Night Whispers: The Complex Page 5

  “Oh, so you call him Thras, now, do you?” Reve’s eyebrow cocks.

  “Quit sexualizing everything I say. He told us all to call him that. Everyone.” My brother’s getting to me. “Go take a shower. I’m sure you know where the towels are. I doubt if your room setup is any different than mine. I’ll fix us dinner.”

  “No, I want to finish our conversation,” he says.

  “Fine. Paki and Thras seemed to go at each other like dogs with stiff tails and ears, held high in aggression. And it seemed I was the pawn in the middle. Me. Who am I? Nobody, that’s who. I thought Paki would explode. Then, he simply turned tail and left. But I doubt if it’s the last we’ll see of him, what with his Wacher status and all. And why am I being so closely watched? Are you getting the same treatment?”

  Reve squints. “Not really, no. I think they assigned me in the sub-levels for a reason, though. They’re keeping me out of the way in the shitter, and they’re keeping you somewhere visible where they can keep an eye on you.”

  “We’re only petty thieves. I don’t get it. We’re hardly the stuff killers are made of.” I sit up.

  His stomach growls.

  “You’re hungry. Let me feed you. It hardly matters, anyway, because all we have is questions. Take a shower and then we’ll see if we can find answers.” I get to my feet and walk over to the kitchen area.

  “You’re probably right. I do need to get cleaned up. Even I’m sick of my stink, if truth be told.” He lifts his arm and sniffs. “This place disgusts me.”

  “And, for the thousandth time, I’m sorry.” I open the cold storage unit, taking stock.

  “I know you are,” he says. “I’ll get over it. And we do end up with a lot of S-Co. More than I could have made for us by stealing.” His eyes flit around the room from corner to corner, as if searching for listening devices. “Shit,” he mutters.

  “Paranoid much? They know that part. Don’t worry about it. Even if they are monitoring us, I imagine we’re not high on their list.” I pull out some veggies and meat-like substance in a silver squeeze-tube.

  “That’s the problem, sis. If what you’re saying is true, it seems like we are high on their list. That’s the thing I’m afraid of.” He points his middle finger at every corner. “Take that, assholes.”

  I let out a nervous giggle. But inside, I think he’s right.

  Chapter 6

  Sitting on the bed, I stare anxiously at my brother, resting on the sofa, his eyelids closed to our Complex nightmare.

  His elbow sits on the arm of the couch, his hand supporting his head. He looks so peaceful propped there. I sani-washed his work clothes in the WD while he showered, eliminating the stench. He’s clean, fed, and comforted. He’s always been a heavy sleeper. It’s as if his mind draws a barrier to his existence the minute his eyes close.

  For me, sleep is a terrifying state, especially tonight. Who knows what I’ll dream living in a ginormous metal bubble filled with Metas? I fidget with the bed covering. I nibble my lower lip. I chew on the inside of my cheek.

  To further distract myself, I stare at the stark white and gray interior of my dwelling. This place is blank. There’s no warmth whatsoever and we’re told we can do little, if anything, to customize our surroundings. The experiment is said to work best if our environment is neutral, nothing to reflect our past or remind us of our race. At the moment it’s not doing what I hoped—distracting me.

  Finally, words catapult from my mouth.

  “I’m scared to fall asleep, Reve,” I say, interrupting his post-supper drowse.

  He jerks awake and rubs his eyes. “Huh? What did you say?”

  “I’m scared. Surrounded by crazy mutants and criminals, I don’t know what the night will bring.”

  “Shhh,” he soothes. He stretches, yawns again, then gets up and limps toward me. He sits on the bed next to me, drawing me close. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

  “No, Reve, it’s not. I’m worried it’s going to be the same as when mom died—only worse.”

  His face sours, and he shakes his head. “Nothing can be as bad as that.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say, burrowing into his shoulder as if he can protect me. “That’s what I feel like right now. That same sense of insanity, like I’m going to be devoured by my dreams, not simply a voyeur to them.”

  “Come on, little sis,” he says falling into his soothing voice.

