Ren: The Monster Inside the Monster Page 3

  “There’s one hundred employees in the administrative, healthcare, facility, and infirmary departments,” I say, pointing to the file sitting in the middle of the table. It’s where I leave my notes for after the meeting. The one with detailed assignments for each agent. “In there you’ll find the five residents you’ve each been assigned to watch. Do not under any circumstance make what you’re doing known to them. Being inconspicuous is of chief priority in this. Report any suspicious act—”

  “Wait,” Trent says, daring to cut me off.

  I stop and regard him with an angry stare.

  “If you’ve already made assignments then that’s not my plan we’re following but rather yours,” he says.

  “Very good, Tiny Tim,” I say.

  “Name’s Trent, sir, and I’ve been working here for almost two years.”

  “Feels like longer,” I say with a bored sigh.

  “So, I guessed your plan, didn’t I?” he says, looking confident. “And also, if it’s your plan then if it doesn’t work, I shouldn’t be fired.”

  “As I was saying, you all will follow your five leads,” I say.

  “What about the rest of the employees in the Institute? The scientists and news reporters?” Trent asks.

  “Leave them to me,” I say.

  “You’re taking on fifty employees, but only giving us each five?” he says.

  “Yes, and I’m certain you all will screw up the assignments I’ve given you while I’m finding the fucking culprit,” I say as I exit the department room.

  Chapter Four

  The walls of the residence where I lived for the better part of my life hold a strange comfort. For almost two decades I lived in the executive housing in the Lucidite Institute. And although I swore I’d never again imprison myself in this windowless dwelling, here I am. The walls are bare now, not punctuated with artwork or bookshelves like they were before. Presently, I just have my luggage and the worn plaid armchair. That piece of furniture, like me, has moved around. And like me, the majority of its years were spent in this eight-hundred-square-foot, three-room space. I never minded that these living quarters in the Institute were half the space of my flat in London. What I minded most was the dull lighting and lack of windows. I never got used to it. I always woke up missing the presence of the sun marking the start of a new day.

  The knock at my door produces a growl from my mouth. The executive housing in the Institute can only be accessed by other Head Officials or housekeeping. Not one of those people do I wish to stomach right now. Well, ever.

  “I’m not home,” I yell, narrowing my eyes at the file on my desk. I’ve been working for twenty hours straight. Soon I plan to dream travel back to this spot and work for another eight hours. That was the schedule I kept before as Head Strategist. There’s a reason I left the job. It’s demanding. But there’s now an excellent reason why I’ve returned to this job.

  The knock sounds again. People really are persistent. It’s annoying and a trait that should be discouraged in those with a low IQ.

  “Aiden, I don’t have your Legos nor have I seen them,” I say.

  “Open up, Ren,” Trey says from the other side of the door.

  “How about you leave me be so I can keep your precious Institute from being blown to smithereens by a treacherous villain?” I say.

  Again he knocks.

  “For fuck sake,” I say, bolting to a standing position. I whip the door back as I simultaneously yell, “What?” I say it as if I’m going to be face to face with Trey, who is my height. Trey isn’t standing in my doorway giving me his typical expression of waning tolerance. It takes my eyes a moment to register who I’m actually seeing. I bring my gaze down low to the girl before me who is a head shorter. Adelaide’s lips are pressed together, her bloodshot eyes contrasting boldly with the green of her irises. Her hands are wrapped around her stomach, almost in a protective stance. I turn my head to the side, having caught Trey in my peripheral. He’s leaning against the wall, no shame on his face.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I say, restraining myself from launching a fist at his face. Then I remind myself that I don’t know how to punch properly and Trey’s pain isn’t worth me breaking my fingers again.

  “I’m trying to help you,” he says. From the look on his face I realize that a) he doesn’t believe his life is in danger, and b) he actually thinks this bold move will help me.

  “I don’t need your help,” I say.

  “I realize that I’m interfering and—”

  “Oh good, I don’t have to spell that out for you,” I say, cutting Trey off. “And just so you know, I will fucking make your residents burn the Institute down for this.”

  “I asked for his help,” the mistake-maker says. I keep my eyes off Adelaide, unable to stomach the sight of the girl.

  “I don’t care what she asked for, Trey. You have no right to drag her here,” I say, realizing Adelaide would have had to take the submarine to the Institute since dream travel is too risky at this stage of her pregnancy.

  “It’s my job to ensure the well-being of my employees, Ren,” Trey says. “And that means helping them with situations that they’re avoiding.”

  “I’m not fucking avoiding anything,” I burst out, livid at the accusations so plainly being made in front of Adelaide. I had no idea Trey wanted me to kill him. I take a steadying breath before continuing. “I’m trying to work a bloody level five case, run your strategic department, and find a mole that’s infiltrated your Institute because you’ve been too busy playing fucking house. Maybe stop interfering in the lives of Lucidites and start doing your bloody job as Head Official.”

