Psy: Alien Castaways (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Cara Bristol

“I didn’t know she’d had one, but like I said, I haven’t seen her in twenty-five years. Mentira met a genmate, then?”

  “She must have, but he’s not in the picture now. Does the name Wayne Alan Steward mean anything to you?” He doubted the baby’s father’s name on the legitimate birth certificate had any connection to Mentira, but he had to cover all bases.

  “Never heard of him.”

  He had expected as much. What still stunned him was what Rosalie—Mentira had done to her own flesh and blood. He intended to get to the bottom of this. “Mentira needs to be brought to justice.”

  “That’s going to be…difficult,” Mysk said. “We haven’t experienced anything this egregious before, so we never established a tribunal. You recall on ’Topia we used sensory-blockers to incarcerate rogue Veritals. Here on Earth, we have no way to contain her. We could turn her over to Earth authorities, but violation of the code isn’t illegal under the law here, and, as you know, they couldn’t handle a Verital.”

  The assessment echoed his grim suspicions. “She would do a mind wipe on the police. She’d never be arrested and brought to trial.”

  “Unfortunately, the only thing controlling a Verital is his or her personal ethics and adherence to the code.”

  And Mentira had no ethics. It looked like she’d get away with her crimes.

  She’d been mentally abusing Cassie for more than two decades. What if the damage she’d inflicted upon Cassie’s mind was permanent? What if she could never speak? What if she never remembered she was his genmate?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cassie wrinkled her nose at the musty, dusty smell, unable to fathom why she ever wanted to work at Timeless Treasures. The store didn’t sell anything but old junk, and busybody Verna kept butting her nose into other people’s business. Surprisingly, when she had texted her to announce she was quitting, Verna hadn’t tried to talk her out of it, only saying she should come in to pick up her final paycheck.

  The biddy stood behind the counter. “Good morning!” Her overly cheerful greeting grated on Cassie’s nerves.

  She scribbled. Morning.

  “So you’re leaving, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “You got another job lined up?”

  What business was it of hers? Moving with Mom back to Boise.

  “Rather sudden, isn’t it?”

  She should have guessed Verna would give her the third degree. You have my check ready?

  “Meant to do that! Time got away from me this morning.”

  Cassie wondered what was so all-important she’d missed opening the shop on time. The window sign was still flipped to CLOSED.

  Her former boss pulled a ledger from underneath the counter. “I’ll figure out your hours and cut you a check while you clear out your locker. I think you left a fleece jacket and a few other things. Won’t take but a minute.”

  Cassie sighed impatiently then strode into the back room.

  The door clicked shut behind her, and Psy stepped into view. “We need to talk.”

  Damn that meddling Verna. She set me up.

  Damn Psy. Why couldn’t he take no for an answer? Getting involved with him had been the biggest mistake of her life. She huffed and scrawled, Nothing left to say.

  He grabbed her pad and tossed it aside. “No writing.”

  He surged into her head, his consciousness spreading, twining around hers, invasive…foreign, confusing. She wasn’t supposed to allow this; she was supposed to block him, because…because…he would hurt her, he would ruin everything. But his presence felt…comfortable, familiar, right. No, not right. Wrong. Very wrong. But… But…

  Get out! Leave me alone! She tried to expel him the way she had when he’d come to the house, but he refused to leave, his essence, that comfortable intimacy spreading deeper into her mind.

  I’m not leaving until we talk.

  She couldn’t talk to him. Shouldn’t talk to him because she wanted to go to Boise, and he would stop her. He was bad. Being with him would hurt her. He’d played with her, fooling her into thinking she might be able to speak, when she couldn’t. He was a liar.

  She spun around for the exit, but he blocked her passage. “Gahrhrr!” she grunted, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to force him out of her mind. Somebody had taught her how, warned her…who? Who… Forget who. She was getting distracted. He was doing something to her mind. “Gahrhrr!” Leave me alone! Why are you doing this to me? She grabbed her head, her fingers digging into her scalp in frustration and fear. She couldn’t run; she couldn’t hide. Like an invader, he stormed through her head, pillaging her private thoughts…

  * * * *

  Cassie mentally screamed at him, each angry demand, each terrified plea driving spikes of agony through his entire being. When a Verital forced his way into another’s consciousness, it caused the marauder extreme discomfort. However, knowing his presence terrified his genmate hurt worse than any pain arising from breaking the Code of Honor.

