Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) Page 15

  Why are they all looking at me?

  Trey presses his finger through the air in my direction. “That person is you. You’re the true challenger to Zhuang.”

  What? I stare at Trey. How didn’t I see this coming? I’d forgotten about being first alternate. How was that possible? My head almost explodes under the pressure. The air in the room is thick and difficult to breathe. The harder I try to pull oxygen into my lungs the more constriction. The tightening starts in the middle of my chest, branching out, growing, spreading uniformly until it covers my heart, my lungs, and my throat. Someone in the room speaks, but I can’t hear them. Has Zhuang taken me over now too? I look down and see my bracelet shimmer under the overhead lights. No, I’m just having a panic attack.

  “And that’s the reason I know you can do this,” Trey says, his turquoise eyes encouraging.

  Man, I really wish I’d been listening.

  “And you have your team,” Shuman says from the back of the room. She’s leaning against the wall. As she straightens up onto her long legs, her voice casts authority. “You all work well together now. Zhuang is not counting on this. You working together as the alternate team provides a secret advantage.”

  My eyes flash on George. He’s staring at me. We lock eyes and he doesn’t look angry as much as pained. For sure he’s the weak link in our team, but the others are strong and Shuman’s right, we work well together.

  “Let’s give Roya a chance to digest this,” Trey says in a brisk tone. He taps the button for the door and ushers people out of the room.

  I lay my head on the table and close my eyes, wishing I’d wake up from this nightmare. Everything was going well for the first time in my life. Why did this have to ruin it?

  Unconcerned for the time or space around me I wallow around in my pity, lapping it up, and feeling deserving of the way it burns my wounds like acid. I realize now I’ve lived an easy life, albeit lonely. As I look down the barrel of my own fate, and certain death, I long for the quietness of the woods in which I used to idle away my time. How simple things were back then. Back then when I wrote my poetry I had no real clue how grief actually felt. I thought I did. I thought it was a hollow ache that etches your features, marks your words, and punctuates your every moment with lack. But I was wrong. Grief isn’t a hollow ache. It’s raw, all-encompassing. It tears your insides in half, bit by bit, until all you want to do is curl up into the tiniest ball and become something so small you can’t feel the pain inside you. That’s grief. And it sucks.

  Ten minutes? An hour? I’m uncertain how long I wallow. I lift my head to find Aiden sitting on my right staring at me with that same expression as before. I understand it now. It’s remorse.

  “It’s because of you I figured out how she did it,” Aiden says.

  I must look confused or disoriented. I’m both.

  “Goat Girl,” he explains with a slight laugh. “I couldn’t figure out before how she’d outscored everyone. I knew she wasn’t the right challenger. You gave me the clues I was missing. You told me where to look.”

  “I wish I would have kept my mouth shut,” I say, staring at the table.

  Aiden reaches out across the foot and a half of space that separates us. A huge distance seconds prior. His hand grips mine. One squeeze. One small tug. My eyes jerk up and find his. This gesture startles me, but more surprising is the way his warmth fills my hand with more than I’m accustomed to holding.

  He smiles. “I knew it had to be you.”

  My head falls back to its former position. “I’ve been given a death sentence.”

  “No. You can do this.”

  With his fingers still pressed around mine, he pulls my hand an inch closer to him. A small movement, but it says so much. “I know you can do this,” he continues with enough enthusiasm I’m certain he’s trying to convince more than just me. Locked on his sapphire eyes, I feel my breathe hitch. My pulse quickens. I squeeze his hand, enjoying the warmth it radiates around mine. His pirate smile surfaces at the gesture. Aiden leans forward and whispers, “I’ll help you.” I feel his breath against my chin. He freezes, taking in my expression.

  A sharp cough rocks my attention. Aiden straightens, his hand recoiling from mine. He rolls his eyes, looking at the entrance. “Yes, yes, Ren, I get it. My time is up.” The Head Scientist stands.

  “No, it’s just I was about to gag,” Ren says, lurking in the doorway.

  How long has he been there?

