Revived (The Lucidites Book 3) Read online

  “It does,” he says evenly.

  “And I love your hair,” I say, skirting a bit of it off his forehead. “It’s neither straight nor curly, brown nor blond. It’s a mixture of all of it.”

  He smiles. “It’s working.”

  “What? What is?” I say, pulling my hand back to the table.

  “This is making Aiden jealous.”

  “George,” I reprimand. “That’s not––”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t mind because I know you’re not acting. I feel that you’re sincerely attracted to me. You just have a double agenda.”

  Shocked by his unusually casual attitude I slide down an inch in my seat.

  “However, sooner rather than later, this is going to have to be solely about us and not him,” George says in a surprisingly smooth voice.

  “You deserve that, George. I’m sorry. He’s just had me confused in the past, but that’s all changing. I see the truth now and realize I was being stupid before.”

  “He was leading you on. You’re not stupid. I totally get it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, because sadly if you lead me on then I’m going to trail behind you. I know that with absolute certainty. I’d willingly stick my heart into a fire if I knew it would get me closer to you.”

  “George, I haven’t tried to lead you on. I’ve been honest with you.”

  “As have I.”

  “I’m not using you to make him jealous.”

  “Well, if you were then I could think of much bolder ways than just stroking my face,” he says.

  My face flushes hot. The usually reserved George is transforming into someone new. Maybe he senses the opportunity, but whatever the reason I like this side of him. I like all sides of him, but this one is exciting.

  “Care to continue listing all the things you love about me?” he says, cutting into my thoughts.

  I resist the urge to smile, but it no doubt still surfaces in my eyes. “Oh, I will, but you’re going to have to earn your compliments.”

  “I’m more than willing to do that.”

  Chapter Five

  Bob, Steve, and I are meeting in a place that’s 1,783,510 square miles of nothing but sand. The odds of getting lost and never finding each other are too great. There’s no way we can meet by the Starbucks or red fire hydrant because there’s nothing. No landmarks, just sand for as far as my green eyes can see.

  I close those eyes now and focus on the coordinates. Instantly I’m soaring through the silver tunnel like a comet plummeting to the earth, or so I imagine. Three sharp turns are followed by more charging. I enjoy the wind sweeping through my hair more than usual since I haven’t dream traveled in a few days. Typically I do at least every other night, but Trey’s ordered me not to dream travel alone since he fears Chase will stalk me.

  When I land, the arid heat of the desert is rising fast. The sun peeks up over the horizon, which to be appears a million miles away. Bob and Steve aren’t here yet. Incredible unending blankets of sand stretch out in all directions. The eco-region of the Sahara desert is not a place where you want to go with only half a tank of gas and a Snickers bar. Hell, you won’t even get there on that. It’s vast. Now as I stand looking at this place of nothingness I totally get it. Everything here is dead or hardened by the heat and the wind and the sand. From my perspective that’s all that’s here anyway.

  The sun, a huge ball of fire in a pale blue sky, pierces my eyes as it lights up the landscape. Immediately, a presence presses up against my consciousness like it’s right behind me tapping on my shoulder. Tentatively, I turn around. In the distance, maybe a mile, maybe twenty, it’s hard to tell in a place like this, there’s a figure. Unmistakably a person, but who? And why here?

  I blink, trying to clear the mirage from my vision when a warm voice says, “What made you pick the desert as our meeting place?”

  I pivot to find Bob standing five feet from me. His grayish-brown hair looks slightly red from the reflection of the sun and sand. A second later Steve appears beside him. He’s taller than Bob by about four inches and when he scans our location he reminds me of a lighthouse on the coast. Suddenly remembering the figure behind me, I shoot around, but instantly know he’s gone. Or she. Steve gives me a puzzled look. Since he’s prone to worrying I redirect his attention at once. “Bob just asked me why I chose this place to meet.”

  “Indeed, that’s a good question.” Steve smiles easily.

  “Excuse me for sounding melodramatic,” I say, “but I wanted to visit a place that’s somehow more dismal than how I currently feel. I’m hoping to be outdone by the Sahara, isn’t that pathetic?”

