Thirst No. 4 (24 page)

“That’s silly. You know . . . Freddy has resisted me from day one and I’ve never harmed him.”

“He doesn’t count! You love Freddy! You cheat on your husband to be with him.”

“What I do in my personal life is no concern of yours.”

“This entire conversation is about how your personal life has led you to create a monster that even you are losing control of. Admit it, isn’t that what your story is leading up to? I’ve only realized it now myself. You’re not lying when you say you don’t know who the mole in my group is. Or who ordered the Cradle to attack my friend on the mountain. You don’t know because others have taken over your organization!”

Brutran stops walking and stands deflated. The pin I hoped to use to pop her ego has struck deeper. My words are like a needle through her heart. She doesn’t even try to fight me.

“You’re right, I have lost control,” she says.

“To the kids in the Cradle? Or just to those who control the Lens?”

“Both and neither.”

“You’re not saying it’s Tarana?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s whatever stands over the kids when they gather to invoke the Cradle. It’s that power, or those beings, that have taken over.”

“Those beings? What beings?”

Brutran shakes her head. “It all goes back to the questions we asked Professor Sharp the first day he spoke to us about creating an array. What is the nature of the consciousness we’ll tap into? Is it individual or universal? Is it good or is it evil? Back then we used to discuss these issues late into the night. We
were like a bunch of pseudophilosophers, safe in the certainty that nothing really bad could happen to us.”

“Hold on a second. I’m not buying this one-eighty you’re trying to pull. Suddenly you’re acting like the victim, when you’re the one who set all this in motion. Hell, the night I came to your house you forced me to put a loaded gun in my mouth. If not for Krishna, and maybe some dumb luck, I would have pulled that trigger. And I know damn well you wouldn’t have shed a tear while you wiped up my bloody brains.”

“The Cradle ordered your execution, not me.”

“I don’t believe you. You created the Cradle.”

“Professor Sharp, Freddy, and yes, I, Cynthia Brutran, helped bring it to life. But I see now that Tarana and creatures like him were behind it from the start.”

“Now you sound like one of those religious nuts who blames the devil for every mishap in the world. How convenient, Satan made me do it. Don’t accept any personal responsibility for how many people the IIC has killed.”

“Stop!” Brutran shouts as she tries to slap me. But I’m much too fast for her, and catch her hand before it can approach my face. The fury in her eyes doesn’t surprise me, but the stark fear does. Damn it, the bitch is still telling the truth, or at least her version of it.

“I know what I’ve done!” she says. “I don’t deny that I’ve always craved money and power. But that doesn’t make me
any different from the majority of politicians and CEOs in this country. And if you’re thinking about giving me a lecture on how those people don’t kill others, save it. They make decisions every day that result in more deaths than I have ever caused.”

“Fine. You’re evil. But it’s okay because all powerful people are.”

“Nothing in my life is okay. From the start, I chose a path that was selfish. I admit that. But I never expected to end up where I’m at now. My life has become a waking nightmare.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I’m being melodramatic? When you burst in my office the other day and released the virus, there was a part of me that thought, ‘Thank God, it will soon be over.’ I almost didn’t make a deal with you for that reason.”

“But you did deal. You can’t be as depressed as you say.”

“Whatever you think of me, I still feel a responsibility for the people who work for me. They trust me with their lives. I made a deal with you to protect them from the virus. And I agreed to join forces with you because you’re probably the only one who can destroy the Telar.” She stops. “And the Cradle.”

“You would kill your own daughter?”

In response, Brutran slowly lifts the front of her blouse. She wears a bra underneath but it does nothing to hide the
extensive scarring. Her entire abdomen is worse off than Shanti’s face used to be.

“What happened?” I ask.

“When my daughter was three she asked if she could stay up all night and watch TV. Like any decent mother, I told her no, she had to go to bed. A short time later I felt a thick psychic fist descend. I lost all control. When the command came to light a candle and burn the skin off my abdomen, I obeyed. Jolie showed me no mercy. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and begged for her to stop.” Brutran pauses. “Do you still think I’m being melodramatic?”

“She did all this without the Cradle?”

“Yes. Or at least, I think so.”

“How long did it take for you to recover?”

“I’m still recovering. I’m in constant pain. I’m addicted to OxyContin. I’ve built up an incredible tolerance. I have to take three hundred milligrams a day just to cope.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You can see why I need your help.”

“You could have asked for my help at the beginning. Instead, you set yourself up as a foe, and it wasn’t the fault of the Cradle. It was you, Cindy. You have suffered, I see that now, but you have caused me and my friends to suffer. I don’t forgive that and I sure as hell am never going to forget it.”

“That’s fine. As long as you stop them.”

“The Telar or the Cradle?” I ask.

“Both.”

“What makes you think I can?”

Brutran sounds sad. “You came back from the grave. How many others can say that? If you can’t stop them, then who will?”

T
wo days later I sit in the center of the Lens, on the floor of a virtual dungeon, deep in the bowels of IIC’s main structure. I have never been to this floor before, so far underground, and yet there’s another level beneath us. Because my floor is a large circular one-way mirror, I’m able to see the two hundred kids of the Cradle gathering below. Brutran was right when she described how few members make up the Lens. Including myself, there are only twenty-five of us present. Like gods peering down at their loyal subjects, we sit directly above the others.

The material we relax on is not simple glass. It appears to be an extremely hard plastic, a composite the rest of the world hasn’t heard about. I’ve studied it with my fingers and know it’s virtually unbreakable. I’m not sure why the Lens likes to secretly view the rest of the Cradle, but I assume they have their reasons.

