Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2) (11 page)

The Panther room always smells of sweet grass, with a soft undertone of gardenia. It’s the only place in the Institute with such a complex aroma. Not even the main hall at dinner time is that intoxicating. A constant buzzing sound emanates from the computer stations and the bluish light overhead gives off a gentle hum.

The fondness I’ve grown for this space in such a short time leaves me in a new state of vulnerability. The idea that I’ve become attached to the job is disconcerting and completely out of character. Maybe my apathetic nature is eroding. Aiden is probably partly to blame for this. And still, I know leaving is the right thing to do. It’s not like I’m a Middling, bound to a single place and time. Everyone’s acting like I’m going to a different planet. I get that Texas is pretty much Mars, but I still have dream travel. Samara and I’ll spend our nights hanging out in Phoenix and New York. When Joseph comes around we’ll find our own special places to haunt. And every now and then Aiden will grace me with his presence in Egypt or Budapest or wherever he likes to go when he’s not in his lab. Of course, I know being in the flesh is always better, but still. I made the expectation clear to Joseph and I can’t go back on it. If I did then he’d never take me seriously. And still I think he’ll change his mind at the eleventh hour. Concede what he’s working on. And if he doesn’t then maybe by leaving I’ll stop him from further work on this demonstrative project by taking my energy reserves from him. Because there’s only one thing more important than my friends, my work news reporting, and my love for Aiden: Joseph.

I settle myself in my familiar station, trying to put my attachments out of mind and focus on the present moment. My breath slowly softens. I invite serenity into every inch of my body. This is a gradual process, one that can’t be rushed. But today, I sink into stillness quicker than usual. A large room flashes into my vision. Multiple tables fill the space, their surfaces crowded with electronics. Cabinets streak the walls. A song plays in the background. Aiden’s lab. My heart leaps when I see him sitting at a nearby workstation screwing something into a device. Guilty tension surges through me for spying on him like this. But it’s not like I meant to. And isn’t that what news reporting is all about?

His dark hair, currently not governed by product, falls into his eyes when he leans forward. Distracted, he pushes it away from his face. I wish his unruly hair would flop back on his forehead, just so I could watch him do it again. When he looks up, there isn’t that same expression of wanting he usually has when he looks at me. His gaze is speculative. “I’m almost ready to take another round of readings.” He drums his fingers on his lips. It’s an adorable gesture that he does when something is momentarily stumping him. “I’ve got to figure out what we missed the last time.”

The vision retracts until I see the person Aiden’s talking to. Nervousness cocoons my being. George’s eyes are closed. He’s chewing on his lip. His eyes open to reveal his deep brown eyes. “What
you
missed,” George says, tone clipped.

Distracted by his thoughts, Aiden glances at George. “Pardon?”

“I’m only the lab rat. You’re the scientist.”

“Right,” the Head Scientist says, scratching his head. “And you say lab rat like it’s a bad thing. Numerous discoveries may not have occurred if it wasn’t for those four-legged creatures. Besides, I’m not running tests on you, but rather studying how your empathesis works. That puts you in a very special league of lab rats,” he says with a laugh.

George gives him a mutinous expression. “Why wasn’t the first round of readings enough?”

“I’m not sure. My guess is it didn’t provide enough data to change the programming in the modifier. All I know for certain is with the new encoding the modifier still isn’t successful at changing or erasing emotions.” He shrugs. “This is all about trial and error, really. We’ll keep trying until we get it right.”

“Are you going to need me to be involved for each trial?” George says evenly.

“I’m afraid so. Each time it doesn’t work then that means I have to take another set of readings on you. I’m trying to copy the structure of your empathesis, which is about like blueprinting your DNA. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” George says, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them with a sigh.

“Well,” Aiden begins in his casual, yet professional tone, “I’m trying to determine the mechanics of how you read emotions. I suspect this information is critical to the emotional modifier’s encoding. If I can define how your empathesis works, then it’s possible I can rewire the modifier to function on emotions the same way it does with thoughts.” He leans forward, giving George a conspiratorial look. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure this strategy will be successful. Thoughts and emotions are two different beasts and just because we can program one with the modifier doesn’t mean we can the other. I think this whole project is a long shot, but I also said the same thing about the consciousness screen I built on the GAD-Cs. So don’t be deterred by my skepticism. It keeps me grounded.” Aiden laughs. George doesn’t. All color suddenly drains from his face. Eyes full of dread, George twists his head over his shoulder, a new tension knitting his brow.

