The Spiral Effect (4 page)

Traps are a certainty, so best to walk, keep
an eye out for anything. She obviously wants me to run after her,
get lost, trapped in a mental maze for an eternity. Leave a trail
of bread crumbs in case I need to back track.

I’m not here to hurt you.

No response.

Take a left.

Can’t believe one little girl could be so
strong. I’ve never met anyone with this kind of power. Over a
million minds and all amateurs, like toddlers learning to use
scissors for the first time. But Taylor—I wish I could access her
memories—her thoughts, get some sort of clue.

Right—no, dead end. Backtrack—left. Another
dead end. Straight and narrow.

“Boring!”

Taylor.

“Chase me!”

Stop. I only came to help.

“What they all say.”

An explosion roars behind me. Tremors
follow. The floor moves, my body shakes, the dominoes begin to
budge.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

“Better run now.”

The dominoes behind fall in succession,
knocking over the one beside it. Perhaps I can hold them still—

BOOM!

BOOM!

Run.

“Don’t get lost—don’t get lost.”

Right—no left.

BOOM!

BOOM!

Dead end—back track.

“Not gonna make it.”

Ignore her taunts—the collapsing maze. Clear
your mind and focus.

“Gonna crush you.”

FOCUS!

Back track—back track.

“I wouldn’t go that way.”

Wall falling—ignore, back, back, now
left.

BOOM!

“Oh, no fair.”

Keep it clear. This maze—seems similar to
one I’ve done before. One I’ve—

DUCK!

Go straight—straight, cut the corner, right,
right again, left, cut, cut, left, and I’m—

On a beach. Dominoes are gone. Just purple
water and black sand. The moon glows iron red as the waves, no—no
waves. Why aren’t there—I know this. I’ve—no, she couldn’t
have.

Taylor giggles.

Where are you? This isn’t a game.

She doesn’t respond. Of course not. She’s
quietly waiting to watch what happens next—see what will rise from
the water. If it’ll both figuratively and literally turn me into
stone.

A bloodcurdling screech cracks the moon as
the water bubbles. The diameter of the bubbling water expands to
Titanic proportions. Here she comes—just like she did twenty-five
years ago.

A splashing roar as the snake haired woman
explodes out of the water. Her serpentine body, from stomach to
tail, shimmers like diamonds. Breasts exposed and fully engorged.
Her forked tongue dances.

The eyes—the eyes—don’t look into her
eyes.

My body trembles, giving in to past
instinct. Have to fight it. Can’t let her turn me to stone. Not
like all the other times. Will wake up to wet sheets—dad will yell
at me—

No—stay current—in the present—not the
past.

Medusa opens her mouth, releasing a
beautiful, hypnotic melody.

Don’t look—

but it’s so beautiful—

A trap—

want to listen—

Ignore it—

want to see—

I SAID NO!

A slight whimper from my younger conscious.
The beast increases the volume of her venomous song. I hold my
hands over my ears, but that only seems to magnify her voice.

just a peek—

It’s death—

not one little peek—

N—n—no—

please—

All right. Just one—

INTRUDER! INTRUDER! WAKE UP!

The beast stops singing and in agitation,
looks for the source of the distorted ring.

ouch. what’s that?

Just a dream—go back to sleep.

but—

Shh. Sleep now.

The younger voice is gone. Focus on the
beast. Put a final end to her.

Waves froth, begin to move. Slow, gaining
speed, intensity. She roars. Futile now. I have control again. The
waves grow and reach to her breasts, crashing against her, pushing
her backward. Medusa tries to resume her song, but it’s too late.
The waves rise to her chin.

Higher. Stronger.

The tide sucks backward, revealing an empty
seabed consumed by her massive serpentine tail. Medusa gives one
last roar before the giant wave collapses, burying her beneath the
dead ocean.

INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

Intensify the sound—the flashing yellow,
green, red, and orange lights. Sting her eyes. Disorient her. Sorry
Taylor, but you have no idea how important those files are to the
world.

