Arcadia's Choice

IF I’VE GOTTA have the soul of another person living inside me, why can’t it be one who speaks French? I jiggled the mouse between two multiple choice answers on the computer screen, agonizing over my final French exam.

Sorry, honey, Kevin Ibrahim Ahmadi answered in my mind. Never took French. But look on the bright side. Thanks to me, you now are fluent in Pashto, Urdu, Arabic and speak a passable Punjabi.

I groaned. And what will those languages get me other than hit on by cab drivers and gas station attendants?

Ouch! That hurts...but you do have a point.

Hush up, and let me think.

French was the last exam of my high school career, and I’d been agonizing over it for an hour. You’d think all the time I’d spent at night studying rather than sleeping would have helped, and it probably did, but months of no more than four hours of sleep a night was getting to me.

I clicked the enter button, and the tiny hourglass spun lazily on the screen. My knee bounced with impatience. After what felt like forever, but in reality was probably only ten seconds or so, a new page rolled onto the computer screen. In big red letters, it read, Passing grade: 92%.

My knee stilled, and I leaned back in my chair, dry eyes still glued to the screen as if it might change with a blink.

Congratulations. You’re officially a high school graduate, said my tutor Wade while he thumbed through his iPad at the next table.

I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes. It’s all sort of...anticlimactic, isn’t it?

What did you expect, balloons and confetti? You graduate from a virtual high school, you get a virtual graduation. Dr. Helbo has to sign off on some things. I’ll file your paperwork tomorrow, and you’ll get your diploma mailed to you in four to six weeks.

Well, maybe not balloons and confetti, but when I envisioned my high school graduation, I had pictured one-size-never-fits-all robes, sitting through cliché-filled speeches and tossing my cap in the air. I had also always assumed my twin sister, Lony, would be there with me. It just illustrated how much my life had changed in a year.

Wade! Good, you’re still here, Shannon called as she rushed into the library, clutching her cell phone in hand. I just got off the line with my parents. They promised a hefty bonus if you help me pass chemistry. Of course, that means I have to stay in Chicago by myself all summer instead of going home to Oregon— She shot me a mock glare, and I shrugged. --but I promise to work hard. Please, please, please say you’ll help.

My friend, and resident medium, Shannon Wester, had flunked her chemistry class the day before, effectively butchering her graduation plans. If she wanted to start Midwestern University with me in the fall, she’d have to re-take the class over summer break. Since our high school program required exams to be proctored, and she’d never make it through the class without major help, she’d have to convince Wade to take time away from writing his dissertation to help her. Judging by the gleam in his eye and the sudden spike in his pulse, bribing him with a bonus was a good start in the right direction.

I stood and rolled my shoulders. Thinking in French all afternoon had taken a lot out of me, and I felt a buildup of tension in my head. I needed to go lie down.

Thanks, Wade, I said, gathering my books and papers. I couldn’t have done this accelerated program without you. I leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

His face heated, and my heart tripped with his flicker of surprise and humble embarrassment. Uh, thanks.

Bet that’s the most action that guy’s seen in years, Ahmadi commented.

I ignored him and patted Shannon’s shoulder as I left the library.

With my backpack slung over my shoulder I ascended the steps to my bedroom carefully, clutching the handrail. It had been weeks since I’d needed to use the wheelchair, but my left side still felt weak and shaky.

Once in my room, I dropped the bag on a chair and curled up on the bed, hugging a down pillow to my chest. For the past two months, when not doing school work, this was where I spent most of my time. Not sleeping. The emotional energy I siphoned off my friend Bastian kept me energized enough. And the hours of alone time had helped me immensely in my goal to graduate early. But the truth was I usually hung out in bed because being around people, especially strangers, was just so exhausting on my empathic senses. A soft hum escaped my throat as the warm ball of Ahmadi purred and swirled through my chest. He had no problem sleeping, and he did a lot of it. A good thing for me, because having two souls with posttraumatic stress disorder in one body was exhausting.

Congratulations, kid, he thought to me. I know finishing high school on top of everything else these last couple of months has been hard. I’m proud of you.

Ahmadi and I didn’t really need words to communicate, our souls were housed so closely together that we could literally hear each other think, but speech habits die hard.

Well, I might not have been able to do it if you hadn’t helped me through. Wade wasn’t the only one who pushed me through the cloud of PTSD to finish high school. Ahmadi was an incredibly smart PhD student before a series of unfortunate events led to him getting his soul sucked out of his body and into mine. All his thoughts, memories and knowledge downloaded into my brain at once like a super software upgrade. I was still discovering all the things that I suddenly just knew.

