The Reader Page 3

  They sat stone-faced and didn’t answer. I crossed my arms and stared at each one. A few minutes passed. “Well?” I broke the silence.

  Archer glanced at Devon. He gave a slight nod.

  “The Jacks want to wipe us off the planet. They send out drones on a regular basis, trying to locate our position.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve been at war with them for years. It’s one reason for our compound and our need for security and privacy.”

  War with some group named the Jacks. What had I gotten myself into? “Why did you bring me here if these Jack people want to kill you?”

  “We believe they want you more than us. Take my word for it—you do not want them to find you.”

  My stomach dropped. “Why would anyone be after me?”

  “They want to use you to—” Archer began.

  “Enough,” Devon interrupted.

  “Wait. They want to use me? For what? And how do I know that’s not what you’re doing?”

  “Again.” Devon rubbed between his eyes. “The bullets? That should be a small clue for you.”

  Not just a jerk. An arrogant jerk.

  Devon glanced at my shoulder. “We’ll help you with your injury first. If you want to leave after that, I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”

  I have nowhere to go. I copied Devon and rubbed between my eyes. Nope, didn’t help.

  Fear and confusion clouded my thoughts. I hoped I’d chosen the lesser of two evils.

  “We need to go now.” Devon interrupted my thoughts.

  “I’ll get her.” Archer jumped out of the Jeep and came around my side. He opened my door and reached in to take my hand.

  “Quit trying to get close. You’re not going to hear anything,” Devon said under his breath.

  “You know, just because my arm hurts, doesn’t mean I’m deaf.” I had no idea what Devon was talking about, but I was tired of asking questions when I knew what the answer would be—“Not yet.”

  I stood and waited for the feeling of light-headedness to return, but it didn’t come. Archer had done a good job stopping the blood loss. All I needed now was to get the bullet out of my arm.

  “This Doc guy you keep talking about? He’s a real doctor, right?” I held my breath a little, waiting for the answer. This could get ugly.

  “Of course.” Devon motioned to the elevator. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

  I wondered if the elevator would take us down into the bowels of the mountain or up toward the peak. The elevator looked high tech, with polished steel doors and a complicated panel of buttons. When we started to ascend, a rush of relief swept through me.

  When the doors opened again, it revealed a huge, open room as large as a football field, but we definitely were still inside the mountain. The bronze, domed ceiling had to be fifty feet high, with tiny streams of sunlight crisscrossing throughout the area. The entire room was like a work of art. Murals of famous paintings covered almost every square inch. Breathtaking, light, and airy. Overstuffed chairs and wooden tables, potted plants, a small cafe, a few TV screens, and what appeared to be a small garden in the back corner gave the room a relaxed feel. But I was far from calm.

  This was located in the center of a mountain? The amount of work that went into this must have been staggering. I moved forward a step so I could see a little more. People milled around. Lots of people. I shrank back into the corner of the elevator. All these people were strangers. I wanted to go home.

  You don’t have a home anymore.

  “They won’t bite.” Devon reached for my hand, but I pulled back. I didn’t want him to touch me. Strange things happened when he did. And even though it felt good, it scared me.

  “Give me a minute.” I bent over and placed my hands on my knees.

  Panic attack, please, not now.

  “Let’s take the transvater option. We can bypass the Hub for now. Doc can have someone else pick up the water.” Archer pressed a few more buttons.

  The doors closed again, to my relief. I stood straight, and, this time, the motion was different. Instead of vertical feeling, we moved sideways. I checked both their faces, and they seemed okay with the weird motion. I held onto the side to keep my bearings.

  “It’s called a magnetic levitation elevator. It’s German technology—quite inventive.” Archer smiled. “You can let go of the wall; it’s perfectly safe.” Taking my hand, he said, “Here, hang on to me.”

  I clasped his hand and balanced against him—just in case.

  Devon turned his back to us and pushed a few more buttons. “This will get us a few feet from Doc’s office. You won’t have to walk far.” He didn’t turn back around.

  She’s too much for me.

  “Who are you talking about?” I asked Devon.

  “Uh, Devon didn’t say anything.” Archer answered for him, his tone uncertain.

  I turned toward Devon. “You said someone was too much for you, right?”

  Devon stared straight at Archer. “There’s no possible way.”

  Archer shook his head. “Impossible.”

  “No one has ever . . .”

  “No one has ever what?” I asked.

  They stood motionless, eyes and mouths wide open.

  “I’m not speaking Greek. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Devon began to pace the small area while he rubbed his jaw.

  “Why is she too much?” Archer narrowed his gaze at Devon. “Did you have that thought?”

  “Because . . . because she’s driving me crazy with all her questions.” He stopped pacing and crossed his arms. Soon after, his foot started to tap.

  Why was he so nervous?

  I turned back to Archer and asked, “What do you mean ‘thought’? He said it loud and clear. You heard him, right?”

  “Heard what?” an older gentleman asked. The elevator doors had opened.

  “Nothing,” Devon said through clenched teeth.

