

Watchers of the Night

By Matthew Keith

Published by Matthew Keith at Smashwords

Copyright © 2013

Editor: Karen Bauer

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

WATCHERS NOVELS

WATCHERS OF THE NIGHT

THE RISE OF INDICIUM

THE FALL OF ASTRALIS

DREAMPIRE

ALSO BY MATTHEW KEITH

SWAY

FOR MY WIFE

Who has always encouraged me to do what makes me happiest above all else. Without her, I would not be the man I am today.

Thank you, Wendy.

Thanks so much for giving my work a chance. If you would like to hear about new releases, you can join my mailing list at http://bit.ly/1li0lcL.
PROLOGUE

The muted glow of street lamps shone down on a main intersection of small-town southern America. It was late, long past midnight. The streets were empty of traffic, which only served to accentuate the oddity of the lone figure sitting on a bench at one of the four corners. He sat with his head bowed and his hands in his lap. It was a bench he visited often, and always at night. On extremely rare occasions, people passed by on foot. Even more seldom, they would stop and sit down next to him. At such times, he treated those passers-by and tourists-to-his-bench with absolute indifference, knowing that any attempt at acknowledgement would be ignored.

But not tonight. Tonight was different. Tonight, he felt like talking.

So when a man sat next to him with a tired sigh, digging in one pocket for God-knows-what, he gathered his thoughts, studying the man with detached curiousity. The man was bleary-eyed, swaying from side to side as if the bench were a gently rocking boat. At this time of night, it seemed likely that the last words the man had heard were, 'last call.'

He didn't know the man, but that didn't matter. Tonight, he would have spoken to anyone who'd stopped.

"I don't know why I'm bothering to talk to you," he began. "I know you won't be any help. I know you won't answer me."

He stared intently, waiting for some flicker of acknowledgement, something... anything.

Nothing.

So he continued almost helplessly, with long pauses between each sentence. "It's the same every night. I know this is a dream. Not like one of those dreams you wake from and think, man that was crazy. Not even close. Everything is far too normal."

There wasn't even a flicker in the man's eyes. Not even a squint like maybe he'd heard but was trying to ignore this annoying nobody next to him.

Absolutely nothing.

"I know I'm asleep and I know this isn't real, but knowing doesn't make any difference. And why should it? It isn't like knowing changes anything. It's not like I could make it better."

Sighing, he turned toward the man, tucking one leg up under himself and leaning forward, as if he had a chance to really explain. "But then, 'making it better', that's not really a fair way to describe what I'd like to do with this dream. There's no real way to measure it." He paused, searching for the right words, even though he already knew what he wanted to say. "It's not a good dream and it's not a bad dream—it's just the same dream. Sure, there's some variation here and there, but more or less it's always the same dream and it always will be. Nothing I can do will make it any different or stop it from happening."

Sweeping his arms in either direction to encompass the street and the corner where they sat, he said, "Every night, this is where I end up. At this bench. In fact, I'm here so much now that I think of it as My Bench. You know? With a capital 'M' and 'B'? Get what I mean?"

He gave humorless chuckle and stood up. He began pacing back and forth, as if he were lecturing.

"Every night I get out of bed, leave my house, and come into town. For the first few months, back when the dream was still new, I wandered a lot. I kept trying to find someone, somewhere that would talk to me—maybe tell me I was crazy—but no one ever did.

"Now? Now I wander this town from sundown until sun-up, ignored by everyone. Just like you." He squinted reproachfully at the man. "I just sit—sit and watch people like you go about your evening the way normal people do." He shook his head. "And it makes sense. Of course I know what normal people do at night, so why would seeing you do those things seem strange?"

The man belched and scratched under his jaw. He got unsteadily to his feet, looking both ways down the street.

"It isn't strange," he told the man, staring him in the eye, almost whispering. "Of course it isn't. But then again it is." Raising his voice, he yelled directly into the man's face, "Because I shouldn't be here! Not like this! Not watching people do what I suppose they'd normally do!"

Ignoring him, the man turned and stumbled away, the night swallowing him as he walked away, indifferent and unaware.

Sighing as he watched the man fade from sight, he sank back down on his bench. It was pointless.

The problem wasn't that things were any different than what he would imagine a normal night in a small Kentucky town to be. It was that he, himself, wasn't normal—because even though he spent every night among people he'd known his whole life, only on rare occasions did he have the chance to spend an evening with any of them.

Everything seemed so ordinary in his dream, but that just made it seem even more unreal. His only clue that he was dreaming was a slight shade of gray that washed everything out. Just a little. Almost like the world had been doused with dirty dishwater and left to drip-dry.

Of course, the fact that no one ever spoke to him was definitely a red flag too. And really, not being spoken to was the worst part. It was like he wasn't there. No matter how hard he tried, people just looked right through him. Even in his own head, in a dream of his own making, he couldn't make himself important enough to be noticed. It wasn't that he wanted to be important, that wasn't what mattered. Just being noticed and accepted would have been enough, but he couldn't even get that far.

Unfortunately, he knew that his lack of remarkability carried right through into the real world as well, because no matter how resolved he was upon waking to make changes that would make him more noticeable, more substantial to the people around him, that resolve always faded. He retreated back to being the anonymous person on the bench, as if his dream was the determining factor in what characterized him as a person. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't break free from his curse of introversion and blandness.

Breathing a deep sigh that no one heard, he punched the wood planking of his bench in frustration and faced east, waiting for the dawn.

Chapter 1

Paul woke from another dream-filled night, having once again slept straight through until sunrise. He blinked and stretched as he rolled diagonally on his bed, trying to find the will to pry himself from his mattress and face another day of high school. Although his body was aching and tired, it was his mind that was most exhausted. He felt as if he'd spent the entire night cramming for a big exam.

How was it that he could sleep for ten, sometimes twelve, hours a night and wake up nearly every morning feeling as if he hadn't slept at all? He'd tried to find something to fix the problem, but no amount of doctor visits, talks with trained professionals, or pills had ever been able to make any difference—and it had been that way for nearly five years now.

Every night he would begin to nod off around seven o'clock in the evening, as if knowing it would soon be dark created a subconscious trigger in his mind that shut him down. He could be sitting on the couch watching a movie, and even though he fought against it, he would still nod off, waking stiff and sore the next morning.

The worst part was that it happened no matter where he was or what he was doing. The few times that he'd spent the night at a friend's house were a disaster; particularly the time a couple of summers ago when his best friend Steven decided it would be fun to shave his eyebrows after he fell asleep. Paul had woken up and left Steven's house without knowing what had been done. It wasn't until he was in line to pay for his breakfast burrito that he noticed all the stares and snickers from the people around him. It took a week for Paul to get the nerve to leave the house again, and two more months for him to reestablish his friendship with Steven, who'd always been the kind of friend that took every chance he could to pull a prank.

The only time he was able to fight against falling asleep was when he was with Stephanie, another of his best friends. She'd been his across-the-street neighbor in the third grade, and although he and his mother had moved across town by his ninth grade year, the two of them had remained close friends. There was something very safe about his 'chick friend'—her term, not his—that he knew he could never find in any of his guy friends. He certainly would never find any kind of comfort zone from a joker like Steven. He and Stephanie had fun, of course, like normal friends did, but they also talked about the deeper things in life. He never felt embarrassed when he told her how he was feeling or what he was thinking.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his sandy eyes and trying to get rid of the cottony, morning-brain feeling that accompanied the first hour of every day, he squinted at the clock. Just after seven in the morning–the same time he always woke this time of year. No matter what time his alarm went off, he always opened his eyes just after sunrise. Summer time, winter time – it didn't matter if daylight savings had just begun or ended; he was waking up when the sun came up, and that was that. This caused him a major problem at school—attendance, or lack of it, in his first hour. He'd served many hours of detention as a result.

Pushing himself up onto his feet and scratching at his tangled mess of hair, he made his way downstairs into the kitchen for something to eat. Breakfast with the Cap'n - hard to beat, he thought.

He lost himself in the sound of his own crunching for the next fifteen minutes.

* * *

It wouldn't really be fair to say that school was the same every day, but it would be close to the mark. Depending on what time of the year it was, Paul either found himself sneaking in the back of the school through the band room door, starting his day in second period, or beginning it like everyone else, jostling his way in the front door with the rest of the poor unfortunates who were supposed to be his peers, doomed to another seven hours of monotonous classroom diatribe. Although he had a strong dislike for all things high school, he didn't fight against being there and always arrived as soon as he was able. He recognized the need to earn his diploma and was resigned to sticking it out, even though just about anywhere else would have been a preferable place to spend five days a week.

As far as grades were concerned, he was neither a good student nor a bad student. He had a remarkable gift of memory, but he didn't advertise it because he didn't want the attention. He could recall nearly anything he saw or heard, and aced almost every test thrown in front of him as a result. This was balanced out by the fact that he rarely did homework because he resented being given work on things he already knew. At one point in his freshman year, he had tried to explain his perspective to one of his teachers but that had only earned him detention, so he'd learned to keep his mouth shut and simply do what it took to get by.

As far as trouble, he kept out of it for the most part, but didn't avoid it either. If he found the kind of trouble that looked fun, he joined in.

He really didn't fit any mold. That was probably why his two best friends were a girl and the school rebel-slash-dork.

Because it was that time of year, today was a sneak-in-the-band-room-door day. He was already late for school by an entire hour, which was normal when daylight savings was "on."

On the door, he saw that Stephanie had come through for him yet again. A pink post-it note was stuck on the outside next to the handle, the same signal they'd used since the ninth grade. It let him know that she'd made a change to the attendance roles in first period and he was in the clear. There was almost never a day that she failed him, which was how he was able to get through to his senior year of high school spending only 'some' of his time in detention.

Slipping in, he made his way through the maze of bass drums, tympanis, kettle drums, and all the other percussion instruments that always seemed to be in a different place every time he went through the band room. He didn't notice the grim-faced assistant principal, Mr. Paine, until he was almost on top of him.

"Good morning to you, Mr. Bennett," said Mr. Paine drily.

Mr. Paine was a cross between the principal from Back to the Future and Agent Smith from The Matrix; he was always stern and always intense, and as such most students took him very seriously—but he was still an assistant principal and that made it difficult to take him completely serious all the time. He was a tall, skinny man with a mostly bald head and a pair of thick, black-framed glasses that made his eyes look slightly smaller than they really were. It gave them an accusatory squint, as if he were suspicious of every student that crossed his path. You never really knew for sure where you stood with Paine, but the safest bet was to assume that he was displeased. If he wasn't... it was like a get-out-of-jail-free card for the day.

"Good morning, Mr. Paine," Paul said in a carefully neutral tone, meeting the administrator's squint respectfully.

Paul was neither a rebel nor a butt-kiss. He was somewhere in the middle. He had respect for the job that people like Mr. Paine had to do, but because Paul spent most days in a state of mind-numbing fatigue, he probably came off as indifferent. People like Mr. Paine demanded respect, and wanted that respect to be obvious from those they demanded it from. Undoubtedly, Paul's neutral tone was being taken the wrong way. The truth was, it wasn't that Paul didn't care that he was busted – he just didn't know how else to react. And he wouldn't try to fake it even if he did.

Mr. Paine spoke slowly and articulately, enunciating every word so as to accentuate the importance of his message.

"I've been watching you, Mr. Bennett. I've been watching you for quite some time now. I've watched you stroll in this back door—late—every single day for the past nine days. And although the fact that you're late every day doesn't surprise me in the slightest, given your history here, there are two things that truly amaze me." He stared intently into Paul's eyes as he spoke, dragging out the last three words. "The first is that I can count on you to show up every day, like clockwork, within a few minutes of the day before. Astounding. Usually my chronically tardy students show up whenever the mood strikes them, if at all. But not you. And the second thing, the second thing is even more amazing. Somehow, your first period teacher has forgotten to record the fact that you are not present for class almost every single day." Paine once again spoke the last three words very slowly and very distinctly.

Paul stood mute, waiting for Mr. Paine to finish his speech. He didn't hang his head. He tiredly looked Mr. Paine in the eye and took the verbal lashing without flinching. It didn't matter that Paul couldn't help that he was unable wake until dawn; he knew anything he said would be seen as belligerent, and only further add to whatever punishment Mr. Paine chose to mete out. Isn't that what the criminals in gangster movies always said? If you get pinched and the cops start in on you, don't say anything. Just keep your mouth closed. Maybe he wasn't quite to criminal status yet, but right then, at that moment, he felt like quite the rule-breaker and kept his mouth shut. The guys from Goodfellas would've been damn proud.

"And so, Mr. Bennett, this leads me to two conclusions. One: that because you show up at the same time every day, you have something you feel is more important than school to attend to. Are you on drugs?" Asked so quickly, it was a rhetorical question and Paul knew it, so he continued to keep his silence. "And two: you have found a way to doctor the attendance records, which is an even worse offense than tardiness."

Paine stood, arms folded, waiting for a reply. Maybe he was even hoping for one, but he didn't get it because Paul didn't have one that Paine would believe. The two of them stood like that for a solid sixty seconds without speaking a word. Paul didn't look down, shuffle his feet, or even swallow. He just stared back as Paine stared at him.

This was Paul's strength, his zone. Steven called it 'creeper eyes' when Paul looked back, clear-eyed, without speaking, and it unnerved Stephanie to the point that she felt there was 'something wrong with him' when he did it. But Paul never spoke just for the sake of speaking, because he disliked those who did. He didn't see anything wrong with spaces of silence—in fact, he enjoyed sharing time more with people when they didn't constantly blabber.

Finally, the awkwardness must have been too much for Paine. He narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and told Paul to follow him to his office.

* * *

As usual, the main office was crowded, loud, and bustling with people. For a place that represented the epicenter of an institution that put discipline as one of the cornerstones of its values, it always amazed Paul how loud and chaotic it was.

Following in the wake of Mr. Paine, Paul listened as the man continued to berate him about his 'chronic' tardiness. What a perfect word—chronic—to describe Paul's inability to wake up before dawn. He'd always felt like his disorder was some sort of disease. It certainly had never helped him in any way except to increase his feelings of isolation.

"How is it," Paine went on, "that a student such as yourself—one that almost never shows up on our radar—can allow himself to be late every single day of class. Average grades, no extra-curricular activities, you're never seen with 'the bad crowd.' In fact, you're never seen with much of anyone."

As Mr. Paine's monologue continued, Paul couldn't help noticing a dark-haired girl at the front desk. She stared at him with the biggest, most beautiful brown eyes he'd ever seen. He'd never noticed her before, and with eyes like that he was sure he would have. She had a slightly olive skin tone, jet black hair, and full, lush lips. From the looks of it, she had just finished enrolling with the secretary.

He felt himself blushing to his roots and tried to stop staring, but he couldn't. She stared back just as directly, her brown eyes holding his, and he was unable to hold back a very foolish-looking, sloppy smile. She didn't smile back, but she didn't stop looking either, which made Paul get that warm, dizzy, and not altogether unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, making his sloppy grin sloppy to the point of dopey.

That is, until he ran into the back of Mr. Paine. They'd reached his office door.

Looking down at Paul's grinning face, Paine narrowed his eyes, "Bennett, is everything I've said to you in some way amusing? Do you find the fact that you're about to enter into my office under very serious circumstances funny? Understand, sir, this is not a matter that will be taken lightly."

As Paine opened his door and motioned Paul inside, Paul took one last look toward the front desk, but the girl with the big brown eyes was already gone. Heaving yet another sigh, he followed Mr. Paine through the door to receive whatever punishment the man deemed to be justice.

Chapter 2

"Justice," as it turned out, came in the form of a tall, rail-skinny man named Jeff.

The man, Jeff Justice, ("but you can just call me Jeff"), was one of the school counselors that Paul had never had the pleasure nor the desire to meet. Paul would be spending every Tuesday and Thursday's lunch period with Jeff, until such time as it was deemed that Paul didn't need intervention any longer.

Like many people living in Radcliff, Jeff was retired military. He had chosen to spend his time and the government's money wisely while he was in the Army, and had obtained his master's in psychology. The work he did at the school was more of a hobby for him than a job, and he enjoyed it as if it were. His heart was as big as he was tall and although Paul didn't spend two lunches a week in Jeff's company by choice, after a couple of conversations Paul could honestly admit that there were much worse ways to pass two hours a week at North Hardin High.

The first few meetings were spent in small-talk. Jeff didn't jump right into the reason that Paul was forced to make these regular appearances. Instead, he focused more on simply getting to know him. Jeff's forthright manner and earnest ways quickly made Paul comfortable. He began to believe that if he shared his problems with Jeff, the counselor might actually want to help, and more importantly, may even be able to help. It was in their third week and fifth meeting that Paul brought up the issue of his tardiness without Jeff ever having to ask.

"I'm not on drugs, you know," was how Paul began the meeting.

"I know that, Paul. I knew that after our second meeting."

"And I don't intentionally miss class. I can't say that if I were able to miss it without getting busted I wouldn't take advantage of it, but in this case it really is out of my hands. And I'd like to tell you why."

"Ok. Well, let's have it."

Paul took a deep breath and steeled himself for the reaction he was sure he would get. Even his parents, at first, had refused to believe he wasn't just 'acting out.'

"I have a sleep disorder," he began simply, "and it is very intense."

He watched Jeff's face for any trace of judgment or negative reaction. He only found attentiveness, which gave him the courage to forge onward and completely unload the truth.

"Every evening at dusk, I get so tired that I literally can't keep my eyes open. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I'm doing or where I am, I just can't stay awake and I slip off into unconsciousness until dawn, the next morning. I'm late for class because whenever it is daylight savings time, like right now, it's still dark and I can't wake up. And I don't mean I'm just a heavy sleeper. That doesn't anywhere near describe it. My mom has shook me, turned on all the lights, made all kinds of noise, even doused me with cold water. None of it works. It's like I'm in a coma and can't come out of it. But as soon as the sun comes up, I wake up on my own."

Jeff remained quiet, his left thumb under his chin and a forefinger resting on his upper lip.

Great, Paul thought, here we go. He doesn't believe me.

Jeff's worn out desk chair squeaked in protest as he leaned back. "Have your folks ever taken you to see a physician for your disorder? It sounds fairly serious to me."

Paul didn't know what to say. It was such a simple reply to Paul's statement of his condition, and yet no one—ever—in his life had accepted him at his word. Certainly, no one ever offered to discuss it in such a forthright manner. Even people like Steven, who'd seen it first-hand, still didn't think it was something that warranted much attention.

"Well..." Paul struggled for a reply, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he was so taken by surprise. "Yes, as a matter of fact my mom has taken me to doctors. She took me to a sleep therapist who ran all kinds of tests. They weren't that bad. I was asleep for most of them, so the majority of the poking and prodding was done while I was unconscious.

"They monitored levels of a chemical called adenosine and a hormone called melatonin. I don't understand the science of it, but the sleep therapist told me that melatonin causes you to get tired and adenosine is what keeps you asleep. I don't know. I probably should have paid more attention, but the final result of the tests showed that every night when the sun sets, the gland in my body that produces melatonin goes nuts and pumps out some serious stuff. With so much of it pumping into my body, it makes me so tired that I can't stay awake and... that's it. I'm out. Until the sun comes up again, I'm filled with the stuff and can't wake up no matter what happens."

There was no tone of disbelief in Jeff's voice as he responded.

"So you're telling me that the reason you show up an hour late for school almost every day is because you have a medical condition? Is that what you're saying?" When Paul didn't answer, Jeff continued, "I have to believe that the school would make an exception for your tardiness, especially if a doctor would back your story."

Paul blanched, becoming very nervous. "Yes," he said. "That is what I'm saying. But I already have enough trouble making friends in this school, Jeff. Really. The last thing I want is for people to think I'm even more of a freak than they already do. I don't want to use my problem as an excuse for not being able to get to school and then Mr. Paine has to say 'Well, it's okay for Paul Bennett to show up late because he's got a disease, so everyone just mind your own business and if anything, feel sorry for the poor guy – because he has a condition.' No. I would rather do detention every single day for the entire school year than give people any more reason to think I'm messed up."

By the time he'd finished speaking, Paul's voice had gone up an octave. He knew how so many do-gooders could end up causing harm, all with the best of intentions. Paul didn't want to be the guy on the receiving end of good intentions that went wrong. He may not have as many friends as he'd like, but the ones he had he wanted to keep. He liked his life simple and uncomplicated.

"I didn't mean that I would get out the bullhorn and try and clear a path for you," Jeff assured him. "I can see that you value your social life." Paul opted not to ask 'what social life?' and kept quiet. "All I'm saying is that it sounds like you have a serious problem, and although I'm sure your parents have gone to great lengths to try and help you, maybe there is something I can do that they haven't tried yet. I know of a place that specializes in sleep disorders. It is supposed to be the best in the country, maybe even in the world."

More tests. Paul hadn't liked being stuck with so many needles last time, and he was sure he wouldn't like it again. "I don't know, Jeff," he replied reluctantly. "Like I said, I've already been to see doctors. All they ever did was send us bills we couldn't afford."

Jeff held up a giant palm. "Look, I admit, this isn't my specialty," he replied. "The only knowledge I have of this facility is what I've been told and what I've read, I've never been there. But I do know this—they are on the forefront of sleep research. They aren't the kind of place that you go to for appointments. They're the kind of place that you check in and stay until your problem is solved."

Paul sat back in his chair, considering Jeff's offer. His instinct was to immediately reject it, but he had really begun to trust the man. There was nothing Jeff had said or done since the day they'd met that made Paul believe Jeff was anything but sincere. The more he thought about, the more Paul realized that he needed someone like Jeff to help him.

When his sleep issues had first begun, his mom—and to a lesser degree his dad—had gone from casual worry, to interrogations about drugs, to outright concern, and then finally to attempts at finding answers through the medical community.

The truth was that although both his mom and dad had the best of intentions, neither of them had any idea what to do about his problem and had found themselves floundering in the issue, helpless to do anything for him. As they'd ran into more and more dead ends and realized they didn't have it within their emotional or financial power to find a solution, Paul's dad stopped coming around to visit as often. His mother, when she wasn't at work, sunk her energy into local civic groups that hung banners and did fundraising, keeping her mind occupied and away from home. When she wasn't doing that, she went out on 'girls nights' with friends from work, staying out well past the time that Paul fell asleep.

Paul found himself alone more and more of the time. At first he'd felt abandoned by his parents, especially his mom, but after a while he realized it was the only way she got through the day. If she didn't have to be there when he woke up or fell asleep, she could forget that she wasn't able to help him. And as time went on, Paul realized that he preferred to be alone. He hated the look of pity when his mother looked him in the eyes, always trying not to focus on his deep, dark circles but never quite accomplishing it.

He'd been alone with his issue for almost five years now, dealing with it the only way he knew how. Until Jeff made his simple offer to help, Paul hadn't realized how desperately he'd been waiting for someone to extend a hand.

"Yes," Paul said simply. "I would very much appreciate your help, Jeff."

* * *

"So you think that shrink dude's going to be able to figure out your issues. Really? My ass. You're reaching, dude. Reaching. He's a high school counselor, man. That's, like, a substance abuse group leader calling himself a psychologist."

With his usual eloquence, Steven expressed his opinion of Jeff's offer. Steven was a short guy, a born-and-bred Kentucky redneck and proud of it. His parents were both working class, with chemical dependencies that Steven didn't apologize for or deny. He was loud, somehow always in a great mood, and had big blue Chihuahua eyes that landed him more dates than he deserved. Other than the bond he shared with Paul and Stephanie, Steven never forged any long-term relationships with anyone. He spent very little time at home. As far as he was concerned, the three of them were his family.

Paul, Stephanie and Steven were seated at their usual table in the cafeteria.

"Yeah, well, you'd know all about the qualifications of a substance abuse counselor, wouldn't you, Steven?" Paul quipped.

Steven's shrug was his only answer to the gibe. It was pretty much true. He began to hum the lines to the song Sober.

"I don't know, guys," Paul said, "From the sounds of it, this place Jeff knows about seems like the real deal. They specialize in people like me, people with sleep issues. I guess most people have the opposite problem as me—you know, most people don't get enough sleep. But still, it's worth a shot isn't it? If Jeff can get them to see me and get it done without it costing my mom big money, the only thing it'll really cost is time. So what, right?"

"What if they're not legit?" asked Stephanie. "What if they're into experimental treatments and they want to inject you with all kinds of crap that's only been tested on monkeys? You want to take the chance of having strangers poking and prodding you without your parents there? I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Look, I'm a..." Paul began to say, but lost his train of thought. The girl with the big brown eyes, the one he'd seen in the main office, walked past their table with a lunch tray in her hands. She was staring directly into his eyes, and this time she was the one smiling. Smiling at him! There was no doubt. His mouth went dry and his mind went blank. He was completely tongued-tied. He shook his head in an attempt to put some clarity to his thoughts and continue the conversation, but he couldn't get the words out. He just stared back, smiling his goofy smile with that same wonderful warm feeling in his belly.

And then the moment passed.

The girl with the big brown eyes continued past and joined a group of girls, immediately falling into discussion with them.

"Hel-lo?" Stephanie was leaning into his field of vision, waving her hand, looking from Paul to the brown-eyed girl and back again.

"A legal adult," Paul finally managed to blurt out. "I'm a legal adult. Yes." He stared blankly into space for a moment. "What were we talking about, again?"

Stephanie snorted and turned away. Steven, his mouth crammed full of Ho-Ho's, said, "That hack counselor's plan to send you away to a loony bin for people who sleep walk. Who's the hottie?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm eighteen. That makes me an adult and that means I can make my own choices, which means I can choose to go there if that's what I... choose. Right? So I'll check it out and if it seems legit, I'll let them take a look at me. I mean, that makes sense doesn't it?" Paul turned and looked back at the brown-eyed girl's table. "I have no idea who she is. I think she's new. I saw her in the office the day Paine busted me."

"She's freakin' smokin' hot." Steven said. "And against all odds, she looked like she might be into you." He smirked and punched Paul in the shoulder. "'Git some."

Without warning, Steven's head lurched forward, clipped from behind by someone walking past. The person's elbow had hit the back of Steven's head hard enough to make his whole upper body lunge forward, forcing him to slap his hands against the table top in order to stop his forehead from hitting it.

Before Paul or Stephanie knew what was happening, Steven jumped out of his chair, reached around and grabbed the arm of the person whose elbow had hit him. A lunch tray fell to the floor in a clatter and spray of salad dressing and spaghetti.

Steven spun in a full three-sixty, yanked the offending arm up behind the person's back, and pushed their face down hard on the table. It was Cory Boone—a guy that was notorious for starting trouble.

"You got a problem, Boone?!" Steven yelled directly into Boone's ear, leaning bodily over him. "How about instead of clipping me from behind, you be a real man and try messing with me to my face! Or you too much of a wimp to do that? Huh?"

"Hey, man, easy! It was an accident," Boone lied.

Steven yanked harder on the arm. Boone winced and decided it would be smarter to stay quiet. Aside from a few gasps of pain, he said nothing more. He stared wide-eyed at the pitted table top.

Steven held him there a few more beats and then let go with a push. Boone stumbled a little against the table as he worked to regain his balance. Steven, all five foot seven inches of him, stood staring up at Boone like he was ten feet tall, daring with his eyes for Boone to try something, anything. A few people at nearby tables snickered.

Boone slowly edged away from the table, leaving the mess of his fallen lunch behind.

Steven stared after him, shaking his head a little as he picked up the overturned chair and sat back down.

"Animal," Stephanie said, giving Steven a withering look. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Steven to have people mess with him. He was like a magnet for abuse.

"I know, right?" exclaimed Steven.

"I meant you, you Neanderthal! You don't have to be such a brute." She sniffed and turned away from him. "So, Paul—how about if we hang out after school today and talk about this thing a little more? I mean, do you even know the name of the place? Shouldn't we try and look it up on the internet or something? If it's a real place that does real research and has a good reputation, I'm sure there'll be a website with reviews and stuff."

"Wow, yeah," Steven said sarcastically and yawned theatrically, the fact that he'd physically assaulted and humiliated one of their classmates less than thirty seconds ago completely forgotten. "Holy crap, I'm tired just thinking about it. Research. Internet. What a night. Sounds like that's right up your guys's alley. Me, I think I'll find something a little more fun to do, like maybe gargling ice shards."

"Since you weren't invited, I guess that works out just fine, you intellectual dwarf," Stephanie said primly. "What do you say, Paul? For me? Just so I don't worry."

Smiling and raising his hands in surrender, Paul agreed to meet at Stephanie's house at five that evening.

He saw the brown-eyed girl one more time as he was leaving school that day, and again she noticed him. She was leaning against a telephone pole by the road, presumably waiting on her ride home. She was facing the school, watching as everyone came out. Once he'd left the building, her gaze followed him. She didn't smile this time, but didn't look away either. She just stared with those big, liquid brown eyes of hers.

Paul almost waved, but then stopped. She might be looking past him at someone else. He thought about going to say hello, and almost got the nerve, but not quite. He didn't want to take the chance of making a fool of himself. Instead he gave her a quick, nervous smile and hurried across the parking lot.

* * *

Stephanie's house was as it always was. There was a feeling of home there, and always had been. It was possible that it only felt that way to Paul because he'd known her family the majority of his life, but he found it hard to believe that anyone else would feel any different about the Petersen's. It was one of those places where it was just so easy to feel welcome. Like every time you walked through the door you could take a big deep breath of their air, hold it in, and let it course through your body. When you exhaled, all the stress from what was outside their door went with it. Just let it out and put it behind you until you had to go back out there, because while you're in the Petersen home, everything's going to be one-hundred percent fine.

"Hi, Paul!" called Stephanie's mother from the kitchen. "Dinner in about an hour. Steph's up in her room."

There was no question of impropriety when it came to how Paul and Stephanie spent time alone. Because of the length of their friendship, the idea that Paul might one day take a romantic interest in their daughter had either never occurred to the Petersens or was fine with them. In either case, Paul was considered part of the family and was treated with the complete, unquestioned trust that came with being a member.

Stephanie was already on her laptop, lying on her belly on the bed with her legs kicking the air lazily behind her. She had kind of a black Pippy Longstocking thing going. She was taller than most girls and extremely slender. Her father was black and her mother was white, so she was noticeably dark but—again, her term, not his—she was more of a bleach-black. She had the obligatory wiry hair that never seemed to stay in place and had a smattering of freckles across her nose. On top of all that, she always dressed like it was 1985. Her look was most definitely all her own... hers and maybe Cyndi Lauper's.

As usual, the radio was on, the TV was on, and one of the background screens on the laptop was playing music. Despite the amount of noise in the small room, she was focused intently on her computer screen. Paul had no doubt she was taking in every word, despite all of the blaring devices. She'd always been like that—she thrived on as much noise as possible. The first thing she did when she came into a room was to turn on the radio or television. Paul didn't know how she functioned that way, but she claimed she couldn't manage without it.

"Well," Stephanie said by way of greeting. Without looking up, she patted the bed next to her, "so far this place looks like the real deal, but I've only just now gotten their site up."

As Paul settled in next to her and took a look at what might be the place that helped cure him, Stephanie began clicking through some of the pictures and testimonials. The name of the clinic, 'Astralis,' was presented in a stylized but understated logo at the top left of the page. From the photos, it looked more like a country club than a hospital or clinic. All of the doctors had pictures linked with a personal profile and had open, smiling faces that appeared genuine. The patient photos showed people in various stages of testing and treatment. In every case, even in cases where the pictures were of patients in hospital gowns with electrode pads attached to them, they appeared comfortable and relaxed. The testimonials were all five-star ratings.

Stephanie narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and made a 'hmmm' sound. "Okay. So their website basically shows that the place is so perfect that you won't want to leave even after you're cured. But now for the real test."

Clicking open a new window, she went to Google and did a general search using 'astralis,' 'review,' and 'sleep' as her keywords. Over 200,000 results showed up on the page, but most had to do with an acne-fighting cream whose name sounded a lot like Astralis. With another click, she eliminated all of the extra links and kept only those that specifically had her keywords in them.

She and Paul read discussion boards, letters of recommendation, and news articles about the clinic for over an hour. They couldn't find a single negative page, post or review.

"And that's what worries me," Stephanie said. "Every place gets bad press. You can't please everyone one-hundred percent of the time. How is it possible that this clinic does not have a single person saying something like the janitor was rude or the receptionist on the phone sounded like they were having a bad day? I simply cannot believe it."

"Stephanie," Paul protested, "maybe they really are as good as Jeff seems to think..."

"No. No way. No way, no how," Stephanie shook her head. "Has Jeff ever been there? How does Jeff even know about this place? Maybe Jeff isn't the saint you think he is. Maybe he gets kick-backs for bringing them fresh guinea pigs like you!"

"Oh come on, Steph. Seriously, that's just..."

"No, you come on!" Sitting up, agitated, Stephanie's eyes blazed. "You're rushing into this and it doesn't sound right to me at all."