Ahmadi curled and twisted inside me lazily. I let my eyes fall closed, snuggling into his warmth. Very few people outside the institute knew about my dual-souled condition. Shannon saw it the moment I’d walked in the door after my hospital release. It was a medium thing. Just the sight of me made her gawk in wonder. When the others, along with my father and brother, Aaron, saw her reaction, I figured I’d better come clean. But just because they knew of Ahmadi’s presence didn’t mean they understood the comfort he gave me. Shannon had been zipping around for weeks trying to find a way to set him free, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to let him go just yet. Selfish much? Probably. But I had spent the first sixteen years of my life as a twin. When Lony had died, it was like half of me died, too. It didn’t take a therapist to tell me why having Ahmadi inside of me made me feel complete again.

I wanted to be excited about graduating, but mostly, I dreaded it. It was another milestone that I would pass and my sister never would.

Look, Cady. I get that you miss your sister, but don’t you think she’d be happy that you’re moving forward with your life?

I couldn’t hold back my snort. Uh, no. Lony would expect me to be dressed in the black veils of mourning for the rest of my life. She’d want us all perpetually dehydrated from the abundance of our tears.

She sounds like a trip.

Something like that.

A knock on my door startled me, causing my heart to leap wildly in my chest. There were many things I hated about having PTSD, but my body’s over-reaction to small noises was the most annoying. I took a deep calming breath before answering. Come in.

The door cracked open, and Alejandra Moreno stuck her head in. Hola, chica. Como estas?

My arms tightened around my pillow. Peachy.

Taking my response as an invitation, Alejandra entered and sat on my bed, her worried concern wrapping around my arms like wisps of invisible smoke. How did you do on your last final? she asked.

Good. I passed.

A grin broke out, lighting up her face. That’s awesome! How does it feel to be done with high school?

I lifted the one shoulder I wasn’t laying on up in a shrug. Fine, I guess.

Fine? Cady, we should be celebrating! Let’s go out tonight.

I groaned and rolled to face the window.

Don’t be that way, she grumbled, brushing my snarled hair with her fingers. You haven’t been out of the house except for doctor appointments in months. At some point, you have to get dressed and rejoin the world.

I am dressed, I mumbled into my pillow.

Flannel pajama pants and T-shirts don’t count. When was the last time you took a shower?

I shot her a glare over my shoulder. This morning. Are you telling me I stink?

No. I’m telling you that you look like the wrong side of a before-and-after photo.

Gee, thanks.

Alejandra stood, rounded the bed and moved to where she could again look at me head on. I squeezed my eyes closed.

Don’t be like that, she chided, her tone much more forceful. We just want the best for you. I’m not leaving here until you agree to get out of the house with me and Shannon tonight.

I sat up, drawing my knees to my chest. Did the house nominate you to play the tough-love card, or did you take it upon yourself?

She flexed her thin arms. I’m naturally tough. Now, get your ass out of bed, brush your hair, put on some real clothes and meet us downstairs in fifteen minutes.

I checked the clock. Make it an hour. I have to call my dad to let him know I officially graduated. And I’m not going anywhere too loud or crowded, so no dance clubs.

She clapped her hands. I know. Don’t worry. Shan and I will keep it low-key. She skipped out of the room yelling to Shannon that I had finally caved.

I palmed my cell phone, figuring Dad would just be getting done with work for the day. I pressed the speed dial buttons and set the phone on speaker so I could talk and get dressed at the same time.

Hey, Bug, Dad answered in his gruff tone.

Got a minute? I asked while switching out my pjs for jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

Always. How’d your finals go?

Passed with flying colors.

Really? So you’re all done? He sounded impressed, which improved my mood.

Yep. They’ll mail my diploma to me in a month or so. How are Aaron’s finals coming? Is he going to graduate, too?

Sounds like it. He has two more tests tomorrow, but he’s confident.

I carried the phone into the bathroom and set it on the counter. Twirling the brush in my hand, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Alejandra was right, I looked like death. I set to work on the knots in my hair, lacing the light brown locks into a side braid.

My dad called out a good-bye to someone in the background before returning his attention back to me. So how would you feel about a small graduation party? Before I could object he continued. Nothing big. I know neither of you are up to anything elaborate right now. But it feels wrong to not mark the occasion. If your mother were here, she’d probably throw the biggest shindig of the year whether you liked it or not. All I’m thinking of is something at the house with family and friends. Maybe some neighbors. I could grill up burgers and brats.

