After the Calling

<<Secret: Part V

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Garcia stepped quietly into the conference room that was laced with monitors, all showing images of John Levin with Rai in the Central Room. It was a column that spanned every floor of the building and was considered to be the backbone of the entire facility. Although Rai had full control over every aspect of the facility, the Central Room was the one place that she could manifest herself. Garcia had not joined the resistance until after the place had been built, and Rai already programmed, and he had never questioned exactly how she worked, but he knew she was more than just a machine. She wasn’t a hologram or a projected image. She was something beyond his comprehension completely, but he had always trusted her presence. She was programmed to work for the better good of the psychic world, and at this point, that was all that mattered.

“I wonder what she’s saying to him,” Mercer said, as Garcia entered the room. She didn’t look up from the clipboard she was examining. “They aren’t speaking out loud.”

By the tone of her voice, Garcia could tell that Mercer wanted him to eavesdrop. “You know better than that,” he replied sharply.

She smiled coyly. “I was just wondering.”

He leaned against the end of the conference table and folded his arms, studying the Rai and John on the screen, and wondering himself what she was telling him. “Well, stop wondering,” he said more to himself than to Mercer. He cleared his throat nervously. “Besides, if last time was any indication, he won’t be conscious for long.”

“Last time won’t be an indication,” Mercer huffed. “This didn’t very well work last time, if I’m recalling correctly, and I’m sure that things be handled differently.”

“I know, I know,” he said, shifting his weight. “I just… the sooner she knocks him out the better. He… suffered… last time.”

Mercer waved at his words as if swatting a fly. “It’s no matter, he doesn’t remember.”

“True. But…”

Mercer looked up to stare at Garcia’s back. “Are you serious?”

He didn’t answer.

Mercer let out gasp, feigning shock. “You are serious! Garcia Hazard, Mr. I’m The Baddest Bad Ass is feeling guilty? True blue, no holds bar, take no prisoners, seen it all, done it all, Garcia Hazard? Garcia Hazard, the knight in shining telepathy, I care for nothing, no one, rip and run, rock and roll –”

“Mercer,” Garcia cut her off. “I think I get your point, thank you.”

“Alright fine.” She shrugged, standing up and walking over to him. “But, I really don’t understand why you care.”

“I spend more time than I’d care for lying. I’m the best liar I know. But something about lying to him… again…” Garcia shook his head slightly. “He isn’t vampiric. This isn’t what we’ve done in the past. This isn’t what we do now. It just doesn’t feel… right.”

“What?!” Mercer exclaimed, annoyance heavy in her voice. She pointed back toward the screen at John’s image. “He’s just as detrimental to the psychic future as a vampiric would be. Perhaps even more so. All of the lives that he’s ruined or even taken weren’t for an impulsive need. They were because he was following the directions of that silver-headed whore. If anyone needs to be here, its people like him!”

“But like you said, he was following directions,” Garcia said, unphased by her outburst. “He believed in something. He thought he was working for the good of his people. For the good of everyone he knew and loved.”

Mercer sucked her teeth. “And you’re telling me the best to do that was to follow the directions of a vampiric zealot who was half out of her mind with a need for vital force energy. You’re telling me that branding the faces of innocent people just to make it easier to kill them later was for the good of the people?”

Garcia let out a heavy sigh. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then enlighten me. What the fuck are you saying?”

Garcia lowered his head. “You and I both know that Rowanne wasn’t always like that. And The Calling didn’t start with her.”

And it hadn’t. The Calling had been founded centuries ago by an assembly of psychics with the goal of uniting the psychic world. It was a sanctuary for those whose powers had made them an outcast, a place where psychics could learn about and hone their abilities, and an aid in keeping knowledge of psychics to a minimum in the non-psychic world. The Calling had been a universal home for any psychic who needed it.

The Calling had also fostered a concentration in the gene pool, something that had been encouraged by the original leaders. With each generation, psychics were becoming more powerful and more in tune with their abilities. The race of psychics was becoming a juggernaut of supernatural vigor while remaining hidden from the natural world.

