A comeback readily formed on the tip of my tongue, which surprised me. I had thought myself incapable of jokes, so why the sudden desire to knock this guy down a peg or two with a witty reply?
“Lune, this is Jaxon,” Brendan said before taking a huge bite from his apple which made my mouth water for some reason. “Don’t let his strange fashion choices or goofy face fool you. He’s smarter than he looks. Although, he gets these delusional dreams that we’re best friends. Apparently they’re so real, he can’t help but dog my every step like a little lost puppy.”
Jaxon guffawed, saying, “It’s vintage,” while straightening his faded yellow t-shirt. On the front, a helmeted man, dressed all in black with a floor-length cape, held a red glowing stick. Then, lightning quick, Jaxon had my guard in a headlock. “And you know the dreams are real, man. You and me for eternity!”
I froze with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to my mouth as I watched them scuffle. A part of me was alarmed that my guard had been overtaken so easily, but the other part was relieved. If Brendan had friends, maybe he wasn’t so bad, even if my first instinct had been to fear him.
“Look there! She’s smiling! My job here is done,” Jaxon announced, jumping up before it could sink in that he was referring to me. He pointed at Brendan. “See you in training? Don’t let your arms get flabby just because you’re a pansy guard now. I bet they’ll ask you to be a captain in the Abilities Competition. See you around, Lune.”
And with that, he was gone, sucking some of the noise and energy from The Circle as he went.
“Sorry about that trainwreck,” Brendan said, but couldn’t quite hide a grin. “He says whatever pops into his head. It’s an Intellect trait. Filters don’t exist in their world.”
I shrugged, finding that I didn’t mind in the least. “What did he mean when he said it was your job to make me run for the hills?”
He groaned and muttered something about towel-snapping a little puppy. “That’s not a conversation for nosy civilians. Walk with me?” He rose from the table and grabbed his food tray, reaching for mine. I snatched my uneaten apple from the plate, not wanting to waste it.
As I followed after him, munching away at the delectable fruit, so did dozens of stares. My senses sharpened and I became uncomfortably aware of every move my body made.
“Stay close to me and no one will bother you.”
I glanced up to see Brendan watching me too, but his attention was different. Assuring. Comforting. As long as I didn’t look directly into his eyes, I could let his words soothe the fresh flare of anxiety. “Why do they stare as if I’m going to throw butter knives at them?”
When he snickered, I frowned. “Sorry. It’s just bringing back memories.” We exited the dining area and I tossed my apple core into a trash bin. Despite the thinning crowd, he continued to speak softly. “Fear has a way of making us do foolish things. When something supersedes our knowledge or ability to control it, we retaliate, usually in violent ways. The Ridge is a safe haven, but our nature is to defend our home against foreign threats. Once upon a time, the people here looked at me the way they’re now looking at you.”
“Oh? You couldn’t magically charm them with your smile?” As soon as the words left me, I wanted to bite my tongue off. I searched for a place to bury myself, but not a speck of dirt was to be found.
“Glad to hear some things haven’t changed about you,” Brendan said, sounding way too amused. I didn’t dare look at his face. “But no, their first reaction was to fear me, kind of like—”
When he didn’t finish, I peeked at his profile in time to see his jaw harden. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but a flash of pain seemed to shadow his features, then was gone as we rounded a corner. “Like me?”
His throat bobbed. “Yeah. I just . . .” With a sigh, he glanced down at me. I couldn’t look away from the sadness in his eyes. “You’ve felt a lot of things for me in the past, but fear was never one of them.”
My mouth opened, but I didn’t know what to say. Did the old me not have self-preservation skills? Because everything about the man beside me screamed predator. His build, the way he walked, even how he watched me. Those golden eyes . . . they almost reflected light, appearing to glow when his gaze intensified.
Like right now.
“Crap,” I breathed, shifting my focus elsewhere.
“You don’t need to be afraid, Lune,” he murmured. “I would never hurt you.”
I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway which earned me a muttered curse from someone I’d unintentionally blocked. “Then who did?”
Brendan tried to nudge me out of traffic’s way, but I smoothly avoided his touch, too hyperaware of him at the moment. I crossed my arms and leaned against the stone wall, unconsciously protecting my back. “No one here wants to hurt you,” he began, but I cut him off.
“How long have I been here?”
“Two weeks.”
“Where was I before that?”
“Tatum City.”
“Was I . . .” I almost clammed up. But the burning desire for answers had begun the moment I’d seen myself in the mirror three days ago. And the man before me was the only one who had the answers I sought. The questions I wanted to ask were hard though, uncomfortably personal. But I needed to know. My hands curled into fists. “Was I mistreated?”
He flinched, just a small tic beneath his right eye, but I caught it. “Yes.”
“By who?” My voice shook, not with fear, but with rising anger. I dug my nails into my palms.
“Renold, your adoptive father, abused you for years.”
My stomach lurched. What did he do to me? What had I endured? I needed to know. I needed to know everything. “Tell me. Hold nothing back. Have you seen the scars? The—the claw marks? What happened to me, Brendan? What—?”