“
I’m sorry.”

The dark beach slowly fades away and melts
into the front door to my office. The door is slightly ajar, the
lock broken, lying smashed on the floor.

Taylor?

“
Didn’t know. Didn’t
know.”

She sits by my desk, knees up, arms clutched
around them. She rocks back and forth, crying. Another trap?
Possible. Taylor has already caught me off guard three times.

Focus. Stay aware.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Please don’t hurt
me.”

Taylor looks up, tears staining her cheeks.
A cold draft coming from somewhere blows her hair across her face.
A piece of white paper, words scribbled from top to bottom on both
sides, flies past her and falls at my feet. I step on it to keep it
from blowing away, bend down, pick it up, fold it neatly, and place
it in my pocket.

Turn it off, Taylor.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t do it. I was
thinking about it—but—but—I promise, I didn’t do it.”

No more tricks.

“It’s not a trick! I told you I didn’t do
it. Someone else. Let me go home. Let me go to my mommy. I promise
I’ll leave you alone. Won’t bother you again.”

Not until you explain what’s happening.

“I said I’m sorry.”

Taylor.

“You don’t believe me. You think I did it. I
didn’t I didn’t I didn’t.”

She buries her head in her arms and
sobs.

Genuine.

I kneel at her side and touch her shoulder.
Taylor…

“I thought you were like them. Going to
steal my mommy’s body—my body.” She sniffs up some snot. “I had
already set a trap for them but you came. Didn’t know—didn’t know
you were good until I saw—saw—please, I didn’t do it. You have to
believe me.”

I hug her and rub her hair as she cries some
more. Shh. I believe you. I believe you. My files are fine. None
are missing. Everything’s okay.

Pity flashes in her eyes.

“You mean you don’t know?”

Not a trick.

Genuine.

“The paper.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the
crumpled piece of notebook paper. At the top is written:
November 15, 1989: Trip to Dallas
.

What is this? A memory?

I smooth out the paper and look at it more
closely.

Dad got mad at mom again. Flicked his
cigarette at her and stormed down the walkway. Everyone watched in
disbelief and disgust. I blame the heat. It’s hot here. Sun beats
down on everyone. No shade. Stupid place too. Don’t care about
where Kennedy got shot. Don’t even know who he was. Probably
someone famous. Maybe a musician like John Lennon.

What is this?

Taylor’s lip trembles. She thinks I don’t
believe her.

“Please, just let me go back to my
mommy.”

Taylor, I believe you didn’t do it. I
promise. But do you know why one of my memories is adrift?

“Uh…” Taylor stares at her feet, won’t look
me in the eye.

You do, don’t you?

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

Why would I get mad?

“You have to promise.”

Okay, okay. I promise. I won’t get mad at
you.

“Or around me. If you start to get real
angry and think you might yell or throw stuff, let me go to my
mommy first, okay? I hate it when grownups get mad.”

I nod, understanding the feeling all too
well.

I promise.

“Come here.” Taylor holds out her hand. I
take it and she leads me toward the direction of the cold
breeze.

The air grows colder, wind stronger, as we
walk closer to its source.

“It’s not good.” Taylor says. “It happened
to my daddy once. Some guy tried to take mommy. Said he liked the
way she looked. Would make a good trophy. Disgusting pervert—what
my dad called him. Daddy fought him—tore up his mind—but not before
the bad man could perform the 52 card pickup.”

52 card pickup?

“You know, that mean game adults trick kids
into playing?”

I’m not sure.

“Of course. That’s probably—never mind. The
52 card pickup disorganized some of my daddy’s thoughts and
memories. One moment he thought he was ten and fishing with
his
daddy; a second later he was confused because he thought
mommy was still pregnant. Luckily he had already taught me so much.
I was able to put his current memories and thoughts at the front of
his mind and store away the older, disorganized memories. The bad
man wasn’t too good at the trick, must have just learned it because
only a small amount of memories were affected. I could store them
in a mental box.”

Taylor stops walking. I had been watching
her the whole time, so I am shocked at what’s in front of us.