But in the last few decades, something had begun to go wrong. And the organization had been sliced in half with one fatal blow. Vampirism. At first The Calling was able to contain the problem, vowing to find a solution. But it quickly grew out of hand. A young psychic girl was killed, drained of all life energy, at the hand of her own mother when serums had failed to quench her need. A prominent psychic leader committed suicide after his vampirism was no longer concealable from the psychic community. Things finally came to a head when a teenaged psychic boy drained the life force of a non-psychic teenaged girl who attended the same high school as him. Worst yet, he had taken her energy by taking her blood.

The psychic leaders were in turmoil. Not only was The Calling at risk of being unveiled to the natural world, exposing thousands of psychics world-wide and creating unknown perils, vampiric psychics had become desperate enough to consume Purana, blood energy. Everyone was in danger. Psychics and non-psychics alike.

It was here where Rowanne Kelley came into the picture. As a member of the assembly and a recently diagnosed pre-vampiric, she took the leadership role that no one wanted. She oversaw the scientific investigations behind the vampiric urge. She fast-tracked experimental serums that helped pre-vampirics hold on to their own auroric energy, preventing them from crossing over to full vampirism and hunting for that of others. She found civil methods to isolate vampiric psychics into their own societies, utilizing energy donors and healers to keep them from hurting others. Rowanne also vowed that if she were to turn, she would only take energy that was donated by a willing party, instilling a deep sense of respect and confidence among her followers.

Her plan worked for a long while. People were willing to listen to someone who themselves was afflicted, for she had more to lose than anyone. For the moment, the two factions of The Calling, those against the vampirics, and those who still wanted to help them, were reunited. But the peace was short-lived.

Vampirics were popping up everywhere, and soon isolating them was nearly impossible. There were not enough aura donors to aid all of them, and the healers were doing little to help the shortage. Serums eventually stopped working, and pre-vampirics turned almost one hundred percent of the time. Rowanne’s tactics were failing, and The Calling was once again falling into ruin. Rowanne herself was feeling the malfunction of her leadership as her own serums began to fail her.

No one knows what exactly caused Rowanne to snap, whether it was the desperation to remain in power, or simply the urgency she felt as she lost control of her own psyche, but she turned a page in psychic history, and their own fear, most of the psychic world followed her every word.

She had all known vampirics and their families tracked down and slain. All pre-vampirics were sent to holding facilities where, if they turned, they would also be killed. When it was discovered that all of the vampirics were psychics of level 5 or higher, on The Calling’s scale from the fairly powerless latency to the enormously powerful level 8, Rowanne decreed that all of these psychics be tattooed on their face to show what level they were, what type of psychic they were, and if they were considered a risk of becoming vampiric. Any who fought the branding either had the mark forced upon them, or was killed. Those who were branded became known as the Marked Ones.

Wary of creating more high level psychics and in turn more vampiric psychics, Mark Ones were forbidden to reproduce unless they were sanctioned by Rowanne herself. Less powerful psychics, latents, or non-psychics who had become aware of and involved in the psychic world were encouraged to remain out of the scuffle, but were warned that if they protected vampirics, rebelled in anyway against what Rowanne was doing, or had the child of a level 5+ psychic, they would also branded as a danger to the establishment. Marked individuals were known for having their life cut short, vampiric or not. So, for the most part the people listened, many forming the neutral organization known as The Fringe. Other gave sanctuary to Mark Ones or joined the many small resistance groups that formed in the aftermath of disaster. Most lost their lives in the process.

In only a few years, Rowanne managed to reverse centuries of progress nurturing the creation of generations of super psychics, with more than half of the world-wide psychic population dying under her hand. Of those that survived, Rowanne hunted them like mice. She threw her remaining resources into a massive cover up, hiding as much as she could from the general, less dangerous population of psychics, while trying to keep the dissenters as silent as possible. This only worked for a short time before the charade fell apart and The Calling finally crumbled under the strain. In its wake stood Rowanne, a throng of her loyal supporters, and her kill list, which she never abandoned.

Even after she turned completely, and vampirism overcame her, she continued to fight her misguided battle. Her mane of silver hair, a mark of her choked aura and refusal to give in to her vampiric urges, became an image that spurred both her and her followers on in their hypocrisy.

“I know how The Calling started. And I know exactly who Rowanne was,” Mercer said, malice lining her voice. “I also know who she is now.”

“Then you can see why this is distressing me,” Garcia replied. “This is a half-step in her direction.”