I didn’t realize I’d been close to shouting until he put a finger to his lips, sliding a glance at curious passersby. I opened my mouth to say I didn’t care who overheard, but before I could, he grasped my arm and tugged me down the hall. My instincts balked at being manhandled, especially as thoughts of what my scarred body must have gone through ricocheted through my head. But, more than anything, I needed to understand. My mind practically begged me to fill it with memories before the vast emptiness drove me mad.
Brendan opened a door and pulled me through, closing it before bothering with a light. That split second of complete darkness sent fear skittering through my veins. A bare bulb flicked on overhead, illuminating Brendan’s face in an eerie way. His eyes were in shadow, yet I could still see the golden glow of his irises.
“It’s all right, little bird. Calm down. Just breathe for me, okay?”
My brows drew together. Was mind-reading part of his ability? I dragged in a trembling breath. As I worked on slowing my heart rate, I took in the room. Mops. Brooms. A shelf of cleaning supplies. The scent of lemon. A space that was way too small for Brendan and me to inhabit at the same time. “Maybe we should—”
He blew out a sigh before I could suggest we find a much larger room to talk in. “I’ve seen your scars. Maybe not all of them, but most of them. You were whippe
d for years.”
“Whipped?” I hissed, horrified at the image that popped into my head. “My back?” He nodded as his lips formed a tight line. “And these?” I opened my fists, showing him my palms and knuckles.
The strangest thing happened then. His face softened and he reached for one of my hands. Too surprised to react, I didn’t pull away when his fingers trailed the back of my hand, or when his thumb brushed over a scar on my palm newer than the rest. He chuckled quietly. “Self-inflicted. You were too stubborn to wear gloves and your charger’s mane would slice open your skin like paper. Didn’t faze you. Oh, and you like punching trees.”
Half of what he said didn’t make sense, especially when his touch grew bolder and his fingers slid through mine, thoroughly distracting me. At their warmth, at the jolt of familiarity, I retreated, tugging my hand free. “I—” I took a second to clear my tight throat. A faint smile tipped Brendan’s lips, like he knew all too well what his touch had just done to me. I had a sudden urge to smack the look off his face. Which reminded me . . . “I like punching trees?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll pretty much punch anything to avoid talking about your feelings.” One of his eyebrows lifted. “So if you’re feeling the need right now . . .” He spread his arms wide, almost knocking over a broom.
I snorted and took a small step back until a shelf poked my spine. “I’m not going to punch you. Was I really that violent?”
With a shrug, he lowered his arms. “You adapted to a harsh environment in order to survive. It’s why you’re here today. Don’t be afraid of who you were, who you still are, Lune. We need that adaptive, resilient nature if we’re going to save your sister and countless others from enduring what you did.”
“Wait. Sister?”
For the next hour, maybe even longer than that, Brendan told me of my past life. My charger, Asher, Iris—the few souls I had cared about in the walled city—the Trials, my near-death experiences, the monster who called himself my father. But something was still missing. As I forgot about the cramped space we were in, too focused on all that I was learning, it hit me.
Of the many memories Brendan had shared, not a single one included him.
When asked if I’d rather tour Blue Ridge Sector or get right to discovering my ability, I chose the latter. The wary and oftentimes unfriendly glares of the residents were getting to me, making me jumpy. Even with Brendan always nearby, I wondered what these people would do if he left my side for more than a few moments. Better to put them at ease as soon as possible.
The Ability Center, where everyone with unique abilities trained, could be summed up in one word: enormous. There were several glass partitions dividing an assortment of obstacle courses, some containing physical objects while others appeared empty. I watched as a girl about my age wearing an odd device over her eyes entered a glass square.
“Virtual reality,” Brendan said. I gave him a blank stare and he chuckled. “This is going to be fun.”
A familiar dark-skinned man with short, springy black hair broke away from a group of young children and jogged toward us. “Bren, my man, miss me so soon? It’s only been a few hours. But if you really need a Jaxie snuggle, just—” He paused, pretending to notice me for the first time. “Lune! I didn’t mean to hit on your man. I have OCD and flirting with Bren helps with my anxiety.”
“Um.”
“Yeah, that’s what my therapist says.” Before I could so much as blink, Jaxon clapped his hands together and started talking again. “So, you two here to train? Did you know that your mall-cop guard graduated head of his class last year? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. All he needs is a doughnut and Segway.”
“Dude, back the crazy bus up,” Brendan interjected, coming to stand a little too close to me. Jaxon noticed and gave me a weird grin. “She wasn’t raised around people who glorify a dead tech era and its bizarre culture. The references are lost on her. Go give someone else an aneurysm.”
“Fine. My class of chicklets awaits my pearls of wisdom anyway. But when you get the itch for a moviethon, Lu Bear,” Jaxon said, walking backward and stretching out his thumb and pinkie in a strange sign, “call me.”
As he turned away, I noticed Brendan dragging a hand through his hair with an exasperated sigh. A wavy lock fell onto his forehead. “He insists that God made a mistake and put him in the wrong century. You can either love him or hate him. There’s no in-between.”