Tears shimmered in my eyes. Dad was trying so hard to get our family back on track to something resembling normal. As much as I wanted to isolate myself, it was impossible to say no.

I’d like that, Dad.

So Saturday after Aaron’s ceremony?

That’ll be good. What do I need to do to help?

Nothing. Just invite your friends.

I didn’t have a whole lot of friends to invite back at home, but maybe my housemates would make the trip. After a few more congratulations, we hung up.

Are you ready, Ahmadi? I asked out loud.

The ball of him shuddered nervously, not any more excited about our outing than me. Yeah, let’s do this.

***

IT TURNED OUT that even on a Tuesday night, there weren’t many places in Chicago that were both quiet and not crowded. We ended up at a coffee shop that served food, taking our dinner orders to a far corner table. Alejandra invited the boys from the house to come with us, but Bastian had to work. Since his off-the-books jobs for Bristol had suddenly dried up, he’d had to pick up some more magic gigs, and tonight he was busy working some rich kid’s birthday party. I was sure he was going to be in a fantabulous mood when he got home.

Only about half the tables in the cafe were occupied, but all the activity around me made my nerves twitchy. I chose a chair in the corner and angled my back to the wall, so I could keep an eye on the entire room. My rational mind knew nothing was going to hurt me here. I was with friends. But the larger part of me wasn’t thinking rationally, and I shifted uncomfortably, hyper-aware of every movement in the room.

Reed blew on his mug of hot chocolate, making the steam scatter. I wish my parents would stop treating me like a little kid. At fourteen, Reed Nakamura was the youngest student at the institute. Before we’d left the house, I invited my housemates to spend the weekend with me in Dubuque for my graduation party. Only Reed’s parents refused, insisting he come home for the summer as soon as he completed his last class. I hate Peoria.

I’ve been to Peoria before, Alejandra said. It didn’t seem so bad.

Reed rolled his eyes. I don’t have any friends there. All the kids from my neighborhood think I’m a freak.

I nodded in sympathy. Telepaths have that effect on people.

You are a freak, Zach, our resident foreseer, replied with a mouthful of sandwich. We all are. Embrace it.

Shannon smacked Zach’s shoulder with the back of her hand. Idiot. You’re not helping.

He made a face at her and kept eating.

It’s no big deal, Reed, I said. It’s probably not going to be a lot of fun anyway. I don’t exactly have a million friends to return home to, either.

You have Bryan, the younger boy said.

I know he was trying to make me feel better, but all Bryan’s name did was make me feel like the worst girlfriend in the whole world. I hadn’t seen him since I’d left the hospital two months ago. Not that Bryan didn’t ask to come visit me almost every weekend —I just wasn’t ready to see him yet. It was all rather...complicated.

My friends chatted and laughed while I picked at my food. Ahmadi was quiet, but restless. He wasn’t used to being out in public, either. Two souls with PTSD sharing one body. Double the pleasure; double the fun.

Well, Wade agreed to tutor me through the summer, Shannon said. I don’t think he wants to do it, but my parents are willing to shuck out a small fortune so I can start college in the fall.

Do you know what you want to major in yet? Zach asked me.

I was so sick of people asking me that question, mostly because I didn’t know the answer. Uh, not really.

Actually, until the whole kidnapping incident had left me with a scrambled brain, I’d been considering medical school. I figured my psychic healing talent would come in handy as a doctor. Now that I knew how healing others could make me sick? I was re-thinking the idea.

The boys turned the topic to some new videogame they’d bought, and I concentrated on dissecting the mushrooms out of my panini. Reed was telling the story of how his game character defeated a group of evil mages, when he made a wild gesture with his hand and sent his iced mocha spilling onto the table, brown liquid rolling across the surface toward Alejandra’s lap. She stopped it with cupped hands.

Watch what you’re doing, chico, she grumbled.

We tossed our napkins over the puddle, but it wasn’t enough to contain the chocolaty mess.

Reed, ask the lady at the counter for a towel, Shannon directed.

He hopped up eagerly, taking his embarrassment with him.

At least it didn’t run off onto your new jeans, Shannon said. Getting mocha out of that white fabric would be a bitch.

Alejandra glared, and then her lips curled into a grin. Wouldn’t be a problem for me. Reed would’ve been the one scrubbing.

Reed returned with a towel, and Alejandra sopped up the mess, which by this time had run around the table between our plates.

Here, Cady, she said, tossing the towel to me. Do your end.

