by Sarah Noffke
She blows out a frustrated breath.
“Confirm your compliance now,” I say.
“And what if I don’t?” she says.
“Then I’ll use mind control on you and force you to sit in a coffee shop in Hollywood. There you’ll be forced to listen to pretentious hipsters drivel on about their conservation efforts and how they’re thinking of purchasing new vanity eyeglass frames,” I say.
“You wouldn’t,” Adelaide says.
“Try me. And after that I’ll put you on tour with Dahlia and make you sit on the front row next to a bunch of shrieking teenagers,” I say.
“Okay, okay,” she says in a rush. “Just don’t make me listen to Dahlia’s music. It’s horrible.”
Dahlia gives her a pleased smile. “You love my music and you know it.”
“Sometimes when I really hate my life and want to punish myself, I listen to it. Some people are into cutting. Your music is that for me,” Adelaide says.
“Well, I can sing something for you now if you’d like,” Dahlia says, not deterred.
“You can’t actually. Firstly, if you wake up that thing I’ll go ape shit,” I say, pointing at the bassinet. “And secondly, you have to move out of this house right now.”
And then in unison both women burst into laughter. When they quiet down I say, “Ha-ha. Now pack a bag and get out.”
Dahlia’s face goes slack. Adelaide erupts into another round of laughter.
“Ren, what’s this about?” Dahlia asks.
“My new wife used voice control to force me to kick you out of your house. However, the Lucidites created a device that filters out the influence in her voice so it can’t control me. But if I don’t force you to move out then my cover is blown and Vivian will know I have this technology. So get out,” I say, throwing my thumb over my shoulder.
“You’re married?” Adelaide says. “Since when?”
“Ren, this has gone too far,” Dahlia says.
“Yes. And since recently,” I say to Adelaide. “And no it hasn’t gone too far. Not yet,” I say to Dahlia. “I haven’t decided exactly what to do about Vivian’s Smart Pods, but I need my cover so I can act if the need arises.”
“You expect Dahlia to move out of her own house?” Adelaide says.
“I do. But it’s not forever,” I say.
“Fine, I’ve got more meetings in New York coming up. I’ll pack a bag. But you’re going to owe me big for this, Ren,” Dahlia says, always willing to comply.
“I actually need you to have movers move out most all your stuff. Leave the things we will need, but Vivian is having a design team fill up the house with new furnishings,” I say.
“What?” Dahlia says.
“Well, she wants it to be perfect for when she moves in,” I say.
Dahlia stands now, her face flushed pink. “Ren, this is not okay. You married another woman and now you’re kicking me out of my own house so she can move in. All for a dumb job.”
“Dear Dahlia, I get that you’re upset about this, but please stop being hormonal. My job isn’t dumb,” I say.
“Hormonal?” she says.
No, I don’t have to be so rough on her but I’m trying to make this easier and the best way is to push her away. I’m bloody good at it.
“What if I refuse to do this? What if I don’t leave?” Dahlia says.
“Then you’ll ruin everything and I’ll resent you for the rest of our lives,” I say simply.
“I already resent you,” she says. “But I’ll go ahead and leave. I won’t spoil your precious case, but just know that I might not come back when this is over. I might just sell the house so my new husband and I have a fresh start.”
“Sounds good,” I say, turning away from her before hearing her stomp out of the room.
“You’re pretty ridiculous,” I hear Adelaide say from the sofa.
I turn and face her. “Yeah, I totally fucked up and you seem to have inherited that from me. You’re welcome.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I close my laptop with more force than was necessary. Maybe I broke the devilish piece of technology. However, in this one instance, the brain cell–sucking device was helpful. By gaining access to Smart Solutions’ files I’ve determined who the mole is. I already had my suspicions, but now I know for sure. I discovered more than just who the dirty rat is that’s been leaking secrets and sabotaging the news reporting department. I also uncovered truths that don’t paint Vivian in such a pretty light. I knew she’d kidnapped people and had them murdered, but I never saw this. Yes, she’s responsible for decreasing crime rates, but to do it she created a terrorist’s war. Trey didn’t want me intervening to stop the function of the Smart Pods; however, he’ll change his mind on that soon. And if he doesn’t, well then I’m still disabling the Smart Pods. Fuck Trey’s orders. It’s not like I ever listened to him before. I’m handling this case the way I want to no matter what.
But first I have to go deal with this fucking mole. And that won’t be as easy as I thought. I had seen the mole as some drooling scientist or uneducated maintenance worker. Someone I wouldn’t mind punishing for spying on me and turning my secrets over to Vivian. But surprisingly, I actually don’t want to punish this person. Even though the things they did to fulfill Vivian’s demands are pure treason on the Lucidites, I’m not sure the punishment I had in mind is a good idea. And Trey will be devastated when he finds out who the mole is, but that’s the least of my concerns. Disarming this person is going to be hard. It’s going to feel hard at least. Like how it would feel to brutally punish a child.