Usually my subconscious indicates when the event I’m witnessing is done. Now is not one of those times. I’ve seen enough. I spiral until I’m back in the Panther room.

I don’t make a report at the computer terminal. Instead I tromp past the station and down the hall. I’m not certain of the timing of the event with Aiden and George. All I know is the anger and betrayal I feel is jolting. It wraps around me, inciting a fast-burning rage. I allow this fire to fuel my actions. Right before I round the corner to Aiden’s lab I press my eyelids together and draw in a heavy breath.

George knows I’m there immediately. Now I realize
I
was the cause of him going pale and turning tense. Aiden, on the other hand, looks rather startled. No one says a word as I stomp across the lab. I stop in front of them, pin my hands on my hips, and briefly center my thoughts. I’m not an activist and I have no platform. But I’m a human being and speak from a place that wants to protect what we were all given when we were born—the right to think and feel for ourselves. The breath within my body has grown hotter, less steady, but I’m not shaking and for that I’m grateful.

“Hey, Roya,” Aiden says, sounding casual but wearing a nervous expression. “What brings the pleasure of your visit?”

I step forward and slam my hand down on the table. He flinches, inches back. George gives a worried stare.

“It’s not enough to manipulate people’s thoughts, now you’re going after their emotions?!”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Aiden says in a rush. “Whatever you’ve heard is wrong. Let me explain.”

“I didn’t hear about your project from anyone.”

Startled, he shakes his head. “Then how do you know—”

“I’m a News Reporter. I know.”

I level my gaze at him. There’s a terror in his eyes that increases moment by moment as he realizes just how much I know and how far gone that makes
us.

I turn, pointing at George. “I’m thoroughly shocked you’ve consented to be a part of this! You know better than anyone this is a violation.”

George shamefully looks off to the right, nodding his head. “I know,” he says in a frustrated whisper.

I believe him. He appears genuinely remorseful. In a lower voice I say, “By consenting to be a part of this you’re abusing your power.”

He rubs his hand over his face. “Yeah,” he says, then nothing else. I stare at him for a minute. His eyes are red and full of an inescapable self-loathing. How did he get roped into this?

My accusatory stare turns on Aiden. I feel his treachery scrape at my insides as I bore into his intense blue eyes. “And you,” I scold, backing away, knowing I can’t be next to him or otherwise he’ll instantly try and right his wrong. Although I want to yell at him, insult him, make him feel as heartbroken as I do, I just stare across the five long feet that divide us. Shaking my head I force the sudden ache out with my words. “You are not who I thought you were. You’re evil.” Aiden stands suddenly, rushing over to me. I throw up a hand, blocking him. “Don’t come near me…ever again.” He responds with a pleading expression and I can’t afford to look at him for one second longer. I turn and stalk off, not looking back at the two guys who individually owned pieces of my heart and sent them up in a bushfire.

Chapter Fifteen

L
ike the autumn leaves of an oak tree, the reasons to get away from the Institute keep piling up. Maybe those jerks are actually doing me a favor by making it easier to leave. My brother’s a zombie. Aiden’s working on a demonic device like he’s God. And George is allowing himself to be a pawn in another deceptive game, a game that Trey is no doubt behind. I was right all along to leave this place. This time tomorrow, I’ll be gone. That’s my only bit of consolation.

I spend the rest of the day packing my belongings. Each garment reminds me of a memory I’ve had within the walls of the Institute. Steady fingers make every fold with precision and neatly arrange the items inside the many boxes scattered around my room. My mind meditates on releasing these memories, abandoning them here. Leaving the Institute is about creating a fresh start, since the life I’ve lived thus far has been a bunch of lies.

When my room is just a stack of boxes, I head for the computer lab. My heart feels shallow as I send a quick email to Bob and Steve to confirm the pickup time for tomorrow. They must be online because their reply arrives within minutes.
At least I can count on them
.