"Stephanie, stop!" Paul sat up as well, getting angry. "Do you even want me to find help with this? Why are you so dead set against a place that you know nothing about except what you've read on the internet? I want to be normal! Give me a chance to be normal!"

Paul hadn't meant to let his emotions get carried away, but now that it was out he realized that he really did want to find a way to fight his condition. He really didn't feel normal. It was one thing for his parents and friends to accept that he was a little different, and he appreciated it, but it was another thing to live with it. It was his burden—no amount of understanding or acceptance would replace the isolation he felt every night and every morning when he woke up.

Stephanie's eyes softened.

"I'm sorry, Paul," she said in a small voice, "I really am. You're right. Of course you are. I have no right to try and make decisions for you and I have no way of knowing what this must be like for you." Reaching out, she took his hand. "You're right," she repeated. "You've got to at least give it a shot."

Paul gave her a small smile and said with a mock lisp, "You're tho protective."

Eyes glistening a little, Stephanie laughed and gave him a hug, burying her head in his neck as she did.

Sitting there, holding onto each other, Paul became very aware of their nearness. He could feel her breath on his neck. He wondered if she noticed it too. Would it make her uncomfortable if he told her what he was thinking? He felt a little ridiculous having thoughts about someone who'd been a good friend for so much of his life.

But he didn't let go.

Moving her head a little against his neck, giving him goose bumps in the process, Stephanie made a small, contented sound.

Staring out the window into the darkness of the early evening, he was just starting to think he could get very used to being that close to her when he realized what he was looking at. He let go of her and jumped up from the bed.

"Stephanie! Holy crap! It's night time!"

Not looking at him, fidgeting a little, Stephanie said, "Yes, I know that. That means you need to go home, right?"

"Stephanie, no! I mean—yes. But no, that's not the point!" He took two quick steps back to the window, excitedly gazing out. "It's dark and I'm awake! I mean, I'm wide awake! This is awesome! Maybe I don't need to go to Astralis after all. Maybe this thing will go away in time. I mean, I never used to have this problem when I was younger, right? So maybe as I mature it will just kind of work itself out of me?" He turned back to Stephanie, his face lit in a brilliant smile. "I mean—look at that beautiful blackness out there!"

Smiling at his enthusiasm, Stephanie looked out the window with him, enjoying the moment. She wanted to reach out and pull him into her arms again, but she was afraid of spoiling the moment. Instead, she tentatively reached for his hand, brushing her fingers against his. As his fingers began to curl around hers, they saw someone moving in the room behind them, reflected in the window glass. They turned around quickly, expecting either Mr. or Mrs. Petersen to be there to tell them it was dinner time, but there was no one. They blushed, feeling a little embarrassed and disappointed at the same time.

"Mom?" Stephanie asked without raising her voice.

Exchanging puzzled looks, Stephanie walked into the hallway while Paul looked out the window down into the street. Stephanie came back into the room with a puzzled look.

"Had to have been the reflection of the television," Paul said. "Weird. Looked like someone was right there behind us."

"Yeah," Stephanie replied, hugging herself. "Yeah, it did."

Chapter 3

Unfortunately, Paul didn't stay awake much past getting through his own front door. After dinner, Stephanie drove him home and he fell asleep almost immediately. The following nights went right back to his usual routine and Paul lost the optimism he'd felt that night at Stephanie's house.

After another week of his normal sleep cycle, he decided it was time to take Jeff up on his offer. A meeting with a representative from Astralis was set for the following Thursday during one of their normal lunchtime sessions. By the time that day came around, Paul was surprised to find he was a little excited.

The representative from Astralis was the kind of person Paul might have expected a medical clinic to send. He was small, mostly bald, with little round glasses perched on a rather large nose. He had dark brown eyes, an easy smile, and a nasally, scratchy, high-pitched voice. All in all, he was a very unassuming man who didn't necessarily inspire confidence, but certainly didn't instill distrust, either.

"I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Paul," he began after they'd all settled in. "My name is Kendall Dittrich. Ever since Mr. Justice called—"

"Please, just call me Jeff."

"Of course. Ever since Jeff called and told us about you, we've been excited at the prospect of meeting you and having a chance to help you with your problem." Lifting a clipboard from a soft leather briefcase next to his chair, he flipped over the top page and held a pen at the ready. "It is my job to interview you, screen you, and decide whether Astralis can actually help you. I'm sure you will be doing the same thing yourself; deciding whether you feel comfortable with what we have to offer. So at any time during this meeting if you have questions or concerns, do not hesitate to voice them and I will answer them to the best of my ability."

"Thank you, it's nice to meet you too," Paul said. "I suppose I should start right off the bat with the most obvious and important question for me: how much?"

Dittrich cocked his head sideways and narrowed his eyebrows. "How much?" he parroted. "As in price?" He cast a quick look at Jeff. "You didn't tell him?"

"I thought it would be better coming from you," Jeff replied.

"Of course," Dittrich replied, smoothing the lapels of his sport coat and sitting up a little straighter. "Astralis is a non-profit organization completely funded by grants from the government. Sleep study is a very hot topic and although we do not pursue any specific goal for them, we do share all of our findings." Holding one cautionary finger up, he continued, "There are, of course, some policies and laws that we must adhere to in order to continue to receive that funding. Specifically, no drugs or chemicals that have not been FDA approved can be administered on our premises, nor can any patient be committed. All patients must be voluntary and treated on an out-patient basis. In other words, all patients are free to leave the grounds any time they wish, for as long as they wish."

Wow, thought Paul.

Dittrich nodded encouragingly. "Because of the government funding, Astralis is able to offer its services completely free of charge. It is my job to determine who is eligible, a very crucial position within the company. If word were to get out that our clinic performed its work at no cost, we would be inundated with everything from hypochondriacs to homeless people. I personally interview every candidate and make a determination on numerous factors. First and most obvious being whether or not there is a real need for our services."

Paul absorbed the information, a little stunned. "Honestly, Mr. Dittrich, this sounds almost too good to be true. There must be some sort of catch. No one does anything for nothing."

"In that, you are absolutely correct," Dittrich answered. "Dr. Abrams, the founder and director of the clinic, has a very personal reason for the work he does. You see, his family has been stricken with sleep disorders for as many generations as its history can trace. Although Dr. Abrams himself does not suffer from any such problems, he has relatives who do. Some of them..." Dittrich paused and cleared his throat quietly. "Some of them suffer quite intensely from very unique issues. Dr. Abrams has made it his life's pursuit to find a permanent cure for the malady that seems to be embedded into the gene pool of his family tree."

Jeff leaned forward in his chair. "This Dr. Abrams sounds like a great man, a man who works from the heart. The world needs more of his kind."

"Indeed," answered Dittrich gravely.

Paul looked from Jeff to Dittrich, asking, "And how is it that the two of you know each other?"

Both men opened their mouths to answer at the same time. Dittrich nodded his assent for Jeff to go ahead with the answer.

"It was at a psychologist's convention in Nashville," Jeff replied. "The convention was focused on the idea that most stress-related problems could be solved through the analysis of a person's dreams. It was really fascinating stuff. You see, the premise of the whole thing was that most people's dreams contain their subconscious thoughts—whether those are memories or deep-seated desires, those thoughts can lead the analyst to..."

Dittrich quietly cleared his throat again and looked at Jeff apologetically. Jeff smiled and nodded.

"I suppose all of that isn't why we're here," Jeff said. "To make a long story short, Mr. Dittrich delivered a short lecture on sleep deprivation and the effects it could have on a person, specifically on teenagers. The content was so interesting to me, because of the work I do here, of course, that I absolutely had to introduce myself to him afterward. We ended up having a beer and a wonderful discussion in the hotel bar later that afternoon. He told me all about Astralis and the work they do. He gave me his card and told me if I ever ran across anyone who might benefit from his organization's help to give him a call. And so now, here he is."

Dittrich smiled and spread opened his hands in a mock introductory pose. "Here I am."

"Sleep deprivation, huh?" asked Paul, disappointed. "Well, if that's your field of expertise and what is studied at Astralis, I'm afraid you may have come all this way for nothing."

Dittrich's gaze was an unspoken invitation for Paul to explain.

"As I'm sure Jeff explained when he called you, I sleep just fine," Paul began. "That's the problem. I sleep too much. I can't stop myself from it. It isn't narcolepsy. They've already tested me for that. It is way too timed, too specific. I've been to doctors. I know why I get so tired. It's from high levels of adenosine and melatonin in my system during the time between sunset and sunrise. I just can't find anyone that can figure out why it happens. The trigger. If your research is focused on finding ways to help people get a good night's sleep, then I'm definitely not a candidate for your program."

"Paul," Dittrich put a hand on the arm of his chair. "Sleep deprivation is just one of the many facets of disorders that we study at Astralis. There are others like you. Not many, only a handful to be truthful, but there are others and many of them are at Astralis right now. And they are all trying to find a way to either cure their ailment or live within the confines that it creates. I hope you'll take some comfort in knowing that your problem is not yours alone. We've studied people with your problem for decades, and although we still haven't found a way to change it, we've come a little bit closer to understanding the science of it.

"I wish I could promise you that all we'll have to do is give you a pill or an injection and you'll be cured, but I can't. I can't even give you a timeline or a guideline that we would follow for treatment. You are special and the only known cases like yours are those that Astralis has documented. Our understanding of how it works and how we can treat it changes constantly. So we try new, non-harmful methods of treatment with that same constancy.

"What I can promise you is that at Astralis, you'll find others who can truly relate to you. They are going through the exact same thing. Your feeling of isolationism is the same as theirs and your feeling of being different is shared. That sharing, we have found, has done more to help than any medical treatment we have been able to develop. It hasn't changed the symptoms, but it has most certainly done wonders for patient morale and, subsequently, quality of life." Dittriched leaned toward Paul, enforcing the importance of what he said next. "At Astralis, you will find a place where you feel you belong. A couple of the patients with your condition are close to your age, and I'm sure you'll find that you have a great deal in common with them."

Paul looked into Dittrich's eyes, trying to read him, and found only truth. He looked at Jeff, whom he trusted more than most people in his life, and received an encouraging nod.

"What about school?" Paul asked.

"Your school would continue with no interruption through a program at Astralis."

"And visitors?"

"Within reason, you can have any visitors at any time on any day."

Paul felt any reservations he'd had against going begin to fade away. "I'll have to speak with my friends and family first. My mom will want to meet with you and probably with Dr. Abrams, too. I guess as long as she doesn't find anything wrong with the idea of me trying this out, I'd be willing to see how it goes."

* * *

Sitting on his bench that night, alone in his dream with nothing but his thoughts, Paul reflected on everything Dittrich had told him about Astralis.

It really did sound too good to be true. Others like him? It made sense—of course he wouldn't be the only one in the world to have this condition. And he did feel lonely. Isolated. Different. To have other people around him that were going through the same thing would be a balm all on its own. Dittrich was certainly right about that.

The fact that a company as heavily funded as Astralis had been working toward a cure for this problem for decades was a sobering thought. Paul had always just assumed that if he could find a doctor that would lend some time and energy to his problem, a cure would be found. In Paul's world, as in most high school-aged people's worlds, there was always a solution to every problem—it was just a matter of finding the right pill to take. Paul was having a tough time getting his mind around the idea that an answer simply wasn't out there yet.

He leaned forward on the bench, propped his elbows onto his knees and put his head into his hands. He stayed that way until someone sat down beside him.

"Why so glum?" she asked.

Paul looked up into a pair of big, brown, beautiful eyes. It was her—the girl from school.

And she was looking right at him. Directly at him. Here, in his dream.

Noticing him.

His stomach began doing back-flips.

"Uh..."

"I had a feeling about you," she said with a small smile.

"You... did?" he stammered. He had no idea what to say. He was worried that she would vanish or that he would wake up and not be able to talk to her anymore. This was his best dream ever!

She regarded him with amusement. She looked him up and down, her small smile remaining place, as if measuring him. He imagined that he probably looked terrified. And he was—he was terrified that she'd never show up in his dream again.

She gave a little shake of her head and said, "You don't even know where you are, do you."

Not a question. A statement.

She was less than a foot from him, so close he could feel the heat of her body.

And then she stood up and walked away.

* * *

"Dude, seriously. You look like ass."

Steven was always helpful, always willing to lend his point of view to anyone or any situation, even when it wasn't asked for. Especially when it wasn't asked for. He probably thought it was one of his more endearing traits, but for Paul, especially today, it wasn't helping.

"Dude, seriously," Paul answered wearily. "You always look like ass. So kiss mine." He felt even worse than usual, having woken up after another eight hours on his bench, waiting and hoping that the brown-eyed girl would come back, but she didn't. No one had ever spoken to him in his dream before.

The three of them were back in the cafeteria at their usual table.

"Well," Stephanie tickled his ribs with two fingers. "Are you going to tell us about your big meeting with the scientist guys yesterday, or what?"

She and Paul hadn't discussed their hug, but ever since that night she'd more often put her arm through his when they walked down the hall or draped it over his shoulder when they talked at their lockers. Generally, she seemed more comfortable being physically close to him than before. Or maybe not. Maybe he was just more aware of it and thought of it differently now that he knew that there might be something between them.

"Guy," Paul corrected. "Scientist guy. One guy. And he wasn't a scientist. He wasn't even a doctor. He was just a scout, I guess. Someone who screens people for the clinic."

Steven began humming Blinding Me with Science.

"Ok, whatever you want to call him," Stephanie answered and slugged Steven in the arm. "Will you stop humming for once? So what did he say? What do you think now that you've talked to him? Are you going to go?"

Paul told them all the details of the meeting, explaining how the clinic worked and that there were other people being treated for the same problem. Going over everything out loud, he heard himself describing Astralis from a positive point of view. He didn't realize he was doing it until the words were already out. Last night's dream had unnerved and distracted him to such an extent that he hadn't really analyzed the way he felt about Dittrich's offer. As he spoke, he realized he was leaning toward going for it.

"Sounds like a no-brainer to me," Steven said. "Hard to beat the price and you can leave any time you want. What's to think about?"

"Plenty!" Stephanie replied, flashing Steven a disgusted look. "Everything is a no-brainer to you." She turned back to Paul. "First of all, it's all the way in Virginia, tucked up in the mountains! What about your parents? They're going to have something to say about you being gone for—how long? Do you even know that? You said they've been working on finding a cure for people like you for decades. Does that mean you could be there for years? And school. Do you really want to apply to colleges and have home-schooling listed on your transcripts? You know how that will look to a university."

"Look," Paul said tiredly, leaning his forehead on one hand. "I haven't made a final decision. I told Mr. Dittrich that I needed to discuss it first with family and friends—and that's exactly what the three of us are doing right now. At this point, yes, to me it sounds like an amazing chance to get a grip on my life. I think being around other people like me could help a lot. But I just talked to this guy for the first time yesterday, so I'm not totally committed and I could use some real input. Take some time to think about what I told you, and let me do the same. I would really like to take a trip to the clinic with mom, maybe dad, and you guys. I want to know what you all think.

"So," Paul looked at Steven, "before you decide it's a no-brainer, give it some thought. And," turning to Stephanie, he said, "before you come up with all the reasons why I shouldn't go, take some time and weigh them against the reasons I should. Please. This might be the biggest decision I've ever made and I don't want to make it without you two."

"Wow," Steven said, looking serious. "When you put it that way..." He opened his eyes wide, looking a little emotional.

But then he cracked a smirk "... you sound like a total douche bag."

Stephanie punched Steven in the arm and made a disgusted sound.

Paul laughed and said, "Thanks, you guys. I'm going to think about it some more too, talk to my parents, and maybe in the next few days I will call and try to set up a tour for us to take."

As both his friends nodded their agreement, Stephanie looked up and waved, smiling as she said, "Hey Lisa!"

Paul followed her gaze and almost choked on his nacho chip. It was the brown-eyed girl. The girl from last night's dream. She was walking their way.

Lisa? Her name was Lisa? How did Stephanie know that?

"Hey girl," Stephanie said as Lisa reached their table, standing between Stephanie and Paul with her lunch tray. "You want to eat here with us? These are my friends Paul and Steven."

Lisa set her tray down on the table next to Paul's tray, but remained standing. She said hi to Steven, who gave her his best 'whats up' with a nod, and then she turned to Paul. "Hi Paul. It's very nice to finally meet you. Stephanie told me all about you."

"Really?" Paul blurted, stunned and blushing. "So it was short conversation, huh?"

Lisa laughed like she'd never heard anything so funny. "No, in fact it wasn't. You sound like a super interesting guy."

Paul was at a loss for words, memories of his dream from the night before making it hard for him to come up with anything coherent.

"Well, nice to meet you both," Lisa smiled. "I'm afraid I already told my usual posse that I would sit with them today and catch up on the latest gossip, but thanks for the invitation. Stephanie, I hope we can hang out again soon, and thanks for yesterday!"

Picking up her tray and smiling a farewell, Lisa headed off toward her normal table and group of friends.

"Lisa got ditched by her ride home yesterday and needed a lift," Stephanie explained. "I felt bad, so I gave her a ride. We ended up talking so much on the way that we just went to my house instead and hung out for a few hours. We talked so much."

Steven leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers together on his belly. He smirked at Paul. "Dude," he said. "You're totally in."

Stephanie narrowed her eyes and snaked her head forward a little.

"What?" Paul asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh Paul, I've heard so much about you," Steven mimicked in high-pitched voice, "Stephanie told me alllll about you." He let his chair fall forward and slapped his hands on the table. "You. Sir. Are in." He grabbed his lunch tray and stood up, saying to Stephanie, "You going to make it to Ethan's party tonight? Should be plenty of good music, dancing... bumpage... grindgage."

Steven made some suggestive moves with his hips, holding his lunch tray out in front of him.

"Ummm, yeah I guess I probably will," Stephanie answered. "Not much else to do in this Podunk town. Just don't try and feed me drinks again, Steven."

Steven gave her a parting grin and walked away.

"I mean it!" Stephanie called after him.

Paul shook his head, watching his friend walk away. If there was one thing you always knew was on Steven's mind, it was girls. And if there was a second thing, it was that he always thought he knew what girls wanted. Paul was thinking it would be nice if Steven happened to be right about Lisa.

Stephanie abruptly stood up. "Well," she said crisply. "I can see that you have plenty on your mind now, so I'll just go and make sure I have everything I need from my locker. Bye."

Without waiting for a reply, she stalked off, her back rigid and shoulders set.

"Bye..." Paul answered meekly, knowing she wasn't listening.

Sighing, he stood up grabbed his tray. As he did, a folded piece of paper fell out from underneath and landed on the floor. He put his tray back down and picked up the fallen page, unfolding it.

A single line was printed in neat handwriting:

CASEY'S CEMETARY. MIDNIGHT. I HAD A FEELING ABOUT YOU.

Stunned, he dropped heavily back into his chair. He stared at the note, expecting it to vanish or burst into flame or... something. He pinched himself and looked around. No gray tint. He wasn't dreaming. What the hell?! He looked over at the table where Lisa sat, but she wasn't paying him any attention. She was chatting it up with her friends, eating and laughing and carrying on like any normal teenage girl.

Chapter 4

Paul sat at his computer, watching out the window as the day faded. He got up, scowling as he went to the bed that was more like a prison to him than a place of rest.

That bed—practically his enemy. The same way diabetics must feel about their syringes, he needed it. If he didn't lie down in it before he fell asleep, he would end up sleeping somewhere that would leave him feeling cramped and sore in the morning. He already felt awful enough every day. He didn't need to make things worse by adding stiff muscles to the mix. The fact that his bed was comfortable didn't make him appreciate it in the slightest. It was a physical representation of his limitations, the biggest item in his room, and impossible to ignore. A constant reminder that he was different.

Casey's Cemetary, he thought as he climbed beneath his covers. Everyone in Hardin County knew about Casey's Cemetary. It was on the outskirts of Elizabethtown, one town over from Radcliff. It was down a long, dead-end dirt road. Spending time in the cemetery in the middle of the night was a favorite dare for a lot of the high-school crowd. Local legend stated that Wiccan magic was practiced there, and that it was haunted by the ghost of a young man who'd hung himself from one of the trees. A lot of locals called it 'Hell's Gate' or 'the Gates of Hell' because of two enormous iron gates that used to mark the entrance. Most of the headstones were dated from the 1800s and had been vandalized at some point in the last century. It was a truly eerie place, especially in the dead of night. Kids who took the dare frequently came back with stories of gunshots, or that they'd seen strange lights in the woods.

Lisa couldn't have asked him to meet her at a more dramatic place.

Closing his eyes, Paul was lost in the familiar feeling of falling down into himself. He entered the dream, into an immediate deep sleep. He drifted down, down, down into the depths of his mind until he felt himself stop. It was like letting his body sink to the bottom of a lake. There was weightlessness combined with a feeling of falling, but because he was falling through darkness he couldn't actually be sure he was moving at all until he reached the bottom. That was when he knew he'd gone as far as he could go. That was when he knew he was completely alone.

The sinking feeling lasted all of a few seconds.

Paul opened his eyes and sat up, seeing the familiar gray tinge. He got out of bed, left the house, and went into town to his bench. But this time he didn't sit down. Tonight was going to be different, he knew it. Tonight could change the rest of his life. He stared down at his bench and made his decision. Facing south with a firm resolve, he began walking.

It was at least twenty miles to the cemetery, but if he kept a steady pace he should be able to average a mile every fifteen minutes. It was just after seven o'clock. As long as he didn't stop, he could make it there by midnight.

* * *

Paul had been walking for over three hours, turning the events of the last two days over and over in his mind. How could it be that Lisa could see him in the dream?

Why was he heading alone into the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, to meet someone who was more or less a complete stranger and who seemed to know something he didn't? She could be luring him out there to hurt him, even kill him.

Was he in some way a threat to her?

Maybe she'd dealt with people like him before. Maybe the fact that he could see her in his dream was something that could make trouble for her. It was possible that just knowing he knew her secret was enough for her to want to get rid of him, or in some way ensure his silence. Lord knew that she would have no trouble keeping him quiet about it—he already didn't want anyone to know.

Maybe she was just as clueless as he was. Maybe she was just as scared.

Maybe she just needed someone to talk to.

She might even be hoping for answers from him, the same way he was hoping for answers from her. That didn't really make sense, though—not with the way she seemed so confident and so comfortable around him. She didn't carry herself like someone scared or confused.

After turning it over in his mind from every angle, he kept coming back to the same conclusion. It didn't matter why she wanted to meet him. What mattered was that she actually could. Whatever her motivation, he had to get to the cemetery and find out what she knew. There was even a chance that he could tell her about Astralis and she might come with him.

The biggest question: how was it that she was the only person who'd ever been able to see him? Was this an alternate dream world, an alternate reality? If it was, then it was an actual destination. It was a place he traveled to every night without having any idea how he got there. As far as he knew, no one else could go there except him. Until now, of course. If this was an alternate plane of some kind, and if Lisa was able to get there too, then there had to be other people who could as well. Did she know about them? Could she take him to them? Would she?

Maybe it was all just in his mind. She could be in his mind. He supposed that if there was a time he would be most vulnerable, mentally, it would be when he was asleep, so maybe that's how she was getting in. After five years of sitting on the same bench, he'd certainly begun to feel as if there was no way anyone could ever get to him in this place. Had he just simply let his guard down without realizing it? Maybe when she came to new towns she sent out psychic probes until she found vulnerable people and then... and then what? Maybe he was psychic...

Paul was so deep in thought he didn't realize where he was, and was surprised when he saw that he was already close to his destination. He knew, because he was coming up on Ethan's house—the place where Steven had said there was a party tonight. He could hear the noise before he saw the lights. The deep bass of dance music reverberated out of the darkness, thumping out a rhythm that was out of place on the empty, two-lane road. Several cars had passed a while back, but he hadn't bothered to lift his head since he knew they couldn't see him.

He was still nervous about meeting with Lisa, so he slowed his pace and then stopped altogether. He needed some time to compose himself, to decide once and for all whether it was a good idea to be there.

He took a deep breath and looked around. Ethan's house was on the corner of St. Johns and Grandview Church Rd, the last intersection before St. Johns became a one-lane dirt track that dead-ended at the cemetery. He had no idea what time it was. He didn't wear a watch and hadn't considered bringing his cell phone with him. It was probably a safe bet that cell coverage didn't extend into the dream world, anyway.

Standing in the road in front of Ethan's house, he watched several people he knew from school as they lounged on the front porch drinking beer, talking and laughing and having a good time. Through the windows, he could see people dancing. Loud, laughing voices shouted over the sound of the music. A couple came out the front door holding hands and walked around the side of the house together. More than likely, Stephanie was in there too. Almost definitely, Steven was.

Paul stood there, soaking it in. So this is what normal kids do, he thought.

He'd never been to a real party before. Birthday parties and slumber parties, sure. Up until his problem began, he'd gone to all the usual get-togethers that kids normally go to, but that was over five years ago. From age thirteen onward, he'd been forced to retreat from the social circles he should have been a part of. It wasn't right and it definitely wasn't fair.

Why him? Why did he have to be this way? No one else he knew—no one—was like him. He was a good guy, a good person. He had a lot to offer, but the simple truth of it was that he couldn't be anyone's full-time friend. There were too many times when he just couldn't be there.

Feeling sorry for himself and a little ashamed for getting to that point, he turned away. He'd worked hard at burying those self-serving feelings, having mastered them a long time ago. There were plenty of times he'd allowed it to get to him, especially around age sixteen, when more and more of his friends began venturing out and going to parties. He'd been emotionally devastated by his inability to be a part of that life and had spent a lot of hours alone and angry. Those were some of the darkest times of his life, but from those times he learned that dwelling on the loneliness only intensified it. That realization was what had caused him to put his anger aside and embrace the safety of his bench where he could ignore the rest of the world.

Looking back at the house, he saw Steven stumble out onto the porch, laughing and yelling something to the people inside. There was a beer in his hand, which he managed to keep from spilling as he stumbled to the far end of the porch. Curious, Paul walked up the sidewalk toward his friend.

It wasn't until he was just a few feet away that he realized Steven had unzipped his fly and was about to take care of business over the side of the porch. A little embarrassed, Paul quickly turned to leave but stopped at the sound of his name.

Steven was staring off into the night with his beer in one hand, weaving slightly from side to side. "Paul, man. Wish you here, buddy. All these people, they're alright but they ain't you. I'm sorry you got such a bum deal." Raising his beer in a salute, Steven said, "Here's to you, my friend. My best friend."

And then, as Steven slowly and dramatically poured some of the beer over the edge of the porch, he began to pee. Paul decided that was the right time to leave.

It was time to find some answers, so that maybe he could stop ignoring the things he was missing. Mustering his courage, he took the first step toward the last leg of his journey. One that would end in a visit with the girl of his dreams.

* * *

The last mile of the road was a single lane, flanked closely on both sides by tall trees in full bloom. With no moon, the darkness was complete. Just past a hundred-eighty degree turn, the road dead-ended in a dirt cul-de-sac and the entrance to the cemetery.

There were no cars, so obviously Lisa hadn't driven. She must have come on foot, the same way he had. Odd. It was hard to imagine a girl like her being able to hoof it alone twenty miles to the middle of nowhere.

A dirt path cut through the center of the cemetery, headstones on either side. Most of them had fallen over from a century of weather-wear. Others appeared to have been toppled by vandals. Paul felt a momentary pang of sadness for the poor unfortunates whose final resting place had become a sight-seeing stop for people looking for a thrill.

At the periphery of his vision, as the trail was swallowed in distance and darkness, the path crossed underneath an enormous oak tree. Standing next to it, arms folded in front her, was Lisa. As before, she faced him directly, smiling, her big brown eyes fixed unblinkingly on him.

Moving slowly onto the path, she said in a teasingly, "I was beginning to get worried that you wouldn't come. You're late."

"I am?" he stammered. "I wasn't sure. I mean, I walked all the way from Radcliff and I don't have a watch or anything so I don't know what time it is."

She smiled even wider, moving toward him.

"It's alright, Paul, I'm just razzing you."

She said my name, he thought with a thrill. Just as if she'd said it a million times before. Just as quickly, he tried to retract the thought, worried that perhaps she could hear what he was thinking. Were the two of them in his mind right now?

He walked toward her slowly. He wasn't really even conscious that he was moving at all, so focused was he on what she said and the smile on her face.

"Where are we?" he asked her.

Raising one eyebrow, she answered cryptically in a faux-spooky voice, "Casey's Cemetery—The Gates of Hell."

"No, I mean—yes, I know that. Of course. But how is this possible? Are we seeing each other in our minds? Are you psychic?"

They had finally come face to face on the path and stopped. Lisa was slightly shorter than him, but to Paul she seemed larger than life, her eyes drawing him into their infinite depths. It took his breath away, being so close to someone so beautiful.

Perhaps realizing his discomfort, Lisa finally unfolded her arms and reached out a hand. She placed it on his left arm just above the elbow and kept it there, looking him in the eye.

"We are at the Gates of Hell," she repeated. "We really are here. The most important part of us is, anyway. We are both here, now, in this cemetery. You can feel my hand on your arm, can't you?"

Paul nodded. He most certainly could, and most certainly didn't want her to pull away, but she did. She slowly loosened her hold on his arm and, still smiling, let one finger trace down to his elbow as she lowered her hand to her side.

"You really don't know, do you?" she asked.

"Don't know what? I don't understand. Please—I've been trying to figure this out for so long. Please tell me what you know."

"Oh this is as good as I hoped it would be!" Lisa exclaimed, clearly delighted. "A true virgin to Walking. We are going to have so much fun! There is so much to show you and so much to tell you." She grinned. "Paul, I think we're going to be very good friends."

"Walking?"

Smiling even wider, if that were possible, she said, "That's just what we call this. I don't know if there actually is an official or accepted name for it. But the short answer is yes." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. Come over to the tree and sit down. I'll explain everything."

Placing her hand lightly on the center of his lower back, she gently steered him toward the tree she'd been standing under when he'd first arrived. Her touch was electrifying, the butterflies in his stomach working so hard it almost burned. It was just a light, guiding touch, one that she probably didn't realize had such an impact on him, but for the few moments they walked toward the tree, her simple proximity gave him an unbelievable rush.

As he moved aside a low-hanging branch and held it out of her way, she gave a small gasp and looked at him with an appreciation that bordered on outright adoration. Chivalry wasn't dead, so it seemed. He followed her to a spot at the base of the tree and sat down cross-legged next to her.

Also cross-legged, Lisa sat with her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed, as if she was trying to decide where to begin. She stayed like that for a few moments. When she finally lifted her head, her gaze was clear and direct.

"We are both very special, Paul, because we share a talent," she began. "We are here. We are here right now, and at the same time we are still in our bedrooms or wherever it is that we fell asleep. Our bodies are there, resting, completely independent of the most important part of ourselves. Call it your soul, call it your essence, your spirit—call it whatever you or your religion prefers. Whatever it is that makes us 'us'—that is the part of you that is here right now talking to me."

"Astral projection?" Paul asked, stunned, almost in a whisper.

"Sort of," Lisa answered. "It's hard to call it projecting once you get used to the idea of how it works. So much of what makes us this way, and our limitations, just doesn't mesh with the stories of people who claim they can astral project. Saying that you project this part of yourself implies that you're making an effort to do it. You aren't. You don't have a choice. You're here because something about the way you're built places you here every night."

When his only reply was to give her his full attention, she continued. "The first thing you need to know, and probably the most important thing, is that no one can see us or hear us. You probably already think you know this. I've seen you on that bench. You don't even look up when someone sits down next to you. But do you really know it? Do you realize the freedom that comes with that? You can go anywhere you want and no one will ever say a thing, because they'll never know. You can see anything you want and no one will stop you. They couldn't if they wanted to. You have an all-access pass to the entire world. Literally. Think about that."

He did think about it. He'd never considered testing the boundaries of his dream. It just never occurred to him. He was always so engrossed in his own self-pity that he hadn't realized that his condition could be seen as anything but a curse. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was a gift. The idea of 'anywhere' and 'anything' was mind-blowing. It was like trying to imagine the concept of forever.

"I can see that sinking in," Lisa said. "I've known what I can do since nearly the first night it happened, and it still gives me goose bumps. It will for you, too, Paul. We can know anyone's secrets. We can go into any house we want. Paul, we could go into the White House if we wanted to.

"But there are some limitations to it. You have to be careful of mirrors and shadows. Sometimes you leave a faint glimmer of yourself in a reflection or in the way lights pass through you. You can always go anywhere you want in the dark, but when you're in lighted places, like when you're indoors or in a city, you have to be careful. Walkers are where nearly every ghost story comes from. Stand in front of a mirror in a darkened room and say the words 'Bloody Mary' three times. That's us. The sight of someone standing in an upstairs window when no one is in the house. Us again. The faint, blurry outline of a person in the background of a photograph when no one is actually there. All of those things are us and have been twisted into urban legends and bedtime stories."

