Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (15 page)

“My job, and it will be arduous, is to teach you buggers how to use and spot these projections in a dreamscape. It’s much easier in that reality because nothing is fixed.” Ren looks annoyed. “What, Samara?”

Her hand is raised. “But I’m wearing my charm, wasn’t that supposed to protect me from this kind of thing?”

Ren mocks her in a high-pitched squeal. “I’m wearing my charm, wasn’t that supposed to protect me?” He pauses, probably for effect because I sense he likes the drama. “NO! Your little charm prevents thoughts and memories from being placed in your brain or, as is usually the case, erased. However, currently there’s no technology that prevents you from witnessing an illusion. Herein lies the difference. When a thought is placed into your brain you have no choice but to accept it. When you witness a projection, if you’re a keen observer and question it, then you have the option of rejecting it as a false reality.

“You see, even being a fantastic illusionist, as I happen to be, there’s always a flaw. No one can create a projection without one. It’s a built-in failsafe. God thinks of everything. If you had really been observing, and questioning, then you would have noticed that the first Ren was shorter than me, not wearing his protective charm, and his eyes aren’t quite the same shade of green as mine. No projection is a hundred percent! That’s the only way you have in physical form or a dreamscape to determine what’s real. If you aren’t paying attention then you’ll be deceived by an evil projection and that will be right before Zhuang kills you!”

Joseph holds up his hand. “Real quick,” he says nonchalantly. “How’d you do that?”

Ren isn’t smiling. “If ever I think one of you is capable of doing anything remotely close, then I’ll share some pointers. As it appears, though, I’ll be taking that to my grave.”

We spend the rest of the lesson learning ways to spot common flaws in projections. Ren explains how we tear down a projection when either in physical or dream form. This is the first time I’ve taken notes. I don’t want to admit it, but everything Ren says seems incredibly valuable. I’m glad I decided not to blow off the session.

When we’re dismissed I gather my stuff and leave before anyone else. Most people are chatting when I charge past. Trent and Samara roll their eyes as I exit. I head straight for the main hall, intent on grabbing dinner and leaving before anyone arrives.

♦

Two hours later, I’m leafing through the book Steve sent when a knock sounds at the door. I hit the button and the door slides open. I halfway expect to see the delivery guy bringing another package. Instead Joseph strides uninvited into my room, tosses himself onto my neatly made bed, and makes himself comfortable.

“Excuse me?!” I gawk slapping the button to close my door.

“So, what’s your reason for skippin’ a meal this time?” He has the stress ball they gave us the first day. He throws it high above his head, watching it spin, and then catches it in his outstretched hand.

“I didn’t feel like it.” I breathe between clenched teeth. “Do you mind?” I pull my book out from underneath his back. Some of the pages are now bent.

“Would your not feeling like it have anything to do with the cold shoulder Trent and Samara have been giving you all day?” He catches the ball just as it falls toward his face.

“Maybe.” I throw my book onto the desk.

“Well, you understand their distrust, I’m sure.”

I stare at him, bewildered.

The ball pauses in his hand as he stares at me. “Oh, you are thick.” Joseph laughs. “They don’t know when you lie, like I do. They were pretty peeved to find out you’d lied about doing poorly on the first task. Imagine their shock when Shuman tells us you scored a hundred percent.” He rolls over on his stomach and sits up on his elbows. “Why did you lie
’bout
that?”

I sit at the desk, looking off at nothing in particular. I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“K,” is all he says before rolling back over, throwing the ball high into the air again.

“Did
you
know I lied about the first task?” I ask.

“Oh yeah.” Joseph waves a dismissive hand at me. “But I didn’t know you had a perfect score. If that was me I’d have announced it to the whole table.”

“I bet you would have.”

He smirks and nods.

“So what about George? What’s his deal?” I ask, resting my head on the desk in front of me.

“Beats me. Is he mad at you too?” He whistles through his teeth. “Man, Stark, you really rub people wrong, don’t cha?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of my thing.” I raise my head and ask, “Can you tell when everyone lies? Is that your talent?”