  Remorse clings to Bob’s eyes as he shakes his head. Almost losing his footing, he takes a few awkward steps through the sand to get to me. When he manages the three treacherous steps he pulls me in for a soft hug. They know Trey’s my father. Every Lucidite on Earth probably knows by this point. Bob hugs me until I’m uncomfortable, then he pulls back, and grips my arms and gently squeezes. “These emotions will pass, but only with time and reflection.”

  Steve stands beside him now and pats me on the shoulder. “How about we take a seat and try and help you work through some of these dismal thoughts and emotions? I’d say we could walk, but I fear Bob wouldn’t make it far before falling.”

  I smile and take a seat, facing away from the sun. We’re on the bank of a sand dune just before it sharply plunges toward another hill. The soft mounds of earth look like rolling orange clouds. And we’re sitting on top of them.

  “Maybe I should be happy I have a father, but he doesn’t really seem like ‘dad’ material. He seems like a huge jerk without a conscience.”

  “I don’t know,” Bob says softly. “I think if you give him half a chance he might surprise you. Trey’s actually considered to be a pretty sensitive guy, but maybe that’s just in comparison to his father.”

  “What does his father have to do with any of this?” I ask blankly.

  Bob and Steve exchange nervous glances. “Oh, right,” Bob says a bit hesitantly. “It sounds as if you don’t know. Not sure it really matters at this point, but the reason that I mention Trey’s father is because he was Flynn, the founder of the Lucidites. He would have been your grandfather.”

  Silence envelops the space around us as I plunge my hand into the sand, pulling up a fistful and letting it slide through my fingers. I do it again and again and again.

  “Anyway, I only relate this to you because Trey has always been considered the soft, sensitive one of the two,” Bob says, like he’s speaking to a bomb which is about to explode. “Flynn was an exceedingly respected man. Incredibly tolerant of others, but he wasn’t known for his patience or listening skills. Furthermore, when something needed to be said he’d cut right to the point. Most people considered him to be a bit harsh.”

  “From my dealings with Trey,” Steve chimes in, trying to sound casual, “he at least tries to dress things up a bit. He has some tact. His father didn’t have time for that kind of stuff. Two different styles, neither wrong though.”

  Flynn was my grandfather? The same guy who was held up in the infirmary for the first month I lived at the Institute? Did he know about Joseph and me? I guess he didn’t much care, since he was off battling Zhuang. None of this computes. And that infuriates me. It isn’t like this is an actual mathematical equation or anything. It’s just people and lives and connections.

  The sand runs through my hand again and I enjoy the soft release. “So how do other Lucidites feel about this whole mess?”

  “There’s an uprising,” Steve says after giving Bob a cautious look.

  “What? Really!? Why?” I say.

  “First off,” Steve begins, watching the sand pour through my fingers, “people don’t like a liar. Although Trey never lied about being your father, it appears as though he kept the truth from you and Joseph as well as everyone else. Secondly, they’ve mostly jumped to the worst conclusions, saying he’s a deadbeat for avoiding
responsibility.” Steve shrugs. “I admit it doesn’t look good, but who are we to judge? It’s obvious that he had his reasons. We’ll know more when Trey releases his public statement.”

  “What?!” I yell, hearing my voice carry through the sand and nothingness for miles. “A public statement? Where? When?”

  “Through the Lucidite news feed on the website,” Steve says matter-of-factly. “He’s been promising one for most of the day. I expect it will be posted tomorrow.”

  Why have I never been to this website? I bet my news reports sometimes show up there. Is it possible that there’s information on me? Probably. That’s how Steve had known I was in trouble so many months ago and rescued me. Then there’s also the news after I battled Zhuang and my trek in the Grotte. It’s weird to know my life is being published on this website. Now my family secrets are sitting there for all of the Lucidite world to read, and the only reason anyone cares is because the person who turned out to be my father is everyone else’s leader. My life’s undeniably strange.

