Rebels

by Sarah Noffke

  I yawn. “Need I remind you that I can leech your gift to hypnotize and control minds and then make you do whatever I say?”

  He regards me with a quiet pride. Considers it. “Need I disclaim to you that my gifts take some honing and you may not be able to control them in the beginning.”

  “Well then I’ll leech your powers and electrocute you, how does that sound?” I say. As a leech, I not only can borrow any gift from any Dream Traveler, but I can also unleash that power, something I actually have to do in order to survive. The energy I leech comes out of me as electricity.

  He angles his head at me sideways. “That’s your unleashing mechanism? Electricity? Not bad. Not bad at all. On a different day, I might accept a bit of suffering to see that.” He regards me with a strange sentiment and then shakes it off. “So you might be powerful, but your biggest gift is that you’re a pain in the ass. Tell me why you’re here at this godforsaken hour.”

  “I need to know how to reset mind control.”

  Ren laughs abruptly. Loudly. “Oh, that’s cute. Even for you. Now why are you here, for real this time?”

  “To find out how to overcome mind control,” I repeat.

  His face falls slack. He sighs. “Oh, you were stupidly being serious. How blimey unfortunate for you.”

  “Look, Vider has most of this population under mind control. I need to figure out how to overtake it.”

  “And next on your agenda must be defying gravity. Right on. Good plan. I’m going back to watch Marilyn Monroe undress,” he says, turning for the hall.

  I stand and reach out for his arm, not at lightning speed like Rogue could but with enough urgency that Ren stops and regards me with mild contempt.

  Good, I’ve got his attention.

  “Em, you should never, ever touch me. Know that.”

  I drop my hand from his sleeve. “Sorry, I just need your help.”

  “There’s no help,” he says and actually sounds almost disappointed. “That’s what I’m avoiding telling you. You lack a foundation in defense, as does everyone else in this prison of a valley. You don’t charge a bull and hope that your flimsy T-shirt and cargo pants protect you. You come prepared before the fight and I’m sorry to say you’re eight rounds deep and without a single chance.”

  “But I’m not brainwashed,” I argue.

  “No, but all the people you hope to rescue from President Vider are.”

  “And there’s nothing I can do for them?” I say, slumping back into the chair.

  His eyes fall on the corner of the room, his mind seeming to be deliberating on the question. Finally he sighs with mild resignation. “Look, people who don’t want to think for themselves are more susceptible to President Vider’s type of mind control,” Ren says, taking a position on the wall, leaning against it, his eyes almost closing. Strange how much he reminds me of my mother right now. They have the same pinched nose, although the rest of Ren’s features are softer. His eyes kinder, although I suspect he goes to great lengths to narrow them every chance he can, half the time for show.

  “President Vider brainwashes through persuasion, sensing how to approach people,” he continues. “The best way to combat this type of mind control is to encourage empowerment and independence. This is the very reason it doesn’t work on you or me or the other Defects.” Ren taps his head with two fingers. “Your mind and the way it works is what classified you as a problem in his books, or so I’ve gathered. It’s an interesting genetic conundrum, but independent thinking is something we’re actually predisposed to from birth. That’s why he wants to do away with Defects. There’s no helping them, or disempowering them as it were. But his loyal subjects are more moldable. They don’t think for themselves. Since birth, they’ve been looking to their mummies to tell them what’s what.”

  “If this is some genetic coding then how am I supposed to combat it?” I say.

  “Oh, again with the impossible questions,” Ren says through a long yawn. “Changing how people are predisposed isn’t easy, but thankfully nature versus nurture secures some documented successes for you. Thinking independently can be taught; however, you’re going to have to do something akin to pulling a rabbit out of a hat to achieve it.”

  “And whatever is that?” I say, suddenly feeling the tiredness of the long day in my bones.

  “Well, Reverians, both Dream Travelers and Middlings, look to the President for direction and guidance. He’s their mummy. Their daddy. Their most inherent driver. You get what I’m saying?”

  “He’s the conditioner. The one who’s encoded their thoughts the most,” I say.

