Pyros: DarkWorld: Skinwalker 0.5 (Novella) (DarkWorld: Origins Book 1) (3 page)

She felt a tug in her gut. Erasing memories was never an easy task, and seldom did she allow a subject's situation to affect her job, but this one was different. Logan Westin was just a little boy, an innocent trapped in the machinations of two organizations fighting for supremacy in a world that didn't even know they existed.

And Darcy's task today was part of the web of deceit that Omega had created around the child. His power was fire. She could feel it ebb and flow behind the white energy of his brain impulses. She could feel something else too. Something that made her stomach tighten.
So that's what Omega had failed to tell her.
Her jaw tightened as she filed the little revelation away. If Omega ever found out she knew the boy's true identity she'd be toast for sure.

Yes, this one was powerful, but he would never know how powerful. Omega's aim was to contain him. And Darcy's job was to travel through his mind and remove every memory he had of his sister. Omega had briefed her on the details. It was pointless for them to keep key information from her, considering once she immersed herself within the child's mind she would be privy to all his thoughts.

The boy wasn't all that much younger than her, thirteen to her sixteen. Darcy felt her shoulders tighten, lost hold of the boy's energy for the briefest second. She chided herself for losing control, then grabbed firmly onto the mind trail. Logan's situation wasn't all that different from hers. She'd been picked up at age eight, trained for two years and then gainfully employed by Omega for the last six years. As young as she was, she still attended school. Omega maintained a strict educational edge with schoolrooms around the world, taking advantage of modern technology to ensure their charges completed their schooling. Darcy had never complained, considering she would never have found her flair with programming had it not been for school.

Logan
was a Fire mage, his sister just as powerful. Omega's words, not Darcy's. He'd just come into his power and unable to control it had wiped out half a diner, not to mention a couple dozen people. The problem for Omega is that the boy's entire family had been burned alive, including the sister. Something they wanted to ensure would not affect the development of Logan's power.

Although Darcy was of the firm opinion that good counseling and support could get the boy through his personal trauma, Omega wanted to ensure he wouldn't be a danger to his fellow agents. What better way to eliminate potential disaster than by eliminating the source of the trauma?

Memories of the family were to remain, just everything to do with the girl must go. Gunther's words, not hers.

Easier said than done.

***

Jess sat watching the sleeping boy through the window as she rubbed her forehead, tired and drained. Even Titans eventually tire after a day like hers.

Graham had taken almost twenty hours to complete her wipe. Twenty hours during which neither had left the room, or ate or even taken a bathroom break. During which two smartly attired women went from immaculate suits and hair to untucked shirts, overly creased pants and hair that looked like a brush hadn't touched it in weeks.

The Eraser had left looking as if she had been run over by a semi. A part of Jess felt sorry for the girl. She had probed Graham's emotions and seen the doubt she had about the job. Seen her take extra care with the boy. Seen her stop so many times, ready to put an end to the wipe. But Gunther had told her the public version of the truth so neither Graham nor Logan had ever had a chance.

Graham was young, only sixteen. Brilliant, but still just a kid herself. She will learn eventually. Someday she will become hard and jaded and angry, someday she will cease trusting everyone around her.

Jess stopped herself from gritting her teeth just as Gunther entered the viewing room.

"Looked like it went well." He stopped beside her, two feet from the two-way mirror. His spine was stiff as he stared at the boy.

"Looks that way." Jess remained non-committal. She wasn't yet sure what information Gunther was after.

"Any problems with Graham."

"No. She was efficient and thorough."

"Any doubts?" Gunther turned his head, spearing her with his cool gaze.

Jess met his eyes without flinching. "Not that I could see."

"Good. Get him to Colman as soon as he's awake and ready." He turned on his heel and left without another word.

Jess stifled a huff and returned her gaze to the sheet in front of her. More unnecessary forms to fill. More bureaucratic red-tape to wade through.

She bent to her task

***

One Week Later

Dr. Colman's Office

Logan wriggled in the cushioned seat as the man in the glasses wrote something in his little book. Colman was his name. Dr. Colman. Here to help him get through the dreams that plagued him. But what good will a doctor do for Logan when his nights are filled with visions that repeat over and over again. Dreams that raise an accusing finger at him and say, "Look what you did."

Dreams of his father were the worst.

The blackened, shriveled corpse of his father. Horrible hands wrapped around Logan's neck, squeezing and squeezing until he could no longer breathe. The rank smell of charred flesh from the fingers round his neck making him want to throw up. And even when he woke screaming and shaking with the threads of the dream slowly disappearing, they never truly left. Every time he closed his eyes he could see them.

The family he killed.

Dr. Colman cleared his throat and Logan looked up. He was bald with round wire glasses that sat at the tip of his nose. His eyes were small and round and he reminded Logan of Porky the Pig. But even that comparison didn't tease a smile from Logan's lips. What was there to smile about?

Killers don't deserve to smile.

The doctor smiled. "Now, Logan. May I call you Logan?" The question stumped Logan. What else was the doctor going to call him? Mr. Westin? You don't call kids Mister. The request made Logan suspicious but he just nodded and kept his thoughts from him face the way he'd learned to do with Father. Father hated when their faces made him think they were angry or upset. Logan had mastered the art of a neutral expression when he was eight. Colman's voice pulled him from his memories. "Okay, Logan. I understand you've been through a rather traumatic ordeal. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," said Logan. He stared at the window beyond the doctor
’s chair. Grey clouds gathered, some almost black around the edges. It would storm soon.

