The Gathering (8 page)

“It’s time for you to go to your room.” It’s Cap’s voice. Disapproving. Far away.

There’s a brush of lips against my temple. My weight is gently shifted. The mattress springs squeak. I’m alone, and I let sleep take me.

A Familiar Sound

I
wake up inside a mass of hot, sweaty bodies. There’s smoke and lights and screaming—not the frightened kind that arises out of terror, but the frenzied kind born of adoration. Through the mob, up on the stage, stands B-Trix, a pop star from London who has people fainting by the truckload.

She begins playing a familiar song and the crowd goes wild.

Beside me, Leela throws her hands up in the air and sings along. I scratch the inside of my wrist. The spot is completely numb. A few lines in, Leela turns to me, her brown eyes bright with excitement. “I can’t believe we got tickets to a Trix concert!”

I lean toward her ear and yell back, “I can’t believe it either!”

It takes a bit. A few seconds, maybe, before it happens. Leela’s eyelids flutter. She looks around the mass of bodies, as if realizing that yes, it really isn’t believable. Me and her here together? She brings her arms down to her sides.

The stage and the lights and the crowd disappears.

Her dream world turns into a generic holding place. I expect disappointment, because B-Trix has gone away. Instead, Leela wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes so tight, I can’t breathe. “Oh my gosh, Tess! I’ve been so worried!”

The generic holding space morphs into my old bedroom in Thornsdale, complete with the breathtaking view of ocean and cliffs and towering redwoods. I want to fling open the window and inhale the briny air. Or better yet, fling open the door and run downstairs to my mom and Pete. If only it would really be them instead of Leela’s projections of them.

Leela lets go. “What happened? Why wasn’t your grandma there? Oh my gosh, the drive with that man was the most awkward thing in the world. I was so nervous and he wasn’t talking and you know how I get when I’m nervous. I kept chattering away. About really stupid things, too. Like how Matt cheated on Bobbi with Summer.” Leela mimics gagging herself. “And how Bobbi’s been crying in the bathroom and how Summer won’t stop talking about it. I kept going on and on like he cared.”

I smile at my friend. Man, I’ve missed her.

“So what happened? Tell me before I go crazy.”

“My grandmother is dead.”

Leela’s eyes go round. She slowly sinks onto my bed. “What do you mean?”

“Her room was empty. So many of the rooms were empty.”

“Empty? Tess, what are you talking about?”

“They’re killing patients.” I sit beside her. “In the mental rehab facilities. Innocent people are being murdered.”

Leela blanches. “Why?”

“You’ve heard President Cormack’s speeches. They’re a burden to society.” But even as I say it, I know that’s not the real reason. Whether our government realizes it or not, they are pawns in a master plan. This isn’t about eradicating weakness. It’s about eradicating The Gifting. And all-too-often, The Gifting are mistaken as crazy. How couldn’t they be? In a world where nothing supernatural exists, where that fact has been ingrained into our minds since birth, the only logical explanation for seeing the supernatural is mental illness.

If I hadn’t had Luka and Dr. Roth to explain what was really happening, I would have assumed I was crazy like the rest of them. I wonder how many people like me assume they’re crazy, check into a “rehab” facility, and never come out again.

“I can’t believe she’s dead.” Leela reaches into my lap and takes my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

A lump rises in my throat. I didn’t know my grandmother, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t imagine what it might be like getting to know her, having her with me at the hub. An actual family member. I swallow before the lump can grow any larger. “The guy you drove to the Greyhound station—Clive? He betrayed us.”

Leela’s mouth drops open.

“You have to promise me you’ll be careful. That you’ll be on the lookout.”

“For what?”

“Danger. Everything’s changing, Leela. We have to leave where we are. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to visit like this again.”

She picks at the nail polish on her thumb. “You’ll come back, though, right? When this is all over? This mess will get straightened out with you and your dad and you’ll come back and you and I can start senior year together.”

