Chills & Thrills: Three Novel Box Set (7 page)

I looked back and forth between Noah and Ayden, trying to clue into what they both had. “Okay, master psychics, do tell, because so far I haven’t gotten a damn thing. And, who is Stephanie then?”

“Hope Mitchell has been trained just like you were—from the time you were a kid. She didn’t just come across this gift and share it with her mother. She’s been cultivated. Stephanie is a plant. She has raised the kid as her mother from the time she was little, so Hope believes she is her mom. The thing is, Hope and probably others were raised in an institution. My guess is, and it’s only a guess because all of this is coming to me off the psychic planes, is that there are more Hope’s out there. And, Simms is keeping it a dirty, dark secret. If he is running a program like what I am suggesting, he knows that children need a level of nurturing. Thus, there are surrogates. I am positive that Hope was a test tube baby. I have no doubt that the woman in there cares for the girl, but her real reason to play the role of mom is two-fold. One she is afraid
not
to do it. Two, she’s getting a substantial amount of money. If I had to bet on it, there is a clause in a contract with her that says she is to go away after Hope reaches a certain age and be done with being mommy.”

I felt sick to my stomach. I was starting to get it now. I didn’t even need to be psychic to put two and two together. “Simms has a program that he’s devised with these kids. The biological parents are donors? Psychic ones?”

Noah nodded again. “I’m not entirely clear on the parents, although it’s obvious that Stephanie herself has no psychic gifts to speak of. That’s why I think he brings in surrogates. For all I know, she has a tainted past and this is a way out.”

“Where are they?” I asked. “The other kids?”

This time Noah shook his head. “I don’t know that either. But I think you better start
listening
.”

Chapter Twelve

I was sitting on “the rock.”

Below me, glittering in the night like a radiant, many-faceted jewel, was Simms’ sprawling estate. The boys were waiting inside.

Waiting for me.

Well, they were just going to have to keep waiting. I was, after all, working. And “tuning in” long distance was always a challenge, even for someone as highly trained as myself. There was, after all, a lot of noise out there...so much so that many audials turn off the skill forever. And, like all extrasensory skills, if ignored or forgotten, it will go away.

Yes, I have thought of shutting it off, too. Until I remember the good it does. Or the good I hope it does.

So, I closed my eyes and took in a lot of air. I sat cross-legged. Not quite in a lotus position, as this was not a spiritual meditation. No, this was my way of clearing my thoughts and “tuning in” to that which I chose to hear. My job was always made easier if I held a personal item of my target. Without a personal item, I was forced to wade through much more clutter.

Now, as I gripped a pair of Hope’s earrings—one in each hand—I exhaled slowly through my mouth. As I did so, a soft hum filled my head. It always began with a hum. I took in more air, slowly, deeply. I felt the warm wind on my face, lifting my hair, ruffling my light sweater. The wind was suffused with traces of salt and maybe even brine, as we were high above the ocean below. Mostly, I smelled sage and juniper and dust. Somewhere, a coyote howled. Somewhere else, another coyote answered.

I ignored them both, and focused on the hum that was growing louder and louder. Now, as voices wafted up from the home below—voices I ignored—the hum turned into something more than a hum. It turned into soft breathing.

This always excited me. That I could hear from long range should have been second nature to me now, but it wasn’t. No, I never took my gifts for granted. Not like the others. Every day, I was thrilled by this skill, this rare gift...this blessing to hear across great distances. And not just hear...but to hear with pinpoint precision.

And, of course, there were some of us who didn’t call being an audial a blessing. Many like me called it a curse.

They were untrained, of course. They didn’t know how to turn it off. They let it consume them. We were, after all, the mother of all eavesdroppers.

Easy to abuse. Easy to get caught up in it. Easy to let it consume you.

More often, though, easy to let it drive you mad.

To sit quietly in bed, and literally be able to pick up snatches of conversation from around the globe was...off putting to say the least. Thank God, my father—a highly trained audial himself, and founder of the PSI division—had trained me how to rein it in at a young age.

I didn’t rein it in now. No, I embraced it fully—and utilized it completely.

Yes, it was definitely breathing I was hearing. Soft breathing. Contrary to what most people might believe, very little of one’s life was spent talking. Often I heard a TV in the background, the sounds of tapping on a keyboard—hell, often the sounds of sending and receiving texts. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out the sounds of individual keystrokes, although I knew my superiors often wished I could.

I heard the sounds of faster breathing as people walked or exercised. Sometimes I heard grunts and pants and the dirty talk of sex. Often I heard the car radio playing...or just breathing.

Generally, I can distinguish between the rhythmic breathing of sleep, which was often punctuated by light snores. The breathing of sleep generally follow the rule of a two-count inhalation and a one-count exhalation. Daily life didn’t contain such consistency.

I listened now. My target would be a young girl. Eleven-years-old. Often, I needed to familiarize myself the breathing of my target. Once I knew their patterns, I could quickly determine if they were asleep, walking, or something else. Often I relied on background noise to determine what they were doing.

But there was no background noise. Nothing to speak of, literally. Just light breathing. At her age, her breathing would be faster than an adult’s. I slowed my own breathing further, tuning in, locking on, so to speak.

The girl was not asleep, that much was obvious. The sleep rhythm wasn’t there. Besides, she was whispering something every now and then. Something even I couldn’t pick up. Then I caught snatches of “God” and “please.”

She’s praying,
I thought.