  The Head Scientist doesn’t look back over his shoulder as he leaves. He just leaves. And then Ren takes his place. I push back from the table.

  “The kind of help he can give you”—Ren motions his head in the direction of the exit—“isn’t what you need to defeat Zhuang. Sure, he can help you survive, but I can help you defeat him.”

  “Look, I’m in no mood for one of your dramatic and abusive monologues right now.”

  Ren’s eyes narrow, lacking any sympathy or emotion. “Right, you’re trying to come to terms with this news. Everyone’s going to tell you that you can do this, that you aren’t alone, that there’s hope. It’s bollocks. When you lie down to meet Zhuang you’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been. No one will be able to save you from the torture he’ll do to you. The odds aren’t in your favor and frankly, he’s probably going to kill you.”

  “Well, I feel much better now. Thanks for stopping by,” I say. “The vote of confidence really helps.”

  Ren smiles.

  Figures.

  “Here’s the deal, darling,” he begins in his usual snarky tone. “I won’t dress this up for you. You’ll thank me for that later. I’m telling you straight how bleak this looks. I’m doing this so you’ll understand it, get over it, and then focus on the fight. Fear makes you weak. Attachments make you even weaker. Face the facts and Zhuang will have one less power over you.”

  “Why does it even matter? I don’t stand a chance against Zhuang.”

  “True,” Ren chirps. “However, the Day of the Duel is our first legitimate opportunity to challenge him. Even if you don’t stand a chance it’s the first one anyone’s had in over two hundred years. Lord knows I can spend the next fifty years happily chasing Zhuang through dream layers, trying to catch him. But to have what you’ll have, the opportunity to face off with him in a set place and time…” He slams his fist onto the table. His green eyes bulge. “Bloody hell! Do you know what I would give for that? Zhuang is the most elusive wanker I’ve ever known. I’ve tracked him my entire life and I can’t confirm I’ve ever been closer than fifty yards away. He can’t run from you. The forecast is correct this time. He knows it or otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of having Misty rig the whole thing. If you accept this role then your fates will be intertwined. He must face you on the Day of the Duel.”

  I crack my knuckles. “Why can’t someone else go? One of the other alternates?”

  “I’m not here to stroke your ego so don’t even try,” Ren says. “Of the names on the list, you’re the best. I’ve known it since the beginning. Hell, Trey did too but he still made everyone compete, probably because like me he doubts your commitment to the Lucidites.” His nostrils flare as he draws in a long inhale. “Well, and also Trey likes to pretend he doesn’t fancy you.”

  I huff at his insinuation. It’s absurd, like everything else Ren says. I’m so tired of him. I wish he’d just die. “Why don’t you go in my place?” I say, not as an offer, but as a threat.

  “That isn’t the way it works. The forecast says Zhuang will meet one person from the list the news reporters constructed. It says this is our only chance at defeating him. It doesn’t say pretend to send an inexperienced, snotty prat and then put Ren in her stead. Okay? Got it?!”

  “And what if I won’t do it?”

  Ren stands and looks down at me from hooded eyes. “Then you’ll die a coward. I’ll see to it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Everyone treats you extra nice when they think you’re about to di
e. I’ve seen it a zillion times on Lifetime movies. I really don’t want to be handled like a frail little gerbil right now. More than anything I want to be left alone. Without a care for the schedule or even ever eating again I retreat to my room and lock myself in there for the remainder of the day. Numerous knocks rapped at my door during my self-imposed solitary confinement. To everyone’s credit, I know they can just hit the button and march into my room, but they respect my privacy. It’s well into the evening when a final knock rattles my door, followed by a voice.

  “Hey, sweetheart, you’ve got a package. I’m leaving it by the door,” Patrick says, followed by a thud.

  I wait a minute before hitting the button. The door slides back to reveal a large box tied in a pastel pink bow. What in the world?

  I push the package into my room, hit the button, and pry it open.

  Inside is a letter from Bob and Steve. They must have learned my fate from the Lucidite news feed. It reads:

  Dear Roya,

  We know this must come as a shock. As much as we would like to be there for you during this difficult time, we can’t. This is a journey you’ll face alone, but you have much support. Please don’t forget that. We loved getting the letter from you. Please write as often as you’d like.

