Legacy (17 page)

This was probably unhealthy—co-dependent or something. My mom would have a few choice psych terms for it. But the sense of missing a chunk of my soul kept growing stronger—a twitchy discomfort, like steel wool scrubbing under my skin.

Ouch.

I scowled. What if Trevor got sick of me? Part of me knew he felt the same incredible connection I did, but the other parts said I wasn’t good enough for him—and they were shouting that first part down.
I’m a bad person. I don’t deserve to be as happy as I am with Trevor. God or the universe or karma will put things right before too long, and then I’ll be alone and miserable. What does Trevor even see in me?

I wanted to go to him right now and feel the peace of his arms around me. I ached to lose myself in the warm brown of his eyes. Trevor made me want to be a better person, to try to be worthy of him. Everything was better when he was part of it.

I ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like an animal in a cage, pacing behind the bars. My eyes fell on the book that’d been left on the table in front of me—Hemingway’s
A Farewell to Arms
.

Yeah, I missed being wrapped in four arms right about now.

My ninth-grade English teacher had been obsessed with Hemingway. We’d read
Farewell to Arms, Sun Also Rises, For Whom the Bell Tolls
, and
Old Man and the Sea
that year. I picked up the book and flipped through the pages, trying to re-establish the story in my mind.

We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others. We were never lonely and never afraid when we were together.

I groaned. Yeah, that about covered it. I resisted the impulse to just go and find Trevor right now…and just
force
him to allow me to comfort him.
Arrrgh!
I needed to calm down. Forcing comfort on someone isn’t the way to comfort him.
God, I’m such a loser. Clingy and needy and co-dependent and stupid.

I slumped back in the chair and listened to the minds around me. The whole building hummed with their mental babble. More telecommuters worked downstairs in the living room. Directly above me—in his office—I sensed Williamson shielding his mind, probably because I was down here.

Across the hall, an RV named Rick concentrated on Isaiah. He was old by Ganzfield standards, about thirty, and he had a nerd-cool sense about him—like a keyboard player or something. In his mind, Isaiah registered as a nebulous spark of green-white energy. That spark flickered against a three-dimensional map of the surface of the earth. Water felt black and cool in Rick’s mind, while living things seemed to pulse and shine a deep red-orange.
I’m ninety-four percent sure he’s near St. Louis.
It was so different from Rachel’s remote viewing—another variation in how RVs experienced their ability.

Two other RVs worked on computers. One updated tracking information on their map representing Isaiah’s movements and where he’d killed. The other checked his trajectory against the map that showed the known G-positives still away from Ganzfield—seeing who might be Isaiah’s next target.

I got up impulsively, not sure where I intended to go but just feeling restless. I popped open the door and startled backwards.
Holy—!

Zack treaded slowly on the stairs from the third floor, as though trying to avoid making any noise. His blue eyes flashed surprise at seeing me burst from the library. For a moment, we just stared at each other in shock. No one had snuck up on me since—well, since I’d become a minder.

I flushed. I’d been avoiding him ever since he’d seen me lose it so badly. Williamson understood the intensity of my connection to Trevor—he’d had that with Elise—but Zack had just seen the crazy.

Good shield,
I finally told him, as the silence stretched between us.
I can’t hear you at all.
It was true—he was an empty shell in front of me. My ability didn’t even register a person here.

“Thanks.”

I suddenly remembered how many times I’d seen Zack around the main building over the past few months. Was Williamson training him in shielding as part of his plan for taking down Isaiah? Did Zack know the whole plan, including what Williamson wanted Trevor and me to do? Was that why he still kept his mind so completely hidden from me right now?

My eyes narrowed as I concentrated on him.
I don’t think it’ll work if Isaiah RVs you, though.

Zack paled. Did he feel like he’d given something away?

Maddie, come up to my office.
Williamson’s order filled my head.

I passed Zack on the stairs. He escaped quickly, making no effort to keep his steps quiet anymore.

I flopped down in one of the empty chairs in front of Williamson’s desk.
Good job with Zack. I completely missed him just now. If I hadn’t come out when I did, I’d never have known he was there.

I asked you not to think too much about this
.

Trevor and I can shield well enough to keep things secret.
Besides, if Zack was in on it, why shouldn’t I know the plan? I could shield more strongly than he could.

How’s Trevor doing?

A painful ache filled me.
I didn’t come here to talk about Trevor
.

He read the situation in my mind, which answered his question.
Stupid minder connection
. I felt exposed and vulnerable with all my angst hanging out.

I want to know the plan.
I stood up—the idea of sitting here and getting a lecture right now made me want to blast something.
Trevor and I will come back when he’s ready. You can explain it to us then.

Williamson didn’t reply. I stared hard at him for a few seconds. I still couldn’t figure out what he was shielding.

And at that moment, I decided I just didn’t care.

I headed back to the church. Trevor didn’t want me around right now, but I just needed…I didn’t know what I needed. I felt…
broken
without him with me. I half-ran to the front door and fumbled to enter my keycode. His pain called to me from within.

Trevor opened the door before I finished typing in the code and pulled me close. I shut my eyes and took a shuddering breath as the tightness in my chest unwound. The woodsy guy-scent of his skin soothed me.

This may be really selfish of me to ask
,
but PLEASE let me comfort you now, okay?

He kissed me tenderly on the top of my head. “That’s kind of the opposite of selfishness, you know?”

Not the way I feel it.

“Maddie, it’s just—” His voice broke.
When I’m with you, I’m so happy…and it just seems…well…disrespectful not to hurt for Archer right now.
He pulled back to search my eyes.
Does that make any sense?

