With a flash of light, I’m on another raised platform in a forest. I don't recognize any of the surrounding foliage. The BNA is far more dangerous than I had thought. They have access to teleportation and the only supply of that miracle mixture. Going forward, I’ll have to consider that. Nothing looks familiar to me, so I can’t be in New Farford. Do they know what I did? Was I sent here to die? My heart rate rises, and my head feels cloudy. They think they can fuck with me and get away with it? HOW DARE THEY? Why does my face feel so hot? Oh my god, this is rage. This is dangerous; I want to hit something so bad right now. Even knowing that this anger affecting me isn’t my own does nothing to make it stop. How do people deal with this? My hands are clenched so hard my nails threaten to break the skin.

“Hello, Mr. Blakely. Are you ready to go home?”

A man appears to my left. He wasn’t there a second ago; I would’ve noticed him. The sudden distraction does a lot to help dissipate my rage. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his pinstriped suit and sunglasses. Tan, rough skin, the look of someone who’s had it rough. His voice is soft and kind—a man of contrast and conflict. Is he here to kill me? A United Nations-funded assassin? Control yourself, don’t let him see how mad you are.

“Oh, God. You scared the crap out of me. Where are we? Who are you? I thought I was going home.” I rambled off.

“Sorry about that. Right now, we’re at one of the receivers for the BNA teleporters. I am Special Agent Waters, and I am your ticket home.” He answered.

He avoids giving me any details without seeming like he’s hiding anything. Interesting. This one’s nothing like Agents Hale and Sigrid. He’s dangerous and wary of me for some reason. They might have cleared me, but at least one person from the BNA thinks I’m not telling the whole truth. I need to play this carefully and distance myself from the BNA.

“Can we go then? My dad must be worried sick about me.”

“Your father was given regular updates about your status and health. He knows you’re coming back today. I already know the address we’re going to, but I will need to touch you for my power to work.”

He walks over and offers me his hand. As soon as I grasp it, the forest starts to spin. Faster and faster, until everything but the man and I blur. The greens and the browns blend until it hurts to look at anything but him. Is he a Mentalist attacking my mind? Suddenly the wind picks up and whips my hair wildly. And just as quickly as it starts, the wind stops, and our surroundings become clearer. When he releases my hand, we’re both standing in my driveway.

He’s not a Mentalist. He’s a Traveler—teleportation, super speed, or maybe something else. I don’t know why I’m thinking about it. It’s not the time for this, not yet, anyway. I thank the special agent and walk up the driveway to my front door. I reach for my keys and remember I’m not wearing my clothes. A couple of knocks on the door, and I hear my father’s muffled voice.

“Be there in a minute.”

Exactly a minute goes by, and he opens the door. We stand there in silence until he reaches over and hugs me. Pulling me in close and he lets out a deep sigh.

“Thank God, Eryk. I thought I lost you like I lost your mom.”

He weeps as he holds me. This is real, raw grief and sadness. I’ve never witnessed my father cry before. A side of him I’ve never seen, an intensity that’s been absent for years. A glimpse into who Daniel Blakely used to be. I need to figure out how to react; I’ve never been in this situation. Letting some tears fall, I break down with him. We lean into each other and share a tender moment of comfort. Ever the filial son.

“I’m here, Dad. I’m okay.”

He wipes his face on his sleeve and looks me up and down. “They told me you were unconscious and weren’t sure when you would wake up. Come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

Daniel doesn’t look too good. My extended hospital stay wasn’t great for him; he’s unshaven, gaunt, and has deep black circles under his eyes. If my nose isn’t betraying me, he’s been drinking again. Every time something goes wrong, he falls back into his self-destructive habits. He can’t handle his problems without a bottle. How can you be so pitiful? Relax; getting angry at him is counterproductive. The last thing I need is for him to make my hopefully brief stay even longer when Quinstin City calls my name.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

We walk into our living room, and he tells me he’ll get us something to drink. He comes back with some coffee for himself and water for me. At least it isn’t an Irish coffee, and maybe it’ll help sober him up. Despite his haggard appearance, his eyes are lucid, and he looks happy. He leans back into the recliner, the tension slowly easing out of him. For a second, I thought he might fall asleep. Go on, Daniel, let us have a heart-to-heart.

“I’m relieved, son. I’m so happy you’re awake. And back home safely. The tragedy you went through is something I can’t even imagine. But if you need to talk, I’m here. And If you don’t want to talk to me, I can find the number for that therapist you saw when you were younger. Whatever you need, son, I’m here for you. I’ll call the firm later and finally use some of that PTO I’ve saved up. I’m not going anywhere for a while,” he said.

“Thank you, Dad, but I just need time alone to think before I can even start to process what happened. Everyone else has had weeks to grieve, but from my perspective, it all happened yesterday. All my classmates burned alive in front of me. Tortured by someone I know.” I fake a shutter to add some flair to my act.

“I didn’t even think about that. We’ll get through this together, son. I haven’t been the best dad or around all that often. I’m going to make it up to you. Whatever it takes,” Daniel said.

He gets up and heads upstairs to give me space. I sip at my water and bring it with me to the kitchen. A ziplock bag has my personal effects inside; my wallet, keys, and cell phone. My wallet and keys are both damaged from the fire, but luckily my phone is fine. I put my phone on the wireless charging station and go through my mail while I wait. Most of it is junk, but there’s something from my school. Inside is my diploma and a letter informing me that the school board canceled graduation due to the tragedy. That’s excellent news. I avoided a long and tedious ceremony with my classmates, at least those still alive.