“Nah, not everyone.” He throws the ball at me.

I reach out for it before it’s even left his hand. Joseph stares for a few seconds in surprise and then stands. “You need that stress ball, so use it,” he says and then lets out an exaggerated sigh. I ignore him as I crush the ball between my fingers. He taps the button, sending the door sliding back into the wall. “See if you can be a bit more sociable tomorrow. It’d do you good.”

I hurl the ball at the door just after it closes. A part of me wishes I told Joseph I knew he was lying about his family to make him feel exposed and lousy. I didn’t, though, because I knew it wouldn’t make me feel better.

Shrugging off my frustration I pull out a piece of paper. I address a letter to Bob and Steve. First I thank them for sending me the package. I roughly tell them what’s happened so far: being chosen as first alternate, the bracelet, how much Ren makes my life miserable, and how I just want the whole thing to be over. I’m uncertain why I’m writing this letter, or giving them so much information, but it makes me feel lighter. I fold it up, put their name and address on the outside, and stick it in my notebook. There has to be a way to get it to them, I reason. If they can send me something why couldn’t I send them something back?

Picking up the card they sent me I, reread it for the tenth time or more. The questions that plagued me all along rise to the surface, wanting to be stoked like a burgeoning fire. The night I’d come to the Institute, one reason above the rest propelled me here: I wanted to know where I belonged. This uncertainty is a constant dull ache in my chest. And to add insult to injury I have agonizing guilt. I want to care about my mother, father, and brother. But I don’t. That’s pathetic. What kind of person doesn’t care about their family, at least enough to let it monopolize a small fraction of their thoughts? They could be dead right now, and for some reason that doesn’t affect me. It’s like they’re someone else’s family, like I heard about it on the news. It’s sad, but I’m removed.

Maybe it’s because I’ve always been different. But then the questions remain: Why? Why am I different? Why do I feel that difference coursing through my veins? Why don’t I feel I belong in that house with my family? Opening up the letter from Bob and Steve, I reread it, feeling sad and far away from the possibility of a home.

Before I wallow around in any more of this pity, I shake it off and crawl into bed. I’m a loner. I’ve always been one. Now isn’t the time to be weakened by questions and uncertainties. The sooner I accept this, the sooner I move forward and embrace my potential.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he workout the next morning is harder than before due to the soreness of my fatigued muscles. I grit my teeth through every exercise and pray it will be over soon. After an hour my prayers are answered and I shower and head off to breakfast.

I sit down at the table with my oatmeal and fruit, ignoring Trent and Samara. Luckily, they’re both talking to Shuman about that day’s lesson plan. Whitney smiles at me, her kind eyes glittering. Thankfully she isn’t angry at me. She doesn’t look like anything could make her angry. Her face is one of peace and her eyes sympathetic and gentle. I’ve liked her from the start.

My mind reels with a sudden flash and I push back from the table. It’s quick, but shows a distinct image of me handing a note to someone. Instinctively, I stand and scan the room. Seconds later I stride over to the person who matches the image I saw in my mind. I pull out the note I wrote last night.

“Excuse me,” I say to the courier guy in the hat and sneakers.

The delivery guy turns, holding a plate of eggs and bacon.

“Name’s Patrick, sweetheart,” he says, his white mustache covering his expression.

“You can take letters, can’t you,” I say in more of a confirmation, rather than a question.

“Yep,” he confirms.

“And deliver them?” I ask to be sure.

“Of course.” He holds out his free hand.

I lay the note in Patrick’s outstretched hand, just as I’d seen moment’s ago in my mind’s eye. He tucks it in his pocket and then turns back to the buffet.

♦

“Each of you,” Shuman begins in her airy tone, “is here because you performed well on the tasks. You are also here because you have a unique ability. However, these abilities have not been honed. You do not know how to control them. Maybe sometimes you do, but mostly you are surprised when they occur, as if by chance. I will be working to help you enhance these abilities. If you are going to contribute these skills to creating a dreamscape that will help Misty defeat Zhuang, then you must gain control over them first.”