Stunned, trying to take in everything she was telling him, Paul murmured, "It's like a bad horror movie."

Laughing, Lisa said, "Yup. Except in our case it's not scary at all, it's awesome. But like I said, there are some limitations. Here, check this out."

Standing up, she beckoned him to follow her to the chain link fence that surrounded the cemetery. Inviting him to pay attention, she drew her arm back and grunted like a tennis player, swinging her hand into the chain mesh as hard as she could.

The fence didn't move, nor did it make the ringing sound that chain link fences usually make when they're disturbed. The only sound was the dull thud of her hand against the metal. It was as if she wasn't there and hadn't touched the fence at all. Or rather, as if the fence had only touched her, but not vice versa. She then reversed her swing and slammed her palm down on top of the nearest fence post, again as hard she could, again with the same effect. She grunted a little in pain, but gave no other reaction. Appalled, Paul watched but said nothing.

"We can't move anything," she explained. "It could be something as small as a pebble, but it may as well be as big as a Buick—we can't budge it. This is one of our biggest limitations, because it means that we can't carry anything with us when we're Walking. We can't call each other on a phone or drive a car. All the things we take for granted in the daytime, the tools we use to accomplish regular tasks, we have to find a way to do on our own. It's almost like stepping back a hundred years when we're here. The worst part is that for us to get anywhere, the way has to be open. Literally. We can't push open doors or even turn a knob. Even curtains are an issue. We can't move a thing.

"But now... this," she held out her hand for him to see. "This is definitely one of the perks. Take a look."

He looked down at her palm, but couldn't see what it was that he was supposed to notice.

"I don't see what you're showing me," Paul said.

"Exactly," she answered. "It's just my hand. There's nothing wrong with it. I just hit that fence as hard as I could and even though it stung like crazy when I hit it, nothing really happened to me. When we're here we can't get hurt. The same way that we can't move objects, they can't move us. You could jump from a rooftop and do a belly-flop onto a fence post and still be fine. The pain of your landing would make you see stars for a while, but you'd be okay because here in the dream you don't have a physical presence. You're all soul, baby."

"This is insane. This doesn't seem real," Paul marveled.

"I know," Lisa said. "But once you've had some time to get used to it, you're going to realize that this, being here, is in a lot of ways more real than when you're awake. You'll get to where you prefer this world to the other—we all do, for so many reasons—and you're going to get to the point where one will blur into the other. You have to be careful of that, because so many of the rules that apply to our existence at night that don't apply in the daytime. Sometimes, because you spend close to the same amounts of time in each, you end up taking certain things for granted, like not being able to be hurt, and I'm sure I don't have to explain how that can have some pretty serious consequences."

It was so much to process. Paul sat back down, head reeling, his back against the fence. A light breeze rustled through the leaves of the oak. It was actually quite nice in Casey's Cemetery. "Tell me more," he said.

"Well," Lisa settled in beside him, her leg touching his. He was very aware of that leg. "Some of it you should already realize. You just walked twenty miles. How do you feel?"

"I feel fine," he replied. "What do you mean?"

"Are you tired? Are your legs sore? You don't have to answer, because I know they aren't. We don't feel physical strain at all. Think about it. Didn't it occur to you that somewhere during that long walk you should've gotten at least a little thirsty? Your body needs hydration whenever it exerts itself, but your body isn't here. Paul, you could've run the entire twenty miles if you'd felt like it—sprinted, if you wanted—and arrived here without being out of breath or even breaking a sweat."

Paul's head was spinning. Could this really be happening to him? He kept waiting to wake up and realize it was all in his head. Maybe he would. But after last night, and then today with the note under his tray, he would have a hard time believing it wasn't real.

"You won't get sick here," Lisa continued. "You won't get cold or hot. You'll always feel exactly the way you feel right now—a nice, perfect medium. With one exception. Anything you do to yourself in the day will follow you here. If you break your leg tomorrow afternoon, your leg will be broken here tomorrow night as well. Somehow, your essence is linked to your physical body and always mirrors the way you currently are."

"Lisa, this is all so much," Paul said. And he meant it. They hadn't been speaking for very long, but she'd said so much. And she acted so sure of herself, so confident in her knowledge. How did she know all of it so certainly? "You said you knew what you could do since nearly the first night that it happened. And you've said 'us' more than once. How? How did you know? And when you say 'us,' it must mean that you know more people like me. Do you? How many do you know?"

Lisa laughed. "You really are a smart one, aren't you? You don't miss a beat. I'll answer all of your questions, but not tonight."

She stood up, smoothing her hands up and down her legs unconsciously. "Come on," she invited, holding out her hand. "Let's take a walk."

He started to object, but decided that the idea of holding her hand and taking a walk in the middle of the night was too appealing to pass up. He had so many more questions and was impatient to get the answers, but this was her show. Throughout the night she had never blatantly flirted with him, but she had given plenty of small hints that made him think there was a good chance she felt an attraction. He wasn't about to screw up one of the best things that had ever happened to him. She was holding all the cards and he knew it. If he tried to force her to tell him what she knew before she was ready, she might decide never to tell him at all.

He stood up, took her outstretched hand, and allowed her to lead him out of the cemetery and down the road back the way he had come. They walked slowly, in silence, their hands swinging lightly with each step they took.

He looked over at her, wondering if he should say anything. He wanted to. There was a lot he wanted to say, and tonight's revelations were only part of it. He was exhilarated by everything she'd told him, but he didn't want to ruin it by rushing her along. He wanted her approval very badly.

She walked with her head slightly bowed, not really watching where they were walking, trusting him to guide their path. Her hand fit snugly into his. Every now and then, she made little twitches with it that might have been involuntary, but he liked to believe they were small signals that she was enjoying the contact.

They rounded the hundred-eighty degree turn in the road, nearing the intersection where Ethan's party was. They'd been walking so slowly, it had taken a lot longer to get there than it had on his way in. Lisa still hadn't said anything. He began to wonder if he'd said or done something wrong.

It was quiet, now. He didn't hear the party or see any lights.

"It must be later than I thought it was," he remarked.

"It is," she replied. "It will be sunrise soon and we will have to go our separate ways." She gave his hand another small squeeze. "Whether we want to or not."

Lord, he felt good. Things like this just didn't happen to me, he thought. And he wasn't just thinking of the amazing revelations in regard to his dreams. He was thinking that something good had happened, something both big and good. And from the way it looked, he was on his way to beginning a relationship with the kind of girl he could only have daydreamed about a few days ago.

They crossed the intersection and stopped in front of Ethan's house, standing in almost the exact same spot he'd been earlier. A few lights glimmered faintly in some of the downstairs rooms. The porch and front yard were littered with empty cans and bottles.

"Take a good look, Paul." Lisa said. "This is their life. This is what they do, and it is all they can do. They don't know, they will never know, and would never believe it if you told them what we can do. The people that are your friends are good people and I'm sure they care about you, but with what you now know nothing will ever be the same between them and you. You belong to something now. You're part of a very special group, and the only ones who know about that group are the ones that are members."

She turned and faced him, putting only a few inches between them. She looked up into his eyes. As the first rays of the sun began to peek over the horizon, she said, "As of this moment, your life will never be the same."
Chapter 5

Paul opened his eyes. He was back his bedroom. Closing them, he squeezed his eyelids as tight as he could. He took a deep breath and opened them again. He was still in his room, but the memory of the dream was as vivid as if it had really happened.

Please let it be true.

Reeling in the revelations of the night, he felt disoriented. He had to force himself to calm down and mentally adjust to his surroundings. He'd just been standing on a country road with a beautiful girl. Now, literally in the blink of an eye, he found himself lying on his back in his bedroom, over twenty miles away.

Had it really happened?

There was only one way to find out.

He dressed quickly, smoothed his hair down with the palms of his hands, and left the house without eating breakfast or even wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He jogged, ran, or fast-walked the entire way to school, not realizing it was Saturday until he was in the parking lot wondering why there were no cars.

He stood there breathing heavily, feeling foolish, his head spinning both from the run and from the thoughts tumbling around in his head. Memories of the past thirty-six hours flashed through his mind in random order, his excitement making it impossible to put any of them into coherent thought. He bent over, put both his hands on his knees and closed his eyes, waiting until his breathing became normal again.

Now what should he do? Lisa had been in his dream two nights ago, he was sure of that. In that dream, she'd come to his bench and said the exact same words he'd found written on a note the next day. That note had been left under his lunch tray, right where she'd been standing. He'd followed the instructions on the note and found her waiting for him in the cemetery, so it was safe to assume she was the one who'd written it. But still...

It could all just be an elaborate trick his mind was playing. He'd seen Lisa that day in the office when she was registering for classes, and a few times afterward. She was absolutely gorgeous, of that there was no doubt, and had been on his mind on and off since that first day. It was possible he'd simply conjured her image into his mind and dreamed that she'd spoken to him that night on the bench. He could have imagined that and, through the reading of a note that may or may not have actually been intended for him, created last night's dream as a result of his own wishful thinking. All of the rest, all of the things that she'd 'said' to him in his dream about being special, could have come from his imagination. His mind may have created a reason for her to be there, meeting him at a place that just happened to be right down the road from the same party that Steven and Stephanie had said they were going to.

It all boiled down to today. He had to find Lisa before dark and find out if everything had really happened. If she confirmed it in the daytime, then it had to be true.

Stephanie. Stephanie was the key. He'd never seen Lisa anywhere but school and had no idea where to find her. He didn't even know what her last name was. But Stephanie knew. Stephanie had given Lisa a ride home two nights ago, so Stephanie was who Paul needed to see.

* * *

"Paul!" Mrs. Petersen exclaimed as she opened the door. "What an unexpected surprise at eight in the morning on a Saturday. Is everything alright? You look a little wild-eyed."

"Everything is fine, Mrs. Petersen," answered Paul, self-consciously patting down his wild, ratty hair. "I'm sorry to come over so early, I wasn't thinking I guess. I just need to ask Stephanie some questions that are kind of important."

"Well, I'm sure she's still asleep," Mrs. Petersen smirked. "She was out late last night with friends. But I'll go and knock on her door and try to nudge her awake. It'll do her good to get up before the crack of noon on a Saturday. You can go ahead and wait in the living room if you like."

Paul thanked her as she let him into the house. He watched her climb the stairs, humming a happy tune, a smile on her face. Obviously, she was more than pleased to have an excuse to get Stephanie out of bed.

He fidgeted with the television remote while he waited, not turning anything on, just turning it over and over in his hands. It was something to do, something to release his nervous energy. Energy, he realized. It is eight in the morning and I have energy. How wonderful it was to feel this way. He couldn't count how many mornings in the last five years he'd woken up feeling like he needed another ten or twelve hours of sleep. Most of them? All of them. He'd spent so many nights on his bench with his head down. The way he'd been feeling all these years was almost certainly an emotional fatigue born of depression. He'd felt lost, unimportant, and strange for so long that it had become who he actually was. This was his chance for a new life, a new sense of self.

He had to find Lisa.

Still in a rumpled pair of baby blue pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, Stephanie shuffled into the room. She trudged along, making it look like each step was agony, and flumped down on the couch next to him without a word.

"Good morning!" Paul tried for the false happy greeting first.

"What," she said in a flat voice. It wasn't a question.

"Long night?" he asked.

She slowly turned to face at him. Her eyes were sunken in, dark circles under-scoring them, and her hair looked like she'd stuck a finger in a light socket. Very slowly, very succinctly, she said, "I drove Steven home last night. And Franklin. And Krystin, Kathy, and Melanie."

She paused, and he opened his mouth to speak, but a slight tilt of her head told him she wasn't done.

"That would have been fine," she began, "because you know I don't drink and you know I'm glad to get people home safe. But it's a whole different story when you have two people in the front seat with you and three people in the back, and every one of them is making out like you're not even there. Franklin and Krystin almost made me crash like ten times because they were all over each other! How am I supposed to drive like that? I had to tell Melanie and Kathy to put their shirts back on at least three times!"

"Kathy?" Paul asked. "And Melanie? With Steven? All in the back seat?" Paul made a small whimpered sound of longing and looked off into space, silently saluting his best friend.

"Focus!" Stephanie clapping her hands once for emphasis. "And then they wanted pancakes. I told them no, but they started chanting Den-ny's, Den-ny's over and over until I finally gave in. Paul," she leaned in close and looked in his eyes with a haunted look, "have you ever spent two hours in a Denny's with five drunks at 3 a.m.?" She shuddered. "You don't ever want to go through what I did last night. Not without chemical support."

Grabbing her shoulders, he faced her squarely. "Last night is exactly why I'm here," he told her. "I need your help. I need to find Lisa."

Stephanie pulled back like she'd been poked in the spine with a cold needle, suddenly looking very awake. "What do you mean, speaking of last night? And why do you need to find Lisa? My Lisa? You don't even know her."

"I don't. I mean, well—I do, I met her last night... kind of." He sighed impatiently. "Look, I can see where you're going in your head with this and it's not like that. I just need to talk to her and ask her some questions. It's super important and I know you gave her a ride home the other day, so I figured since you know where she lives maybe you could show me."

Stephanie squinted at him. There was a long pause before she said, "Tell me everything."

Without having considered that he might have to explain himself, all Paul could manage on such short notice was a very unpersuasive, "What?"

"Paul—you fall asleep every night before most people even have dinner, but now here you are at my house at eight in the morning on a Saturday, telling me that you need to speak to the new hot girl because of something that happened last night." She almost sounded angry. Paul was definitely getting a little uncomfortable. "So if you want my help, especially at this time of the morning after I spent a sleepless night being terrorized by drunk, half-naked crazy people, you're going to have to tell me what's going on."

Paul looked away, avoiding her eyes, weighing whether he should tell her what he hoped was true. This was Stephanie—if there was anyone in his life he knew he could trust, it was her. She'd always been his sounding board, the keeper of his deepest thoughts and secrets.

"Paul?" she asked softly, sounding hurt.

He was pausing. Why was he pausing?

He knew why. Lisa's final words from last night reverberated in his mind. 'They don't know, they will never know, and would never believe it if you told them.' Stephanie would think he'd lost his marbles. She would convince him that he'd dreamed it all and probably be a little worried about him. 'The people that are your friends are good people and I'm sure they care about you, but with what you now know nothing will ever be the same between them and you.' It was true, and it was already apparent. What was he going to do—tell Stephanie that his spirit walked the night? Yeah, right. Not a chance.

"Stephanie," he took her hand. "I swear I'll tell you why, some day. But it has to be when I know you'll believe me." She started to protest, but he cut her off. "All I can tell you is that this is big, really big, and maybe more important than anything that has ever happened in my life. Lisa is a part of it and might be able to help me. I know this sounds really Mission Impossible, but I can't tell you more, not yet anyway, because I haven't figured it out myself. That's why I need to find Lisa. I really, really need you to trust me and not ask anything else."

* * *

Paul was distraught. It was after seven in the evening and he hadn't been able to find Lisa. When Stephanie had driven her home a few days previous, she'd dropped Lisa off at a gas station. Lisa had said that she lived just a few doors down and needed to grab a gallon of milk and a pack of cigarettes for her father. Stephanie had thought nothing of it, she hadn't even thought to question whether it was the truth or not. Paul guessed Lisa had made sure that Stephanie didn't see where she lived on purpose.

Not only had he not been able to find Lisa, but he'd left Stephanie's house feeling as if there was a gap between them that had never been there before. She'd told him that she understood and that she trusted him, but in doing so she'd only made him feel worse. Her disappointment and hurt were evident even though she'd done her best to hide it. She'd said goodbye at the door and closed it softly, without meeting his eyes.

Looking out his window, he saw the light fading as the day drew to a close. He heaved a sigh and climbed into bed, already sliding toward sleep.

As he turned out his nightstand light, his cell phone vibrated. Groggily, he held it up to read the message. It was from a number that wasn't stored in his phone, just two words:

'SWEET DREAMS'

* * *

Opening his eyes to the dream, Paul got up and went outside. He stood on his front step, trying to decide which way would be his best option. He didn't relish the thought of another long walk to the cemetery, but he needed to find Lisa. 'Sweet Dreams' as a message didn't really imply anything, except maybe to be her way of telling him she was looking forward to seeing him.

Mentally shrugging, he headed toward his bench. He had to pass it on the way to the cemetery anyway. He would go there first, and then decide whether he wanted to continue on.

Coming around the last corner, he wasn't disappointed by his choice. Lisa sat there, idly swinging her feet and looking up into the night sky, a picture of carefree leisure. Looking over as he approached, she bathed him in her trademark smile and hopped to her feet. She came to greet him, taking both his hands in hers, and leaned up to give him a light kiss on the cheek, murmuring "thank you" as she did.

Taken aback, Paul asked, "For what?"

"For not coming to me today and bombarding me with a million questions. Most people do. They either don't believe what they've been told is true and think it was all just a dream, or they believe it so strongly that they can't wait to have all their questions answered. It's a real sign of strength that you dealt with your first day alone and didn't come to me."

"Umm, well, I'm glad to have been able to give you some space."

"You sound like we're dating or something, Paul," she said coyly, giving him wide-eyed, penetrating look. "It's not that I needed any space. It's like I told you last night; no one will ever believe this. We'd be locked away like nut-bags if anyone ever heard us talking about it, and in the off-chance that the wrong people heard us and actually believed us, we could find ourselves in some very bad situations."

"What?" Paul asked. "Why would we end up in bad situations? What do you mean?"

"There are people all over the world that can do this. I told you that. Not a lot, but there are more—enough that, to you and I, it would seem like a lot. It isn't inconceivable that there could be Walkers like us in, say, Al-Qaeda. Imagine if we were found by a group like that. We would be tortured during the day so that they could use us at night.

"We're helpless while we sleep, Paul. With all the wonderful things we can do at night, that's also when we're at our weakest, physically. If anyone had a serious grudge against us, all they would have to do is figure out where we lay our heads."

This was a new dimension to his ability that took the romance out of it completely. She was right—he had to be more careful. He'd almost told Stephanie today simply out of guilt. Not only would he be putting himself at risk, but he would also be putting anyone he told at risk. Anyone who knew that people like him existed could become a target for the wrong people.

"During the day we can only talk about this in safe places," she continued, "and there are very few of those. You might think you're safe in your house, but that's not true. You never know when your parents might come home, right? You can't talk about it on the phone because everything can be traced and listened to now, thanks to the Patriot Act. And obviously a rumor-mill like high school is out of the question."

"That's why you slipped me the note and sent a text with such cryptic wording," Paul thought out loud, nodding as he spoke. "You were protecting us both. But if all those places aren't safe, then where is safe? If I can't talk about it at home... where? And what did you call us? Walkers?"

"Here. In the dream. That's where you're safe. And one other place, for sure. Astralis."

"Astral..." Paul began, but then it all came together. "Who are you, Lisa?"

Lisa laughed, sounding just as delighted with his confusion as she had the night before. In a mocking tone, she raised one hand and said, "Hi, my name is Lisa and I'm a Walker."

Paul gave her a level look, indicating that he wasn't amused.

"Okay," she grew serious once again, sitting back down on his bench. "We are called Night Walkers by many of our own kind. It's a term based on an old Navajo superstition regarding tribe members who broke certain cultural taboos in order to gain the ability to travel at night in different forms. The Navajos called them skin walkers. Somehow we ended up adopting the term for ourselves, but changed it to Night Walkers." She shrugged. "It's a loose term, and doesn't mean much except that it's a self-attached label. I guess someone figured it sounded cool.

"So, because we're Night Walkers, a lot of us call the dream the Walking World, and call daytime the Waking World. As you already know, they're the same place and aren't really two different worlds. But to us, they definitely feel like it.

"As for me – I'm Lisa Dittrich."

Paul gave a start, recognizing the name immediately.

"I knew about you before I came to your school," she explained. "Or at least, I was pretty sure you were a Walker based on everything they told me."

"They? What do you mean, you knew?"

"You met my dad, Paul. You know he works for Astralis. What you don't know is that he's a Walker too, and even though Astralis is supposed to exist for people who can't sleep, their main, true, and most important work is based around people like us.

"Astralis sends out Walker scouts constantly, all over the country, looking for others in the hopes of reaching out and offering help. One of those scouts saw you on this bench about six months ago. They watched people come and go, but you just stayed right here. Never once did you acknowledge them and they didn't acknowledge you. It was a dead give-away. So for the next five months you were observed. When it was clear you didn't know about your gift, that's when they sent me to watch you with your friends, get a bead on what kind of life you live, that kind of thing."

"You spied on me?" Paul blurted. "I thought you liked me!"

"Paul, I do like you." Lisa put her hands in her lap and looked down. "More than I should, probably. For crying out loud, I'm telling you all of this on our second night. I'm not supposed to tell new Walkers who I am for weeks. Paul, you're special. You're more special than just another Walker, which is a whole other conversation. You've got potential to be greater. Much greater."

"What are you talking about? Isn't being able to walk around invisible at night enough?"

"I can't tell you everything, it's not my place. At Astralis I'm pretty low in the ranks, a relatively new Walker with a very small job compared to the rest of what they do. Anything more has to come directly from Dr. Abrams, or at least be approved by him. But please trust me, Paul—he can help you."

"He can help me how?" Paul retorted. "I already feel better just knowing I'm not imagining all of this. What could he possibly do for me past showing me the truth, which you've already done? I'm fine. Even your father said that they have never been able to find a cure for what we can do. Honestly, Lisa, I don't know why anyone would want to be 'cured,' anyway. Knowing what I know now, this seems like the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Lisa pursed her lips. "Like I said, I can't tell you everything. I'm not allowed to. But you need to listen to me and you need to listen close. The fact that Astralis is dedicated to finding and helping Walkers should be enough all in its own for you to want to be a part of what they do.

"Think back to just a few days ago, to the state of mind you were in. That's where most Walkers are their entire life; never knowing what they can do. They think the Walking World is just a dream, a product of their subconscious, just like you did. Most of them try to figure out what's wrong by going to doctors, just like you did, and they get answers from those doctors, but those answers are only guesses. Unless a Walker is lucky enough to wander into the office of a doctor that Astralis has already had contact with, which basically never happens, they spend their entire lives on medication. And that only makes them feel worse because, without fail, the doctor diagnoses them with some sort of depression or Daddy issue. The Walkers end up isolated and lonely, separated and alone with no chance for a real life."

Paul said nothing, caught up in the memory of how he'd felt the past five years, knowing that what Lisa said was right on target.

"Now take it a step further," she continued. "Let's talk about the Walkers that come to Astralis but decide they can handle the responsibility that comes with their gift, and leave to make it on their own. Some, who prefer the isolationism that comes with our gift, become a little obsessed. They stay within particular areas and become territorial, almost like drug dealers, watching for other Walkers and warning them to keep away under penalty of death. And they do enforce it, because they never want anyone to learn their secret. Those Walkers are all just this side of crazy. Most of them end up in jail because they can't hold steady jobs. The only way they can make enough money is to use their gift to find opportunities to steal what they need."

Paul tried to interject, but Lisa wasn't done.

"And then there are the Crazies," Lisa said. "They're the ones that go insane from the lack of mental down-time. Our bodies sleep every night, so physically we get the rest we need. But our minds never cease to process, no matter if we're awake or in the dream. Some people just can't handle never shutting down their brain every night."

Remembering how he'd been yelling into the face of a man who couldn't see or hear him just a few nights ago, Paul knew it was very possible that one day he could end up being one of the crazies Lisa was describing.

"Astralis has programs dedicated to helping Walkers who have trouble with mental overload, but it has to be at the facility in Virginia. Their treatments only happen there. Secrecy is a huge part of what keeps Astralis going. If word got out what their true function was... well, I already told you some of those dangers.

"Paul," she concluded. "There is too much you will leave to chance if you don't take the help that is being offered."

He knew she was right. He couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life knowing what he could do and never being able to share it with anyone else. He was certainly no stranger to being alone, the last five years had taught him how to cope with that, but did he really want to commit himself to it permanently?

No, he did not.

He sat with his elbows on his thighs and wrists touching, staring down at the pavement, thinking.

"I'll need to have a conversation with my mom, and with Stephanie and Steven," Paul said finally. "They'll want to know why I would make such a quick decision, and honestly I don't know what to tell them because I'm not sure it's the right one!"

"I've been through this a few times now," Lisa offered, "and trust me when I tell you that you just have to make the decision yourself. There is nothing you can tell them that will make sense, except that you want to go and try a new treatment. You may hurt their feelings a little when you say you're leaving, but the alternative is to try to explain something they wouldn't understand or believe—and might put them in danger if they knew about it."

"Lisa, I can't just leave. That will cause more problems than telling them the truth."

"Paul," Lisa took his hand in hers and leaning in very close. "Trust me."

Looking into those brown eyes, he wanted to. Lord, how he wanted to.

Chapter 6

It was another Monday of school just like any other Monday, but for Paul the whole world had changed. He and Lisa had spent the remainder of Saturday night together, rehashing the same discussion over and over. Neither of them would yield in their belief that they were right about what to tell Paul's friends and family, so they'd ended the night with an awkward good-bye and Paul's promise that he'd think on it some more.

He spent Sunday at home, watching mindless sitcoms in his room so he could avoid spending time with his mother because he knew she would bring up the subject of Astralis. After she'd learned that he could go at no cost to them and that it was two states away, she'd begun to take the idea very seriously. That evening, she announced that she and his father had talked and they would support him if he decided to go, which meant that they wanted him to.

He knew that her desire to see him go was, in truth, a result of her need to feel like she was helping him find the care he needed. Although she had tried, nothing she'd done to help him had ever made any difference, and he knew she felt some measure of guilt. If he had children one day and had no way to help them, he could only imagine how he would feel. In that scenario, Paul figured that help in any form would be something he would jump on as well.

So now it was up to him, and even though he'd been given every reason to go, there was something about the things Lisa had told him and the events of the past few days that nagged in the back of his mind. Something he couldn't put his finger on. Everything she'd said made sense, everything pointed toward him packing his bags and heading to Virginia. Astralis could help him, and Dr. Abrams sounded like the kind of person who was highly respected.

So what was it? What was holding him back? All day long, he ran the conversations from the weekend through his mind. That night, he went to his bench with questions for Lisa, but she didn't make an appearance. He even ran to Casey's Cemetery in case she was there. The only answer he got was that she was right about getting tired in Walking World—it didn't happen. He sprinted the entire way without any real effort.

And so there he was, slogging his way through another Monday of high school. Knowing what he knew now, everything seemed a little surreal, like it just didn't matter.

He found himself spacing out through the first two periods of the day, unable to focus or think about anything except Lisa and Astralis. He barely noticed when the bells rang, and shuffled through the halls between classes without looking up. By the time he'd sunk down into his chair for his third period class, his mind was turned so inward that he didn't hear the teacher calling his name until the fourth time she'd said it.

"Paul!" she said sharply, clearly irritated with his lack of attention. "Mr. Justice is here to see you!" She motioned impatiently toward the door where Paul finally noticed the presence of his counselor. A little confused, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and stood up.

"You'll probably want to bring your stuff," was all Jeff offered in explanation before ducking out of the classroom.

Grabbing his backpack, he went out into the hallway where Jeff was waiting.

"Jeff, it's Monday," Paul said. "We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays. What's up? Is everything okay?"

Smiling, Jeff replied, "From the way it looks, things are more than okay. Come on, everyone is waiting in the teacher's lounge."

Without another word, Jeff turned and walked briskly down the hallway.

"I..." Paul realized that if he wanted Jeff to hear him, he'd have to walk along with him, so he hoisted his backpack on one shoulder and set off after him at a trot.

"Jeff," Paul said when he caught up, already a little winded. "You got some long legs, you know. Why are we going to the teacher's lounge? Who's waiting?"

Jeff slowed just a little, looking down at Paul in confusion. "Everyone."

With that, they'd arrived at their destination. Jeff put his hand on the handle, but paused before opening the door. "I just want to you know, Paul, that I think you're doing the right thing. It can't be easy dealing with your problems, and for you take this leap of faith, just on the chance that you can do something about it. I just..." Jeff put a hand on Paul's shoulder. "I just want you to know that I think you're very brave. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I mean that."

As Jeff turned and opened the door, Paul reached out to forestall him and get some answers to what in the world he was talking about, but the sight of the people seated in the teacher's lounge stopped him short.

Seated at a long conference table was Mr. Paine, Stephanie, Steven, both of Paul's parents, and Kendall Dittrich.

They'd been engrossed in a conversation when the door opened, but stopped as soon as they realized he was there. Everyone except Steven rose to their feet with open, encouraging smiles. Steven instead gave him a smile and an upward 'dude' nod.

Dittrich was at the head of the table, his leather brief case lying on its side next to his chair. Manila folders were spread around the table, one for each person in the room.

"Ah, here he is," said Dittrich. "Come on in, Paul, and have a seat. I believe we have almost everything ready. I've been filling your parents in on what they can expect over the next few months, and although I would never speak for a parent, being one myself, I think from the conversations we've already had, they're fairly comfortable with the decision you've made."

Stunned, Paul moved past Jeff and into the room. He sat down in a seat between his mother and father, who were nodding in agreement with Dittrich. Everyone else sat down and looked his way, waiting for him to speak.

"I... what are you all doing here?" Paul stammered, looking from face to face.

"It was me," Dittrich cut in smoothly. "I figured the best way to get all the formalities out the way was to get everyone together in one place. There is the paperwork, of course, which your parents and Mr. Paine, on behalf of your school, have already signed. But I also thought you would appreciate having Mr. Justice..."

"Please—just call me Jeff."

"Of course. I also thought having Jeff here with your friends would be a good idea so they could give you a proper sending-off. We at Astralis know this is a big decision for anyone, so I thought you would appreciate everyone's support as you begin your journey."

"My journey?" Paul asked, getting angry and beginning to get the picture. He was being taken to Astralis without giving his formal consent. That must be why he hadn't seen Lisa the night before; she must have told her father about his hesitation, so they'd decided to push his decision forward through his parents and friends. "Look..."

Dittrich took an audible breath. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. "If everyone wouldn't mind, could I perhaps have just a moment alone with Paul? I think that moving the timetable ahead so quickly may have thrown him a little off balance. I want to make certain that this decision is one he is comfortable with, personally. It's one thing for one's parents and friends to be behind a decision like this, but truly—in the end it is entirely up to Paul. I'd like the chance to hear him say, without outside pressure, that he is committed to the process."

Everyone murmured their agreement and filed out into the hallway. Paul remained silent, wondering what game Dittrich was playing. Certainly Dittrich knew that Paul hadn't agreed to anything, so the flowery little speech he'd just given must be a prelude to the real reason he'd set all of this up.

Dittrich shut the door, leaving the two of them alone in the room. "I know you must be wondering what this is all about. Lisa told me about your reservations in coming to Astralis, and although I would very much like to allow you the chance to come to your own conclusion, we just don't have time for that. Paul, you're more special than you know. Lisa has told you as much already, and although she hasn't been able to tell you why you are so special, please take our word that it is the absolute truth. I assure you that Dr. Abrams will tell you everything once we've arrived at Astralis."

"Yes, Lisa has already told me," Paul began, "but that doesn't justify you coming into my school and basically kidnapping me..."

"Paul, I am here because there are others who are aware of you. They are aware of how special you are and they want to use you for their own ends. They have been watching and waiting for the right opportunity. I promise you that they are not the kind-hearted and well-meaning people that we are, and that if you were to refuse them they would kill you!" Dittrich paused for just a moment, letting his words find their mark. "Now we don't have much time, because these dear people waiting outside in the hallway can never know what you can do for reasons you are already aware of. The longer we spend discussing this, the more questions they will have, and the less they ask, the better—for their own protection. I make you this promise, Paul: come to Astralis. Meet Dr. Abrams. If you are not convinced that ours is the right path to follow, we will let you come home and rejoin this life you've been living. Even if it means that you might eventually fall into the hands of those who would use you for ill intent."

This life I've been living, Paul thought. He wondered if Dittrich was even aware of the power of the words he'd spoken. What life? Even if he didn't like what Dr. Abrams had to say and came back to Radcliff, his life could never be the same. It wasn't just that he knew people would treat him different if they knew his secret. It was that he would look at everyone else differently, too. For the rest of his life, he knew he would always feel outcast from the people around him. Unless the people around him were like him, like the ones at Astralis.

"And by leaving, by going with you to Astralis, it will keep my family and friends safe?" Paul asked. "These people you are talking about. They'll just forget about them?"

"Of course they won't just forget about them," Dittrich replied, "but as I said, they're already watching you. They already know where you are and what you can do. You give your friends and your family a much better chance of safety if you leave. It's you they want."

How could he argue with that? Nodding once, not trusting himself to speak, Paul motioned toward the door to indicate that he was ready for everyone to come back in.