I nodded
. You and I basically got over the trauma from the massacre in a day—a lot of people here are still shell-shocked. I was messed up from being attacked before I came to Ganzfield, but being with you made it better. So, I understand what you mean. We just seem to—

—
make each other whole
.

Yeah. And you want to feel broken for a while—to feel his loss.

You understand
. He gave me a relieved smile.

I smiled back.
What kind of soulmate would I be if I didn’t?
The itchy, Brillo-under-the-skin anxiety that’d been building within me all day melted away now that I was here in his arms.

He laughed softly and pulled me close again.

“I spoke to Laurie today.” He gestured toward the phone. The yellow-grey anxiety stuck to his thoughts like old gum on the bottom of a shoe. “She’s really upset. Lilith told her that you and I—”

I felt the rest in his mind.
“It’s all your fault. Mom said that you and your strange girlfriend lured Dad to that cult for some wacko cure. My father is DEAD because of you! I hadn’t even known he was sick!”
Her voice had risen with each accusation, and then she’d hung up on him.

I tightened my arms around him.
Trevor, I’m so sorry.

His anguish rippled through me in dark waves. He’d yearned for their approval for so long. Trevor had never felt like he’d earned a proper place in his family—and now that family held him responsible for his grandfather’s death.

Probably just as well that those two women were in another time zone, because I really wanted to slap them both right about now. I leaned up and met Trevor’s eyes.
They’re wrong. It’s not your fault. I swear, it’s not your fault.
My hand touched his cheek.

Trevor shuddered.

A grey sliver of anxiety stabbed into my thoughts.
That stuff she said…you don’t believe it’s MY fault, do you? That’s not why you wanted to be away from me?

He shook his head. “No. Really. I just needed…I mean…Archer raised me…like a father. I—I needed to feel that loss. I feel like I should.”

Can I just stay here with you? I promise I won’t try to make you feel better.

Trevor’s poignant smile made my heart pang. “Just having you here makes me feel better. I want you to stay, but I need to be sad for a while, okay?”

We ended up on his bed, where he rested his head in my lap. I stroked his beautiful, dark brown hair as he showed me memories of his grandfather from his childhood.

In one, fourth grade Trevor had stayed up late, keeping vigil at the dark front window. A thrill of joy had hit him when he’d seen the lights of his grandfather’s car. Holding up a report card, he’d watched his grandfather’s face for a smile of validation. “Well done, son.” Archer had tussled Trevor’s hair.

In another, Lilith’s sister had scowled coldly at the little boy over fancy china. “I don’t know why you kept him at all. If my daughter ever had a baby out of wedlock, I’d have made her give the little bastard up for adoption.”

Archer’s face had flushed red with shame. “He’s still family.”

Even if he is a bastard,
Trevor added.

I tensed.
Please don’t ever use that word
.

“That’s what I am. Illegitimate. A bastard.”

No! I know what the word means, but I feel how ugly it is. That sort of ugliness isn’t part of you.

“Archer thought so.”

Archer NEVER thought that word around you that I know of
.
Trust me on this—I would’ve noticed.

“Maddie, you’re doing it.”

Doing what?

“Trying to make me feel better.”

Sorry.

“You’re not sorry.” A twinge of a smile tickled his face.

I can’t lie to you. I’m not sorry. I want you to feel better, but I’ll stop trying for the moment. Please, continue.

“Thank you.”

But watch your language
.
You’re talking about the man I love.

“Fine. Where was I?”

You were showing me your Midwestern, conservative upbringing.

Trevor mentally eulogized his grandfather for a few hours. We missed a meal or two, but neither of us was hungry. Eventually, we just sat together quietly. It was as though looking through the memories gave Archer’s life a sense of completion. Trevor drifted to sleep and I climbed up to my loft and let the exhaustion take me, as well.

CHAPTER 9

Tell us the plan or count us out.

Trevor held my hand as we leaned against the wall in Williamson’s office. We’d been at breakfast downstairs when I’d received his mental summons. Trevor had been adjusting in the four days since Archer’s death, but he still had moments when his grief hit him in the head with a brick.

The whole minder “family” had shown up for the meeting. Seth listened in from outside, and the office windows were thrown wide, letting in a warm, sleepy breeze that smelled of fresh hay. My mom sat in one of the chairs in front of Williamson’s desk, bristling with maternal protectiveness. Ann sat in the other.

Ann?

She sat overly-straight, seeming almost prim. Her thick, black hair draped between her slender shoulders in a girlish ponytail. She seemed paler than I remembered, and the large, hazel eyes above her high cheekbones were wide with anxiety.
Please don’t let me overload. Please don’t let me overload.

Williamson had convinced his niece to re-start dodecamine. She was a minder again.

Was this part of the plan to take down Isaiah? I could tell that Ann had even less of an idea what that was than Trevor and I did. She picked that thought up from me and met my eyes.
It’s just temporary. I’m stuck here until Isaiah’s gone so I might as well help out.

I nodded.
You don’t seem to be overloading.

Matilda’s got me on a lower dose now. I just have to have more frequent boosters.

Like me.

Exactly.
She’d gotten the background of the new treatment regimen from reading Matilda.

Williamson frowned at Trevor, and then at me. “What do you think you know?”

I minder-talked him through our conclusions.

His mind remained impenetrable, but his frown deepened into a scowl. Finally, he gave a long exhale. “I might as well fill you in. You seem to have figured out most of it.”

He dropped his mental shield and his ideas gusted out like a strong wind.
It all comes down to dodecamine. Isaiah only enters the homes of those on the drug. I’ve done the math and figured out how much the victims probably had on-hand. He’s getting an average of more than one cc a week—about five times the normal dosage.