Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (28 page)

“Different sorts of tests. We’ll be assessing your abilities, which we know are considerable. This is how it will work,” he said, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands. “This particular room is the first in a series of rooms. Each room you enter after this one will have three doors. Your job is to get through the rooms using the correct doors in a timely manner. In fact,” he said, pulling a device out of his pocket, “you will be timed.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re giving you an hour to complete the course, but I don’t think it’ll take you that long. In the office pool I put in for thirty-two minutes.”

“Wait a minute—people are betting on me?” I said, practically sputtering.

“Just a few of us.” He waved a hand like this was inconsequential. “And we’re all really pulling for you. So do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand at all.” I felt panic rise in my throat. Dr. Anton said my test scores indicated I was highly intelligent, but I wasn’t grasping what this was all about. “Tell me again.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and gave instructions like a quarterback in the huddle spelling out a play. “Series of rooms. Each room after this one will have three doors. You need to get past the obstacles in each room and pick the right door to move on to the next. The door will be locked until you’ve taken care of the obstacles. Think of it as a maze with challenges. If you get past the obstacles and choose the correct doors all along, when you’ve reached the last room, the tests will be over, and you’ll be reunited with Frank.”

“What if I pick the wrong door, or can’t get past the obstacles?”

“Oh, that would be very bad,” Tim said. “
Really
bad for you and your loved ones.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “But let’s not think like that. Positive thoughts. Okay?”

“What if I refuse to play this sick game of yours?”

Tim’s face dropped. “That’s not an option. If you want to go home you have to take the tests.”

We’d reached an impasse that only I could break. I thought about my options and I came up with this: I could participate in their tests, or (the inference was) Carly, Frank, and I would die.

Finally I said, “Okay. When do I start?”

“Oh it’s already started in a way. I’m going to be leaving the room. Once you hear the door click shut, it will officially begin. I wish you the very best of luck.” He extended a hand. When I started to reach for it, I heard Nadia’s voice:
No!
Don’t touch his hand, or you’ll get electrocuted. This is the first test.

I jerked back. “No thanks.” How ingrained are the social niceties that I felt compelled to thank someone about to shoot voltage into my body? “I have enough electricity in me right now. I’ll take a pass.”

“Very good!” Tim said approvingly. He pointed to the door we’d entered. “You may proceed.”

“I don’t think so,” I shot back. “I’ll be going through the other door.”

He laughed. “I didn’t think you’d fall for that, but I had to try.”

After Tim retreated to the reception area, I was able to touch base with my new guardian angel, Nadia.
Thank you.

No problem. I’ve got your back, Russ
.

When Carly used that expression it made me cringe, but Nadia’s use of it was reassuring. It meant I wasn’t alone. I said,
I know. I appreciate it.

They’re watching you. They have cameras built into the light fixtures and the woodwork around the doors.

Do they know you’re here with me?

I’m not technically there, Russ. In reality, I’m lying on my bed at home.

You know what I mean.

No, no one knows I’m talking to you. It’s just between us
.

I turned to the door and waved to show I knew I was being observed. I pictured a bunch of Associates huddled around a TV screen, watching like I was part of a reality show. What kind of sick losers got off on watching this kind of thing? I headed to the door on the opposite wall, tentatively touching the knob.

Take the chair with you
.

Without hesitation, I went back and collected the chair. Folded, it fit nicely under my arm. I opened the door and walked through it into another room very much like the first. Empty, lit only by an overhead light fixture.

I shut the door behind me and the light suddenly went out, putting me in complete darkness. The dark had depths of darkness; my lack of spatial awareness made me dizzy and I felt the room spin around me like the time I was eight and I snuck a wine cooler. I stood there for seconds or maybe minutes, losing my sense of time while trying to get my bearings. The nothing that was happening made me nervous that I’d be caught off guard when something finally did happen.
Nadia?

I’m here, Russ.

Do you have any idea what’s happening next?

Listen carefully. They’re going to let several large attack dogs into the room in a few minutes. They’re vicious and snarling and ready to bite.

Ready to bite me?

Of course, who else? Here’s what you need to do. Take off your shirt.

Take off my shirt? Why?

When that guy touched you he put some kind of meat odor on your shirt to attract the dogs. Take it off and drape it over the chair.

I don’t smell anything on me.

You’re not a dog
.

I opened the chair and pulled my T-shirt over my head, then laid it across the chair back.
Now what?

Run like hell!

You’re very funny, Nadia.

Okay, you’ll need to stand next to the door
.

I fumbled my way across the room until I found two doors on the opposite wall.
Man, it’s dark.

If only there was some way for you to produce light… Even in my head, her sarcastic tone came through.

Oh yeah. I concentrated on the space between my hands until I generated sparks that flew back and forth between them. Now I could see well enough to get an awareness of the room. I looked up at the light fixture and said, “Let there be light.” I was juggling the equivalent of a small fireball back and forth between my hands. Looking straight at it was blinding, so I kept my eyes above the glow. I was standing between the two doors.

I could hear the pack of dogs on the other side, and they were, as Nadia warned, snarling and growling. I’ve always avoided angry canines with sharp teeth, mostly by not breaking into junkyards at night, but there was no avoiding them this time. The dogs lunged at the other side of the door. I heard the scratch of their nails against the wood and the sound of the door banging in its frame. When they were released into the room it would be the hounds of hell against Russ Becker, high school sophomore. I wasn’t sure my electricity would help this time around. I could shoot straight, when I had one target at a time and the target wasn’t moving. What were the chances that would happen?

Even though I’d been expecting it, when the door flew open and the dogs burst in, it startled me. I dropped the fireball of sparks, which fizzled to nothingness and left me back in the dark. I’d seen enough though. The dogs were big, with boxy snouts and strong flanks, and there were three of them, identical like triplets. They lunged into the room, past where I stood and right for the shirt draped over the top of the metal folding chair. The impact to the chair sent it careening across the room and it clattered as it hit the opposite wall.

