Revived (The Lucidites Book 3) (12 page)

“She can and she vill,” the girl says, stepping in front of me, blocking Aiden. My mouth feels sewn shut.

“Roya, you don’t love him,” Aiden petitions, fists clenched by his side. “I will die before I allow you to do this.”

“Then you vill die,” the girl says, snapping her fingers. Two men materialize on either side of Aiden. They are towers of muscle, dwarfing him between them. Horror rips across Aiden’s face, but his attempts to fight their holds are futile. One seizes his arms, the other places two meaty hands on either side of his head. The next movement is swift, followed by a sickening crack. Aiden falls to the flower-covered earth as loosely as a bundle of rope.

“No!” I scream. My eyes snap open in my darkened bedroom. Hands jerk to my chest, which feels as if it’s been shattered. Bolting upright in bed I’m immediately restricted by the sheets tightly swaddling my body. Hot breath hitches in my throat as the image of Aiden’s dead body burns into my vision.

♦

“Can I have a private word with you?” I say to Shuman, interrupting a meeting she’s having with a dark-haired girl.

Her eyes glance at the clock on the wall, a surprise in them. Joseph and I had planned to news report after breakfast. I skipped the meal and came straight to the Panther room.

“We will continue this later,” Shuman says to the girl, who nods at her, then regards me with thoughtful interest before leaving the conference room.

“Something is troubling you,” Shuman says. It’s not a question.

“Yes. Ren explained to me how to stop Chase from entering my dreams, but I just had one and I’m not sure it’s working.”

“Did Chase actually invade this dream?”

“No, but it was about him. And it was violent, reeking of things he would have done,” I say, loosening the lump in my throat before continuing. “And there were Voyageurs I don’t know in the dream.”

“I think the answer to this is evident in why you sought
my
advice, rather than Ren’s. Your instinct told you I would be of most help, is that right?”

“Well, yes,” I almost stutter. Although I’m worried the dream means I’m failing to block Chase, I also sense it needs to be interpreted, which is a specialty of Shuman’s.

“Chase did not invade your dream. It sounds as though no one did. What you experienced was partly your subconscious playing out its own fears and also I suspect something else of great importance.” She cracks her knuckles before continuing. “Tell me, what did these Voyageurs look like?”

“One was a girl, maybe my age. She had reddish, curly hair. Then there were these two brute-looking men. They appeared so similar that I could have sworn they were twins. Maybe they invaded my dream,” I reason with a sigh.

“No, that is not what happened. For one, dreams cannot be invaded by multiple people. The way it works when someone enters your dream is they have tangled their subconscious with yours. This is impossible to achieve with more than two subconsciouses. Secondly, the people you have just described to me are Voyageurs who were once under Chase’s command. They are now dead.”

“What?! How would my subconscious know about them?”

“Your subconscious is connected to the universal source.”

“What does that mean?”

“Dreaming delivers you to a plain of existence where you plug into the source. As a clairvoyant you plug into the source when awake, but your connection to it is heightened when news reporting, meditating, and dreaming. All information, past, present, and future, is stored in this universal source. It is impossible for me to know why these figures were sent to you in your dream. Your subconscious retrieved them from the source for a reason. The reason is most likely connected to the assorted details in the dream, which I would strongly encourage you to interrupt. Your brother might be of great assistance with this, since he has a knack for the art of dream interpretation.”

“Can you tell me anything else about these Voyageurs that will help us interpret the meaning of the dream?”

“Actually, I can. I will tell you that when Chase tired of them they were murdered. Much the same way he does when he no longer has use for someone.”

I sit quietly, listening to the clock tick.

“Can I offer you an insight?” Shuman asks.

“Yes,” I say, desperate for anything that can untangle this web.

“Now that you know your subconscious delivers information about real events of the past while lucid dreaming, it will affect the weight you put upon it. It is possible that this dream has been a setup, to prepare you with the confidence you need to accept information yet to come.”