  Love,

  Bob and Steve

  I fold the letter and pull the tissue paper off the top of the box. Underneath the fine layer of paper are books, books, and more books! All classics! All my favorites! Lord Byron. Charles Dickens. Ernest Hemingway. William Faulkner. Neatly arranged under this library is a camera, a bar of dark chocolate, and an assortment of lotions, body scrubs, perfumes, and facial type stuff. For a good ten minutes I sit surrounded by all the stuff, feeling loved and lonely.

  When I’m less fragile I put my books and other gifts away. Then I climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. Tonight I’m allowed to do as I please. I’m glad for that, because at the moment I want to be a million miles from here.

  The first image I see when I close my eyes is of Ren. Just as I’m about to heave with disgust from the sound of his snarky British voice in my head, something occurs to me. Although the sound of his voice makes me cringe, his accent is still a favorable one. Maybe I’ve spent too many days watching BBC, but still I’m in love with Great Britain and even Ren can’t completely tarnish that.

  I painstakingly focus my thoughts. Within seconds I whirl through the tunnel, on my way to Buckingham Palace. A loud piercing sound hits my ears upon arriving in the damp square. Screaming. Stealing a glance around, I try to determine if the environment is safe. When I have my bearings I realize I’m standing next to a statue. Queen Victoria. Peering around the statue I connect the screaming to a nearby man.

  “Help! Help us!” A woman calls from beside the man. She’s holding his arms down, which are trying to flay around. The man is frenzied, out of control.

  A crowd has begun to gather around the couple. The man’s screams turn into painful moans. And then he suddenly falls silent. Still.

  “Arthur! Arthur!” the woman cries, shaking him.

  “Is he breathing?” someone asks.

  “Barely. He’s been seeing things that aren’t real all day. And he hasn’t slept in days.” The woman mops the man’s sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “Oh, Arthur. What’s happening to you?”

  The balding man lies in a heap on the pavement. With a jerk his eyes roll back in his head, face pale, hands shaking.

  Before I witness anymore I dream travel to a new layer, a place I’ve never been. I’m hoping to find something new to take my mind off my troubles. Turns out my troubles are following me.

  Before I feel the pavement under my feet I know something’s askew. The cold marble under my fingers steadies me as the noises meet my ears. More screaming. I crouch behind a light pole, my mind stiffening with dread. From my vantage point the line of etched stars stretches along the sidewalk. There’s hardly anyone out at this hour, although a few cars pass every so often. The scream again.

  The deep breath I suck in has little effect on the dread building deep within me. Tentatively I stand to a normal position. Another scream, this one guttural. My eyes search until they find the source—a man. He lurks in an upper floor window, yanking at curtains. Possessed. I recognize the wild expression in the man’s eyes. He looks exactly how Shiloh, my brother, looked the last time I saw him. The look, the paranoia, the manic behavior are all the result of not being able to dream. Hallucinations have taken over. I jerk my attention away from the man who’s now beating against the window, as if he’s trying to escape his own personal prison.

  Hollywood is supposed to be glamorous. Full of entertainment and opportunity. I’d always pictured the place as having an inescapable energy, one that hums through my chest with an energetic beat. This is not the Hollywood I envisioned. Its deserted streets are cloaked in grayness. Trash rustles down the sidewalk as a fierce wind barrels through the alleyway. A piece of debris entangles itself around my leg. I fetch it and am just about to let it slip through my fingers and be carried off by the wind when something catches my eyes. It’s a newspaper. Today’s. The front page of the LA Times reads:

