Weavers (31 page)

CHAPTER 77

Two Months Later

Jessica Hockstetter walked from one observation room to the next.
Frank was having a rough day, but that could be expected for a man of his age. She’d forced herself to check in on him, but what she wanted to see were the newest acquisitions of the TRC, not some dinosaur. Still, Frank had proven his usefulness once again, even if using him felt like asking an elephant to kill a fly.

Jessica took a seat and watched the two men behind the mirror interact with one another. All of the rooms were recorded twenty-four hours a day, but she preferred the simplicity of watching her subjects through one-way glass whenever possible.

Jessica turned as the door behind her slid open and her boss, Howard Thompson, entered the room and sat down next to her.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Jessica said, and Howard nodded. He’d been with the Telekinetic Research Center since just after the war, but even Howard had to agree that these new acquisitions were special.

Darryl was pacing on the other side of the glass, while Terry sat on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed. Both of the men looked perturbed, but Jessica knew that what she was seeing were just the shared emotions of Darryl. Terry, as physically real as he might look, was actually the fantastically corporeal astral projection of a man with multiple personalities who just happened to be a TK. Because he often did bad things, Darryl needed a scapegoat—so he made one for himself. Terry might look, sound, and even feel human to other people, but he was only as real as Darryl allowed him to be.

“Astounding as this trick of his is,” explained Jessica, “part of his therapy is going to be convincing him to let go of the ghost. It hampers his abilities and makes it difficult for him to do many of the things that should come to him easily.”

“As long as we must keep him, is there no way to retain this ghost of his in some manner? At least, long enough to study it, see if any use can be made—”

Jessica was shaking her head. “That’s not a luxury we can afford. We need to be assured of our control of Darryl, and that’s going to be challenging enough with just one of him.”

Howard sighed. Jessica knew she hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know but didn’t begrudge him making her repeat it, or grieving the loss of this research opportunity. Thinking of the tactical advantages of harnessing the ability to create soldiers or assassins—or, hell, legions of worker bees—Jessica couldn’t help but marvel at the possibilities.

“The man needed another set of hands,” marveled Howard, “so he created one.”

“It’s incredible,” said Jessica.

“It is that,” agreed Howard. “I’m sure you’ve been over the file every which way. Did the projection do all of the killing?”

“All that we can find, save for the death at the gas station that was caught on the dash cam,” said Jessica. “Of course, that doesn’t count all of the people that Darryl killed with his mind. He is a very dangerous man.”

“You don’t say,” grumbled Howard.

Even after the intriguing introduction of Darryl’s wonder twin to the equation, Howard had continued to argue vehemently for Darryl’s immediate termination, but Jessica’s argument had managed to overrule him. Howard still felt that a man like Darryl Livingston would be easier to kill than fix, regardless of the little tricks he could pull.

“He has a low probability of success,” said Jessica, “but you can you imagine how powerful he’ll be if we can get him to cooperate.”

“He has nothing on the girl,” said Howard. “Even Katarina in her youth has nothing on the girl, not even Frank.” Howard’s brow furrowed. “How is Frank, by the way?”

“Well enough all things considered,” said Jessica. “The fact of the matter is that Frank is very old, and regardless of his mental strength, his body is breaking down.”

“This lab is a time bomb if that man dies,” said Howard, and Jessica nodded. There was no arguing that. “Without Frank, even if every man and woman in here is wearing a Tesla Helmet we’d still have to worry about one of the TKs turning a guard. Even a temporary lack of control could see the lot of them freed.”

Jessica only nodded mildly. The old man never had been able to accept the inherent danger in what they did.
What worth doing comes easily?
There were great rewards to be had with the program—history had shown that time and time again—and those rewards were worth the potential risks.

“Why don’t we move on to the girl?” said Howard finally, hoisting himself to his feet.

Jessica stood and walked after him into the hall.

Jessica and Howard swiped key cards at the door to the observation area for Cynthia’s room and stepped inside. Even as they took their seats, their eyes were already locked onto the little wunderkind.

Cynthia was sitting with Katarina—still Mrs. Martin to her—and the two of them were talking about something inconsequential. The girl burst into laughter on the other side of the mirror, and Howard turned to Jessica.

“Do you really think that she could be who we’ve been looking for?”

“We’ve only done the most minimal testing,” said Jessica. “The fear is that we’ll push too hard and she’ll just shut down, maybe lose the gift entirely. After all, this girl has been through some significant trauma. I’d rather we take it slow and learn about what she can do at a reasonable pace, then drive to compile her full TK score now. She’s young, and we have all the time in the world to learn about her.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Howard.

“She’s the most talented TK we’ve ever had, including Frank,” said Jessica. “If she’s not the one, she’s the closest we’ve ever come to it. If we train her right, we’re going to have a hell of a thing.”

“But what do you think, Jessica?”

“I think this little girl is going to change the world,” said Jessica, letting the words slip out like she’d been holding her breath. “I think she might just be the second coming of Frank, but without the psychopathic tendencies. You worry about Darryl because he’s done dangerous things, but that little girl in there is going to grow up, and when she does she’s going to be unimaginably powerful.”

“Thank goodness we have her.”

“I cannot imagine what would happen if she were to walk around free in a few years with the power that she has,” said Jessica. “She’s a loaded gun, there’s no doubt about that, but she’ll be fine as long as she stays with us.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m not sure that I believe in true love. At least, not in the traditional sense of seeing that perfect person across the room and just knowing right then that things are meant to be. I need guts, I guess, something which is no secret to my readers, and in 1998 I found guts by the bucketload.

I was playing a punk rock show in the basement of a music store in front of an audience of about a hundred people. As we finished our set, I did the splits, tearing the entire crotch of my camo shorts in half. No one seemed to notice my plight, except, that is, for the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Trust me, it wasn’t just the broken pants.

