50

Aura tapped her fingers on the kneecap of her crossed leg. This twelve-step meeting started a mere ten minutes ago, but she was already bored out of her mind. Why did they choose this room, anyway? She knew there were far more spacious areas at TYL, which seemed to unfold new rooms every time she turned around. Why were they stuck here, in what amounted to an upstairs garret in one of the most remote buildings on the island?

Ten people huddled together in a tiny room amongst tall dusty stacks of book boxes, presumably recovery materials. Delightful. She’d been to meetings in smaller places, but she didn’t usually have to share space with a fridge. And was that a bathtub in the rear? Was this where the night watchman lived or something?

Somehow she ended up stuck in the corner with Harriet, who never said an unnecessary word, even now, when they’d gotten to know each other a little and survived a failed escape attempt. She wondered if Harriet was silent because she constantly eavesdropped on other people’s conversations. The other Shines were two rows back near the bathroom.

Why did all these meetings sound exactly alike? Apparently the format for twelve-step meetings was established back in the 1930s and no one dared change them. Each meeting started with at least ten minutes of rigmarole, rereading the rules and the steps everyone already knew before they got to the more invasive and irritating bearing of the souls.

For the evening meetings, TYL brought in recovery professionals from the mainland. The leader this evening, Barbara, was a short Goth-looking woman with more mustache than a walrus. “This is a meeting of Shines Anonymous. The meeting is free of charge and open to all who wish to attend. The only requirement is a sincere desire to stop using Shine. Are there any Shines here today?”

All seven girls raised their hands, telling Barbara what she already knew. Apparently this question, asked every single time, was designed to eliminate thrill seekers who might come to these meetings just for the fun of it.

The leader designated another woman to read the twelve steps to recovery, followed by the corresponding twelve steps of service. What was the purpose of reading these aloud? The steps were posted on gigantic posters on the walls. They were also printed on the first pages of the books they were given. She felt as if she were in the second grade, where the principal read handouts aloud, just in case the students were too dense to get it on their own.

Then it was time for the chips, which were awarded to those who had abstained from Shine for thirty days or more. She noted that Dream went up for a ninety-day chip. Was this the same Dream who had been trying to read her nightmare not long ago?

“Would anyone like to share?” Barbara asked, way too earnest.

She stifled an inner groan. She much preferred speaker meetings, in which the designated presenters spent most of the hour telling a tale of woe about all the miserable things they did while they still Shined. She noticed the speakers usually spent most of their time on what they did when they were empowered, while rushing through the recovery part in a few seconds tacked onto the end. Whatever. She was just relieved that someone else did the talking. She lived in fear that someone would call on her.

To her surprise, Dream was the first to volunteer. What was with that girl today? She never seemed the self–confessional type.

“I was a mess, back before I got myself straight. It really is an addiction, no matter what anyone says. Once I had a taste of the buzz, I couldn’t stop. I liked to tell myself that by reading someone’s dreams, I gained insight into who they were as a person. In retrospect, I see that was just an excuse for self–indulgent privacy invasions.”

Was Dream serious?

No. She could tell as she listened and watched the subtle alterations in Dream’s facial expression. She was having some fun with the powers-that-be.

It seemed her rebellious spirit continued to spread.

“I don’t subscribe to Freud’s theories,” Dream continued. “I don’t know where dreams come from, and I don’t believe they necessarily provide great insight into a person’s psyche. They’re just dreams. But I got a charge out of knowing something I wasn’t supposed to know. I even flaunted my knowledge on more than one occasion, and how stupid was that? Talk about playing with fire. I guess it’s true what they say about all Shines being self–destructive. I lived for the expression on people’s faces when I said something like—” And here she stared straight at Barbara. “—have you ever thought about showing up at a meeting in your underwear?”

Barbara was visibly taken aback.

“Or, have you ever imagined you were a vampire who staked your mother in the heart?”

The man handing out the materials turned pale.

