The Talented (4 page)

She finally said, “One night, when we were all asleep in our beds, a light shone into the dormitory that was so bright that at first I thought someone had turned on the lights. Some of the older kids were looking out the window and crying. The ones with empathic talents were practically catatonic in their beds. I was only seven years old at the time, but I remember sneaking around the legs of the teenagers and finding a place at the window. I wish I hadn’t. Our window faced one of the protruding ramparts of the fortress, and I could see its roof engulfed in flames. Thick gray smoke was everywhere so we could not see the rest of the it, but we discovered later that the entire compound was burning.”

A solemn moment passed and I said softly, “Your parents?”

“Everyone who lived at the compound died in the fire. My daddy…went first. I could see him in my mind, trying to shield my mom from the flames with his body. He was so brave. My mom, she helped by repelling the heat using her talents, but the smoke…there was just no air left to breathe.”

I joined her at the window and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” I asked.

Kate reached across and touched my hand. She took a deep breath and continued, “The school only suffered superficial damage due to the distance and the design of the landscape. All of us who stayed in the building survived. Some kids ran out into the smoke. No one ever saw them again as far as I know.” She paused, and we just stood there, still for a while. Then Kate turned to me and continued, “What happened next…I…I just can’t remember, but soon after we were bussed to an orphanage and one by one placed into foster care. We made a pact to find each other when we were adults, but life went on and most of us forgot all about the pact.”

“Foster care,” I commented, “That must have been rough.”

Kate crossed back to the coffeepot and filled her cup.

“You know, I got really lucky. My very first set of foster parents were great. They actually ended up adopting me and we all love each other very much. I fly back to Virginia to visit them every couple months or so. They’re good people. Anyhow,” Kate continued, “About six years ago I was reading a magazine and read that Stuart Allen was the keynote speaker at a paranormal convention at McCormick Place in Chicago. He had written a book about his psychokinetic techniques that somehow made the Times bestsellers list. It was unbelievable! Well, I just had to go see him, even though I was sure that he wouldn’t remember me. So a few weeks later, there I was in this massive convention center, waiting for Stuart to walk up on stage. When he did, I could hardly believe that he was real. He looked great, and his talk captivated everyone. When he finished the crowd gave him a standing ovation, and I fought my way to the front of the room to try and get his attention. By the time I had gotten there, it was too late. It made me want to cry. But when I walked out of the hall, there he was by the exit, laughing it up with Tracy and Justine. Just like at school. Then he looked up and saw me, then said, ‘Katie, is that really you? You look amazing!’ I could hardly believe it. He remembered me! We got to talking and a few minutes later Nate walked up followed by the twins. It was just incredible. We saw it as a sign that we were destined to be together. It turned out that Tracy had a degree in finance and had come up with a business plan for using psionic talents to invest in the market. Stuart used the proceeds from his book to get it all off the ground. That’s how we founded Fortress Investments.”

With a puzzled look on my face, I said, “Okay, so you all use your abilities…”

“Talents,” She interrupted, “We call them psionic talents.”

I chuckled, “Alright, then, you use your fancy talents to do what, help rich people evade taxes?”

Kate smirked. “Have you ever heard of the futures market in Chicago? that’s where the rights to buy commodities like corn and beef in the future are bought and sold at locked-in prices. It’s meant to protect the buyers and sellers from unknown price fluctuations.  All we do is look into the most probable futures and take a lot of the guesswork out of it.”

“I get it. You looked into the future and saw that killing me would raise the price of bacon. Makes sense.”

For that comment I was rewarded with a piece of bacon thrown at my chest.

She continued, “No. Everything was going great. We got really good at making predictions, especially when we worked together. It’s not a perfect process, so mistakes are made, but overall we have made a lot of money for our clients. Then about a month ago Nate was doing lunch with a client at one of the outdoor tables at Café Luc when they were gunned down. The police told us later that the bullets were specialized and must have been shot from a high-powered rifle from a distance. Two weeks later, Stuart was smoking outside our building and had a vision of lying bloody on the sidewalk. He turned to go inside and a bullet grazed his shoulder. We all went into hiding after that.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Wait a minute. Did you think that I was the sniper? Why? I’ve got nothing to do with any of this.”

