by Sarah Noffke
I lower the book. “Let me guess, you were as lousy a social worker as you are a waitress.”
“I was bloody brilliant at it actually,” Jane says, smugly. “I had stellar success rates. More of the parents in my cases completed rehabilitation than any other. The kids I worked with had great results, improving behavior and grades.”
I just stare at her.
“But for every person I saved, there were thirty waiting for help,” she says, her voice dropping an octave. “Our office was overwhelmed with cases. There was no end in sight. I had helped so many and I still felt defeated. I quit because no matter what I did it didn’t make enough of an impact. Does that make sense?”
More than she will ever realize. Maybe Jane sensed my story as I knew she has the potential to do. Whatever reason she has for sharing this with me, it does slightly endear her to me. We are both quitters. Complex people, seeking a simple life. Tired of the losing battle. And yet I resent God for sending this person into my life. He intervenes in my life about like the Lucidites do into other people’s affairs. God, I just want to be left alone.
Jane shrugs her shoulders when I remain stone-faced and silent. “Anyway, that’s my story.”
I stand, pulling on my jacket as I do. “Well, cheerio,” I say, turning to leave.
“Wait,” Jane says to my back.
I turn and regard her with disinterest. “What?”
“What’s your gift?”
“I’m apathetic,” I say and turn back around and leave.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I hadn’t even completely left the pub when my mobile rang in my pocket. I’m not sure why I even kept the irritating device after Oregon. I didn’t really do technology. I was pretty certain every time I stuck the stupid thing to my head it was scorching my brain cells like dove eggs in a frying pan. Only two people have my number and I’m fairly certain this call isn’t from my pops since we’d just had dinner the night before.
I pull the phone out of my pocket. As I suspected. Trey Underwood.
I tap the screen. “If this is about the fly fishing trip, I’m still checking dates. I’m super busy for the next decade or two,” I say, strolling the noisy pavement.
“Very funny, Ren,” Trey says on the other side of the line. “I’m not calling about the trip that’s never going to happen.”
“Ouch, you don’t have to be so harsh,” I say. “I was really looking forward to the trip.”
“Look, Ren, I’m calling to ask you to please consider one more job. I need your help.”
“Trey, you’ve always been so economical. When did you decide to start wasting your own time and energy?”
Silence on the other side. He clears his throat. “Hear me out, would you?”
I stroll down the street. “Only because I like to hear your voice,” I say. I thought the Lucidites would leave me the bloody hell alone after all my years of service. Not in this life.
“The news reporters have seen a problem brewing with this terrorist organization, Group X. It’s the one I told you about before and it’s going to get worse,” Trey says.
Why in the hell we had to spy on the future, I’ll never know. Can’t we just let some things be a mystery? No, because we’re bloody Dream Travelers with too many powers, and not enough willpower. We’ve got to stick our noses into the past and the future, but God forbid we actually live in the bloody present.
“Group X made their first attack this morning. They blew up a school in Africa,” Trey says, his voice gruff.
I pause and stare out at the busy street.
“There’s six more attacks planned and because they have such a large following it’s hard to find and stop them,” Trey continues. “We can intervene in the attacks but never stop the next one that’s planned. There’s always another and another. We have to stop the source, which is the leader, Antonio. No one here has the power to help. But with your mind control you could get into their headquarters and take over the leader. You could stop him. We’ve got a plan that will work but we need your help.”
“Why don’t you just go in there or have an agent,” I say, too loudly, overcompensating for the traffic noise. “If you’re trying to apprehend him then you don’t need me.”
“We can’t get in there,” Trey says at once. “It’s locked down, about how the Grotte was. We need someone with mind control who can convince the guards to allow him in. And a series of attacks are planned on innocent people, if anyone attempts to capture Antonio. He’s warned that his minions have been instructed to act if he’s apprehended. But if you got to them first and made them not act then Antonio could be apprehended.”
“In your recruiting, haven’t you found another bloke with mind control?” I say.
Over the speaker I hear a long breath. “Not one strong enough for this kind of thing,” Trey says with defeat. “I tried with another agent and they were caught.”
I press the phone more firmly into my head. “One of my agents was caught?” I shake my head. Not mine. That isn’t my department anymore. “What’s happened to them?” I say.
“They’re dead.”
“Damn it, Trey,” I say loudly.
“I told you this was serious,” Trey says and then an ambulance with its sirens blaring speeds down the motorway, drowning out his other words.
I duck into a large bookstore on the corner. “Hold up. I can’t hear you. There’s too much noise,” I say as I move around a crowd at the front.
“All right, repeat what you said,” I say, moving around a line of teenagers. They’re talking as loud as the bloody sirens on the motorway.
Again Trey says something and again I can’t make it out.