I toss the junk mail in the trash and move on to the final piece of mail. A black envelope addressed to my dad and me. A heartfelt note from Marcus’ parents inviting us to his funeral is inside. The date is next Thursday, a private affair of close friends and relatives. Avoid one boring event just to get stuck at another. I’ll have to contact his family before the funeral and help them find closure. Tell them how he died valiantly, fighting for his friends and defending others. I’ll plan it out later on.

A ding sounds out that my phone is back online. So many missed calls and texts from usually distant family and random classmates. The group chat is empty. Neither Aubrey nor Jean-Luc has said a word since the party. Still, I would’ve expected one of them to reach out. Part of my plan requires Aubrey, so I’ll have to message her later.

I scroll through my contacts until I get to Maria and see she’s been texting me daily. A constant stream of I love yous and that she misses me and hopes I get home soon. My friends and family can wait; Maria is the more pressing concern. I text her to tell her I’m home and ask if she can come over. She immediately replies yes, followed by heart emojis. Now that that’s resolved, I let Aubrey and Jean-Luc know I’m back. I make plans to meet up Saturday, so I have a two-day reprieve to get situated. At some point, I need to figure out how badly Davis’ rage is affecting me. It’s not just anger, either. It’s like a ticking time bomb inside of me. I have studied anger, and this is so much more than that. A stubbed toe or getting cut off in traffic could have me fly off the handle. It also brings into question whether the rage stays with me if the ability doesn’t. There’s no use thinking about all that right now. I head to my room to relax until Maria arrives. The moment my head touches my pillow, I feel sleep beckoning. I try to stay awake, but I fail.

xx

When I wake up slowly, it’s apparent I’m not alone. Maria’s dainty hands wrapped around my chest, holding me tightly. I slowly remove her arms and slip out of bed. I place a pillow into her grasp, and she grips it like she’s afraid it’ll escape. She must’ve missed me these past six weeks. Maria, you are nothing if not devoted to Eryk. The full moon shines like a beacon in the clear sky, with not a cloud in sight to block it.

The clothes from the hospital are slick with sweat from sleeping in them. I’m wide awake after my nap and could use a shower. I strip down to nothing and throw everything into the hamper. I turn the water pressure up until it stings, standing there unmoving. My thoughts go to the party, where everything changed for me. A windfall for me, and all it took was the deaths of ninety-seven teenagers. Before that night, Quinstin was my only chance to find something that excites me. Now I’ve found a way to take what has always escaped me and the means to create the excitement I crave.

All the steam has fogged up the mirror. The fan unit in the ceiling activates and quickly sucks up the mist. I stare at my reflection as it’s slowly revealed; it looks like the Liquid Lazarus didn’t erase my scar. A limitation of the mysterious miracle liquid, I guess it can’t “heal any injury of the flesh.” I wonder if the doctor knows that? His speech was just boastful grandstanding from a madman. But there’s power in that, in people believing your words, a lesson I’ll take with me to Quinstin.

Of my two remaining friends, Jean-Luc wouldn’t be a good fit for the first step in my plan. Aubrey will make a far better accomplice. I exit the bathroom naked and grab my phone off the floor. It reads two am, late, but there’s a chance she’s awake. One text to her that I’m back and need to talk asap, and the following text to Jean-Luc asking him how he’s holding up. Two minutes pass, and my phone vibrates with a message from Aubrey.

(Aubrey): OMG. Im so happy ur bak. R u ok? Wuts wrong?

A lot has happened, and I have some things I want to talk about. Are you free tomorrow?:(Eryk)

(Aubrey): ofc, u kno imm here fr u. Anything u need? I’m free allday.

Sorry for waking you. I’ll text you in the morning, and we can meet up.:(Eryk)

(Aubrey): k nite.

She’s too sleepy to talk now. Tomorrow, after Maria leaves, we will have our conversation. I’m too awake to go back to bed, so I’ll exercise instead. I look thinner and want to build up any muscle mass I lost while stuck in that pod. We have a home gym in the basement. My caring father noticed my interest in exercising and got us all the equipment I could dream of; treadmills, an elliptical bike, a black punching bag, and a whole weight rack. I put my headphones into my ears and turn on some loud heavy music.

Today will be lifting and cardio. Rep after rep, pushing myself to make it the entire hour I wanted. Only stopping when my arms sting and hang loose at my sides. Then an hour on the treadmill at the highest setting. Working out is easy; it’s a matter of doing, not thinking. It can be challenging because I’m prone to endless thought circles. I lose minutes, sometimes hours, to spiraling deeper into the confines of my mind. I assume there’s a correlation between it and my peculiar emotional state. Even now, as my legs pound against the machine, sweating buckets, my body steaming, I overthink.

People are creatures of patterns; therefore, predicting their actions should be easy. But emotions can make them irrational, make friends turn on each other, and make a woman murder her husband. I used to be separate from this group due to my nature; now, I’ll have to make sure I remain in control. Someone once said every person is one bad day away from losing it. They were right. From what I’ve witnessed through the years, Aubrey should follow my plan without much fuss. Marcus’ death and the disaster at the party should make her even more willing to do it. After all, what Neuvohuman-obsessed person wouldn’t want to gain superpowers?