Kate looked down and replied, “Something is clouding our ability to see the future of this. We have tried so hard to foresee the next attack, but there is a wildcard at work, someone who makes many choices that have far-reaching effects. Remote viewing into the future can work surprisingly well, but if you get a wildcard involved who is unpredictable, then all bets are off. Most wildcards have impulse control problems and constantly operate under high stress. Those impulse decisions made under stress are very difficult to foresee.”

Nodding my head, I agreed. “I know all about it. That’s why I avoid looking too far into the future…too many variables. It’s impressive that you’re able to make a living at it.”

“In this case,” Kate continued, “we finally were able to see the person at the center of it all, whose choices were to determine everything about how this turns out. Who else but the killer would have that kind of control over this situation? Our vision was shaky, but we clearly saw the sign for the Olympus Casino…and you walking into it. You are the wildcard, Adam.”

I sighed, “So you came here looking to see if I was the assassin, and when you found yourself in my condo, you thought you were abducted and that I must be the killer.”

“Exactly. I was afraid, Adam, but I’m sorry for what I did. If you didn’t, well, stop the bullets…,” her voice caught. She took a moment, holding back tears, and very softly whispered, “I almost killed an innocent person.”

I reached out and held her hand, when her expression changed and she looked up questioningly.

“How did you do it, the thing with the bullets. That’s impossible. The most powerful psychokinetic I know would have a hard time stopping a baseball. When you let me in your mind I saw your technique, but the raw power that would be required to do that is like nothing I have ever seen.”

I grinned and replied, ”I bet you say that to all the guys.”

She continued, “Adam, with your power you could help us find the killer and stop him. That must be what the visions meant, that you have the power to change everything. Only you can do this.” Kate stood and approached me, and I rose to meet her. She put her hands flat on my chest and looked up into my eyes, “You have every reason to throw me out of here and I could not blame you, but there are five good people who, I promise you, will be dead if you do not help me. Please, Adam, don’t make me beg. We can pay you, anything you want.”

She is right, I thought, I should throw her out. Her people are in all kinds of bad trouble, and I want no part of it. Yes, they offered to pay, and maybe it is the right thing to do, but it’s practically suicide. I have my own problems, and have no desire to take on someone who kills people like me. With these thoughts in mind, naturally I said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”

I’m an idiot.

“But, there are a few things I need to do first.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Shortly after Kate left, I stopped by the ATM to get some cash, since my wallet was being held hostage at the casino. Then I set out in a cab for my old home, St. Jude Psychiatric Institute. St. Jude’s was built in the early 1950s, when Detroit was at its peak population, and the planners of the building planned to accommodate future growth, not decline. As a result, most of the sprawling concrete structure was abandoned years before. From the sky it must look like an enormous cross, a feature that the Catholic founders must have found inspiring. The “foot” of that cross is called the south wing, currently the only operational wing of the hospital, and for most of my childhood, it was home.

By my ninth birthday, my adoptive parents had tried everything to cure me of what they called my “mental illness”. First came the speech therapists when I was still not talking by age 4. Then they called me autistic because I could not stand to be around other people. What they could not have known is that anyone within 20 yards radiated uncontrolled waves of disorganized thoughts, feelings and subconscious desires. The assault on my senses was so violent and overpowering that I shut down and eventually became catatonic. In my own mind I developed a fantasy world where I was a superhero called the Prophesier, the most powerful being in the universe, who knows everything that will happen in the future and is afraid of nothing. My experience as the Prophesier was rich and beautiful. It was vastly beyond the scope of normal dreaming, and in my fantasy I had friends and enemies, traveled to distant worlds and pursued countless adventures.