Mercer’s face flushed red with anger “Don’t you dare compare what we do here to anything that that bitch has put into play! We are the exact opposite of her!”

“We aren’t the exact opposite of her. Our missions are more similar than you’d like to admit, we just don’t hurt people.”

“Oh, excuse me!” Mercer threw her hands up dramatically. “I didn’t know that my mission was to destroy the fucking psychic world one murder at a time!”

Garcia ignored her outburst. “She believes that she is creating a better world for psychics to thrive in. We do as well. We just have a more humane way of doing things. But this,” he motioned towards the screen. “This isn’t one of them.”

“Oh, fuck off with all that sappy shit. He’d be dead otherwise if he did –”

“I know, Mercer! He’s here isn’t he?” Garcia glared in her direction. “And I’m the one who bought him! So shut it.”

Mercer stood quietly for a moment, her face running though a number of emotions before settling on indifference. She sidled up slowly to Garcia, snaking her arms around his waist. “If I’d had known your heart strings would tie themselves in a knot, I would have gone to get him myself. But then, he hates me, and I’d have been liable to separate him from his skin. And I think I probably would have had to start the third World War with Rowanne. Not that I couldn’t handle it.” Mercer giggled as she leaned forward and tried to plant a kiss on his neck.

Garcia turned his head away from her. “Stop it,” he said quietly, annoyance in his voice.

“I’d rather not.” Mercer shook her head. “It’s just such a pleasant surprise to know that Mr. Hazard has a soft side. Now that I know you’re a bit of pansy, you’re not so intimidating. I’m so much more willing to challenge you to a fight.”

“I said stop it.” He tried to move away from her but she held her grip on him. He made certain not to look her in the eye. “You’d never win a fight against me, so you may want to continue to use your caution.”

Mercer bit her lip seductively, bringing her face close to his. “Maybe I wasn’t talking about that kind of fight.”

Garcia frowned in clear discomfort. “Your wiles and charms do not affect me, Siren. I’ll ask you again to stop it.”

“Look me in the eyes and say that, Telepath.”

Garcia swallowed hard, seeming to be straining against something, but then took a deep breath and relaxed.

He looked down into her eyes, and saw that there was a shine to them she only got when she was attempting to hypnotize someone into infatuation with her. “You don’t affect me,” he said. “Now get off of me.”

He watch as her eyes shone slightly brighter before fading back to normal.

“I do affect you, Garcia,” she told him, with a knowing smile. “You are just better than most at evading me.”

“Then I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing,” Garcia said. He jerked his head away as she laughingly tried to kiss him again, and then shook himself loose of her. He pushed past her and made his way toward the door.

“There is a more important matter that you should know about,” she said, leaning nonchalantly against the back of a chair. “Since things are coming together so nicely, I’ve gone ahead and given the order for the collections team to go ahead and bring in our number 27.”

Garcia turned sharply on his heel. “You did not discuss that with me.”

Mercer shrugged. “I discussed it with Rai. She’s ready, so we’re ready.”

“I was going to personally bring in number 27. She may be powerful, but she’s untrained. She and her guardian can barely defend themselves! Rai clearly hasn’t incorporated the possible repercussions of an invasive action against –”

Mercer put up a hand to stop him. “The project has been expanded.”

Garcia glared at her. “What do you mean ‘expanded’? What’s been expanded? What the fuck is expanded?”

“Number 27, has been deemed dangerous. Too dangerous for solitary recovery. She is no longer in the company of just one individual. She is now in the company of three, two of which are highly capable psychics.” Mercer checked her nails nonchalantly. “I believe you know one personally.”

“Troy,” Garcia confirmed, his voice barely a whisper.

“Not to mention that they are en route to the location which may house a group of even more capable individuals very possibly including Jericho Lee. And if you were to catch any of them while they were in each other’s vicinity, well, even you my brave soldier, would have a bit of a problem on your hands.”

“How did you find… how do you know…” Garcia’s voice was calm, but he was balling his fists. “You set the whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“Oh! I guess I did, didn’t I?” Mercer said, feigning surprise. “And I did it all very well, if I might say so myself. I will admit, though, I was not expecting it to run so smoothly, but they all just played right into my hands.”

“You are running with fire, Mercer. You’re moving too fast. We aren’t ready for this.”