  “Bingo, bango,” Ren says, not sounding as enthusiastic as his words would seem. “And you’ve got to reach into these feeble minds and turn them against their most trusted influence. To combat his mind control, you’ve got to make the population distrust a person who they think is essential to their survival and happiness. So I hope you don’t have any holidays scheduled in the next decade because you’ve got your days planned.”

  I shake my head at him. “How am I supposed to turn people against him? What can I offer them?”

  “Hell if I know.” He shrugs, genuinely not looking interested in my problem. “Why don’t you make up a bogus religion with multi-gods, it seemed to work for President Vider. But the trick is you’ve got to make them believe.”

  “I think I’d have a better chance making them believe I’m God.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Ren says, stroking his chin and seeming to consider the ridiculous notion.

  “I was joking,” I say, standing from the worn armchair and making for the exit. He angles around me at once and plops down in the seat, which he’d been eyeing enviously.

  “Well, I wasn’t,” Ren says, slouching down low in the chair and looking close to falling asleep. “If you can make people believe in you, in what you can give them, then you might have a chance. If they think you can offer them something better than the President, and if you can construct a good enough argument against him, then you could break through the programming.”

  “Really?” I say, ideas rapidly streaming through my head. Ways to motivate people. Give them what they want although they may not know it. Not yet.

  “Yes, well, I realize you were looking for some hocus-pocus, but in most cases the easy solutions are the best. And there you go, leave my money at the door, would you?” Ren says, propping his head on the palm of his hand and falling off to sleep too quickly. I listen to his gentle snores as I turn for the door.

  “Oh, and Em…” Ren says, his voice groggy and also a little amused.

  I tense. Turn. Stare at Ren. He’s slouched over, almost drooling on the chair.

  “What?” I ask, a little weary of what tidbit Ren will leave me with. I’ve learned he likes to save the strange and bad news for last. He usually drops a bomb on me as he rounds for the exit.

  “If it were easy to construct an argument against someone who brainwashes, then they wouldn’t control most of the population. They wouldn’t have blanketed our history with war and death,” he says through a long yawn.

  “Is that your way of wishing me good luck?”

  “That’s my way of telling you you’re screwed. Turn off the light on your way out, won’t you, luv?”

  Chapter Four

  Morning light streams through the blinds when I awake, mostly disoriented. I shoot into a seated position, wondering why I’m surrounded by strange furnishings. Then I remember the day before. Returning to Austin Valley. Zack. And what I came here for.

  In the hallway I hear Zack’s soft-soled shoes clinking against the wood flooring. Afraid he’s rushing out of his house for work, I spring out of bed and whip open the door. He halts at the landing to the stairs, a breathless look on his face like I startled him. In this light, with my fresh eyes, he looks so different. For the most part nothing has changed about Zack, but he does somehow seem older, his denim blue eyes burdened. He blinks them a few times, giving me a sober
ing expression.

  “Did you forget I was here?” I say, walking directly up to him.

  He shakes his head.

  “Then why the look of bewilderment?” I say, tugging on his shirt sleeve. It’s an old gesture we share. Usually one of us does it to the other when they look distracted, which Zack currently does.

  “Not bewilderment,” Zack says in a scratchy morning voice. “Just strange seeing you here. It caught me off guard.”

  I take in the hallway, his bedroom at his back, and the skylight overhead. The house has a lighter, cheerier feel in the morning. I instantly like it more than I did last night. This house is new construction, unlike the one I grew up in, which was one of the first built when Austin Valley was founded.

  “It’s nice to see you here,” Zack says, his eyes on me as mine scan the surroundings. “You make the house feel less cold.”

  I finally look directly at him. “Well, I hope you think the same thing when you find my hair in the drain.”

  He laughs. It’s somewhat forced and still I can’t figure out why he seems so distant. He’s close enough to touch and too far away to reach. And all I want is to feel him near, but I could never tell him that. Can’t even think it in my current mind. That was the old Em. The one before Rogue.