  If he’s using that voice, I must be freaking him out. I let out a shaky, shuddering breath.

  “That’s it. Good girl. I’ve got you.” His head falls against the wall.

  I feel wrapped in comfort. But then, a few seconds later, a snore emerges. Reve’s merely asleep.

  He jerks and gives me another squeeze. “I should get back to my apartment.”

  He pushes his feet toward the edge of the bed.

  My fears leap-frog back into my brain. “Can’t you sleep here tonight?”

  “I wish I could but someone in the lower levels let it slip we’re constantly being monitored.”

  “What? How? I thought you were only being paranoid.”

  “I wish. You know that glint of light high overhead you asked Paki about when we arrived?” He gets to his feet, wincing. His leg is probably bothering him still. I wish I could do something to take away his suffering.

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “That’s the eye in the sky. The ‘guvmint’ is watching us,” he says, resorting to slang. “At all times. If I’m not in my room by twenty-three hundred hours, I might not be around in the morning.”

  I stiffen. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I kid you not. That’s the word on the street. Or, rather, the word in the shitter” He pauses and looks at me. I must look as terrified as I feel, because he adds, “We can do this.”

  “We’ll get through this together,” I say.

  “Damn straight we will,” he says, winking. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Dinner at your place again?”

  He laughs.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll take care of you,” I say.

  “And I’ll take care of you.” He gets to his feet like an old man, not the five and twenty years of his actual age. He pauses before exiting. “Didn’t some old hag teach you how to deal with this shit?”

  My forehead scrunches as I scan my memory. “Yes! You’re right! I thought it a dumb idea at the time. Maybe it’s time to try it. Thank you!”

  After he leaves, I don my nightclothes and turtle under the blanket. I recall the technique taught to me when Reve and I were forced to live on the streets.

  “You say your awakening happened when your mum died?” an old woman had said to me through missing teeth, grateful for the scrap of bread I shared with her.

  I nodded.

  “That’s what happens. Tragedy can split your cells. Now, if I’m right,” she said, “you’re one of them people who’s like a sponge for other’s thoughts and emotions. They’ll be around you and they’ll feel better because they’ve dumped all their everything into you. And you’ll be burdened by every mood, thought, and feeling known the galaxy over. You’re like a vortex. A cleansing station. And then you’ll dream.” She wiped the air with her hand. “Only you’ll be transported to a place most don’t go to. You’ll be in the minds and souls of people. You’ll be privy to their secrets.”

  She went on to explain a simple technique for purging toxins from my etheric body.

  And so, laying here in this strange new world, I imagine washing others’ emotional gunk from my skin with my hands where it bleeds down an imaginary drain. The faucet streams with white light and water, cascading from the spout. I hold my hands under the flow until whatever’s in my cupped palms is washed away. As I do this, setting my mind and imagination to the task, I relax. As the last of the strange feelings I’ve been carrying all day is washed from my soul, I drift into the ethers.

  In my sleep, I drift through the corridor of my division, riding a thick current o
f emotion. People’s fears coil like murky yellow clouds, oozing through the doors and walls of their apartments. Their distrust hangs from the ceiling like black swamp moss. Suspicion and hatred pool along the floor in sticky chunks of brownish-gray. It’s overwhelming. I gag. Even though I’m in my etheric body, I’m sure I can vomit up something.

  I don’t want to see people’s secrets. I don’t want to know their obsessions and their longings, their anxiety and their fears. I don’t want to see a vampire’s lust or his victim’s erotic fright. Or stumble into a werewolf’s path witnessing whatever werewolves do. And so I seek a place inside my mind that’s quiet and perfect.

  As a teen, before our house got blown to dust, I used to sneak from the housing compound and slip into the woods at night, seeking comfort. Lit by the moon, I’d track my way down to a pond. There, I’d sit, listening to the Three-eyed frogs singing their throaty song, and the double-winged Singing-Star crickets, their wings humming a thousand beats a minute.