Mercer narrowed her eyes at him. “We’ve been ready for the girl, and by the time he gets here, we’ll be ready for the cognitive.”

“We are still testing with John Levin, you can’t be sure the system will tolerate a second non-vampiric aura! Our latest vampiric isn’t even fully integrated yet!”

“Have a little faith, Garcia,” Mercer scoffed. “This isn’t a ragtag operation anymore. We’re that much closer to finishing this. That much closer to coming to forefront, stopping Rowanne in her tracks… Maybe even reviving what little unity we have left.”

“Just at the cost of a few lives? This isn’t what we’re about!” Garcia exclaimed.

“No one is dying here, Garcia.”

“But they aren’t living either.”

“Says you,” Mercer replied. “But ask them, and they wouldn’t the difference.”

Garcia swallowed hard and turned away. “If anyone gets hurt…”

“I know how you feel about the infamous Salem Beckett,” Mercer emphasized the name. “And I know that you are partial to your fellow telepath. The collections team is fully aware that no one is to be harmed… if it can be helped.”

“If anyone gets hurt…” he repeated in a low growl.

Mercer peered at him from under her eyelids. “I’ve got it covered.”

Garcia spun on his heel and stormed off toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Mercer called after him.

“Back to Rowanne,” he waved toward a screen that was now showing Rai standing over the limp body of John Levin. “Clearly, it’s begun.”

__________________________________________________

“Are you sure?” Hadrian asked guiltily as he watched Gari grabbed a set of pajamas from the dresser.

“Mmmmhmmm,” she hummed in response. “I grew up in this house, so I can sleep anywhere. Besides, Dad said if you get back on a schedule similar to the one you were following before, you might start remembering some things. And being that sleeping in here was once apart of the routine, well, there you go.”

“Yeah, but… I mean I feel like… I’m… kicking you out.”

She turned to face him, holding a stack of clean pjs against her side. “Well don’t, because if I really felt like it I’d climb in that bed with you and you wouldn’t say a word about it. You’d just lay there and stare at the ceiling uncomfortably. And then I’d sense that you were uncomfortable and that would make me uncomfortable and then everyone would be uncomfortable and no one would sleep. Am I right?”

Hadrian looked off to the side in quiet acknowledgement of her correctness.

“Yes, I’m right,” she answered for him, smiling good-naturedly.

He opened his mouth to apologize.

“And don’t say you’re sorry because sorries won’t get us anywhere. Just go and sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” She turned to leave.

“I’m just gonna go and check on the little one across the hall, but he should be fine for the night. You sleep well, okay?”

“Yeah,” Hadrian answered, watching her go. Even though she was right, he would have been very awkward if she had slept next to him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone. Something about that woman made him feel stable, but he couldn’t expect her to sit by him all night. She was a mother… to his kids.

He climbed out of his clothing and into a set of pajamas that Gari had lain out for him. Climbing into bed, he tried to do as he was told and get a good night’s rest, but sleep evaded him. His eyes refused to close, choosing instead to follow the shadows that played across the ceiling.

Hadrian’s eyes popped open and he sat up on his elbows. He had managed to drift off to sleep at some point, but it had been fitful and light. He looked across the bed at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was a little after 4 am. He was sure he would never get back to sleep at this point. He was beginning to wonder why he had woken up when he heard a sound. It was an odd, almost steady hum… that sounded like… crying. Hadrian realized that the little boy across the room was crying. He waited for a moment, listening for footsteps coming up the stairs. He heard nothing.

He sat up, flinging his legs over the side of the bed, letting out a heavy breath as he contemplated what exactly he was doing. His mind seemed to be having an argument with itself.

You haven’t touch a baby in you life.

Oh, but apparently you have. You’re a father, Mr. Man. A Dad. Someone who can’t keep it in his pants.

Well, you certainly don’t remember what to do with a kid. Get his mom.

Oh, right, wake the pregnant woman who has been slaving over you while taking care of two kids. Real nice.

Kid’s got a granddad too you know.

Oh yeah, let the kid cry his eyes out while you go and wake up a senior citizen. You are just all gentleman, aren’t you.

Fine! Go be a father figure. But when you touch the kid and he bursts into flames and disintegrates into dust because you don’t know what you’re doing, DON’T come running to me.

