Chapter 15 A Freaking Whopper of a Ten-Tiered Violation Layer Cake,Pounding the Dreamwalking Nail on the Head with an Overki
A Freaking Whopper of a Ten-Tiered Violation Layer Cake, or
Pounding the Dreamwalking Nail
on the Head with an Overkill Hammer
As if it had its very own pulse, my throat throbbed rhythmically.
It was the first thing to demand my attention as awareness nudged at the heavy mantle that enveloped me in its darkness.
My head also hurt, as if I’d boozed too hard and was now suffering from a hangover.
I was lying down, warm and sluggish. I didn’t possess the strength to open my eyes.
A constant background lull began to define itself into a vibration that rose and fell, rose and fell. It took a while before I realized they were words being whispered into both ears. It took quite a while for the events of the day, and then of the last several weeks, to click into place.
The voice was that of the woman I’d long known as Celia, Layla and Brady’s mother, though she was neither of those things.
My overpowering listlessness, then, was due to the tranquilizer I was shot with, a drug to make me more susceptible to their hypnosis, or a combination of both.
My hangover was no such thing, and I hadn’t earned the punishment after some wild fun worth the price.
My throat felt as if it had been stabbed with a knife instead of a dart.
Not-Celia’s voice streamed through headphones that wrapped my ears tightly, and as I tried to focus on her words, I was careful not to so much as twitch a finger until I figured out more of what was going on.
I asked groggily into our private chat.
If they were either, they weren’t able to say.
I was eventually able to process that Celia was talking about our early days in Ridgemore, just as she did during the previous hypnotherapy session, when her recording glitched and we finally got our big break—and yet still nothing greater than a minor advantage in the game Magnum was making us play.
Celia was mentioning Ms. Gail, our kindergarten teacher. I had no way to know whether there had ever been a Ms. Gail—the kind, happy teacher who gave the best hugs—and also picked her nose—or if she, too, was yet another fabrication.
By now, there had to be hundreds of them, maybe even thousands.
While I listened to Celia prattle on about our childhood, the sluggishness faded, though only enough for me to guess that I was strapped down to what was likely a medical bed. A soft blanket draped over my hands. Any movement at all would ripple its fabric.
I tried again.
Still no response.
I was tempted to call out to Bobo as well, now that we had a handy-dandy telepathic channel between us, but if he happened to be there, he wouldn’t be able to control his reactions and he’d give us away.
I wanted desperately to clear my throat, to try something, anything to ease the ache where the dart had pegged me. It was torturous to suppress my natural urge to clear or cough.
Celia was steadily making her way through our formative years. Nothing was new. There were even the identical encouragements to exercise and eat my veggies. Evidently, Celia reused the same material over and again.
At least she was nearing the end of her spiel …
And then the information abruptly departed from what she said last time. Celia probably used the same front material and mixed up the end bits.
“I’ve never heard of anyone by the name Frances ‘Fanny’ Leeman, or Kitty Blanche, or Bryce Reynard, or Cameron ‘Cam’ Bradbourne, or Caroline Dinley.”
I didn’t recognize those final names. Did that mean Magnum ordered them killed like he did Kitty?
Celia proceeded to mention many more names I had no recollection of, with the imperative that I shouldn’t remember the people ever existed.
Her previous programming sessions had worked all too well, it seemed. Whoever those people were, I had no clue if they’d been important to me or not, whether they’d been good or bad, human or not-human. Like so much about our lives, Celia had simply stolen them away.
“I am very excited to get to study at Uncle Magnum’s Ridgemore’s International Institute for the Advancement of the Gifted, Unique, and Extraordinary.”
When my crew and I were last there, the school was called Ridgemore’s Institute for the Advancement of Immortals.
Finally I understood why the campus was so oddly devoid of branding.
There were no placards announcing so much as the name of the institution, of which “Uncle Magnum” was presumably so damn proud.
Celia’s voice droned on: “My friends and I are so brilliant that there’s no reason to wait to attend the institute.
