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After the failed search for answers, I drive to my training appointment with James. I step out of the elevator expecting to find him waiting again, but he isn’t there. I go downstairs and find Aydan at the foot of the steps. He’s wearing his medical lab coat over black jeans and t-shirt.
“What’s with the coat? Aspiring to be a lab technician?” I snicker.
“You’re late,” he says, ignoring my question. He looks paler than ever. He seriously needs some sun.
“Where’s James?” I try to ignore the buzzing that started inside my head as soon as I saw Aydan.
“He had to go out of town, so you’re stuck with me.” He exhales with discontent and I’m sure he means he’s stuck with me. “Anyway, James said we should try meditation again.” He starts walking toward the gym pod, looking as if he’d rather be headed to the dentist. His jet-black hair is a mess in the back. It looks funny.
“After the way it turned out yesterday? You must be kidding.”
He glares at me over his shoulder. “Look, I’ve got better things to do than listen to you whine. So if you think you’ve got nothing to learn, why don’t you do us both a favor and go home?”
What is wrong with this guy? One minute he’s defending me from Blare, the next he’s ready to kick me out on the street. What is he trying to prove? That I’m weak? Whatever it is, I won’t give him the satisfaction. I swallow my anger and follow him. His lab coat swings from side to side.
As soon as we enter the gym pod, he kicks off his shoes and sits on a yoga mat. “Okay, let’s get started. And if I hear any complaints or snide comments I’ll go back to doing real work.”
Cursing inwardly, I take off my shoes and sit in front of Aydan.
“Let’s start with some breathing,” he instructs.
His clipped tone puts me on edge. This isn’t going to work. To be able to meditate successfully, peace is indispensable. Aydan makes me want to go to war. Besides I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of him. I have my pride to consider.
“Um, I don’t really think this whole meditation thing is gonna work for me. Thought-jumping and exercise work, but I’m not on board with this whole New Age approach. It’s counter-intuitive.”
“It’ll work,” Aydan says with irritation as he watches me with unnerving, dark eyes. “You just have to practice.”
“Do you do it?”
“Every. Day,” he says, pronouncing each word with emphasis. “We all do. That is how James, Kristen and Rheema control their agents.”
I take it he doesn’t have his own agent under control yet, but I don’t ask.
“You don’t have to be afraid of it because it’s new,” he mocks.
“I’m not afraid.” My voice cracks with the lie.
Aydan’s unwavering eyes soften a little, showing me a glimpse of that other side of him, the side that defended me from Blare, the side that knows too well what I’m going through.
I clear my throat. “I realize new things might help. I mean, James showed me that ring trick. And, even though I didn’t care much for it, pain worked when nothing else would.”
One of Aydan’s eyebrows makes a steep arch and he leans away from me slightly. He looks defensive, but maybe I’m misreading him. Maybe he’s passing judgment. Maybe the use of pain is considered shameful. I stare at the edge of my mat for a moment. It’s bright red. Perhaps he just finds me unimaginative. He makes me feel dumb.
“What about you?” I challenge. “What did you used to do before James showed you meditation? Or did you figure that one out all on your own?” I can’t help the sarcasm in my voice. I don’t know if Symbiots have some sort of etiquette and this kind of question is rude, but I want to know why he’s judging me
“No. I had never tried it before,” he responds with such honesty that I’m taken aback. “I was like you. It never occurred to me that something like meditation might work. How could it when thought-jumping did the trick most of the time? Meditation brings an absence of thought that couldn’t be farther away from that,” he says with dry amusement.
“I also wrote code, tons of it,” he continues. “Hacking challenges are great brain exercises. It’s a form of thought-jumping on steroids, I guess. You know what I mean. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve been using coding, too.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking back to all the complex hacking routines I’ve written. “I guess I have.” Aydan’s expression is more open now. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought and he just takes time to warm up to people.
Benefit of the doubt: granted.
Aydan runs a hand across his forehead. For the first time, I look at him openly. The contrast between his pale skin and jet-black hair is startling. I wondered why I never noticed? His lips are full and pink, his nose almost perfect. There’s a certain sadness in his eyes that makes him look wise, somehow.
“I also used pain when everything else failed,” he says, lifting his chin high as if waiting for me to disapprove of this method. He holds my gaze defiantly.