Hadrian stopped outside of the little boy’s bedroom. He placed his ear against the cloudy glass door and the wailing became undeniable. He waited another moment for the telltale signs of someone, anyone, coming to his rescue, but again there was nothing. 

“Okay,” he said to himself. “I can handle this.” Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

The little boy clinging to the crib bars, sobbing pitifully. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Hadrian, fresh tears forming at the sight of him. “Daaaaaa Deeeeeee,” the baby pleaded.

“I guess that’s me, huh?” Hadrian said, approaching the crib. The toddler reached out to Hadrian, fingers grasping at air. “Okay kid, be gentle with me.”

Hadrian reached in and pulled the boy up to his eye level, holding him out at arms length. “So what’s wrong with you?” he said, turning the boy so he could examine him. “10 fingers, 10 toes. You’re mom is certainly not starving you. You look fine.”

“Daaaaaaa,” the boy whined, still grasping.

“What? What? What do I do? I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do,” Hadrian implored the toddler.

“Daaaaaaaa!” The boy’s tears were reforming, his whine become a wail again. Arms stretching wildly towards Hadrian.

“Hey, hey, hey, chill out,” Hadrian brought the boy to his chest and began patting his back. “Seriously, if you just tell me what you want, I will get it for you. Anything you want, just no tears. Verbalizations, good. Tears, no good.” But the boy had fallen quiet and was falling asleep on Hadrian’s chest. Hadrian looked down in surprise at the boy, not sure what to make of him. “You wanted a hug?” he whispered to the sleeping child, continuing to rock him a bit. “Really, a hug? That’s it? Dude, you gave up too soon. You had the biggest bargaining chip. I was ready to go out and find you a pet giraffe. The world’s largest lollipop. A Ferrari. And all you want is a hug. I can do hugs. Hugs are doable.”

Hadrian continued rocking the boy when he heard a light rap on the door frame. He turned to see Gari standing in the doorway. He was immediately flustered. “I was just – he was crying and –”

“Relax,” Gari said tranquilly. “Don’t freak out and wake him up now.”

“Oh… yeah… right…” Hadrian said. “I don’t really know how to… put him down. I was formulating a plan when you knocked.”

“Just do it as quickly and as quietly as you can. And if he opens his eyes, just make it seem like it was his idea.”

“Okay,” Hadrian said, and carefully set the little boy down in the crib. The little boy turned on his side and made a soft cooing noise, but didn’t wake up. Hadrian couldn’t help but smile in his success.

Gari motioned for him to join her in the hallway.

“Well, you seem to have things under control,” she said when he closed the door. “I’m gonna head back to bed.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Hadrian asked quickly, not ready for her to leave yet.

“Nah, I actually wasn’t really sleeping. Davy’s usually a self-soother, that’s why I didn’t come up immediately. I figured he’d send himself back to sleep. I didn’t realize that you might hear him, but I guess it’s a good thing that you did.”

“Yeah, it’s just… he’s got the most tragic wail. I mean just, heartbreaking. I just couldn’t… I mean just pitiful.” He smiled, and rubbed his neck.  ”Apparently, I’m a sucker for tears.”

“Haha, yeah, you are.” Gari giggled “I’m sure he pulled out the Daaaaaa.” Gari scrunched her face, feigning tears as she imitated the boy.

“Yeah,” Hadrian nodded, his grin widening. “He gave me a few of those. I thought it was the universal word for, well, everything.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he was talking to you.”

“Yeah…” Hadrian said, rubbing his shoulder. He watched as Gari’s gaze fell from his eyes to his lips. Her eyes hovered there for a moment before falling to the to the floor.

“Well, we still have a few more hours before the troops are up,” she said, half sighing. “You should try to get some more sleep.”

Hadrian nodded a response, keeping his own eyes pinned to the carpet as she walked away.

__________________________________________________

 

John was moving quickly toward dream sleep, ignoring the subconscious prodding that had been the only thing keeping his eyes open while Rai told him of all the magnificence he’d accomplish if he’d only sleep. His brain was falling, preparing for the dreams to come, waiting for a vacation from paranoia, not paying any mind to the pretty woman who was gently calling him away from his travels.

“No dreams, John,” she was saying.

“I like dreams,” John’s brain answered.