Shuman, too many times, has spoken like this. Like she’s aware of future events regarding my life and only gives me enough clues so that I’ll continue down the path she sees. I used to resent her for this, but now I understand that this vision of hers is probably a burden. Moreover, I sense she’s trying to help in her weird and mystic way.

“Be careful not to limit anything but Chase while lucid dreaming,” she continues. “Also do not try to control too many aspects of your dreams. If you do, you will miss messages being sent to you. Be a quiet observer.”

“Okay,” I say, spotting Joseph lurking by our familiar station, giving me a puzzled look. “Thanks for your help.”

“Is everything all right?” Joseph asks when I take the chair next to him.

“Yeah, it’s just whoever runs this universe is sending me weird messages. So everything is pretty much status quo.”

“All right, we’ll discuss the mysterious meaning behind
that
statement after we news report. Have fun and get good stuff, little sis,” Joseph says, lying down in his own recliner.

“You too, big Joe.” I smile, clapping the headphones into place and closing my eyes.

Darkness seeps across my mind’s eye, replacing the glow of the purplish light overhead—a sign I’m about to receive a news report. I’ve entered the void, the place where all my news reports are delivered. A sound similar to thunder echoes around the blackness. A light, like sun reflecting off a mirror, pierces my vision, blinding me momentarily. The ground in the premonition rocks with a minor earthquake. Fabric arises into my vision, flowing like a flag in the wind. White and black.

The camera lens retracts until I spy two legs marching across iridescent blue carpet in slow motion. Each confident step is a trespassing, dripping with an ominous threat. One that rockets across my chest, assuring that what comes next doesn’t just endanger me, but everyone I know.

Everything speeds up into real time. The vision blacks out, like I’ve lost the signal. Then it flashes with a new intensity. It’s almost too bright to focus upon, like I’m staring into the sun, trying to make out its shape. Still I stay focused until the foreboding presence is as crisp as a blade of grass. Right then I know something which empties all hope from my being: soon Zhuang will invade the Institute.

Chapter Sixteen

P
anic spears me at the sight of Zhuang. Somehow he’s more majestic than the last time I saw him. Starched black and white robes sharply whip around his body as he strides, closing the space that exists between him and a door. A yellow fingernail––filed into a sharp point––presses the button. I glimpse the placard above it:

Head Official

Trey Underwood

The door hasn’t even fully slid back when Zhuang slithers into the office. A guttural sound of frustration explodes from the ancient madman. Instantly he’s back in the hallway, standing stock-still. He sniffs the air. Narrows menacing eyes. Charges forward.

Determination marks his snakelike golden eyes, which look rimmed with coal. He reaches behind his head, his sleeve falling down to reveal long, sinewy muscles. With a jerk he rips the sword out from behind his back. The one he used to kill Whitney with. Stab Joseph with. Was a moment away from ending me with.

A roar like that of a territorial lion erupts from Zhuang’s mouth. To my horror an individual runs out of an office, a look of concern on the white coat’s face. Instantly the man’s expression falls slack. He stumbles, dropping on his rear end and crab walks backward in sudden panic. Zhuang raises a hand up, up, up into the air. Simultaneously the scientist levitates horizontally until his nose is touching the cold stainless steel ceiling. His head rips back and forth, tortured by the uncertainty of what comes next. A cold chuckle falls out of Zhuang’s paper-thin lips. At lightning speed, he zigzags his bony hand through the air. The hovering body follows suit slamming back and forth between the Institute walls like a ping-pong ball. Each collision is harder than the last, accompanied by the sounds of cracking and screams. Finally, the body crumples to the blue carpet, blood smearing the places where it waylaid the steel walls.

A swarm of white coats empties out into the hallway. Individually their eyes dart to the man’s body, then to Zhuang, standing squarely in the middle of the corridor, some ten feet away. Most run. One dives back into his office. A woman slumps against the wall, most likely dream traveling.

Zhuang gives an irritated expression as he steps over the dead body, continuing on his path. “Run or hide but you will all still die.” His voice comes out in a low growl.