  I grab his hand to tug him toward the stairs but he immediately pulls away from me. “I was only going to offer to make you breakfast,” I say, scowling at him and his rejection of me. “What’s your deal?”

  He shakes his head, shaking me off. “First of all, you know how to make…anything?”

  “I do,” I say, feeling proud.

  “Rogue taught you,” he says, completing my sentence.

  “Yes.”

  He nods, seeming to understand this. “Well, and second of all, I don’t eat breakfast,” Zack says, walking past me and down the staircase.

  “I know that, silly,” I say, hurrying down alongside him. “But people change and maybe it will make you feel better at midday when you have a ton of meetings left to sit through.”

  He stops at the bottom of the staircase and regards me like I’m an immigrant who asked if I could compost his trash. “I’m good, Em. But thanks.”

  “Zack,” I say, pulling his suit jacket out of his hands. “What’s your deal? Are you mad at me for asking you to stay? To infiltrate the government?”

  He takes his jacket back with a tired look. “No, of course not. I’m not mad about a single thing. I’m simply deliberating on how to get Dr. Parker here.”

  “Oh,” I say. Zack does get strange when he’s thinking, all introverted. It’s cute to watch, unless I’m in a talkative mood and then I’m completely bored with it.

  He slips his jacket on over his crisp white shirt. He looks smart in his new suit. It fits him better than the ones he wore before he had money. “What will you do while I’m gone?” he asks.

  “I have a mission,” I say, looking down and realizing I’m wearing pajama bottoms and one of Rogue’s too large T-shirts. It’s all I had time to pack.

  He regards my ensemble briefly too and then looks directly at me. “And this mission? What is it?”

  “I’m going to break into President Vider’s house.”

  He coughs out an abrupt laugh. “You’re what? Seriously, what are you doing?”

  “I mean it,” I say, wrapping my arms around me, suddenly realizing how exposed I am in this loose-fitting shirt. “When we ran into President Vider in the labs, I learned something about him. I need to investigate it because I think it could be really important.”

  Zack eyes his watch and then his gaze quickly flicks to my arms tied across my chest. “And what did you learn?”

  “Vider murdered Violet, Rogue’s mother,” I say in a rush of words.

  “What?” Zack claps a hand on the banister in front of me. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “Yes, I read his thoughts, thanks to leeching my father’s telepathy skill.”

  Zack is now rubbing his temples. He then angles his back to the stairs and takes a seat. Without a need for permission I sit down next to him.

  “Whew, it feels good to finally tell someone that,” I say in a whisper.

  “Wait!” Zack spins around and looks at me. “Rogue doesn’t know about this?”

  “No,” I say with a head shake. “I need to find out why his father murdered his mother before I tell him.”

  “Oh, Em…” Zack says in an irritated tone, and pins his head down between his knees. “Why didn’t you tell him? What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that I didn’t want to hurt him with information that was incomplete,” I say, my tone matching his. “How would you feel if you found out your father murdered your mother? And what if you didn’t know why? I didn’t want to burden him further until I knew more.”

  “So you burdened yourself,” Zack says, almost to himself and then brings his strained eyes up to meet mine.

  I shrug. “I just…”

  “Never cease to amaze me,” he says, finishing my sentence.

  “Well, I think I did the right thing—” I say, ready to launch into a million excuses.

  Zack holds a single hand up and I go silent. “No, I mean you’re truly amazing. I can’t imagine keeping that secret from someone.”

  “Shut up,” I say, slapping his arm. “You keep a million secrets from me.” And my head somehow finds its way to leaning against his arm. I’ve missed him so much. He’s like the structure to my house. I can’t imagine my life without Zack. He’s always been there for me. Always. And to have him after all these months of not, feels like a gift. But not like how Reverians think of gifts. It’s not an ability. It’s something that someone gives you. A present of sorts. But not in the physical sense. Something that comes from the presence of someone simply existing. It happens in a single moment. And then it’s gone, whooshed away with the wind, only to be stored in the memory of the heart.

  “I don’t keep many secrets from you,” Zack says, a smile in his voice.

