Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (6 page)

The intention to pull out of this dream travel is halfcocked when I suddenly stop falling and turn through a tunnel. I’m moving like before, like I’m driving at lightning speed. The silver tunnel rushes by. I turn again and again. And then I really do fall. Fortunately it isn’t far, but enough to make me scream. Two men stand in front of me in a courtyard.

I clap a hand to my mouth. “Sorry.”

The men exchange words, bounce on their toes. Neither turns and acknowledges me. I lower the transparent hand covering my mouth. Fumbling backward I whisper, “I’ll just be leaving.”

No doubt they’re wondering where I came from and formulating a plan to kill me. I take another step back, preparing to dream travel before they attack. Then one of the men bounces and shoots a punch at the other man, who deflects it easily.
What are they doing? Are they about to fight each other?

The smaller of the two men says something I can’t hear. He turns and faces me. I straighten, rigid. With a graceful elegance he strides toward me. I throw my hands over my face, ready to defend myself against his attack. It doesn’t come. Instead he pivots and stands at my side. I remain paralyzed. All focus seeps out of my brain. The fear takes over. The dark-haired man beside me says, “Begin.” The other man launches into a series of moves.

I figure out three important things all at once: 1) I’ve just time traveled. 2) These people, from the past, can’t see me. 3) I’m about to learn kung fu from Bruce Lee.

Chapter Six

M
esmerized, I watch as Bruce Lee instructs this gentleman on what he calls Jeet Kun Do. I do my best to memorize the different moves. Even though I know they can’t see me, I’m still too shy to try the moves myself. When their lesson is over I travel to a different time with Mr. Lee. As the confidence in me builds, I get up the nerve and begin to practice alongside him. Each time the lesson ends I travel again until hours later I’m jolted awake by an annoying bell.
Ding! Ding! Ding!

I bolt upright in bed, ramming my head into the bunk above me. The bell, our wake-up call, rudely pulls me back to my present reality where kids groggily awaken from their own dream travels.

The deep eyes and focused expression of the mentor I spent my night with are fresh in my memory. My first hour with Mr. Lee had been awkward. The second overwhelming. The third intense. And by the fourth, I was enchanted, in awe, completely and utterly inspired by the presence of this man who moved with grace and power. Maybe it was because I was isolated in my own time dimension where no one could see or judge me, but last night, once I got used to the situation, I was more myself than I ever remembered. My mentor’s humble demeanor stripped away my armor, leaving me a bundle of potential.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I start for the bathroom. I half expect my body to be sore from the thousands of punches, blocks, and kicks I practiced. In my one night with Bruce Lee I learned speed and non-telegraphic punches, striking with efficiency, directness, and simplicity, stop kicks and hits, multiple ways to attack, the various ranges of combat, and a poetic philosophy which wove through the martial art.

“Empty your mind,” Mr. Lee chanted with confidence. “Be formless, shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. That water can flow, or it can crash. Be water, my friend.”

My throat itched when Mr. Lee’s words sunk into my consciousness. I’d always known we were pure energy. For how long had I been a stagnant puddle, allowing sediments of dirt to settle within me? Wasn’t it time I embraced my potential and became flexible and free flowing? A true force?

♦

An uneasy sensation settles in my stomach as I think about the tasks ahead of me.
What kinds of skills would the person to challenge Zhuang excel at?
It’s odd that the Head Officials are putting us through an obstacle course. Apparently, I’m alone in this perspective. Everyone else appears excited and privileged to be at the Institute. This is what I gathered from eavesdropping on a group of girls in the bathroom.

The windowless room for the first task is full when I arrive. It resembles a waiting room in a doctor’s office and no one who’s waiting seems excited anymore. They all look like they’re about to have a lobotomy. Tension drapes over shoulders, drips down long faces, creases foreheads.

I pluck a magazine from a coffee table and take the first available seat. From behind my
Psychology Today
I scan the room. Three doors are on one wall and three other doors sit opposite. At the far end of the room is a counter. Sitting behind it is a woman with short, curly red hair. She’s far away in thought as she types at a computer.