Dr. Raydon was correct. My own strategic thinking kept me from finding the mole. I crossed them off the list prematurely because they didn’t fit the criteria. My agent checked this person out, but they operate using the same mode of thinking as me. And our reliance of stereotypes did fail us this time.
I rise from my desk, each step bringing with it a calculation in my mind. There’s only one way to deal with this situation that will make me feel okay long term. And to my revulsion it can’t include violence. That would scar my already blackened soul. But when this is over I suspect I won’t feel the vindication I desired. Why can’t this case involve bombs and warfare, instead of peace that has to be ended by my own hands?
I stop in the doorway to the infirmary. As I suspected the fucking mole is here. I burst through the swinging door and march straight over to the two women. Mae stands just behind Roya, who is sitting on the bed, her head bent down and her body readying to receive the medicine via needle.
“Stop,” I say, my voice loud and clear.
Mae freezes, her gloved hand resting on the back of Roya’s neck, the needle of pink liquid in her other hand.
“This will only take a second,” the old woman says.
She presses the needle firm into Roya’s skin. Mae isn’t stopping. And Roya is going along with this, making no notice of me, her eyes closed.
The needle pricks Roya’s skin and I know I have to act fast. Mind control is risky in this situation and not as fast acting as I need. Like how Clint taught me I throw my hand forward, the motion quick and deliberate. It knocks Mae’s hand back and the needle flies away from Roya, crashing to the floor. Mae at once grabs her own hand, which might be broken in several places judging by the brittleness of her bones.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Roya says, wheeling around.
“Stopping a fucking mole from sabotaging news reporting efforts,” I say.
“What? What are you talking about? I’m not the mole,” Roya nearly screams. She’s always had such a quick temper.
“No, of course you’re not,” I say, my eyes narrowing on the elderly lady who’s cradling her hand, probably healing it as I speak. “She is,” I say, pointing at Mae.
Roya’s gaze revolves on the healer, growing shock in her eyes.
“Read my cases from Oregon with the Reverians, did you?” I say to Mae.
My first agent case was in southern O
regon, stopping a society of Dream Travelers who were injecting rebellious young adults with a drug called cerevitium. This blocked their psychic ability, allowing the government to keep control of them. In my report I detailed the contents of this drug. And through accessing Smart Solutions’ files, I found they had bought these rather unique drug ingredients and had them shipped to the Institute, care of Mae’s department.
“Ren, I can explain,” Mae says and to my surprise her voice is steady and strong.
“I ask the questions and you answer them. If you do then I won’t kill you,” I say. And it’s a bluff. That’s been the rub. How could I kill a healer, a person who has saved so many, who has the power and the longevity to heal so many more people? It would be like harming my own mother. But my mum wouldn’t have betrayed me.
“Mae, it was you?” Roya says, standing at once, taking the place next to me, her stance defensive like she’s ready to fight. Clint has trained her for many years and honestly I wouldn’t want to spar with Trey’s daughter. She’s got an awful temper and ridiculously impressive reflexes.
“I can explain. What I’ve done was for a healthy future,” Mae says.
“Silence,” I say. Allowing an enemy to lead the conversation is wrong. The person with the advantage is the one who puts the other in an interrogation mode. Takes control. “You will simply and directly answer my questions and only my questions,” I say, giving Roya a sideways look. She nods briefly.
“You’ve been injecting Roya with cerevitium. For how long?” I say.
“For a few months now. When she started having trouble news reporting I started the treatments,” Mae says.
“But she was having trouble news reporting because Vivian was reflecting her powers, is that right?” I say.
“Yes, and we knew cerevitium would be the long-term solution to rid her of her clairvoyance,” Mae says.
“So Roya came to you for help and you gave her a drug that would completely rob her of her ability. This would ensure that even if Vivian failed to reflect due to elemental forces, Roya wouldn’t have clairvoyance to news report. She wouldn’t be able to see what Smart Solutions was doing,” I say.
“Oh my god,” Roya says, grabbing the back of her neck where she’s been receiving painful injections for months now.
“Don’t worry, your powers will be restored when the drug wears off in a day or so,” I tell her.
Relief marks the girl’s eyes at once.
“How long have you been spying for Vivian?” I say to Mae.
“For a few years now. Only brief reports in the beginning and then much more detailed ones the last year,” Mae says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Well, because I felt her pain. We grew close during her time here. So later when she asked for reports on the affairs of the Institute and on you, I figured it was because she missed the place that healed her. Missed the man who fixed her. And then she came to me this year and told me of her plan to repair families and make them functional. She told me the Institute would stop her because they wouldn’t understand until they saw how beautiful the results would be. I’d lost my daughter and had a soft place for the girl. And you Ren, must see that her mission has been pure. It’s working and you know it,” Mae says, and I know she’s told the absolute truth.
“She’s killed thousands to make a better future,” I say.
“No,” Mae says, with a hiss.
