Mindwalker (22 page)

I'm running through a gray forest. The trees are black knives, their branches sharp and jagged, cutting the sky into shards that pour down around me. Glass litters the forest floor, sparkling like solid rain. All around me, crows watch from the treetops with unblinking black eyes. My feet are bare, and the glass slices into them, sending jabs of pain through me. I'm bleeding, leaving splotches of red with each step.

There's something chasing me, some huge beast, panting and growling. I can't pause, not even to look over my shoulder. If I hesitate for an instant, it will catch me. I run harder, faster. Pain screams up my legs with each step, but I don't stop. I don't dare.

The crows are cawing, beating their wings in a frenzy. They take to the broken sky and circle overhead. One lands on a branch nearby and seems to smile, its dagger-like beak opening to reveal a red maw.

“Turn,” the crow whispers. “Turn around.”

But I can't, I can't.

The beast is almost upon me, its breath gusting hotly on my neck. A dead end looms ahead, a wall of shadow. I turn and find myself staring into my own eyes.

I wake with a start. The bedroom is bright, and birds twitter outside my window. Just a dream, of course. I exhale and roll onto my stomach, hiding my face against the pillow.

Would one night of uninterrupted sleep be too much to ask for?

I sit up, pushing a hand through my disheveled hair. When I glance at myself in the mirror, I wince, then grab a brush and try to tame my snarled brown mane. Once it's suitably flattened, I bind it into pigtails, throw on my clothes, and trudge down the stairs. My head aches dully—a faint remnant of my Lucid hangover.

What a night.

I make myself a mug of apple cinnamon tea, slice a grapefruit in half, and sit at the table. Before I can start to eat, my cell phone buzzes. Expecting a text from Steven, I pull the phone from my pocket. The message is from Dr. Swan.

REPORT TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY
.

That's it. No explanation. Just that single blunt order.

Of course, I know what it's about. He's discovered that I'm a Type Two now, and naturally, he wants to discuss it with me. Or maybe …

Has he somehow found out about me and Steven?

I push the thought away.

I don't bother to eat my grapefruit. I drive straight to IFEN
headquarters and try to ignore the way my pulse thunders in my ears as I step into Dr. Swan's office. His face is inscrutable as I sit down in the leather armchair. For a moment, he just stares at me across the expanse of his desk. “I don't think I need to tell you why you're here.”

“Yes.” I realize I'm clenching my fists and force myself to relax them. I fold my hands in my lap. “I'm aware that I've been reclassified. I believe it's some sort of mistake.”

“So does everyone. You know better. But that's not really why I called you here.”

It takes an effort to keep my expression blank.

Relax.
He has no way of knowing about the immersion sessions or the Lucid. Maybe he saw some security footage of me with Steven, maybe he knows we're spending time together, but that's all. “What are you referring to?” I ask, carefully controlling my tone.

“I'm not going to play games with you. I'm just going to give you one last warning. Stay away from that boy.”

The anger flares in my chest, a rush of heat. I'm sick of this. “I'm almost eighteen. You can't tell me who to spend time with. You have no right—”

“I have every right. You're not an adult yet. And even if you were, I'm still your supervisor, and you are my protégé.”

I glare at him. “If I'd left Steven alone, he'd be dead by now. You knew he had a Somnazol, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?”

His expression remains rigid and closed. “He applied for it himself. He followed the proper procedures. There was nothing we could do.”

“So I was supposed to just stand aside and let him die?”

He closes his eyes, as if struggling for control. “If someone chooses to pass and does it legally, we must respect their choice, whether or not we agree. You can't save everyone, Lain. As I've said many times, your father entrusted me with your well-being—”

“Don't talk to me about my father,” I snap. My fingers dig into the arms of the chair. “You're not my father.”

His eyes narrow. “You don't know the circumstances leading up to his death, do you?” he asks, his tone almost casual.

I tense.

“He was a man of great compassion. In a way, that was his weakness. As a Mindwalker, he took on many burdens, more than he could handle. Near the end, his mental health started to slip, and he was reclassified. He could no longer legally treat clients. I tried to convince him to seek help, but he refused. He grew increasingly paranoid and reclusive. In the end, his sickness overcame him completely, and he chose to destroy himself rather than accept treatment.”

I struggle to keep my expression neutral. I remind myself that I don't know whether Dr. Swan is telling the truth. But what if he is?

He's watching my face closely, as if he can see the thoughts playing out. “I suppose you haven't given much thought to how it affected me. I was just his friend, after all. But I did care about him, and believe it or not, I care about you, too. It was devastating to watch him disintegrate. Can you imagine what it's like watching you go down the same path?”

There's a hard, hot ball in my chest, and my throat is tight. “What does any of this have to do with Steven?”

“If you continue to associate with him, he will destroy
you. Anger and paranoia are contagious, and the more time you spend with him, the more his twisted way of thinking will creep into yours. It's already happening. I can see it.” His voice softens. “Learn from your father's mistakes.”

My nails dig into my palms, burning.

“You have a lot going for you, Lain. Your grades are impressive. Your behavioral record is spotless. If you seek therapy now, your psyche will undoubtedly recover, and this whole incident will be no more than a tiny blip in your file. Think seriously—do you really want to endanger all that? For what? Some boy? You barely know him.”

