Empath Read online

  For every bleeding heart and empathetic indigo child, may you find your inner strength and inner peace sooner rather than later

  ISBN- 978-0-578-57649-7

  ISBN- 0-578-57649-X

  Copyright © Emme DeWitt 2019

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher or author. This book is a work of fiction. The names of characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Iron Sparrow Media

  www.ironsparrowmedia.com

  Contents

  1. ONE

  2. TWO

  3. THREE

  4. FOUR

  5. FIVE

  6. SIX

  7. SEVEN

  8. EIGHT

  9. NINE

  10. TEN

  11. ELEVEN

  12. TWELVE

  13. THIRTEEN

  14. FOURTEEN

  15. FIFTEEN

  16. SIXTEEN

  17. SEVENTEEN

  18. EIGHTEEN

  19. NINETEEN

  20. TWENTY

  21. TWENTY-ONE

  22. TWENTY-TWO

  23. TWENTY-THREE

  24. TWENTY-FOUR

  25. TWENTY-FIVE

  26. TWENTY-SIX

  27. TWENTY-SEVEN

  28. TWENTY-EIGHT

  29. TWENTY-NINE

  30. THIRTY

  31. THIRTY-ONE

  32. THIRTY-TWO

  33. THIRTY-THREE

  34. THIRTY-FOUR

  35. THIRTY-FIVE

  36. THIRTY-SIX

  37. THIRTY-SEVEN

  38. THIRTY-EIGHT

  39. THIRTY-NINE

  40. FORTY

  41. FORTY-ONE

  42. FORTY-TWO

  43. FORTY-THREE

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The lights clicked on above me, the loud buzz of fluorescent bulbs invading the soft half sleep I had adopted since the wee hours. My arm was draped over my eyes, so I had no problem ignoring the light. But the buzzing really killed it for me.

  “What, six AM already?” I said aloud to the empty room. Other than the daily routines, I had no concept of time. The illusion of a window in the spotless white institution room mocked me from the far wall. If I opened the curtains, I would find concrete cinder blocks in place of a pastoral scene. Really, they were just rude to put the frame in there. It was a constant reminder of my imprisonment—medical observation, my foot.

  Good morning, sunshine, a voice inside my head chuckled. I could only sigh, forcing myself to accept the defeat of another unwelcomed wake up call. I flung my arm wildly into the air, swatting at the disembodied voice with general disdain.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t the voices that awarded me such grand forced living accommodations, but rather a mega evil super secret society for evolved humans. Well, they seemed nefarious enough to me. My gut instincts carried a lot more weight than the average bear’s. Or super human’s.

  Whatever. I was right and on my way to proving it.

  Well, as soon as I got out of here, anyway.

  Good morning to you, too, Stalker, I replied in my head. My eyes squinted at the blinking security camera in the corner of the room. I took the opportunity of rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to hide the soundless muttering of my curses from the camera’s view. I see your late night banter doesn’t deter you from pestering me first thing.

  Early bird gets the worm. And do I detect a tone? Someone’s not a morning person.

  I snorted, immediately sitting up and beginning my morning stretching routine. I felt better moving while having a secret mental conversation when the other party wasn’t in the room. Something about the lack of body language input made me fidgety, and I would really rather not suffer an upping in my crazy pill dosage. It didn’t dampen my abilities like they thought, but it sure made my stomach churn. I was not up for digestive distress in addition to the chatty nincompoop down the hall. One or the other was punishment enough.

  You know, I’m not really in the mood, Quentin. Just to put that out there.

  You’ll think differently at breakfast. I have news.

  I could feel the Cheshire grin through our connection, and I snorted so hard this time I fell into a coughing fit. I scrambled to my bedside table, but found the glass next to my bed empty. Lurching over the bed, I stumbled toward the door, smacking my open palm against the door rapidly as the coughs caused me to double over.

  I heard the beep of a security badge from the other side of the door, followed by a loud click of the lock releasing. The door slid open, falling silently into its slot in the wall. I turned my face up, as I was about mid-thigh level to whichever security guard was on duty. A hand holding a small disposable cup appeared in front of me.

  “Here,” Blue Eyes said, his arm shooting out from his side, nearly sloshing all the water out.

  The guard kept one hand on his holstered gun as he braced for my next move, but I was too focused on the water to be offended. Several previous escape attempts did not hold me in high esteem among the security staff, least of all with Blue Eyes. He was still sporting the goose egg on his shin from our last encounter.

  I choked down the thimble of water I was accommodated and attempted to calm my coughing from hacking into short fits. I did not bother to ask for more. I knew the rules. As a most beloved and highly valuable asset, my every move was measured and accounted for, even down to the last drop of water in or out of my body. I liked to keep hydrated just like the next person, but this level of obsession was a little much.