  Unclassified Epidemic Sweeps the Nation

  Thousands across the nation are suffering from what scientists are calling Sleep-X virus. The origin and cause of the infectious disease are currently unknown. It doesn’t appear to be contagious, but quarantine of infected individuals is required until more is determined. The Sleep-X virus is called such because a person’s inability to reach REM state is the precursor to the other symptoms, which include hallucinations, malnutrition, paranoia, high blood pressure, heart palpitations, depression, stroke, dementia, heart attack, and heart failure. Most concerning to doctors is the abrupt onset of symptoms in some patients, whereas others suffer for long periods of time with the disease. Even more disconcerting is no medical intervention has been successful in treating the disease or relieving its symptoms. Dr. Randal Smith, the Chair of Neurobiology at UCLA states, “The disease intermittently paralyzes the cerebral cortex and the thalamus, especially during states of rest. As the disease progresses, the frequency of paralysis increases until one of the associated symptoms kills the patient.” Researchers worldwide have come together to research the epidemic, which has also spread amongst parts of Europe and China. In some areas it’s referred to as the Enigmatic virus since no real cause or treatment has been found. “There have been cases in history similar to the ones we’re seeing today,” Smith states, “but the frequency of cases is notable and it’s imperative we employ all our efforts to ending this epidemic before…

  I don’t need to read anymore. People aren’t suffering from a disease and there’s no amount of research that will stop it. Zhuang is to blame for this. And it looks as though—as Trey predicted—his greed is building. I thought I could run from my current problems. I thought I could avoid this fight, but the only solution to the world’s problems is to end Zhuang.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I awake the next morning and arrive early to workout. If anyone is surprised to see me, they hide it well. We all eat breakfast without a word. It isn’t until we’re seated in the classroom, waiting for Shuman, that anyone says anything that resembles normal speech.

  Whitney’s childlike voice echoes against the ceiling of my mind. “I always knew it couldn’t be Misty. She was never right as the challenger.” Whitney bites her lip looking uncomfortable, but determined. “I always knew it had to be you, Roya.”

  “Honestly,” Trent says, tying his dreadlocks back in a ponytail, “even though Misty is probably off in a padded cell going crazy, I still believe she’s intolerable. You know why?” he asks arching one eyebrow. “Trey said Zhuang’s curse ended when she put on that ring, the protective charm. Well, she was still a big bitch to us after that, wasn’t she? I think that’s her true nature and that’s the reason Zhuang chose her. It’s probably easier to infiltrate evil witches with your thoughts than other pe
ople.”

  Joseph sits looking off. He hasn’t said a word. I want him, of all people, to say something but he just sulks. He’s my closest friend here. My first friend ever. As sad as that is to admit, it means I’m reliant on his consolation at this point. I’ve become dependent on it. And right now I need it more than ever. He crosses his arms and stares, transfixed, at a far-off object on the other side of the room.

  Finally it’s Samara who contributes to the conversation. “Roya, there’s a place in Zhuang I know I can get to. I’ve seen it in my dreams. I can find his thoughts at some point and share them with you. I’ll be able to help...but…”

  Her words make me feel as good as I’ve felt in the last twelve hours. “Thanks,” I say to cut off her doubt.

  Then Shuman enters the room and I know it’s time to stop looking for sympathy.

  “Today we are going to begin to understand spirit animals. These are animals that visit you in your dreams and offer their powers to you in your dream travels. You must learn to trust their wisdom, or pay the price for ignoring it. To better understand this concept I want to demonstrate it. Everyone come and lie down on the ground here beside me.”

  Once we’re settled around her, as we have become accustomed to during our meditation practices, she gives us one last set of orders. “Close your eyes and meet me right here, right now in the dreamscape.”

  I do as she requests and within seconds I’m back to exactly the same place, but in my subconscious form. Surprisingly I arrive even before Shuman. I watch as one by one the others spring up around me, pulling their consciousness from the body lying on the floor.

  When we’re gathered, Shuman gives a look of contentment. “When I was a young girl a snake regularly haunted my dreams. At first I was frightened and I would awake screaming. After some time the shaman of my tribe told me to approach the snake and to ask him what he wanted. On one occasion I did this. When I lifted the serpent into my arms for the first time he turned to me and spoke. He said, ‘guide us as you will.’ I knew from that moment on that the snakes in my dreams were not to be feared. They were offering themselves to do my beckoning. They were my servants.”