Awoken (The Lucidites Book 1) (5 page)

“Should I just call you Ms. Stark?” Joseph prods.

“Sure,” I allow as we file into our living quarters.

Chapter Five

B
unks sit along the two main walls. Why didn’t they just call these barracks? That’s exactly what they are. I half expected I’d be given a room all to myself like what I had at Bob and Steve’s. Instead I find my name neatly written on a sign attached to a bottom bunk. Joseph stops when I do and stares at the sign.

“You’re Roya?” Joseph gives a triumphant smile and then nods. “I thought so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, that you thought so?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it.” He scans the room. “I think my bunk is down here.” He strides away, looking smug.

Neatly folded on top of my bunk is the navy blue T-shirt, a pair of light green scrub-type pants, flip-flops, and a small foam stress ball with the logo neatly printed on it. I shove it all under my bed. This is where it will reside for the entirety of my stay—which will be short.

The smell of moss and dirt assaults my nostrils, making me cringe. It’s me. I keep my head low while I search for the bathrooms. People chat all around me. As I expected there’s a set of bathrooms at the back. I enter the door marked “Women” and head straight for the shower. Luckily it’s stocked with shampoos and soaps. I’m guessing no one arrived with more than the clothes on their backs.

I wash my clothes and hang them on a towel rack to dry while I shower. When I’m done I wrap my towel around me and go to work drying my clothes under the automatic dryers. This takes forever. I stop when my jeans are almost dry and turn my attention to getting ready. I’m pushing the comb through my hair when a voice echoes over an intercom, “Dinner will be served on the first level in the main hall in ten minutes.”

What time is it? Haven’t I traveled overnight? Shouldn’t it be late morning or at least early afternoon?
The Institute must be in a different time zone. Begrudgingly I throw on my partially wet jeans and start for the door. If anything I can hope to be the first person to dinner. I’ll eat and leave before anyone else has a chance.

Thankfully I manage to get into the elevator alone. Most of the others are socializing and changing into their green scrubs.
Losers.

The elevator stops at level two and a few people file into the silver compartment. It proceeds to level one.

“I’m sure they’ll have options for you,” a guy says to a girl as we exit.

I stay within earshot, curious to know what they’re talking about.

“They’ll know, better than anyone, the strict diet one must have in order to dream travel properly.”

“I know,” the girl whines behind her scraggly brown hair. “It’s just I’m used to having a certain type of goat cheese and that’s not something that’s readily available. It really gives me the best results.”

I cringe at the sound of the girl’s whiny voice. She’s around my age, but dainty and prissy—a repulsive combination. Her vacant, light blue eyes keep looking up from the floor to her companion’s as if searching for consolation from her dietary concerns.

Get a life.

We file into the dining area. With each step I take into the large room the odd sensation of déjà vu sinks in deeper.
I’ve been here before.
The fluorescent lights. Wall-to-wall blue carpet. I’ve dreamed of this room. It isn’t from the recurring dream about reaching the Institute. It’s a different one I’d never given much thought to. In it I stood in a line and once at the front I scribbled my name on a list. I’ve done this a dozen times in my dreams over the last few weeks.
Was this the list of challengers?
Was this another message planted in my subconscious by the Lucidites?
It’s hard to trust people who don’t allow me to think for myself.

Feeling violated on a level I don’t fully comprehend, I survey the room. Several buffet stations line the perimeter. Round tables with white covers fill the interior of the space. Each place setting holds a large goblet of ice water, a napkin, and utensils.

I pick up a plate at the first station. In front of me stand more than a few rows of berries. The mountains of berries are radiant in color as well as in design. I’ve never seen such a wonderful display of fruit. Around the berries sit brightly colored melons, ripe bananas, shiny apples, and the most pristine oranges I’ve ever laid eyes on. I take nothing from this table. Instead I charge off. Berries piled high and artfully arranged makes my head burn with anger for some reason. Everything makes me mad at the moment.

The next table consists of only breads: croissants, sourdough rolls, baguettes, hoagies, and a dozen other types. I pick up the least exciting one I can find.

I pass a carving station, reeking of flesh. Kids are lined up, eyeing chucks of meat with hungry eyes. Suppressing the powerful gag reflex which is churning up my esophagus, I charge as far away as possible from that area. The last thing I need right now is to vomit in front of these people.