  Blue Eyes cleared his throat, nudging my knees back behind the barrier of the door with the toe of his boot. I let him, even though I was beginning to think he needed a matching set of bruises for his shins. With zero empathy leaking off him, Blue Eyes swiped his badge against the box outside my room, and the door swished shut abruptly in my face.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, flicking my wrist out in a mock salute before I scuttled back toward my bed. Instead of crawling back onto it, I laid sprawled on the floor as I counted the speckled tiles for the millionth time. I didn’t even care if the white coats were taking detailed notes about my “extremely odd behavior.”

  I was bored.

  I was apathetic.

  I was stuck.

  Breakfast would be good, but then I would have to entertain myself until the next meal break. Let the white coats wax poetic about why I was mindlessly rolling on the floor, but I was so tired of playing games. The last time I had been institutionalized, I thought by adhering to each request and exceeding the expectations placed on me that I would be rewarded. Better behavior meant less days in the brig and an expedited reentry back to my life. It hadn’t been true then, and it certainly wasn’t true now. Not after everything that happened since Tomas passed. Definitely not after what happened with Noah.

  Noah.

  I sighed at the ceiling. Better out than in, I thought dumbly to myself. If only dumb platitudes like that could improve my situation. I was stuck here sighing while Noah was stuck…who even knew where. Probably without the luxury of sighing, I was certain. A lump began to form in my throat as all horrific possibilities floated effortlessly up idea after terrible horrible idea. With my teeth clenched together, I forced out more air, making a slightly more aggressive sound. We did not have time for pity parties.

  Today, for better or for worse, I was going to act how I wanted. I would not expend my energy bending myself into the mold I was expected to fit into. I would worry about the consequences later. If Quentin was worth anything, it would be one of my last
days here anyway. Playing the good patient role no longer reaped the most benefits.

  It wasn’t too long until an orderly came to retrieve me for breakfast. Of all the formalities, I found this one the weirdest. I was already flanked by two guards as I was escorted down the hall. The orderly was excessive, and it made us both grumpy. The degree of annoyance rolling off the orderly made me sigh in exasperation. It wasn’t like I demanded a personal escort. Less than quarter into my day and the emotional overload was already grating on my nerves.

  As soon as I was delivered to my table, the orderly vanished along with the guards, who resumed their sacred duty of holding up the walls. Quentin was deposited across from me shortly thereafter, and I scowled at him in greeting.

  “You know when you pester me, it’s like someone constantly ringing the doorbell, right? Even if I ignore it, it’s annoying as hell,” I muttered under my breath. “Just because you figured out how to project does not mean you need to show off all the time.”

  Quentin returned an indulgent smile.

  “If only you knew how to shield better. Honestly, it’s a surprise I can even get through with all the other input coming your way,” he said, picking innocently at his nailbeds. “Although, if you don’t respond, I don’t get to go poking around like some people.”

  “Thankfully,” I threw back mercilessly. “You know, your loyalties concern me. I’m not sure whether I should trust Adair’s good old buddy-buddy.”

  “Don’t have much choice, do you?” Quentin said, his glasses reflecting the glare of the fluorescent lights, shielding his eyes from view. The angle of his neck was too awkward to be accidental, and I growled internally at his shady body language. “Plus, some of us don’t really think so much in terms of friendship. It’s a major weakness both you and Mags share, interestingly enough.”

  “Don’t you compare me to her.”

  I crossed my arms, trying to make it seem like that was just more comfortable to me and not because his words landed on a sore spot.

  Why was it taking so long for the food to be sent out? At least if I had food, I could be eating instead of arguing. I had to remind myself this room had cameras as well. The fact that Quentin was an asshole didn’t seem to matter in my overall cooperation scores. Really, it was a miracle I didn’t physically attack him instead of Blue Eyes. At least with Blue Eyes, it had been tactical. Somehow, I thought, they could at least respect that.

  “And the similarities get better and better,” Quentin said, his smirk twisting his mouth cruelly to one side. His expression dropped a cold stone into my gut, and I hastily slammed up a mental barrier to not influence the atmosphere in the room.

  I wasn’t in the mood to instigate a riot today.

  “You know, you have a lot of competition for greatest villain in our generation,” I said smoothly, trying to sneak in my barb behind a silky tone. Quentin’s neck twitched enough to lose his strategic position and reveal his eyes from behind the glare of his lenses. They seemed leery yet desperate for some sort of validation. “It’s a shame you don’t have a more influential power. You’re forced to ally with us weepy saps who care about loyalty and unicorns and rainbows.”

  My eyes flashed a warning, and Quentin stiffened a little in his seat, his hands stilling their nervous picking. After a moment, he cleared his throat, shifting his weight to regain some of the dominance he had just lost.

  “I can be quite useful. You forget---I have news.” Quentin paused to allow the food trays to be set in front of us. Once the attendant was out of earshot, he continued.

  “I’ve been doing some digging, and the older generation seems to pool their resources through a charitable organization out of Boston they’ve so cutely named The Association. You already knew this, but I’m just confirming it for you.” Quentin stabbed his hash browns savagely.

  I rolled my eyes as I shoveled eggs into my mouth, not waiting for the cool room to turn their texture to rubber.