In any case, she fixed my shorts with safety pins that she took from a messenger bag she was using as a purse, and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Megan, and that seemed like all that was to come of it. The most wonderful girl in the world had fixed my pants, and I was going to let her slip away. Life is funny that way and even funnier in other ways. Six months later both of us were single and we decided to go on a date. As far as I can tell, that first date is still going.

Of course, things are never perfect. Despite jobs that we both liked, a burgeoning ability to write that I was desperately trying to nurture, and a wonderful daughter, we still had our trials. They were good trials, though—those of you who have done the dance know what I mean. The electric bill that could not be paid but somehow gets handled is a miracle like no other in this world. Finally getting published was another unexpected happening.

A common question that authors get is, “Where do your ideas come from?” Stephen King has written extensively on the subject, and to paraphrase him, basically an idea usually starts out like a little scrap of a bone and if uncovered right, there might just happen to be a T. rex down there underneath all of the dirt. Sometimes, however, ideas come faster, like a hockey puck to the face.
Weavers
is one of the latter.

September 23, 2013, was one of the worst days of my life. Everything felt like it was crashing down around me, and to top it off I was on a work trip in Albany, New York. Things were bleak, they felt like they were getting worse by the second, and after tossing and turning that night, I finally fell asleep. A few hours later I woke up covered in sweat and, in a moment of rare brilliance, grabbed my phone and opened the notes section. I’m not one to believe that authors get ideas from dreams—at least, this one doesn’t—but I had just gotten a doozy, and I knew I had to hold on to it. At the time it felt like maybe that idea was all I really had to hold on to.

The note I wrote was simple, and it said, “Carol can see things, p divorce.” Not much to go on, but I had just seen the first Cynthia chapter in my head while I was asleep. Hopefully it was just as vivid for you when you read it a few hundred pages ago. I vowed to myself that no matter what, I was going to get my head on straight, and I was going to write this book. I’m happy to say that right now both things have been accomplished, and neither of them would have been possible without the love and support of my wife.

A little over a year later, it all sort of hit me. I was waking up after having my hip replaced, and my wife was sitting next to me in the hospital. At once it all came crashing down—the book, the recovery, everything I could have lost. I don’t deserve someone so wonderful in my life. I’d come to realize that such things are earned—and only then if we’re very lucky—and yet there I was in a hospital with the love of my life. It was a hard year—it was a year we earned in a lot of different ways—but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Trust me, if you have surgery and wake up next to the person you love more than anything else in the world, you’re in a good place.

Thanks as always to my wife and daughter for their endless support, especially as the reality of just how difficult this book was going to be sort of came to bear on me. I love you guys a ton, and I know that I could not do what I do without your love and support.

Thanks as well to my mom and dad, cheerleaders and first readers as always, and both a huge inspiration for this book as well. I can’t say for sure that watching
Dune
with my dad when I was eight allows me to have such weird ideas, but it probably didn’t hurt.

Thanks a ton to my editor, Anh, who took a look at an early draft of
Weavers
and gave me a pair of suggestions. Thirty-three thousand words later, the rewrite was done, and if you liked this book, Anh is a big part of the reason—her ideas for changes were utterly instrumental. If you hated it, however, that can all be on me.

Thanks to David for another wonderful edit. Piecing together this weird little story with you the second time around was almost as fun as doing it the first time by myself.

Thanks to Greg for tons of good suggestions as always, and for being a great friend. When this book comes out, you and Maggie will have just passed your second anniversary, so hey, congrats on that.

A big thanks to Jacque, Grace, Kim, and the rest of the Kindle Most Wanted team for putting together an amazing event in NYC. I’m still a little nervous that I’m going to look dorky on camera but am excited to see the results. Plus, it’s not every day that you get to have conversations with Blake Crouch, Marcus Sakey, S. G. Redling, and Reed Farrel Coleman like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Thanks to Dr. James Bakeman of Orthopaedic Associates of Michigan and his wonderful staff for getting me safely through surgery and repairing my ruined hip.

Thanks as well to Dr. Dave Thornsen of Fountain Hill Center for being a great friend and a wonderful listener.

Thanks of course to everyone at Thomas & Mercer and Amazon in general. There are so many of you guys, but thanks so much to Jeff, Tiffany, Brooke, Alan, Jon, Sarah, Andrew, Alex, Caroline, Britt, Jodi, Justin, David, Ashley, Luke, and every other darn person that works in those massive buildings. You guys are the best and do so much for your authors that it’s really sort of unbelievable.

Finally, thanks to my dear friend and first editor, Terry Goodman, who retired earlier this year. I wish you all the best, Terry, and I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me and my family, so if you need a body disappeared, keep me in the Rolodex.

One last thing: Cynthia and Darryl and Terry and Jessica and Katarina and everyone else are going to be back sooner rather than later. I can’t wait for you guys to see what happens next. Thanks to all of you for reading my work and for giving this writer a chance. You guys are the best, and this world wouldn’t be nearly as fun of a place to live in if I couldn’t share my stories with you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2013 John Keatley

Aric Davis is married with one daughter and lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where he worked for sixteen years as a body piercer. He now writes full-time. He likes weather cold enough to need a sweatshirt but not a coat, and friends who wear their hearts on their sleeves. In addition to reading and writing, he also enjoys roller coasters, hockey, punk rock, and a good cigar.

Davis is the author of eight other books:
From Ashes Rise: A Novel of Michigan
;
Nickel Plated
;
A Good and Useful Hurt
;
The Black Death: A Dead Man Novella
;
Rough Men
;
Breaking Point
;
The Fort
; and
Tunnel Vision
.