As I try to understand his demeanor, it occurs to me that he wasn’t passing judgment on me for using the spiked ring. He was being defensive since I said I didn’t care for using that method, even if it worked. I suddenly wonder if Aydan is a cutter and feel embarrassed for the thought. It’s none of my business.
“Yep, pain kicked my butt into shape,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
Suddenly, his face looks old and tired. The circles under his eyes are darker than before and deep frown lines cross his forehead. I never stopped to wonder how old Aydan is. He can’t be that much older than me. Eighteen? Nineteen?
“Can we start now?” he asks, looking so tired I want to invite him to nap on the mat.
I grit my teeth, still skeptical the process will work. “No. I’m sorry, but I need more than vague explanations to buy into this. James is so ... frustrating all the time. He hardly ever tells me anything. It’s like he’s feeding me tiny pieces of some huge secret that I’m ready to swallow whole. Like the whole Symbiot thing. I don’t believe this parasite is responsible for any of my skills. Who buys into that crap?”
“Oh, I buy into it, all right. You will too, as soon as you see what James and Rheema can do.”
“What can they do?” I ask, puzzled, trying not to let my imagination fly with it, especially if it’s anything like what I saw that guy do at Elliot’s mansion. At the thought of the man, an ice cube settles in the back of my neck. I roll my shoulders to dispel the chill.
“That’s up to James and Rheema to divulge.”
“O-key doke. I guess everyone around here subscribes to the cryptic club.” Aydan doesn’t laugh at my joke. Maybe the agent ate his sense of humor. I wonder if that’s possible. What if I’ve lost pieces of myself and I don’t even know it?
“Look, Marci, James has been doing this longer than you and I. He’s lived with secrets for a while now. You know how that is, don’t you? It’s in his nature to be like that. Don’t think it’s anything personal.”
I cross my arms. “You tell me then.”
“I told James I don’t have patience for this,” he says, exasperated.
“Okay, just answer me one question and I’ll get out of your way. I promise.”
“I’ll answer anything,” he says, leaving no doubt as to how badly he wants to get rid of me.
Good. His company is a thorn in my side, too.
Benefit of the doubt: revoked.
“If I’m to put myself through meditation again,” I begin, “I need to know how it’ll help me control the agent.”
Aydan stands and reaches for his shoes. “I know it’s hard to believe. I didn’t believe it at first. But you’ll learn to take advantage of the agent. It is a symbiotic relationship.”
Again with that. I roll my eyes but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy fighting to stuff his foot inside the tied tennis shoe.
“The only benefit for the agent is having a place to subsist. You, on the other hand, will benefit in ways you can’t even begin to imagine, ways that will surprise you. And while you’re at it, you’ll also put the bastard behind bars. And once you have it there, it’ll do your bidding. It will serve you. Not the other way around.”
There is satisfaction and deep hatred in each of Aydan’s words, and his eyes shine like someone bent on revenge. His entire expression, I realize, is a living portrait of the exact way I feel inside. All I’ve ever wanted is to be rid of this thing. Hearing James say that he saw no possible cure any time soon broke something inside me. But maybe I understand what he meant when he said I would come to terms with it.
If I can’t be rid of the agent, I’ll definitely settle for controlling it, for making it my prisoner. If James and the rest can teach me how to do that, if that is the only way I can make the agent pay for what it’s done to me, my childhood, my family, then I will control it and jail it. And I will do it until the day I’m able to kill it or the day I die trying.
Aydan gives up trying to stuff his foot inside the shoe. He picks it up, sits on a nearby workout bench, and pulls on one of the strings.
After a deep breath, he says, “Now, to understand how some New Age om crap is going to help you—especially when you rely on methods that overwhelm the agent with random thoughts—you have to understand what the agents crave.” He says the word with intensity, teeth bare, eyebrows tight, eyes fierce.
“What is it?” I say, drinking in every bit of information.
“They want the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes that the human body can experience, and they want them desperately. Think about it. Without a host, they have nothing. They’ve no limbs, no mouths, no ears. They’re nothing without us.
“That’s why they crave to be you, so they can experience what it is to be truly alive. Try to imagine yourself deaf, blind, mute, unable to feel, all at the same time. Imagine you were born that way and you’re fully aware of those impediments. How do you think you would feel?”
I know exactly how I would feel. I don’t have to imagine it. Doesn’t he know I’ve been shadowed?
“Imagine never tasting tea or spicy food,” Aydan says.
Odd choices, but I approve.