“Good, I’m not late,” Joseph says, taking the chair next to me.

“How do you know?” I mutter dryly. “Actually we’re all done and waiting for our results.”

He flashes a sideways smile. “You’re a bad liar.”

“I’ll work on it.” I pull the magazine up closer to my nose and pretend to read.

“So, Stark, what’s your talent?” Joseph asks, ignoring my obvious nonverbal cues.

“Huh?”

“Maybe you call it a gift. What’s yours?”

“What are you talking about?”

Joseph rolls his eyes, but smiles still, not looking too put off. “You’re kind of thick, aren’t ya?”

“You’re kind of annoying, but you don’t see me pointing it out.”

“You just did,” Joseph snorts, amused.

My eyes dart back to the article I’ve tried to read a half dozen times now.

Once again Joseph ignores my attempts at solitude. Rudely he points to a girl across the room; her long whitish blonde hair falls straight over her shoulders and shows no contrast against her pale skin. “That’s Samara. She’s apparently telepathic.” Then he nods his head to a boy with black dreadlocks and a complexion the color of coffee grounds. “That’s Trent. He’s telekinetic, whatever that means. The girl next to him, I don’t know her name, but she’s super smart, and then the girl next to her reads auras.” Joseph gives me a triumphant look. “I could go on, but you get the point.”

“Are you sure everyone here has a gift or talent or whatever you want to call it?”

“I’m not certain, but I gather as much.”

“How do you know?” I ask, despite the urge to ignore this guy.

“It’s called conversation. You should try havin’ one sometime.”

“I prefer reading.”

“Haven’t you talked to anyone since you’ve arrived? How do you not know this yet?”

“Why would I want to speak to anyone? I’m not here to make friends. I just want this whole thing over with already.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He then lowers his voice. “Actually, to be quite honest, I’m a little worried because I don’t have any powers. I’ve got no clue what I’m doin’ here. What about you?”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” I say, happy to have an out. “I’m as normal as they come.”

Joseph laughs suddenly, making a few kids around us jump with surprise. “Yeah, whatever.”

I grimace to no effect.

“Well, I only knew
’bout
all this stuff a few days ago. All this is new to me.” His southern drawl is more pronounced now.

“Me too,” I admit.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says.

I don’t reply.

“Imagine my surprise when I’m mindin’ my own business, sleeping like I normally do, and Trey happens into my dreams. At first I was pretty skeptical, but he proved himself and now here I am. A Dream Traveler. Who would have thought it?”

His story sounds oddly like mine. Maybe I’m not the only one behind the pack. This whole gift business makes me uncomfortable though. These other competitors sound like they have real gifts, not just the ability to know when insignificant events are about to occur.

I have a brief moment to reflect on this while Joseph whistles quietly to himself. The sharp, nasally voice of the woman behind the counter cuts through the tension, bringing everyone out of their fog. “When I call your name please go to the room number that follows. You’ll be given further instructions once inside. If I don’t call your name then you’ll be in the second test group.” She calls six names, each followed by a room number. My name isn’t called.

Joseph jumps up cheerfully. “That’s me! See ya later.”

Half an hour later, after I’ve read six different magazines, the participants begin exiting the rooms. They all look bleary-eyed and disoriented. I pretend I don’t see Joseph give me a small wave on his way out.

The lady behind the counter reads another list of names. Five more strangers are listed. “Roya Stark, room four.” I head to my assigned room. It’s dark. Small. Also windowless. Oddly I don’t think I’ve seen any windows in this place.

A tall, slender woman wearing a lab coat sits on a stool next to a computer. “Hi, Roya. My name is Amber. Please lie down and we’ll get started.” She indicates the bed next to where she’s sitting. A soft red light is positioned overhead.

I continue standing and stare at her, trying to will my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The woman’s long brown hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. Silver loops hang from her ears, catching the light emitting from her computer screen.

