Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (27 page)

“I have to admit,” Joseph yawns, “I did it for selfish reasons. You’ll be an easy target for Zhuang if you’re malnutritioned.”

I laugh, ushering Joseph to the door. I’m scheduled for dream travel training and I need to get ready.

He pokes me in the ribs and says, “Hey, will ya do me a favor? Tell George that when he’s around, I make a point of pretending to be in love with him. I’ve seen the confusing looks he’s been giving me and I think my trick has worked.”

♦

Tonight George and I are supposed to meet in the dreamscape to work on tracking. Trent has agreed to be the target. We’ll meet in the usual place and then Trent will move to a new location, or layer. I’ll have a chance to absorb the ripple, move into it and follow his tracers. If I can’t track him, then George will be hooked up through the camera and microphone to sense where I should go. This is a brand new part of our training and we’ll all be in dream travel mode, which adds a new intensity.

George is leaning against the wall when I arrive.

“Hey, there,” I say.

“Hey,” he says, emotionless.

“Trent showed up yet?”

“Nope.” He stares off in the distance.

“How’s everything going?” I ask casually.

“Fine.”

We stand silently. Trent’s late.

George opens his mouth to say something and apparently changes his mind. He’s doing a lousy job of hiding his frustration. I stare at him, wishing just this once I could read his emotions.

Finally he says, “So you didn’t show up to lunch or dinner.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t hungry.”

“Seems like someone else felt the same way,” he says with an edge to his voice.

“What are you talking about?” I feign innocence.

George knows better though. He flashes me an irritated expression. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I can’t divulge other’s emotional states. Never mind.”
He’s talking about Aiden. Is he jealous?

Internally he looks to be wrestling with something. He bites his bottom lip and locks eyes with me. “We have a really important mission to attend to right now, Roya. It’s unfair for you to get distracted, skipping meals and practices. It’s….careless.” He drops his chin and stares at the ground like it holds some great points of interest.

There’s that word again,
unfair.
I’m starting to hate it. Every time it comes up it always draws a line creating winners and losers. Those with the upper hand and those holding the short straw. I thought we were all in this together, but it appears I was wrong.

I barrel forward until only inches separate George and me. When he lets his eyes meet mine I say, “You know what’s unfair?”

His eyes narrow slightly.

“You know how I feel and where it stems from,” I say. “You know my family made me feel insecure from a young age. You know they ignored me and pretended my clairvoyance was a joke. You know I hide from everything as a result of being an outcast my entire life. You’ve had access to my fleeting and long-seeded emotions.” I jerk my chin in the air with a new confidence. “What’s unfair is you know so much about my emotions and think that entitles you to judge me. Why don’t you level the playing field and tell me something, anything, about you. Because honestly, all I know is your name is George, you read emotions, and you’re passive aggressive.”

His eyes remain fixed on me, cold and strained. I’ve hit something, but who knows if it’s the part I intended.

“Here!” Trent’s voice rings behind me.

I turn and see his white smile glow across his dark skin.

“Are we gonna start this chase party or what?” he says with gusto.

“After you.” I wave my hand and pretend to be completely present.

“All righty then,” Trent says before disappearing.

Exactly where Trent stood is an almost unnoticeable wave. It’s so slight that without knowing what I’m looking for I’d miss it completely. The pigments of colors blur in a wave. It’s transparent, but makes the area behind it blurry, like an old piece of glass. I draw in a deep breath, striding toward it.

The ripple of Trent’s consciousness hits me like a wave. The current is mild, but still carries momentum. I clear my mind and remain pliant to allow my consciousness to be sucked into the vacuum his recent travel momentarily created. My mind goes dark, like all lights have been stamped out. It’s followed by an eerie quiet, one that makes my skin shiver and my chest vibrate. I don’t think words, but rather feel the idea of
letting go
. A blinding light explodes across my vision and I fall terrifyingly over an arc and then speed blindly through blurry tunnels. It’s the most petrifying roller coaster I could ever imagine. My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out. Over and over I open my eyes to see, my mouth to scream, and there’s nothing.

