Chapter Thirteen

 

Ursula Masters knew that she’d signed on for more than she’d bargained when she realized the extent of the situation. This was not what she had agreed to when she decided to take the dirty, discreet, little job Roman Hadley had offered her. He had come upon her out of nowhere one day as she left the Financial Aid office at the university.

Her tuition was past due for this quarter of the term, and what little money she had left had gone for rent. Financial assistance for students had been waning, while the cost of tuition was rising, and she’d just discovered that she was ineligible for extra assistance, being employed and renting her own apartment.

The frustration of being unable to find a second job had bogged down on the shoulders of the short, plump, young woman in her mid-twenties. Her thoughts turned towards the idea of an under-the-table job, but even with her beautiful violet eyes, flawless face, and black hair, she knew she wasn’t the exotic dancer type. She possessed only one profound ability or talent—her clairaudient ear. The man in the limousine seemed to know that when he pulled up alongside her that day...

She strolled out of the FA office, letting the steam blow off her as she walked the campus grounds back to her car, a rickety representation of yet another payment due shortly. Suddenly, her anger and frustration became muted by the appearance of the sleek, black limo that pulled alongside her. An awesome stretch, she thought, must be nice. The car stopped beside her, and the mirrored window rolled down to her surprise.

“Hello, Miss Masters.” The man in the back seat with the silver streaks through his regal black hair had spoken to her. The fact that he knew her name drew her close to an edgy, apprehensive defense mode.

“Excuse me?” She asked with a questioning tone that asked unspoken, ‘How the hell do you know me?’ She bent down and stared at his handsome face.

“My name, Miss Masters, is Roman Hadley. I am one of the private benefactors of the university. Your situation with FA has come to my attention. I think I may be able to help you, as I have a little proposition for you. Perhaps, you’d like to hear details?”

“Thanks, but I’m not looking for a Sugar Daddy.” She turned away to continue on her path, and the car pulled up even further to catch her.

“I assure you, that is not what I had in mind, Miss Masters,” he said. “You see, I know that you’re clairaudient, so am I. Perhaps you’d like to hear about how your ability can save you financially?”

She hated herself for how quickly she got into the car with a total stranger, but the car pulled into the parking lot of the campus library, so they hadn’t gone far. She was also curious as to how he knew about her clairaudience, wondering who on campus was talking about her.

“As I said, Miss Masters, I am also clairaudient, like you,” he said, turning to her and smiling. I picked up your thoughts one day, here on campus, when you were thinking about introducing yourself to the university’s paranormal investigative society.

She made a slow, swift turn of her head toward him. So, this guy was a mind reader, and maybe a stalker, and here she was in the back seat of a limo with him, again, managing to find herself in the oddest of situations. She felt her desperation steal everything inside of her, leaving her in a state of complete submission.

“What I am in need of, Miss Masters—”

“Look, since I’m crazy enough lately to get into cars with strange people, no offense, I prefer that you just go ahead and call me Ursula.”

“Obliged, Ursula,” he said. “What I need is a personal assistant, someone to aid in the completion of an assignment that I am now undertaking. You see, I am the coordinator of a highly clandestine and effectively accomplished psychic research society. We research people like you all the time, Ursula. We are providers for those who want to understand more about what they possess psychically. Do you wish to understand it more, Ursula?”

“What’s to understand? My sister has it, my mother had it, and her mother had it. I can hear the dead, and can hear conversations over distances. It’s a psychic ability that quite a few people around the world possess, more than you know, and I am one of them. I understand, completely.”

Hadley laughed at her brash and brassy sense of humor.

“Well said, Ursula. Your job would be quite simple, attending to our subject with whatever is needed. Yes, it would be like being a babysitter, but I assure you, you will be paid handsomely for your work. Should you ever choose to enamor yourself of our expertise by studying your own psychic ability, we would provide you with any assistance as bonus compensation. I could also arrange an introduction with the university’s paranormal society when the time comes, if you’re still interested.