On one such quest I found myself flying through a blue tinted rainforest, and burst into a bright clearing. There before me was a most curious sight. A thin man with curly blond hair and kind eyes that bespoke fierce intelligence was strolling through the field smoking a fragrant curved pipe. Initially he appeared somewhat young and handsome, but as he drew near a profound sadness eminated from him that made him seem older. He wore an old-fashioned gray three-piece suit, and his round, silver-framed spectacles rested near the tip of his nose. He peered at me over the top of his glasses and said, “Greetings, young man. This is quite a place you have here. Extraordinary, really.” He extended his hand. “My name is August Mandel.” He smiled, “Call me Gus.”

I made no motion to return the handshake. “I am the Prophesier, and this is my realm. You do not belong here.”

The older man’s brows lifted, “Oh, really. That is very interesting, because according to the nurses you’re a nine-year-old boy named Adam Sharpe. You have been in a coma, like me. We are roommates, you see, in a sort of a hospital. This place only exists in your mind. The hospital is real. Do you understand?”

His words confused me, although I knew I was once called Adam, it seemed so very long ago. A lifetime, really. My true identity slowly rose to the surface, and the fantasy world vanished into mist. It was just me and the man in the gray wool suit.

“I…I think so, but I don’t like it up there. Too much noise…too many voices.”

Gus knelt down to my level. “Adam, those aren’t voices. They are the hearts and minds of the people around you. The problem is that you have never been shown how to properly listen. With practice you can learn to experience only one person at a time, or none at all.”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, then asked, “How do you know all this about me?”

Gus replied, “I know it because I’ve been through it. Like you, I’m a mind reader, although now that I have met you I doubt that my mild talents really compare to yours. But I learned how to handle it the hard way, so maybe I can help you.”

I stared him down hard and asked, “Why would you help me? How do I know I can trust you?”

His eyes widened, “Such questions from one as young as you! You never got to be a child, did you? Anyhow, you can trust me because unlike you I am trapped in this coma and cannot escape. I can experience the minds of the other patients and staff here, but I cannot talk to them as we talk now.” Gus took a breath, then continued. “I’m lonely, Adam. Simple as that. Trust that.”

So that was how I met my best friend and mentor. Over the next nine years he never stopped teaching me. I owed everything to him.

My thoughts were a million miles away as I checked in with the security guard and headed for the elevator. As I stepped off the elevator at the third floor, I waved a greeting to Estelle and Maria, the nurses at the reception desk. Because they both started working here after I was a patient, they didn’t fear me like the old timers did. There is an old janitor named Pavel who gives me the evil eye when I’m not looking. Not these ladies. They were accustomed to my regular visits, although my visits were somewhat less regular lately, and didn’t make me sign in anymore.

This visit was overdue. Any time I really needed advice, Gus has always been there, and there is no excuse for me not to be there for him. Then I realized, with a pang of guilt, that the only reason that I was here was because I wanted his advice. I needed something from him yet again. I pledged silently to visit him more often, once this was all over.

Gus was the only remaining occupant of room 319, and it still had the same astringent smell of strong disinfectant that it had when I shared it with him. It looked like a marriage between a cheap motel room and a hospital. The peeling yellow wallpaper was patterned with interlocking rings suggestive of gold chainmail. The olive green fabric of the room’s one chair was misshapen by the worn out springs of the seat cushion, and when I sank down into it the old metal groaned in protest. Over the bed hung a cheap oil painting. It depicted a man resting in a hammock tied between two curved palm trees. While most of the scene was bathed in sunlight, the hammock itself was shaded by one of the trees, the dark shadow making it impossible to distinguish between the man and the hammock. It just looked like a bizarre horizontal cocoon. A bronze panel glued to the frame was engraved with the title, “Tranquility”.

His body was perfectly still in the hospital bed, but I knew that his mind was active and free. I closed my eyes and went to him, finding myself barefoot on a beach with fine white sand next to warm, turquoise waters. Gus reclined on a wicker lounge chair with a tropical drink in one hand and a book in the other.