I shrugged as he ushered me forward. “He’s the only one who’s looked at me like I’m a normal human being, so I like him, I suppose.”
Brendan’s shoulders stiffened. “And how do I look at you?”
The answer didn’t come readily. There were too many looks he gave me: sadness, hurt, hope, guilt, longing, resignation. All because I’d lost my memories, no doubt. But tucked deep inside his eyes, one look remained constant despite him saying I was an adaptable, resilient person. “Like I’m fragile glass about to break.”
I waited for him to contradict my observation. He didn’t.
By the time we arrived at the far leftmost corner where the activity level was drastically reduced, the silence between us had grown uncomfortable. Sooner or later, I’d grill him about our past relationship, if we even had one, but the sight before me pushed Brendan Bearon to the back of my mind.
A man in his early twenties was fist-fighting blindfolded.
And winning.
As I stepped up to the glass partition the two men sparred in, I realized there was no sound. Not a single scuffle from inside reached my ears. Then I saw neon orange plugs obstructing the blindfolded man’s hearing. I gawked as he swung a gloved fist and made contact with his opponent’s gut. “How—how is he doing that?”
“His mind,” Brendan answered so casually, I gave him a sharp glance, expecting to see a teasing smile. Instead, I found him watching the man with an expression of admiration. Maybe even reverence.
Five minutes later, the combatants broke apart and the blindfold was removed, revealing laughing gray eyes in a pleasant face. Maybe even handsome. Not ruggedly-intense Brendan handsome, but softer—a face you wanted to spill all your secrets to. Wait, what? Before I could dwell on the fact that I’d been comparing my guard’s appearance to someone else’s, the gray-eyed man exited the glass square.
“Bren, you made it,” he said with a wide smile, light brown curls sticking to his forehead as he wiped the sweat away. His attention snagged on me next, and stayed put. Those eyes. They weren’t electrifying like Brendan’s, but they spoke to me, like they knew the innermost workings of my brain with a single glance. Feeling exposed, almost naked, I was about to look away when he whispered, “It’s you.”
“Are you sure?”
Brendan was speaking now, drawing the man’s gaze, but I still felt branded. The desire to hide behind the hulking body of my guard swept through me, but I resisted. I wasn’t fragile glass.
“I’m positive. As soon as my ability brushed against hers, I saw the part she would play in all this. She’s the chink in his armor, the linchpin.”
Well, that all sounded particularly . . . invasive.
I must have made a sound—probably a snort—because those searching gray eyes found me again. “Forgive me, Lune. I know way too much and you too little. My name is Dominic Holland. I’m a Visionary.”
He said the last word as if it would explain everything. Not knowing what to say, I stuck out my hand. Smiling apologetically, he took it, shaking once, then twice. Instead of letting go like any sane person, he held on, turning the moment from weird to creepy. The sweat on his palm threatened to leach into mine. Still holding my hand, he said, “Your memories are blocked.”
Brendan stepped in close and Dominic finally released my hand. “Blocked? So they weren’t erased? Dr. Bradfield wasn’t sure. He needed more time to study the serum’s properties.”
Dominic nodded, and while he wasn’t looking, I carefully wiped my now sweaty palm on my pants. “Yes, I can feel the block.
It’s like a dam holding all the memories hostage behind a transparent wall.”
“Can you tear down the wall?”
What the what now? Okay, that didn’t sound safe. Hadn’t they heard of brain damage?
“I don’t know, I’ve never done it before. I could try though.”
Time to insert myself into this deranged conversation. “That’s okay. I like scrambled eggs, not scrambled brains.”
Both men stared at me, stared like I was the crazy one. Then they burst out laughing. Well, then. I didn’t know whether to be offended or say “screw it” and join in. I settled on crossing my arms.
When he’d somewhat composed himself after wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, Dominic said, “Your mind is way too strong for that. Think of it as a steel trap reinforced with titanium—it’s stronger than any I’ve ever felt before. But you lack training. That’s why Brendan brought you to me. He said you saw a vision of him getting stabbed before the event happened?”
Uh.
“Right. Memories. Thankfully, your ability isn’t blocked, only your actual experiences. So even though you don’t remember the details of your memories, the knowledge is still accessible to some extent. Dr. Stacey informed me you might be feeling phantom memories? Strong emotions, likes and dislikes of things for no apparent reason?”
I shrugged, sneaking a quick glance at Brendan. Hopefully she didn’t tell everyone about my first encounter with him in the bathroom.
“It’s similar to phantom limb syndrome,” Dominic continued, “having sensations of the missing limb still being attached. With a little bit of training, we should be able to strengthen those phantom memories and figure out what you’re capable of—plus the possibility of me unblocking your trapped memories completely. But first, let me tell you what I can do. You saw the fighting match?” I nodded and he beamed as if I’d won the match myself. I couldn’t keep a small smile from slipping free. “As a Visionary, your abilities should allow you to do the same thing: predict what someone does before they do it because you’ve already seen it happen.”
Adaptive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 2) Page 12