  Hopefully when he restored her memory, she’d forgive him. She had been violated in the worst possible way by Rosalie who’d replaced truth with false ideations and emotions then set up barriers of resistance that would be triggered if anyone tried to undo it. Rosalie’s mind control abilities were more developed than he’d realized. Small wonder. She had two decades of practice.

  The brainwashing had to be reversed. He could have done it secretly without Cassie’s knowledge, but ethics wouldn’t permit it, and he hoped she would realize deep down he was trying to help her.

  I hate you. I hate Verna for helping you. Cassie, in her right mind, would never have meant those words, but they pierced like a knife anyway.

  Her anger, her fear, her resistance, his guilt over violating the code urged him to rush, but he forced himself to proceed methodically, to perform a thorough examination. He peeled away conscious memory layer by layer, until he could see the foundation. He followed the linkages.

  Rosalie had been busy—but sloppy. Instead of erasing memories, she’d layered new constructs atop original feelings and thoughts, until lies buried the truth. One by one, he deleted the falsehoods.

  I don’t need or want a job. Delete.

  Verna is not my friend. She intends to separate me from my mother. Delete.

  My mother knows best. I must listen to her. I never want to leave her. Delete.

  I will never speak. Nothing can change that. I must accept it. Delete!

  I’m looking forward to moving to Boise. Delete.

  I never should have gotten involved with Psy. With great pleasure, he wiped that one away.

  I do not want to ever speak to him again. Delete.

  Although careful to cover her tracks, she’d left ghostly impressions of her presence. Should he remove the filaments and spare Cassie the pain of betrayal or leave evidence to help her understand her sudden about-face and change of heart and to protect against further intrusion?

  Before he could decide, Cassie shook her head and reached out to him. Psy? Wh-what’s going on?

  I don’t want to break up with you! she cried. I didn’t mean it. I love you. I don’t know why I said those things. I love my job. I don’t want to move to Boise.

  Relief to have his Cassie back flooded over him. I know. I know.

  Her eyes darted to and fro as more freed memories resurfaced, including the wispy vestiges of Rosalie’s perfidy. Was…was…my mother…in my head? Did she do something to me? She rubbed her temple. I feel like she was here, but I don’t remember any conversations.

  Yes. Let’s sit down. He led her to a cherrywood floral settee with a curved back that hadn’t been moved to the shop floor yet. Your mother is a Verital.

  Oh my god! She is?

  Without your consent or awareness, your mother implanted false beliefs, which caused you to reject me, quit your job, and agree to move to Boise. He paused and took her hand. I also have strong reason to believe she planted the idea you would suffer breathing difficulties if you attempted to speak. />
  She kept me from speaking? Why would she do that? She gaped in horror.

  He hated being the messenger of bad news, of having to inflict this on her, but she needed the truth. Why is still a mystery, but I have more information. You’re not bound by any legal guardianship. There is no such arrangement. She lied about that, too.

  You have documentation?

  He wished he did. But, unfortunately, absence was the only proof. There are no documents to show there are no documents. But I have these. He pulled the death and birth certificates from his pocket.

  A crease appeared between her brows as she perused the papers. I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Somebody else has my name?

  You have somebody else’s name, he said gently. Rosalie created a false identity for you and for herself. Her real name, her ’Topian name is Mentira.

  Her jaw dropped as the implication sank in. Are you saying I’m half alien? Is that why you and I can communicate via telepathy?

  No, I think it’s because we’re genmates. From what I can tell, you have no innate telepathic abilities.

  You said my mother created fake identities, and her name is Mentira. What’s my real name?

  I don’t know, but I think the answers to your past and Mentira’s motives are locked in your psyche somewhere, possibly hidden by the dark spot I noticed earlier. With your permission, I’d like to try to find the answers.