“Also, your work will not interfere with your class hours; you may come and go freely to accommodate and coordinate your co-existing schedules. Should you choose to accept the position, you will be paid one-thousand dollars in tax-free cash, per day, every day. The remainder of your tuition at this university will be taken care of by the time you reach home, and this, will be your starting wage, a sign of my good faith.”

He pulled two folded one-hundred dollar bills from his pocket, flashing them between two fingers. She felt her eyes stuck open wide and staying that way, the fruit from the forbidden tree dangling in front of her. She could probably quit her job at the diner, raking that kind of money in. Her bills would be gone; she could focus on her studies. Her thoughts began to wander.

“There is only one stipulation. As I told you, we are a clandestine research group, and therefore, highly secretive. You must never tell anyone where, or what, you are doing for a living; a cover will be provided for you. We insist upon your silence; it is required.”

She stared at the green relief being held out to her. There didn’t seem to be any other way, but if he had terms, so did she...

“I don’t kill people, and I’m not a prostitute,” she said, maintaining her ground. After Hadley assured her that neither was part of her job description, she’d snatched the cash from his hand and was in.

Now she stood outside the tunnel that led to the entrance of the compound he’d described, smoking a Marlboro and regretting her decision. Kidnapping was definitely not what she had agreed to, though Hadley tried to deny that was the situation. He’d become stern and almost threatening when she’d mentioned her concern.

“Do not misinterpret the scenario, Ursula,” he said with a slight rise in his voice. “Your only job is to attend to the subject; the boy is our subject. After all, if kidnapping were an issue, that would make you an accomplice, now wouldn’t it?”

There had been a brief silence between them before he angrily walked away. She was stupefied by what she’d just heard. What had she gotten herself into; how could she have been so stupid? Psychic research, my ass, she thought, taking another drag.

She smoked outside the tunnel’s entrance, but walked around awhile by the old, abandoned railroad tracks alongside it, not wanting to draw attention to the location. Smoking wasn’t permitted within the “compound.” No, smoking? I guess not, she thought, it used to be a mining facility. Something had to be done; she knew that kid had been kidnapped. She was also aware of the need to eradicate her thoughts around Hadley. Her grandmother had taught her that little trick, shutting down her thoughts so no one else could read them. Maybe that’s why Hadley was so irritated by her after she took the job; it was harder for him to read her mind.

Right now, she would play it cool and act like she was adapting. She would keep her mind closed and focus on how to get that kid out of here. She wasn’t sure what lengths this Hadley guy would go to, and what about this mysterious group to which he’d referred? So far, she hadn’t seen anyone other than Hadley, the two security guards, and the kid. Hadley was on the phone all of the time. Maybe this group was always watching...or listening. Her pulse quickened because what she was about to do was risky.

She put the thought out of her head, smothering her cigarette into the dampened ground beneath her with her foot, and walked back to the entrance. It was time to give the kid his tray...

* * * *

This morning, Ryan had awakened earlier, but still failed to catch a glimpse of the person bringing his trays. The only people he actually saw were the two guards and Hadley on the video screen. He sat up on the bed, keeping watch; today was the day he would meet Roman Hadley face to face. He sat and waited for it to happen. This afternoon he would witness, not having slept in, whether it was one of the guards or someone else bringing his trays. He didn’t think either of the guards would have left the note he found on his dinner tray last night. He’d taken his first shower in captivity, missing the deliverer of the curious message. It had read simply...

Stay calm! Hide thoughts!

He had already learned to hide his thoughts, yet he kept forgetting. Hadley was older and knew more about this than he did, even picking up a few of his thoughts during the video chat. Now, Ryan couldn’t help but wonder if this person bringing his food was also like him, a listener, as Sidney called it. What if this person was a prisoner also?

Other thoughts and questions clouded his mind like why wasn’t he hearing his father’s voice? What was happening to his mother? Was Sidney awake yet, and what if he wasn’t? They had told him that Sidney was going to make it, but a wave of anxiety swept through him when he wondered if he was sending his telepathic SOS’s to someone who remained unconscious.