* * *

The ride to the airport was mostly spent in silence. They stopped off at Paul's home so that he could pack a suitcase. There, Paul said a tearless farewell to his parents. His mother had looked worried, like she might try to talk him out of it at the last minute, but instead she just turned away, her eyes brimming with tears, and quickly left the foyer where they'd been saying their goodbyes. His father shook his hand, slipped two one-hundred dollar bills into his palm, and told him to please call as soon as he arrived so his mother didn't worry. An awkward nod from Paul was the last communication they shared.

At first Dittrich tried to make small talk, but Paul's one- and two-word replies left the conversation flat and soon the only sound in the vehicle was the radio.

Arriving at Louisville International Airport, Dittrich and Paul returned the rental car and made their way toward their terminal. Paul had no idea which one they were leaving from, but trusted that Dittrich did, so he kept his head down and his mouth shut. He noticed in the periphery of his vision that Dittrich glanced in his direction a few times, as if on the verge of saying something, but since Dittrich remained silent Paul didn't bother to acknowledge that he'd noticed.

It wasn't until they got to their gate that Paul finally looked up and took measure of their surroundings. They were at the end of the terminal. The airport in Louisville was almost never crowded, but today it was even less so. They were either extremely early or their flight hadn't sold many seats. Paul could see people a few gates down, but there was literally no one waiting at their terminal, so he was surprised to see a uniformed airport attendant come trotting down the corridor to meet them.

"Mr. Dittrich," the attendant said, shaking Dittrich's hand while giving Paul a quick smile and nod. "Right this way, please."

The attendant unlocked the door to their jet way and led them down a set of steps onto the tarmac, where Paul finally lost the ability to hold his silence.

"We're riding in a helicopter?!" Paul exclaimed.

The attendant looked pleased. Dittrich smiled and said, "I'd thought about telling you ahead of time, but I knew surprising you would be more fun. This is a Sikorsky S-92, one of the best and fastest birds ever made. You will not find a more comfortable or convenient way to travel."

It looked more like a luxury airliner than a helicopter, easily as big as Marine One. It was painted jet black, and had no markings other than a single gray eye surrounded by a circle on the tail fin. Dittrich walked confidently up the steps, turning at the doorway to make sure Paul was following behind him.

"Your life has just begun, Paul," he said. "I assure you, yours will be a lifetime that others can only... dream of." Smiling at his own joke, Dittrich turned and entered the craft.

Paul stood on the tarmac a moment longer, wondering if he had completely lost touch with reality. Who were these people?

"Enjoy your flight, sir," the attendant encouraged, beckoning for Paul to climb aboard.

The interior was as spacious and as luxurious as a first class cabin on a commercial flight. Probably even more so, Paul thought, since he'd never actually flown first class. There were three rows of beige leather upholstered seats and a small table inset between each one with a telephone mounted on it. Two televisions were mounted on the wall that separated the cockpit from the passenger cabin. Below those televisions was a small bar and kitchen.

Paul chose a seat in the back row and buckled his seat belt. Dittrich settled into the seat next to him, one of the small tables separating them. Paul had his hand resting on the table and Dittrich, in a fatherly manner, reached over and patted it. "Paul, I know you have a lot on your mind and I know you have some thinking to do, but I'd like to say a few things.

"First of all, let's acknowledge that I know what you can do, and that I can do the same thing. There aren't many like us, and I hope that you'll take my word when I tell you how glad I am that you are making this journey. The more of us there are, the greater our chances for understanding our ability. There is strength in numbers.

"The last thing I want to say is that I hope you know that you can come to me any time if you have questions or problems. As a member of the Astralis staff and someone who shares your ability, I feel confident that I can help you. I'm an employee of Astralis and it is my home, but I started there as a patient just like you. I've been where you are, so please—I hope you'll consider me a friend and ally."

Paul waited for more, but apparently that was all Dittrich had to say.

Dittrich held Paul's gaze a little longer, nodded once, and then settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. Paul heard the hum of the motor and felt the rotors engage.

A friend and ally? What an odd way to phrase that. But maybe it was just Dittrich's way. Maybe he was as much of a social misfit at his core as Paul was.

Friends. Did he have any left? Back at school in the teacher's lounge, Stephanie had tried not to show the pain in her eyes as she listened to him announce that he was leaving. She put on a brave face, not voicing the betrayal that she obviously felt. She'd hugged him, smiled, and told him to keep safe. Steven, very uncharacteristically, also gave Paul a tight hug and said quietly, "Something ain't right here. You need anything, bro, you call." It was all Paul could do not to agree, but he didn't want Steven or anyone else to worry. He wanted to tell them, but he couldn't. Not without putting them in harm's way. If anything ever happened to his friends because of him, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He looked out the window, staring down as the ground raced past, and lost himself in the sound of the helicopter's motor as it propelled him toward his future.

* * *

The terrain below had long since changed from smooth, rolling hills to lush mountains. Cities gave way to towns and towns gave way to countryside as the Sikorsky zoomed toward their destination. Before long, the mountains took over completely, making it unique for there to be even a single house in sight.

They'd been flying for about twenty minutes over some of the roughest landscape Paul had ever seen when the craft tilted slightly to the right. After so many hours at the same cruising speed, Paul immediately noticed the change in velocity and craned his head to see if they might be close to their destination.

Peering through the cabin window, Paul was unable to suppress a small gasp. His first glimpse of Astralis could easily have been the clip from a movie.

A single, one-lane gravel road cut up the mountainside, ending at a large, very modern-looking two-story building embedded into the boulders of the landscape. It was made of gray concrete on three sides, a giant cube with very solid, straight lines. The front of the building was tall, square, and imposing. The rear of the building stretched back into the mountainside, literally built into the rocks that rose up behind it.

The giant ledge that the building rested on allowed for a small parking lot in front and a helipad on the left side. On the other side was a field of odd steel pads.

The field of steel pads was, Paul guessed, roughly the size of a football field. Metal bars ran up from the corners of each of them on an angle in even intervals, each pad with four bars apiece joined together by a thick metal ring above the center. It was a very strange-looking thing to see on such a large scale. If Paul didn't know better, he would have just assumed that it was someone's idea of a sculpture or artwork, but it was too large and too industrial-looking to be art.

Two of the steel pads were missing; in those places there were deep, squared-out holes in the ground. The whole thing was definitely functional in some way, but for what Paul couldn't imagine.

As the helicopter banked toward a landing, Paul craned his neck to try and get a better look, but Dittrich leaned over and spoke for the first time in hours, reminding him to tighten his seat belt. Never having been in a helicopter before, Paul thought he'd be best served to take the advice.

As it turned out, the landing was smoother than any airplane Paul had ever been on. There was just a slight bump as the craft settled. Dittrich got up and pressed the button to lower the steps. Paul stood up on stiff legs, following behind.

Squinting into the late afternoon sunshine, he was taken by surprise when he saw Lisa standing at the bottom of the steps, greeting Dittrich with a hug. Although she'd already told him that she worked for Astralis, he hadn't considered the idea that she would be part of his welcome committee. He still thought of her as just another high school student at North Hardin.

She turned from her father and smiled, making him smile back in spite of himself.

"Paul," she said. "You are absolutely going to love this place. And the people here? Everyone is so nice." She never stopped smiling while she spoke, she just seemed so happy that he was there. Maybe she was. After all, it was due to her efforts that he'd been found and delivered.

As Paul came down the steps, he asked, "So where is everyone?"

"They're all waiting for us inside," replied Dittrich. "Dr. Abrams, he doesn't go outside all that much anymore, but I'm told he is very anxious to meet you. And the rest of the Walkers have all been told that you're coming today too. I'm sure most of them have been getting things ready for your induction."

"Induction?" Paul asked. "What do you mean induction?"

"Oh, now, I can't go giving away all the best parts of the day, can I?" Dittrich gave a wide smile. "It will just have to be a surprise for you, just like it has been for everyone else."

Lisa laughed as if it were the funniest thing she'd heard all day and, putting an arm around each of their waists, led the way to the front of the building as the Sikorsky hummed to life and lifted off.

The parking lot was not large. There were no more than twenty-five parking spots and of those spots, less than ten had cars in them. At the end furthest from the building, the one-lane road sloped away, downward into the mountains. On every other side, smooth rock walls and enormous boulders rose around Astralis, nestling it into its place as if to protect it—or hide it?—from the rest of the world.

"So how many people work here?" Paul asked.

"Well, that depends on your view of a lot of things," Dittrich began. "There are quite a few people who started as patients, but now consider Astralis their home. Not only that, but they also consider it their place of employment. Take me, for example. Lisa, too. We were both brought here, originally, for testing. We spent months being observed and finally realized that, because we could do what we could do, we could never be a part of a normal community. But here at Astralis, we found a different sort of community, one that we could be a part of. In fact, by the time we made our decision to stay, we were already part of it. It was just..."

"Natural," Lisa finished for him.

Dittrich stopped and gave Lisa a proud smile, and then looked past her to Paul. "Exactly," he said. "It was the most natural feeling in the world to declare ourselves a part of this place. It may even have saved our lives."

Giving a nostalgic half-smile and a slight shake of his head, Dittrich began walking again. "So to answer your question directly—three. There are three people that work here in a full time capacity who come in the morning and go home in the evening. The rest, another twenty-one, come and go as need dictates, but mostly they stay on premises. Those twenty-one individuals work for Astralis but also call it home. Sometimes their work takes them far from the facility, as Lisa's work took her most recently, but for most, they stay right here helping Dr. Abrams to accomplish his goals, or even just doing normal chores to keep the place up. Saying that we are like a family may sound a bit cliché, but in this case it couldn't be said better."

"So these twenty-one people—they are like me? And you?" asked Paul.

"Some," replied Dittrich. He stooped once again. Paul could tell that he was having trouble answering the question. Dittrich raised his open hands in a helpless gesture. "The answer to that question has so many layers that, were I to begin to answer it now, we probably wouldn't get through the front door until after nightfall for want of everything that comes with a complete answer. I would truly prefer that you wait for Dr. Abrams to answer the more in-depth questions. I'm sure you will have plenty of them as your time here progresses. I am sorry to be so cryptic and probably, to your mind, evasive, but Dr. Abrams is the leader of this installation and until he gives his blessing, there are particulars about what we do that are never to be shared. I hope you understand."

Paul nodded, more of an indication that he acknowledged the answer than accepted it, and fell in beside Lisa.

He looked up at the second level, seeing that the entire western-facing side of the second story was a wide concrete patio with a thick glass railing. Four people stared down at him from the balcony rail, their faces hidden by the glare of the sun behind them. He could only make out their silhouettes. He couldn't even tell if they were male or female. The way they stood, very still without turning away, didn't make him feel as if they were smiling and he gave an involuntary shudder. Dittrich opened one of the thick, plate glass front doors for him.

Pausing for just a moment, realizing that this last, literal step was probably a turning point in his life, Paul took a deep breath and entered into the headquarters of Astralis.

Chapter 7

The lobby was an enormous, marble-tiled, triangular-shaped room with concrete walls on two sides and a polished oak reception desk running the length of the far wall. Three women worked behind the desk, one of them speaking into a headset .The other two, also wearing headsets, were focused on the computers in front of them. Potted plants and two long, low couches ran along both concrete walls. Currently, no one else was in the lobby. The only sound when Paul entered the room was the muted tapping of computer keys and the barely audible voice of the woman speaking into her headset.

Looking up, one of the typists gave them a warm smile. "Mr. Dittrich—so good to have you back on site. This is our newest arrival, I assume?"

Placing his hand in the middle of Paul's back, Dittrich gently urged Paul forward. "Yes, Gladys. This is Paul Bennett."

"Welcome to Astralis, Paul. We're thrilled that you've chosen to come to us." Motioning to the two women working with her, Gladys said, "This is Lydia and this is Martha." Both women murmured the appropriate welcomes. Giving her attention back to Dittrich, Gladys told him, "Everything has already been arranged. Paul's file has been entered into our system, so there is no need for any paperwork. His parents and school administrators signed everything that needed signing. Dr. Abrams is in the welcome office. He is expecting you both."

"Perfect," Dittrich answered and added with a wink, "as always."

Lisa first hugged her father, then turned to Paul and said, "I really am so glad you came. I know the way you ended up here isn't how you wanted it to happen, but I truly believe you'll find this will be the greatest thing that's ever happened to you. I will see you again very soon."

Motioning to a door to the left of the reception desk, Dittrich said to Paul, "Shall we go meet the man?"

Looking from Lisa to Dittrich, Paul inclined his head forward. Dittrich held the door open, ushering Paul and Lisa into a t-shaped hallway that stretched straight ahead as well as to the right and to the left. Lisa gave them a quick wave and walked away down the hall to the right. Dittrich led Paul down the hall in the opposite direction, the hall ending after a short distance, a single closed door at the end.

Dittrich reached up, knocked twice at the door, and, not waiting for a reply, turned the handle while opening it in one swift motion. Holding the door open, he motioned for Paul to enter.

The office beyond was more or less what Paul expected; a few non-specific paintings dotted clean, beige-colored walls with framed certificates or diplomas for achievement in something-or-other interspersed among them. It was very antiseptic, devoid of any personal touches.

The man behind the desk who was in the process of standing from his chair, however, was not at all what Paul had expected. He was of less-than-average height, perhaps just this side of chunky, with a baby face adorned by a pair of thick wire-framed glasses. Dressed in khaki pants and a button-up Hawaiian shirt, his smile was guileless and his eyes were clear. His expression conveyed true pleasure in making Paul's acquaintance.

Taken off guard, Paul missed a beat, and he stepped forward clumsily to shake the man's outstretched hand.

Sensing Paul's surprise, Dr. Abrams smiled even wider, displaying a prominent gap between his two front teeth. As if reading Paul's mind, he said, "Not at all what you expected, am I? No worries, I get that a lot. I know that most of the time the only way anyone hears about me is by the use of my formal title. Believe me, if I had it my way, none of my friends would ever call me by anything but my first name. It so much more fits who I am."

Standing there open-mouthed, Paul realized he had not stopped shaking Dr. Abrams' hand. "You're absolutely not what I expected, Dr. Abrams," he agreed. "Truthfully, I have to say that this entire month has been filled with the unexpected, so why not one more thing?"

Letting go of Paul's hand, Dr. Abrams motioned Paul to sit at one of the chairs facing his desk, also motioning Dittrich to do the same.

"I have been informed of the way in which you came to the, eh—shall we say decision?—that brought you here," Dr. Abrams said. "I realize that you must feel somewhat manipulated, and for that I am truly sorry. It is not the way we normally go about bringing someone such as yourself into our fold, but I received information that led me to believe you and your family could end up harm's way."

He paused, expecting a response from Paul. When none was forthcoming, his eyes softened and he said earnestly, "Whether that is entirely believable for you at this point or not, it is the truth and I hope, as you spend time here and come to know our organization, you'll realize that we will always have your best intentions at the heart of any decisions we make."

Paul could sense no trace of deceit in Dr. Abrams eyes, nor in the tone of his voice. He felt himself being put at a guarded sense of ease—for the time being. There was a short pause as Dr. Abrams shifted his eyes to Dittrich, perhaps to give Dittrich a chance to expand on what he'd said, but Dittrich remained silent.

"Well," Paul said as Dr. Abrams eyes shifted back to him, "at this point I'm not sure it really matters how I got here." Paul was ready to leave it at that, but Dr. Abrams remained silent, patiently waiting, clearly hoping for more of an answer.

"I'm here now, and Lord knows even if I wanted to leave I wouldn't know which way to go," Paul continued. "So I guess the obvious question is what we do from here. What is it that you feel I can contribute to what you're doing at Astralis? Lisa and Mr. Dittrich have told me that I'm special, but after having met them and knowing that they can do the same thing I can, I don't see how I am. I'm also told that there are other people living here who also share my ability. If that's the case, if you already have all these people here, then what difference could I possible make?"

Dr. Abrams smiled as he settled into his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "I see that Mr. Dittrich and his daughter have followed protocol and not divulged any more than the basics of your talent." Pausing a moment, focusing his attention completely on Dittrich, Dr. Abrams said, "Not that I would ever have expected anything less, Kendall."

A prolonged silence followed. Finally, Dr. Abrams said, "I think now would be a good time for Paul and I to discuss his situation in greater detail. Privately. If you'll excuse us, please, Kendall?"

"Of course," Dittrich stood up with a thin-lipped smile. "Paul, if I don't see you again before tomorrow, I wish you a good night. As I told you earlier, if you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask."

Paul murmured a polite thank you as Dittrich left the office and shut the door.

"Now," Dr. Abrams said. "I know how uncomfortable you must be right now. I know you feel as if you've been manipulated into coming to this place and the honest truth is that you have been. We brought you here to protect you, but not in the way you've been led to believe. You are special and that is the reason why you and your family could be in harm's way."

Paul opened his mouth to ask Dr. Abrams what he meant, but Dr. Abrams held up one hand. "Before I explain myself, I need to know what you know already. Otherwise my explanation could seem incomplete or unbelievable. Tell me what you know of your ability and Astralis."

"Okay..." Paul answered, a little exasperated. If this man was everything that he'd been made out to be, shouldn't he already know this? Nevertheless, he began. "I know that I fall into a deep sleep every night when the sun goes down. Once I'm asleep, I'm able to go anywhere I like and no one can see me except others like me. I know that I can't be hurt when I'm in the dream and I know that I don't get tired or hungry or sick. I can't carry anything with me, or pick anything up, or move anything in the dream."

After an encouraging nod from Dr. Abrams, he continued. "As for Astralis, I know it is a place where people come for help with sleep disorders, but the main disorder that is treated here is the one I have. I know you have made it your life's work to help people like me cope with what we are because your family in some way has suffered from sleep disorders for generations."

Dr. Abrams, still leaning forward with his elbows still on his desk, stared intently at Paul, waiting for more.

Paul gave a shake of his head, not sure what more the man was looking for. "... and that's it, Dr. Abrams."

Still Dr. Abrams waited. Clearly, he employed the same tactic that Paul used by staying silent, allowing others to do the talking. Although their conversation was a serious one and Paul didn't want to offend the doctor, he couldn't help but smile inwardly as he recognized a personality trait the two of them had in common.

Unwilling to play a guessing game, Paul got right to the point. "Look, Lisa and Mr. Dittrich have told me that I'm special. You have told me that I'm special. But I don't understand how. How am I any more special than anyone else who can do this? And why would it matter? Once you're able to do what we can do, what else is there to trump it?"

Dr. Abrams squinted at Paul through his glasses. Finally, he looked down at his wristwatch and leaned back in his chair with a squeak of springs and leather upholstery. Evidently, he'd made his decision.

"We have less than an hour before you'll need to be taken to your quarters. First and most important rule at Astralis, Paul; we live by the clock. We are always aware of the time of day. The routines of the permanent residents at this facility are all in some way affected by nightfall and daybreak, so we keep time management among our top priorities. Remember that. It can save your life."

Standing from his chair and walking around his desk, Dr. Abrams said, "Let me respond to your questions first by trying to explain what we do here at Astralis. Let's take a walk, and I will give you the grand tour."

First the man wants privacy, and then he decides to take me on a tour? There were obviously intricacies to the way this man thought and reasons for the decisions he made, but it left Paul feeling off-center.

But then, he'd been feeling off-center for years, so this was nothing new.

* * *

Leading Paul back to the t-intersection, Abrams began Paul's introduction to Astralis. "I assume you've already had a chance to meet the girls in reception? Lovely ladies, all of them. I don't know what we would do without them. Truly, everyone credits me for running the place, but it is Gladys, Martha and Lydia who keep it all together."

Motioning to a row of three open doors along the left side of the hallway, Abrams continued, "These are our examination rooms. They are basically what you would expect in any doctor's office. A bed, a sink, and cabinets full of all the things doctors use."

Motioning through the door closest to them, Abrams swept an arm wide and said, "Viola. Exam Room 2. Pretty boring, wouldn't you say? But certainly necessary if anyone gets sick, or if we were ever forced to treat more mundane types of patients."

If ever they were forced to treat more mundane patients? Paul paused in the doorway. That was certainly a strange way to put it.

He peered into the room and saw clear signs that it was not regularly used. There was a thin coating of dust on the counter top and the sink was dry. "From what I read on your website," Paul said, "you treat narcolepsy, insomnia, sleep walking, sleep apnea, RLS, DSPS—and that's just a few. It's clear that you're well-funded, so you must have quite a reputation. But you only have three examination rooms?"

Impressed by Paul's perception, Dr. Abrams replied, "Through studying those with disorders that are similar to yours, we continually enhance our understanding of sleep patterns and the way the brain and body embrace rest. And so, from time to time, we do take in patients who suffer from some of those maladies. But generally, our main focus is on people like you. Walkers."

They shut the door and continued down the hall. It made a ninety degree turn to the right and Abrams motioned ahead. "The men's and women's lavatories for this floor are on our left, with the elevator between them. At the end of the hall is the stairwell." Giving Paul a quick smile, Abrams said, "We'll be using the elevator. I'm getting a little old to be climbing steps."

Noticing that every door along the hallway was open, including those leading into the bathrooms, Paul asked, "Dr. Abrams, what is the deal with the doors here? Aside from your office and the main door leading in from the reception area, every door has been open. That seems a little odd, especially for the bathrooms."

Abrams gave Paul an approving nod, and looked down at his watch again. "You don't miss much, do you? We are a facility which houses every Walker who will allow us to give him or her a home. You now have less than thirty minutes before you will need to be taken to your quarters to lie down. The same thing applies to every other Walker in this building. I ask you, Paul—once the sun has gone down, would you enjoy being trapped in your room the entire night?"

Without waiting for an answer, Abrams went elevator doors and said, "Neither would any of the others."

From intercoms in the walls, a very calm, very female, and very sexy voice cut into their conversation. "Thirty minutes."

Responding to Paul's quizzical glance, Abrams said, "Thirty minutes until sunset. Believe it or not that's Lydia. Great voice, wouldn't you agree?"

Raising his eyebrows as the doors opened and they stepped inside the elevator, Paul said, "Speaking of others, I haven't seen anyone else at all. Where are they?"

Pressing the number '2' button, Abrams replied, "It's almost sundown. Many of them have probably already retired to their quarters."

"So every patient here is a Walker?"

Dr. Abrams paused briefly. "It's hard to call them patients, but yes. Everyone that is currently in this facility due to a sleep disorder is a Walker."

In a matter of just a few seconds, the doors slid open again revealing the second floor. Stepping out from the elevator, Paul stopped short. They were in a hallway that stretched off to the right and left, much like the one on the floor below, but directly in front of them was a glass wall separating them from what was clearly the facility's commons room and dining area. There were at least a dozen people sitting inside at tables, most of them looking back at him.

Paul had a natural introversion and fear of crowds, and it immediately kicked into overdrive. Although he knew they couldn't hear him through the glass walls, he whispered, "Maybe we should just head to my room and do introductions tomorrow. I'm starting to feel very tired."

Abrams smiled and looked at his watch. He pulled open one of the two doors leading into the commons room, smiling encouragingly. "Nonsense," he said. "I know your sleep patterns probably better than you know them yourself. You still have twenty-eight minutes before you need to lie down."

Abrams entered the room, still holding the door open. "Everyone is very anxious to meet you, Paul. They've heard a great deal about you from Lisa. Be yourself, and have no fear while you're in this building. I give you the same promise that I have given every other Walker who has come to this place; so long as you trust in me, I will always do everything in my power to keep you safe and comfortable. Both physically and emotionally."

Looking into Dr. Abrams eyes, Paul let his guard down for the first time since arriving. He realized that perhaps he had found another ally, much in the same way that Jeff had become.

Stephanie had always told him that she believed the eyes were the windows to the soul and that if you looked deep enough you could gauge the measure of a person without exchanging a single word. Look into their eyes and search for truth—if you look long enough, you'll always find it, she'd say. Just be prepared that you may not like what you find.

As far as Paul could determine, Dr. Abrams was telling him the truth. He took a deep breath and walked forward into the commons room, leaving the doctor at the door.

Lisa immediately jumped up from one of the nearest tables, dragging one of the two guys she'd been sitting with to his feet, pulling him toward Paul.

Smiling that dazzling smile, she said, "Paul, I want you to meet Brent. He's a Walker, too, and he's been dying to meet you ever since I told him about you. Haven't you, sweetie?"

Sweetie. Paul groaned inwardly as he looked from Lisa to her friend. He supposed it was inevitable that a girl as beautiful as Lisa would already have a boyfriend, but it had never occurred to him. She'd been giving him signals, hadn't she?

Hadn't she??

"What's up, Paul. Everybody calls me Hodge." Delivered in a distinctive, gritty monotone, it was evident that Hodge hadn't been dying to meet Paul quite as much as Lisa was letting on. Oddly, this gave Paul a small glimmer of satisfaction, but at that moment he was more concerned with not showing how uncomfortable he was in this room full of staring people. He decided he'd puzzle through that emotion later.

Hodge was definitely older than Lisa; in his mid-twenties, at least. He was of average height, but stocky as they come with wide shoulders and a solid build. He was one of those guys that looked like he could stand outside in a hurricane as long as his feet were solidly planted. His hair was a dirty blond color, worn in a curly mullet style with pork chop sideburns that came down to his jaw line. The rest of his face was covered in stubble that looked neglected, at best.

Hodge offered his hand and Paul took it, receiving a crushing grip in return. Hodge's eyes never blinked or narrowed. His face betrayed no hint of emotion. Looking into those eyes, Paul saw nothing at all. A blank slate. Releasing the hand, feeling way off balance, Paul took a step back and desperately tried to think of something to say.

Thankfully, Lisa came to his rescue. "I know you have a bunch of other people who are waiting to meet you and a lot of us have to get to our safe rooms, but I'm sure I'll see you sometime tonight. If I don't, then I'll see you tomorrow at training." She bathed him in her smile and her voice rose in pitch as she exclaimed, "This is so exciting—your first night with the crew!"

Not having any idea what she was talking about, but knowing there wasn't a lot of time before he'd be comatose, Paul could only nod. "Thanks Lisa. I'm looking forward to it, too."

Without really understanding why, he gave Hodge an upward tilt of his head and a smirk before he turned away.

Why had he done that? That guy could crush him with one hand!

As he turned, he caught a glimpse of the other person who'd been sitting at the table with Lisa and Hodge. He was dressed head to toe in black and had stood up to lean against the wall near the table. He had ear buds in his ears and his arms were crossed, an iPod in his right hand as he lazily ran his thumb over the front. He stared at Paul through unblinking, narrowed eyes. Paul would have felt very uncomfortable had it not been for a group of people who came smiling up to meet him.

"Paul, right?" asked a young, round-faced girl with auburn hair who couldn't have been any more than sixteen years old. "Hi, my name's Juliet and this is Kenneth, Parker, and Liz." Smiling wide, she added, "Looks like we're the official Walker Welcome Committee today!"

Looking into each of their smiling faces and shaking hands all around, Paul couldn't help but be infected by their good cheer and friendly demeanor. By the time he'd shaken the last hand, he was grinning as broadly as any of them and had mostly forgotten about Hodge and the black-clothed guy. Mostly.

"So you're all... just like me?" he asked.

"Well," answered a man with long, blond hair who'd been introduced as Kenneth. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with a hair style that could only be described as 'Bad-Guy-From-Die-Hard-esque'. "From what we hear, none of us are just like you but if you're asking if we're all Walkers, the answer is yes."

Kenneth was now the fourth person to say that he was special, even in the eyes of other Walkers. What was the big secret? Kenneth and the rest of the group appeared to be truly happy that he was here, a complete reversal from the way Hodge had acted. He didn't want to start what could be a friendship with a lot of questions, but he sure wished someone would tell him exactly what they meant when they said he was special.

Picking up on Paul's discomfort, one of the group—Parker, was it? Paul couldn't remember—said, "We're really looking forward to working with you, Paul." He was slightly younger than Kenneth, probably in his mid twenties, with an open, friendly demeanor. "I know this all probably feels like a bit much, but trust me, this is a great place and we're all here to help each other. Especially in the beginning. In a week, you'll think back and wonder why you ever felt uncomfortable in first place."

Smiling, Paul said, "Thanks, um..."

"Parker," Parker supplied, smiling.

"Thanks, Parker. I'm sure you're right." Looking from Parker to Kenneth, who were standing shoulder to shoulder and could have easily passed for brothers, Paul asked, "How long have the two of you been here?"

"I think this whipper-snapper may be implying that we're old, Kenneth," joked Parker. Both of them laughed and Paul blushed. "We have been with Astralis for over a decade. Ironically, we were both found at the same time, living in the same town."

"We caused quite a stir of controversy at the time," Kenneth continued, "Dr. Abrams went all out trying to find if there was something in the water or if somehow the two of us were related further down in our bloodlines, but he found nada. To this day, no one can explain how or why there would be two Walkers showing up in the same town, so close to the same age. The odds are more than three times your chance of winning the Mega Millions jackpot."

"We are," said Parker with a smirk, "a scientific mystery."

"More like a fluke!" chimed in Kenneth. Smiling, he punched Parker in the arm. "Definitely for you, anyway."

As everyone joined in the laughter, Dr. Abrams approached with a stately middle-aged woman in tow. "Well, Paul, it appears that you've made it through most of the initial introductions unscathed. I'm glad to see that everyone has shown you such a warm welcome."

Only Dr. Abrams' eyes, which flicked toward the table where Lisa and Hodge had been sitting, showed any trace of his annoyance with what he had witnessed.

As Lydia's calm, sexy voice came over the intercom saying, "Ten Minutes," Dr. Abrams took in the rest of the group.

"Well, then," Dr. Abrams said. "It is off to your safe rooms. We'll see you at sunrise. Paul, if you'll follow me I will show you to your temporary quarters."

The group said their goodbyes, promising to speak again in the morning.

Looking past them, Paul noticed a table of six people who hadn't come to meet him. Two of them returned his look, but the rest concentrated on their meals, apparently having no interest in him. "Who are they?"

"Sentinels," Dr. Abrams said as he turned back toward the double glass doors, motioning Paul with a look to follow him. As Paul fell into step beside him, the woman matched their pace on Dr. Abrams' other side. "Paul," he said, "I want you to meet someone I truly don't believe I could live without. This is Natasha." Paul leaned past Dr. Abrams as Natasha did the same, and they smiled pleasantly with murmurs of pleased-to-meet-yous. "Natasha is my personal assistant and confidante. She has worked with me longer than anyone else in the facility and I trust her implicitly."

Stopping to pull open one of the doors, Dr. Abrams paused and made it a point to make eye contact with Paul. "It is important that you understand this: should anything ever happen to me, Natasha would be the one to find first for direction and answers. She knows my mind in all matters."

Feeling uncomfortable with Dr. Abrams' sudden intensity, not knowing how to respond to such a statement from a man he'd just met, Paul nodded. One quick jerk of the head seemed to be his token reply to most anything important these days.

Abrams stood still for a few more moments, staring unblinkingly into Paul's eyes to make certain he got the message.

And then the moment passed, and Abrams was through the door and heading down the hallway.

Chapter 8

As it turned out they didn't have far to go. Paul's temporary quarters were located in a row of rooms on a second-floor hallway that ran alongside the commons room. It was in one of those rooms that Paul would spend his first night.

"We purposely have not yet made a permanent room available to you," Dr. Abrams explained apologetically. "These rooms are available for visitors and short term patients. I hope you will be comfortable. There is still a great deal for you and I to discuss before we bring you into the Sanctum, which is where our residents sleep. I know this probably seems a bit over the top and you'll probably find yourself extremely bored this evening, but for your own safety I am going to shut and lock your door—for tonight only, I promise you."

Were they locking him in for his safety, or theirs? The open door policy clearly only applied to people they trusted. Looking into the room Paul said, "With all due respect, Dr. Abrams, this is a very small area to spend an entire night just staring at the wall."

Looking truly apologetic and slightly distraught, Dr. Abrams looked at Natasha as if for moral support. "Paul, if I felt comfortable that there was no danger in allowing you to wander the facility, I wouldn't hesitate. But circumstances being what they are—and I assure you that you will understand everything tomorrow—I just can't take any chances."

Looking down at his watch, Dr. Abrams said, "You have only a few minutes before you will be unconscious. Please, allow us to take our leave so that you can make yourself comfortable. You may hear sounds outside your door during the night, but do not be alarmed. I am posting a Sentinel there as a precaution. Again, I promise that by tomorrow most of this will make sense and you will understand my actions this evening."

Paul considered pressing the issue, but relented. So he would spend the night bored. It was a small thing. How much more boring could it be than sitting unnoticed on that godforsaken bench back home?

"Alright, Dr. Abrams. I appreciate all the care you're taking for my safety. I look forward to another conversation tomorrow."

"I will see you soon," replied Abrams with a slight bow of his head.

"Paul," said Natasha in her cultured voice, "it was a pleasure to have finally met you."

After they had gone and shut the door behind them, Paul dug his cell phone out of his pocket. Surprisingly, he had a couple of bars.