The lump returns like a ball of hot emotion. She has no idea how much I want it to be true. I nod down at my lap, even though I’m not sure a world like that can exist again. I don’t think going back is ever really an option. And yet, that’s exactly what I want to do—go back to the way things were, when strange dreams and flashes of unexplainable light were my worst problems, before I knew anything about prophecies and transurgence. Maybe that’s another one of the enemy’s weapons. Making us so fixated on what
was
that we aren’t able to step forward into what
is
.

Leela catches my eye and gives me a smile so reminiscent of the one she wore that first day in school that it pulls me out of my melancholy. “Can you stay for awhile?”

I smile back. Yes, I can. We have all night, in fact. For now, that’s enough.

She grabs a small bin of nail polish from under my bed and removes her favorite color. “Wanna hear a funny story about Beamer and a bottle of ketchup?”

“Yes, please.”

Leela twists off the cap and applies the pink shade to my pinkie nail. “It has to do with Summer.”

“Even better.” The two of us grin at one another.

Leela gets six fingernails into her story when I hear the faint, but unmistakable sound of screaming. Like the concert is coming back. Only no. This screaming is different. It’s not thousands of raised voices. It’s one.

“He found out how to get into her locker and—”

“What is that?”

Leela stops. “What is
what
?”

“That screaming.”

She cocks her head.

The sound grows louder, more defined, and it turns my bones absolutely cold. Because I’ve heard it before.

“Tess, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” Without explaining anything more than that, I startle.

My eyes pop open in bed.

The screaming continues.

I tear off my covers and sprint toward the noise. Lights come on. Doors open. I sprint faster, then skid to a stop in front of Luka’s room. Declan kneels over him as he thrashes in bed and for one illogical moment I think Declan’s hurting him. He’s hurting Luka in the same way Scarface hurt Luka, because the way he screams and twists is the same, too.

“Wake up, man!” Declan rattles Luka’s shoulders.

Luka arches up, his scream splitting the air.

I dig my fingers into my hair. My nails bite into my scalp.
Stop. Make it stop!

“You’re having a nightmare!” Declan yells.

Luka’s eyes fly open. He sits up, his sweat-slicked undershirt plastered to his heaving chest. He looks at Declan, looming over his bed. Then he looks at me, huddled in his doorway with my hands smashed over my ears.

Off, Off, and Away

“E
verybody back to bed,” Cap orders, wheeling down the hallway.

Declan slips past me in the doorway.

Lights turn off. Doors close.

I force my shaky legs to stand, to go to Luka. But he holds up his hand, like he doesn’t want me to come any closer.

Cap rolls into the room. “Back to bed, Tess.”

“But—”

“You heard me.”

Luka sits with his feet on the floor, his head cradled between his hands. “I’m fine,” he says. “You can go back to sleep.”

Cap nods reassuringly, like everything will be okay.

I stare at Luka. His fingers, which so calmly played with my hair hours ago, are now threaded through his own. I should go to him, comfort him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want my comfort. Heaviness drapes across my shoulders as I obey orders and walk away.

Down the hallway, Link’s bedroom door is open. I peek inside. Trinkets are scattered about the room—a collection of computers and remotes in varying degrees of assembly. The clock on his bedside table reads 4:32. Going back to sleep isn’t going to happen, not when Luka’s screams echo inside my skull. So I head to the tech lab instead.

Link is there, sitting in the dark, the computer screen casting his profile in a bluish glow. Did he hear Luka’s screaming? I’m not sure how he couldn’t have. I’d be surprised if Non or Sticks or whoever’s standing guard up above didn’t hear it, too.

“Have you been working all night?” I ask.

“I hit a second wind somewhere around two.” He stops typing, leans back in his chair, and clasps his hands behind his head.

I scratch the inside of my wrist. “Did Cap tell you that I recruited you to come with me and Jillian and Luka to New Orleans?”

“I’ve always wanted to see Bourbon Street.”

I step inside, sit in the rolling chair beside him, and pick up a stack of identification cards near his elbow. “Did you make these?”