  “Oh no?” I say, holding his arm.

  “Only a few.”

  “Maybe one day you’ll share,” I say.

  “I doubt that,” he says, and slides his arm from mine and leans back enough so I have to sit up without him. He looks happier than moments before, but somehow different. Sad. “So while I’m stuck in meetings discussing budgets and organizational restructuring you’re simply going to break in to the President’s house and snoop around to find out why he murdered his wife?”

  “Yeah,” I say, with a shrug. “I might do a load of laundry too.”

  “What can I do to persuade you not to do this?” Zack says.

  “I promise I won’t break your washer. I’m no Middling, but I can work it.”

  He shakes his head. “Em…”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, waving my hand at him as I stand. “I’m a big girl now. And if I can find some information on this then I can tell Rogue. Maybe I can do more than that, maybe I can expose Vider for the scoundrel he is.”

  Zack nods and stands, smoothing down his slacks. He walks past me at once and heads for the door. “Well, promise me you’ll be careful at least,” he says to the door and the floor, but not to me.

  “I promise,” I say, hiding the smile that I feel for some odd reason. “And you’ll be with the President the whole day, so you’ll know I won’t be in danger of getting caught.”

  He spins at the door and regards me with a quiet dissatisfaction. Zack’s hair looks perfect in the morning sunlight, golden and smooth, without a single strand out of place. “If that’s all it took not to worry about you then I’d be happy, but there’s more to it.”

  I take a single step and he sucks in an unexpected breath and regards me strangely. I shake my head at him. “I’m not sure what happened to you since I’ve been gone, but you’re a bit squeamish. It’s like you keep thinking I’m going to hurt you or something.” I reach out and straighten his tie. It’s something I’ve done a hundred times.
This time he flinches, like I’ve shocked him with my touch, but he quickly covers the look. It’s replaced with a small, almost nonexistent smile which reaches up to his eyes.

  I stop, drop my hands, and suddenly a new worry assaults me. “Is it Dee? Has she hurt you?”

  He swallows hard. Shakes his head. “No, it’s not her.”

  “Well, if she does I’ll burn all her clothes. You just tell me.”

  Zack nods, a look of such heartbreak in his eyes.

  Chapter Five

  The side door to Vider’s house is unlocked. My guess is all the doors are unlocked. No one would dare to break into anyone’s house in Austin Valley. It’s something people outside our borders do. Something savages in the real world do. And Middlings who have been caught trespassing have disappeared and to speak about them is forbidden. So crime has never been prevalent here. It’s what Vider prides his campaign on. It’s what encourages the brainwashing. And a person would have to be out of their mind to break into Vider’s house. I’m happy to say I perfectly fit that description.

  I waited and watched from behind a dense bush as the cleaning crew worked in Vider’s house. The scratchy leaves will probably cause me to have an awful rash. It took a team of five Middlings a solid hour to dust, sweep, change out the linens, and mop the old Victorian house.

  The kitchen smells like lemon and sage and the floors are still wet with cleaning chemicals when I enter. I freeze in the entryway, my leeching ability assessing if any Dream Traveler is in the vicinity. If there is I’ll feel the draw of their power as I suck it in, although I may not know what the gift is. Luckily, there are no Dream Travelers in the house. There could be Middlings who I’m unaware of, though, because I can’t detect or harness their energy.

  Now that I’m here I feel stupid. Shortsighted. I have zero idea what I’m looking for. All I know is Vider murdered his wife to protect a secret. And if I’m going to truly create a rebel force against him I’ll have to know what he’s hiding. I need to know his weaknesses. And although Zack disapproves, there’s no way I can tell Rogue about his mother without knowing the whole story. How can I give him that information with no way to help him process it? Knowing the truth doesn’t heal our pain. And knowing only half of the truth is usually more of a burden than a gift. Rarely does the truth set us free. Usually it chains us to the earth like a ghost. That’s not to say ignorance is bliss. Things merely need to make sense and knowing only what Vider did—but not why—isn’t enough.