Ren The Complete Boxed Set

by Sarah Noffke

  I withdraw a card from my inside pocket. “You will tell no one about this deal, is that clear?” I say, now putting intention behind the message. I do need to use mind control to ensure he doesn’t fucking blab at the victory party tonight.

  “Yes,” he says, staring at me with a blank expression.

  “Good. Sign,” I say, again using intention but now because staring at his wrinkled face is making me sick. This meeting needs to be over.

  “Call this number every night of your presidency. Report all important details and follow all instructions given to you. And never act of your own accord. If you have questions about decisions then you call this number. Is that clear?” I say, folding the contract and placing it in my breast pocket.

  He nods and then shakes his head. “Can I still pass the retina scanner security bill?”

  I regard him blankly. “Why?” I say.

  “Because I think it will be cool to have to have eye scans to enter all government facilities,” he says, and sounds slightly high now. He probably is.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever,” I say, ready to be out of the warm office.

  “Yes!” he says, throwing a victorious punch in the air.

  “Don’t fuck up because we will be watching you,” I say and teleport away, leaving the soon-to-be President alone and probably baffled about my sudden disappearance. He’s definitely not violating the contract after witnessing my party tricks. He probably won’t take a piss without our permission.

  Chapter Two

  I teleport straight into the conference room of the strategic department as I intended. Three of the closest agents startle, one grabbing her chest like my sudden appearance gave her a mini heart attack. One nearly busts out of his seat but after realizing it’s me he just tenses and presses his fingertips into the arm rest.

  “Do you have to do that?” Trent says from the front of the room. He’s got his dumb dreadlocks pulled back in a ponytail like he’s a fucking horse.

  “I do,” I say, calmly taking a seat at the table.

  “It’s just that after the Dream Traveler apocalypse everyone is still on edge. It was a colossal fight and has put a lot of Lucidites into PTSD,” Trent says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Taking the Head Strategist position has really aged him. Maybe I should tell him that.

  “Oh, stop exaggerating. It was a little tiff and now it’s over. Let’s move on,” I say, seeing that fear surface in the agents’ eyes in front of me. This last year a new evil decided to rear its head and tried to destroy the Lucidite Institute in an attempt to destroy the world at large. It all seemed very comic book to me, but even I admit the danger was real. Several societies of Dream Travelers banded together to protect the Institute, which is fully responsible for repeatedly keeping the earth out of an apocalyptic age. People died. The Institute was destroyed. I stepped in and saved the fucking day. It was all very boring. However, that’s the past and if the last year has taught me anything it’s that I deal with the past and move on. It shouldn’t be buried or painted on the walls. The past just needs to be let go of. Simple. Easy. Effortless. And it is this philosophy that has changed me in the last twelve months, since Adelaide and Lucien have come into my life. Since all the other changes, I’m almost nice now. And since I have taken this new approach to life and decided it unwise to dwell in the past then I’m not going to be divulging the avenger’s adventure that almost killed us all. That story will be chronicled elsewhere though. It’s a history the Lucidites want remembered. There were lessons learned in those battles that we shouldn’t easily forget.

  “Well, maybe you’ll consider teleporting into the corridor next time,” Trent says. He’s lost his usual spark since the war. But I’m certain it will return. He’s resilient, which is why I chose him to replace me as Head Strategist. He just needs time to evolve through the pain.

  “Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “But you know I have a horrid memory and will probably forget. I’m such a fucking airhead and can’t be helped.”

  I turn and face the three agents sitting closest to me. “All right, you stooges, the election is set. Go rig it so that billionaire clown Doug wins,” I say.

  They just stare at me. God, Trent really has lost the strict management I had in place. I slam my palm down on the table, making the three agents jump. “Now!” I boom and they all three scramble out of their seats, leaving the conference room mostly empty.

  Trent clears his throat. “You know, that really should have been my order to give. I realize that you took over during Dream Traveler Apocalypse but this is still my department,” he says.

  There he goes with the exaggerated talk. “Well, I think you should fire me for my insubordination,” I say.

  “I’m considering writing you up,” he says, and a smile breaks the solemn expression he’d been wearing. I know he feels the weight of his agents’ pains, but that’s a mistake. That’s a burden that will only make his thinking flawed. I know that from personal experience. It’s how I’m able to operate presently. I don’t allow myself to feel others’ pain. My own is enough. And I know how to compartmentalize so I can get shit done. I don’t shove away my pains anymore but I do block them until I have the right capacity to deal with my hurts. I’m like a fucking monk these days with my sage perspective.

  “If you keep making a big deal of the past events in front of your agents then they will never progress,” I say to Trent. “They are looking to you to decide how to process. You need to put up a wall and don’t let them see the stress.”

  He presses the back of his hand to his long forehead. “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve tried,” he says, his voice heavy.