"Logan, I know you may not want to talk about it but in order for you to feel better you must discuss the things that hurt the most."

Logan looked at the doctor. Discuss what hurts the most? That's digging at the scab of a scar. Didn't the doctor know that was actually a bad thing?

The doctor stared at his page for a moment, then tilted his head at Logan. "Are you having bad dreams?" Logan nodded. He didn't wonder how the doctor knew about his dreams. The machines he was hooked up to all day and all night might pick it up. Or maybe there were people watching him from the other side of the large silver panel on his room wall. "Well, see? Those bad dreams are saying that you have a very troubled mind. And the only way to get past it is to talk about your feelings."

Logan watched the doctor’s expression, wondering what his real intentions were. Why were Logan's feelings so important? Shouldn't they be sending him to prison for what he'd done? And that's what he asked Colman.

The doctor shook his head, the weak light from outside the window reflected off his smooth skull. "You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Logan. That's the reason you need to talk about how you feel."

Logan glared at the doctor, his fists clenched, warm heat moistening his eyes. "How can I not blame myself? I killed them all."

"But it wasn't your fault, Logan. How could you be ex
pected to control a power you don't understand? A power you didn't even know you had?" Dr. Colman was watching Logan intently, but Logan paid little attention to the doctor. His mind whirled.

The power he couldn't control. He could only remember bits and pieces but he did recall the heat that had risen to his palms. H
e did recall the blast of white hot flames that had torn through the diner. His silence must have meant something because the doctor was speaking again. But Logan had missed what he'd asked. He repeated the question, not in the least impatient. "Do you remember what brought the power on?"

Logan nodded. "My father."

"What did he do?"

"He was supposed to stay away. If he stayed away they would all still be alive."

"They?" The doctor leaned forward pen in hand.

"Mother and Father. If he had stayed away from us this wouldn
’t have happened." The doctor relaxed.

"What did your father do when he came into the diner?"

"He hit my mother." Logan's jaw hardened at the memory.

"How did that make you feel?"

"Angry. I was very angry."

"And did your anger make the fire come out?" Logan nodded. "And you couldn't control it?" Another nod.

"It just happened. Before I knew it the place was burned and everyone was dead."

Colman wrote something down then sat back in his chair. "Logan. I do believe I can help you, even help those dreams go away. But you must try to forgive yourself for what happened."

"How can I do that? I killed them all." Logan's shoulders slumped and he slid down in his chair.

"What would you have done if, let's say, it
had been your mother instead. If she had had the power and destroyed the diner and killed all those people. Would you forgive her?"

Logan straightened and nodded vigorously. "Yes. She would never do anything like that deliberately. It would have been an accident."

Colman leaned forward. "So why should you not be able to forgive yourself? Did you want to do it?"

Logan stared at the doctor. "No."

"It wasn't your fault, was it?"

Logan wriggled in his seat, the scrutiny of the doctor a little too difficult to bear. He shook his head in answer and hoped the session would be over soon.

***

Jess glanced up as the door to the meeting room opened. The gigantic wooden table was surrounded by more than two dozen chairs but today only five seats would be occupied. Colman was the last to arrive.

Gunther grunted as the pink faced doctor sat, shoving his flimsy glasses up his shiny nose. "So what do you have for us, doctor?"

Colman opened his file. He scanned the lines of notes and Jess could see the top of his shiny head. The man was very pink. "The boy is stable. Blames himself which is understandable."

"Is the wipe functional? Stable?"

Colman nodded and his glasses slid down his nose again. "I do think it is. Although, only time will tell how stable it is long-term." Colman flicked a glance at the Eraser, and from what Jess could tell his expression was one of contempt. He didn't seem to approve of Graham's work.

Gunther turned to Graham, his expression unchanged, his eyes pale. "Are you satisfied the wipe was successful."

Graham nodded, flicking a glance at the doctor. Clearly she returned the doctor
’s feelings, thought Jess. Graham took a breath. "The wipe took that long only because I had to run through all his memories. Of course, there are sometimes associations a person makes that won't be stored in a person's memory banks."

"Meaning?"

"Well, let's say the smell of cotton candy always reminds you of the fair. And I go in and remove every memory of you ever visiting a fair." Gunther's head descended a fraction; his equivalent of a nod. "But, whenever you smell cotton candy your brain will run along the connection and come up empty. Leaving you scratching your head and wondering what it was that cotton candy could have reminded you of."

"I see
," said Gunther, his jaw working almost imperceptibly. "Nothing we can do about that?"

Graham shook her head. "Even if you wiped his entire memory, sensory links will always remain."

"Could those sensory links cancel the wipe?"

Graham sat back. "I
t would take a very strong personality, or an extremely strong bond to overturn the wipe. But yes, they could."

Gunther drummed his fingers on the table, staring off into space for a few seconds. "We will have to take the chance and leave him be for now. Colman, I want regular assessment
s done on the boy, be sure to let me know if he ever has an inkling of the girl’s existence.

He turned to the Eraser. "Graham, I'm going to move ahead on the assumption that the wipe was a success. If we should need you for maintenance please ensure you are available."
When she nodded, he frowned, as if a thought had just popped into his head that suddenly bothered him. "Tell me, should something happen to you, can another Eraser perform the maintenance successfully."