  Her expression turned fierce. Yes, of course. I want that, too.

  Whatever is there—if there is something there—she went to a lot of trouble to keep it hidden. It won’t be anything good, he warned.

  It can’t be anything worse than what I already know—about her trying to sabotage our relationship and preventing me from speaking.

  He cupped her face and pressed a kiss for luck to her soft lips. Whatever it is, I’ll be right here with you. Are you ready to begin?

  Ready. She nodded.

  He squeezed her hand and burrowed deeper into her mind, extending psychic tendrils, seeking out the hidden area. The kiss must have given him luck because he spotted the smudge right away and surrounded it before it could vanish like the last time. He found it surprisingly solid, as if it had existed a long time. Probably it had. Rosalie had been brainwashing Cassie for years.

  Circling the barricade, he probed in search of an easy entry point but found only pinpricks of weakness. Mentira had sealed it well. Marshaling his psychic energy, he punched into the fortress, shattering the walls. Suppressed memories poured out, drowning him in shock and horror at what Rosalie had done.

  Cassie’s entire body went rigid. Mommy! she cried.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Cookie!” Three-year-old Meadow pointed at the teal bear on the kitchen counter.

  “Say please,” her mother said.

  “Please,” she repeated.

  Her mother lifted the bear’s hat and dug out an oatmeal-raisin cookie. “What do you say?”

  “Thank you, Mommy.” Meadow grinned and bit into the cookie. Oatmeal raisin was the bestest.

  Mommy’s friend, Aunt Mentira, snorted. “You spoil that child, Rachel. You give her everything she asks for.”

  “Maybe,” her mother replied. “But she’s my child to spoil.”

  Aunt Mentira’s bottom lip stuck out. “That’s a low blow.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I know how much you long for children. One day soon you’ll meet a great guy, fall in love, and the wait will be worth it.”

  Meadow munched her cookie.

  “Easier said than done. He has to be the right guy. I don’t have a genm—a match. I can’t have kids with just anyone.”

  “Picky,” Meadow mumbled, repeating what she’d overheard Mommy and Daddy say. They both agreed Aunt Mentira rejected a lot of nice men.

  Daddy said a lot of things about Aunt Mentira, including that he pitied the poor bastard who fell into her clutches. “There’s something off about her. I don’t know why you’re still friends,” he often told Mommy.

  “Because I doubt she has other friends. She’s a bit of a loner.”

  “So let her be alone.”

  “Dan, I can’t do that.”

  Meadow ate the last bite and pointed at the bear cookie jar again. “Cookie?”

  Mommy glanced at Aunt Mentira before brushing the crumbs from Meadow’s face. “That’s enough for now, sweetie. We’re going to the park.”

  “Park! Go to the park!” Meadow exclaimed gleefully. The park had swings, a slide, and a pond where she could chase ducks. Mommy picked her up and settled her on her hip. Meadow loved the way she smelled, like flowers. Sometimes Mommy would dab her cologne on Meadow’s wrist, and she would smell like her all day.

  Her mother snagged a big blue bag. “Grab the stroller, Mentira, would you?”

  Outside on the porch, the sun shone bright and warm. While Aunt Mentira watched, Mommy bent and settled Meadow in her stroller. “We’re set. Let’s go.”

  Mommy stood up but made no move to push the stroller.

  “Park! Go to the park!” Meadow yelled, peering up at the adults.

  Aunt Mentira’s brows creased so tight, her eyes almost touched. Sweat trickled down her temples.

  Her mother’s face went slack. “I forgot something,” she said in a monotone and then pivoted and marched into the house.

  “Mommy?” Meadow craned her neck. “Mommy?”

  Aunt Mentira glanced up and down the street and then grabbed Meadow. She ran to her car in the driveway and popped the trunk. Scared, Meadow burst into tears and screamed. “Mommmmmy!”

  Shut up! Aunt Mentira shook her so hard, her head flopped. Be quiet! You will not say a word! Aunt Mentira didn’t speak, but her threatening voice resonated inside Meadow’s head, and a brain freeze spread its icy tentacles. You will not speak. You will not say a word ever.

