Tabitha was like me once, and then these people took her ability. She was like me. She traveled through her imagination. Where did she go? What places did she visit? Were they completely make-believe, or were they here on earth?
And then my heart shriveled into a pile of nothingness when I realized I couldn’t ask her, because she wouldn’t remember.
“How long has it been since she…?” My words died out.
The messenger’s hands slid into his pockets. “Years. You were young when it happened, and I was in training. That’s what I read in your file when it showed up on my desk, anyway. Some of the guys have talked about how most kids don’t even realize their parents had the same ability, or that it’s genetic, because by the time they figure it out, they’re next on the mind-wiping list.”
I cringed. Mind-wiping list? That sounded lovely.
“And then there’s no escaping you people,” I murmured more to myself than to him.
“Nope, because if the assigned agent doesn’t catch you, another agent will.”
A swell of emotions washed over me, like a giant tidal wave. It’s like my stomach and heart bobbed up and down. My eyeballs stung, but I let the tears fall. There was no point in trying to escape; I’d never leave this place, not until this society had what they wanted. And then what? I’d be exactly like my alcoholic mom, who, more than likely, didn’t know what started her drinking habit. She just knew it masked her emptiness—emptiness left behind thanks to these people.
Are you just going to stand by and allow this to happen?
The messenger must’ve noticed my misery and self-pity party going on over here; he emitted a forced sigh.
“Look, I know what I do isn’t the most respectable job on the planet,” he said, “but I can’t let you go.”
Wait. Was that a dimple in an otherwise perfect façade? Was that hope?
“Yes, you can. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Kearly,” he said through clenched teeth, “they’ll know. They’re aware we’re here.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that they’d have some kind of honing device, or a tracker. Or security cameras. “What if you lied to them?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t know if they’d find out or not. I had the distinct notion that he was making up a bunch of bullshit as he went along.
He settled on, “Fine. I’ll show you what happens to people who stand in my way. You’ll see first-hand how we erase abilities.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but if it saved me, I was grateful.
We continued walking down the never-ending, musty hallway. Just as I suspected, there was an inside door, and we had been going in circles. The messenger knocked three times, paused, and then knocked once more. Was that like a secret handshake? Like saying, “Open sesame?” I figured this society would be a little more advanced than that.
The wall shifted inward and sideways. I stepped through the entrance, followed by the messenger, unaware of what would happen next. The room opened up to a network of busy people ambling across three stories of metal platforms, which formed walkways leading to open doorways. A constant hum resounded off the concrete walls, and all I could think about were bees. These people weren’t just working for a corporate office, in a nine-to-five job—they were a hive, a collection of individuals who, if provoked, would end a person’s existence. But bees always had a duty to protect the queen. Without the queen, the hive would die. Was that the case here? Or was it a king? I made a mental note not to disturb the nest just yet.
“Dom!” a man yelled. He was short in stature, looked about fifty-ish, and had a receding, gray hairline.
The messenger glanced up, acknowledging the other man. So, his name was Dom...
“Enoch,” he said, acknowledging the middle-aged man.
“It’s good you’re finally here,” said Enoch. “Is this her? The one you were telling me about?”
He talked about me to other people? Was that good or bad?
“Yes,” Dom said, forcing the word through his teeth.
“Ah, well, such a pity. Our jobs suck the life out of not only us but everyone else, as well,” said the man. “However, she reminds me of a certain woman—”
“Enoch!” Dom silenced him.
He chuckled. “Maybe in a different lifetime, then? Hmm?” He strolled off toward an iron staircase, which led to the network of passageways above us.
What the hell? Was he insinuating Dom and I could’ve been a couple? Like I’d want to date someone who happened to also be my kidnapper. Pass.
“So, the name’s Dom, huh?” I teased.
Increasing his pace, he twisted his head and said over his shoulder, “Clearly.”
Wow. Someone was touchy.
We continued onward, past the tarnished walkways and through one of the many doors opening to whoknowswhere. Legs suffering from heaviness, I didn’t want to wander any farther. I was exhausted. My stomach growled for not feeding it. And I was stuck with a guy who could be my undoing.
Passing through yet another arched, metal doorway, we entered a quaint room filled with books from floor to ceiling. A library? This was completely out of place. There was a mahogany writing desk in the corner of the room, where three candles glowed. A fireplace crackled and popped to my left, and there was a staircase leading up to a second story. Every bookshelf was crammed. Dom headed toward a door on the opposite side of the room, but I stopped to admire the exquisite details—they could easily be overlooked if a person wasn’t paying attention. Their jewel-encrusted spines held my interest. My fingers stroked rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, pearls, diamonds, and gold text. Some were classics, and others were stories I’d never heard of. Who owned this collection?
“What are you doing?” Dom asked, his voice projecting stronger than usual.
