Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (24 page)

Joseph shrugs his shoulders as he stands and stretches. “Take it or leave it, Stark. No one said you got to pick your spirit animal.” Then impersonating Shuman’s airy tone he says, “They choose you.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I
work the nervous knot down my throat as I nod. Securing the tiny pin to my shoulder I give George one last look before heading off. We’ve been practicing a little every day, but only by ourselves. Now he’s suggested I seek out the kitchen and maid staff. This was Trey’s advice to our dilemma. Neither one of us will have had too much contact with these individuals.

Working with George has gone more smoothly than I expected. Up until now we’ve just sat in a room alone together. This involved me failing time and time again to shed the defense I longed to hide behind. Each time I tried to pull it down, as I’d done during that first session with him, it felt like I was sticking my toe in icy water, readying to submerge my entire body. It took many sessions for me to pull off all the layers like I’d done before. It was an unnatural process for me to expose my emotions.

And almost as strange was the process of sitting opposite George while he quietly probed my emotions. Talk about an uncomfortable silence. I found myself rambling just to fill it. This is when I learned of his lack of a sense of humor. No matter how hard I tried he rarely laughed at my jokes.

“Distraction isn’t your friend,” he warned the last time I tried to make light of something. “Those who fear intimacy laugh in order to suppress their tears.” His words were soft and deliberate, meticulously chosen.

I smirked with indignation but chewed on his words long after he’d spoken.

And so we went on like this for quite a while. I actually found my flippant nature to be the perfect accompaniment to George’s overly formal one. He’d trap me every now and again with something personal, something he’d drawn out of me, but I was quick to shelter my ego behind a snide remark. He’d pause and silently scold me with a glare for not taking the training more seriously.

“Oh, come on now, George,” I’d complain in retaliation. “You’re cutting through chunks of my childhood. How should I respond? We both know I’m unsuited for tears.”

“You know I’ll only peruse the emotions you make available,” he replied. “If something’s too personal then put it in the confidential file.”

“The confidential file.” He’d advised me early on to put the emotions I wanted to continue to shield in there. He didn’t need to know every emotion I harbored, just enough so he could ascertain mine from others in the dreamscape.

The only other advice George gave me was to come to training with all emotions I didn’t want investigated wiped off my chest, so to speak. If something’s fresh, full of energy, then even if it’s in the confidential file it can still be accessed.

I trot away from the center of his prying attention and an unsettling emotion takes seed in my chest. It didn’t seem natural to examine people unknowingly the way George had done to me, even if Trey had signed off on it. These people wouldn’t know to put their emotions in a secure place. “They have no time to prepare for the invasion you’re about to wage,” I say.

“No one ever does,” George replies. “Most everyone walks around an open book. You aren’t doing them a disservice. I’d read it on them anyway, if I walked past them or even stood in the same room and cared enough to read. Few are bound shut like you, so stop punishing yourself over what you’re about to learn.”

“Fine,” I huff as I disembark from the elevator and make my way to the main hall. I’ve never ventured past that area, but know workers often carry food in from a set of doors in the back of the large room. I head there now.

“Miss?” a lady says, startling me as soon as I pass through the doors and into a food waiting station. “Can I help you with something?” She’s busy sweeping the floors in gray scrubs.
What’s up with the bland uniforms in this place?

“I was just looking for some water.” The words spill out of my mouth too quickly, rehearsed.

A wrinkle marking the space between her eyes creases. “Wasn’t there some in your room? I’m certain your room has already been stocked, Ms. Stark.”

She knows who I am? How is that? I’d never seen the people who clean my room, but I’m hardly ever there.

“It was. Thank you.” I smile. “But I was down this way and just hoping to get some while here.”

She pauses and straightens, her annoyance forgotten. “Of course,” she says. “I’ll just go and retrieve some water from the kitchen staff. I’ll be back in a few.” The woman pivots and strides around the waiting station to the kitchen prep area from where sounds emanate.