  Now, as I enter my dream-space, hoping I can avoid watching a gruesome scene taking place on the Complex, I bring the quiet pond to mind as a vivid memory. It’s difficult to do as I find myself wading through my fellow District Five dwellers nightmares. They appear as murky shadows. Some seem to cling to my skin as I focus on the pond. I wipe my legs of the emotional goo and bring all my memories of the pond to vivid life.

  I imagine making my way along the grassy path and freeze. A shrouded figure sits at the edge of the pond, cross-legged.

  It looks to be a man. No, it looks like a Meta. Some sort of conjurer. He holds a slender branch in his hand, stirring the water into lazy ripples, illuminated by moonlight.

  I slip behind a sturdy tree, not wanting to be seen. My insides crawl with fear, like millions of snakes nesting in my belly.

  The ripples glow with exquisite pink and purple, like jewels. He traces the same shape over and over again. As the stick moves, the gorgeous shape grows until it floats above the water, a brilliant, vibrating lotus blossom.

  What a curious thing for a man to conjure.

  It’s so beautiful, I’m hypnotized by it. I stare, slack-jawed until I realize the man is gone. I blink, rapidly.

  “Where did you go?” I whisper.

  Fingers curl around a handful of my hair, pulling tight.

  “I’m behind you,” a resonant male voice utters.

  I shriek.

  “Shhh,” he says. “You’ll wake the dead.”

  “The dead?” I stutter.

  Warm breath whispers along my skin.

  “The Lorn desert is littered with the dead. Zombies sleepwalk at night,” he says, holding my tresses tight.

  I shiver. “Zombies?”

  A chuckle escapes his lips, sending ripples of warm breath along my neck. “No, love. There aren’t any zombies. There are only freaks and mutants…like me.”

  I can hear the sarcastic smile in his voice but I’m not smiling. I’m unable to move, let alone breathe. I’m in the clutches of a Meta. I close my eyes and whimper. My heart stutters like a drum beat out of cadence.

  His free hand glides over my goose-fleshed arms like silk. He encircles my wrists behind my back, restraining my arms.

  “What do you want with me?” I ask.

  “Everything,” he says. He nuzzles my neck with his nose.

  I swallow. “You can’t have it. You’re an…” I shut my mouth, trapping the words evil monster. I should scream. I should run. I should do what Reve and I did every day of our lives for two years prior to the Complex—fight for survival. Instead, I wait. Expectant. Wondering what it would like to be kissed by him, as well as how fast I can run to get away.

  “What you call a Meta? I know.” His slow, even breathing soothes my heartbeat into steady rhythm. “But a man can hope, can’t he?”

  One finger pushes aside my hair. Four calloused fingertips make delicious swirls along the tender skin of my neck. They thrust into my scalp in gentle caresses.

  Releasing my wrists, his hands mantle my shoulders, like the wings of a bird of prey.

  My arms fly around my belly protectively.

  “Oh, how I want you,” he whispers, low and soft. “Your energy…it’s intoxicating.”

  Prickles ripple up my neck and along my head. “What do you mean?”

  “Shhh,” he soothes.

  “Who are you?” I say.

  “The real question is who are you?” His laugh vibrates against my back.

  A horrifying snarl rips through the trees like a Reaper’s scythe.

  I gasp.

  My night-stalker stiffens, standing rigid.

  Me? I’m right back in fight or flight mode, the state I lived in constantly on the streets of Wreston.

  Something crashes through the woods. It’s big. It’s mad. And it’s heading straight for me. I yank my hair free and run.

  “Citizen alarm. Citizen alarm. Report for duty at oh-four-hundred hours.” The message blares through the darkness, shaking me from my dreams.

  “What?” I bolt upright.

  It booms through my room, the corridors, everywhere. I glance at the digital timepiece embedded in the wall. It’s three-fifteen a.m. I’ve had four and a half hours of sleep.

  How am I going to make it through the day? I want to sink back into my dreams, the dreams I resisted a few short hours ago. Instead, I have to face day two on the nightmare known as the Complex. I know what I’ll be thinking about—who is that man and what does he want? And what the hell was after me?