“Or, do you have fantasies about having crazy monkey sex with the janitor?”

The woman brewing the coffee slipped out the back door.

Barbara spoke up. “Do you understand what incredible harm you could do to people with remarks like those?”

“I didn’t then. I do now. I kept telling myself that this Shine could be of value. Could be of positive use. Let’s face it, I was kidding myself.”

“You’re not the first,” Barbara reassured her. “Shines have often used the greater-good argument to justify indulging their disease. And how many recorded incidents are there in which Shines used their abilities to positive effect? None. It never happened. It never will.”

“I know that now. And I believe I have the strength to resist the temptation. Thanks to this program and TYL and all the good loving people I’ve met.”

Okay, now Dream’d gone too far. This was getting so treacly she was afraid she might barf.

“Thank you for sharing, Dream. Anyone else?”

Dream gave her a wink. She winked back. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Tank and Gearhead covering their smiles.

Even after their disastrous escape attempt, they remained rebels.

She had made a difference.

No one volunteered to speak next. Barbara’s eyes roamed the room, cruising for the next victim. Of course, even if called upon, you had the option to pass. If you could bear the scorn of the entire assemblage. And the possibility of a negative report, which could result in your relegation to Mordock.

“Kadey? Would you like to share?”

She had become so used to hearing Gearhead called Gearhead she’d almost forgotten the girl had a real name.

“I used to steal stuff,” Gearhead said, speaking so quietly as to be almost inaudible. “I mean, not randomly or anything like that. It wasn’t just the thrill of getting the five–finger discount. It was all stuff I needed. Or wanted, anyway. Stuff I could put to use. That’s the problem with my Shine. My brain is always buzzing, looking for ways to put all the objects and gizmos and gadgets I see to use. Sometimes I come up with the most amazing and unexpected ways to use things, or to combine two objects to make something greater than the sum of the parts. I have this knack for finding solutions to problems no one else knew existed.”

Barbara interjected herself. “That was your brain deluding you into indulging your Shine. You wouldn’t do it without a good reason. So it gave you what appeared to be a good reason.” Her voice dropped a notch. “Of course, the truth is, there are no good reasons. Just as there is no good reason for an alcoholic to drink or a drug addict to shoot up.”

“Yes, I know. I see that now.”

“Thank—”

“Sometimes, like when I used my Shine to repair my iPod, I got this rush all through my body. My eyes lit up like a cocaine addict’s. I was flying. On an all-time high. Like a sexual high, really. My whole body got—”

“Okay, I think we have the idea.”

“It was like a Shine orgasm, except it went on and on and—”

Mnemo covered her mouth.

“Kadey, I don’t think we need graphic—”

“My whole body started to spasm and my eyes rolled back and my loins trembled—”

“Kadey! We understand.” Barbara shifted her weight around. “Let’s move on to something else.”

Twinge practically fell out of her chair.

Her rebels had not lost their sense of humor.

“Let’s explore this common delusion many of you shared,” Barbara said. “The idea of using Shine for good. Give me an example of a time when you thought perhaps your Shine helped others.”

“I saw this little kid whose bicycle got stolen.” Maybe she imagined it, but she thought Gearhead’s voice increased in strength. “Another few seconds and the thief would have escaped. But I saw a way to stop him.”

“By using your Shine.”

“I had a gasoline can. And a Coke bottle. Spotted a stick on the ground. My brain put all the elements together and realized that if I put the accelerant in with the pop, put a sharp stick in the bottle, then lit a match under it, the stick would shoot out like a bullet. Worked even better than I expected. Knocked the thief onto the concrete. Kid got her bike back.”

“You used your Shine.”

“For a good reason.”

“Was the child’s mother grateful?”

“No. She was scared of me. But the kid was happy.”

“Again,” Barbara said, “more rationalization. You tried to make yourself a hero—to a child who didn’t know any better—when in fact you were nothing but a criminal. An addict. And addicts always rationalize or justify their addictive behavior.”