For some reason, that sent a cold shiver through me—a shiver that was not caused from the cool breeze blowing up from the crashing surf below. No, that a young girl would be sitting quietly in a room and praying, made me nearly break the connection to her and start pacing.

I was, of course, reminded of myself. Sitting in a locked room at a young age—and praying like hell that my father would come for me.

He had come for me. He had, in fact, freed me...but it had come with a heavy price. The heaviest of all.

Hard as it was, I pushed images of my dying father out of my thoughts and focused on the girl. Small lungs, tiny, whispery voice. So young, I thought. Too young to be dealing with this shit.

And that’s when I heard it. The child heard it, too. Hope gasped as footsteps approached. Her prayers quickened. And as they did so, I made them out clearly:

“Please help me, God. Please help me. Help me.”

Jesus,
I thought.

Next came the sound of a door being unlocked. Creaking open. Hope gasped and I heard her move back in whatever she was sitting. I heard blankets shifting.

“Breakfast time, Hope.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself.”

There was a long pause before the door closed again. As it did so, Hope burst into tears.

And as I listened to her weep from halfway across the world—somewhere far enough where it was time for breakfast—I realized with a sickening dread that I recognized the woman’s voice.

“Sweet Jesus,” I said, and snapped my eyes open.

Chapter Thirteen

The woman named Orlenda was standing over her again. Hope pretended to be asleep, but quickly learned she wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Hope, it would be best if you simply opened your eyes and talked with me. I am not here to harm you. I only want some information that I believe you have. Once you give it to me, you can be returned to your mother.”

Hope opened her eyes and said, “I don’t believe you.” She had already tuned into this woman’s conversation with someone named Echidna. They had spoken on the phone, and Hope had learned that her mom was with Grant Simms. Mr. Simms was in charge of the School. He was okay but Hope didn’t trust him, and she didn’t like it that her mother was with him. Her mother’s energy seemed different and very distant to her.

She’d been trying to “hear” her mother and see if she could hear her as well, but there was a shield in place, and it was powerful.

Hope was still in some pain and she was very tired, but she would try again to connect and break through the barrier that had been placed around her mom.

“It’s true, dear child.”

This was how this lady wanted to play. Okay. Hope would lie to her just as easily. “What do you want?”

The woman sat down in the chair next to her bed. “I want to know how to transfer.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Hope replied.

Orlenda’s lips eased into a sinister smirk. “Yes, you do. We know you’re capable of it. I want to know how to transfer.”

Hope shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Orlenda looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “This does not need to be difficult, child. If you transfer to where I need you to, you will be able to prevent many horrible things from happening in the world. I think you know what I mean.”

Hope was scared. She knew what the woman meant, or at least she thought she did. What she was asking her to do was not called
transfer
at the School. The teacher she’d worked with on it had called it “traveling.” She’d accomplished it a few times and each time it had frightened her because it took her somewhere else—to other places, times and people she didn’t know. She knew, too, that she would be expected to alter things to benefit her country. That was another thing the teacher had told her. She didn’t like that. She didn’t want to change history. She didn’t want to change the future. She knew deep from within that it was wrong to change fate for the benefit of one human kind over another human kind. One simple change could alter everything.

“Hope?”

Hope stared at her.

Orlenda lowered her voice to a near whisper. “You do what I want, and then you can go be with your mom. This, I promise. Think about it. When your leg is better, you will transfer and you will teach me how to do so as well.” She stood and walked out of the room.

Hope stuffed down her emotions. She needed to tune into Orlenda right now, see if she called that Echidna person, or talked to someone. She needed to find out if Orlenda might say anything about what she really planned to do with her. The problem was, Orlenda had built herself a pretty strong shield. However, Hope knew the woman wasn’t psychic in any way, so the shield had been constructed by someone else on her behalf. That would make it easier to get around, but not entirely easy. It also depended on how strong of a psychic and what kind of psychic had created the shield for Orlenda.

She closed her eyes and called upon the source of the owl and also of the tiger moth. One thing the teachers had taught her is that by utilizing energies from other sources she could strengthen her abilities. Because she was an audial, she typically called upon sources that were known for their strength in hearing. The owl was obvious. The tiger moth worked from sonar to avoid being eaten by bats. She had to learn about all sorts of animals, minerals, plant life, insects, water life, and more. She liked working with the tiger moth because it knew how to get out of the way of the predator. The owl scared her some because of its predatory nature.

As she slowed her breathing and allowed the two sources to begin working with her, she envisioned Orlenda in her mind. She had the advantage of already seeing and speaking to the woman. In her mind’s eye she could see the shield around her.

Hope asked her two sources to see if they could fly through the shield. The owl tried but could not. His energy was stronger and bigger, and he couldn’t break through. But the tiger moth found a small space that had not been sealed up as tightly as the rest of the shield around Orlenda, and the moth was inside.

Orlenda was on the phone and, surprisingly to Hope, she was speaking Russian. Even though Hope knew the language, tuning into foreign languages was always a challenge, and called upon all her gifts. As it was, she caught the tail-end of the conversation.

“I will get you what you need. I am working on it now with the child. It is only a matter of time.”

Orlenda hung up the phone and the tiger moth backed out of the shield.

Hope opened her eyes. Her stomach hurt. She had to find a way out of here, and find someone good. Someone who could stop the crazy woman.

Hope had multiple problems though. She had no idea how to get out of the place, or even where she was. And, even if she did get out of there, she had no idea who was good and who would help her.