There was nothing to do in this room; he felt like he was going mad. Surely, Hadley didn’t expect him to stare at the wall all day long. He was going to show the man the extent of his frustration when he finally saw him. He wasn’t afraid of him for some reason, and with that, he felt the slightest edge of the upper hand.

The click of the door caused him to cloak his thoughts, as though he were hiding a forbidden taboo or an unobserved weapon. The roll of the cart came next, and his eyes finally met the person who wheeled it into the room. She was a short girl with black hair, and when she turned, she stopped and stared him straight in the face, saying nothing.

He followed her lead, watching in silence as she brought his lunch over to him. She set the tray on the table next to him and lifted the lid that covered the dish, motioning with her eyes that seemed both dark and light, and somehow, violet. Underneath the lid was another note. Her stare was serious.

“Hope you enjoy your lunch,” she said, and covered the dish back with the lid. She turned and wheeled the cart back out of the room, closing the door with a clanking noise behind her. That sound was the door automatically locking, and her eyes met his one last time through its rectangular window.

When she was gone from sight, he sat in front of the small table to eat. One thing he couldn’t complain about was the food; his Mom would have been jealous of the cook. He lifted up the lid and grabbed the note, turning his head toward the window to ensure no one was watching. He opened the folded paper and read...

I will get you out of here...soon. Hadley—mind reader! Eat this note!

So, this person was a listener also. Was she working for him? Was she being held too? Who cares, he thought, she’s going to help me. He quickly buried the relief he was feeling because if Hadley recognized it, he would suspect. After all, he had to be watching her too.

He downed his lunch quickly, washing it down with the Coke they brought him with every meal. The next part of lunch was certainly not dessert, but it was essential. He tore the note up into tiny pieces, and then chewed them up in his mouth, making spitballs as he did in fourth grade, and then swallowed them one by one.

* * * *

How stupid was she to think that he wasn’t watching her, especially after voicing her concerns about kidnapping? How remiss of her not to think of the hidden video cameras placed inside the room to monitor the boy. He had a hard time reading her mind and hearing her thoughts; she was well accomplished in thought cloaking, but he knew she would slip in some way, and she did.

Then again, he should have known that she would never believe the boy was an active and willing participant, there to understand his ability. He naturally assumed that her need for money would overwhelm her moral concerns, but he’d been wrong. She had been feeding the boy notes—literally. Now, Ursula Masters was a weak link he couldn’t afford.

The echoing peel of the phone as it rang out through the underground shook him out of his thoughts. He answered the incoming call.

“Yes,” he said, knowingly and expectant.

“It is time to meet the boy face to face.”

It was one of the few voices he’d answered to over the course of the years. New voices had replaced old ones, and for some time, this one had been a male with a raspy and withered intonation.

“Understood,” he said.

“You must induce him to listen into the destinations we proposed. The words and the pictures may coax his ear in the direction we need.”

“It will be done, shortly,” Hadley answered, squirming nervously in his chair at the words that came next from the unknown authority.

“There isn’t much time. The man searching for you and the boy is named Wiley; he is not a fool. Prepare to evacuate if ordered. It has also come to our attention that you have inducted a possible liability into our organization...”

The voice awaited Hadley’s response.

So, they had overheard the confrontation after she began asking questions; they were listening. He erased his thoughts before he answered, like wiping away a crowded chalkboard—just in case. Those thoughts were now buried into his soul; after all, they couldn’t read his soul.

“Everything is under control,” he lied, swallowing hard. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“We know you will handle it, should the need to arise.”

The beeping sound told Hadley that the conversation was over.

* * * *

There wasn’t time to consider Ursula, right now. He had his first face to face meeting with the boy, and the slightest delay would rouse their suspicions. He left his bunker, and walked a short distance to one of the testing rooms, where he would wait for the guards to bring the boy.