  “I didn’t say not to feel the pain or not to process it. However, when you are in front of those agents or anyone at the Institute then you need to put on an arranged face and persona. Leaders don’t get the privilege to be human. You need to be stronger than that,” I say.

  He nods; the solemn expression is back.

  “Dougy will be calling you like a good boy every night. He has been given his reporting instructions,” I say.

  “And he agreed?” Trent says.

  I lower my chin and regard Trent with a look of disdain that he fully deserves. “Of course he fucking agreed. You might have lost your mojo, but I still have mine.”

  “This is fucking atrocious,” I hear from the back of the room.

  I wheel around to spy my daughter, Adelaide, slumped in a chair, her arms crossed and a look of offense on her freckled face.

  “Oh, I thought I smelled something foul,” I say. However, I actually knew she was lurking in the back of the room the whole time. I had spied her upon first arrival. “Should have realized the smell was you.” I turn back to Trent. “I do apologize for my offspring’s unprofessional nature. I have no idea where she gets her vulgar language from. Probably from growing up penniless on the streets of London,” I say.

  “You know damn well that Jill Rodgers should be President,” Adelaide says.

  “No, actually I know that the best future for the United States rests in having a President that we can control and monitor. Jill’s personality was thoroughly studied by people who know way more about human behavior than you and she didn’t qualify. She’s not moldable and would potentially resist or rebel against our efforts to control her as President,” I say.

  “By ‘people’ you mean ‘you.’ You’re the one who studied the candidates and you picked him. You picked that jerk over Jill Rodgers,” she says, her words full of anger.

  I turn back to Trent. “Speaking of firing people. I’ll totally understand if you want to give Addy the boot. She’s probably best suited for cleaning toilets.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up with a half-smile.

  “We were about to make history,” Adelaide groans. “And you fucking ruined it. America was about to have its first female President.”

  “When the hell did you give a damn about the United States?” I say.

  “I don’t
, but I care about women and us making progress, since you men like to repress us with your chauvinistic ways,” she says.

  “Adelaide,” I say, drawing out the last part of her name. “History doesn’t matter. The books don’t tell the real story anyway. Everything you see is an illusion that people, like the Lucidites, created. I thought I’d taught you that nothing was what it seemed on this earth. And you are supremely misguided if you think a woman becoming President was going to change how women are treated. The flaw is you thinking that you’re repressed. Those with that mentality will always find an oppressor. Power comes from your perspective. So if you see men as the enemy then that’s what we will be,” I finish, giving her a grueling stare.

  “Why does it sound like you’re going into motivational speaking?” she says, but now there’s a laugh to her tone.

  I ignore her quip, although I do sound more informational lately and less snarky. I’ll have to work on that. “And the Lucidites have picked the presidents of this country for fifty years. We know how to choose the one we can control the easiest or one who is a Dream Traveler with an actual brain and can make informed decisions,” I say.

  “Wait, there was a Dream Traveler prez? Who?” Adelaide says.

  “There were two actually, but I’m not telling you until you start speaking English correctly,” I say.

  At this, she sticks her tongue out at me. “I ain’t gonna figure it out then,” she says, her cockney accent heavy.

  I ignore her attempt at being clever. “And you should know that Jill, according to Roya’s report, will go on to create real change in a position that has actual power,” I say.

  “You’re trying to make me feel better,” she says with a sly smile.

  “I’d rather die than do such a thing,” I say, quietly realizing that she’s right.

  “Well, what you said does make sense about history and perspective and the president. And you put it so thoughtfully that I feel all fuzzy and warm inside now,” she says.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Addy,” I say. “Adults need to converse.”

  “I will take my leave, but just so you know, I’ll miss you every second I’m away from you, Daddy Ren,” she says.

  “You really don’t value your life, do you?” I say.

  She looks down the table to Trent. “You’re witness to this hostile work environment. I expect you as my boss to put a stop to the harassment and threats,” Adelaide says.

  Trent nods slowly, only slightly amused by witnessing this exchange. He’s like a shell of a person now. “It’s been noted,” he says.

  “Coolio,” she says, and pops out of her seat, almost bouncing on her toes as she skips from the room.

  I turn and face Trent directly. “She really is an awful human being,” I say.

  “Adelaide is a great agent. She’s got the potential to be one of my best, second to you,” he says.

  “Flattery will get you nowhere with me. I’m not shagging you no matter how many times you try,” I say.

  “As your superior, I’m merely offering you positive feedback. You could have tried that when in my position,” Trent says, not impressed.

  “Oh, fuck. Are you being nice to the agents? That’s your bloody problem. You don’t build employees up. You beat them down so they are constantly working harder to earn your praise, which should never come,” I say.

  “I think it’s safe to say we have different administration styles,” he says.

  “I like how you call yourself my superior. Doesn’t matter what your position. We know who is in charge here,” I say.

  “So Adelaide,” he begins.