I caught the damp terry cloth in my hand, and something in my mind snapped to attention. Ahmadi’s lazy circles froze in place, weighing heavily on my lungs. Cold sweat broke out over my body as Ahmadi and I flashed on glimpses of the same shared memory. Body strapped to a narrow table, tilted back with feet above the head. Completely immobile. Cloth shoved roughly into mouth. Julian Merrick’s cold grin before the white towel was placed over the face. Ice water pouring, soaking the towel, sticking to the face, rivers trickling up the nose, burning the sinus cavity. Gag reflex spasms filling the mouth with the acid taste of vomit. Drowning.

Ahmadi’s soul-deep scream echoed the one ripping out of my throat. I tossed the towel back across the table and huddled into the corner, trying to get as far away from the wet cloth as possible. I drew my feet up onto the seat, curling my legs to my chest, and wrapped my arms around my head.

The noise of frightened customers faded as if lost on a blustering wind. Worry, confusion and fear bounced back and forth across the table between my friends, striking me like ice shards. A hand reached over to touch my shoulder, triggering another scream from me, before it dropped away.

I knew Ahmadi had suffered water board torture at the hands of Merrick. At the time, he’d been on the other side of a wall, well within my aura range, forcing me to live every second of terror right along with him. It was something we both tried not to think about.

Cady? Ahmadi? You’re safe now, Shannon murmured close to my ear. You’re both going to be fine. Ahmadi, I see your soul bouncing all over the place. You have to calm down. If you don’t, Cady won’t be able to. It’s okay.

Is she hurt? Should I call 911? a distant worried voice asked.

She’ll be fine, Alejandra assured. We were just taking her home.

Zach’s arms wrapped around my shoulders, coaxing my trembling body up. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he easily supported my weight as he led me out from behind the table. In my peripheral vision, I glimpsed Reed, his face shell-shocked with horror. It was the curse of being telepathic. He’d heard every part of our flashback, involuntarily pulled into the darkness that I never talk about. Poor kid.

***

I SENSED HIS presence before I heard his approach, but I didn’t turn to greet him. Curled like a baby with my pillow clutched tightly to my chest, I stared out my small bedroom window, imagining the stars that I couldn’t see through Chicago’s light pollution. Care and concern radiated off him in waves, caressing my skin, forcing me to bite back a moan. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing him to leave me alone.

Bastian Night never could take a hint.

Tell me what happened. It was more order than request for information.

I groaned, knowing he wouldn’t go away until I talked to him. We might not have been related, but Bastian treated me in that protective, big-brother way that I was just starting to get used to from my bio-big brother, Aaron. In the months since my hospital release, my dad and Aaron had sort of adopted Bastian into our family, trusting him to take care of me in their absence, a job he took way too seriously. Most of the time I appreciated the attention. Bastian had become a rock for me, the only person who knew the full story of what happened with Ahmadi and me at the hands of Merrick. But tonight I was too shaken by the flashback freak-out in the cafe to be up to entertaining company. The rest of my housemates accepted it when I retreated to my room and asked to be left alone. Not Bastian.

I rolled to my back, peering up at my friend looming over me.

Tell me, he repeated.

I had a flashback, I admitted, avoiding his eyes by staring at a crack in the ceiling.

He tensed but didn’t ask for further clarification. He knew enough to guess at what the flashback had been about. How do you feel now?

I don’t know, I replied honestly. Ahmadi’s finally settled down. He was pretty messed up for a few hours there, which didn’t help me any. He’s sleeping now.

Bastian touched his hand to my forehead. You’re clammy.

Thanks, Mom. I knocked his hand away.

Come on, he said, nudging me to get under the covers.

I didn’t realize how cold I was until tucked into the cocoon of my comforter. After coming home from the cafe, I’d felt hot and feverish. At some point over the last few hours, that heat must have faded away without my notice.

Do you want to tell me about it? he asked.

No. Do you want to tell me about the party you worked tonight?

The glare he shot me made me grin.

Bastian’s mother had been a gymnast, and from the time he could walk until the day he’d been brought here to the institute, he’d taken gymnastics classes. As a teen, he’d channeled his athletic talents into dancing. He didn’t have any formal training, just the kind of moves a guy picks up sneaking into dance clubs on a fake I.D. As a result, his style was free, loose and kind of uninhibited.

Also during his teen years, he’d begun hanging out at the Navy Pier, performing magic tricks for dollars dropped into a dusty top hat that he’d picked up in a thrift shop. Bastian’s tricks generated a lot of attention from people who were amazed they couldn’t figure out his sleight of hand. Of course there was no magic involved in Bastian’s tricks. As a kinetic, he could manipulate the molecules in an object to get it to move or change. Well, okay. That was sort of like magic.