  Terrified, Meadow tried to scream for her mother, but nothing came out of her mouth. She kicked, and Aunt Mentira shook her until she stopped. If you ever attempt to speak, you will not be able to breathe, and you will die, she said.

  I’m your mommy now. Your only mommy. I’ve always been your mommy. You’re my little girl. You will always be my little girl. Your name is Cassie, not Meadow. Cassie. A new truth pushed into her mind, supplanting the old.

  Mommy shoved her into the trunk smelling of gasoline and rubber tires. The lid slammed. Locked in a dark box, Cassie shoved at the top, but she couldn’t get out. Let me out! She tried to scream, but her throat began to close up. The more she tried to scream, the more a band tightened like a noose around her neck, and she couldn’t breathe.

  But outside the dark box, Mommy was screaming. “Rachel! Oh my god, Rachel! They took her!”

  A voice she didn’t recognize shouted, “Meadow? Where’s Meadow?”

  “They took her, Rachel!” Mommy sobbed. “Two men. They hit me and grabbed Meadow. They drove away! Oh god. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault!”

  * * * *

  Cassie, Meadow, wept with great gasps, her shoulders heaving. Her pain became his agony, Psy hugged her tight, cupping her head, rocking her, kissing her hair. “I’m here. I’m here.” Words to comfort her failed him. Horror rolled through him at what Mentira had done.

  She kidnapped me! Rosalie—Mentira stole me from my mother. Everything I believed about my life is a lie. Guttural noises erupted from her mouth as she cried. My name isn’t even Cassie! It’s Meadow! Why, why would she do that? Why? Why?

  Because, unable to find a genmate, Mentira wouldn’t be able to have children, Psy realized. The explanation did not excuse the crime. As an adult, a Verital, viewing a three-year-old child’s memories, he’d picked up on far more than she had. He’d heard the nuances of tone, had seen the covetous expressions. Mentira had hated Rachel, had been intensely jealous of her.

  She locked me in the trunk! She made it so I couldn’t even cry out.

  From Cassie’s memories—he couldn’t help but think
of her as Cassie—he estimated she had been trapped for hours while Mentira fed lies to the police. “That’s how you became claustrophobic,” he said.

  She’s the reason I couldn’t speak. I used to talk! She did something to me!

  Yes. She convinced you that you would stop breathing and die if you tried to speak. After the abduction, she’d continued to brainwash her.

  She couldn’t erase your memories because too much of your development was tied to your real mother, so she built a wall around those memories and associations. She feared you might remember your real mother and would tell somebody what she had done, he surmised.

  Cassie shuddered and clutched at his shirt, damp from her tears. That’s why I liked the bear cookie jar. My real mother had one! And her perfume I smelled one time on a stranger! She wore the same fragrance as my real mother.

  Your visions were memories breaking through the wall, he explained. They’d escaped through the tiny pinpricks.

  She lifted her head. Tears streaked her face, but she set her jaw in a resolute line. Can you undo what Mentira did, fix it so I can speak again?

  “Easily,” he said confidently, familiar now with Mentira’s handiwork.

  Please do it.

  His consciousness flowed through her mind and isolated the false construct that she couldn’t speak and would suffocate if she attempted to, and erased it, obliterating all traces. “Done,” he said aloud. “Try speaking now.”

  Cassie wet her lips. “Thhaank yyyou.” The words came out rusty, raw, but beautiful, and the joy in her eyes caused Psy’s throat to thicken. “I caaan spppeak. I caaan spppeak!”

  “Yes, you can.” He smiled from ear to ear.

  “Stilll haaard.” But there’s no pain. I can breathe, she telepathed and pressed a hand to her throat.

  “You’ll have to relearn the mouth movements. It will get easier, and the speech therapist will help you.”

  She nodded. “I lovvve yyyou. Nowww I caaan say it.” Satisfaction glinted in her eyes.

  “I love you, too.” He pressed his lips to hers. For a long time there was only silence, except for her sweet sighs. He stroked her face, drawing his finger gently down her temple and cheek.