Diana Fenton
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe.
She just wanted this to be over.
Bequelia didn’t even bother speaking to her anymore. Though the counselor was seated on the chair opposite, she hadn’t whispered a word.
She didn’t need to. Why use words when she could just set her mind on Diana’s like a wild animal attacking far weaker prey?
The tears had stopped streaming down Diana’s cheeks minutes ago. It wasn’t that they’d dried up; her emotions were so chaotic, her body felt like it was shutting down from the stress.
Her mind… her mind was being pulled forcibly back into the past until she could feel the dig site around her, breathe its musty, re-filtered air, and hear the sounds of screams as loud as explosions right by her ear.
Diana tried to open her eyes, but her vision was now so all-encompassing, all she could see around her was the dig site. The stacks of boxes to her left where she’d always hide, the constantly humming drilling equipment to her right, and her parents – her parents right behind her. Right behind her calling her name.
Emotion cracked the last wall holding Diana back. “Mom, Dad!” The words tore from her lips as she threw herself at them.
Her father got down to one knee and swept his arms wide. They were like an invitation – back into her family, back into happiness… and back into the past.
Somewhere far off, Diana was vaguely aware of the fact she heard a voice, and it purred, “Good. Trust me and trust the process. Now just open up a little further.”
… Some part of Diana wanted to react to that voice – not just the words, but the mental control slipping through each syllable like poison dripping from a fatal bite.
She couldn’t react; all she could do – and all she’d ever wanted to do – was throw herself forward into her father’s arms.
She reached him, and he scooped her off her feet.
As he twisted her in the air, her gaze was swept off his smiling face and up. Up to the wall behind him.
No. It wasn’t a wall. Not to her. She could see right through.
“That’s it,” she heard that voice again, and it spat with such excitement, it sounded like someone was on the verge of the greatest discovery of their life. “Show me the wall. What’s behind the wall?”
Before Diana could glance at it again, her father put her down.
“The wall, Diana. Stare at the wall. Do it now.”
That voice kept ringing in her head, louder and louder. It wasn’t like the clear tones of a bell – it bashed through her brain like steel balls.
Her father and mother spoke… but the words… they started to fade.
She felt something reach into her mind – the same force attached to that persistent voice. It grabbed her – snatching her throat and shoulders like the grip of an icy comet come to life.
It wanted to turn her toward the wall.
Diana froze.
… She… that grip on her neck… it reminded her of something.
As the grip tightened and pulled her around, Diana saw a memory.
A memory of a man – a dead man – lifting her off her feet. A memory of a hand – a dead hand – wrapping around her throat and squeezing – squeezing as it tried to get to her light.
Diana screamed, both in her vision and in the real world.
It tore from her throat with all the violence of a sun imploding.
She rocked forward, her eyes blasting open as reality hit her. She didn’t need time to realize where she was and what had happened – she knew.
She was sitting in Bequelia’s office, and the counselor had just done something to Diana.
Bequelia wasn’t seated in front of Diana where she should be – she was behind Diana’s chair. Both the counselor’s hands were held either side of Diana’s head. And they were tensed like hooks.
As Diana rocked forward and jumped to her feet, Bequelia gasped, and blood splattered over her white lips.
Too shocked to say or do anything, Diana just stared.
… That… that woman – no, that psychic – had been invading her mind. If there’d ever been any doubt in Diana’s head that Bequelia had her best intentions at heart, it died now.
Diana backed off as Bequelia brought up a hand and pushed the blood off her lips and chin with one direct, hard swipe of her thumb. All the time, she drove her gaze into Diana like a knife.
“I want to leave. I want to leave now.” Diana’s voice shook.
“Sit down.” Bequelia strode around from behind the couch.
“No—”
Bequelia reached Diana and grabbed her by the wrist.
Suddenly, Diana couldn’t move. She became jelly in the alien’s grip as Bequelia dragged Diana over and shoved her onto the couch. “I’m sick of waiting. You’re on the cusp.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore. This isn’t helping me – it’s hurting.”
Bequelia chuckled darkly as she smoothed the blood from her mouth with another swipe. “You think anyone cares that you’re hurting? Now close your eyes, Diana Ray.”
No.
God. No.
Somehow Bequelia knew Diana’s last name. It should have been impossible, but—
Bequelia grabbed Diana’s chin, sinking her fingers in until it felt like she’d rip out Diana’s windpipe. “You’re going to show me what’s behind that wall, Ray. And you’re going to do it now. Then you’re going to show me what your father saw in his dying moment even if it kills you.” With that promise ringing in the air, Bequelia dug not just her fingers in, but her mind in with all its force.
Diana screamed, and she didn’t stop.
Through the pitching shriek of her voice, she swore she could hear the insistent blare of the door’s buzzer.
Bequelia ignored it as she sunk into Diana’s mind with more violent relish.
Whoever was behind the door didn’t like being ignored. They didn’t ring again. With a shrill beep Diana would never forget, someone entered the security override, and the door opened.
Diana let out one last scream as her consciousness crumbled out from underneath her like rubble under a rotting house.
Before she lost it completely, she saw one thing – one man.
Sampson Ventura.