He dialed Stephanie's number, but only got her voice mail. "Hey, Steph. It's me. I'm sorry about leaving like I did today. I have a lot to tell you. So much has happened already, stuff you'll probably never believe. Anyway, you're my one and only phone call tonight. It's about to get dark here, so you know what that means. I'll try you again tomorrow."

Frustrated, he lay down on the bed, fluffing the pillows in effort to make himself comfortable. Dr. Abrams had definitely been right about one thing—Paul was getting very tired. Pulling the thin covers up to his chin, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be taken away into the dream, sinking down, down, down until he reached the bottom. Alone.

And then he opened his eyes and sat up.

Did it really only take a few seconds to transition into the dream? He'd always assumed it did, because that was how it felt. But he'd never checked a clock to see if it was seconds, minutes or longer.

Shrugging mentally, he stored the questions away for the next day when he would be surrounded by people who could give him the answers.

He took a good look around the room for the first time. There was a small desk against the wall, a clock above it, and a television hung high in the corner to the left of the door. A small armoire was next to the desk.

Muttering, he chastised himself for not paying more attention to his minimal surroundings before slipping into sleep. He could have at least left the television on.

Frustrated, he flounced into the desk chair and decided to pass the time by trying to recall everything Dr. Abrams had said to him. Muttering, he focusing on what he thought were the most important things.

"Sanctum. Guarded door. Uncomfortable having me wander freely in Astralis. Natasha..."

Paul realized he was speaking gibberish, talking to himself, and saying words in no particular order. He probably sounded a little crazy, but he doubted there was anyone listening, so it really didn't matter. Or was there? Dr. Abrams had said something about having a guard posted.

"Hello?" he called out. "Can anybody hear me?"

Standing up and going to the door, he spoke louder. "Hey! Anybody out there?"

Trying to stand as still as possible, Paul listened as hard as he could. He thought he heard a slight rustle, but couldn't be sure. One thing was certain: nobody answered. It was probably the door guard. What was it that Abrams had called it? A Sentinel? Most likely all he'd heard was the Sentinel shifting from one foot to another. Or, he'd imagined it out of a desire to feel like someone was paying attention.

He wondered what Stephanie and Steven were doing tonight. He could guess fairly easily—Stephanie would be doing homework in her room with every available piece of electronics that could make noise turned on full blast, and Steven... the safe bet was that he was either playing basketball at the community center or looking for someone to buy him beer, or both. Probably both.

It was hard to believe that just this morning he'd been in Radcliff with no idea that he'd be whisked away in a jet helicopter to a place that was more of a mountain fortress than a clinic. It already felt like he was imagining someone else's life when he thought about his home and his school. And it hadn't even been a full day yet.

Circumstances being what they are, thought Paul. That's what Abrams had said. What circumstances? Was Abrams afraid that Paul could be hurt if he wandered Astralis alone at night or was it the other way around? Was Abrams actually worried that Paul could do some damage? If that was Dr. Abrams' concern, then how? As a matter of fact, in either case how could he be worried? It wasn't like Paul could be hurt while he was Walking and it certainly wasn't like he could hurt anyone else. Could he?

Maybe it wasn't physical harm that Abrams was concerned about. Maybe it was simply a matter of trust. That would make sense, but what could Paul possibly see or hear that would make Abrams feel uncomfortable? And why wouldn't Abrams have just said so? Paul was new here. No one really knew him yet. It would be perfectly reasonable if they didn't trust him. More questions for Paul to file away...

Natasha. Now there was someone to wonder about. Abrams had made it such a point to convey her importance, it had seemed like he was trying to tell Paul something of great gravity. If Paul had been asked to guess who the second-in-command was at Astralis, he would have guessed Dittrich, and that could very well be the case. But Abrams sure seemed like he wanted Paul to understand that Natasha was the go-to in the event that Abrams was absent. Why? Why would Abrams mention it on their first meeting? More and more questions.

Just then there was a quiet knock at the door and a voice called out.

"Please step back from the door. Dr. Abrams is coming in."

* * *

Not realizing that he'd already begun moving, Paul backed into the far wall, nervous without knowing why. The door opened inward and a stone-faced man that Paul didn't recognize poked his head in the door. He was dressed in a black uniform, complete with gloves and a beret. He looked every bit the part of a covert ops commando, which seemed absurd to Paul.

The man peered into all corners of the room, looking right past Paul—obviously this was not one of the other Walkers—and gave a sharp nod. "All clear!"

Really, thought Paul drily.

Just as quickly as the man announced the 'all clear,' Dr. Abrams slipped into the room before the door was closed again. He wore an impish smile and was looking directly into Paul's eyes.

"Surprised?" he asked conversationally.

Confused, Paul moved away from the wall. Dr. Abrams' eyes followed his movement. He could definitely see Paul.

"How are you doing this?" Paul asked. "How can you see me?"

"To my knowledge, all Walkers can see and speak to each other in the dream," answered Abrams.

"But... you're not a Walker!" Paul stammered. "Everyone told me you don't have the ability!" Stunned, he put the pieces together. "You're a Walker and no one knows it? How is that possible? How could you possibly pull that off?" Thinking a moment longer, Paul blurted, "I saw you and Natasha leave this room just minutes before sunset! You couldn't have made it to your room in time. You would have passed out in the hallway."

This didn't make any sense. Paul had just met this man. "Why would you keep this from everyone else—and why on earth would you tell me? You don't even know me!"

Chuckling, Abrams sat down on the desk, glancing at the clock on the wall. "You are so full of questions and so perceptive at the same time. That is a very good thing, Paul. It will help you in the times to come. Now, please, sit down. We have less than an hour and I have a great deal to tell you. By the time I finish, most of your questions should be answered. Unfortunately, your questions will almost certainly lead to many more. And because we're under a time constraint, I must ask you to let those new questions wait until later."

Intrigued, Paul sat down on the bed and indicated that he was all ears.

"First of all, yes—I am a Walker too," began Abrams. "And yes, you are now the fourth person in the entire world that knows this. The only other people who are aware of the fact are Natasha, who I trust in all things, my brother whom you may never meet, and Carlisle—whom you just met when he opened the door for me. I have kept my ability hidden for so long to give myself the added security of having an ace up my sleeve, as it were. This facility is so much more than just a clinic and as its director, I have created enemies."

Paul opened his mouth to ask what on earth he was talking about, but Abrams held up a hand and said, "Please. We truly are on a time limit tonight. When I am finished, I will be more than happy to answer as many as I can with the time we have left."

Paul gave him a nod and stayed quiet.

"It is a rare thing to see such outward calm and self-discipline in someone of your generation," Dr. Abrams complimented. "I applaud you for it. Let me start with what Astralis is, because as you've probably already surmised, we are not what we appear to be. It is because of my need for you to trust me, and trust in what we do here, that I can think of no other way except to give you this information directly. My most precious secret is that I am a Walker, and I have already entrusted that to you. I hope it conveys how important you are to me and to this facility."

Looking down at the floor, Dr. Abrams paused to collect his thoughts. He ducked his head one time, as if making a decision he already knew he had to make.

"We are an agency contracted by the United Nations," he began earnestly. Paul's eyes widened in surprise, and Abrams continued. "The main and upper levels of this facility are meant to appear to any visitor as a clinic devoted to the research and treatment of sleep disorders. The lower levels, however, are devoted to an entirely different cause."

He paused, allowing Paul a chance to interject, but when the only response he got was complete attention, he continued. "Because of the unique ability that Walkers possess, their potential for gathering intelligence is unparalleled. That is our value to the U.N. and it is the way that we are able to operate on such a handsome budget. Aside from the Secretary General and a few other select members, no one is aware of our existence. Because our abilities are unique to the extent that we could cause all manner of embarrassment for some of the most powerful people in government, they prefer to keep it that way.

"Because the U.N. understands the value of keeping us on their side, we are given the opportunity to accept or decline any mission offered to us. We analyze every request and determine whether we feel the mission will contribute to the greater good.

"In short, we are a valuable enough asset that we hold all the cards in the way we operate, at least for now. We are not above the law, but we can choose not to participate."

"What is the difference?" Paul murmured rhetorically.

Dr. Abrams raised an eyebrow. "There are some who see it in precisely the way that you have put it, who would prefer that we be controlled much more tightly. And those are the people we must be most wary of, because if their fear of our abilities ever grew too great it could be our undoing. I recognize how dramatic this must sound to you, but it does not make it any less true."

Sitting up straight, Dr. Abrams said, "Vigilo Nox Noctis. 'Watchers of the Night.' Our motto. That is who we are and how we operate. As you know, our abilities do not allow us to interact with the rest of the world when we are asleep, but they do allow us to move and listen freely without detection, so we watch.

"We watch, we listen, and we report. We do not use Astralis for financial gain. We use it for the greater good of the world. The abilities we possess could topple regimes, and indeed have. They can unlock secrets that lead to wealth and power. In our world, knowledge is power, and the one who possesses the key to that power can become very dangerous. We are very aware of that. In fact, part of our training is directed toward the self-discipline that all Walkers must possess in order to keep from falling prey to greed and ambition.

"This is why a very large portion of our time and efforts are spent searching for other Walkers. I know you've been told many of the dangers inherent in having this ability; isolationism, inability to maintain relationships, even madness. Consider the idea that should our abilities become known by someone with ill intentions, you—or any Walker here—would become a commodity too valuable to be allowed freedom. Your abilities would be used for their gain. That is why we hold this facility and agency so dear. By staying together and offering our help to the world, we create a protection for ourselves that could never be had were we to operate independently of one another."

Paul realized again how much his life had changed in the last month, how completely ignorant he'd been of who he was and what he could do. Now that he knew, he couldn't fathom how he hadn't suspected it all along. The only explanation he could accept was that the truth was just too impossible to be believed without someone like Lisa proving it. Up until this point, he'd been lucky that no one had realized what he could do. His lack of friends may have been his greatest blessing in the quiet, unobtrusive existence he'd spent so long brooding over.

Dr. Abrams saw the look in Paul's eyes. "Yes, Paul. Nothing will ever be the same for you, because you will always view everyone you do not know with wariness and suspicion.

"I'm sorry, I truly am. I know how much this will change you. Even those you do know will become suspect. Truly, the only people that you can trust—for the most part—are other Walkers. And that is only because their interests coincide with your own. It is still very close to the lonely existence that you had before coming here, but at least here you have those few who you can turn to."

"And so Natasha?" Paul asked. "Is she a Walker too, then?"

"Your questions are very intuitive," Abrams answered with another smile. "With every moment you and I spend in each other's company, I feel more strongly that I've made the right decision to trust you."

Paul wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he remained quiet.

"To answer your question, and one of your previous questions, no, Natasha is not a Walker. She does possess a unique ability, but it is an ability that is unique only as it pertains to me." Pausing a moment, Abrams reconsidered his wording. "That is... as far as I know her ability is unique to me and me alone.

"She is a Nullifier. At least, that is the name I have attached to what she can do. What that means, in very simple terms, is that when she is near me I do not get tired. I do not fall asleep. She nullifies my ability as a Walker and allows me to stay awake and alert after the sun has set."

"And that is how you've managed to maintain the illusion that you are not a Walker," Paul said, marveling at the implications of this new facet of a Walker's life.

"Precisely," answered Abrams.

"But wouldn't other Walkers think of that? Wouldn't that be fairly obvious to any Walker with half a brain if she's always with you after sunset? How do you keep it a secret?"

"It would be obvious if other Walkers were aware that Nullifiers exist," answered Abrams.

"You mean..." Paul blinked. "Are you telling me that Natasha is the only Nullifier you know of?"

"No," Abrams answered cryptically. "That is not what I am telling you. I know of at least two others and I am fairly certain of a fourth. But what I am telling you is that she is the only Nullifier at Astralis and she affects only me. In all my travels and with every Walker that I've met, Natasha has never affected them in the same way that she affects me. Nor have any of the other Nullifiers I've met had power over me. Because of this, I am fairly certain that a Walker is only affected by one specific Nullifier. Or possibly it is that a Walker can only be affected by a very select group of them. I have yet to determine what the link is or why it works the way it does. Without raising any flags, I have attempted to find that link, but my research has been hampered by my need to keep Natasha a secret."

Again, the doctor was telling him what must be one of his greatest secrets, and Paul had no idea why. "Dr. Abrams, I'm nobody. I have never done anything to deserve special attention. I know that the fact that I am a Walker makes me special, but here, in a place like this, it doesn't make me any more special than anyone else. So why? Why are you telling me these things?"

"Ah, yes. And here we are finally to the point. You were nobody before you could Walk. But now—now you can Walk and so much more. Let me ask you, Paul, how it is that you left your house and made it to your bench in Radcliff every night?"

"How did you..." began Paul, but realized that of course Abrams would have been updated by Lisa or Dittrich. "I left how I always do. Out the front door and then I walked. It wasn't far."

"You're missing the point," replied Abrams. "Let me ask you a different question that should lead to the same end—do you remember your night in the cemetery with Lisa?"

Paul didn't know if he could blush in the dream, but if it was possible he was doing it then. "Yes, I remember."

"Do you remember anything special?"

He remembered quite a lot from that night. In fact, he remembered it all. He would have remembered anyway simply because, with his memory, he remembered almost everything. But it wasn't just that. It was one of the greatest nights of his life. He'd found out he was a Walker and learned that he was no longer alone. Most of all, he remembered the way Lisa had looked at him.

But of course now he knew about Hodge. Was the way Lisa acted that night all just an act? Paul found it hard to believe. It had been too genuine, too heartfelt. He could see in her eyes that she cared about him. It was possible that it was just concern for a fellow Walker, more of a humanitarian interest than a love interest. Maybe.

Sighing, he replied, "I remember the entire night, Dr. Abrams," and then added wryly, "but other than finding out that I could walk around invisible, I don't think anything really stuck out."

Cocking his head to the side, as if he thought maybe Paul was putting him on, Abrams said, "Okay, let me frame the question another way. Are you aware that there are Walkers who have abilities within their ability?"

Confused, Paul shook his head slowly.

"It's true. There have been stories of Walkers who can travel at amazing rates of speed while in the dream. Some have been reported to actually be able to fly, which, by the way, I believe is a complete fabrication. Others can move objects while in the dream." Pausing, he looked at Paul intently, waiting for a response.

"Okay?" Paul encouraged him to get to the point.

"Brent—Hodge as he's called by most of the others—can actually be heard by people, regular people, while he is in the dream, if he is very vocal. And Lisa can sometimes make her shadow seen, although she does not seem to have any real control over when it shows."

"That's... amazing," Paul replied, realizing that if Abrams was telling him these things, he must have an additional ability of his own. His heart began to hammer. This was why everyone at Astralis was treating him so differently?

Again, Abrams waited, looking deep into Paul's eyes. "Yes," he answered, "it is amazing. And it has given both Hodge and Lisa quite a bit of status among the rest of the Walkers here."

Paul waited for more, but Abrams waited him out. It was obvious that Dr. Abrams was trying to tell him something more, but wanted Paul to piece it together on his own. For the life of him, Paul couldn't figure out what it could be. The seconds stretched on. Paul could literally hear them ticking by on the clock. Finally, breaking Abrams gaze, Paul looked up at the clock. Abrams' eyes followed suit.

"Well!" exclaimed Abrams, slapping his hands on his knees. "We're nearly out of time, so I had better fill you in on the last reason for my visit tonight."

"What are you talking about?" asked Paul, getting frustrated. "It isn't even ten o'clock yet. We still have all night."

"You do, Paul," answered Abrams, "but I don't. In six minutes Nastasha will bring me out of the dream per the instructions she was given. I keep my Walking visits short while I am in the facility to ensure that my secret is held safe.

"The last thing that I want to bring to your attention is that you're going to need a Sentinel of your own. Every Walker who stays here is required to have one. You met my Sentinel, Carlisle, earlier. Of course, as far as the rest of facility is concerned he is nothing more than the head of security, but his true purpose is to protect me. I saw you take notice of Hodge's Sentinel, Rex, earlier in the commons room. He was the quiet one in the corner dressed in black. You can choose someone on your own, or you can allow us to help you find a paid Sentinel. Be aware that any Sentinel of your own choosing must complete our full training program and it is... rigorous, to say the least."

"You still haven't told me what a Sentinel does," replied Paul, trying to keep up with the abrupt turn in the conversation, "and you still haven't finished telling me whatever it was that had to do with extra abilities. Do I have one? What is it?"

Ignoring the second part of Paul's questions, Abrams replied, "It is a Sentinel's job to keep your mortal body safe at all times, most particularly while you are in the dream. Every Walker is extremely vulnerable to attack in that state, so we employ Sentinels to watch over us and ensure our safety."

"And it can be anyone of my choosing?"

"Anyone within reason, yes," replied Abrams cautiously. "Most of the Sentinels here are hired help. If you wish to choose your own, we strongly suggest that if you choose a family member or friend, you choose one with no strong ties to anyone or thing. Current or ex-military is certainly preferred. Your safety will become their priority seven days a week, which is why we normally end up hiring professionals. Not only are they usually much more competent, but they tend to ask fewer questions. We pay Sentinels quite well, you see."

"Steven," Paul said without hesitation. "I would like to offer the position to Steven."

"Your little friend from home?" asked Abrams with a trace of amusement. "We have monitored Steven to some small extent. I would strongly recommend against your choosing him as..."

"I would like to offer the position to Steven," Paul repeated firmly. "He may not seem like much to you, but he is unquestioningly loyal and can handle himself in a fight. He more or less fits the profile you've described."

Blanching, Abrams replied, "Normally a Sentinel has some sort of military or tactical training. Your safety is of prime concern. There are places our Walkers are sent that aren't always friendly to Americans. After all, the U.N. is a worldwide agency. Even during daylight hours you could wind up in situations that would require a measure of decision-making from your Sentinel that only comes from training in analytical tactics. I do admire the loyalty that Steven has shown you as a friend, but you would be placing him unfairly in harm's way if you made this choice for him."

"Then I won't make the final choice," said Paul. "First you will make it, and then Steven will. You said every Sentinel has to complete training, correct? If he passes your training, that's the equivalent of you choosing to allow it. If we explain to him what I can do and what I need from him, we can then allow him to decide if he'd like the job. We'll explain all the risks. If he agrees, if that's his choice, then he's my Sentinel."

Looking once again at the clock, Abrams gave a relenting nod. "Less than a minute left for me. Fine. It is agreed. I will arrange a phone call at the appropriate time and you can invite Steven to come tour the facility. Once he's settled in, we'll all meet together and discuss your proposal."

"Agreed."

Looking toward the door, Paul asked, "So now what happens? Do we just wait?"

"Absolutely not," replied Abrams. "Natasha is always prompt and all of the clocks in Astralis are perfectly synched. She will rouse me in seven, six, five, four, three, two..."

Paul gasped and flinched as Abrams was pulled upward at a tremendous speed through the wall and ceiling of the room. It happened in less than a second and without a sound. If Paul hadn't been looking at the doctor when it happened, it would have been as if the man had simply vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Now that," Paul said quietly to himself, alone in the silence of his now empty room, "was about the coolest thing I have ever seen."

Chapter 9

Paul hadn't moved from his bed for more than thirty minutes. He lay there, thinking over all he'd learned. The revelation that Dr. Abrams was a Walker was enough to think about all on its own. Even more so, though, was the fact that the doctor had chosen to entrust Paul with two of his deepest secrets. It made Paul's head spin, the overwhelming question of why at the forefront.

Paul stood and began pacing. He always thought better when he was moving.

Why would Dr. Abrams share that kind of information so quickly? Paul had something Abrams wanted, that must be it. Or... Paul could do something that Abrams needed. The 'ability within his ability' that Abrams had talked about. It must be what Abrams was after. Somehow, whatever it was that Paul could do, it was valuable enough that Abrams was willing to risk telling his secrets to earn Paul's trust.

So what was it? Once again, the issue had been discussed but not revealed. Every single person in this facility seemed to know what Paul could do except Paul himself. Why wouldn't they tell him? Was he supposed to just 'figure it out'? How was that supposed to happen when just a week ago, he hadn't even known he was a Walker?

His pacing picked up and he felt himself getting angry. What right did these people have to hold back information that directly pertained to him? They didn't even know him! And what about Lisa? She obviously knew what it was that he could do. If there was anyone at Astralis that he might be able to say he knew, it was her. She had claimed she liked him, which meant that she felt he was, at the very least, a friend. She, more than anyone else in this place, should feel an obligation to tell him what was going on. Or maybe it had all just been an act to get him to come to Astralis.

As far as Abrams was concerned, Paul felt certain that other Walkers didn't receive the same rosy welcome he'd received, complete with a personal nighttime visit from the director.

First they practically kidnap him, and now he was supposed to believe it was all for his own safety, and they were the good guys all along? Maybe they were and maybe they weren't, but he would decide that for himself.

Paul would not let himself be used, no matter what the reason. If he was as valuable as they made him out to be, he'd only do what they asked if it was on his terms.

Muttering to himself as he paced, he stopped to lean on his desk, putting both hands out to steady himself. Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down, he was startled by a noise outside his door.

He held his breath, heart pounding. Were those voices? He'd been so angry and so preoccupied that he hadn't noticed the growing sound from the hallway. It sounded like a group of people all talking to each other, talking over each other.

He went over on quiet footsteps and leaned his ear against the door, trying to make out what was being said, but only got snatches. He thought it sounded like the people he'd met in the commons room earlier, but he couldn't be sure.

"... Carlisle's still there..."

"... doesn't even know..."

"... Abrams might've told him..."

"... I guess we'll find out soon enough... "

And the unmistakable gritty voice of Hodge carrying over the rest, "... not a chance, he ain't got a clue and even if he did he's too much of a pansy to make the attempt."

Now he was sure. There were Walkers out there, standing right outside his room, and they were clearly talking about him.

If he was angry before, now he was absolutely furious.

"Hey!" he yelled through the door. "You guys got anything better to do than stand outside my door and talk about me?"

The voices stopped and it grew very quiet except for one person—Hodge. His throaty chuckle carried through the door and incensed Paul even further.

"You think it's funny that I'm stuck in here?" Paul yelled, screaming now.

Now Hodge was outright laughing. Paul heard Lisa hiss, "Stop it! It isn't funny. It's his first night. He must be so scared and confused. How can you be so mean?"

"I don't need your pity!" Paul yelled, his stomach burning with anger. He slammed his fist against the door. "I can handle myself!"

Suddenly, everyone went quiet. Even Hodge was silent.

Paul slammed the door with his fist again. "Nothing to say? Yeah, that's about what I figured."

An entirely different, deep voice asked from the other side of the door, "Hello?"

That was Carlisle. That was definitely Carlisle. Paul pounded on the door again with both fists for good measure. He knew Carlisle couldn't hear him, but he still wanted to get his point across to everyone else.

"Hello? Is there someone in there?"

Paul stood very still. There was no way Carlisle could have heard him.

Could he?

"Carlisle?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"

Paul counted to ten, waiting, getting only silence in answer.

"Carlisle!" Paul yelled. "Hello?"

Still nothing but silence from the other side of the door.

Frustrated, Paul punched the door one last time and turned away. He began to climb into bed to wait out the rest of the night, but stopped short when he heard the sound of a key in the lock and Carlisle saying, "Okay, I'm opening the door. If anyone is in there, please step back now."

The lock clicked and the door opened. Carlisle stood framed in the entryway. Paul, who never had any intention of 'stepping back now,' was right there waiting. He quickly ducked past the Sentinel and into the hallway.

And found himself staring at a group of six Walkers whose expressions varied from shock to pride to envy and, in the case of Hodge, open hostility.

All at once they started talking, asking him questions and congratulating him. Lisa stood back next to Hodge, beaming at him as the other four gathered around him, slapping him on the back and asking how he'd done it.

"I don't know!" he exclaimed. "I honestly don't know what I did! At least, well, I think what I did was make Carlisle hear me through the door, right?"

Juliet smiled at him, "You practically rattled the door off the hinges with all that pounding."

"You should've seen Carlisle jump," laughed Kenneth, "I swear I wish I could've gotten that on video! Nothing ever gets the best of him, but tonight you definitely did!"

"I did?" asked Paul incredulously, "So he didn't hear me yelling at all, he heard me hit the door? But that's impossible!"

"No," replied Lisa, stepping forward into the group as Hodge scowled after her. "This is what everyone has been trying to tell you. This is why you're special. You did something like this once before—you held a branch out of the way for me when we were in the cemetery in Radcliff. Do you remember?"

In his mind's eye, Paul could remember moving the branch out of her way so they could sit down at the base of the big oak. At the time he'd done it without thinking, out of simple courtesy, but Lisa had obviously clocked it as the single most important event of the night.

"I do remember," Paul said slowly, realization sinking in.

Lisa beamed her thousand-watt smile on him. Hodge's scowl grew even more pronounced, if that were possible. Lisa said, "No one, at least no one known to Astralis, can do what you can do. There are stories of others, more like legends really, but no one knows if those stories are made up or true. Until now, that is. Now we have someone that can do it right in front of us."

Everyone stood around Paul, silent. Parker and Kenneth gave him small nods, as if to convey respect. Looking from one person to the next, Paul wondered if they were waiting for him to say something profound—something that would tie the whole experience of having been present when he first showed his talent at Astralis together with some sort of resolution.

Instead of answering, he found himself unable to hold back a chuckle. The thought of him imparting some sort of wisdom to these veteran Walkers was ridiculous to the point of absurdity. He had no idea how he'd been able to move that branch back in the cemetery and he had no idea how he'd been able to pound on the door. It hadn't even occurred to him that it was possible at all.

Back in Radcliff, when he used to wander the streets, there had never once been a time that he'd been able to get anyone to take notice of him, no matter what he said or did. Now these people wanted him to give a speech or something?

Looking back into their eyes, he saw puzzlement at his reaction. He started to explain, but was interrupted by Carlisle backing out of his room and closing the door. Everyone watched as the Sentinel ducked his head inside and made two more furtive sweeps of the room, trying to puzzle out whether his ears were playing tricks on him.

"Doesn't he know about us?" asked Paul to no one in particular.

It was Parker who spoke up in reply, "Oh I think Carlisle knows. It's an odd arrangement here with him as head of security. Our Sentinels all know, of course, but Carlisle pretty much does his own thing."

"I think we all assume that Carlisle knows, though," added Juliet. "He's been here a long time. Being head of security means he's in charge of all the Sentinels when they're in the building. There's too much we do here that can only be explained with the truth for him to never have had questions... and since he never has questions, we just assume he knows."

Everyone turned as Dittrich came striding down the hall, saying, "The less he knows, the better for him." Smiling, he walked up to Paul and proffered his hand. Paul took it in an automatic gesture, returning the handshake. "I will assume that you've not disappointed your new fans tonight, seeing that you're standing here in this hallway and not in your room. Well done."

"Um, thank you?" answered Paul hesitantly. "I didn't really do anything except throw a bit of a fit."

"Oh I'm sure you did plenty," answered Dittrich. Addressing the rest of the people in the hall, he said, "Now that you've seen what you hoped to see, I'm sure there are places you should all be. If you'll excuse Mr. Bennett and me, there are a few of the basics we need to go over. Seeing that securing him in a room with a guard posted isn't going to keep him from wandering the halls, I think we could all agree that he needs some information on how we operate."

Nods and murmurs of agreement came from everyone gathered. Kenneth and Parker both made it a point to stop and shake Paul's hand before leaving, congratulating him on his accomplishment. Juliet, Liz and Lisa all smiled and waved. The only person who made no effort to acknowledge him was Hodge. He walked straight-backed down the hall, not turning around or looking back as he rounded the corner.

"What is his problem?" Paul wondered out loud.

Watching Hodge, Dittrich sighed and said, "I'm afraid you've made a bit of an enemy through no fault of your own. Hodge is a strong Walker. He is the one who just about any of us would prefer as a Buddy on most any assignment, but he sees you as a threat on a couple of fronts. I'm sure you recognize that he and Lisa are an item. Hodge is a jealous man and Lisa has an obvious admiration for you. On top of that, because Hodge has the ability to make his voice heard while in the dream, he has enjoyed having status within the community of Walkers here. Now that you've come along, he feels that status threatened."

Dittrich smiled and clapped Paul on the back. "Don't worry, Paul. I have no doubt that you'll win him over the same way you won over Lisa and, from the looks of it, everyone else." Guiding Paul toward the elevators, Dittrich said, "So tell me what you know of Astralis at this point."

Feeling a little unsure of how he should answer the question, Paul went with the safe answer. "I know that this is more than just a sleep clinic."

Dittrich stopped and turned to face Paul square on, his voice very serious. "Paul, I was told by Dr. Abrams before we left Louisville that by this time tonight you would have a solid understanding of what goes on here. Never once in the time that I have known him has Dr. Abrams not done what he said he would do. I have no doubt that your welcome meeting in his office was much more information-filled than most new arrivals."

Softening his tone and resuming the walk toward the elevators, Dittrich continued, "You can trust me, Paul. I know you're a stranger in a strange place right now, and I know that everything and everyone here will take some getting used to. But, because of your ability and the opportunities that it represents for this organization, your level of comfort and trust is and will continue to be my number one priority. Dr. Abrams feels the same way, and we are willing to do whatever it takes."

A little stunned by Dittrich's open candor, Paul didn't know what to say. The things he'd been thinking earlier were obviously right on target, but it didn't appear anyone was going to bother sugar-coating it.

He had a specialized skill that made him valuable. They wanted not only for him to use it for them, but to want to use it for them. And they would bend over backward to make him feel that way.

He could take them at their word and fully buy in to their program, but everything had happened so fast. It just didn't seem smart to jump in blindly.

Lord knows it would be easiest to just tell them he wasn't interested. They'd spied on him for months without telling him, sent in Lisa as an undercover student in order to gain his trust, and then more or less kidnapped him to get him to their secluded mountain facility. He imagined explaining all of this at the lunch table and the reaction that Stephanie would have. 'Get out, run, and don't stop running!' is what she would tell him.

But.

Paul believed in Dr. Abrams' sincerity. Maybe not so much in Dittrich's. There was just something... oily... about the way Dittrich presented himself. But with regard to Dr. Abrams, Paul recognized that same kind of immediate connection he'd felt after the first counseling session with Jeff. With some people, you could just feel it when they were good people, and Abrams was one of those.

"It is a lot to take in, isn't it?" Dittrich broke into his thoughts. "Hard to know who to trust or even if there is anyone worth trusting when your life changes so much in so short a time."

Paul just gave his usual nod without elaboration. Why say more when there is so much to say that can't be articulated?

Reaching the elevators, they stopped. Dittrich laced his fingers together and turned to look at Paul expectantly.

Confused, Paul asked, "What?"

Dittrich indicated the elevator with a lift of his chin, "Well, I certainly can't do anything here."

Oh. Right. Elevators couldn't be used by Walkers. Most of them, anyway.

Could he use his ability at will? Did he need to channel it somehow? There was only one way to find out. Paul reached out and pressed the button with the 'down' arrow on it.

The plastic button felt solid as iron—it wasn't budging. A little confused, he pressed harder.

"I can't."

Eyebrows knitted together, Dittrich gently urged, "Try harder."

Annoyed but still obliging, Paul tried the button a couple more times with no result. He took a step back, giving Dittrich a helplessly apologetic look.

"Hm," was all Dittrich said as he turned on his heel and headed toward the open door that led to the stairwell.

Paul followed. He almost felt as if he needed to apologize.

Catching up to Dittrich, he asked, "So... if I can bang on a door I should be able to press a tiny plastic elevator button, shouldn't I?"

"This is not unexpected," replied Dittrich. "You need to spend some time with Hodge. The same thing happened to him in the beginning."

"In the beginning of what?"

"When his ability to be heard by those outside the dream first manifested, he couldn't control it either. He had to learn his trigger. He's been able to teach Lisa how to do it with some moderate success. He should be able to help you."

Paul made a sound somewhere between a snort and a guffaw, thinking that this was turning out to be one hell of a first day at Astralis. Hodge was going help him? Doubtful.

* * *

Back on the main level, just outside the door to the lobby, Dittrich turned to Paul. As if reciting a prepared speech, he said, "You are aware that we work for the United Nations as an intelligence-gathering agency. Our job is only to watch and report what we see and hear—nothing more. We do not directly involve ourselves in any affairs, we only report on them. This may seem like a very simple task, especially for those of us who can listen and watch undetected, however there are dangers inherent in what we do.

"During the nights when we are not on assignment, we spend our time training in an attempt to minimize those dangers. Around the corner and down the hall is where you'll find our training area."

Dittrich paused. "Do you understand what I've explained so far and do you have any questions?"

Blinking, Paul asked, "How often do the Walkers who live here go on assignments?"

"Often. We could have a new assignment every single night for the foreseeable future if we chose to take all that were offered to us. As it stands, there is a backlog from the U.N. that changes almost every day. Dr. Abrams prioritizes assignments personally and issues orders to each team as he sees fit."

"Each team? There are teams?" Paul asked.