The tunnel heaves me out next to a large round fountain. Inside the middle of it stand two statues of women—caryatids, their hands over their heads hold up a large bowl. The water cascades from the center of the bowl and trickles in droplets over the rim, into the larger pool. Moist air smells of both moss and concrete. Soft and hard. The location is a city, but it has the aura of a small town.

I scan the area around the fountain, searching for Trent or another ripple. His devilish cackle pulls my attention immediately in his direction. Like a villain in a comic he stands, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, and his chin tucked into his chest. The smirk across his playful face completes the look.

“Well, that was fast! I thought tracking was supposed to be tough.” Trent laughs. “So, do you want me to keep going now, or let you catch up?” he says.

“Don’t take it easy on me, keep going as fast as you’d like,” I tell him, sounding more confident than I am.

“All right, I’m moving,” Trent says with a smile and then he’s off.

I have seconds to move into his ripple. I sprint for the tiny wave encoded with the DNA of his last thought. It’s so slight that my body only barely registers the difference in the space, like a small segment of thick air. But my body reacts at once, my stomach lurching as I’m whirled off my feet and sucked into another void. This time the process is immediate. The tunnel blankets me with an angry wind, which shoots through my ears and makes me feel hollow. I know I have to remain focused and yet pliable in order to stay on course. Wherever that is.

The busy street beside me is claustrophobic compared to my last location. Cars pass behind me. In front, a white arbor-like structure stands among green grass. This time I recognize the place. The knoll. The place Kennedy was shot. Somehow I always pictured it starker. Gray. Even sad. This place isn’t any of those. It’s…touristy. People jostle by, carrying cups of coffee and talking excitedly. A guy stands on a nearby step selling postcards and T-shirts.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Trent running down the sidewalk. He’s trying to make it difficult by getting some distance between ripples. I push forward on my toes, ready to spring after him, when my reflexes catch a new presence materialize behind me.

I tense and turn, praying the dark outline in my periphery isn’t Zhuang. The streetlights cast an eerie glow around his broad shoulders. It’s George.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“D
on’t follow him. I’ll tell you where he’s going. I feel it strongly. This will give us at least a minute,” George says, looking more frustrated than before, but also more determined. It’s a cute combination on his otherwise innocent face.

I shake my head, completely baffled. “George, you’re supposed to stay at the Institute. What are you doing here?” I say motioning to the busy street. “I need to follow Trent. That’s the goal.”

“And you will. I know where he’s going and I’ll tell you. First I want to tell you three things, out of fairness.”

His words hang in the humid air between us. I try to read his flat expression and simultaneously realize he’s reading me. My efforts are futile against him.

“Fine, what are they?” I acquiesce.

The traffic speeds by us, but we remain locked on each other. George opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. Time’s running out. I need to chase Trent. George has something up his sleeve here, but I have my own mission. He senses my anxiety immediately.

Tension stretches across his forehead as he opens his mouth again. “Three things: The first is my mother raised me alone. The second is I’m always quiet because I’m listening to the emotions, they’re quite distracting at times. Lastly, I’ve spent much of my time alone too. It’s hard to make friends when you know people better than they know themselves.”

His pain in this intimate confession slices through me cleanly, like a knife through dry, three-day-old cake. I swallow down the emotion. “Our minute has to be up. Where’d he go?”

“New York City. Empire State Building. Eight a.m. EST, today.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Go back. We’ll talk later.”

I shut my eyes and within seconds I spiral into a gigantic lobby. A bank of elevators sits at the back. The far wall bores a large depiction of the building. The walls are shiny and slick. I scan the crowded area for a ripple just as George’s voice echoes in my ear. “Baton Rouge. Tiger Stadium. Present.”

Instantly I close my eyes and shoot to this location. This time I’m alone in the middle of the field. Darkness stretches around me. No sign of a ripple. The streets outside the stadium hum as the traffic passes. With the lights off, the stadium is eerie in its vastness. Beautiful. My reflexes pick up Trent a half second before he materializes. I grin.

“Man,” he grunts. “How’d you do that? I wasn’t even here yet!”