But she persisted. “You can’t dream, John. I can’t help you if you dream.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“You’ll be too far gone. Too far away from me. Don’t you want to stay with me?”

“Hmmm… Indecisive.”

“John.”

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

“John.”

“Nope.”

“JOHN!”

John’s eyes snapped open and he cringed as they were flooded with white light. When his temporary blindness subsided, he looked up to see the woman standing over him, looking down, amused.

“Hello,” she said with a smile.

He looked around, and saw nothing but white. “More LED lights? I mean really how much bacteria can I have on me?”

“What?”

“And I don’t have acne either. Fucking Garcia.”

The woman gathered her skirts and flopped down next to him. She watched him with confusion clear in her expression and laughter right behind her eyes.

John sat up. “What kind of lab is this? There is nothing here.”

“Oh,” she looked around as if she had just noticed the sheer nothingness that surrounded them. “I don’t really care for things here. Useless.”

John stood up and examined his surroundings and the woman who stood before him. She was very… green, and something about her was familiar, as if he had met her before. In fact, something about the blanket of white felt oddly familiar as well. He had spent time here. With this woman. Something had happened here. His brain was suddenly overcome with the idea that he was not actually awake.

“What is this place?” he asked anxiously. “Who are you? What – what’s wrong with me?”

“Memory is so sensitive…” The woman frowned up at him. “I was afraid that your memory wouldn’t survive the transition, but you’re so stubborn. You never listen to me.” She shrugged. “And now here you are. I don’t know whether to be angry with you, or pleased that you’ve returned.”

John furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What are you talking about? Why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on?!”

“Have a seat,” the woman said, ignoring his outburst.

“Have a seat where?!” John yelled, motioning around, “There is nothing to –,” he stopped short as a pink chair with yellow flowers appeared at his side.

“That’s… that’s… that’s my grandmother’s favorite chair.”

“Mmmhmm,” the woman hummed in agreement.

“That chair used to smell like cheese farts.”

“Still does,” the woman replied.

At the moment, John caught a whiff of the familiar scent of cheese fart that had both plagued and comforted him through much of his childhood. He stood simply staring at the chair for a long while, unsure of what to make of it. Finally he spoke. “Okay, where the balls am I? And really you should tell me, because I’m about four evenly spaced seconds away from losing my mind. Five, maybe, if you get rid of the chair. ”

The woman laughed with delight, but her laughter was short lived. She gasped suddenly and looked off into the distance of nothing, as if she had just heard something disturbing. John, still staring at the magically appearing chair, had heard nothing.

“What is it?” he asked as the woman’s distress became more apparent.

“Rai is waking me,” she said standing, worry lacing her voice.

“Rai!” John exclaimed in anger. “You tell that metallic bag of chickens that –”

“John,” The woman said approaching him. She placed her hands on his chest. “You’ll feel the urge to leave, John, but you can’t. If you leave, if you fall deeper, I can’t get you out. I know I got you out once, but I can’t do it again.”

John pulled back from her, his face knotted in confusion. “What are you talking about? Where would I go? Where am I now?”

“Don’t leave John,” the woman persisted. “Whatever you do, stay here.”

“I don’t know what you’re –” but she was gone. John stared in awe at the spot where she had simply vanished into thin air. “Oh, man, John,” he murmured to himself, looking around again as if waiting for the white nothingness to transform. He sighed and sat down heavily in the chair. “This is not good.”

__________________________________________________

Garcia avoided the group of celebrating men and women and walked up the stairs toward Rowanne’s quarters. This particular safe house was alive with unruly celebration, as Truman Showalter, a latent who had fathered a child with a level 6 psychic woman three years prior, had been captured. The psychic woman and the child had been killed earlier in the year, but Truman had managed to remain on the run.

Garcia was surprised that the man had even still been on anyone’s mind, especially not Rowanne’s. A latent was hardly a threat to her or her regime. But he pushed his thoughts out of his head. This was not the place or the time to wonder about anything, let alone Truman Showalter, for despite the block he had up against his psyche, there was always a risk that someone could penetrate it and listen in.

As Garcia made his way into Rowanne’s room, it was immediately made clear that there was nothing that could be done for Showalter in any case, as his dead body lay flaccid and drained in the center of the floor.

From the slithers of energy that still wafted in the atmosphere of the room, Garcia could tell that his death had been recent.