This isn’t the first time I have absolutely no clue what Shuman is talking about.
Is she referring to the gifts that Joseph mentioned?

“Most of you have trouble channeling these abilities because not only are you hiding them from yourself,” she says, crossing her arms across her leather vest, “but also from everyone else.” The snake tattoo on her arm catches my eye as she speaks, seemingly coming alive for an instant, flicking its tongue in my direction
.
“You must embrace these abilities. Be proud of them.” She spreads her arms like wings. “This is your tribe. You are safe to explore these abilities here. From this moment forward, be honest with yourself. Do not run from it. And be honest with your tribe.” She pauses. “Agreed?” she says with finality.

We all nod our heads in unison.

“Good. When I point to you, name or describe your ability.” She points first to Whitney on the far side of the room. Whitney flushes red. “I can, um, heal. If I touch something I can repair it.” She looks down doubtful. “Sometimes.”

Without a word, Shuman points at Trent. Pride oozes from his voice as he says, “I’m telekinetic. I move objects without touching them.”

Shuman revolves her finger on George. His shoulders slump an inch further as he brings his eyes up. Struggle coats his expression like tattered leather gloves on a hand. “I’m empathic. I feel people’s emotions, without them telling me. At least, I used to…” Something simmers under the surface of his words, making them sound hot. Angry.

Shuman points at Joseph. “I talk to spirits,” he says with a slight snigger.

Lowering her hand, Shuman gives him a piercing stare.

Finally Joseph waves his hands as if surrendering. “All right, that’s not quite true.” There’s a pause and then looking at no one he says, “I see the future.”

Taking a step, Shuman moves in front of Samara and points. Without needing to be prompted the girl with whitish blonde hair and gray eyes says, “I read thoughts. I’m telepathic.”

A second later the finger is aimed at me. Everyone’s eyes are fixed in my direction.

I rack my brain, searching through the layers.
What had Ren called it?
Didn’t he have a name? My mind trails back and hooks into that moment in the past. A second later I look into Shuman’s dark eyes and say, “I’m clairvoyant.”

“Good.” Shuman withdraws to the center of the platform. “Now let us open up this council so we can better understand each other. Whitney, go to the back right corner of the room. Samara, stay where you are. George, you to the back left corner. Now Trent, Roya, and Joseph pair up with one of these three. You each have two minutes to ask each other questions regarding your ability. Answer the other person’s questions honestly. More importantly, as you speak, own your ability. Be proud of it. After four minutes we will rotate until everyone has been paired up. Go now.”

Trent heads straight back to Whitney. Joseph is already turned around talking to Samara. This leaves me staring nervously at George and his defeated attitude. I walk back to where he sits and notice he’s shredding a piece of paper in his hand, first in half, then again, then again. For a moment I just watch, feeling his tension.

“So,” I say, taking the seat next to him. “You want to go first?”

“No,” he answers without looking up.

“Fine.” I look at the ground for a few seconds. “Have you, uh…” I search for a question. “Have you always been able to read emotions?”

“Yes.” His hostility is palpable, like an angry stallion thundering across the ground, threatening to charge.

We sit in silence for the rest of the time. He doesn’t say another word. When Shuman says, “Rotate,” I find immense relief. Those were the longest four minutes of my life.

♦

Whitney reminds me of a doll, with her tiny frame, curly brown pigtails, and enormous eyes. After sitting with George she’s like cool, spring water for a parched throat. Openly, she explains that she’s mostly used her powers of healing on animals, bugs, and sometimes herself. There was one time her little sister had a high fever and wouldn’t awake from a comatose state. She used it then, but wasn’t sure if that’s why her sister recovered. I’m immediately fascinated by her gift. The idea that this seemingly innocent girl holds one of the most important powers to all of mankind is exhilarating. Curiosity, a trait I’m not prone to, fills me with question upon question until Shuman tells us it’s time to rotate. Whitney frowns, sincerely remorseful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask you any questions.”

“I’m not,” I say.

♦

I’m worried Trent will be hostile much like George, but he isn’t. He opens up right away, talking eagerly about his ability. In comparison to Whitney, he’s confident.