At the next station, the aroma of milky cheeses is overwhelming. There are over a dozen varieties. Some are soft, others hard. Labels indicate the names of each of the varieties, over half of which I’ve never heard of and can’t pronounce. Picking up a slice from the nearest two I charge off. My anger deepens now that I realize Goat Girl is probably going to get the kind of cheese she wants.

I find an empty table at the back of the room. I poke at my food, molding it with each prod of my fork. I’m not really hungry, but rather jetlagged. Maybe that’s the reason for my sour mood. Then again it could be the false pretenses used to lure me here. Being humiliated in front of everyone in the auditorium for Ren’s entertainment is just the icing on this awful cake. I crumble a piece of bread in my hand.

“Mind if I sit down?” someone says behind me.

The word “no” has all but escaped my lips when I realize I recognize the voice. Curious, I turn to find Aiden, the guy who saved my life, precariously balancing two plates on each arm. His lanky, pale arms provide enough surface area for all the porcelain white plates, but their contents make them teeter dangerously. Giving him a furtive glance, I shake my head. I’m in no mood for company. I’m just about to say so when I get a flash. It streaks across my vision quickly, the way it always does. It’s a picture of one of the plates falling from his grasp.

“Watch out!” I exclaim. In one movement I stand, dart forward, and grab the plate just as it’s falling. I set it down on the table with a sigh. Aiden clumsily lays down his other three plates, spilling rolls and pats of butter.

His bright blue eyes light up. He gapes at me. “You grabbed that plate before it started to fall.”

I swallow, turning back towards the table. “No, I just got it as it was falling.”

As he sits down next to me, the corners of his long mouth suppress a smile like he knows a secret. “No, I saw it happen. You knew.” Aiden spreads a pat of butter on his roll and says, “Oh, and nice reflexes.”

“Thanks.” I look down at my plate. My reflexes had been quick, more so than normal.

“So that’s your talent, is it? You see stuff in the future?”

“Just stupid stuff like plates falling,” I say, sticking a piece of bread into my mouth.

“Saved me from looking like a fool,” he says, taking a sip of water.

“Then we’re even.”

“Nope, I saved your life. You owe me
big
,” Aiden teases, flashing a smile.

I tense and try to pull my gaze from his too-white teeth. My eyes roam over his dark brown hair, spiky in some places and limp in others, as though he ran out of hair gel or got distracted. The black rectangular glasses he wears frame blue eyes that are just as bright and astonishing as when I first saw them. On his tall, lanky frame hangs a white lab coat on top of a black Fall Out Boy
T-shirt.

“So you work here?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t call it work.” He laughs playfully.

“‘K,” I say and pretend to ignore him.

Silence.

“I’m the Head Scientist for the Institute,” Aiden finally says.

“Aren’t you kind of young to be a scientist, let alone the Head Scientist?” I can’t help but ask.

“It’s all about how you define young.”

I sigh, feeling the jetlag tunnel in my brain. “I define it by the number of years one has been a resident of earth. Where are you from?”

He laughs and takes a bite. “Earth, mostly,” he says, giving me a sideways grin. “But those numbers of years are relative, depending on the person.”

I push my plate away. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Aiden nods, an understanding look in his eyes. “Don’t worry, you’ll catch up. I realize you’re new to this whole thing.”

“I guess all the other Lucidites in here were given a manual at birth. Mine must have been lost in the mail,” I say, swallowing down my frustration.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He shifts in his seat and gives me an uneasy glance. “I apologize.”

I remain silent.

“Some Lucidites choose to accelerate their careers, since we have the opportunity to utilize our dream time for learning and acquiring skills,” he explains matter-of-factly. “I was raised by devoted Lucidites and began dream traveling fairly young. My parents required me to spend my nights reading, studying, and training. Their expectations in all aspects of my education were high. I had my masters by the time I was your age, and now that I’m about to turn eighteen, I’ve almost completed my doctorate.”

“What?!” I almost choke on the water I’m drinking. “You have a PhD?”

“Actually, I’m ABD—all but dissertation. I expect it to be done soon though.”

“Well, you must be kind of smart then.”