"No Walker ever sets out on an assignment without a Buddy for a number of reasons," Dittrich explained. "Most teams consist of just two Walkers and their Sentinels. Sentinels always go with their Walker on every assignment, no exceptions."

"To guard them while they sleep. To make sure that nothing happens to them physically while they're in the dream," Paul supplied.

"Correct."

"If we're so invincible while we're Walking, why the buddy system?"

"Because it cuts the possibility of failure, personal danger, and misinformation in less than half. Walkers are still regular people at the core. Just like any other people, you have some that are street smart and some that are book smart. Depending on the assignment, we try and pair Walkers to compliment each other's strengths—this eliminates much of the possibility of failure."

Paul nodded, seeing the sense in it.

"We've also found that Sentinels working as a team reduce the level of danger that can sometimes accompany an assignment, depending on the location and Target."

"Target?" Paul asked. "You make it sound like we're in the assassination business."

"The Target information," Dittrich replied. "I realize that it might sound a little cloak and dagger, but it is the language we use here. Every mission is based around acquiring the Target and bringing it back intact. Although the Target is nothing more than information, we treat it as something that is just as valuable as if it were a person or object. A mission Target could be the description of what a room looks like or the combination to a safe. It could be words spoken in a conversation or read from a top-secret text."

"That's a lot to remember," Paul observed.

"Yes, and that leads to the last reason for sending two Walkers on every assignment; so that we ensure the accuracy of our intelligence. Our business is to gather and relay information. We cannot be wrong in the details that we pass along. Two Walkers, minimum, always carry out an assignment. Each Walker is debriefed separately upon their return, and the debriefings are compared. Any differences in those debriefings are combed through and rehashed until we are confident we have an accurate report."

Paul again nodded his understanding.

"There is one team currently on assignment. Aside from them, you've had a chance to meet every Walker that is a member of Astralis." Dittrich motioned down the hall to their right. "I would like you to join them in the training area just down the hall. You will not be able to miss it. I have business to attend to elsewhere."

They shook hands and as Dittrich took his leave he said, "Paul. Keep your eyes open."

* * *

Dittrich was right on the mark when he said Paul couldn't miss the training area. After following the hallway no more than a dozen paces, the walls on his left changed from drywall to thick plate glass, giving him an unobstructed view of the training area in its entirety.

It was enormous, containing rooms within rooms, every wall made of the same plate glass. Paul's first impression was that this must be what Superman's house looked like.

One of the Walkers noticed him from one of the closer rooms and smiled, waving him over.

"Hi Paul!" she said brightly as he entered the room.

"Hi, uh... I'm sorry..." he stuttered.

Smiling, she said in a very mid-western, down-to-earth voice, "Liz. My name is Liz. Don't worry, it's your first day and you've met a lot of new people all at once, I understand. You want the grand tour? Come on, I'll grab Kenneth and we'll show you around."

Trailing behind her, Paul followed through doorways and down hallways that, because they were made of glass, were very confusing.

"How do you not get lost in here?"

"Oh, you get used to it after a while. Once you've been in here enough times you won't even need to think about where you're going. Kind of like the way you probably move around your house or in your school back home. And trust me—you'll be in here a lot. This is where most of us spend the majority of our nights. Aside from field training, this is where we learn everything we need to go out there and bring the Target back." Liz looked back at him and pointed at the floor. "And if you still find yourself getting lost after being here for a while, well... just look down."

Paul saw that there was a thin blue line running down the center of the hallway.

"If you're in a hall, black means Training Area 1. Or, in the case of temporary patients, we call it 'Therapy Suite 1'. Blue means Training Area 2. Each room within the training area also has its own color designation. So we have the green room, the red room, and so on."

"So where is everyone?" Paul asked as he continued to follow her, lost despite her explanation. "I would think that I'd be able to see everyone with the way this place is set up."

Stopping short, Liz replied, "That's a good point."

Turning in a full circle, looking through the glass walls into the many rooms beyond, she narrowed her eyes.

"That is a very good point." Sounding a little worried, she began moving forward again, but less confidently than she had been. "Stay close to me, Paul," she said quietly, a catch in her voice. "I'm sure it's nothing, but in case we have to move quickly I want you to stay right on my heels. Do not lose me."

The fear in her voice and in the way she moved was very evident. Looking left and right as they crept forward, Paul asked in a whisper, "What's going on? What is it?"

"I don't know. Keep your voice lowered. And listen."

Reaching the door to a room with a thin brown line running into it, Liz said quietly, "This is the brown room. Kenneth and Parker were supposed to be in here working on facial recognition."

Walking into the room, she turned in a full circle again. She looked at Paul with something close to panic in her eyes.

"What?" Paul asked, more than a little scared now.

"Everyone should be here. Not in this room, but here in the training area. Definitely within sight. They were all here a few minutes ago. I came in with them right after we left your room."

"Maybe they're just not where we can see them." Paul suggested. "Maybe they're behind some of these desks or cabinets or something and we just can't see them from where we're standing."

"All of them? That just doesn't make sense."

"What do we do? Where is Dittrich?" asked Paul.

"I don't know where he is. He doesn't usually come into the training area at night. Most of the time he has other responsibilities." Looking helpless, she said, "Come on. We can't stay here. If something is wrong, we have to find out what it is."

Just then they heard the sound of someone screaming so loud and with so much anger that it was closer to a roar than screaming.

"Who is that!?" Paul asked. "There's too much echo, I can't tell where it's coming from."

"That's Hodge," answered Liz, wide-eyed. "Oh my God!"

Heading out the door in a run, she didn't look back or check to see if Paul was following, so he had no choice but to go after her. They rounded a bend in the hall and Liz slowed, pointing. "There! Over there!"

Two rooms down, Paul could see Hodge, and it wasn't a pretty sight. Hodge's face was a mask of fury as he repeatedly brought his fist down against something on the floor, screaming incoherently as he did.

"Come on!" Liz urged again.

"What are we supposed to do? He looks like he's gone crazy!"

"We'll find that out when we get there!"

Running at full speed, they made it to the room quickly. Stopping in the doorway, they stared in shock at the scene before them. Hodge was straddled over top of Kenneth, repeatedly pummeling him in the head as hard as he could. The others—Juliet, Parker, and Lisa—all lay unconscious on the floor of the room, not moving.

Hodge didn't appear to notice them, still screaming in rage and smashing Kenneth, who was limp and unmoving.

"Hodge!" Liz screamed. "Oh my God, Hodge! What are you doing! Why? What have you done!"

Hodge looked up, a look of pure rage in his eyes.

With no apparent thought for her own safety, Liz ran at Hodge as if to pull him away, but he was ready. As soon as she was close enough to reach, he leapt off of Kenneth's comatose body and grabbed her by the throat, clothes-lining her with one hand and tossing her small body to the floor like a rag doll.

Hitting the floor in a roll, Liz looked up just in time to see Hodge's booted foot connect with her face in a well-aimed kick. She was knocked back against the glass wall, sliding down unconscious.

Breathing heavily, fists balled at his sides, Hodge turned to face Paul. "What are you looking at, hero? You gonna do something?"

Stunned, Paul didn't move. What the hell? Everyone had seemed like they were such a tight-knit group, so friendly with each other. And Lisa—she was one of the ones lying on the floor unconscious. How could Hodge have hurt her like that?

"Nothing to say, huh?" Hodge began moving toward Paul slowly. "I pegged you for a loser the moment I saw you."

Stunned, Paul stammered, "Hodge, whatever this is about, I'm sure..."

"You're sure? You're sure?" Hodge was screaming again. "What the hell do you know, new guy? You know squat! What? You think you're gonna' reason with me? You don't even know me, loser. Cause if you did, you'd know there ain't no reasoning with me!"

Watching Hodge come steadily closer, Paul took an involuntary step back... and that was all Hodge needed, that one show of weakness.

Leaping at Paul, Hodge swung with everything he had, slamming an elbow in a direct hit into Paul's temple. The force of the blow knocked him back out of the room and against the far side of the wall in the hallway, landing him in a heap on the floor.

Paul lay there with his head throbbing and his ears ringing, wondering why he had ever made the choice to come to Astralis. Staring down at the black line running down the center of the hall, he groggily pushed himself up off the floor into a crouch.

Dimly, he heard Hodge chuckling. Calmly, in as friendly a tone as his gritty voice could manage, Hodge said, "Damn, new guy. Didn't anyone tell you? Keep your eyes open."

Shaking his head, Paul stared down at the floor, waiting for another round of punishing blows from Hodge, but they never came.

Still chuckling, Hodge came over and took hold of Paul's elbow to help him to his feet. Confused, not wanting to be hit anymore, and completely unnerved, Paul wobbled a little as he stood. He felt his head begin to clear. In fact, once he concentrated on it, he realized his head was already clear. The pain was gone. Totally and completely gone. He shook his head a little from side to side, testing to see if there was any pain. There wasn't.

"Feels better already, don't it?" Hodge asked with a smirk, and walked back into the room with the others.

Looking through the glass wall, Paul saw the other Walkers sitting in chairs or on desktops, smirking at him. Kenneth made a motion with his head, inviting Paul to come back in. Looking left, then right, for no real reason except to stall, Paul could think of no other place to go, so he hesitantly reentered the room.

"First rule to get through your dimwit head, new guy—you can't really be hurt in the dream. Not never." Hodge really was such a wordsmith.

Grinning, Parker said, "Induction, my good man. Everybody gets an ass-kicking their first night."

"There really is no aspect of Walking more important to remember than this one," Kenneth said. "Pain is only a feeling here, and it only lasts a couple minutes, if that. Next time you have someone or something come at you, you won't be afraid. You're a member now."

Sighing, Paul put his hand to his face to hide his embarrassment at having been so obviously duped. "Holy crap," he grinned, and the rest of the group laughed.

Chapter 10

The next two days and nights went by without incident. Paul sat in on a few of the training sessions, which were held both during the day and at night. There were many exercises that could only be done during the day, so training, although informal, was specific and regimented with nearly everyone attending each session.

He wasn't given a schedule, and from what he could tell none of the other Walkers had one either, but he could tell classes were planned well in advance. On the first day, he asked for a schedule but the only reply he could get was, "Come on, I'll show you where the next one is." So he learned not to ask, and instead just followed along with everyone else.

Dr. Abrams headed a few of the sessions, but most of the time it was other Walkers who stood at the front of the class. Paul was stunned the first time the quiet and diminutive Liz stood up and took control of teaching on the subject of exact word recall.

Cleaning and general upkeep of the facility was shared by everyone, generally during the time when the Sentinels were asleep. Mostly, this only consisted of keeping one's own room in good order as well as cleaning the training area after each session.

Meals were taken in the second-level commons room. Paul was told that it would be fine if he wanted to eat in his room privately, but since no one else did Paul didn't either, even though at times he thought he might be more comfortable that way.

He wasn't used to having people around him, interacting on such a nonstop basis. His time in school had always been spent in relative solitude with the exception of when he was with Steven and Stephanie. Once his sleep issues had begun, he'd retreated from social interaction almost entirely. The camaraderie and community that existed within this group of people was overwhelming for him.

But he had to admit—after a couple days, he liked it.

It was obvious that the people at Astralis counted on one another for support and friendship in so many ways, and on so many levels, that his awareness of it was only beginning. Watching them, he realized that while he had a bond with Stephanie and Steven that could never be broken, there was a different sort of bond that could be had here. This was inclusion in an elite group, one that was far and away different from anything he'd ever dreamed he could be a part of.

Even Hodge, who disassociated himself from everyone else with an aloofness that bordered on rudeness, still maintained his obvious membership within the group and was accepted by all of the other Walkers. Hodge always took his meals at the same table in the commons room, usually with Lisa and his Sentinel, Rex O'Brien. If they weren't around to join him, he ate alone. He never once softened his attitude toward Paul, which seemed unsurprising to everyone else, as they never once remarked on the obviousness of his hostility. He continued to call him 'new guy' so often that the moniker began to get used familiarly by everyone.

He was an enigma to Paul, because although he was coarse to the point of abrasive, he was respected by everyone in the facility, which suggested there was more to him than just a bully. Every Walker at one point or another made it a point to say that Hodge was the one they'd most prefer as a Buddy on any mission.

Hodge stood at the head of the class for training sessions on two occasions, teaching daytime survival tactics and how to use the stars at night to tell time. His instruction was blunt and spoken in plain, unimaginative language, but as far as Paul could tell his tactics were spot on.

Lisa maintained the same bright, sunny disposition toward him, almost acting as if she was unaware of the way her boyfriend felt. She continued to make it clear that she thought very highly of Paul and, even when Hodge was around, made blatant innuendos that could only be considered flirtatious. Hodge made no attempt to hide his jealousy, but usually they were in class or in the commons room with a lot of people around, so Hodge kept it civil. Paul could tell, though, that Hodge wouldn't always remain so passive.

Among all the Walkers, Paul was surprised to find that the closest bond of friendship forming for him with was with Kenneth, the oldest of them all. There was almost a fifteen year gap in their ages, but Kenneth made a special effort to take Paul under his wing and make him comfortable in his new surroundings. Paul recognized and appreciated the effort Kenneth was making, and from it, a friendship grew.

Paul called Stephanie each night before going to bed and although he didn't tell her everything, he did tell her that he'd had 'a bit of a break-through' with regard to his condition, and that the clinic was already more than he could have hoped for. He told her there was more, but he wanted to tell her in person the next time he saw her.

It was in the commons room on the third day that Dr. Abrams joined Paul and the rest of what had become Paul's regular lunchtime group; Juliet, Kenneth, Parker, and Liz. Setting down a plate of food, Dr. Abrams greeted everyone as if he ate with them every day, offering up chitchat and gossip.

"Allen and James should be back sometime tonight," Abrams announced about halfway through the meal. "I'm told that they have acquired their Target and are on their way."

Murmurs and nods from around the table were the reply as Paul asked, "So these are other Walkers, then?"

"Yup," Parker replied through a mouthful of food, "Once they get back, that'll be everyone."

"Back to a full house," Abrams nodded. "Once they're back, I'm suspending operations for two weeks in the hopes that with everyone here, we'll be able to get Paul trained up and ready to go out on a few jobs."

"Two weeks?!" exclaimed Kenneth. "Don't you think that's a little rushed? I mean—it took Parker and I two months before you'd let us out on a job, and that was just a training job!"

"Yeah, and Lord knows you two were graded on a curve," smirked Liz.

As Kenneth squinted in reproach at Liz, Abrams calmly replied, "I think we can all agree Paul has a bit of an advantage that he can draw upon. I expect that he'll have no trouble coming through with flying colors."

"I suppose you're right," Kenneth replied grudgingly. "In the end, as long as the team and the Target both come back intact, that's all that really matters."

Turning to Paul, Abrams said, "I would like you to join me in the welcome office after lunch. It is time that we assign you a safe room of your own, but before you can move into it we need to address the issue of the Sentinel you've chosen. It is time to make the call to Steven."

At the mention of Steven's name everyone at the table grew quiet, giving sidelong glances at each other and fidgeting with their silverware.

"What?" Paul asked to the table in general, but no one answered. Looking around the table, he turned in bewilderment to Liz, who was sitting next to him.

"What?" he asked again.

Looking apologetic, Liz answered. "Well, Paul—we heard about this guy. We know he's a friend of yours and all, but it makes us a little nervous. I mean, he's all that will be between you and anyone who wants to try and hurt you when you're asleep."

"I know that," Paul answered. "Dr. Abrams explained the way it works. Steven would never do anything to get me hurt. I trust him completely."

"Well..." Liz began, but trailed off as if she was having trouble coming up with a way to say what she wanted to say.

"What!" Paul blurted.

Hodge's gravelly voice came from right behind Paul, making him jump a little, "I'll tell you what, new guy, since everyone here is too damn scared they'll hurt your precious feelings. The problem is this: we've all heard about your little redneck buddy—he was part of Lisa's report on you and we all read it. Had his own section, in fact, because she was smart enough to recognize that you'd probably be stupid enough to pick this guy.

"A young, immature, hot-headed, chemically dependent, straight-C student. I believe I may even be reciting one of the lines of her report word for word, there.

"Now maybe he is one of your best buddies and maybe he knows how to give someone a bloody nose in a high school fight, but that don't mean he knows how to handle himself in a foreign country up against what could be trained killers. Maybe he gets you killed, maybe he don't, and maybe you feel like that's your choice and none of our business. But to me there's a lot worse scenario, and that scenario involves me and Rex getting buddied up with you and your little redneck pal on a job, ending up dead because of the Sentinel you chose. That don't sit all too well for me and I'm pretty sure it sits the same way with the rest of the people at this table."

Walking around Paul's chair to face him directly, Hodge leaned down so that his eyes were level with Paul's. "I ain't dying for you, new guy. In fact, I ain't dying for anyone here but me."

Standing up again and turning to walk away, Hodge added, "Best think real hard on that before you bring someone in like your little redneck."

Looking from face to face, most of which were turned down toward their plates, Paul realized that although Hodge had done it in the most abrasive manner possible, he had spoken very plainly what everyone else was thinking. And he also realized they were all within their rights to be nervous about someone like Steven, who could justifiably be described exactly the way he'd been in Lisa's report.

Sighing, he stood and picked up his plate. "I get it. I do. And if I were in your shoes, I would have a hard time trusting someone like Steven to safeguard me, too. But there is no one—no one—who has been a more steadfast ally in my life that could fit the bill for this. As soon as Dr. Abrams explained what a Sentinel does, I immediately knew it had to be Steven.

"But—I get it. So I will make you all this promise: if Steven doesn't complete the Sentinel training to everyone's satisfaction in the same two weeks that I'm being asked to complete training, I will allow you to choose a Sentinel for me that you do trust."

He looked at each of them separately, "Does that sound like a fair deal?"

From around the table, he received reluctant nods. He could tell that none of them thought Steven would succeed and they were just delaying the inevitable. Looking over at Hodge's table, Paul caught his eye. Hodge smirked. Paul knew Hodge had heard every word and was looking forward to making life miserable for both him and Steven.

Groaning inwardly, Paul thought to himself, When this is all said and done, I won't be getting any thanks from Steven.

* * *

"A frickin helicopter, man! No one would ever believe this! Thanks for having me out, bro, seriously!"

Steven was giving Paul a bear hug in the parking lot of Astralis, ignoring the fact that both Dittrich and Dr. Abrams were waiting patiently beside them. "Look at this place, man! It's like something out of a James Bond movie, all out in the middle of nowhere and all. I don't guess you guys do much partying, huh? What with having no neighbors for like... a thousand miles."

Paul knew that Dr. Abrams was sizing up Steven with every word he spoke, and he also knew that changing the way Steven communicated was never going to happen, so Paul decided the only way he could keep Steven's coarse personality from being an issue was to act as if it was exactly the way he wanted it.

"No partying so far," Paul replied with a wide, forced smile. He gave Steven a direct look and spoke in a voice that was probably louder than it needed to be. "But I haven't been here very long yet, so maybe I just haven't caught one yet. It's a big enough for a hell of a rager—it's like a castle in there."

A slight narrowing of the eyes showed that Steven got the hint.

"I want you to meet Dr. Abrams," Paul said. "He's the head honcho here, and the one who has been helping me with my, um, condition. You already met Mr. Dittrich back at school."

Shaking hands with both men, Steven said, "Pleasure, guys. Thanks for letting me come visit my buddy and thanks for that kick ass ride in. I never thought I'd be in one of those things, ever!"

"Glad to make your day, Steven," smiled Dr. Abrams. "Is that your only bag? Let's get you inside and situated. We have a nice room adjacent to Paul's on the second level where I'm sure you'll be comfortable. Once you have your things stored, perhaps the two of you could join Mr. Dittrich and me in the welcome office? Paul? You don't mind showing Steven to his room, do you?"

"No problem at all. We'll meet you in your office in about fifteen minutes."

Moving inside, Paul waited in the lobby while Lydia helped Steven sign in as a guest and then led him through the main lower level hallway. They walked slowly, Steven humming People are Strange, until they got to the elevator where finally Steven said, "What the hell, man?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what the hell. You leave Radcliff not saying much of anything, and then you don't call anyone at home for like a week. When you finally do, you call me, and you ask me to come visit you in your mountain fortress by helicopter like it's just a social call. What the hell?"

The elevators opened up. "Straight up, Steven. I need a friend. I'm in over my head, I'm scared to death, and I need someone to help me separate the dream from the reality."

Steven didn't follow as Paul stepped into the elevator. Paul turned around and reached over to stop the doors from closing. "What?" he asked.

With no trace of his usual sarcasm or bravado, Steven replied, "And you called me? You really are screwed."

* * *

Closing the door to Steven's room, Paul sat down and motioned for Steven to do the same. Having already run through this conversation in his mind dozens of times, Paul realized that he'd never considered where to start. It was all so much, and for Steven to even consider believing what Astralis was really about, he had to first believe that Paul could walk around at night like a ghost.

Should be an easy sell... Paul thought.

"So you're right," Paul began. "I'm pretty well screwed. I came here looking for a way to fix my sleeping problem and it turns out the reason I'm really here is to use it."

Steven blanched. "To use it for what? What are you talking about?"

"You know my problem, right? You know how I can't wake up at night... I have pictures with no eyebrows to prove it."

"That was freakin' hilarious," Steven laughed.

"Yeah for you and the rest of the school. Prick. Thing is, I..." Paul tried to search for the right words, but couldn't come up with them.

"You... what? You're gay? You have a vagina? I already knew that. You have some sort of disease? What?"

"Yes!" Paul exclaimed, finally finding a way to explain it in a way that Steven would believe.

"What? Wait. You're gay?"

"No! Not yes to that—yes to the disease. Kind of."

"Oh, dude. Oh man. I'm sorry, I didn't know, bro. Hey look I didn't mean—"

"Just... shut up for a minute and listen," Paul interrupted, the words finally coming out in a rush. "I'm not sick, I'm not dying. I'm perfectly fine. Well, sort of. Actually, yes. Dammit, I don't know how to say this any other way so I'm just going to say it straight up. When I go to sleep at night I'm not really asleep. Well my body is but I'm able to go anywhere I want and I'm invisible and I can't get hurt and there's like ten other people here that can do the same thing and this place works for the government and wants me to work for them too." He'd said everything so fast, without any pauses, he wondered how much Steven had actually been able to understand.

Sitting on the desk with his hands clasped in his lap, Paul waited for Steven's reaction, holding his breath. He could see Steven's wheels turning.

Moments passed.

Finally, in a high-pitched, conciliatory voice, Steven stood up, grabbed his bag and said, "Ok buddy, we're gettin the hell outta here. I don't know what they said or what they did to fill your head with this crap, but they ain't doing it to me. Come on. Come on."

The last two words had come out almost sounding like Steven had been talking to a child or a timid dog.

Paul sighed. "Sit down, Steven. And listen. I'm not stupid. Nobody has brainwashed me or convinced me of anything that isn't real. I need you to believe me because I need your help. I need you to stay here at Astralis and watch my back. While I'm asleep, mostly. That's why you're here."

Steven started to speak, but Paul shook his head and continued. "I can prove all of this to you, tonight, and I will. But right now, in the next hour or two, I need you to believe me enough to walk down to that office and tell Dr. Abrams you'll go through with whatever he asks, for me. They want to saddle me up with someone I don't know and I don't want that. They don't want you to be my protector because they think you're a screw-up, and they think you won't even be able to get through their training program. But I know you can, and I know you will, because I need you to."

Steven just stared, his eyebrows raised in confusion, questions written all over his face.

"So what do you say?" Paul asked. "Will you give this a shot?"

Steven opened his mouth with an audible click. "You're saying you want me to stay here? Permanently?"

"Yeah."

"Do I have to go to school?"

"Not unless you want to. This would be for good. Permanent."

There was a pause, and then Steven grinned. "You should've started with that. You would've had me at 'no school'. You complete me, bro."

Breathing a giant sigh of relief, Paul gave Steven a hug. For the first time since he'd arrived at Astralis, he felt some firm footing.

* * *

"So..." Paul said as began the walk back to the welcome office. "You don't have more questions? I just told you some pretty crazy stuff in about a minute's time and here you are, ready to march down and sign up as my Sentinel. And you don't even know what that is. I'm not sure I do!"

Steven made a face. "Don't care. You said you need me to watch your back. Does it really matter why? You asked for my help. I'm here."

Smiling, Paul started to get a little misty-eyed until Steven added, "And you said I'm done with school."

Sighing, Paul ruefully shook his head. They rounded the corner to the main second-floor hall where the elevators were, and almost ran straight into Hodge and Rex.

"What's up, new guy?" Hodge asked casually. He and Rex were lounging against the wall near the elevator, obviously aware that Paul and Steven would be coming back this way. Looking Steven up and down in disgust, Hodge wrinkled his nose. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised a reject like you would have to scrape the bottom of the redneck barrel to find himself a friend."

Pushing away from the wall and standing up to his full height, Hodge approached them with a look of pure contempt. Rex stayed where he'd been, still leaning against the wall, saying nothing.

Looking down at Steven, Hodge said, "So this is your guy, huh? Don't look like much."

Annoyed, Paul sighed. "Hodge, this is Steven. Steven, this is Hodge. We're on our way to meet Dr. Abrams. You want to get out of the way?"

Hodge took a break from staring daggers down at Steven, briefly flicking his eyes at Paul. "Say please, new guy. No need to be so rude."

Knowing Steven's inability to keep his temper under control and knowing that Hodge had probably already read about it in Lisa's report, Paul stepped between the two of them, breaking the staring match.

"Look Hodge, seriously," Paul said. "We've got things to do and you know time isn't something we have a lot of, so quit screwing around and move."

Hodge looked back at Rex and smirked. "New guy thinks he's running the show here, Rex. How about that? He imports a friend and suddenly he's got balls."

Apparently Steven had had enough. He pushed Paul aside and stepped up chest to chest with Hodge. "Nice to meet you, assbag," he said quietly. "Less than one minute and I already want to kick your ass. You got a problem with Paul, you got a problem with me. You got a problem with both of us—well, you got a big frickin' problem."

In the blink of an eye, Rex flew across the hall and pushed Steven up against the wall with his left forearm, his right hand holding a dull silver blade to Steven's throat. Neither of them spoke a word, neither blinked an eye. No trace of emotion whatsoever showed on Rex's face as he stared unblinkingly at Steven. Steven stared back, one eyelid slightly closed.

Paul took half a step forward, but realized that this was more of a pissing contest than an actual fight. Steven was in no real danger. Not wanting to escalate it into something more, he decided to hold his ground and say nothing.

Smirking, Hodge sauntered up behind Rex and placed a hand on one leather-clad shoulder. "I think we've made our point, Rex. I suppose we can let them go take care of their business now. After all, we wouldn't want to keep Dr. Abrams waiting, now, would we?"

Exhaling through his nose, Rex released the pressure on Steven's throat and slowly backed away, maintaining eye contact until he was out of arm's reach. Casually, then, as if to convey a lack of regard or concern, he flicked his blade closed and into an inner pocket in his coat, put his ear buds in ears and turned his back on Steven, walking away down the hall behind Hodge.

Rounding on Paul, trembling with rage, Steven demanded an explanation with blazing eyes. "What the hell kind of place is this, man? Who was that prick? What the hell!"

"I told you," Paul said. "I'm in over my head. I need a friend and guardian. And believe it or not, those two guys are the least of my problems. In fact, those two guys are two of the people we'll probably have to work with."

"Nice," Steven fumed. "I will not forget that. Both those cock-knockers are on my short list."

"Yeah," Paul said. "Well, they'll probably be on it permanently. But as far as I can tell, even though Hodge is always like that, he's pretty much all talk. Rex is his Sentinel. It's his job to protect Hodge, and you threatened him. I just stay clear of both of them, but the fact that we live in the same building makes that hard sometimes."

Steven stared in the direction that Hodge and Rex had gone, breathing heavily.

"Come on," Paul said, punching Steven in the arm. "Let's go see what kind of abuse Dr. Abrams and Dittrich have in store for us with our training."

Chapter 11

The conversation in the welcome office ended up much shorter than any of them had originally anticipated. Paul didn't know if Dr. Abrams knew that Steven agreed to complete Sentinel training in two weeks both out of a combination of friendship for Paul, and a desire for revenge against Hodge and Rex. If Abrams did know, he didn't mention it.

It was agreed that training would begin the following day and last for exactly two weeks. So long as Steven passed to the satisfaction of the rest of the Sentinels and their Walkers, he would be made a permanent resident of Astralis.

With regard to Paul, there wasn't as much emphasis placed on the timeframe as there was on the quality of his training and a focus on his unique ability. It was expected that Paul would finish in the same two weeks as Steven, but it was more or less assumed he would have no trouble doing so.

Whether Steven actually believed or understood what Astralis' primary function was didn't seem to matter to him. He didn't ask a lot of questions. He just listened as Abrams and Dittrich gave him their speeches. When they finished and it was time for Steven to ask questions, he remained expectantly silent.

Abrams smirked, slapped the palms of his hands on his desk and stood up to officially welcome Steven to Astralis. Dittrich shook Steven's hand as well, although his welcome seemed a little less sincere.

And so it was that Paul found himself walking into the orange room of the training area the next morning. Steven would train in another area, separate from Paul, until it was deemed that he had learned the basic skills necessary to protect Paul. Realizing there was no one else but Hodge waiting in the room for him, Paul stutter-stepped briefly before entering fully into the room.

"New guy," said Hodge through a stubbly-faced grin. "Glad you could make it. Next time you show up late for training, you get taken in front of the crew. Rule number one—time is something you have to learn to control."

Paul groaned inwardly. "And rule number two?"

"Keep your eyes open," Hodge answered immediately.

Not sure if he was being toyed with or if Hodge actually thought that telling him to keep his eyes open was imparting some sort of wisdom, Paul just nodded. "So where is everyone else?"

"I'm it," replied Hodge with a smirk. "Must be your lucky day."

Looking around through the glass walls, Paul could see a few of the others busy with projects of their own. Juliet noticed him looking and smiled, giving him a wave with a double thumbs-up. Returning her smile with something closer to a grimace, he gave her a double thumbs-up in return, but his was much less confident.

Walking over to the far wall, Hodge pulled down a star map from its hanging place near the ceiling. Paul had seen the map a few days before, when Hodge was standing in front of the rest of the Walkers, reinforcing their knowledge in nighttime navigation.

"This should all be review for you," Hodge began, "so let's see if we can get through this fast so I can spend some alone time with Lisa before lunch. She gets real needy if I'm gone for too long, if you know what I mean."

Paul shook his head in disgust. "Let's get on with it then."

"Can you tell me which three stars you use to tell time?"

"One is the Pole Star..." Paul tried to remember what had been talked about when he was in this room last, but couldn't. "Something about a bear...?"

Breathing out a heavy, frustrated breath, Hodge looked down at the floor. "This is basic stuff. You should already know this. The fact that none of us can go on assignments for two weeks just to babysit your sorry ass is bad enough. But if you turn out to be stupid, as well as a pain in the ass..."

"Good morning!" Dr. Abrams' cheery voice came from the doorway, interrupting Hodge's tirade. "I see you two have already begun—that's absolutely wonderful!"

"Good morning, Dr. Abrams," Paul answered, trying not to show his relief at the doctor's good timing. Hodge gave the director a nod.

"Pay very close attention to what Mr. Hodgins has to teach you, Paul. He is one of our best nighttime trackers. He's never lost his way and has led quite a few of your peers to their Target, at times when they would almost certainly have failed to find their way."

"I will, absolutely," Paul assured him.

"Two weeks," Abrams reminded him. "This is shorter than our usual training time by more than half, but I am determined to get you through it and out on your first assignment. You see everyone else in the other rooms?" Paul nodded. "They're all working on getting their portion of your training prepared. They're sacrificing a fair amount of their personal time in order to get you where you'll need to be. Don't forget to thank them."

"I won't. And I appreciate you stopping by this morning."

"It is my pleasure. Remember—two weeks. This means your first real-world training exercise will be in five days. Pay attention!"

Abrams gave a brief nod of farewell to Hodge and left the room.

"What does he mean about a first real-world exercise?" Paul asked.

"He means exactly what it sounds like. You go on a training mission. It's a mission, set up by us, that gauges how effective you are in real-life life situations using the training we've given you. We wouldn't just train you and send you out on a real mission and hope for the best."

"And I do the first one in five days?" Paul fretted. "Nothing like a little pressure."

"Just pay attention, don't be a dumb-ass, and you'll do fine."

Pausing, Paul wondered for a moment if Hodge had just been moderately kind to him. Did he just say that he thought Paul would do fine?

But of course, true to form, Hodge immediately dispelled any illusions Paul may have had. "Now, new guy—your 'something about a bear'... it's actually something about two bears. If you'd been listening at all when you were in here last time you'd have caught information as basic as that.