  “Ren, nothing matters more than family,” Trey says.

  “Look…” I begin but pause when Aiden and Roya enter the executive wing, stupid grins on their git faces as they laugh about something, probably fart noises or body odor. They straighten and lose their cheery expressions as soon as they see us. Roya’s eyes snap onto Adelaide and then swivel up to meet mine.

  “Hey, Ren. Is this your—”

  “Mind your own fucking business,” I say, cutting off Roya’s question. I then step back and throw a finger at Adelaide. “Get in here,” I say, finally looking at her.

  ***

  I’m staring at the wall, arms crossed, when Adelaide finally stops pacing.

  “Why?” I say and leave the question hanging in the air, knowing she’s smart enough to figure it out.

  I hear her footsteps first and then she marches up close so she’s right in front of me. “Because you’re avoiding me,” she says.

  “I’m working,” I say, my voice louder than I intended. I roll with it. “How do you think I afford that flat in London? How do you think Dahlia pays for that mansion in Los Angeles? And who do you think pays all of your medical bills?”

  “I never asked for anything,” she says in a hush.

  “No, but you have expectations,” I say, turning away from her.

  “I do have expectations, but they are connected to having your attention. Or information. Or a relationship. But you think I give a shit about your money. I’d rather have none of it and have just you. I’d rather know you. Spend time with you,” Adelaide says, and I loathe the way she says such things in such a steady tone. I hate that she says such things period.

  She’s found a spot in front of me again which I would have thought impossible with her wide clearance.

  “Adelaide, you know I don’t have time for these things,” I say.

  “I know that you’re afraid of these things,” she says.

  “Don’t pretend that you’re my therapist,” I say.

  “What does he say about this all?”

  “He says I should run away and join the fucking circus,” I say. “I’m considering the idea.”

  “You abandoned me,” she says. Adelaide’s voice sounds desperate now, although I have felt that emotion in her since I saw her a few minutes ago. She was just trying to hide it.r />
  “I have a responsibility to the Lucidite Institute,” I say with an irked sigh.

  “And Dahlia? Where’s she been since she found out I was pregnant?” Adelaide says.

  “Oh, well she probably ran away. That’s what she does when the going gets tough. She runs,” I say. “But you knew that already.”

  Adelaide rubs her hands over a belly that has maybe doubled in size in the last month. Or maybe I just wasn’t used to seeing it in tight-fitting clothes. Nevertheless, it looks so much bigger than I remember even from a month ago.

  “You haven’t returned any of my messages,” she says.

  “I didn’t get them,” I lie.

  In response she narrows her eyes at me. “You could have come home, at least once or twice a week or something. It’s so much easier for you than most to travel and yet you make commuting seem so difficult,” she says.

  “I really couldn’t return,” I say.

  “Really? For over a month! You’re avoiding me because you’re mad,” she says.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Then you’re disappointed,” Adelaide says.

  “I’m not disappointed.”

  “Fine! You’re repulsed.”

  “Adelaide, I’m busy. That is all,” I say. This whole conversation is so bizarre. I hardly know the girl in front of me, and yet I know her better than anyone on this planet. I know how she thinks because of the powers we share. I know her struggles. And it’s bloody ridiculous that she seems to think that because of all that that I’m emotionally obligated to her. She’s confronting me with bogus expectations that I’ve failed to meet when that deal was never made.

  “Just tell me why you can’t even look at me,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I regard her now. Trying to really make myself look at her face. Nothing else. Just her face. The part of her that I can stand. “I just don’t get how you could do this,” I say, throwing a hand in the direction of her stomach.

  “Oh, how I could make a mistake? Like you never have?”

  “I didn’t know I was making a mistake at the time,” I say.

  “I’m not a mistake. I’m a person. And you created me. Why do you have to pretend like you’re so different from me?” she says.

  “Because I am. I never wanted children. But you’re nineteen. And you’ve kept this thing even though it’s going to ruin your future. And you won’t even consider giving it up,” I say.

  “He’s not a thing and he’s not going to ruin my life,” she roars.

  I pause. Run my hand over my chin and cheek, not because they itch but rather to cover my expression. Knowing Adelaide’s baby’s gender has a weird effect on me. Makes it feel real. Like it’s a person. A real one. Not just this atrocious idea.

  “And I didn’t want to keep the baby at first but that was only because I was scared. And yet I was too scared to bring myself to the clinic. Instead I went and tracked you down and learned who I was. You see yourself as a monster. You see me that way. And maybe we are. But we’re also incredibly powerful people who are superior with our skills even inside the Dream Travel race.”

  I open my mouth to interject but she cuts me off.

  “Yes, that power comes with a burden, but still. Look at what you have accomplished,” she says, throwing her hand at the wall, indicating the Institute. “Look at the people you’ve saved, all because of who you are and you used your skills for good. And I want to do that too. One day. And how can I get rid of my son knowing what he will become? You think we’re cursed with these powers. I don’t disagree with you. But what you miss with your faulty reasoning is we’re not cursed with powers, we’re cursed to be great. That’s a lot of pressure. I get that. I feel that way, and yet I have to accept it.”