“Blimey, it’s a book shop, will you lot be quiet!” I yell, my face flushing hot with frustration. I gaze up then and notice a horde of teens staring at me, horrified looks on their faces. Then my eyes flick to the huge vertical banner hanging in the middle of the bookshop. A line snakes throughout the oversized bookstore. On the banner is a picture of Dahlia holding a hardback, with a glossy cover. She’s written a book. A memoir. I better not be in it. Under her beautiful picture it says: Book Signing Today at 3 pm. I flick my eyes to my watch. Trey is speaking in my ear, but I can’t hear him over the chatter in my head. The shop is completely quiet, all eyes on me. I twist my watch around.
2:59 pm.
I raise my eyes to the sky. “No fucking way, God. Stop messing with my life,” I say under my breath.
“What?” Trey says, confusion in his tone.
“I’ve got to go,” I say and switch off the phone as I sprint for the exit.
I don’t stop running until I’m two blocks away. I can’t see Dahlia. I can’t. Ever. I don’t know what kind of shenanigans the guy upstairs is playing. I’m sure it’s for his amusement. Dahlia and I don’t need to see each other. I don’t need to help Trey. I need peace, quiet, and solitude. Fat chance I’m getting that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You’re back,” Jane, the irritating waitress says, looking surprised and pleased.
I unfold the newspaper, blocking my view of her. “I’m a creature of habit. This is my pub.”
“What?” she says. “I’ve been working in this pub a whole year and I have never seen you in here.”
“Well, I used to come here every day,” I say.
“But…?” she asked, fishing for details I’m not willing to throw over.
“Are you going to take my order or are you trying to see if I’ll die from this conversation first, because I might at this rate.”
Jane turns and walks off.
“Where are you going?” I say to her back. “You didn’t get my order.”
“If you’re a creature of habit then you’re having what you did yesterday,” she calls over her shoulder.
I fold up the newspaper with repugnance. The pages are quickly filling up with events related to Group X. I’m confident now that whoever took over for me as Head Strategist is as incompetent a
s a box of rocks.
Jane returns with a cup of Earl Grey. I regard her and then the tea with annoyance. “I was going to order green tea actually.”
“No, you weren’t.” She crosses her arms and looks at me with a tough expression. “You’ve been gone from London for a long time,” she says, taking a different stance in the nonexistent conversation.
“Good guess,” I say.
“Not a guess,” she says. “My empathy read that you’ve missed the city and this pub.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Stay out of my head.”
“I don’t read thoughts,” she says, tapping her head and then her chest. “I read emotions from the heart.”
“I don’t have a heart,” I say.
“That’s not the impression I’m getting,” she says.
I try again like I did yesterday to shield her. Empaths are hard to block. I know this.
She eyes me for several seconds. “That was a weak attempt,” she says with a proud smirk.
“I’m done with your service. You may go now. I’ll whistle if I need something.”
To my irritation Jane sits down, just like she did yesterday.
“By all means, slack off so you get yourself fired,” I say, waving at where she sits in the booth across from me. “Then I won’t have to deal with you. But please slack off elsewhere. I’m busy.”
She looks at the folded up newspaper. “You look like it.”
Then she waves at the mostly empty pub. “As you can see, I’m not needed. And besides, I’m not getting fired. I’m shagging the owner.”
“Very classy, aren’t you?” I say. “I’ve seen how dirty the pint glasses are here. I think you should devote some time to them and leave me be.”
“Your accent, it’s Estuary, am I right?” she says, settling more into the booth. “Where are you from?”
“A place where people can take a hint,” I say, my eyes seeking to cut her like a laser.
“Well, tell me where that is. Maybe I’ll go and observe and learn.”
“I doubt that,” I say. My tea is cold when I take a sip. “I’m from a small town, you wouldn’t know it.”
“Try me, I grew up in the southeast too,” she says.
I sigh melodramatically. “Peavey,” I say.
“Oh,” she chirps loudly. “I can’t believe it. I lived a town over in Miller.”
“Good for you,” I say flatly.
“It’s uncanny how many things we have in common.”
“We have nothing in common,” I say.
“Oh, come on. We’re from the same area, both Dream Travelers, and both working in menial jobs because we’re tired of having our powers,” she says.
“I’m not tired of having my pow—” I stop myself and throw down the napkin I was kneading during this conversation. “Oh, fine,” I say in surrender. “What’s the use? You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
“Probably not. It’s not that I fancy you, I just know you could use a friend.”
I scowl at her.
She holds up her hands. “Just calling it how I sense it,” she says and then pauses. “So I’m right, you’re tired of your powers, aren’t you?”
“It’s not that simple, but sure.”
“Well, you don’t take me as the simple kind of guy.”
“I’m aspiring,” I say.
“That’s the reason for the ticketing job, isn’t it?”
“Well, I have to pay the bills now, don’t I?”
Her eyes drop to the gold ring on my finger. It’s a gift from the Lucidites and of the highest quality, just like everything in the Institute. “You used to have money though, didn’t you?” she says, studying me.
I’m actually intrigued by her ability to observe. Coupled with her empathy she would be a good agent. Damn it! I can’t keep my mind away from thinking like the Head Strategist. It’s just a habit, though, and has to be broken.