Seizing the opportunity to get away, I grabbed the knob of the other door, the one that hadn’t contained the dogs, thinking it was the obvious choice. I couldn’t turn the knob, and when I pulled, it didn’t budge. Frantic, I tried the other door, but that one too was locked. Why?

I yelled, “I overcame the obstacle. Open the door!”

The overhead lights came on and the dogs took a sudden interest in me. Their ears raised, they turned toward me, teeth bared and growling. I’d gone through a morbid period in middle school during which I’d pictured my death a million different ways. But getting eaten by dogs hadn’t been one of them.

“Nice doggies,” I said, backing into the corner. The triplets had slowed and were approaching me slowly, like they’d been trained to take their time. I looked around the room, but there was nowhere to run to, no place to hide, nothing I could use as a weapon. Panic crept up like bile in my throat.

And then I remembered what Carly had said when we were being transported in the van.
You’re the weapon
.

True that.

I recovered from my fear, and I held my hands out over their heads, palms down, and directed energy toward them. I spoke authoritatively. “Sit.” The dogs stopped moving and growling, but didn’t follow my command. One tilted his head to the side as if considering it, which I took as a promising sign.

I tried again. “Sit.” And amazingly they all lowered their haunches and sat. I tried to remember common dog commands and came up with: “Stay,” and then, “Down.” The three dogs lowered their bodies to a resting position. “Good dogs!” I noticed then that one of them had my T-shirt in his mouth. I went over and rested a hand on his head. “Drop it.”

When he released the shirt, I took it and put my arms through the sleeves, which caused a comment from Nadia:
Gross.

Girls got grossed out so easily, I thought as I pulled it over my head. Dog drool didn’t bother me. I couldn’t even dwell on something that insignificant. I needed to focus on the next challenge.

I chose a door, opened it, and walked through.

On the other side was a slightly larger room with one major improvement—actual windows looking out to a parking lot and a highway beyond. Music blared from speakers I couldn’t see. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was peppy, happy music, a contrast to the inner turmoil swirling around in my stomach.

Two beefy-looking guys about my age stood on the opposite side of the room, each of them in front of a door. The first thing I noticed about them was that they were built like football players. The second thing—they wore track suits. Not even kidding. Besides the presence of these two actual human beings, the place was empty. I was guessing these two guys were my obstacles.

“Hey, fellas,” I said. “I’m kind of working my way through here. Can you direct me to my next destination?”

No sense of humor, these guys. They didn’t say a word, and their faces didn’t give anything away, but they crossed their arms in front of them.

A little help here, Nadia?
I didn’t sense her presence anymore. For whatever reason, she was gone, and I was on my own.

I looked at the guys’ faces. One looked a little younger than the other. He had bad skin, but a good head of wavy hair. The other teenager, the one guarding the door on the left, had a tattoo on his neck. A wicked-looking snake. The kind of tattoo you see on guys being released from prison (or on their way in). Both of these guys outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, and each of them had a look on their face like they couldn’t wait to pound me into ground beef.

When Snake Boy finally said something, it wasn’t to me. “So this is the guy who’s supposed to be
the one
? I’m not seeing it.”

His friend smirked. “We could use him to power a flashlight, maybe.” He pronounced the word like “meb-be,” making him sound like a hick.

Clearly these Neanderthals were eager for a fight to break out. I knew that once I made a move to get past them I’d be starting something, so I had to choose my door ahead of time. I took a half-step toward Snake Boy’s door and neither one of the guys flinched. I stepped back and did the same for the other door, the one guarded by the younger looking kid. Both of them tensed, as if getting ready to stop me. It was a very slight, involuntary twitch, but it was there, clear as day. They really didn’t want me anywhere near the door on the right.

I made a mental X on that door. In my mind it became
mine
and these guys were keeping it from me. I took a deep breath and stood up as straight as I could. “Hey, caveman,” I said, gesturing to Wavy Hair. “Move aside.”

And then he said, and I would swear to this in court, “Make me.”

I think I mentioned before that I was never one for fighting. I avoided conflict and kept out of trouble, if I could. In middle school, my usual response to someone blocking my way into a room and saying “Make me,” was to walk away and use the bathroom on the other end of the building. I didn’t think I was a fighter, but I was finding out that when life was on the line I could bring it.

I shot a bolt of electricity at his feet, making him jump back against the door. He looked startled, but his friend, Snake Boy, whooped and yelled, “We got ourselves a live one!”

A wisp of smoke came off of Wavy Hair’s left foot. My zap had come a little too close for comfort. He frantically pulled off his shoe and threw it at me. “Those were new,” he said, irate.

“Sorry,” I said, and charged right toward them. They hadn’t made a move yet, and I had the idea that I could throw a few more zaps their way and be through the door in no time. If I hurried, Tim might win the pool yet.

Here’s something to keep in mind for future reference: don’t underestimate people just because they talk like hicks or have questionable tattoos. These guys had more going on than I gave them credit for. They tag-teamed me by rushing forward and knocking me to the concrete floor, then jumping on top of me like they were television wrestlers. Wavy Hair pinned me down and struck me in the face with the side of his fist over and over again until I felt the crack of my nose breaking and a resulting river of blood gush out of my nose. Some of the blood trickled down the back of my throat and I could taste it, making me want to puke. These two goons didn’t have the electrical power or range that I had, but for their strategy they didn’t need them. Once they had me trapped beneath them, Snake Boy shocked me repeatedly at close range. I was too busy trying to defend myself to utilize my offensive skills. They weren’t as powerful, but there were two of them and they were beating me up old school.