  Bob wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulls me in for a hug. With his head leaning on mine he says, “I know it feels like he abandoned you. I can’t even imagine how confusing this whole mess is for you and Joseph to deal with. Just don’t rush trying to understand all of this. These things usually take time to work through.”

  This is the reason I love these two men. They’re more level-headed than anybody else I’ve ever met. Their advice never feels directional. It’s always straightforward and honest, never seeking another agenda. And they’re different enough that they balance each other out, which is entertaining as well as constructive. Steve draws in a long breath. “If it makes you feel better, a bunch of other Lucidites also think he’s a big jerk without a conscience.”

  We laugh and watch the wind make designs in the sand. I change the subject, being sure to ask them how their current affairs are going. We spend the next couple of hours exchanging stories. By the time I’m ready to return to the Institute I’m feeling lighter than I have in days. This is always the way I feel after our long and thoughtful conversations. “I’m really lucky to have the two of you,” I say, hugging them, one arm around each of their necks. “I don’t know why you ever took me in under your proverbial wing, but I’m sure glad you did.”

  “Bob, you’re right.” Steve looks at him with a sideways smile. “She doesn’t get it.”

  Bob nods and puts his hand on the side of my head in a sentimental type way. “Ms. Roya Stark, what you don’t get is that the honor has always been ours. Thank you.”

  I smile, not having the right words to respond. I wave and disappear, returning easily to my own bed inside the Institute.

  ♦

  “So guess what?” I say to Joseph as he smothers his toast in egg yolk.

  “You’ve decided to get a real hobby like BMX biking or rock climbing,” he says, stuffing the bite in his mouth.

  “Reading and running are hobbies.”

  “For boring people.”

  “Well, boring is my middle name.”

  “Hey, what’s your middle name, since we’re on the subject and all?”

  “Actually, it’s Elle.” I’m struck by an epiphany, which is as clear as the waters of Maldives. I slap my hand to my forehead, a little giddy from the rush. “Of course! My name is an homage to our mother. Eloise. Trey, that sly bastard.”

  “Mmm…” Joseph’s brow knits with confusion. “Well, I’m not sure what to make of mine then. It’s Lynn. And if you say one thing about how it’s a girl’s na—”

  “You were named after our grandfather!” I say triumphantly, proud to finally find some clues I can unravel on my own. “That’s what I was just about to tell you. Flynn, the founder of the Institute, was our grandfather.”

  Joseph thrusts his plate away and goes limp like wilted lettuce, laying his forehead on the table. “What?” he says with quiet disbelief. “Just when I thought this couldn’t get worse.”

  Confusion blankets my thoughts. Sure, this is another unexpected piece of the puzzle, but I’m unsure why Joseph is acting like it’s bad news. After a minute I pat him on the back, staring around the main hall at curious spectators. “Hey, people are starting to look. Straighten up.”

  “Thanks for the empathy, Stark.”

  “Oh, did you mistake me for George?” I say bluntly. “Why does it matter to you who our grandfather was? I mean, you knew it had to be someone, right? I realize that it’s weird that it’s someone we knew of, but why is it such bad news to you?”

  Joseph sits up, surveying our surroundings. He leans down low, a new ferocity in his eyes. “It matters because I killed him. I killed Flynn.”

  Chapter Six

  Ice water feels like it’s being forced down my throat. Words freeze in my mouth. The last thing I expected to hear come out of Joseph was those words. I killed Flynn. He’s right, things just got worse…by about 633 percent, and that’s a rough estimate.

  For too long I stare wildly at Joseph’s dark eyes, mine wide with disbelief. “What?” I finally say in one long croak.

  “Zhuang m-m-made me do it,” Joseph stutters. “Well, he didn’t make me. He asked me. It’s when he was pretendin’ to be our father. You have to believe me when I tell you I really thought he was our father and really wanted him to love us. I wanted to love him. He told me that his suffering was being perpetuated by a man, and if I could go back and kill that person it would end his pain. Our father could heal and return to us. Zhuang convinced me this man was evil and needed to be stopped. That this would be better for all of humanity.” Sinking down he lays his head on his arms on the table. Everything about him reeks of defeat.