♦

A choking scream rips me out of the premonition. “They have to get away! They have to!” I yell. Shooting upright, I cause my headphones to be yanked off my head and clatter to the floor. Sweat drenches my shirt, making it cling to my chest. Joseph flings his headphones off and is at my side at once.

“What is it?” he says, gripping my arm. “Are you all right?”

“Third level! They have to get away!” I say through hyperventilated breaths.

“Stark.” Joseph searches my eyes, which wildly dart around my head. “Is someone in danger?”

“We all are.” A shiver shoots down my spine, worsened by the sweat against my back. “Come on.” I tug Joseph’s hand as I sprint out of my chair and down the darkened hallway.

How long do we have?
What if we have only minutes? What if all the white coats are already in danger?
The adrenaline has a hold of me right now, but as soon as it abates I’m going to be riddled with anxiety.

I scan the conference room and don’t find Shuman. Still sprinting, I check each of the training areas with haste. Left with no other options I slam my hand against the button for the door at the end of the long corridor. It slides back and gold light streams through the dark hallway, causing my eyes to squint. Shuman jerks to a standing position behind the table in the center of the room. A map sits in front of her.

“Excuse me, Roya,” she says, confounded and enraged by my interruption. “These are private quarters.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” I stride across the room in three steps. “For now I have a report that needs your immediate attention.”

I take a tentative glance at Joseph beside me. His expression makes me certain that he half suspects what I’m about to divulge.

“Well, go on.” Shuman’s voice is calm but anxious.

“Zhuang,” I say, trying to steady my breath.

Joseph straightens. Shuman blinks with disbelief.

“You have seen a report that involves Zhuang?” she asks, her words uncharacteristically fast.

I nod. “In the future, maybe in a few minutes or several weeks, Zhuang is going to break into the Institute.” My words taste like cement in my mouth. I want to spit them out, but instead I swallow the harsh bits of rock.

Shuman’s chin, which is held high, slowly lowers until it is an inch from her chest. Her eyes shift from side to side. Mouth pinched. “Go on.”

“Zhuang was looking for Trey,” I say, feeling Joseph jerk beside me but unwilling to look at him. “That’s where the vision started. At Trey’s office.”

“He did not find him?” Shuman asks.

“He did not.”

“What did you see of Zhuang’s actions?”

I shudder, too easily remembering the man’s broken body. “Murder. A scientist. Third level. And he was after more,” I say in chopped sentences.

“He’s coming to destroy the Institute,” Joseph undertones as if talking to himself.

“I suspect he is coming for much more than that,” Shuman says, drawing in a long breath. “He is coming to steal power. Trey’s for sure. And yours,” she says, eyes pinning on me.

“But he’s still gonna kill us all,” Joseph says.

“I only saw him kill
one
person.” My attempt at reassurance is lousy. This is the news Joseph has been bracing himself for, but not exactly in this way. He knew Zhuang would return, but none of us could have guessed he would enter the Institute. I actually didn’t even think it was possible.

“I will need a description of this person Zhuang killed.” Shuman appears to be calculating. “Your report might have just prevented the deaths of many scientists.”

“But the rest of us are doomed,” Joseph says in a ghostly whisper.

Although we’re usually pretty disagreeable, I lock my eyes on my brother and nod. He’s right. Soon we’re headed for a catastrophe.

Chapter Seventeen

J
oseph and I agree not to discuss Zhuang over lunch. I feel the regret and shame swelling in him like rising dough. With each passing minute the pressure grows and soon I think it will cocoon both of us. I nudge him under the table, a gesture he’s done to me a dozen times when I’m wearing a melancholy face. He nods in understanding and plasters a giant, fake smile across his mouth. “Better?” he whispers through clenched teeth.

“Now people are going to stare at you for totally different reasons. Tone it down a bit,” I say in a hush, careful not to let anyone else at the table pick up on our conversation.

“How’s it that you’re so calm? Zhuang is coming after you.”

“It’s called a poker face. I inherited it from Trey.”

“Yeah, you must have. It’s brilliant.”