  Archer coaxed me forward with slight pressure on my back. “Dad, this is Ann. Ann this is my father, Dean Gallagher.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” I stretched out my hand to yet another striking, albeit, older man. Mr. Gallagher stood six feet tall with short, blond, wavy locks like his son. His eyes were steel-gray and determined.

  He glanced at my shoulder and said, “Good God, Archer, she’s bleeding. What were you thinking? Let’s get her into the clinic.” His brow furrowed, and his hand replaced Archer’s on my back, guiding me out of the elevator.

  The large corridor was well-lit, just like the Hub. The floors were polished wood, and the walls appeared to be typical drywall. A door burst open on the right side of the hallway, and a short man with gray hair hurried out.

  Mr. Gallagher did the introductions. “Doc, this is Ann.”

  Doc seemed to ignore Mr. Gallagher and said, “Finally! What took you so long? Where’s—oh, there you are young lady. Come with me. I’m all ready for you.”

  His glasses had slipped down his nose, reminding me of a mad scientist. With quick hand movements, he motioned. “Come on, come on! Let’s get you in here.”

  I stood still. I didn’t want to go; there could be more pain. Archer’s dad gave me a gentle push forward.

  Brave. I must be brave.

  So many things were happening at once, I needed time to think and get my bearings. Panic wrapped its unwelcome arms around me. My head spun, and someone wheezed in the background.

  Me?

  And then the world went black.

  Voices cut through the darkness.

  She should’ve been brought in on a stretcher.

  We had no idea. She seemed to be doing okay.

  She’s tough.

  Thank God the Jacks didn’t get her.

  We think her parents put a contingency plan in place.

  How much does she remember?

  Nothing. She remembers books—that’s it.

  Books?

  She said she’s a reader.

&
nbsp; She doesn’t know she’s one of us?

  No. But, Doc, I don’t think she is one of us. She’s different.

  What do you mean?

  I think she might be . . .

  The scratchy feeling tickling the back of my throat finally burst through, and I coughed. Bad timing. I wanted to eavesdrop some more. Three shadowy figures straightened and stopped talking. The dim lighting didn’t allow me to see their faces, but I knew who they were.

  The doctor approached the bed and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  He chuckled. “I guess it’s a little early, but let me assure you, you’ll be just fine. I removed the bullet from your arm. The entry was clean, not hitting anything major, so you won’t have any permanent damage.”

  “That’s good.” Permanent damage? I hadn’t even considered it. When my memory left, it appeared all my normal thought processes went with it. I glanced at the IV needle taped to my arm.

  “You were dehydrated, and we’re administering antibiotics.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Archer, Devon, you can leave now. In the morning, she should be feeling well enough for visitors.”

  “But—”

  “No, Archer. She’ll be fine. I’ll need to spend some time with her before she’s introduced to our group.”

  Archer approached my bed. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands with Doc.”

  “Okay.” But my racing heart and sweating palms proved otherwise.

  Archer smiled, patting my hand before leaving with Devon. Emptiness followed their departure. They were so different, in both looks and personality, but their back and forth arguing, along with their hovering, distracted me from thinking about all that had happened.

  I turned toward the doctor and sighed. “I guess it’s just you and me.”

  With a warm smile, Doc sat next to my bed. “Do you feel like talking?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much to talk about.” I pointed to my head. “I have some memory issues.”

  “I’ve heard.” He paused. “I’m a medical doctor, but I’m also a psychiatrist, mental health counselor, social worker, and a family therapist.”

  “Wow. Overqualified much?” I smiled.

  “I’ve had lots of time for studies.”

  “If I talk to you, will you be able to help me get my memories back?” A glimmer of hope began to take form.

  “I don’t know. But maybe I can help clear up some things and answer some of your questions. There’s a lot you need to know.”

  His eyes held a youthful energy, even though my best guess would place him around fifty. Handsome, with salt and pepper hair, he exuded kindness through his knowing eyes and gentle expression.

  Trust him, the same voice said.

  I wondered if hearing little messages was a common phenomenon with physical and emotional trauma. Could I be soothing myself in some way? I ignored it—again—and continued with my questions.

  “I want to know everything.”

  “Part of my job is to give you the information in palatable bites. I’ll give you pieces, let you settle with it, and add more when you’re able.”

  “I can handle it.” But I knew, deep down, small bites would probably be best.

  He smiled. “I have no doubt.”

  “First question. Why do I remember some things and not others?”

  “Memory loss can take on many forms. Some people can recite every president and not know their spouse of twenty years. It depends on which part of the brain is affected or injured—whether it’s caused by an accident or emotional trauma. In your case, we won’t know for a few weeks what your knowledge base is. You’ll most likely find you have a good amount of understanding in some areas, but in others, a total blank. Don’t push yourself. Let things unfold naturally, and you can add as you go.”

  “Okay,” I answered, but I was pretty sure I’d push it. I wanted answers.

  “I’m more than ready,” I said after a two-hour nap and another hour of coaxing.

  “Do you remember anything about your parents?” he asked.

  “No. Just a flash of their faces. Or, at least, I think it’s my parents.” I tried to conjure the picture back, but could only envision a fuzzy outline.