"Information retrieval, that's what this whole thing is about. It is what we do here and now that you're here, it is what you do, too. The fact that you don't remember something you just heard a few days ago tells me you're not used to paying attention. You need to start remembering everything you see and everything you hear and you need to start remembering it right now. Nothing is unimportant, nothing is trivial."

"I understand," Paul replied.

"Good." Hodge walked over to a metal desk and sat down on it. "The two bears are The Great Bear and the Little Bear. They're constellations. Each contains a star you need. The Little Bear contains the Pole star, which is at the tail end of the Little Bear. The star inside of the Great Bear called Megrez is found at the root of the bear's tail. The third and final star you need is called Caph. It is part of the constellation Cassiopeia. It's the western-most star in the 'W' that Cassiopeia makes in the sky."

A little amazed at Hodge's clarity and skill in teaching, Paul nodded.

"Repeat all of that to me."

Paul repeated it back in abbreviated form.

"Good enough," Hodge said when Paul was done. "Don't forget that." He went to the map again and began pointing. "This is the Little Bear, see it? And this is the Pole Star. Here is the Big Bear, or Big Dipper, and here is Megrez where his tail starts. And over here is Cassiopeia with Caph right here at the end. You with me?"

"I'm with you."

"Good. Now point them out yourself, including the constellations."

Paul got up and pointed them all out without trouble.

"Alright, new guy. That'll do. Now tell me why those three stars are so important."

"Because you use them to tell time."

"You think, dumb-ass? We've established that. But why those stars? In what way do we use them to tell the time?"

Paul had no idea. When he'd been sitting in this room the first time, he'd only been at Astralis for a couple of days and his mind had been focused on sorting out all that had changed in his life. He looked back at the map and the three stars, seeing that they all lined up straight. "Because they point in a direction?" he guessed.

"Right," Hodge replied, surprising Paul. "The important thing to remember is that those three stars point directly north on March 21st every year."

"That's the day after spring begins," Paul supplied.

"Yeah. I know." Hodge replied acidly. "So on March 21st, you have to think of those three stars as a clock hand pointing at twelve."

"I think I got it so far," Paul said.

"But this clock has twenty-four numbers, not twelve. So it is twelve p.m. at the top and twelve a.m. at the bottom. To the right you count down starting at eleven, to the left you start over at one and count back up, or down, I guess you could say, to twelve. After the 21st, the clock hand moves counter-clockwise. Every day equals four minutes, every month equals two days. As long as you're facing north and can do simple math, you'll always know the time. You do know how to find north at night, don't you?"

"The North Star?"

"Polaris. Yes, the North Star. So if you're facing north and it is September 21st and the clock hand is at nine am, you take twelve hours because of the date—"

Getting a little excited, Paul interrupted, "I get it—you get twelve hours out of September 21st because that's exactly six months from March 21st and each month is equal to two hours."

Hodge gave Paul a withering look. "Think we can do this without you jumping in like you already know it?" Not waiting for a reply, he continued, "So you're at nine a.m., all you got to do is back away the twelve hours you got from the date and you get nine p.m. as the correct time of night."

"Man, that's so much easier than I thought it would be," marveled Paul.

"I'm glad you think so," Hodge said. He walked back to his desk and grabbed a thick stack of pages from it. "Because each one of these two hundred pages is a star map with a date at the bottom. I want you to write the time of night that it is on each one, and nothing more. Do not use any paper in this room for scrap. It has to all be done in your head. And you won't find a calculator here because there isn't one when you're Walking."

Paul's heart sank as he realized the day that was in store for him. Seeing Paul's expression, Hodge smirked and slapped the pages down on a classroom-style desk.

"I'm going to go to see what Lisa's wearing, new guy. I'll be back right before lunch to see if you have any questions."

Paul looked down at the pile of papers, realizing that Hodge had probably added twice as much work as was normal. "Why are you such a prick, Hodge? I get that you think I'm after your girl, but are you really that insecure? Do you really think she'd dump you for me? Because if you do, then she probably will."

Ignoring the question, Hodge scratched at one sideburn. "You think I'm being unfair? You think you're being picked on? Take it up with Abrams if you want, but it won't do you any good. His instructions were explicit—make sure the new guy knows what you teach him clearly and completely, without error, and use any method deemed necessary to make that happen. I deem it necessary that you learn this skill through repetition. A lot of repetition. And I'm sure Abrams will agree that for learning this skill, that's a damn fine way to learn it quick."

"Whatever," Paul mumbled back.

"Whatever?" Hodge leaned toward him aggressively. "Look, New Guy—this is one of the most basic skill sets you will need out there. Almost every mission we're sent on requires that we be in a specific place at a specific time. Unlike you, most of us can't open a door or a window to get to where we need to go, so we plan our missions down to the minute. Sometimes there's a clock nearby and we can just read it, but usually there isn't. The long missions, the ones that last more than a day, we don't get dropped in the middle of town for those. We get dropped in a junk yard or at a dockyard where our safe rooms can blend in. Getting to the Target at a specific time isn't always easy, even with us being invisible."

Paul realized that Hodge might actually have put the lesson plan together in a way that he truly felt was Paul's best chance of learning it quickly. Certainly, by helping Paul learn these things, Hodge was helping himself as well by making sure he wasn't sent out on a mission with someone unprepared, but in an odd way it was the first favor that Hodge had done for Paul since he'd arrived.

"Hey, it's cool. Thanks, Hodge. I'll get on these maps."

Hodge paused, narrowing his eyes in mistrust, and then turned and left the room without a word.

Paul worked through the morning on the star maps. At first, each and every one took him a long time to figure out. Hodge's first example had been an easy one because it fell on the 21st of a month, but most of the other two hundred star maps had odd dates. The math of adding the four minutes per day and two hours per month was a little confusing without writing it down.

But by the time he got through twenty or thirty of them, he'd established a good pace and was getting to the point where he could figure out everything except the minutes at a glance and a couple moments of mental computation.

When Hodge finally slapped the doorframe to the room a few hours later, Paul was so engrossed in what he was doing that he jumped.

"Time for lunch, New Guy."

Shaking the fog from his head, Paul stood up. "You know, Hodge, the 'New Guy' thing is starting to get really annoying."

Hodge gave him a look that was a cross between a smirk and sneer. "I know," he said, and walked away.

Walking back through the maze of glass halls to get out of the training area, Paul was joined by Parker, who was also heading to the commons room for lunch.

"So how's it going so far, Paul?"

"Could be better. I'm paired with Hodge and the guy has given me a stack of star maps the size of a dictionary. I don't think I'm even half way through."

Parker grinned. "Half way done already? Not bad! Hey, it could be worse. You should've seen Kenneth and Allen during their star training. It must have taken them a week to get just the basic concept down."

Happily surprised that he was progressing faster than some, Paul's spirits lifted.

"Day time training is always the boring part. It's at night that you get to have a little fun, and we're all looking forward to seeing how far you can go with your ability, so don't get too bogged down by the Waking busy work. And, you know, Hodge may be Hodge," Parker said, "but..."

"He is the one that most of us would prefer as a buddy on an assignment." Paul finished in unison with Parker.

"I know!" Paul said, laughing along with Parker.

* * *

Paul immediately noticed that there were more people in the commons room than normal. Remembering that two Walkers who'd been on assignment had gotten back just the day before, he realized why.

In addition to two new faces at the table where Hodge, Dittrich, and Lisa normally took their meals, there were two more tables full of people. Sentinels, Paul guessed. Parker took Paul by the elbow and led him over to Hodge's table.

Standing up, Dittrich welcomed them. "Paul! Hodge was just filling us in on your progress today. He tells us you're coming along quickly."

"He does?" Paul asked, surprised.

"He does!" Dittrich replied, laughing and turned to the table. "I want you to meet James and Allen. They just got in yesterday."

Paul shook hands with them. Their reception was cordial but not overly friendly, which surprised him somewhat. He'd grown used to the immediate camaraderie that existed with everyone else except Hodge.

Allen was in his late twenties with a boyish face framed by wild, dark, curly, hair. He was tall and bulky, built like a barroom bouncer. Obviously not worried about appearances or cordiality, he gave Paul a single upward nod and kept filling his mouth with food.

Only James offered anything more than a cursory hand shake. He was of average height, extremely skinny, with jet black hair. He had a dark skin complexion and dark, glassy, brown eyes. "So you're the guy, huh?" He had a deep southern drawl, somewhat out of place with his almost Italian looks.

"I'm... the guy, I guess." Paul replied with a nervous smile, wanting to leave this group and join his normal table.

"Lookin' forward to seein' your tricks," James answered and went back to his meal.

Not sure how to respond to that, Paul exchanged a nervous smile with Parker, hoping that his expression made it clear he could use a save from the uneasy silence that hung in the air.

It was Dittrich, still smiling, who broke the awkward tension. "Well, Paul, I'm sure you're hungry and I know you have a great deal more to do down in training before breaking for the day."

Relieved, Paul murmured the appropriate nice-to-meet-yous and turned to grab a plate of food from the kitchen. On his way back toward his usual table, he nearly walked past Steven, not recognizing that it was him sitting alone. Steven sat with his head cradled in his arms and didn't look up when Paul set his plate down in the spot next to him.

"Rough day so far?" Paul asked.

Steven's body jerked once in a single chuckle. He spoke into the table, not lifting his head. "You could say that. I had four people working me over the entire morning. And they woke me up at like six."

"What did they have you doing? Weights and stuff?"

Lifting his head, Steven looked at Paul. There were bruises along his right jaw line all the way down to his chin, his left eye was blackened, and his lower lip was split and swollen.

"No, not weights and stuff."

"What the hell?" Paul exclaimed. "What did they do to you?"

Getting up, he pushed his chair out of the way with the intention of finding Dr. Abrams, but Steven grabbed his arm. "Sit down, Paul."

"No way. They said you needed to be trained, not beaten."

Getting a firmer grip on Paul's arm, Steven gritted his teeth. "Sit. Down. I didn't spend the morning getting beat on to end up being embarrassed by you. Sit down."

Reluctantly, Paul took his seat again.

"After this morning, I think I finally get it," Steven explained. "I finally understand. This is the real deal, here. Whether I want to believe that you can walk around like a ghost at night or not, the fact is everyone else here totally believes it. Everyone I trained with today protects someone just like you. And I got to tell you," Steven grinned, "they're all pretty damn amazing."

Giving Steven a confused look, Paul let him continue. "Every one of them knows how to handle themselves in a fight, or I guess I'm supposed to say 'in a Combat Situation.' I learned a lot from these people this morning, and I'll learn a lot more this afternoon because they tell me I'll be working with four others just like them. And the combat maneuvers and course training area? Freakin' amazing, man."

"Combat maneuvers area?" Paul asked.

Steven grinned through cracked lips. "Past all the glass walls, down that hall. I think it's built into the side of the mountain. It's like a giant gym with all different types of areas like sand, dirt, concrete. Pretty much if you can name it, it's there. And they got a pool. I can't believe you haven't checked this place out better. They got all kinds of good stuff."

"I've been pretty busy!" Paul objected. "I guess I just kind of assumed that I'd already seen everything except the safe rooms."

Steven began cramming his mouth with food from Paul's plate. "Well you ain't."

A little miffed that his buddy already knew more about the place than he did after just a single day, Paul changed the subject. "So the Sentinels you met today... ?"

"Yeah?" Steven replied through a mouthful.

"Where are they? Why are you sitting all alone?"

"Oh," Steven gave a single, throaty laugh. "I don't think any of them like me very much."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because the first thing they said was, 'Get it straight, hillbilly—we don't like you and we're going to break you'. And, it was that Rex guy that was in charge of my training today."

"They said that, huh?" Paul grinned, beginning to get the picture.

"Yup. And you know how much I love it when people don't like me."

"I most certainly do," Paul replied.

Steven continued to cram his mouth full of food, humming Break Stuff. Paul ate what was left of his lunch, happily secure in the knowledge that the rest of the Sentinels had unknowingly secured Steven's success in the program simply by declaring their dislike for him.

* * *

The rest of Paul's day was spent finishing Hodge's star maps and waiting while Hodge went over them for mistakes. All in all, Paul got the majority of them correct. He had to admit, by the time he'd gotten around to finishing the last twenty-five or so, he could do them without thinking about it very hard. Hodge's terribly repetitive and boring method worked extremely well.

At dinner time, Paul didn't see Steven in the commons room. A good portion of the Sentinels weren't there, either, so he assumed that training had just run a little longer for Steven and that he'd see him sometime before falling asleep.

But even later, when he heard Lydia's calm and sexy voice announcing thirty minutes until sunset, Steven wasn't back and Paul began to get a little worried. He'd been in his room, going over what he'd learned from Hodge. Upon hearing Lydia's announcement, he decided to see if he couldn't find Steven himself.

He found Parker, Liz, and Juliet in the commons room playing a game of rummy but they hadn't seen him either. Liz said that her Sentinel, Alex, was also not back from training yet. She assumed he was probably with Steven, and told him not to worry about it. Sentinel training always kept odd hours, she said.

Taking her at her word, Paul wandered a little bit more, not trying very hard to find Steven but feeling like he should make some sort of effort, until he heard Lydia's announcement for the ten minute mark. At that point he was down in the glass training area, trying to find his way toward the course training area that Steven had described at lunch. With just ten minutes to get to his room, he decided to abandon his search for the day and head upstairs.

Waiting at the elevator, he was joined by Dr. Abrams and Natasha, who were also headed up to the second level.

"Are you ready for your big night, Paul?" Abrams asked in greeting.

"I guess so. I didn't know tonight was big."

"Every night during training is big, and for you it should be bigger than most. I know it's all everyone else has been talking about."

"Well, then, yes I am ready," Paul replied with forced confidence. As they entered the elevator, Paul asked, "Dr. Abrams, is Steven alright?"

"Absolutely! He's been offsite since just after lunch but I am told he should be arriving back within the hour. I'm sorry, I should have let you know about that aspect of Sentinel training—this will happen a lot over the next two weeks. He'll be placed in as many real-life situations as can be found and sometimes, depending on what he's being asked to do, he'll have to leave at a moment's notice. Those can be for long periods time."

Paul nodded his understanding, feeling a little more at ease.

"I will also tell you this," Abrams continued with just a hint of a smirk. "I'm informed that he has thus far surpassed all expectations. I think most of the Sentinels expected him to quit this morning, but from what I've been told he has, in his own charming way, impressed everyone."

Grinning now, Paul said, "I never doubted his ability or his charm for a second."

They rode the elevator up together and made their farewells.

Paul didn't pass anyone else on the way to his room, but that was normal at this time of the evening. Since he was still in temporary quarters, everyone else would be either headed toward their safe rooms or already in them, which weren't anywhere near his and Steven's rooms.

He called Stephanie, and she picked up before he even heard it ring. "What is going on?" she demanded without saying hello.

"Hi Stephanie," Paul replied, trying to diffuse what he knew would be a difficult conversation.

"Paul, are you in trouble? Where is Steven? He said he'd be back today and I haven't seen him. His phone is going straight to voice mail."

"Steven is fine. At least I'm pretty sure he's fine—"

"Pretty sure!?" Stephanie snapped.

"And yes he is still here. Well, he's more or less here..."

"More or less?!"

"Yes! He's here, he's staying here, with me, and he is fine," Paul practically shouted and then, realizing Stephanie was only being a concerned friend, he sat down with a heavy exhale on the bed. "Steph, I have so much to tell you. I do. But I don't know where to start. It's really complicated, and you have to believe me when I say that because... it is."

"Start wherever you want," Stephanie replied, also calming down, recognizing that Paul was distressed.

"Steven is here to protect me. He's here because I asked him to do that, but by doing it he might end up hurt. He might already be hurt."

"That makes no sense. Why do you need to be protected at a hospital?"

"It's not a hospital," Paul replied, immediately regretting that he said it.

"What do you mean it's not a hospital? Then what is it?"

Thinking quickly, he said, "It's too small to be called a hospital. It's just... well, everyone here has someone to protect them. It's just kind of standard."

"Paul you're really freaking me out! Why would people at a place that treats sleep disorders need someone to protect them?"

Paul looked up at the clock. He had five minutes to sunset and knew he had to end the conversation. He didn't want to leave it in a way that would make Stephanie worry. "Think of it like a physical therapist and the way they help someone get back to good health. That's kind of what Steven is doing for me. Kind of." The leap in logic there was questionable, but it was all he could come up with on short notice.

"Ok..." Stephanie replied. "It's about to get dark here, so I know you have to go, but this conversation isn't done. That's just weird. Call me tomorrow night?"

"Absolutely," Paul answered.

"Alright. Good night, Paul. I... I miss you."

Paul smiled into the phone. "I miss you, too, Stephanie. Talk to you tomorrow."

With just a couple of minutes left, he climbed into bed. Closing his eyes, his last emotion for the day was surprise at how much he now looked forward to it ending. Lisa had been right. He was beginning to prefer the Walking world over the Waking world.

Opening his eyes to the gray tinge, he sat up and turned to look at the mirror. As usual, there was no reflection. Remembering how Lisa had explained that sometimes a Walker could unintentionally reveal a glimmer of themselves, he focused his attention on the mirror. Squinting, he tried to see anything of himself, even just a ripple in the air, but there was nothing. Sticking one finger in either side of his mouth and making the universal 'baby face' sounds with his tongue at the mirror, he glared at it for just a few seconds more. Not a thing. Feeling foolish, he took a deep breath, stood up, and made his way toward the training area where he anticipated that everyone else would be waiting for him.

* * *

He wasn't disappointed when he arrived. All eight Walkers were gathered in the center of the brown room, surrounding something or someone that was blocked from his view by their bodies. There was a desk against one wall. On the desk was an average-sized bowl and a small round rubber ball.

"Here he is," Kenneth greeted Paul as he entered the room.

Liz, Juliet, Lisa, and Parker all gave him welcoming smiles. James and Allen just stared.

True to form, Hodge offered a more personal introduction. "New Guy," he said, "aren't you gonna say hello to your buddy?"

At first confused, Paul started to ask Hodge what he meant, but before he could get the words out everyone moved away from what they were standing around, which turned out to be Steven. He was standing on a small podium in the center of the room, looking very bored.

Paul was shocked. Why would Steven be here? He couldn't see or hear any of them. What was the point? It almost seemed like some form of exploitation or discreet abuse.

"What the...? Why is he here?"

"He can't sleep. He's not allowed," Parker explained. "It's part of his training. Sleep deprivation."

Paul walked up close to his friend and made a full circle around him. "It just seems a little like we're intruders. I mean here we are, all standing around him and there is no way he could know it. It just seems... creepy."

"Ain't nothing new to you or anyone else here," James drawled. "You been doing it for years already, you just didn't know you were."

He had a point.

Kenneth chimed in, recognizing that Paul was distressed at seeing his friend like this, "This is one of the first things they do with every Sentinel in training. Maybe not on public display like this, but they always test their limits. Since there will be a lot of times when the things we have to do will be at really odd hours, our Sentinels have to be ready to miss hours and sometimes even days of sleep at a time."

Hodge turned around so that he was face-to-face with Steven. "Little white trash boy may be able to hold his own and take a beating," he sneered, "but by this time day after tomorrow he won't even know his own name."

Paul chuckled silently to himself. Either Lisa hadn't done her homework on Steven and her report hadn't been very thorough, or they'd underestimated him yet again. Steven was the king of North Hardin High School when it came to partying, and even Paul, who was his best friend, couldn't count how many times Steven had gone without sleep for entire weekends just so he didn't miss out on any of the fun.

They were in for a shock if they thought missing a little sleep would be the straw that broke Steven's back.

"Boy," Paul replied with what he hoped came off as sincerity. "I sure hope he holds up." Looking around the room with wide eyes, he asked, "So what's the game plan for me tonight?"

Caught off guard at how quickly Paul changed the subject and his apparent complete lack of concern for Steven, Hodge squinted, wondering why Paul no longer seemed worried

It was at that point that Dittrich entered the room. "A couple of things, Paul," he said. "Later, we're going to put your new-found skills in navigating to the test, but first we're going to spend some time working on helping you control your ability."

"Alright," Paul said. "Sounds great. But why are we doing this in the same room as Steven?"

"The perfect question!" Dittrich replied. Everyone else grinned. "Your friend has been told that it is his responsibility to stand exactly where he is now for as many nights as it takes for him to either fall from fatigue or be moved from his spot by someone else. If he falls from fatigue, he fails his training and will be removed from the program. If he is moved by someone else, he will be permitted to go back to his room for the night and sleep. Everyone in this facility, except you, has been instructed to keep their hands off your friend."

Paul looked at all the grinning faces around him, shocked at their cavalier attitude and completely at a loss as to why they would be grinning when his friend was standing right in front of them, practically being tortured.

"And this is funny to all of you?!"

"Paul," Kenneth said kindly, seeing his distress. "You're thinking about this all wrong."

Spreading his hands, Paul said, "Okay?"

"The most important thing to remember is that our Sentinels train for extremes. They have to. Your friend Steven, here, already knows that. It would be impossible for him to make it through even the first day of training without realizing it. Having him stand in this room is actually mild compared to what some of the Sentinels have had to do for their sleep deprivation training.

"If ever—and I mean ever—Steven fell asleep at a time when you were in a dangerous place, your life and the life of anyone with you would be in danger. We have to know, you have to know, that something as simple as Steven getting tired isn't going to be a factor in accomplishing what it is that we do."

His anger at the situation deflated and Paul nodded. He knew Kenneth was right. It was easy to be outraged at someone being treated like this in normal circumstances, but circumstances for both Paul and Steven would never be normal again.

"And then, there's something else you're not considering," Kenneth said.

"Oh? And what is that?" Paul asked as everyone else began to grin again.

"Just like the rest of us, he is here in this room for you," smiled Kenneth. "All you have to do is use your ability to move him from where he stands and your buddy can go to bed."

"Which," chimed in Dittrich, "is exactly what we're going to work on. Beginning right now."

As if that were a cue, everyone took a few steps backward to stand with their backs to the walls of the room. Only Hodge stayed where he was, still very near to Steven.

Addressing the room at large, Dittrich asked, "How many of you were present outside Paul's room on his first night?"

A show of six hands came up.

"And out of everyone that was there, does anyone dispute that Paul was able to affect a solid object while in the dream?"

The room remained silent.

Dittrich turned to Paul. "No one here disputes that you have the ability to manipulate matter. For those of us who were not there when you scared the daylights out of Carlisle, we take the word of the six who were. The question that is most important, though, is whether you believe it. And whether you believe you are able to again. Just a few short minutes after your display, you and I stood at the elevators and you were unable to access that ability.

"You know what we do here at Astralis. You know that your ability could give us an added edge that we never thought possible, which is why we're all so excited that you're here."

Looking from face to face, Paul could see what Dittrich said mattered a great deal to every one of them. If he were able to gain control of his ability, it could be the difference between success and failure for much of what they did as an organization. The simplicity of brushing aside a tree limb in the graveyard, something that he'd taken for granted, was equivalent to being able to move mountains as far as they were concerned.

"Our limitations have been explained to you," Dittrich continued. "But do you truly understand? You need to be aware of the scope of those limitations to truly appreciate what your ability means to us. For the short time you've been here at Astralis, you have purposely not been exposed to some of the extremes that are, to us, an everyday, or should I say every night, part of our lives as Walkers.

"Already, you may have some awareness that it can be easy to forget that the rules that apply at night aren't valid during the day. You get surprised when you get winded from exercise, you allow yourself to get hurt by small, sharp objects simply because, at night, those objects are of no concern to you.

"There is a brutal truth to the limitations that apply to us at night, which is why you will undoubtedly be shocked in a moment. Please be assured, Hodge will be putting on this small display for your benefit. We could explain it, but it so much easier to accept if you see it. It is important that you accept these rules, these limitations, and take them for granted, the same way you take breathing for granted."

Turning to Hodge, Dittrich gave a brief nod. Hodge returned the nod with an enthusiastic grin and, to Paul's absolute horror, pulled back a fist and slammed it into Steven's jaw as hard as he could, grunting with the effort.

Paul let out a cry of objection but as he should have expected, Hodge's fist bounced back off of Steven's jaw with an audible thump of flesh and bone. Steven didn't flicker an eyelid. Clearly, he'd felt absolutely nothing. Hodge grimaced and then grinned again, winding up a kick to Steven's abdomen, again with the same effect.

"This is our greatest gift and at the same time, is our greatest setback. Hodge could do this all day," Dittrich explained, as if teaching a class. "And nothing would come of it except short stints of pain in his hand or foot. Even those will disappear within seconds. And Steven would never feel anything. You know this because Lisa already explained it with a similar demonstration in the graveyard. But knowing this—using this—is something that takes some getting used to."

Paul nodded his understanding, still somewhat off-kilter after seeing his friend physically assaulted, even if it had no effect.

"We have this limitation," Dittrich continued, still in teacher-mode, "but it goes further. Let me show you to what extent." Walking over to the table with the bowl and rubber ball on it, he said, "I want you to pay attention. Do you see the bowl?"

"Yes."

"Come over and take a look, please."

Curious, Paul walked over and looked into the bowl. It was full of clear liquid. "What's in it?"

"Water. Just water."

"Alright?"

Giving him a level look, Dittrich abruptly bared his teeth in a ferocious grimace. With an unexpected high-pitched shriek, he swung his arm up and back behind him, bringing it down as hard as he could into the bowl of water. A wet-sounding smack, like the sound of Rocky Balboa in his prime doing a belly-flop, echoed off the glass walls of the small room. Not a drop of water had been splashed. In fact, there wasn't even a ripple on the surface. Paul looked at Dittrich, mouth open, the obvious question written on his face.

"Now you begin to understand more completely," Dittrich replied to the unspoken question. "This is why you are so valuable to this organization. We can't move anything. If we need to get somewhere and there is not an opening large enough for our bodies to fit through, we can't do it. But you can."

Paul looked around a room full of people who'd known they were Walkers for years, some of them even for decades. They had been operating within confines that they had believed were irrefutable, but now they saw in him the chance to change those rules.

It was both exciting and intimidating. No one had ever counted on him for anything big before, and this was definitely big. It was a wonderful feeling to be regarded with respect, but he knew he still needed to earn it. At this point, he knew they just hoped they could respect him.

"I really don't know how I do it," he said. "I didn't even know I could until the other night."

Dittrich nodded. "That's what we're here to find out. Your daytime training will focus on learning everything you will need in order to complete missions and bring back the Target intact, but at night, every night, we're going to gather here for a couple of hours."

"That sounds good to me. Where do we start?"

Dittrich motioned down at the table. "With the ball. Can you move it?"

As an answer, Paul put the palm of his hand over the ball and tried to roll it, but his hand just slid off the top. Breathing out through his nose, not looking up at anyone else, he concentrated. He tried again, a little more slowly and with more intensity, willing his hand to make the ball move.

Nothing.

Paul looked back at Dittrich. "It's the same as when I tried to push the elevator button." One of the others in the room muttered something to someone else. Paul didn't catch what was said, but the tone of voice suggested that they this was a waste of their time.

"Try harder," Dittrich urged.

Swiping at the ball, Paul tried to slap it off the table, but it was as if it were glued and bolted to the table top. Swinging his arm harder, he tried again, but all he managed to do was reward himself with a brief flash of pain. Someone behind him sighed.

Paul turned around to face everyone else. "I'm sorry! I don't know why it comes and goes, I really don't!"

"You'll get it, Paul," Lisa encouraged. "I know you will."

"Yeah, man," Kenneth said. "We all know you can do it. Just keep at it."

Paul felt a surge of conviction. His face grew serious and he turned, swinging his arm at the ball. Once again there was no effect except to sting his hand. He looked apologetically at Dittrich, but Dittrich turned away and gave Hodge a look.

Hodge started laughing. "Not only can you not do the one thing that makes you even moderately useful, but you hit like a freakin' girl."

Imitating someone with their elbows tied to the sides of their body, Hodge began making exaggerated half-swings at the air, grunting each time he swung. A couple of the others laughed quietly, most of them clearly not wanting to make Paul feel bad, but Hodge's antics were funny enough that they were unable to keep from cracking up.

Frustrated, Paul began to feel the familiar burn of anger and shame deep in his gut. It was like he was back at North Hardin High all over again, but this time it was worse—this time he had something to lose. The people who were laughing at his expense were people that he had thought were becoming his friends. Looking from face to face, getting only looks of pity or straightforward laughter at the obvious hurt on his face, his temper went from a slow burn to all-out fury.

"I don't see you doing any better!" he yelled at Hodge, who was at the table flailing at the ball again, a mock look of concentration on his face.

"Don't be mad, Paul," Juliet said kindly, trying to diffuse the situation. "We're not laughing at you. It's just us trying to keep things light. We laugh at each other all the time. You can't take things so seriously or you'll end up driving yourself nuts!"

"Yeah Paul," Hodge mimicked in a high-pitched voice, for once actually using Paul's name, "we're not laughing at you—we swear!"

The last words were said with dripping sarcasm and a few people laughed even louder. At that point Paul knew he'd had enough. No matter what everyone else's intentions were, the laughter made him feel like a failure and an outcast. He turned and tried to push Hodge out of his way, trying to get to the door and get away from the people in the room. Hodge stood firmly against Paul's shove, forcing Paul to turn sideways and try to wedge his way in between Hodge and the table.

And the room went silent.

That is, almost silent.

"What the hell!" yelled Steven. He stood in a half-crouch, his body turned toward the table. His arms were out in front of him like he was ready to start a wrestling match, eyes darting from left to right as if he were afraid something were going to sneak up on him.

Still standing wedged between Hodge and the table, just inches away from each other, Hodge looked up from the table with a raised eyebrow. "There ya go, New Guy."

Twisting around and pushing Hodge backward, Paul turned to look at the table. It was soaked in water, the bowl now only half full. The ball came to a stop at the edge of the table, a line in the wetness behind it from where it had rolled through the spilled water.

Looking back at everyone else, he saw smiles on most of the faces, astonishment on others.

"Hello?" Steven called out, still looking around. Everyone ignored him.

Paul jumped a little as Dittrich clapped him on the back. "Looks like the trigger is universal." Turning to Hodge, Dittrich smiled. "Thank you for facilitating an emotional investment out of him."

"Emotional investment?" Paul asked.

"Yes. Intense emotional investment. Anger, sadness, happiness, excitement—we're fairly confident that these and many other base emotions will work, but you have to be feeling them strongly in order for it to trigger your ability. Mr. Hodgins? Could you give him a demonstration?"

Hodge grinned with malice. "It would be my pleasure."

A couple of others in the room snickered, obviously aware of what was about to happen.

Moving up close to Steven, who was still looking nervous about being in the room, Hodge leaned in and put one arm around Steven's shoulders, as if to tell him a secret. Paul could only imagine what Steven's reaction would be if he knew that Hodge was so close to him.

Looking at Steven intently, Hodge began breathing heavily, his face slowly transforming into a mask of anger. Breathing faster and faster, teeth bared, Hodge opened his eyes wide and screamed, directly into Steven's ear at the top of his lungs, "Trash!"

Jumping and crying out like he'd been stung by a bee, Steven turned and faced Hodge who, of course, he couldn't see. "What the hell!" he yelled. "What the hell, what the hell, what the hell!" The room dissolved in laughter as Steven began to spin around in one hundred and eighty degree circles, looking for the source of the voice he'd heard.

Paul tried not to, but he couldn't help joining in the laughter. He shouldn't, but knowing that Steven was in no danger and seeing him so disoriented really was comical.

"What we need to do," Dittrich said, "is find a trigger that you can pull from at will. For Hodge it is anger. It may be the same for you. For the next two weeks, it will be the goal of everyone in this room to help you do that."
Chapter 12

An hour later, the group moved out to the parking lot. They had tried, but hadn't been able to find anything that would trigger Paul's ability again. Even Hodge, who could nearly always get under Paul's skin, was unable to reproduce a strong enough reaction. Knowing that it was all in an effort to get him manifest his ability, Paul's reaction to Hodge's aggression never became extreme like it did the first time. It just wasn't a true reaction. It wasn't strong enough.

The air of disappointment the group felt was left in the training area, though, and as they made their way outside a lot of good-natured verbal jibes were given and received. Not knowing why they were there, only having been told that it was time to 'head to the parking lot,' Paul had no idea why everyone's spirits suddenly became so much more upbeat. Whatever it was they were there to do, every one of them laid claim to being the best. They had the air of a sports team about to play a big game.

"Hey Kenneth, we'll give you a five minute head start!"

"Try not to trip this time, Liz!"

"Hey wait a minute, everyone," everyone stopped talking to listen to Kenneth. "Seriously. Parker. Which way is east?"

The whole group erupted in laughter, Parker included.

"Okay, people!" Dittrich raised his hands for quiet. "Next Glory Run is about to begin. We have our newest victim joining us tonight, and we all know it should provide some solid entertainment. It always does!"

Everyone joined in the laughter.