It is obvious to me that these kids know each other, that they have all been together before, which once again makes Cynthia Brutran a liar. Unless they are able to gather without her knowledge.

Yesterday, as the bulk of the kids arrived at the building, they were immediately infected with the virus. They quickly showed symptoms, but I prevented them from making any calls in case they tried to alert their partners about the virus. A few complained about the blisters, but as a whole the group settled down as soon as they got a shot of the weakened vaccine. Brutran did nothing to stop me from giving them the virus. She didn’t even try to protect her own daughter.

How to describe these children who might one day rule the world? Three quarters are young, five and under; the others are between fifteen and eighteen. The former were planned; they are the true products of Freddy’s astrological system. On the surface, they look normal, but they’re too quiet for kids their age. They don’t run and play.

Jolie falls into this group. She sits in the corner holding a stuffed toy she calls Mr. Topper. A clown with eyes and lips so red they look like they were stained with blood.

The older kids were discovered using the same astrological system. But they were already born before Brutran and her colleagues founded IIC. They are the products of an extensive worldwide search, and as a result, their nationalities all differ. But a high percentage of them are from Africa. Brutran has
already explained how it was easier to search poor nations for raw material.

The leader of the Lens is an eighteen-year-old boy named Lark. He’s from Florida, and at first glance he appears to be the most balanced one in the group. Fortunately, Brutran has already warned me about him. On his tenth birthday, before he joined the Cradle, he murdered both his parents, using the same knife his mother had used to cut his birthday cake. When asked by a judge why he did it, he replied, “They told me to make a wish. And I wished that they were dead.”

Lark would still be in prison if not for the IIC, which quickly spotted his remarkable abilities. Naturally, the IIC had only to flex its muscles to free the boy. Lark’s not simply psychic, he has all the qualities of a powerful leader. On top of that, he’s a handsome devil. He has curly black hair, cobalt blue eyes, and cherub-like features that would melt the hearts of teenage girls nationwide.

It’s Lark who welcomes me to the Lens.

“Alisa Perne,” he says cheerfully, offering his hand and looking me up and down as if he’d like to rape me. “I’ve heard so much about you. This is a real honor.”

“The pleasure is mine,” I say, shaking his firm grip. His clothes are expensive: tailored Brioni gray slacks, a fine white shirt, a black cashmere sports coat, and a gold Jaeger-LeCoultre watch. Quite the digs for a punk who should be in the slammer.

“May I call you Sita?”

“Who told you that name?” I ask.

“Let’s just say we’ve worked together in the past.”

In a flash I understand. Lark has been inside my head. Twice.

“If you know my name then you must know about my temper.”

He claps his hands with pleasure. “Of course! You wouldn’t be half the fun you are without it.”

I move close to him, until I’m breathing in his face. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re in charge here,” I say.

I don’t scare him. His grin broadens. “This is technically your first day so you don’t understand how things work here. I forgive you. But at the same time, I must remind you that we put a gun in your mouth and forced you to play with the trigger. And the next time we met, we talked you into eating a poor little Telar named Numbria. Tasty, wasn’t she?”

I move to grab him by the throat, to lift him off the ground, maybe crush his windpipe. Something holds me back. Perhaps it’s the gleam in his eye. I’ve never seen such a dark light. Or else it’s the shifting of the others. Almost without my knowing, they have formed a circle around us. I’m at the center, I’m in their crosshairs.

Now is not the time to attack. I need the Cradle to destroy the Telar. Besides, my attack, when I do launch it, must come from within. Umara has taught me that much.

But God, how I hate to back down in front of this punk!

I smile at Lark. “You’re right, she was a treat. Hopefully we can play with other Telar in the days to come.”

Lark speaks in a soft, confiding voice. “I know you’re not human, Sita, and I know you’ve been around for a while. Still, let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to be my friend, I’ll be your friend. But don’t challenge me in front of the others again. Try it and next time we put a gun in your mouth, we’ll make sure you pull the trigger.”

I back off a step and give a faint bow. “Understood, boss.”

His grin returns. It’s like something he sticks on his face. “Boss. I like that. You’ve got spunk.” He raises his voice, speaking to the others. “Hey, everyone, this is Alisa. She’ll be working with us for a few days. She’s going to help us dispose of those goddamn Telar.”

The children of the Lens stare at me.

They are not interested in typical introductions.

However, Cindy’s daughter, Jolie, comes forward to greet me. She asks me to shake Mr. Topper’s hand. Close up, I see the doll’s lips and eyes are not made of blood but lipstick. Indeed, it’s the same lipstick her mother wore the day we met. It makes me wonder what goes on inside that child’s mind.

Down below, through the clear floor, I see the larger portion of the Cradle moving to what seem to be assigned seats. They carefully form a spiral, while we sit in a circle. Most sit cross-legged. The light in our room is turned off but a dim glow reaches us from the bottom floor.

A crystal vase stands at the center of our room on a copper stool. A tall red candle rises from its middle. The lit wick throws flickering shadows over the children’s pale faces.

Jolie is on my right, Lark is to my left. He has an electronic device in his hand that allows him to be heard by the others below. Lark is 100 percent serious now. He speaks the following words like an invocation.

“ALL WHO GATHER TODAY

ARE SERVANTS OF THE ONE

WE CALL UPON THE POWERS THAT BE

AS WIELDERS OF THE ANCIENT FLAME

WE PRAY TO THE DARKNESS OF OLD

WE ARE THY SERVANTS

WE ARE THY HANDS AND FEET

AND THY EYES AND EARS

LET THY FIRE

LET THY DARKNESS

ENTER US NOW AND FOREVER