“Oh yes. And you’ve been her pawn, disarming Roya, giving Vivian inside secrets, and sharing every detail of my life with her. You, Mae, are culpable for helping a psychopath rob the world of thousands of souls,” I say, and this is a hard truth for me to reveal, but I must.
“But how?” she says in utter disbelief.
“Antonio,” I say simply. “Vivian employed him. He wasn’t the leader of Group X, the terrorist group responsible for thousands of deaths. Vivian was.”
“Why would she do that? She wants peace,” Mae says.
“Because she’s a master of distraction,” I say.
And because I have no reason to lie and I’ve always been right with my accusations, Mae believes me at once. But she is a strong woman, and the anguish seeps to the surface with only a tiny pained look in her eyes. It is one of devastation and regret and I suspect she’ll wear it from now on. “Oh my god,” she says in a cursed whisper. “I can’t believe I’ve been a part of this.”
“Now you and I are taking a trip on a repulsive submarine,” I say, dreading what I have to do next. “I’m going to suffer pressure changes to rid the Institute of you, a traitor to your own people. And if you ever land on one of our GAD-Cs then I will end you. I will burn my own soul to punish you for trespassing on our grounds. The monitors of the GAD-Cs have been warned and if you ever enter our Institute, that minute will be your last. Are we clear?”
Mae nods, shame marking her movement. She’s not a bad person. This woman is the one who has been used. And she’s the one who I’m certain will repent for this for her remaining twenty years on Earth. Most people aren’t bad. They are misdirected or being manipulated or driven by old pains. Mae, now knowing Vivian is the mastermind behind Group X, will probably reduce herself to poverty, spending her life in a monastery healing orphans. That’s my hope, but Roya’s news reports will have to confirm this as I’ll assign her to do. And again I’ve learned something from this case. Sometimes not punishing your enemy is the best strategy. What they will do to themselves, after experiencing your mercy, is much more effective.
“Let’s go,” I say to the old woman. I plan to rid this place of her and then I’ve got to act on the second lesson I’ve learned from this all. The one concerning my wife.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I teleport straight into Vivian’s office. She wasn’t expecting me and the startled shock is written on her face. It quickly morphs into delight.
“Oh, Ren, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” she says, clapping a hand to her chest.
Nearly won’t do the trick. I haven’t figured out exactly how to completely deal with Vivian. The approach I used for Mae won’t work. Trey asked that I bring Vivian in, but my instinct is unclear on that strategy. We have ways of imprisoning Dream Travelers using a piece of technology called a dream blocker. But strangely, the idea of Vivian rotting away in a cell catches in my throat. However, I have to remind myself she’s not that damaged orphan anymore. She’s a dangerous mastermind who deserves to be stopped and punished.
“I had no idea you could teleport,” she says, pride in her voice.
“There might be secrets I’ve kept from you yet,” I say.
“Oh?” she says, sounding curious. “Did you like the furniture I had delivered?”
“Yes, it’s more my taste. Masculine and utilitarian,” I say. Dahlia moved out over a week ago, and Vivian wasted no time repainting and redesigning the house. As I suspected, it has kept my cover and given me the time I needed to put things into place.
“Well, I know your taste. I dare say I know almost everything about you,” Vivian says like this is a point to brag about, rather than a creepy admission. “It pleases me very much that we are going to make a real life together now that you’ve gotten rid of Dahlia.”
“You made me do it, didn’t you? Even though you said you’d never use voice control on me,” I say, having dropped the act we’ve been playing over the last week. It’s not necessary anymore.
“I didn’t want to,” she says with a pout. “You left me little choice. But now you see how my influence works and I’m sure there will be no further reasons for me to exert it.” And somehow Vivian has managed to edge her way to me and now stands right up against me. I step back, my eyes roaming over her, catching every detail I can. Anything that will give me an advantage as I enter the next phase of my plan.
“Soon you will figure out a few things, and as the dutiful husband that I am I’ve come to share the news,” I say. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. Best you find out from me and presently.”
“It’s extremely exciting,” I say.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging. Tell me so we can christen my office,” she says, unbuttoning my suit jacket. I clap a hand over hers and squeeze like I mean it with affection. Then I steal her thoughts, which unfortunately are of a provocative nature and only serve to distract. Pulling my hand from hers, I take a step back.
“Mae has been removed from the Institute and you should expect to never hear from her again,” I say simply.
The seductive look on her face is wiped away, replaced with a slow simmering anger. “You…you knew? And how dare you? Why would you do that? Why would you remove her from the Institute?”
“Because, darling Vivian, no one spies on me and gets away with it.”
“But I was only doing it so I could better serve you,” she says sweetly.
“You’re not serving me. Your corrupt plans are only to feed your burnt out soul,” I say.
“Ren, what’s going on here? This doesn’t sound like you.”
I laugh and to my surprise it’s a genuine one marked by disbelief that people can be so blind when consumed by evil. “This is me. The man you’ve married and known for the past several weeks is the imposter. You, Vivian, have been played.”