One day a local club owner saw Bastian on his dance floor and recognized him as the street magician. The club owner pulled him aside and suggested Bastian merge his two talents into a show for the club. The performance was a combination of hip-hop dance moves, light gymnastics and magic tricks. Over time, he picked up more gigs, performing at clubs all over the city. It was weekend work, something he did more for fun than money. His real money had come from his top-secret work for the Bristol Group. Since March when Bastian had (literally) blown the doors off Bristol’s illegal operations, the entire psy-agent department of Bristol had been shut down pending an FBI investigation. While he was happy to put that life behind him, the lack of cash flow had made performing his magic act a necessity.

The party was so huge it was ridiculous, he complained. It was at some McMansion out in Arlington Heights. Spoiled kid of a doctor.

How old was the kid?

Only ten, but the party looked like Kanye was throwing it.

Hope they paid you well.

He chuckled. Five hundred bucks for an hour’s work. Not bad.

You know, I reminded him, you won’t be able to make money like that in Dubuque. Sure you want to come with me for the summer?

Bastian’s grin faded. Of course I’m going with you. The last thing you need to worry about is my bank account. Besides, you need me.

You need me, too.

And wasn’t that the truth of it? I didn’t know all the details about Bastian’s work for The Bristol Group, but I knew he’d assisted security teams with his kinetic abilities by sensing out and diffusing bombs and disabling guns to allow security officers more safety when detaining perpetrators. He had also worked as an assassin, eliminating foreign terrorists that the CIA couldn’t reach through the endless piles of Washington red tape. I didn’t know how many people he’d been forced to kill, but his mind continued to be tormented by each and every one of those deaths suffered at his hand, however deserved or not. The FBI didn’t know about Bastian’s off the book activities, not yet anyway. Their investigation was focused on Julian Merrick’s black torture chamber, housed in the bowels of Bristol’s corporate headquarters, discovered when Ahmadi and I were rescued. A lot of attention was being placed on the psychological effects that short time of imprisonment had on me, but Bastian was forced to suffer secretly. Lucky for him, he had me. One of my empathic abilities was draining excess emotional energy from people. I couldn’t completely fix his psychological trauma, but I could ease his pain. In return, Bastian had become my biggest supporter and closest confidant. It was a fair trade in my book.

What about your work with Bristol? I asked. They still calling you?

His jaw stiffened, forcing his lips into a hard line. Doesn’t matter. I’m not going back to that place. No matter how much money they want to throw at me.

Throwing money at you, huh? So they have been calling.

Get some sleep, Bastian said, tucking the covers around my legs. He chuckled. This reminds me of tucking in my baby sister.

Sister? What sister?

Bastian’s shock at revealing this tidbit of personal information struck me in the chest like a bottle rocket, jolting Ahmadi awake. Bastian never talked about his family or of his life before coming to the institute. All I knew was that his mother had died when he was young, and the new stepmother was scared of his emerging psychic abilities. Eventually, his father had pawned him off on Dr. Helbo, a distant cousin and parapsychology researcher, and never looked back.

You have a sister? I asked hesitantly.

He stood and turned his back to me. I sensed his frustration at himself for mentioning it, but finally he answered. Yeah, I have a sister. Haven’t seen her in a long time.

What’s her name?

He wandered over to stare out my window, blocking the light from the street lamp, sending the room deeper into the shadows.

Kenzie.

I was silent for a long minute, trying to get a read on Bastian’s conflicting emotions, but they were bouncing all over the place.

Do you want to tell me about her?

He blew out a long breath. No. Yes. I don’t know. There’s not much to tell.

I didn’t reply, giving him the time and space he needed to continue.

He leaned his hip on the windowsill. She was a toddler when I moved away. I haven’t seen her since. She’s my half-sister, actually, and since I hated my stepmother so much, I hadn’t given much thought to Kenzie over the years. Bastian paused, and a cloud of indecision wafted over me. I figured he was debating on whether to say more.

Ahmadi did the soul equivalent of a languid kitty-stretch, and I took a moment to make sure he was all right. He was. Maybe a little embarrassed for getting freaked out over a wet towel, but who could blame him?

Kenzie’s thirteen now, Bastian said, apparently deciding to trust me with this information. You want to know what Merrick had on me to make me do all those awful things for him? He had her.

I bolted straight up in the bed. What?

Relax, that didn’t come out right. Bastian moved out from the window and returned to sitting on my bed, leg hitched up so he could face me. "He didn’t hurt her or anything, but he threatened it if I didn’t