George laughs in my ear. I love that sound. It’s so rare. “I got a hold on him,” he says. “Roya, go ahead and tell him I know his next location too. This guy is too predictable. He wears his emotions around his neck like a medal. I’ll always be a step ahead of him.”

I hold up a finger at Trent, asking him to wait while I converse with George over the radio. “But I still need practice tracking,” I argue, staring off in the distance where I know George is.

“You seem to have it down pretty well already,” he counters.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“Or Trent is as easy to track as he is to read. Maybe we should practice with someone else to test that theory.” George’s tone is cool and confident. “But for the rest of our free night we could just catch up…the two of us.”

“Maybe,” I breathe into the headset.

Trent stares at me with wide eyes when I turn my focus to him. “Let’s go back to the classroom and regroup. George has something to tell you.”

♦

“Well, sorry for being
predictable
,” Trent seethes. Disappointment is plastered across his face as George explains how he knew all his locations prior to him traveling.

“Am I really that easy to read?” Trent looks at George with a worried expression.

George seems to assess something internally for a few seconds and then says, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“But if you know, then…” Trent says, taking in the pattern of the floor under his feet.

“Doesn’t mean anyone else can read you as easily,” George replies.

Trent looks dejected as George’s words wash over him.

“Your secret is safe with me,” George continues, looking straight at Trent.

The firmness in George’s voice makes me believe him.

Relief spreads over Trent’s face, giving him back his usual casual essence. He turns to me and says, “Maybe you’ll have better luck tracking someone less readable. Try Joseph.” Trent laughs before disappearing.

George and I stand alone in the room. “Nice work back there,” I say.

“Thanks, I’m pretty surprised it was so easy to read locations from his emotions.” He sighs. “I’m doubtful Zhuang will be that straightforward.”

“Well, even still, I had practice with tracking ripples. That’s progress.”

George takes a seat on the step of the platform in the middle of the lecture hall. His broad shoulders are emphasized by the overhead lights. “You were right.” His tone is heavy. I stiffen, worried where this is going. My sensitivity registers instantly in George. His expression softens. “I’d pretty much robbed you of any emotional privacy and you didn’t even know the first thing about me.” He stares at his hands for a long while. “I’m sorry. It gets easy to know everyone, to feel them. I forget it isn’t an automatic two-way street.”

I take the seat next to him. His posture straightens at once.

“So how’d you spend those lonely hours growing up?” I ask.

“Reading mostly.”

I wait for him to elaborate and when he doesn’t I say, “And where did you grow up?”

“Chicago.”

Another long silence.

“Seriously, George, you’re going to have to help me out here.”

He chews on his lip, staring at a distant wall, and then his eyes connect with mine. “Sorry. I’m new to this.”

“Well, you don’t
have
to tell me anything.”

“No, I want to.” George fidgets with his protective charm—a silver thumb ring. “I spent a lot of time at the aquarium growing up.” He pauses and looks at me, seemingly gauging my interests. “I had a season pass and I think after a while the employees just assumed I was obsessed with fish. On the weekends I was there from the time they opened until they closed.” He stops and I nod my head, encouraging him to continue. “Usually I sat next to the dolphin tank. I read books and listened to the emotions broadcast by the visitors. They were typically good emotions, which is why it was where I spent most of my time.”

“Why didn’t you go someplace remote, like a forest or a lake? Why go to a place where you were bombarded by emotions?”

“I feel better when I’m around people. If it’s too quiet then I go insane. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s how I’m used to living my life.”

I shrug. “I’m not judging you.”

“Yeah,” George says with a nod, “I know.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says.

“Is it difficult to be alone because then you’d feel your own emotions?” I know this is a bold question. But I don’t really have time for pretenses anymore, and besides I’m curious. George appears to be sensitive and attuned to the emotions around him, but is he really? There are times I steal a glance at him and see something. A wall. A barrier somehow created between George and his own emotions. Could it be possible that this magician of empathy is clueless when it comes to his own emotional state? And if he’s that out of touch with himself, then can I really trust him?
Trust
—it feels like copper in my mouth.