“So what is your gift?” she asks.
“I have a few,” I say.
She waves her hand at me. Imploring me to keep sharing. “This friend thing only works if you elaborate from time to time or otherwise I’m doing all the talking.”
I have a few dozen crafty retorts but I kind of don’t feel like using them right now. Instead I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter what they are because I’m not using them anymore.”
She blows out a breath. “Wish I could turn off my gift. It’s incessant on my attention. What’s your name?”
I pause and then say, “Ren.”
“At first I thought you’d give me a false name,” she says with a clever, triumphant smile.
“How do you know I didn’t?”
“Because people feel bad when they lie and you didn’t just now,” Jane says.
“How do you know that I’m not a psychopath who doesn’t feel bad when I lie?”
“You’re not a psychopath. I know.” She shivers. “You never want to use empathy on psychopaths, it’s like wrapping your mind around a block of ice.”
“I think I have an idea of what it’s like,” I say, thinking of my experiences of being in Allouette’s head.
“Ren, do you ever feel cursed?” Jane asks and there’s a pureness to her question. She’s a girl standing alone in a desert. She’s been searching, trying to find her path. Trying to abandon her identity. It’s so plain on her. Plain Jane. And I hate that I know exactly how she feels. I know exactly what she’s looking for, because I’m looking for it too.
“I’ve only ever felt cursed,” I say, sounding as dejected as I am.
She nods with a commiserating look. “Yeah, I kind of figured you knew what I meant. I used to be in a society of Dream Travelers and they all seemed happy to be this race of people. They never felt burdened and that’s why I left. I couldn’t relate to them.”
I lower my chin and rub my temples. Jane and I have too many things in common and it is starting to piss me off. My mum would say the hand of God is playing strongly in my life. She’d say I should be grateful, but I’m not sure I know how.
“You’re not drinking your tea,” she says.
“It’s repulsive,” I say, raising my chin.
She pops out of the booth. “I’ll grab us ales.”
Jane comes back a minute later carrying two hazy glasses with too much head. “You’re a horrid waitress,” I say, looking at the pints.
She shrugs and takes a long sip.
“And you’re drinking on the job?” I say.
She burps loudly and then shrugs. “The owner won’t fire me. I know how to give him exactly what he wants and how he wants it,” she says with a wink. “Empathy does have some benefits.”
I throw my eyes up to the ceiling. Oh, bloody hell, would you stop it! I say to God, silently.
“What are you looking at?” Jane asks.
I bring my eyes down. “Just cursing God.”
“Oh, I do that all the time but he doesn’t seem to care. Why are you cursing him right now though?”
“Because you’re like the female version of me,” I say with a repulsed shiver.
She laughs. “I always hoped the male version of me would be more attractive than you.”
My mouth pops open. “I’m deadly attractive.”
“Maybe for people who are color blind?”
“Well, you look like a bloody elf with the pointy ears and cropped hair,” I say.
She laughs. “Don’t take offense. I’ve never been attracted to redheads,” she says, draining her glass.
“I’m not offended.”
“You are a little,” she says, giving me a knowing look.
Chapter Thirty
I woke up the next day with the first hangover I’d had since after the night I broke up with Dahlia. Jane and I closed down the pub, spending most of the time exchanging insults. It was the first good time I’d had in many years. I may have actually laughed, although it’s hard to remember after that many drinks.
Over the last week I’ve learn
ed that Jane and I indeed have a parallel life. And although I’d die before admitting it, it’s been nice to have someone to relate to. She takes a break when I come into the pub at mid-day and we chat. It’s become the only part of my life I look forward to. Work is always the same boring bullshit. And each night is filled with strange dreams. I’ve got a long list of missed calls from Trey that I have no intention of returning. There was an off hour where I actually considered going back for one more job but every time I pick up my mobile I freeze. I then remind myself that doing one job isn’t going to make a difference. There will just be another tragedy. There’s no way to stop evil. It’s all just a delay tactic. And to do what he wants I’d have to turn back on the mind control and hypnosis and that isn’t an option. Since I’ve quit being me, my life has simplified and the monster is growing weaker. I was actually laughing. Maybe one day I’ll actually have a humble demeanor. The odds are close to nil, but one can have dreams.
I’ve been napping lately. It’s more a way to avoid reality than to get rest. I woke up late today from the nap and therefore I have to take a shortcut to get to work on time. I’m halfway through a back alley when I catch a movement in my peripheral. I flip my head around just in time to catch a fist slamming into my jaw. I’m then assaulted by a boy’s thoughts. He’s scared and his hand instantly sears from his own assault. I stumble back into a brick wall just as two other boys grab my wrists and pin me to the wall, one on either side of me. They’re street hoodlums who are stealing money to buy booze. They’re bullies hyped up on testosterone and hot egos. I know more about either boy holding my wrist than they’ve dared to share with each other. And I know they’re mostly harmless. They’re not murderers. Just common criminals.