The once underground mining facility, revamped by the group years ago, now posed as a subterraneous medical research laboratory. It remained unquestioned as one of the university’s various projects in which falsified results of fictional research studies were produced, and no questions were asked. It reeked of earth down here, stale and cold, nothing like the underground facility he’d been subject to in DC, but it served its purpose. What were once noisy, blinking machines were now high-tech computers and scanners, accomplishing the same thing.

The targets that the caller had mentioned were the remote listening points in which he himself had failed. His ability had strongly diminished in the passing years; what used to be remote conversations and fast passing thoughts were now random blips on antiquated radar. What once had been was no more, and he felt the quiet whisperings of the disappointment he presented.

Today, he intended to prove that when he disappeared, the group would have no reservation about placing Ryan at the lead of the operation, with guidance of course. The only change would be that he would be gone. He’d considered asking for a trade, a switch, but what if they declined? He would be exposed as a mutineer; they would kill him. There was no other choice but to disappear.

Once he was gone, he would contact her. She would find Ryan, and he would willingly unveil the group. Maybe then mercy would be awarded him, and he could regain some form of his life back, once he explained the last forty years.

But until then, they were listening...

He closed his thoughts and waited for the boy.

* * * *

The guards entered his room, and as usual, he felt no duress, no intimidation from them. In fact, they were friendly, but he suspected that had something to with his age. He recalled his teacher’s explanation of the phrase “kid gloves,” when they came to bring him to the testing room, as though they were taking him to school.

“Mr. Hadley wants to sit and talk with you, Ryan.” The older of the two guards had spoken—odd, because they didn’t speak much.

His heart raced, awakened by the inevitable invitation. He stood and put on his shoes, then looked up at the guards, ready. They walked him down the spacious corridor, his eyes catching sight of endless doors to the left and to the right. He realized that the rooms were where subjects were examined, and abilities were tested, and experiments were conducted. Even though the guards allowed him to walk in front of them, that’s exactly what he felt like right now, a subject to be examined, pointed at, studied as though he were some inexplicable microcosm.

Ahead, he noticed a room where the light inside spilled out into the corridor more than the others. That was where he was going, and inside, he heard a man clearing his throat and breathing meditatively to catch his nervous breath. It was Hadley; he could hear him. He stopped in front of the room and turned to the guards, allowing them to open the door and escort him in.

The room was basic, devoid of furniture except a desk and chair, a recliner, and a tall filing cabinet. The once decrepit walls still depicted cracks and scars that snuck through the painted white. The man he’d met on the video screen slowly raised his head, and their eyes met each other’s in subdued fascination.

“Hello, Ryan,” Hadley said. “You know who I am. Please have a seat.”

Ryan sat on the opposite side of the desk from his captor, feeling the blank stare of his face hardening into a mask. After Hadley inquired about the accommodations, he complained about the restless tedium he felt inside the room, with no television, books, or video games.

“We may be able to rectify that situation as your productivity increases,” Hadley said. “Remember, Ryan, your main focus now is honing your ability. You have something that not many others possess. It is a gift.”

Ryan understood what he meant; the more information he was able to feed him, the more activities he would be allowed.

“I want to talk to Sidney,” he said, adamantly.

“I’m afraid that is impossible, but you should know that our friend, Sidney, is doing just fine. I’m sure you’ve found it hard to communicate with him because first, Sidney is not a telepath, and secondly, his ability may be in jeopardy due to the trauma he suffered.”

A nagging knowledge from the pit of his stomach told Ryan that this was untrue, but he tried not to contest Hadley, feeling the need to play along, allow him to think he was in control. He definitely didn’t fear the man; there was something about him that made him unable to do so. Ryan couldn’t identify it; it was as though fear and pressure lived beneath the man’s exterior.

“As I was saying, you are unique, Ryan. Society shuns what you have because they don’t possess it themselves. Why do you think your mother was stringent about your not using your ability? She tried to suppress it in you because you’re capable of communicating with your father, something she doesn’t want.”