“All right, you can stand while I explain the task,” she says after I don’t move. “This is called the Ganzfeld task and it will test your ability to receive information being sent to you. In a minute, when you’re comfortable, I’m going to put you in a state of sensory deprivation. This is to ensure nothing around you interferes with the prescribed message we’re going to mentally send you. I will also be hooking you up to this EMG machine. The reason for this is it’s imperative you perform this task without going to sleep. You’re forbidden from dream traveling. Instead you’ll focus, stay completely conscious, and tell me the message, if any, you think you’re being sent. Shuman will send you the message. Sometimes knowing who is sending the information will help, that’s why I’m telling you this. When she’s ready she will let us know and then you’ll focus. How does all that sound?”

Shuman? Really? That’s who’s sending me this message?
Good thing I’m indifferent to these results. After casting a skeptical glance at Amber I resign and lie down on the bed. I’ll play the part of a lab rat just this once.

“Great,” she says with a disingenuous smile. “Now first I’m going to stick a few of these sensors on you.” She begins placing little round, plastic-covered sensors on my head, face, and chest. They’re covered in tape and attached to wires. “Now if you do fall asleep then you’ll be disqualified from this task,” the lady warns. “Next I’m going to place these over your eyes to block out any visual stimulation.” She shows me what appears to be a ping-pong ball sliced in half. I nod consent and close my eyes. Once in place the small circular objects rest precariously along the curvature of my eye sockets. “Lastly I’m about to put headphones over your ears. They will block out any auditory stimulation. When Shuman is ready to send you the message I will tap your wrist three times. Until then you should relax, focus, and stay awake. When you believe you’ve received the message in its entirety then click this.” She places a cylinder object in my hand and positions my finger over a small button. “I’ll record the message and you’ll be free to go.”

Apparently, there’s no time for questions. The lady promptly clamps headphones over my ears and all I hear from that point forward is static. Unable to see or hear and locked in a closet with an uptight scientist is probably the strangest predicament I’ve been placed in thus far, which is saying a lot. This almost makes me laugh. I suppress it.

I need a strategy. Something that will help me to open up a channel to receive this message. I picture a telephone. I know the telephone is about to ring. Allowing my mind to remember the sound of Shuman’s voice I imagine she’s on the other end. My breaths lengthen. Deepen. I keep my mind’s eye trained on the telephone. At least ten minutes pass. Sleep trots through my mind, tempting me to follow it many times. I stay alert. Focused. When Amber’s cold, bony fingers tap my wrist I’m alert and ready to proceed.

I focus on the telephone. Nothing happens. I steal a long breath and decide to pick up the receiver, even though it hasn’t rung. It is light blue and done in the old rotary style. On the other end there’s no dial tone. “Hello,” I hear myself say. There’s no reply.
What am I going to do if I don’t get a message? Should I make something up?
I lay the receiver back down. The smoothness of the plastic in my hand is real. When the receiver meets the cradle it falls into place comfortably. I stare at the silent phone, willing it to ring. It sits soundlessly, mocking me with its stillness. Erupting with emotion I yank the receiver off the cradle again and hold it up to my ear.

Nothing. No dial tone. No voice. No message. I run my fingers along the seam of the front and back part of the receiver in a nervous fashion. Even in my visualizations my strange habits still shine through. I laugh in my mind and swear I hear it out loud, through the static.

This is stupid. A waste of time. Of resources. Why are we all doing this? It’s absurd. I bring my attention to my physical reality. The remote in my hand. The button just under my finger, waiting to be pushed. That would end this whole experiment.

As I must do, even in my visualizations, I take the receiver once more and go to replace it on its cradle, where it belongs. When it’s almost there a voice splinters through my consciousness. Low. Muffled. But still it erupts from the light blue phone, catching my attention. With a jerk I hold the receiver to my ear.

“Incoming. Incoming. Incoming,” the voice on the other end of the line speaks. And then quite clearly it gives a message. Three times it sounds in my head. On the last time I click the button in my hand.

Amber gently removes the earphones and halved ping-pong balls. Then she turns to her computer and places her hands on the keyboard. “Please tell me the message, if any, you received.”