“That little kid was crying–”

“Do you think the police might have been the appropriate agents to catch a thief?”

Gearhead ran her fingers through her Mohawk. “I think it’s unlikely the police would’ve even tried to find someone who stole a kid’s bicycle.”

“So in your mind that gave you permission to break the law. To indulge in your dirty habit. Do you not see how misguided you were? You were in thrall to your addiction.”

“I don’t—”

“Are you in need of rehabilitative therapy?”

Rehabilitative therapy, they all knew knew, was code for “Mordock.”

“Not at all,” Gearhead said, more quietly. “I see how crazy my thinking was back then. And I’m grateful I’ve been given this opportunity to get healthy.”

“I hope so,” Barbara said, furiously making notes on a tablet. Did she submit reports to TYL? Was everything they said repeated to Dr. Coutant? Was this twelve–step meeting an information-gathering device for the powers that be? “For your sake.”

Barbara put down her stylus. Once again, her eyes scanned the room. “Twinge?”

“I don’t feel like sharing right now.”

“And why would that be? Are you acting out? Insolent?”

“No,” Twinge said, probably much too hastily. “It’s just–”

“It’s just that her Shine is so lame,” Tank said. “Not to mention disgusting.”

That remark was greeted by some stifled laughter.

“You’ll feel better if you come out with whatever bothers you,” Barbara said. “Honesty really is the best policy.”

“I know that,” Twinge replied. “I–I just don’t feel well right now. My stomach is bothering me.”

Mnemo snickered. “Couldn’t you self-induce some vomiting to cure that? Or maybe a megadose of diarrhea?”

Twinge covered her face. “Leave me alone.”

Barbara tapped her stylus against her tablet. “Listen to me, all of you. This isn’t funny. And I don’t like the attitude I’m sensing in this room. Shines present a serious problem both to society and themselves. Unless you get that through your pretty little heads–”

She stopped suddenly. Her eyes darted to the side. “Harriet? Are you using your Shine?”

Harriet was so quiet it was easy to forget she was in the next chair over. She saw that Harriet’s hands were up, moving about, as if she were trying to catch something invisible in the air.

Harriet tilted her head to the side. “They’re out there.”

Barbara threw down her tablet. “You are! Do you know how appalling that is? Coming to a meeting when you’re under the influence? I can assure you this will be reported.”

Harriet’s eyes remained glassy, focused on an indiscernible point somewhere in the distance. “They’re coming to get us.”

She crouched beside Harriet. “Who? Who’s coming after us?”

“The soldiers with the bombs.”

“Why?”

Harriet did not hesitate. “They’re going to take care of us. Every one of us.” She paused. “But mostly you, Aura.”

The ground rumbled.

“We’re completely exposed,” Mnemo said. “Let’s take cover in—”

The explosion cut her off in mid-sentence.

All at once, the universe turned upside-down. The world shook. The walls crumbled.

The floor rocked violently. Thunder exploded in their ears. A tall tower of books tumbled down toward her.

“Aura!” Twinge screamed.

She tried to get out of the way but she wasn’t fast enough. A box of books slammed into the side of her head. She fell to the ground, dirt and dust raining down around her.

The noise overpowered her senses. She fought to remain conscious, tried to get back on her feet. People screamed. Was this an earthquake?

Was this Seattle all over again?

And was it her fault?

The ground shifted again, throwing her violently against the wall. Her head banged against something hard and metallic. Her feet tripped over something and she crashed down again. She fought to keep her eyes open, to get her bearings, but it was all but impossible.

She had thought this meeting was hell before. Now it really was.

“Get out of here!” she screamed, but there was so much noise she wasn’t sure anyone could hear. Chairs flew one way, then the other. Smoke billowed up in thick clouds of soot and dirt, making it difficult to breathe. Debris flew across the room, every which way at once.

Then the floor disappeared.

She tumbled into the abyss, with no idea where she would land. Or whether she could survive the fall.