“Whoever did this to you was really strong.”
Taylor squeezes my hand. “I hope—I hope you were able to stop
him.”

Me too.

Towering before us is a massive warehouse.
I’m unable to judge its width and height, but it seems to go on for
miles. The steel door, at least five times the height and width of
your normal door, stands slightly ajar, just enough for the strong
breeze to escape. Sheets of white paper with blue and black ink
stick, tightly wedged, between the door and frame. This is bad.

How long did it take you and your dad to fix
his memories?

“A—a month.”

And his fit in a box?

Taylor nods.

How big?

Taylor spaces her hands about 18 inches wide
and then 12 inches high. Great.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not your fault. If anything, I should
thank you.

“Thank me?”

If it weren’t for your traps, I never would
have realized someone had—had played 52 card pickup with my
memories.

“Oh. I’m sure you would have,
eventually.”

Sure. But it probably would have been too
late.

“So, those other people’s memories, you’re
trying to figure out how to stop this?”

And how did you know that?

“Sorry. I peeked at some of your files.
Don’t be mad.”

I’m not mad. Yes, I am trying to—

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the Beginning.

“Do you need help? Cleaning the mess?”

Thank you, but if it took you and your dad a
month to fix only a small box worth, this could take years. I can’t
keep you from your mom, from your body that long.

“We could travel with you, help you collect
memories, fix yours.” Taylor says.

The idea is appealing. Help would be
appreciated. But looking deep into her mind, I know I can’t
accept.

“I’ve been able to keep it at bay.”

I know. But helping me would only wear down
your defenses. This is going to be a taxing job. You’ve already
used too much power today. You need to rest, not use it for weeks.
Maybe a month.

“But you could save the world.”

Not at your expense.

“But…”

I’ll be fine. I can do this. I’ll figure it
out, how to save the world, and you.

Taylor nods and wipes the few tears dripping
from her eyes.

Now go back to your mom, find a car, and
keep away from the cities. And stop using your powers for a
while.

Taylor hugs me tight. As she holds me, I can
sense copies of her and Mary’s memories enter my files. She’s
pushing herself too much, giving way for the virus to grow and
spread.

Time to go, Taylor.

I begin to expel her from my mind.

“Wait.”

Sorry.

“Look for the hero—look for Alex Wonder!

Before she’s gone, I let her know I
heard—that I understand.
Alex Wonder: The Hero
—Got it. I
hope she listens and takes a break from using her psychic
abilities. Someone that young doesn’t need to suffer like those
jumpers. But to be sure, I’ll try and keep tabs on her and her
mother from time to time.

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the Beginning.

I know. I know. At least now I have a step
in the right direction. That is one giant box, though. Real big
box. Wonder who could have done this to me?

Find the Cause.

Find the Source.

Find the Beginning.

Right, priorities first. Everything else
will follow in time.

Reseal the door so nothing can spill out.
Have to keep it contained. No windows. Where—where—where. Hmm. Only
option is the roof, wherever that starts. I’ll just drop in from
the top, hope I don’t get buried, and organize. All right then,
let’s see what we can find on Alex Wonder.

To be continued in
The Spiral Effect: Alex
Wonder

Excerpt from
The Spiral Effect: Alex
Wonder
—Available Now.

Inkblots melt into flesh while scribbled
thoughts radiate sound.

Two men stared at each other from across a
table. Eyes narrowed in concentration, penetrating the other’s
glare.

One was black, with an ageless face, yet
full of wisdom. He wore plaid pajama pants and a baby blue shirt.
House slippers graced his bare feet and lightly tapped the
polished, white tile. He pursed his lips, rubbed his balled head,
but continued to stare into the other man’s eyes.

The other was white, decades older, yet
holding that same ageless quality. He dressed more formal, attired
in black pants and a black button up shirt, both neatly ironed. His
feet remained still, adorned with recently polished black loafers.
His hands rested in his lap, away from the nicely trimmed pepper
gray hair.