That night I sleep, but my dreams are full of scary images. My subconscious is trying to express itself, but I don’t want to hear its messages. When I awake I shake off the dreams of Aiden’s head on a chess piece and Joseph praying at an altar. These dreams make me doubt my decision, which is the last thing I should do. All I need is to get through the next few hours. That’s easy. I can do that.

My last meal at the Institute and unsurprisingly I’m not hungry. Apparently neither is George. He takes the seat next to me without his usual omelet. “Can we talk? Please.”

“No,” I answer too fast. “Not right now,” I say, my tone softer this time. “Not today.”

He nods with understanding. “Okay, then I just want to say I’m sorry.” The humility in his expression has a disarming effect on me. I’m just about to say more to him, but right then something takes me by utter surprise. Joseph sits down on the opposite side of the table. I haven’t seen him in the main hall for too long. His appearance hasn’t changed; if anything he looks skinnier.

He gives me a cold expression, one that alienates me. “I came to see you off.”

“That’s big of you. Why don’t you eat something while you’re here,” I suggest.

“I’m not hungry.”

All eyes around the table lock on us. Usually I crave my privacy, but what’s the point in hiding this feud.

“I wouldn’t be trying if I didn’t take this last opportunity to ask you to stay,” he says across the long space that separates us. Everyone turns to me, awaiting my reply.

“Oh, so you didn’t really come to see me off, did you?”

“I did,” he says through clenched teeth.

“No, this is all about you and what you want.”

“It’s about us, Stark. It’s about us sticking together.”

“I’m all for that. Tell me, where were you last week? Or this week? I’ve been here, but you haven’t been
sticking
around much at all, have you?” I accuse.

The volley is in his court. Everyone’s heads turn to Joseph, awaiting his rebuttal.

A layer of bitterness settles over his dull expression. “Why wouldn’t you want to stay here with your friends?” He makes a sweeping motion at the table.

“Because I can’t be here. The Institute is full of lies and secrets. I can’t put up with it anymore. I don’t trust this place. And I especially don’t trust
that
man.” I point to Trey, who’s just taken center stage in the main hall.

A hush falls on the crowd. Trey’s actions are rushed, coated in stress. He taps the microphone twice but we’re already looking at him. “I need everyone’s attention.” Running his hands through his overworked hair he says, “Dr. Livingston, the Head Scientist for the Institute, is missing. We believe he’s been abducted.”

No!
The word is short but deliberate in my mind. Disbelief leaks into me like toxic gas into a room, leaving no breathable air. Startled gasps echo around the room, but not from me. Trey’s words can’t be real.
Can’t be real. Can’t be real.
All realness has slipped out of my life in one giant breath. Trey’s words can’t mean what I think they do. He’s joking. I wait for Aiden’s eyes to materialize in the doorway. His smile to unfurl. For Trey to laugh and say it’s all a joke. But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t.
And with each passing second this becomes real. My reality. My nightmare.

“We are on full lockdown,” Trey continues, his voice strict, urgent. “No one is to dream travel out of the Institute until further notice. Lastly, if you see Amber Morten then alert a Head Official immediately. We’ll give you more information as we have it.” With hurried steps Trey walks off the stage and out of the room.

The main hall is a sudden commotion of voices and movements. I remain frozen, eyes locked on nothing. My heart sinks beneath my knees, to a place lower than I thought it could ever go. Everyone speaks and moves all around me, but I just stare at the table feeling myself recede further and further. I dive down into that hollow part of me until I feel the ache take over and my head begins to throb. How could Aiden be missing? Why would someone abduct him? How could someone do that? Worry is a wild horse inside me, charging, scattering dust, marking everything with its hoof prints. Every time a new worry runs across my mind I feel it reverberate and echo in the depths of my stomach.

A hand touches my shoulder. In one movement I turn, throwing a hard block, sending the hand away. Samara’s eyes widen. I look at her, frozen. “I’m sorry,” I say in a hoarse whisper. It’s almost impossible to force words through my aching throat. “I just…and that caught me off guard.”