He walked over to the corpse, immediately noticing the deep red, ragged puncture marks that decorated the skin over his jugular vein. His neck was broken and twisted at an odd angle, and he looked as if he had been tortured until he had reached his current state.

He could sense Rowanne in the next room over, her aura sluggish, bright, and full of energy that was not her own. He had not been planning on encountering Rowanne with a fully satisfied aura, and subsequently, a clear state of mind. But he had little choice now.

“Mr. Hazard,” she called to him lazily. “Come and say hello to me.”

Garcia checked his auroric block, and made his way into the next room that seemed to be dedicated solely to a bathtub and candles.

“Hello Rowanne,” he said in a pleasant voice. “Feeling well, I see.”

“Glorious,” Rowanne answered him from the tub. “And yourself?”

“I’m just grand.” He moved to sit on couch across from her. He was surprised to see that her silver hair had returned to its natural raven color. That only meant one thing. “Only sorry that I’ve missed the festivities.”

Rowanne perked up. “Oh and did you miss something special!” She exclaimed in excitement, her arms splashing the water around in the tube. “Showalter was holed up with four other Marked Ones. High levels. One was a fucking biokinetic, kept changing form, turning into trees and shit. Oh, it was fantastic.”

“Wow. Sounds like I missed one hell of a fight.” Garcia feigned an amused surprise, secretly angry that Rowanne would allow for the destruction of such a rare and power psychic. But stopping that from happening again was the reason why he was here.

“It was one hell of a fight,” Rowanne nodded, reminiscing. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But the best part, was that I had every single one of them. Every last drop. I couldn’t help it. Something in me…” she let out a deep breath. “And now I feel… glorious.” As she spoke, her stolen aura expanded and brightened, as if to show off. “I don’t know why I thought that I could sustain myself on small nibbles from Nyxon,” she laughed. “And he’s half dead because of it!”

“Well, you wanted to follow your own rules, I suppose?” Garcia offered, trying to sway her away from the ideas that had clearly been growing in her head during his absence. “Vampirics only taking from donors, no?”

“Well we did away with those rules when we did away with the vampirics, didn’t we?” Rowanne peered at him, a mixture of amusement and suspicion in her face.

Garcia backed off. “True.”

“Besides, those people were not functional members of our psychic society. In fact, they were a danger to it,” Rowanne said. “I was just doing my civic duty. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

She stood and stepped out of the tub, walking, naked, toward Garcia. “And look at me. My hair, my body, my aura. Oh, I’ve never felt so… glorious in my life,” she laughed at her continued use of the word. “I’m revived, Mr. Hazard. This is how I should have always been. This gift was put into my hands because I am the only one who knows how to use it. But I was naive, standing by archaic morals and values while my establishment was falling apart around me. But now I know. This, is what I am. This is who I am..” She looked down at him. “Don’t you agree?”

Garcia raised his eyebrows. “Absolutely,” he agreed again. He had never seen her so… alive, since she had become vampiric. He sat back from her.

To his surprise she knelt in front of him, running a long nail slowly up the back of his hand. She grabbed his wrist and gently tugged him back toward her. “I have to use the strength given to me against my enemies,” she said.

He nodded slowly and again making sure his aura was blocked.

She noticed and laughed. “Oh, I’m full, Mr. Hazard. Completely contented. Your aura has nothing to fear from me.”

Besides,” she purred, giving him a fangy smile. “I have other ways to… get into you… if I wanted to.” She cocked her head to the side. “Unless, you have other reasons for trying to keep me out of your aura.”

Garcia sensed her giving his blockade a playful nudge and suppressed the desire to push her away from him.

Prior to her leadership over The Calling, Rowanne had enjoyed the benefits of being a level 6 telepath. She had even taught Garcia many of the psychic safeguards that he used to this day. However, after her rise to power, she had stopped using her abilities, choosing instead to let intimidation and fear get her answers for her. For the most part, it worked. After she became fully vampiric and put herself on a strict diet of Nyxon with the occasional donations from some of her other followers, her abilites seemed to fall into further disarray, with her hunger-induced mania taking the forefront.

Now that she was no longer starved, completely aware of her surroundings, and once again brunette, she seemed very willing to work the kinks out of her old abilities. Garcia wasn’t sure how long he could keep her out of his psyche and his mind, if she wanted to get in.