  “The deed for this building is in their name, as well as the medical center you and I often visited while at school. Now, the interesting bit is there’s only one other medically zoned building in their real estate deeds, and it’s way the heck out in Montana.”

  “Montana?” I muttered, shaking my head. “Whose genius idea was that?”

  “Actually, it is really genius since it’s so out of the way and it would be ridiculously easy to monitor traffic to and from that area. Also, can you imagine winters up there? No, thank you,” Quentin retorted, swigging his orange juice with disdain. “Dean Moriarty is no joke.”

  “Don’t ruin breakfast.” I frowned. “Anything else?”

  “I mean, can you read all the way to Montana?” Quentin said, his face doubtful.

  “You worry about you, and I’ll worry about me, okay?” I threw back quickly.

  A small part in the back of my mind was afraid to try, but I had such a deep sense of calm that I thought I very well could read to Montana. I might put myself in a coma for a week, but I still thought I could do it. It was best to keep my range to myself though, especially until after Quentin had been properly vetted. It had been four months, and I still wasn’t sure if I could trust him.

  If I stayed in here any longer, I might be forced to trust him out of necessity.

  “All right, fine,” Quentin said. “I’ll try for more, but it takes time. I can only zone out for so long before they come and check for a pulse. I try and pretend I can’t help it, but they might be figuring out I’m doing it on purpose.”

  “Oh, they probably already know.” I sighed. “Something tells me they wrote the rulebook and they’re timing us to figure out how long we’ll need to figure it out. You would think they’d want to help the next generation by mentoring us instead of testing us for sport.”

  Quentin barked out a derisive laugh.

  “I forget you had a somewhat decent childhood in blissful ignorance.” Quentin crushed his orange juice cup in his fist. “Love. Support. Wait, don’t tell me. Were there puppies?”

  “Can you not destroy something while simultaneously talking about puppies?” I said. “Even for you that’s messed up. Listen, just let me know if this gladiator game method has ever worked out in the past. You know, on your spare journeys.”

  “Sure, that’ll go to the top of my list.” Quentin rolled his eyes before shoving back his chair as he stood up. “See you at lunch.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  He paused, his hand lingering on the back of the bright orange plastic chair.

  “I hear Montana is nice this time of year.” For psychopaths, I added to myself. Who was I kidding? It was still frozen tundra in February.

  “Whatever,” Quentin said. “Suit yourself.”

  “I always do,” I said to his back, poking at the remnants of my breakfast until it was my turn to be escorted back to my room. I loosened my grip on my mental walls, letting the feelings and energies of the people around me filter in slowly, like a theatre slowly filling up before a show. I let the volume rise in my mind, pulling the barrier tightly back into place when a hand tapped my shoulder. I blinked slowly, trying not to flinch at the touch.

  It was just Blue Eyes. I got up and followed him before he could register anything out of the ordinary, if he even cared at all.

  “What’s she doing?” Blue Eyes said, peering at the monitor bay in the observation room. It showed the young girl sprawled on the floor with her legs propped vertically against the wall.

  White Coat briefly glanced up from her note taking at the monitor in question and shrugged. The subject did not appear to be in any medical or emotional distress, so she simply typed out a note about the behavior in the appropriate comment field.

  “She does that, typically after she counts the tiles. She has a fairly regular boredom routine, which is admirable considering how little stimulation she gets. The boy just sleeps all the time,” White Coat stated in a flat tone, nodding her head at the opposite monitor with a teenage male lying prone on his be
d. His vitals blipped steadily in the margin of the screen, indicating the steady state of a REM sleep cycle.

  Blue Eyes squinted his eyes, leery of such a simple explanation. These were teenagers, after all. He rubbed his shin absentmindedly, checking the size of the goose egg the girl had given him two days before.

  White Coat flicked her wrist, bringing the face of her austere Timex into sight. “Time for medication dispersal,” she said, making another quick note before she left for rounds. The staccato pace of her notes indicated shorthand as she firmly pressed the enter button to save her work. Blue Eyes straightened belatedly, trailing White Coat out of the observation room and into the hall.

  I followed their forms as the pair made their way down the hall from the observation room to my nicely padded cell. The clarity of my range had not diminished with the multiple medications they pumped into me, although sometimes my focus couldn’t last very long before the feed shorted out abruptly. Due to my familiarity with Blue Eyes, my mind’s eye captured him effortlessly. His thoughts and moods were steady and assured, which allowed his form to fill in solidly in my head.

  White Coat was a little more difficult to “see” reliably. She reminded me of Noah in a way; her rational thought seemed to stem the flow of her emotions, limiting my reading to trends of previous behavior with the caveat that her robotic mad scientist brain had the emotional depth of a teaspoon. Her physical outline was a stringboard pattern, empty of context beyond the connections of Point A’s and Point B’s. Once in a while, like when she caught Blue Eyes glancing at her backside, anger would flare out like a supernova. But once she had regrouped, the emptiness returned with only the barest of hints of human emotion in between flares.