  I press my top and bottom molars down on each other. Suppress the growl begging to escape my mouth. “I’ve never, not fucking once, had faulty reasoning,” I bring myself to say. The statement isn’t true, but it’s the only part of her speech I can address.

  “I’m having this baby. I’m keeping him. And I’m going to expect for you to help me. Not with money, but with raising a Dream Traveler right. Not like I was where I thought I was insane but in a way so he knows his ancestry. I want him to feel a connection at a young age with his race. And I want his powers fostered from the beginning. I want you to help me raise this kid right. I want you to help me raise him in the exact opposite way that I was.”

  Chapter Five

  “Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” I say, hurrying down the corridor of the fifth level of the Institute. Adelaide waddles behind me, panting like a golden retriever.

  “Where are you taking me?” she says when I pause to wait for her.

  “To the infirmary. You’ll need to be checked out after that long journey,” I say, furious on so many different levels. And now I’m also paranoid that someone will spot my offspring and mistake her for a beached whale that swam into the Institute.

  “Yeah, Trey said the same thing but I refused until I saw you,” Adelaide says.

  I narrow my eyes at the blue carpet.

  “I’m fine though,” she says between breaths. “Just tired, that’s all.”

  “There’s a lot of pressure changes your body experiences when you enter the Institute,” I say.

  “Well yeah, it’s underground, so that makes sense,” she says, finally catching up with me, her eyes roaming over the various motorized doors and the brushed stainless steel walls that are everywhere in the Institute. The sterile, cold walls are this place’s trademark; well, and also churning out goodie-goodies who interfere in other people’s affairs. The Lucidites Institute did churn out Vivian and she appears to be a soulless beast. However, I haven’t been able to track down the records of the time she was here. I probably trained her but I’ve instructed so many thousands of little shits that my photographic memory is still browsing the catalogue.

  “This place is unreal. I can’t believe you work here. It’s like a space ship built by aliens,” she says, her eyes wide and for a rare occasion she looks mesmerized. Usually she looks bored, like the world is a crossword puzzle constructed for underachieving kids.

  “It was built by the United States government so yes, that’s pretty accurate. Power-hungry alien-like people built the Institute,” I say.

  We continue the trek down the long corridor, but I walk at half my normal speed so that Adelaide can keep up.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that the Lucidites are a branch of the U.S. government,” Adelaide says, looking suddenly perplexed.

  “God no. The Lucidites have zero relationship with the United States government. They aren’t a bunch of self-serving criminals who repress their people using defunct systems that are meant to disempower, and wag-the-dog strategies that hide the truth,” I say.

  “Oh, good to know you have no opinion on such matters,” Adelaide says, almost smiling.

  “Trey is many things: a man who pokes his nose where it doesn’t belong, a religious fanatic, and a hider of truths. However, Trey Underwood is a good man. And the Lucidite Institute is probably the most well run organization in history,” I say.

  “That’s a bold statement. And also incredibly impressive. So how did the Institute become the Lucidites’ if it was built by the U.S. government?” Adelaide says.

  I scoff at her like the answer isn’t obvious. “They stole it.”

  “Oh, real do-gooders then,” she says.

  “Believe me, they are. The Lucidites stopped the politicians from testing on Dream Travelers. They’re probably responsible for stopping the government from splicing our genes into soldiers and using their powers to fight meaningless wars.”

  “God, there’s so many things I don’t know. So many things…” she says, her eyes glassing over.

  “Don’t look so overwhelmed. It’s just information. You’ll learn it in time,” I say.

  She nods, but doesn’t look much better. This is precisely the reason I didn’t want her intr
oduced to the Lucidite society or taken to the Institute yet. Trey knew that too. Learning you’re a special race of people with incredible powers is hard enough for a newbie to digest. I’ve seen it create real confusion in a person. But then to also be immersed in a culture that’s more advanced than the people of Atlantis is a boulder to swallow. Most are consumed with a barrage of insecurities. It’s intimidating and overwhelming when one first enters the Institute. For the Lucidites anything is possible. Anything. And that is about the best and worst idea for most to comprehend.

  “We’re in here,” I say, tapping the button to the infirmary.

  The door slides back to reveal a long room lined with beds and various medical and diagnostic equipment. Whiskers of wrinkles spring to Mae’s eyes when she looks up at us, at first squinting to take in the new visitors. She drops the clipboard on a table and bustles over. The woman always moves like she’s in a hurry while in the infirmary, like any moment could be someone’s last if she isn’t quick enough. It’s probably all this rushing around that’s resulted in her hunched position. Or maybe it’s just old age. She’s probably my pop’s age. However, when she’s outside of the infirmary she goes in reverse, moving slow enough to be run down by a snail. People always overcompensate in one way or another.