Not wanting her to get the idea that she might want to find a way into his aura, he quickly tried to distract her. “John Levin is dead,” he said bluntly.

She leaned back from him with a confused smile. “Why? What did he do?” she asked furrowing her eyebrows.

Garcia was briefly confused at her reaction. Did she not remember? “You told me to sweep his psyche. Again. After it had been swept four, maybe five times prior. You can’t expect anyone to survive that.”

Here expression immediately soured as she stood up and walked away from him. She seemed confused herself, as if unable to remember exactly what had occurred. “He was useful,” was all she managed.

“He could have been in allegiance with Mercer Rye.”

She shook her head, pacing in thought. “If that wasn’t apparent after a four psyche sweeps, then he wasn’t in allegiance with her.” She snarled angrily. “Why would you obey such a stupid order?”

“I wouldn’t dare risk disobeying you,” Garcia replied, hoping it was what she wanted to hear.

“But I was out of my fucking mind,” she said, turning to glare at him. “He might have been the last astral on the fucking earth who was trustworthy enough to fight for the betterment of our society. And you fucking kill him? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Garcia was now completely unsure of what to make of Rowanne.

“Do you know how hard it is to find a high level who understands our mission? Who knows what they are and how their existence is ruining the psychic world? Who is willing to do what has to be done to prevent another widespread pandemic of shit that in-breeding and irresponsibility brought on us? Fucking hell, Garcia,” she spat, but she seemed to relax after she had vented.

She cracked her neck. “But I suppose you were simply following direction. And who knows what I would have done to you had you not obeyed me.” She rubbed her neck. “There is a level 5 geokinetic working in sector 3. Starts earthquakes and breaks holes in the ground. Really cool shit. According to his record, he’s detain four vampirics in the past 2 years.”

“Impressive,” Garcia said, although there was very little emotion in it.

“Last name is Jensen. Bring him to me. He’d make a great replacement. We may have to do the same for poor Nyxon. He’s useless.” She waved him out of the room.
“Maybe now we can really start rebuilding.”

Garcia stood up to exit the room, and nearly jumped when Rowanne appeared suddenly at his side.

“I might need one more thing from you, before you leave, Mr. Hazard,” she said. She ran her palm down his chest and stopped above his pelvis, taking a firm grip on his belt.

Garcia was flustered and could only barely contain it. He had slept with Rowanne before, as her whims were something of an occupational hazard. But it had been a long time ago, back when she had first turned. She was not drinking blood for puranic energy and she extremely wary about how much she took of auroric energy. But in her current state, in something of a psychic high, and in a mindset conducive to feeding again, Garcia was very sure that an act of intimacy would end with him in a very similar state to Mr. Showalter, whose body was still growing cold in the middle of Rowanne’s bedroom.

Garcia willed himself to stop thinking and speak. “And what might that be Rowanne?”

The corners of Rowanne’s mouth turned up slightly as if she had just amused herself. She let go of his belt and motioned through the doorway at the corpse that was heaped on the floor. “Get rid of that on your way out, would you?”

“Of course,” he answered quickly, and left the room.

__________________________________________________

Mercer leaned over the gurney, checking the vitals of the man who lay there. Seeing nothing abnormal, she went ahead and injected him with a potent mixture of sedatives and LSD, a psychoactive drug that aided in the producing hallucinations. The man’s wrist jerked slightly, prompting Mercer to make sure that all of the buckled restraints that strapped the man’s limbs to the gurney were tightly secured.

She jumped, surprised when a panel in the windowed wall slide open, and Garcia charged in.

“Hey,” Mercer whispered. “There needs to be as little stimulation as possible in this room. What the fuck are you doing?”

“We have a fucking problem,” Garcia said, his usually cool voice lined with anxiety.

“I’m sure it’s something that can wait until I’m done here.”

“Rowanne killed four people last night,” Garcia persisted. “She fed on all four. And she’s not done.”

Mercer stared at him in disbelief. “But she doesn’t take from –”

“She does now.”

“Hmph,” Mercer huffed, a thoughtful expression coming over her face. “Bitch is off her diet.”

“Like I said,” Garcia said solemnly, “we have a fucking problem.”

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Secret: Part VII>>