  Chapter 7

  At work, my co-workers and I are taken on a tour of the Forest Dome, tromping through the woods like good soldiers. It’s a huge environment, acres and acres of green, seeded and tended by Uni-Land-Shapers, a specialized group of individuals diligently working to rebuild life on various planets. The trees are sustained by the climate controlled reality of the Complex. The right soil, the right temperature, the right bio-organisms—everything to nourish plant life has been considered.

  Apparently, Thras and his team of experts have been coming here for a couple years now, overseeing the building, planting, designing, and scheming of our new world. How they got these ancient looking trees to grow so fast in a short time, however, is anyone’s guess. Two years does not a giant make.

  We come to a halt near the huge silver doors in which we entered. Something is being said about, “our tour coming to an end…I hope you took note of the various species…back to Uni-Bosk Twenty-Three,” blah, blah, blah. The conversation sounds like wasps to me, humming around a nest.

  A pleasant breeze stirs the branches. The smell of leaves and forest loam fills my nostrils. I stare blankly into the artfully crafted environment. Gazing at the temperate coniferous forest, untamed or not, is a welcome escape from my Complex existence.

  I sink into the narcotic euphoria of last night’s dream, stirring memories of the touch that terrified and seduced me…and the hands that soothed and scared. Electric bliss courses through my blood stream.

  “Miss Borren,” Thras says.

  Like a towel snapping my behind, my musing is interrupted by my boss.

  I blink, coming back to reality. “Yes? I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m rather groggy from lack of sleep. What did you say?”

  His eyes narrow. “It’s important to be on top of your game here, Miss Borren. I expect my team to perform, and perform well. No mistakes will be tolerated. If you’re groggy, it’s on you to manage your time.”

  My cheeks heat to boiling.

  His duo-color eyes drill into me. “Are we clear on that, Miss Borren?”

  “Clear as a bell, sir,” I say. Unspoken feelings wire my jaw shut.

  Get up on the wrong side of the bed, jerk?

  I drop my head in submission, though what I’d really like to do is tell him to mind his own damn business.

  “Everyone,” he says, turning to face our team.

  I look up, thinking the pressure’s off me.

  Only, the other forty-nine team memb
ers all stare at me, or, at least I think they are. Some with out-and-out contempt, some with curiosity.

  Oh, come on. Being called out by your boss is hardly the stuff of preferential treatment. I glower in their direction.

  “Miss Borren has volunteered to lead our first research team.”

  And there’s the preferential treatment. Damn.

  I want to shrink inside my Uni-Crap black and gray uniform emblazoned with an orange U--the kind a convict would wear.

  He says the words crisply, as if it’s been discussed and decided on. Only, it’s news to me. My skin is on fire now, a combustion of emotion raging inside of me. I need an ally. I search for Naazira the same way I look to my brother for alliance and strength. Our eyes meet.

  She makes that same graceful shoulder sigh, her eyebrows lifting like rolling hills.

  She doesn’t appear to resent me, but maybe she hides it well. I attempt the same gesture, hoping I don’t look like a bumbling dork.

  “Who else would like to volunteer?” Thras scans the crowd.

  A few hands raise.

  “You, you, you, and you,” Thras says, pointing to both Metas and Humans. “And the five of you over there.”

  The heebie-jeebies of others’ anxiety crawls over me like maggots.

  Great. I have to work closely with Metas, not simply in the same building.

  “And you,” he says, pointing to Naazira.

  Her entire being lights up as if struck by sun-rays. I’ll bet it’s not me she’s oozing cheer about, though.

  “We’ll refer to you as the Eleven. When you hear an announcement for Uni-Bosk Eleven to meet, that’s you all. I expect a prompt response.” Thras nods, like it’s a done deal. “And you, over there…” He points to a couple of odd-looking females tittering at the back of the group. “There’s nothing funny about the work we’ll be doing here. This is serious.”

  Everyone stills like cows in a blizzard. The warm, engaging man from yesterday is gone, replaced by the cold military commander.

  “Is there a problem I’m not aware of?” he asks.