“Well?” I whisper.

“Interesting,” George says in a quiet tone.

“Like how?” I urge, searching the space for others who could be listening to me talk to myself.

“You caught her off guard when you arrived, making her annoyed,” he says.

“I already knew that.” I almost laugh.

“Well, maybe you don’t know that all her emotions are overwhelmed by a single one that runs deep inside her. If I’m reading this right then it’s coloring all her feelings, like a pair of tinted sunglasses.”

“That sounds major,” I whisper.

“In this case it is,” George says, just as the woman rounds the corner.

“Here you are,” she says, handing me a glass of water complete with ice cubes and a slice of lemon and cucumber. “Just the way you like, according to the kitchen staff.”

I blush as I take the glass. “What do you mean?”

“Which part?” the lady asks swiftly.

“How do they know how I like my water?”

A stray piece of brown hair falls into the woman’s eyes. She blows to try and corral it back, but it doesn’t work. With an irritated expression she tucks it behind her ear. “They know everything about your dietary preferences, just like I know what clothes you wear most often and how tidy you keep your room. It’s our job to know you and how to assist your needs.”

I suck in a surprised breath. “Oh.”

“Is there anything else I can bring you?” the maid asks, looking curt.

“No, and thank you.”

It’s only once I’ve exited and ducked into a small abandoned room that I say anything to George. “So…?”

“Hmmm….” George muses.

I remain quiet, taking in my dull surroundings.

“This maid you encountered, she wasn’t an easy read, but I’m confident I did it successfully.”

“Was your initial reading correct? About the major emotion that affects her perceptions?”

“Yes,” George breathes. “I think so.”

“Well, are you going to tell me?” I question, hoping I’m keeping my voice down low enough not to attract attention from anyone in the hallway.

“It’s pain. This woman is suffering very much.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this answer seems rather simple.

“It masks all her emotions, to the extent that it perpetuates itself.” I listen to George’s breath over the radio and await his next words. I sense he’s processing. A few seconds later he says, “She’s in a vicious victim cycle. And in her case, this overwhelming emotion is so significant that it’s created a blockage. This pain has blocked her sixth sense.”

“You got all that from that brief encounter? Are you sure you’re reading her right?”

“Yes and yes,” he says with conviction.

“Then that’s awful,” I say.

“I agree,” he says.

“George?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“Do you ever wish you could do something for someone, like this woman? Do you ever wish you could help them with their problems? Their pain?”

There’s a long pause, but I urge myself not to be the one to interrupt it.

“No, not usually,” George finally says, a graveness to his voice. “There’s been a time or two, but it’s never really been my place.”

“I kind of thought you might say that.”

“Still, at times, other people’s emotions do weigh on me. That’s when I have to remind myself that ‘the great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.’”

I sink into a more intimate space all at once. Those words were written by someone with whom I’m not just familiar, but rather obsessed. “Lord Byron,” I whisper.

“Yes,” George says, a delicate smile in his voice. “His words always pick me up when I lose my own.”

A switch flips in my head and I want him to keep talking. I want to hear more of his words which weave together perfectly creating symmetry in my asymmetrical world. However, George remains quiet.

“So now we know the sensor works,” I say.

“Yes,” George says. “It works.”

“That’s good news.” I try to inject enthusiasm in my voice.

“Yes.”

Another silence follows.

“Okay,” I say as I make my way to the elevator. “I’m ringing off. I’ll meet back up with you to debrief in just a few.”

“I look forward to it,” George says in a low voice.

♦

The stainless steel walls, which used to feel cold and sterile when I first arrived at the Institute, now have a comforting warmth. Even the clinical smell of the hallways somehow is soothing. It must be the cleaning chemicals they use, masked by a citrus perfume. Whatever it is it’s slowly taking over the mossy lake water I used to associate with home.

