Rob Thurman - All Seeing Eye

Hopelessly bland my testers may have been, but to give credit where it’s due, they were fairly quick-witted… once they finally got in gear. Almost immediately, they wanted to know why I couldn’t simply read people instead of their belongings. And thanks to the polygraph and the silently looming presence of Allgood, I was forced to admit that I could. Hell, it wouldn’t have made any sense if I couldn’t have. But the difference between reading a person and reading something that belonged to him was the difference between IMAX and a nineteen-inch television. It was simply too much. Coming at you from all sides with a voice louder than an arsonist God at the burning bush. It soaked every molecule, pounded every neuron in your brain. There was no distance, no taking a breather. Every time I took someone’s hand, it was a guaranteed skull-crushing headache and the taste of blood and tin in my mouth. Believe it or not, that wasn’t my idea of a good time.

Not that my new pals would’ve given a shit. So why bother to tell them? Like a trained monkey, I did what I was told. Read objects, read people, and finally laughed grimly when they wanted to know if I could “see” the future, move things with my mind, or, even better, start fires.

“Jesus,” I said with some disdain. “You guys watched too much X-Files in your day. Read too many trashy books. Even I don’t believe in that crap.”

“What about life after death?”

With head resting in my hands and a death grip on my skull, I looked up at Hector’s studiously blank face. Charlie was gone, and I knew what he wanted to hear. Maybe I would’ve been kinder if I weren’t being blackmailed. Maybe I wouldn’t, as I’d faced the truth about Tess long ago. I didn’t know for sure. But I did know that at this moment, I didn’t feel kind. My head hurt, my jaw hurt, I was tired and hungry, and I was mad. Yeah, I was pissed as hell, and that did not lead to the path of gentle kindness.

“Grow up, Hector,” I drawled. “There’s no great beyond. No fluffy clouds and halos. No tunnel with a big family reunion at the end. Not once have I ever picked up anything beyond the death of someone when touching an object. Gone is gone. Dead is dead.” I closed my eyes as the headache swelled, and as I so often did, I saw a lonely pink shoe. The clearest memory of my life, so bright and diamond-sharp that I almost believed I could put out a hand and pick it up. I never tried. I’d already done that once, and from that moment, nothing had ever been completely right or good in my life again.

“Dead is dead,” I repeated with a tightness that thrummed behind my voice like an overly taut guitar string.

I wouldn’t have been too surprised if Allgood had hauled off and popped me one or at the very least walked away. It was his brother I was talking about. Then again, he’d already locked up the one guy who’d beat him to the punch, so to speak. It was my second guess that hit the jackpot. He did walk away, but not before startling me with a hand that rested for the briefest of moments on my shoulder. He knew about Tess and the others. He could guess I’d give anything to believe different… but it wasn’t different. I was literal proof of that.

“Not always,” he countered with a trace of bleakness he either couldn’t hide or didn’t try to. Then he did walk away to herd the last of the “psychics” out. Hours had passed, although it seemed like days, and it didn’t look like anyone else had made the cut. Didn’t I feel special? Shit.

I dropped my gaze back to the desk surface and tried to ignore Hickman’s endless chatter at my elbow. Good old TJ Hickman had finally come from around the partition. And as always, I was dead on the money. If he had worn women’s panties, they would’ve been big-girl for sure. Pear-shaped, stammering, and cheerfully harmless as a puppy, he regarded me with moon-pie eyes. Round and wide, they had the recaptured belief in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Merlin’s magic all swimming around in there. I’d seen it before. Show people something slightly askew from their normal world, and they’d use it as an excuse to put a bright and shiny glow on their whole damn life. It turned them into kids again. Why, I didn’t know. What kind of miracle was it that I knew his wife made a buckwheat and soy casserole that kept him constipated for days and that he had a box of Twinkies hidden in his garage? Or that his ever-loving mama had sent him to a fat camp every summer he was in high school? Dull, boring, and kind of pitiful, yes. Miracle? No.

“Tylenol,” I muttered between clenched teeth, ruthlessly interrupting his words raining like bright coins.

“Oh. You have a headache?” The stuttering kid on Christmas morning disappeared under the thirty-five-year-old professional. “Is that often a side effect of what you do? How intense a headache do you get? Do you have visual disturbances with them?”

I ignored the questions and repeated with a limp snarl, “Tylenol. I could spell it, but I’d think a guy with a master’s could figure it out on his own.”

The wide mouth snapped shut, and hazel eyes blinked. Nodding, he disappeared in search of the almighty painkiller. Hickman had about as much spine as your average garden slug. Pleasant, good-hearted, but he was there for reasons that trumped his academic background. It was a trait similar in all the lab coats I’d read today. Placid, fearful of authority, and unlikely to stick their noses where they might be chopped off.

In other words, like me, they didn’t know shit.

Division of labor, they called it. I’d picked that out of one of the many brains I’d stirred through. There was an operation already running, Project Summerland. They were to screen for any possible psychic talent for the project, and that was all they knew. Sum total of their nonknowledge. And while some were more curious than others, no one had poked around to see what they could find out. They accepted the sketchy information they were given and did what they were told. Not a single troublemaker in the lot. I’d bet my ass Hector had handpicked every last damn one of them. Of course, this would be the same Hector who hadn’t let me read him as the day had dragged on. Everyone else had been fair game but not Allgood. Not the only person in the room who actually seemed to know what was going on. Wouldn’t want to throw me a crumb, now, would he?

By the time Allgood returned, I was in the process of popping three more painkillers. He glanced at my still-unopened bottle of water. “You are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I put the heels of my hands over my eyes and rubbed.

“Yes, and I realize exactly how much choice you’ve had in that.” He looked as tired as I felt. “Come on, Eye. I’ll take you to medical, then to get something to eat.”

I dropped my hands and shook my head. “No. I already said I don’t need a doctor.” And neither did I need to end the day by being poked and prodded by some sadist with icy hands.

“Hickman said you have a headache.” He picked up the bottle of water and rolled it between his hands. “It’s obvious that it’s from what you’ve been doing today.”

“Yeah, couldn’t have been that punch to the jaw,” I said with an antagonistic grunt.

“Very well.” He sighed as he tossed the bottle to a lab coat walking by. “Then you’ll have the EEG and a CAT scan tomorrow. Now, let’s see what fine cuisine they’re serving in the mess.”

I’d imagined the tests would come headache or no. Map the brain, map the ability. Map me. I rubbed my eyes again and rose to my feet. “As long as you don’t make me read the pork and beans,” I grunted as I slipped my gloves back on.

The cafeteria, luckily enough, was in the same building. No slogging through mud was required, which was good, considering I’d long lost track of my shoes. The place was empty except for a few chattering whitecoats and two soldiers off in a corner. It was stuffed cabbage roll night, apparently, and I passed over it in favor of sticky macaroni and cheese, greens, runny instant mashed potatoes, and a glass of chocolate milk. Unfortunately, there was no beer on tap. Just my luck. I was hungry enough that I could actually eat the swill, and I did, shoveling it down with need if not enthusiasm.