“I have my moments,” he says playfully. “Really most of my success is due to the excellent teachers I’ve had. For instance, I learned the theory of relativity from the
very
best.” He grins.

“You’re not implying…?”

“I am,” he says.

“Einstein? That’s who you learned the theory of relativity from?”

Aiden nods. “As well as other stuff.” His blue eyes flash with confidence behind his glasses.

I gulp down the rest of my water feeling impressed, but not wanting to show it. “Is every Lucidite a super star genius then?” The knot rises in my throat as I realize how far behind the pack I’ll be.

“Nah, same principles of motivation apply to Dream Travelers as well as normal folk. Some people spend their nights studying and applying themselves to a subject or talent. Some people spend their nights hanging out by the pool in the Bahamas. And still others spend their nights watching
Doctor Who
or sci-fi movies.” He’s already polished off an entire plate of food and places it to the side. “Everyone’s different and therein lies the beauty.”

Although I hate to admit it, I’m buzzing with more questions. Before I have a chance to ask anything else a loud ring emanates from his pants pocket. Aiden purses his lips, disappointment written on his face. He retrieves his phone and holds up one finger. “Pardon me.” He puts the phone to his ear and says, “Aiden here.” Someone on the other side speaks hurriedly, but I can’t make out their words. He glances at me briefly with a smile. “Hmmm, that’s very interesting indeed.” His gaze falls to the table as the voice on the other end continues. “And you say this just started?” He pauses, looking disconcerted. “An hour or so ago?” His eyes flick to mine and he gives a sly expression. My heart races suddenly. “That’s fascinating. I’ll be right there.” Aiden shuts off the phone and stands up from the table.

“Sorry, I enjoyed our chat, but I’ve got to run,” he says. “I’m fairly certain I’ll be seeing you around.” He winks and then strolls away.

By the time I finish eating, my mood has softened. I’m intrigued with everything Aiden has told me. If what he said is true then I have some underdeveloped potential I should start exploring. Unfocused but motivated, I head back to my bunk.

A schedule for tomorrow’s tasks has been posted. It reads:

8 a.m. – Task 1: Ganzfeld, Room 444

10 a.m. – Task 2: PK Party, Room 200

12 p.m. – Lunch

1 p.m. – Task 3: Calisthenics, Gymnasium

3 p.m. – Task 4: Kung Fu, Studio 3

6 p.m. – Dinner

9 p.m. – Task 5: Dream Travel

We’re being tested on kung fu? That’s just one more item on the long list of things that don’t make sense in this place. I don’t care to compete or be graded on these tasks. Honestly, I don’t want to be the challenger. Still I’d rather not be known as an epic failure. I’ve already had enough embarrassment in the last twelve hours. I make up my mind to give the tasks my best effort. Besides, if even a few of the potential challengers are half as talented and prepared as Aiden then they’ll outscore me without even trying.

A couple of kids sit on bunks playing cards in the corner. I ignore them and climb into my bed, pulling the covers over my head. The thing Aiden said about Einstein is still stirring in me. Hell, everything he said is racing around my brain, but one thing in particular has given me an idea. However, I’m not real confident in my dream travel abilities just yet, and where I want to take my consciousness fills me with nervous tension. I’m not sure of the risks, but I do know I don’t have much to lose.

I clear my mind and the fear edges away. My breath slows, steadies. Everything I know about this person flips through my head like a picture book: his look, his voice, his talents, his influence. When I run out of ideas, I repeat the ones I already thought about. More than anything I concentrate. I don’t let go and allow myself to be forced into a dream. Instead I force the dream. I create the perimeters. I instruct my consciousness where I intend to go. The neural pathways in my brain shift. I feel it as I focus and I know something’s changing. I’m changing.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. At some point during this focus I’m dumped out of a window and fall through a silver tunnel. I actually drop this time. I’m not driving the subway train like before. I’m descending. The wind sweeps by me gradually and then rushes as I gain speed. My stomach meets my throat and they both twist together, intertwined. Free falling isn’t a freeing feeling. It assaults my senses. Rips my mind of any peace. Each second I know I’m getting closer to a hard surface, one where my body will plummet to its death. I need to wake up out of this illusion, or disillusion. Something’s wrong.