We want to take advantage of the opportunities offered us by Uncle Magnum and to advance as much as possible, as soon as possible.
When he suggests we transfer from Ridgemore High to the institute, we are all extremely happy to do so.
We’re very grateful to him and show him our gratitude at every turn. We do our best to please him.”
I fought to keep my face from revealing its instinctual disgusted grimace.
We do our best to please him—a total predator? Yuuuuuck.
“My friends and I jump eagerly at every opportunity Uncle Magnum presents us with. We trust him implicitly to know what is best for us and to put our needs first. We trust him without question. Uncle Magnum is a wonderful genius of a man tasked with changing the future and saving humanity.”
Double yuck.
Maybe it was Magnum and not-Celia writing the script.
“My friends and I understand Uncle Magnum’s great value.
He is more important than we are. He can better the lives of every creature on this planet, and for endless generations to come.
We are willing to make any and all sacrifices for him.
If it would help for us to die for him, it’s the least we can do. ”
Though I was being careful not to betray my alertness, my already unnaturally still body stiffened at the blatant evidence of our disadvantage.
We had paranormal powers, that much was now indisputable. I was beginning to believe we might even have magic of some sort, or something very much like it, perhaps with another name. Regardless, despite our abilities, which Magnum so desperately desired, he still pulled every one of our strings.
We were marionettes dancing dim-wittedly in the shadow of our unseen puppeteer.
Celia continued elaborating on how much we admired Uncle Magnum, how much we liked him, how much we blah, blah, blah, all of it distilling into us wanting to kiss his royal ass, so much so that we’d think nothing of dying at his mere suggestion.
The ache in my throat and head spread to my stomach.
Nausea and disgust churned deep in my gut.
The vulnerability they’d forced on us, the overriding of our own free wills, the abuse of our bodies—injured, killed, hurt, drugged—all of it amounted to a violation so immense that tears pricked behind my closed eyelids.
I clamped down on my will so they wouldn’t keep coming.
It wasn’t just me they were abusing. It was the people who mattered most. They even hurt my dog, dammit.
My previous discomfort with how violently we ended Fanny vanished. She was Magnum’s mouthpiece, his biggest supporter, his right-hand cunt. She deserved every single hit we landed.
Magnum deserved more—so much more.
“I have no interest in dreamwalking,” Celia’s voice told me.
I listened closely.
“I do not believe I have the ability to dreamwalk. I do not believe I ever had the skill. If anyone were to mention dreamwalking, or if I ever hear it spoken of, I have no interest in learning about it. Dreamwalking is nonsense, an unfounded legend of the Aquoian people, a baseless superstition.”
Even after all that, Celia added, “I cannot dreamwalk. I do not dreamwalk. I have no knowledge of dreamwalking. I have no desire to gain any. Dreamwalking is a myth and a lie. If any mention of it were to appear in media of any kind, be it books, movies, TV shows, an internet search, or anything else, I immediately find a reason to discontinue consuming that form of entertainment without voicing the reason to any of my friends.”
Celia was pounding the dreamwalking nail on the head with an overkill hammer. She might as well be using Thor’s Mjolnir.
“I am not a dreamwalker,” Celia insisted once more, before saying, “I have never before seen or heard of a skinsnatcher. If I think I’m remembering an incident where someone peeled their skin off their body to reveal another creature beneath it, I am mistaken.
I must be recalling a scene from a book or a movie.
Skinsnatchers do not exist. No one can remove their skin as if it were an article of clothing. ”
So skinsnatchers, not skinwalkers …
“I have never seen an unfamiliar creature with gray skin and a great deal of teeth.
There is no such thing as aliens, extraterrestrial creatures, or monsters.
Anyone suggesting otherwise is stupid and ill-informed.
There is no such thing as life on other planets.
Humans are the only intelligent life in the universe.
I have no thoughts or suspicions otherwise.
“There is no such thing as a person who can split into several copies of themselves. Any such notion is ludicrous. Skinsnatchers are not real, and neither are the rumors that they can steal another person’s body as well as replicate themselves. Those ideas are completely false.”