  My world tilts as I make room for this bizarre turn of events. “Joseph,” I say cautiously, “what did you do?”

  He pulls his head up and whispers just above his forearms. “I guess it was always meant to happen, ’cause Flynn did die a few months ago.”

  “True,” I say, drowning in the implications of the weird assorted effects of time travel. Flynn had been murdered when I was preparing to be Zhuang’s challenger. At the time we thought it was Zhuang who had done it, since they’d been battling in the dreamscape. But it was Joseph. Future Joseph. Not the innocent boy who I’d just learned was my twin brother, but the one who’s staring back at me now with haunted eyes.

  “Zhuang told me I had to time travel back to a few months ago, find this man and kill him,” Joseph says. “When he explained the situation to me I was convinced that this was the only way to stop the torment he was suffering. I believed this man was an awful person who was devastating our father, although I never asked why. I realize now I should have, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered. I’d have done anythin’ our father asked me to. Once he sucked out most of my energy I felt owned by him in multiple ways.”

  I seriously hope other people aren’t watching us right now, but I don’t dare look away from Joseph’s distraught face. “When did this happen?”

  “On our birthday. That morning. The same day we found out Trey was our father. Timing’s a bitch, huh?” Joseph shivers like he’s suddenly cold. “I’d never killed a man before. It changes you, sucks away a part of your spirit. Since that moment I stabbed him I’ve been sleepwalking. If it hadn’t been for this Trey mess I’d be consumed with thinkin’ about that moment, but somehow I’ve been able to shove it away. Fat chance I’ll be able to do that again,” he says with a cold chuckle. Pain, sharp like broken glass, fractures my heart for my brother. The imprint of his scars presses against my own heart.

  “Roya, you wouldn’t have believed what I did even if you saw it,” he says in a distant voice. “In a dreamscape I walked straight up to him––this man I believed was evil and huntin’ our father. I was surprised that he appeared to recognize me, was welcomin’. He asked me what I was doin’ there. I didn’t answer. Instead I pulled out a knife and rammed it into his chest. It was awful. Actually that word hardly describes what it was. Chests aren’t meant to
be stabbed. People aren’t supposed to stop hearts from beating. That can’t be our job.” Joseph stares off in the distance silently. I don’t interrupt him, knowing instinctively he’s gathering himself to tell the rest. “I realize now,” he says, his voice sounding dead, “that Flynn didn’t see me as a threat. He’d been chasing Zhuang, and was weakened, having been stuck in the dreamscape for so long. It was easy to kill him.”

  “Zhuang must have figured out that you were the one who had to kill Flynn a few months ago,” I say in an urgent whisper. “That’s another reason he chose you to restore him.” The implications of all of these events, strung together by a wobbly backwards timeline, sends a searing pain to my head.

  “When it was over,” Joseph says, sounding brutally haunted, “I knew I’d done something major, but I actually had no idea that guy was Flynn. How was I supposed to? Then yesterday I was walkin’ through the lobby and was struck by a picture of a man in the display case. I’d never noticed it before. The caption said it was Flynn. I recognized him immediately as the man I’d been asked to kill. That was bad then, knowin’ I’d killed the founder of the Institute, but now to know he was also our grandfather? What have I done?”

  It’s crystal clear now. Joseph has been used as a pawn to checkmate the Institute. This has all been orchestrated by Zhuang.

  Seizing Joseph’s trembling hand I say, “This is Zhuang’s fault. This is Trey’s fault. This is not something you need to blame yourself for.”

  His eyes are edged in a pain so terrifying it makes the hair on my skin rise when he looks up at me. “You don’t think I’m a monster? For killing a man? For being so casual after the fact? Pretendin’ nothing happened?”

  “I think you’ve been hurt too much from an early age. You were trying to fix the world that broke you. When that didn’t work you pretended you weren’t broken. But you don’t have to pretend with me, because no matter what you do I’ll always accept you.” I swallow, forcing the aching lump in my throat away.