“Or never being aware of colors, like in a sunset or the aurora borealis,” he finishes wistfully.
I think of being unable to see Xave’s hazel eyes and that special shade of green they acquire when he’s happy. The thought is so sad and random, it makes me cringe.
Living like that would be freakin’ torture.
Torture?!
Suddenly my thoughts are an avalanche, overwhelming me with their speed. The agent craves the sensations we humans take for granted. They’re nothing but smart ... rocks that can’t experience the world on their own. And Aydan said they’re aware of it.
“I see it clicked,” Aydan says, watching me with interest. “Do you understand now why painting your mind into a blank canvas is the perfect way to teach the agent to obey you?”
“Yes,” I say with fire in my voice. If I empty my mind, the agent would have nothing. It would be trapped inside a desolate, torturous hell. The realization is perfect. Exquisite, really.
“That’s why you must master the skill. It’s indispensable. Think of the agent as a ... toddler that you’re trying to teach not to misbehave. Once you can meditate without losing control, you’ll begin using it as punishment. As a form of time-out, if you will. Very quickly, the agent will learn that if it tries to shadow you, you’ll torture it by depriving it of all the things it craves. Before long, it’ll resign itself to living vicariously through you. When that is done, the real training will begin.”
I nod as I stare at my mat, mind reeling with possibilities. Most of all, I find myself filled with immense pleasure at the idea that I can torture the agent the way it has tortured me all these years.
Aydan finishes lacing his shoes. “Now, get out of here. I’ve no more time for you.”
***
AFTER MY EYE-OPENING conversation with Aydan, he rushes out of the gym pod back to work. I sit for a moment, contemplating the possibility of torturing my agent. A smile creeps up my lips, a clear sign of the pleasure this idea gives me. I stand and walk to the water cooler, still smiling.
“Had a good session?”
I turn and see Rheema walking in, a yellow squeeze ball between her greasy fingers.
“Yeah, I think so.”
She throws the ball up in the air and catches it. I pour water into a cone-shaped paper cup.
“It’s good to have another girl in the team,” Rheema says.
“What about Kristen?” I ask.
Rheema shrugs. “She’s always too busy. Plus,” she whispers, placing a hand by her mouth, “she’s old.”
Kristen isn’t old, old. She’s probably in her mid-forties like James, but I know what Rheema means.
“Aydan is young,” I say, guessing they’re both probably around eighteen or nineteen.
“Hmph! In case you haven’t noticed, Aydan has a stick up his ass.”
I throw the crumpled cup in the garbage bin. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”
“He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else and acts as if the rest of the world is a nuisance or a burden he has to put up with.”
I walk closer to Rheema and speak in a hushed tone. “What’s with the lab coat?”
Rheema laughs openly. “Ah, the lab coat. Don’t get me wrong, the guy’s smart, but just like many people with high IQs, he’s a little touched.” She puts a finger on her temple. “I think the coat has something to do with the pictures he’s taped to the server racks, but who knows?”
“What pictures?” I ask.
“I dunno. Scientists, physicist. All geniuses, I think.”
Pictures of geniuses? I roll my eyes, thinking how conceited he must be. Yep, I have to agree with Rheema; he has a stick up his ass.
“What about you? How long have you been with James?” I ask.
“About a year. Aydan about five months ago and now you. James and Kristen have been at it longer—not sure how long, though.”
“Was James secretive with you, too?” I ask. “He won’t tell me anything!”
Rheema sits on a workout bench and bounces the ball between her legs. “Yep. That’s just how he is. I don’t sweat it anymore. He doesn’t even do it on purpose. It’s just in his nature.”
“I’m getting a bit tired of it,” I say in the understatement of the century.
She shrugs as if to indicate that’s my problem, which I guess it is.
“How long have you been ... ?” I fidget, unable to add “infected” at the end of my question. It feels too personal.
Rheema stands, squeezing the ball in a tight fist. “I don’t like to talk about it,” she says, proving that indeed I’ve crossed a line.
Shame makes my cheeks feel hot. “Sorry, I—I’m not sure how long it has been for me or who did it. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but the only clues I had led me nowhere.”
Her face has gone from open and happy to remote and grieved. I bite my tongue wishing I hadn’t said anything.
“Trust me, Marci,” she says, her eyes dark with hatred, “sometimes it’s better not to know.”
And with that, she walks out, leaving me to ponder whether ignorance would be my best bet.