  Doc paused and looked down at his hands. “I’m terribly sorry to tell you, but your parents died recently.”

  Not ready.

  Where was the oxygen? My heart squeezed, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Even though I was lying down, it felt like I’d just run a race. The machine hooked to my arm started to flash, and an alarm went off. A nurse burst into the room and asked, “What happened?”

  “I’ll need midazolam, right away,” Doc told his nurse.

  “No. I don’t . . . I don’t need anything.”

  His brow wrinkled. “If you can get your breathing back to normal, I’ll hold off. You’re hyperventilating. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes, not enough carbon dioxide.” I focused on taking one breath at a time. How could I remember such an arbitrary detail, but not who I was?

  The nurse returned with a long hypodermic needle on a tray.

  “It’s okay, Maari. I think we can hold off.” Doc sat back in his chair and waited.

  After a few minutes, when my body started to calm, I said, “I can’t remember anything.”

  “You wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction if you didn’t have some memory of your parents.”

  I nodded. “What do you think happened? To my memory—do you know?”

  “My best guess is you suffered some sort of major shock. I think whatever happened is too painful for you to grasp, and you’re protecting yourself. It’s probably a good thing . . . for now, anyway.”

  “Will you tell me how they died?” I asked.

  “Yes. But I’d like to give you a little more time to prepare yourself. Are you okay with that?”

  If I had these overwhelming feelings with just the thought of it, I couldn’t imagine what I’d be like with details. “Yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea.” But, still curious, I asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Instead of trying to delve into your past, we’ll talk about where you are now. I think that’s safer territory.” He stood and added, “I have something to show you.” He left the room and returned with a large, leather-bound book. He placed it next to me on the bed and opened it. “This is one of our first books.”

  A lungful of air helped calm my nervous stomach, and I sat up to get a better view. The book appeared old and worn, almost ancient. “It’s beautiful.” Although the printing was light, I could still make out some of the words.

  “It is.” He flipped a page. “I’ll start at the beginning.”

  “The beginning is always good.”

  He eyed me.

  “I can handle that much, I’m sure.”

  “It’s a lot to grasp,” he said.

  “Go for it.” I smiled to reassure him.

  He cleared his throat. “Whatever I tell you today is the truth. There is no reason for me to lie.” He paused and continued. “There’s a group of us—we’re called The Readers.”

  That name. “Yes, I heard about it at the beach.” I waited. No flashbacks of books, and my parents’ faces didn’t appear. Sadness about losing them hung with me though.

  Doc noticed my expression and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. To my surprise, emotion welled within me at his genuine sympathy. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I needed someone to understand.

  “I can’t grieve my parents properly. I feel their love, but I can’t connect it with any memories.”

  “You will. Give it time.”

  “Thank you.” I took a deep breath and composed myself. “So you like to read, huh?”

  “It’s not what you think. We read books, lots of them, but that isn’t why we have the name.”

  “I’m a reader. The only memory I have is of this beautiful library
filled with books.” I caressed the binding. “They looked a little like this one.”

  “You also read other things.” He tilted his head. “I think you might know what I’m saying.”

  “Other things?” I didn’t think I wanted to know. My hands started to shake. So many strange things had happened since I’d woken up on the shore. These people, this place . . . it was too much.

  They will help you.

  The voice. I didn’t want to hear it.

  Shut-up.

  “Yes.” He laid his hand on the page. “I have a story to tell you, so listen carefully.”

  I nodded.

  “Our group—The Readers. We read minds.” He sat perfectly still, waiting for my response.

  “Sure. Yeah. That’s cool.” I kept my face neutral so he wouldn’t get a hint of how I felt. No way. The idea of escaping this place before they had me drink the Kool-Aid flashed through my mind. The turns we took through the neighborhood came back to me in full, high-definition color. Almost like a map. Hmm. Did I have a photographic memory? Ironic.

  “It is—cool. But I have a feeling you’re not buying it,” he said.

  “Well, to be honest, I’m not. I think I’d remember that.”

  “You don’t remember ever reading minds?”

  My stomach dropped. You heard Devon’s thoughts. You didn’t imagine it.

  “Okay. Let’s say I heard a thought or two. Maybe from Devon. What does that mean exactly?”

  “Devon? That can’t be.”

  “Why not? Unless he teased me. Would he do that?” Devon didn’t seem like a practical joker, and why would Archer go along with it?

  “No one can read the mind of a Reader. We’ve perfected the art of blocking for many, many years. Devon and Archer are specially trained for field work, which makes them the strongest in our group. You couldn’t hear any of their thoughts, unless . . .” His expression fell off, as though he recalled a better place or time. A slight smile and a flash of hope crossed his face before he shook himself out of it. “Let’s get back to discussing blocking.”

  “What is blocking exactly?” I asked.

  “It’s a skill that protects us in a couple different ways. First, we can keep our thoughts private. It also helps to keep us focused when we’re on the outside. Unwanted thoughts can be quite distracting. You also have this skill,” he said.