  “Yeah, I’m fucking shocked to hear your assessment. Are you sure we are talking about the same person? Red-headed girl, with a bad attitude and awful vocabulary? Right?” I say.

  “Yes, and she has great instincts when in the field. But my fear is she’s already growing bored with level one cases. I think—”

  “No,” I say clear and loud, cutting him off.

  “Ren, just hear me out on this.”

  “She just passed training,” I say.

  “With top marks,” he says.

  “It doesn’t matter. I never promote agents to level two cases until they’ve had sufficient experience,” I say.

  “And need I remind you that this isn’t your department and she isn’t your agent,” Trent says.

  “Doesn’t matter. As the person here with superior experience, she isn’t ready for level two cases,” I say.

  “I actually feel she’s past level two cases and could easily handle a three or a four,” he says.

  “And that’s your fucking problem. You are feeling your way around with this position. A Head Strategist doesn’t feel and the sooner you realize that the sooner this department will stop sinking into the ground,” I say.

  “It’s not sinking—”

  “This discussion is over,” I say, rising to a standing position. “Adelaide will keep working level one cases as protocol dictates.”

  “I realize that since she’s your daughter you’re worried about her getting hurt in the field, but she’s smart and doesn’t take thoughtless risks,” Trent says.

  “Trent, as you know from no doubt lurking around the urinals here, I’m a man. I don’t worry or fret or spend any energy stressed about Adelaide or anything else on this God damn planet. I’m an agent who knows better than you. We don’t promote agents because we have warm feelings about their ability to perform. We follow the rules for agent promotion,” I say.

  “But you wrote those rules,” he says.

  “Exactly,” I say and teleport away.

  Chapter Three

  A slew of toys litter the floor of my study when I teleport into the room.

  “For fuck sake,” I say, kicking a stuffed dinosaur out of my path. We live in a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion and that little terror has to trespass on my only personal space. I slide into my plaid armchair, running my fingers over the fabric as I usually do upon first taking a seat after a long day. Then a pinch assaults my lower back. My hand feels behind me until my fingers find a slick piece of plastic. A fucking Lego.

  I throw the object so it flies through the space and out the open double doors. A lock. I need a fucking lock on that door. I’ve been meaning to have one installed but haven’t had time. Never have I been so incredibly busy that I can’t take the minute it would cost me to tell the butler that I need a bloody lock installed. That’s because every second of my day is full. This minute I’m affording myself to sit is a rare luxury.

  “Blah! Blah! Nah! No! Neh!” the little monster yells from the corridor.

  I throw my chin up to the ceiling. “You can’t grant me one fucking moment of peace, can you, God?”

  “Yip! Yip!” The incoherent babbling grows louder. Then the red-headed demon child runs past my study. And of course, he’s bloody naked, his pale butt assaulting my vision as he sprints by.

  “Yerip! Yerip! Ziggy! Zoo! Zot!” he screams.

  I look at the ceiling again. “If you’re trying to get me to kill myself then you can stop now. Consider it already done,” I say to God, who isn’t fucking listening.

  And because no one is watching the two-year-old heathen, Lucien runs by the study yet again, this time carrying one of Dahlia’s crystal figurines over his head.

  “Pops!” I yell at top volume. I push up to stand and actually fail. I lack the energy to successfully complete the task the first time. But I can’t be deterred. So with a giant inhale, I push myself out of the armchair, which feels especially low today, for some reason. “Pops,” I yell again.

  “Come here, you little tyke,” I hear my pops say in the corridor.

  I stomp across my study and round the corner to find my pops reaching down to pick up the child. He then holds him sideways at his waist. As soon as he spies me he smiles and then whips around, holding Lucien to him.

  “Have you seen Lucien?” he says.

  Giggles make the boy’s fac
e turn pink. Pops wheels around the opposite way and the monster’s hands and legs flay around as he rides on Pops’s side like a bag. “Lucien, where are you?”

  “He’s on your hip,” I say dryly.

  Pops flicks his head down. “Oh, there you are, my boy,” he says. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Maw! Maw! Dogga dogga,” the heathen says in response. Pops sets the child on his feet and he immediately runs for the other end of the house, his white ass jiggling as he does.

  My pops doesn’t run after the house-destroyer, he simply chuckles with delight.

  “You are the worst bloody nanny in the history of the world,” I say.

  “Oh, Ren,” he says, dismissing my insult with another laugh. “Kids are going to be kids. You’ve got to allow them to express their wild side.”

  “And therein explains why I’m such a monster. It wouldn’t have killed you to knock me around a little. Maybe punish me for being wild,” I say.

  And the man with too much heart and patience smiles broadly, his brown eyes sparkling with true happiness. “You know punishing you wouldn’t have done any good,” he says.

  Pops has been happier than I’ve seen him in a long time since he took the position as Lucien’s full-time caregiver. We could never keep a nanny because Lucien is soulless and untrainable and Adelaide wanted to finally take my offer to train as a Lucidites agent.