That last comment stole him away from his inner focus, and silently, he wondered if it was true. He’d always felt that there were problems between Mom and Dad, because he’d heard them fighting off and on, but they were problems he didn’t see. He’d ignored it all, hoping it would go away...but not the way it had. He’d soon forgotten about it, never mentioning a word to his mother.

“You must use this time, Ryan, to strengthen your ability, use it to help people. You can only learn how to do that, here.”

Ryan’s mind wandered, juggling in the circus of thoughts that Hadley’s words induced into his mind.

* * * *

He was fully aware of Ryan’s capabilities, and therefore didn’t waste too much time testing them. He coaxed Ryan into listening to the conversation the guards were having in another part of the underground. The boy closed his eyes, shut himself down to everything around him, and reached out with his mind—astounding.

When Hadley called the guards in, Ryan repeated their conversation, verbatim, producing reactions of tense amazement and proving himself to be of the highest caliber of clairaudients. Hadley stared at this prodigy whose ability had dwarfed his own.

“Ryan, tell me about your ability to hear the dead,” he said.

Ryan described for him the deafness, then the sound of the dead person’s voice, almost like an echo. All of it was familiar to Hadley; he had possessed the same abilities since his own childhood. He explained to Ryan how remote hearing meant that his telepathic side was just as powerful as his ear to hear the dead.

Then he saw the look of distraction on the boy’s face, the far away stare of his deep green eyes, as though he were listening. Hadley tried to glean what was happening, but was unable. The voices of the dead that spoke to him at one time had long maintained their silence toward the cause of Roman Hadley. This was why Ryan would be a much greater asset.

“Ryan,” he said. “What are you hearing?”

The boy casually turned his head to him, seemingly broken from a spell.

“Nothing,” he said, but Hadley felt the grip of his upper hand slowly slipping away.

* * * *

Ryan sat back in his room, silently overwhelmed by the rush of relief that surged inside him, not only because the session with Hadley was over, but because he had finally heard his father’s voice during it. His captor had been interviewing him regarding the dead that spoke to him, and it happened. No longer could he hear Hadley’s words as the deafness erased all sound, and Hadley’s lips had continued to move in endless unheard speech.

“Ryan, stay calm. They’re coming for you, soon.”

He relied on hearing his father, and he wondered why it had been days, right when he needed him most. Though he didn’t fear Hadley, the situation had knotted a lump of anxiety in the middle of his chest that burst and dissolved at the familiar voice. He had looked away from Hadley, and then quickly tried to hide the change in his demeanor.

“I will get you out of here, son.”

The words were fast and fleeting, then gone, and suddenly he heard Hadley asking him what he’d heard. Nothing, he’d told him, and he seemed to believe it. Obviously, Hadley hadn’t been lying when he described his own ability as having dissipated, or he would be listening himself. He had just failed at hearing the words of Ryan’s father.

Next, he was talking about listening to certain destinations. He instructed Ryan to sit back and relax, so he was now stretched out on the recliner. Then, Hadley showed him a few pictures. The first was easily recognizable.

“Ryan, this is The White House,” Hadley said, holding the picture. “Listen...”

Something about the smooth, strange, coaxing way Hadley said the word caused him to comply. The sounds from elsewhere took over...

“Mr. President...press conference...deputy...organizations...”

The words and the voices overwhelmed each other as many varied tones spoke out amid the unseen gathering of constructive confusion. He repeated what little he’d heard, explaining that sometimes, what he heard presented itself.

Hadley showed him other photos: the UN building, the capital building, as well as destinations along the US border. All of what he’d heard was varied and jumbled: voices, words, or nothing at all in some cases. The enthusiasm in Hadley’s face earlier seemed to be missing now as the wrinkles in his forehead made him look confused.

“You’ve done well for your first session, Ryan,” he said. “We will try harder next time, reach farther, try to search for important conversations.”

Now Ryan lay back in his room, almost sleepy, focusing again to reach out to Sidney. He thought of his father watching over him, knowing what he’d said was the truth; they would be coming for him, soon. The lifted burden from his shoulders caused him to slip away into much needed sleep.