I jumped, causing a jewel-crusted book to leave my hands. I grabbed it before it reached the floor. Hoping the book wouldn’t tear or fall apart, I made every effort of gently placing it back on the shelf, where it belonged.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.”
“I said I was sorry! Jeez, take a chill pill. I’ve never seen books like these before, so I was curious.”
“It’s that same curiosity that gets you in trouble, too.”
I ignored his comment. “What is this place?”
“It’s a library. You know, a place where people go to read books.”
“I know what a damn library is,” I snapped.
“Maybe you should spend more of your time doing something productive rather than leaving your problems behind on one of your escapades. Get out more.”
Focusing my attention on another row of books, I ran my fingers over the bindings and forced myself to respond by saying, “I’ll go to a library whenever I want to, or anywhere else for that matter. Not because you tell me you think I should, or because it would make your job easier.”
“I’m telling you to find a hobby because it might change your life.”
I snorted. “Change my life, or keep you at bay?”
“Both.”
Whatever. I reached out and traced the golden indentations of the book titles. Dom snatched my wrist, preventing me from touching another book.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Admiring,” I replied.
“What did I say? Don’t touch anything.” He released my wrist. “Follow me.”
We left the warm, cozy library and walked through the door on the other side of the room. How many doors and passageways were in this place? Where were we, anyway? Damp, concrete walls gave way to dry stone. My spine tingled, and I shivered. Rhode Island winters, with snowfall and occasional blizzards, could compete with this icy passageway.
“Where a-are we-e-e?” I asked, teeth chattering.
The cold seemingly didn’t have any affect whatsoe
ver on Dom. His arms didn’t hug his body, and his teeth weren’t clicking. “Getting close,” he responded.
I hope we don’t walk in circles again.
As we continued on, there were several random doors and unblocked entrances on either side of the hall. Voices clamored from each opening, but I couldn’t hone in on one particular conversation; we were strolling too fast. By the time we passed one, another invaded my ears. A man passed us, and stopped in his tracks, turning around to stare.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not supposed to be here?” I asked.
“Because you’re not. This isn’t the way we typically bring our, um...” He hesitated, unsure of the correct term, I guessed. “This isn’t the way we bring your kind.”
I scoffed. “Right. My kind. You keep saying that phrase, but you’ve never gone into detail about what I am, exactly, how my ability was started, or why I’m not the only person on the planet with this gift.”
He wheeled around, facing me. “A gift? Please. You and your kind are nothing but a disease, as far as I’m concerned. We spend countless hours trying to round your people up, because none of you heed our warnings. We’re kind enough to give you advanced notice, and yet, it’s like you never heard us at all. Do you know how tough it is to have stacks upon stacks of names on paper, with people you have to warn? Do you know how tiring it is locating a person with your gift”—he nearly spat at me—“and then entering their imagination to warn them?”
“Obviously not. I’m not you, remember? Besides, you could just show up on a person’s doorstep and warn them, without just showing up in one of their dreamscapes.”
He stared at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. Was he annoyed? Angry?
Instead of mocking me, he stated, “We’re not supposed to interfere with daily activities, only the imagination element.”
“And showing up in someone’s head isn’t interfering?”
“It is, but showing up on their doorstep when they have kids running around is a different story. I can’t be all doom and gloom around them, can I?”
Wait… Did he actually give a damn about what little kids thought? That was strange, coming from a guy who erased people’s imaginations. What else could I discover about him?
“So, how’d you get involved with this society…whatever they’re called?” I asked.
Dom shook his head. “No, I’m not going there. Like I said before, our conversations are pointless. Eventually, your imagination, and the memories that go with it, will be erased.”
“But I thought you were giving me a second chance…”
“I am right now, but what about weeks down the road, when you use your ability again? It’s like a bad habit you can’t break. Trust me, you’ll be back here before you know it.”
“You don’t know that.”
He smirked at me over his shoulder, and there was a twinkle of confidence in his eye. He’d seen people like me before, people who promised they wouldn’t use their ability, but they did. Could I guarantee I wouldn’t use my imagination again, even by accident? No.
Making another attempt at conversation, I asked, “Were you born with your ability like I was?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“And then what? You’re recruited to work here?”
“Something like that.”
“This secretive society…what is it called?”
He didn’t respond for a matter of seconds, then finally said, “It’s the Ministry for International Neurological Disorders, or the M.I.N.D., for short. Most of us call it the Ministry, though. Our company area of expertise is ‘healing the psyche.’ We pride ourselves on being the best.”
Yeah, I bet that was their motto.
“Are there other companies which specialize in ‘healing the psyche’?”
He faltered, “Uh, well, no.”
“That’s stupid. You have nothing to compare yourselves to, so you’re only unsurpassed because you’re totally alone in the mind-erasing department. That’d be like me saying I was the world champion for unicorn riding.”
“Unicorns don’t exist.”
“Some people might say the same about the Ministry.”
The corner of his mouth curved upward. “Touché.”
9