“I know him better than you do.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head, dismissing the question. “You're a child rebelling against her elders, chasing after a boy she's been told to stay away from. You're fascinated by him because he's forbidden. That's all.”

“You don't understand the first thing about Steven. You think you know what he's been through? You have no idea.”

His mouth tightens. For a moment, he studies me in silence. I don't move or speak. Then he leans forward, looking straight into my eyes, and lowers his voice to a near whisper. “Sometimes, it's better to let the past rest.”

A chill ripples through me. Goose bumps rise on my arms and legs.

He knows.
He knows what I've been doing. More than that, he knows that Steven's memories have been altered. And he's telling me to stop nosing around for answers. “I don't know
what you're talking about.” My voice shakes despite my efforts to control it. “If that's all you have to say, I'm leaving.”

“All it takes is two words, Lain. Two words in your file—
emotional instability,
perhaps—and you'll never set foot in IFEN again.”

A bead of sweat trickles down my neck. “Is that a threat?”

“Please understand, I only want what's best for you.”

I turn away. A hot, bitter taste fills my mouth like bile. “You know, I'm getting really sick of that line.”

I walk out the door.

***

When I get back home, I check the house for bugs. I pull the books off the shelves in the living room, peer under the furniture, and examine the walls and ceiling. Nothing. I go through the house systematically, searching each room, until I come to my bedroom. After I've thoroughly examined every corner, I stand, chewing my thumbnail. He's been watching me somehow. I know it.

I look at the rows of stuffed animals on my shelves. The pink bunny, the green Cthulhu, the teddy bear with the eye patch. There's something different about the bear's shiny black eye. Slowly, I pick up the toy. Deep inside the semitransparent plastic eyeball, I see a glint of silver. Hands shaking, I grab a pair of scissors and cut out the eye. A thin, flexible silver tube trails from the back like an optic nerve. A spy camera. My fingers tighten on the bear.

Greta must have planted it. That's the only explanation. But
when? How long has Dr. Swan been watching me? How much has he seen? Is it only video, or does it record audio as well?

I throw the bear across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands facedown on the floor.

My breathing quickens until my vision starts to blur. A scream wells up in my chest and tries to claw its way from my throat, but I choke it down. I won't let Dr. Swan get away with this. I won't let him beat me.

“Are you going to tell me why we're here?” Steven asks.

We're walking side by side down a hallway in the Complex— a vast hundred-story shopping mall. It's probably the best-known spot in downtown Aura. The stores are all situated along the edges of the cylinder-shaped building. The center is empty space, giving shoppers a vertigo-inducing view of the drop to the first floor. Elevators glide up and down transparent chutes.

I lean toward him, until my lips are barely an inch from his ear, and murmur, “I'm not sure my house is secure.”

He stops. “What are you talking about?”

“Keep moving,” I say, hooking an arm through his. We pass a toy store with an elaborate, twinkling model of Aura in the window.

The dull clamor of voices and footsteps fills the air, mingling with the music drifting from half a dozen stores. There are cameras, of course, but no audio-recording devices. That would be pointless, since it's impossible to pick individual
conversations out of the chaos. Still, I keep my voice low, just in case anyone is listening. “Dr. Swan—you know, the director of IFEN? He called me to his office and told me to stop spending time with you. And I found a spy camera in my room. He's been watching us.”

Steven tenses.

“I checked the rest of the house for bugs. I couldn't find any, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. For now, I feel safer talking in a place like this.”

“What about Chloe?” he asks.

“What about her?”

“I mean, could he use her to watch you? Like hack into her database or something?”

I wince. How did that not occur to me? “It's possible.” Has he been keeping track of my searches, too? I make a mental note not to use her again unless I absolutely need to. If I activate her at all, it'll only be to clear her caches. Though I'm not sure that'll help at this point.

We pass a clothing store. Grinding, thumping music pulses from inside, and holographic models pose in the windows, showing off the merchandise. Their bodies are human, but they have the heads of extinct animals. There's a full-breasted tiger in a shimmering green dress, a muscle-bound zebra in a black tuxedo, and some kind of improbable-looking white bird with a long, hooked beak wearing a two-piece bathing suit.

Steven walks quickly, his expression grim. “He could ruin everything for you, couldn't he?”

I nod reluctantly.

“I'm putting you in danger just by being with you.”

There's a twinge of cold fear, deep in my belly. I think
about the clusters of homeless people huddled around fires in the more run-down parts of Aura—people who can't find employment because of their Type. Even if I never wind up in that situation, I'll certainly be barred from treating clients again if I continue to defy Dr. Swan.

Fresh anger surges inside me, hot and bright, overpowering the fear. He thinks he can manipulate me with threats? He thinks he can spy on me and intimidate me and expect me to bend to his wishes? “I don't care what he does,” I say. “I'm not quitting now. We've come too far to turn back.”

“Lain …”

“We're going ahead with the plan.”

Steven doesn't reply.

We leave the Complex and walk to the nearest monorail station. As we wait for the mono, I notice someone washing away graffiti on a cement wall. I can still make out the words.