The shiny walls and blue carpeted halls are becoming a part of me, although I’d never admit this to anyone. I don’t want to say I belong here with the Lucidites, mostly because I don’t think I’ll be staying much longer. Actually, I’m pretty certain I won’t be a resident of earth much longer. The constant uneasiness in my stomach rumbles slowly, as if the lion has managed to chew through another bar. I draw in a long deep breath and with its contents I hum to myself thinking that this will make me lighter. That’s what happy people in movies do, right? They hum. Destitute people don’t hum. Those headed to the guillotine don’t hum. That would be absurd.

After my long walk through the corridor accompanied by the nervous rambling in my head, I step into the elevator. Another place I’ve strangely grown attached to. I used to travel to school in a van. Now my travels are all in this silver compartment. Bouncing between the levels of the Institute is almost like moving between worlds. Each time the silver doors slide open I find myself stirring uncomfortably under a new experience.

Nervous excitement stirs in my chest as I recap my afternoon with George in my mind. I tap the button for the second level, thinking of how his reassuring presence has given the team a new confidence. We worked well together before, but when George fully joined us a missing chain in our armor forged into place. His input into the emotional fabric of each of our missions is the piece we needed. Now when we move through the streets of Amsterdam, Tokyo, or Manhattan we’re fully prepared on all levels. Before, we could access the thoughts around us, control the objects, know the future, and protect ourselves. But we never knew the emotional landscape. George’s narrations at each destination bring color. They make those cities come alive. Where before they were two-dimensional obstacle courses, now they’re three-dimensional terrains, alive with people and expectations and desires. Never before had I realized how the world is dictated by our desires rather than our thoughts. The prior puts the latter in motion.

The doors of the elevator start to close just as a voice pleads, “Hey, would you hold that please?”

I tap the button and Aiden clumsily rushes in, trying to balance a keyboard, speakers, a bundle of wires, and a stack of books. I reach out and grab the speakers before they tumble over the side of his arm.

“Thanks.” Aiden grins. He pulls up a knee to add an extra support to the load.

“Why is it every time I see you, you’ve got your hands full?” I say.

“’Cause I know that’s the best way to get your attention.” He pouts with a sly expression.

I laugh. “That’s one way, for sure.”

“Though I wish I didn’t have my hands full right now.”

Blood rushes to my face. “Why’s that?”

He gives me one long look and then lowers his voice. “I’m looking forward to picking up where we left off the last time I saw you.”

The image of Aiden’s hands on my shoulders and his eyes holding mine zips into my mind. I’ve thought about that moment dozens of times. Constantly I punish myself for wondering what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted. I’ve been trying to avoid it, but my affection for him is undeniable…unfortunately, the timing is all wrong.

“Do you always flirt with girls who are about to die? ’Cause you should know right now, if you’re trying to get in my will, I don’t have one.”

He laughs. The keyboard slips a bit from his grip. “Actually, I never flirt with girls. Just you.”

My heart hammers in my chest.

“Oh, and you’re not going to die,” he adds.

I turn the speakers over in my hand, pretending to inspect them. “So, what do you use this for? Is it to increase the gamma rays on some device thingy you’re working on?”

“I use it to listen to music.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “And please note that in all instances, it’s better to decrease gamma rays. They’re kind of deadly.”

“I see. Well, that’s why
you’re
the Head Scientist.”

The elevator teeters at my level before the doors bounce open.

“I need you to stop by my lab tomorrow. I’ve got to go over some devices with you. They could prove helpful.
And
I have a present for you.” He winks.

Blood rushes to my face, and my eyes seize the floor in front of me. “Okay, I’ll come by between sessions,” I say.

Feeling rushed I wedge the speakers between the books and Aiden’s chin. “You got this?” I ask, allowing myself to connect momentarily with his blue eyes. Instantly, I’m trapped by their allure.
Step back, Roya. Get off this elevator now.

“For sure,” he says confidently.

Without another look I walk away, wishing for the heat in my chest to dissipate as quickly as it arrived. Just as the elevator doors close I hear a loud crash from inside. I laugh easily.