My heart thudded. My ears were perked so as not to miss a single word.
“There is no such thing as immortals. My friends and I are certainly not immortal. We die just like everyone else. No person can return from death.
“Sheriff Xander Jones is not trustworthy. I have no desire to speak with him or to answer any of his questions. If he approaches me or any of my friends, I will immediately notify Uncle Magnum. Sheriff Xander Jones is an idiot with insane ideas with no basis in truth.
“I can, however, trust the sheriff’s deputy, Kyle Carter. If Sheriff Xander Jones is being persistent and my friends and I cannot reach Uncle Magnum right away, we can confide in Kyle Carter about the sheriff’s unlawful behavior.”
The relatively mild ache of my head had transformed into a full-blown headache. I fought to cling to every morsel of information.
“My mother, Monica, has no interest in Xander Jones. She doesn’t even like him. There is no romantic past between them.
“My mother, Monica, and my father, Reece, are deeply in love. They are a happy couple in a happy marriage. I am so grateful to have them both as my parents. I treat them with kindness and respect, as I do the parents of my friends.
“Big changes are coming for me and my friends.”
I tensed, then immediately fought to relax my body, hoping the slight shift was unnoticeable. With the constant stream of hypnosis coming through my headphones, I had no way to tell if I was alone or if someone observed me.
“My friend Hunt Fletcher is very happy that his girlfriend Zoe Wills is pregnant. I am very excited for him. It’s fun to have a baby! Babies are cute!
“I will encourage Hunt not to ask Zoe to marry him. He will be happier raising his baby without her. If Zoe were to die in childbirth, I will offer to help him raise his baby.
“Babies are so wonderful, I want to have a baby too.”
I tried to prevent the hitch in my breath, I really did, but it happened nonetheless. Even so, it was slight, and unless someone was watching me very closely, they wouldn’t notice.
Get your shit together, Joss. Do not react to anything you hear.
“Griffin Conway is my boyfriend and he wants to have a baby with me. Griffin and I love each other. We are the perfect match for each other. There is no reason to wait to start a family with him. The sooner we begin having babies, the sooner we can all be happy together.
“My friends will be a fabulous aunt and uncles. I tell Griffin I want to have sex with him. I also tell him I am not fertile and cannot get pregnant even when I can. I enjoy sex with him and want to engage in sexual intercourse with him often.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from reacting.
Celia just kept piling violation upon violation. It was a freaking whopper of a ten-tiered violation layer cake. What despicable bastards!
“I encourage my friend Layla Rafferty to get pregnant too. I tell her she will make a great mother and that it will be incredibly fun to all have babies together. I encourage her to have sex with Hunt Fletcher and to have a baby with him. Layla and Hunt can raise his baby and their baby together.
“Brady Rafferty will want to have a baby too. He will fall in love with Gwyneth Stradbrook and they will have sex together without using protection. Gwyneth will soon conceive.”
Gwyn was a senior at Ridgemore High and the captain of the cheerleading squad. She was also, apparently, a breeder—not an exclusive club.
Fuck Celia and her brainwashing.
I could no longer control the disgust roiling through my body, but I held perfectly still.
Celia was still waxing on about how our lives and our bodies weren’t our own when cold suddenly rushed through the vein of my left arm—an IV drip inserted into the crook of my elbow, the motherfuckers.
Whatever fluid they’d just injected traveled swiftly throughout my system, chilling me from the inside out.
Before I had a chance to do more than experience an initial frisson of terror at descending into unconsciousness once more—entirely at the mercy of those so clearly out to hurt us—my awareness of Celia’s voice faded.
I struggled to hold on to the words as they kept coming, but I couldn’t.
Next, the throbbing in my head and the tenderness in my throat dissipated. After that, I felt myself sinking deep within myself. Lower and lower, deeper and deeper, I went, until I no longer heard Celia at all.
My last conscious thought was of my friends, the family I did trust, beyond my reach.
We were all on our own.
I was alone.