He nods.

“Impressive.”

“Yeah, well. Your superpower is battling monsters in the night. Mine is forgery.” He picks up his Rubik’s Cube and begins twisting. “Just call me your friendly neighborhood identity thief.”

Link’s always underestimating himself, just because he can’t fight. And yet if I had to nominate an MVP down in the hub, it’d probably be him. I swap the cards for a small, orange container. Familiar white pills rattle inside. I’ve taken them before, against Dr. Roth’s cryptic warning. When I was on them, I no longer saw unexplainable things. I no longer had disturbing dreams. Everything supernatural disappeared. “What’re these for?”

“Our group of spring breakers.”

He means Ellen, Declan, Jose, Ashley, and Danielle, who will be traveling together under the guise of college friends looking to have some fun in the Big Apple. “They’re going blind?”

“Just Jose. Cap thinks it’s a necessity.”

Cap is probably right. Jose is a Fighter and when it comes to Fighters, we draw the enemy’s attention all too easily. Guardians have a much easier time slipping under the radar.

“Is Cap going to take them, too?”

“It won’t be necessary. Anna can cloak him.”

Right. The two are traveling together with Rosie and Bass, a happy family of four. I don’t need the pills either. Since Luka is my Keeper, he can cloak me himself.

Link gives the Rubik’s Cube another twist, turning three faces to solid color.

I set the bottle of pills beside the IDs. Two cards are missing from the pile—numbers one and two on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. I guess when you’re on the world news every night, a convincing ID doesn’t matter much. “How are Sticks and Non gonna get to Newport?”

“There’s a system of believers around the country. I’ve managed to locate and contact a few so they’ll have safe places to hide while they make their way east.” Link tosses the cube on the desk. “Want to see my new invention?”

“A new invention, huh? That’s good. I was beginning to wonder what you were doing with your time. You know, other than making fifteen fake IDs and organizing a modern day Underground Railroad.”

He rolls himself over to a table and holds up three iPods.

“Um, I think Steve Jobs beat you to that one.”

“They’re not iPods. They’re dream phones. At least that’s what I’m calling them.”

“Is there something wrong with regular phones?”

“Other than being easy to track and tap, no. Not at all.” He plugs a set of earbuds into one of the iPods and sets the device in my palm. “These are like the probes I use in the training center. The left one will put you to sleep instantaneously. This right one will take you to a shared dream space. Basically, any of us will be able to communicate with Cap, no matter how far away we are. Our territories won’t matter and no crazy linking skills are required.”

I turn the iPod over in my hand. “How in the world do you know how to do this stuff?”

“Computers are my friends.”

“Aw, poor guy. Didn’t you have any real ones growing up?”

“Make fun all you want, Sassy Pants, but computers are good friends to have. No unpredictable emotions, no confusing motivations. No manipulative behavior to muddy the water.” His dimples slowly disappear as he talks. His expression turns serious, cloudy. Far away. Like he’s lost in a world I know nothing about.

I suddenly realize how very little I know about his past. Or anyone’s here, for that matter. We don’t talk about life
before
. It’s sort of this unspoken rule. The strange look on his face has me wanting to distract him from whatever unpleasant memories my teasing brought to the surface. “So let’s say I want to deliver a message to Cap. How would I do that?”

The distraction works. His posture perks.

“You would push this button.” He presses a button on the iPod in his hand. A light on the iPod in mine turns red. “As soon as Cap sees it, he would push his button …” Link reaches over and pushes the button on the iPod in my hand. Both of the lights turn green. His touch, however, remains. “Once you see the green light, you put on your ear buds and
voila
. You can communicate safely and securely in the shared dream space. No monsters allowed.”

I glance up from our hands, suddenly very aware of the fact that we’re alone together in the dark. His eyes search mine. For what, I’m not sure. I just know that I’m being hit by a strange bout of self-consciousness and I’m never self-conscious in front of Link. Confused, I pull my hand away and set the device next to the bottle of pills.

*