"Now most Walkers have a chance to learn about the Glory Run beforehand and work out some sort of strategy, but since Paul has that little extra advantage with his ability," Dittrich grinned, "I thought it would be more fair if we just gave him the short version, right now, right before we leave the gate."

Still laughing, a few of them gave Paul good-natured pats on the back.

"I'm sure you're wondering what this is all about," Dittrch continued, "so here it is. The Glory Run is a race that we run once a week as long as everyone is here. It started as just a simple foot race between James and Parker about, what... a million years ago?"

Everyone laughed again, "But it has... shall we say—evolved?—into something we all participate in. Our Sentinels put it together during the day, changing the potential routes each and every time.

"The objective is to use your skills and memory to find trees that have been pre-chosen and marked. The one who finds the most pre-marked trees by sunrise is the winner for that race. They not only hold the Glory Cup in their safe room until someone else wins one of the races, but most importantly, hold the glory and the bragging rights for the week."

"Sounds simple enough," Paul replied.

"Ah but there's more," smiled Dittrich. "You are given two pieces of information to find each tree; a direction and distance. Everyone is given the information for the first tree at the same time, here in the parking lot. The rest are found on cards attached to the trees. There are multiple cards on every tree. Choose one of the cards and follow its directions to another tree. The card will contain the direction and distance, such as 'east, one hundred meters' or 'northwest, one-point-two-seven miles'." Paul nodded. "In addition," Dittrich said, "the card will have either a six-digit code or a short phrase printed at the bottom. For the tree to be counted as a point for you, you must memorize the bottom line of each card and be able to write it down in the morning. At breakfast, we check everyone's codes and declare a winner."

"Which," Lisa announced, "will be me because tonight is my night!"

Everyone erupted in whoops and whistles and general chatter until Dittrich turned and walked around the left side of the building. Quieting, the group followed in an expectant cluster.

Walking past the helipad to where the building disappeared into the side of the mountain, Dittrich stopped and turned with his back to the building wall. On his right was the mountainside, rising up into darkness, but in front of him was what would have been a breathtaking view in daylight hours. Astralis was built on a natural rock shelf and Dittrich stood at the edge of that shelf.

Everyone made a line along the edge, peering out into the night, waiting for the first set of instructions. Paul looked down. In the moonlight, he could just barely make out where the cliff began to slope back at an angle. It was at least a couple hundred feet. Never having been comfortable with heights, he took a small step backward.

"So," Dittrich said, and everyone stopped moving to listen closely. Taking his time, he asked, "Is everyone ready?"

"Don't toy with us, man!" said Kenneth excitedly.

Paul had never been involved in any sports at school. He was usually the last guy to get picked for teams and it was for good reason. The term 'athletic ability' and Paul's name were never used in the same sentence. Paul looked up and down the line of Walkers, feeling completely out of his element.

Smiling, Dittrich pointed with an outstretched arm into the emptiness in front of them and said quietly, "Northwest. Two hundred and seventy-five yards."

Everyone except Paul leapt into action. Literally.

They leapt as a group over the edge of the cliff into open air, dropping out of sight into a two-hundred foot free fall.

"Oh my God!" Paul exclaimed, stepping up again to the edge of the cliff next to Dittrich. Looking down, he saw eight bodies land with bone-crushing thuds, arms and legs splaying in all directions as they tumbled and rolled to stops. They lay still for a few moments and then unsteadily got to their feet, stumbling as they moved northwest toward the first tree. The scene could have been right out of a zombie movie as they shambled and stumbled along, but with every second that passed their gait became more regular. By the time they faded from sight into the darkness, whooping and hollering the entire way, most of them were running at full speed as if they hadn't just leapt to what would have been their death if they hadn't been in the dream.

"Oh my God," Paul repeated, still in shock over something he already knew was possible but could never have fully comprehended without seeing it.

"Oh my God, indeed," replied Dittrich, putting a conciliatory arm around Paul's shoulders. "It's quite a spectacle even when you've seen it as often as I have."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Of course it hurts. It hurts as if you'd really broken every bone. But it's just pain. It is just a feeling and because it is only that, it can be controlled the same way that you control your anger or the way you might hold back tears when you don't want someone to see you cry. There is no way to win the Glory Run without embracing this aspect of Walking. The Glory Run is for bragging rights, most certainly, but the skills encompassed in the strategy for winning are ones that cannot be learned too well. They are the base skills needed for every single mission. Let yourself be hurt. Be prepared for it and when it comes, suppress it until it goes away."

Looking down, Paul realized that Dittrich was basically telling him to jump, but instinct held him back. He hated heights. Hated them. It made him queasy just to see someone else be somewhere up high. He wasn't sure he could do it.

He looked over at Dittrich, who gave him an encouraging nod. Steeling himself, he counted down from three, tensing up at the end of the count. He tried to will himself to take the leap, but he just couldn't.

"I don't think I can..."

Dittrich, whose arm had still been around his shoulders, gave him shove and Paul was air born.

"Oh my God!" he yelled.

In the six seconds it took for him to land at the bottom of the cliff, he barely had time to register that he'd just been thrown off a cliff. Dittrich had actually just thrown him off a cliff! The man was out of his mind!

And then he landed on the sloped mountainside, rolling another fifty or so feet before coming to a stop. The pain was excruciating, worse than anything he'd ever experienced in his life, and he cried out in agony. His entire body hurt, the pain pulsating through him in waves. He was supposed to learn to suppress this?

Lying there, moaning, he tried to move an arm and was surprised that he could with absolutely no trouble at all. He moved his neck from side to side with the same effect. Everything still hurt, but he was able to move as if he were not. Getting first to his hands and knees, he leveraged himself off the ground and stood up. If not for the pain he felt, he probably could have gotten to his feet immediately after the fall. In fact, as he tested the mobility of the different parts of his body, he knew without a doubt that he could have gotten up and been moving without missing a moment. The waves of pain were already ebbing, receding to a dull throb. Soon, he knew, they would be entirely gone.

Looking up to where he'd been standing less than a minute ago, he saw Dittrich peering down. The man raised an arm and waved, then turned and disappeared from view, presumably going back into Astralis.

Raising his own arm, Paul offered just one finger in reply.

Turning away, he began running to the northwest. Two hundred and seventy-five yards. How far would that be? Almost three football fields. Wishing he'd spent a little more time playing sports in high school, Paul tried envisioning that distance. Shaking his head, he figured his best bet would probably be to just keep his eyes open for a tree that looked different from all the others. There had to be some sort of markings.

Running along, scanning the trees for cards, it was inevitable that his lack of attention to the smaller obstacles in his path were his greatest setbacks. The first small branch that he ran past caught him in the chest and clothes-lined him onto his back. It was no more than a twig, but in the dream it was like running into an immovable steel wire. And it hurt! Getting groggily to his feet, it was only another dozen paces before his ankle got caught on another small, low-hanging tree branch. Both of the branches couldn't have been bigger around than his pinky. Thank God there are no mosquitoes out tonight, he thought.

Climbing to his feet, he took a deep breath and listened. He could just barely make out the echoing sounds of everyone else as they catcalled their way through the trees, each finding his own path, each taunting the rest as they found their target trees.

Northwest. That was what Dittrich had said. Looking up into the sky, Paul easily picked out the North Star and turned slightly to the left. He may not come in first tomorrow morning, but he would damn sure not come in last.

Chapter 13

"So," Kenneth said with a smirk, cradling the Glory Cup in one arm as he ate his breakfast. "Last place ain't so bad. Coulda been worse, right?"

"It's true, Paul," Parker chimed in, grinning. "It could be so much worse. The first time I ran the Glory Run, I got knocked over by so many twigs and pebbles I only made it to like half a dozen trees." Pausing with a thoughtful look on his face, he said, "Oh, wait—you only made it to four!"

The whole commons room erupted in good-natured laughter and Paul couldn't help but join in.

He'd found the first tree after falling two more times from stray branches in his path. It turned out there were over two dozen cards attached to every tree, making it very unlikely that any Walkers would choose the same ones.

After getting directions and memorizing what ended up being a number sequence at the bottom of the first card, he'd taken it more slowly on his way to the second tree, thinking that if he could stay on his feet he'd make it faster than if he ran and was constantly knocked over. Unfortunately his second tree was four miles away from the first one and his third tree was two and a half miles away from the second one, so by the time he began making his way toward the fourth tree it was already four hours into the race which left him less than an hour until sunrise.

"Points for remembering all your codes and phrases, though," Liz added. "Most of us retain about three-quarters of our Target from missions, but you hit a hundred percent on your first Glory Run. Not bad at all."

Paul's gift of memory was turning out to be a real blessing.

"It was only four trees," Hodge stated flatly, and left the room.

"So," Juliet said, "you think you were tortured yesterday with Hodge's star maps, wait until you see what's in store for you today."

"I can't wait..." Paul said, distractedly looking out through the doors into the hallway.

"What's up?" Parker asked. "You expecting someone?"

"Yeah," Paul answered. "Steven. I haven't seen him yet this morning and I feel awful knowing that he hasn't had a chance to get any sleep. Especially since it's my fault."

"Don't beat yourself up," Lisa said, walking up to their table. "It took me months to figure out how to harness my ability and even now, after knowing my trigger, I still can't do it every time."

"Yeah, well, I don't really have the option of not being able to figure it out. Not if I don't want Steven to drop dead from exhaustion."

"I think that's pretty much the idea," said Kenneth drily, hastily adding, "Not that they want him to drop dead, but Abrams wants you to figure out your trigger as fast as possible."

"Nothing like some good, old-fashioned motivation," Lisa said sympathetically.

"So!" Liz spoke up brightly in an obvious attempt to change the subject. "Word retention: ready to have your mind blown by more monotonous work?"

Paul groaned in reply. "Great!" Liz said. "Follow Juliet and me and we'll get you started."

They went down to the training area, making idle chitchat about last night's Glory Run and how funny it had been to watch Paul fall the first few times. As it turned out, most of them had climbed the first tree and watched from a distance to see how he did. He hadn't realized that anyone might have seen him doing his crash and burn act. He'd just assumed they would have been busy with their own run and not paid any attention. The odd thing was that talking about a humiliating situation like the night before normally would have left his face burning in embarrassment. He would have stewed on being the butt of everyone's jokes for days, but he was actually able to laugh along with Liz and Juliet and see the humor in the situation. Recognizing how close he was becoming to most of the people at Astralis and how far he had come in changing his perspective, he put an arm around each of the girls as they laughed their way to the training room.

"So what's up with all the Sentinels?" Paul asked as they entered into the room.

"What do you mean?" Juliet asked.

"Well, I pretty much never see them. I mean, sometimes... but mostly it's just all of us. If their job is to protect us, why aren't they ever around?"

"Oh, they're around, trust me," answered Liz as she booted up a computer and began pulling pages out of a file folder. "A lot of the time during the day they're sleeping. You've got to remember, their prime time is at night while we're in bed. That's why they're taking shifts for Steven's training. He works with half of them until lunch. Then the other half gets out of bed and works him over for the rest of the day."

"But if they sleep during the day, wouldn't we actually need two Sentinels if we're going to always have protection."

"It's a little different when we're at home, here," Juliet said, helping Liz get everything sorted out on the desk. "I guess there could be some danger here at Astralis, but generally we feel pretty safe in this place. When we're out on a mission, that's when the Sentinels stay at our side twenty-four-seven. Which is why one of the first things Steven is being put through is sleep deprivation."

"By the way," she continued. "Pretty cool that your best friend will probably end up your Sentinel."

"Yeah, it is," smiled Paul.

"Most of us never actually know our Sentinels before they get the gig. I mean, for the most part, we all like our Sentinels and some of us have even gotten to the point that we could call them our best friend, but none of us started out that way. You're lucky."

"I guess I didn't know that," answered Paul. "When Abrams told me I would need one, I just assumed that I would be picking who it was. I didn't really give him a chance to suggest anyone else."

"Well, why didn't I try that when I got here?" laughed Liz.

"So," Paul said. "You said Steven will probably end up my Sentinel. That's a bit of a change from everyone's opinion just a couple days ago."

"Yeah, well," Liz answered after a short pause. "That was before he kicked Rodrigo and Kate's asses."

"Rodrigo and Kate?"

"Our Sentinels."

"Oh. Whoops." The room got quiet until Paul noticed that both the girls were smirking down at the pages they were arranging, and then they all erupted into laughter again.

Finally appearing to have finished setting up the desk, Liz said, "Ok Paul, have a seat. I think we're ready to get started."

Sitting down at the desk, Paul looked down in confusion. "Jigsaws and crossword puzzles? What is this?"

"They are exactly what they look like. You need to begin paying attention to everything around you, all the time. The report that was done on you said that you have a remarkable memory. The way you remembered everything from last night's Glory Run was impressive, too, but there is more to what we do than that."

Sitting down on the edge of table, she continued, "Right now, you remember the things you feel are most important. But for us, sometimes we don't know what might be important, so we have to remember absolutely everything, or at least as much of it as we possibly can.

"You know what our job is all about—it is about relaying information. We can't write it down or record it. It has to all be from memory. One of the hardest parts is that sometimes we acquire our Target information early in the evening and we're forced to wait for hours, until morning, to report it. Sometimes the information is complex and hard to remember completely, so we constantly do exercises that will keep our brains used to storing and retrieving memories.

"We're going to start with an hour of jigsaws and crossword puzzles in order to get your brain exercising. Doing these kinds of exercises promotes memory in your mind. The more you exercise it, the faster you're able to retrieve those memories."

"Could be worse, I suppose," Paul replied. "Even though this seems a little elementary."

"It is, and that is the point. Memory is one of the most basic functions of your mind but sometimes we rely too much on things like the internet, our phones, books, or other people to remind us instead of just remembering the things we see and hear on our own. All of us here have a heightened perception with regard to memory because we constantly exercise that part of our brain. You will too."

"Ok..."

"Paul, we sat together at the table for breakfast. What did I have to eat this morning?"

"A bagel with cream cheese and a parfait, looked like blueberries and strawberries in there with vanilla yogurt. Oh, and a glass of orange juice," he replied without hesitation.

Both girls pulled their heads back in surprise. Raising an eyebrow, Liz said, "Not bad. That's exactly right."

"Well thank goodness for that."

Juliet grunted. "Well then, okay," she said, either missing the sarcasm in Paul's reply or deciding to ignore it. She held up a slim folder. "So we'll start with the puzzles and then in two hours we're going to give you these. There are five pages of one-line sentences in this folder—twenty on each page for a total of one hundred lines. You are going to read them as many times as you like and then after lunch you are going to input them into the computer from memory."

Paul's eyes grew wide with the realization of what kind of mental work that was in store for him.

"Better get to your elementary puzzles," smiled Liz.

And so he did. Working hard on every puzzle, he was amazed that whenever he was stuck for an answer, there was never a time both girls didn't know the solution. In fact, they raced each other to give the answer. And then, every single time, they laughingly chided him for having to rely on them to 'finish his homework.' None of the questions or hints was hard. It was all stuff he knew, but just needed reminding. They were right—he wasn't used to using this part of his brain enough.

After two hours, they stayed true to the plan and handed him the folder with the five pages. Opening it, he read a few of the lines and looked up. "Alan Barnes went to the chiropractor at 8:32 p.m. on the third of March? It is almost always below thirty degrees in November in Vermont so be sure to bring a down jacket? These don't make any sense. None of these lines have anything to do with the other."

Taking the folder from his hand, Liz closed it. "What time did Alan Farnsworth go to the doctor?"

"8:32," Paul answered, "p.m."

"Wrong," replied Liz. "His last name was Barnes and he went to the chiropractor, not the doctor. Details mean everything for us. And that, Paul, is the reason none of these make any sense or have anything to do with the other. You never know what you're going to see or hear out there. You have to be able to remember as much as possible with as much detail as possible."

Nodding his understanding and accepting the folder back, Paul took the pages and began reading each line one at a time. When he'd read them all he looked up, but Juliet encouraged him to read it again.

By lunch time, he'd read through the pages multiple times and felt like he had a good grasp of what each one said.

"Okay," Juliet told him. "We'll go get some food and then come back in an hour. Good progress today."

"I don't feel like I've really done anything, to be honest," Paul answered. This was their 'training'? Star maps and crossword puzzles? When they first told him he'd be training, he pictured super-hero body suits with guns and rocket ships and... things more action-ish. "I thought my training would be more physical."

"Most of that kind of training happens at night," Juliet replied. "Remember, you can't do most of what you need to do for missions during the day."

"Trust us," Liz said. "You've done plenty today. The real test comes when you start entering in what you've read. I can tell you this—you have some pretty great recall going on. You've already finished more training crosswords than anyone who's come previously. We always use the same ones so that we can compare new Walkers to each other, and you blew away the record by far."

"Seriously," Juliet interjected. "That was some pretty amazing stuff in there."

A little shocked, Paul didn't really know how to respond to the praise of being good at crosswords. It just didn't seem that important compared to the kinds of things he thought would make him valuable to Astralis. Just the same, he was feeling pretty good about the day as they small-talked their way up to the commons room until he caught sight of Steven alone at the same table as the day before.

Stopping in mid-conversation, he fast-walked over and looked down at his friend, whose eyes were sunken into a pale face blotched by heavy bruising.

"Don't bother saying it, man," Steven croaked in greeting. "I already know I look like crap."

"I really think it is time for me to have a talk with Dr. Abrams, Steven. I know he wouldn't allow this kind of thing if he knew it was going on. No one here thinks you can hack it, so they're pushing you twice as hard to make sure they're right. And if Rex is in charge, there's no way he's playing fair."

Shaking his head tiredly, Steven closed his eyes slowly. "Abrams was there today. He watched my training. Sat there with a clipboard taking notes."

Stunned that Abrams would not only condone what was happening to Steven, but go actually sit and watch it, Paul realized then that he was putting his friend through something he didn't deserve. The only reason Steven was there was because Paul had selfishly nominated him. Paul had never even thought to ask about the job in any detail. If he hadn't insisted on having Steven, some other Army commando-type would probably be doing what he'd already been trained to do and that would be that.

Sitting down at the table and putting his head in his hands, Paul said miserably, "You don't have to do this, Steven. I brought you here for my own comfort. Because I was afraid to be alone. I had no idea you would have to go through all of this. I'm so sorry. Let's fix this. Let's go down to Abrams' office right now and get you home."

Staring down at the table, Paul waited for Steven's reply but none came. Looking up, Paul saw Steven smirking at him. Confused, Paul started to ask what could possibly be funny.

"Man," Steven said, "this is nothing. My pop used to bounce me around worse than those little ladies in the training area."

"But you're all banged up, you're exhausted—you haven't slept in two days!"

Steven grunted. "I never had it so easy. You ever try and party your way through a weekend without sleeping?" He gave a short, tired chuckle. "'Course you haven't. Stupid question. Well, trust me—the beer drags you down, man. If they were smart, they'd have a keg in that training area all tapped and waiting just for me. Then I'd be curled up in a corner and they could kick me out. But this? This is cake."

Paul let out an exasperated sigh, knowing full well that it was not easy for Steven at all. "Steven, that's just..."

"Look," Steven said sharply, staring hard at Paul. "I already hear what a waste I am from everyone at home. But I ain't a waste. I don't want to talk about this again. I got this."

Slumping in his chair, Paul watched as Steven got to his feet. "I got to get back to the grind, buddy. But no worries." He slapped Paul on the back as he walked away and said, "Besides, I know you got my back. I heard all you got to do is ghost-push me over."

Flabbergasted, Paul didn't know what to say. Great. No pressure, there.

* * *

Seated back in the training room with nothing but a blank screen and a single green cursor blinking at him, Paul was very uncomfortable. Apparently, Juliet and Liz had made the rounds during lunch and told everyone that he'd beaten all the puzzle records by a long shot. Every single Walker was in the room behind him, watching. Even Dittrich.

Looking over a shoulder, he said, "Seriously? I mean, nothing like making a guy feel under the gun."

"Think of it this way," James said in his deep drawl, "no one will ever be able to say you cheated."

Great, Paul thought. "So I just, what? Start typing in what I remember from earlier?"

"Yup," said Liz. "Any order you want. Just type in as many lines as you can remember. You have until five o'clock to put in all the lines that come to mind. They have to be exactly as they were on the page, word for word, so take your time."

"How many is normal?"

"The record stands at forty-four," answered Dittrich. "By a Walker who is no longer with us."

The room got still for a moment and no one said anything. After a few moments, Paul cleared his throat quietly and said, "Well, I guess I'll get to it."

Chapter 14

Steven was absent again during dinner, so Paul ate with his usual gang. There was plenty of small talk, and he was thankful that he was able to pull his thoughts away from worrying about his friend. By the time it was getting close to dark, Steven still hadn't made an appearance, so Paul went to his room knowing he'd inevitably see his friend, even if his friend wouldn't see him.

He tried calling Stephanie and was somewhat relieved when she didn't answer. He wasn't sure he would know what to say to her and didn't want to lie, so he left a quick message with a promise to call again the next night, and switched off his phone as soon as he hung up.

After waking to the dream he went down to the training area where Steven was waiting on the podium. Everyone was else was there, as well.

His friend looked awful. Ragged.

Steven stood with his legs slightly apart, swaying as if he was on a gently rocking boat, humming to himself. Paul walked up close, gathering his conviction.

Standing there, the silence in the room building, it dawned on him what tune Steven was humming. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help chuckling. Everyone looked at him like he was losing his head, which only made his chuckle grow into all out laughter.

"What? What's so funny?" Lisa asked finally.

"Beastie Boys. He's humming No Sleep Til Brooklyn," Paul laughed, knowing his friend was still fully in control. "Let's do this."

* * *

They worked for two hours, trying to find something, anything, that he could draw upon to get himself emotionally invested to a degree that would allow his ability to manifest. Knowing that anger had provoked it before, they used that as their focus, but no matter what they tried nothing happened. Paul even let Allen hit him a few times with his huge, hulking, ham-sized fists, but all it did was make him see stars for a minute or two. Once again, at the end of a two-hour period, they left the room no closer to a solution than they'd been the night before.

As everyone filed out of the room, none of them looking him in the eye, Paul stayed, watching Steven.

Steven was staring up at the clock. As the second hand ticked past the end of the training time, Paul saw his friend's shoulders slump. Steven must have known how long Paul would be in the room. Knowing Steven would never rebuke him or lose faith in him only made Paul feel worse.

He walked sullenly into the hallway to find James waiting for him. He hadn't spent much time getting to know James the way he had with most of the others. James always sat at a table with Hodge, Lisa, and Allen for meals. Although James was never unfriendly to him, Paul was a little surprised to see him waiting.

"So," James said in his deep voice. "What you got planned for tonight?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I was kind of waiting for someone to tell me. I'm not sure what's on the docket for training."

"Oh, that. Well, as far as the training goes you'll find that out here in just a few seconds."

"I will?"

"Wait for it..." James said, leaning casually against the wall.

Lydia's all too feminine voice came over the loudspeaker. "Forgetfulness transforms every occurrence into a non-occurrence. How is it that we remember the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not remember how often we have recounted it to the same person? Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail."

Paul looked quizzically at James. "What was that all about?"

"That," James answered, "was your training. You heard her, right?"

Paul nodded. "Yeah..."

"Good. Don't forget it. Tomorrow at breakfast you have to write it down. Exactly. So now that you're done with your training for the night, how about you and me get some fresh air?"

"Um. Okay. That was my training?"

"Yup. It's only about ten seconds of words, but it's a lot of words." He offered a thin-lipped smile. "Don't worry, it ain't no thing. No one ever remembers their first phrase, so don't sweat it if you screw it up." Turning, he led the way to the lobby, saying over his shoulder. "Just between you and me, though—I heard you got skills. My money's on you remembering every word."

A little exasperated, Paul stopped, forcing James to stop too. "Now hold on just one second. Before we go out for a little male bonding or whatever it is you have in mind, let's get one thing clear. Ever since I found out I'm a Walker everyone's been telling me how much they expect of me and how well I'm going to do. I got to tell, you, James—I'm sick of it! I'm no different now than I was a month ago. And all that means is I'm a below-average high school student who sleeps too much at night. That's it. It doesn't make me a mastermind or a genius or... whatever. My friend is still in there and he hasn't slept for two, going on three, days and the reason is because I can't do what it is everyone is expecting me to do. So stop telling me how well I'm going to do or how well I have to do it!"

Raising one eyebrow, still half-turned away from Paul, James asked, "That it?"

Paul took a deep breath and let it out, a little deflated by James' lack of response. "Yeah. I guess it is." And without a word they made their way toward the front of the building.

"So," Paul asked as they walked out the open front door and into the parking lot, "where are we going?"

"To get some fresh air. I figure you and me don't know each other too well yet, so I asked Dittrich if he minded us spending some time. Since all you had was word retention tonight, I figured it was a good time to see if you wanted to blow off some steam. It can't be easy leaving your buddy standing on that podium."

James was trying to do him a favor, possibly even be a friend. Certainly, a change of scenery might do him good. Giving James a nod, Paul said, "Okay. Lead on."

James turned and began jogging at a steady pace toward the road that led down the mountainside. Paul fell in next to him, keeping the same, even pace.

Looking over, Paul saw a clear, serene look on James' face.

"You look happy," Paul observed.

"I am. At night, like this, it doesn't matter if the wind's blowing or if for some God-awful reason there's traffic where I'm going or even if there's people that need something from me. I'm free at night, especially on these runs. Ain't nothing really like it."

James was right. They ran along, following the road as it wound its way down the mountain, the night quiet and peaceful around them. The only sound was the thud of their feet on the gravel and the wind blowing past their faces. There was none of the usual heavy breathing that came with running, it was effortless. Looking up into the black sky, Paul thought, this must be how birds feel when they find a current.

They ran for at least an hour, neither of them saying a word, never reaching any destination. As far as Paul could tell, there was no plan to reach one. The run was therapeutic in a way that he could never have described to anyone who wasn't a Walker. James had hit the nail on the head. It was freedom.

"So you like it here?" James asked, breaking Paul's reverie.

"Here?" Paul looked around at the rocky area they were passing through.

"No, not here, here. I mean at Astralis. You like it here?"

Thinking before answering, Paul said, "Yes, I think I do. I've already made more friends than I ever had back home. I guess the way I was brought here still gets me a little angry when I stew on it too much, but now I understand the reason for it."

"You think so, huh?"

Paul waited for some elaboration, but got none. "What do you mean?"

Ignoring the question, James said, "Well I ain't exactly happy here. I ain't complaining, but I'm definitely not part of the booster club, either."

"How come?"

"Paul, I been here going on thirteen years now. And I'm grateful and all for everything Abrams done for me, how he took me in and showed me how to cope with this thing we all do. But this ain't a life."

"It sure is more of a life than I've ever had," Paul said honestly.

James stopped abruptly, almost angry, and faced Paul. "Yeah? Let me ask you something. Let's say in thirteen years you and me are taking a run just like this one and we have this same conversation all over again. You think you're still going to feel like you're living your own life after spending that amount of time up here on this mountain?"

"I... I don't know. I just got here. I guess I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Well, you need to. Otherwise the years are going to fly on by and before you know it, you'll never have done most of the things you always thought you'd be doing."

It was something to consider. Paul thought about people like James, Dittrich, Kenneth and Parker. They were all older than him. They'd all been at Astralis for a lot of years. Until now, they'd seemed so friendly and happy, comfortable with where and who they were. James was putting a completely different spin on it. But as he just said, what if they'd all tried to make it on their own without the community and finances of Astralis to help them along?

"What about everything they provide for us?" Paul reasoned. "We're pretty well taken care of here. I can't imagine very many places wanting to hire a guy like me who has to pretty much demand his own hours."

"That's the point," James replied, leaning in closer. "They got us so well set up we got no reason to go looking for anything else. But think about how much money it takes to keep a place like this running without any interference from anyone. Helicopters, Sentinels, safe rooms, food, training—anything Astralis needs, it gets. Can you imagine the size of the checks that get sent our way?"

"I'm sure it has to be a lot," Paul said, not really knowing where James was going with his argument.

"Think any of us ever seen a paycheck from this place? Where's all that money go? Where's it at? Who's in control of it?"

"Well it would have to be Dr. Abrams."

"Damn right it's Abrams," James said, looking him in the eye.

Chewing on those words, Paul stared back, weighing what James had said and everything it implied. Dr. Abrams was a good man. Paul would bet his world on it. But James had a point. Where else could any of them go without the kind of support that Astralis had to offer?

Turning on his heel, and as he set off again in a run, James said, "Come on, let's soak us up some of this freedom."

Chapter 15

Stepping into the commons room the next morning, Paul stopped short. The entire crew of Walkers and every one of their Sentinels was either sitting or standing around the table where he usually ate breakfast, waiting for him. No one moved or said a word except Allen, who was paying attention but didn't let it stop him from shoveling food into his mouth. Even Steven was there with the rest of the Sentinels, looking ragged but alert, standing with both hands on the back of a chair for support.

A hand clapped him on one shoulder, Abrams and Natasha having come into the room behind him. He allowed Abrams to lead him forward toward the table. "You're about to have the chance to make Astralis history," Abrams said.

"I am?"

"We got the results back from your word retention training yesterday evening after you and James left the building."

Just having Dr. Abrams say James' name put Paul on edge. Of course he hadn't had the chance to speak to Abrams about what James had said, and even now he still didn't know if he should. It felt like a betrayal of sorts not to. Looking across the table at James, he tried to make eye contact, but James was expressionless, looking back at him clear-eyed, with no outward sign that their discussion had been of any real importance.

"Paul?" Dr. Abrams asked, catching his eye. "Everything alright?

Paul blinked. "Yes, absolutely. Sorry. I zoned out there for a second."

Squeezing Paul's shoulder once in support, Abrams repeated loud enough for everyone to hear, "We got the results back from your word retention training yesterday." Gently guiding Paul forward, his hand still on his shoulder, he led him to the only empty chair at the table. There was a blank sheet of paper and a pen sitting in front of it. "But before we give you those results, we wanted to give you the opportunity to see how close you could come to writing down what Lydia announced over the loud speaker last night."

Looking around at all their faces, Paul tried to get some read on whether it was good or bad news and asked, "Was it that bad?"

Natasha reached down and picked up the pen, handing it to him with an encouraging smile.

Sighing, he put the pen down on the table. Paul kept his eyes lowered and said, "Forgetfulness transforms every occurrence into a non-occurrence. How is it that we remember the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not remember how often we have recounted it to the same person? Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail."

It was silent for a few moments, and then Parker exclaimed, "No freakin' way!"

Everyone began talking at once, asking him how he remembered it word-for-word and congratulating him. Abrams and Natasha beamed at him like proud parents while, typically, Hodge scowled at him from across the table with his arms crossed.

Breaking through the commotion, Abrams said, "Eighty-eight," and everyone quieted down. From the lack of surprise on anyone's face, this number was already known. "That was your number from yesterday's training. You entered eighty-eight exactly correct lines out of a hundred."

Looking across the table into Steven's tired eyes, Paul simply couldn't find it within himself to feel proud. His achievement seemed insignificant in comparison to his lack of being able to help his friend.

Steven looked back, giving him a tired smile and nod, pride written all over his bruised face. Paul bowed his head in shame, which everyone else mistook for modesty.

"A legend is born," Parker intoned, grinning.

"We're very proud of what you've accomplished in so short a time," Dr. Abrams continued, "and everyone wanted to be here to say so."

Paul looked up into the eyes of each person surrounding the table. "Even though I really don't feel like I did anything, I appreciate all your support." Pausing before continuing, trying to mentally convey to Steven his profound apology he said, "So what is on the itinerary for me today? Who am I training with?"

Clapping his hands together once very loudly, Dittrich laughed. "That's the spirit! We should all be so ambitious! You'll be with Kenneth and Parker working on universal checkpoints, and how we apply them to the buddy system."

Paul looked at Kenneth and Parker's smiling faces and said, "Sounds good. Just let me wolf down some breakfast and we can get started."

Turning to leave, Dr. Abrams paused as if almost forgetting to mention, "Paul, after lunch I would like to see you in my office. If that would be alright with Kenneth and Parker. Can I steal your pupil for the last half of the day?"

"Fine," they replied together, probably happy to hear they were getting the afternoon off.

"Great. Paul will train in my office for the remainder of the afternoon session, so if the two of you have other obligations you'd like to attend to at that time, please feel free to plan on it."

Abrams gave a farewell nod to everyone and he and Natasha left the commons room. Paul felt an icy dread forming in his belly. What could Abrams want? It must be that he'd heard about the conversation with James last night. It must be. The only time Paul had spent any one-on-one time with Abrams was on his first day. Other than that, their interaction had been limited to short, informal chats, or just quick 'hellos' and 'how-you-doings' when they passed each other in the hallway. It couldn't be a coincidence that today just happened to be the first day that Abrams wanted to be a part of his training schedule.

Eating his breakfast, he didn't really taste the food because he was so preoccupied with worry. More than once, the person talking to him stopped and asked him if he was alright.

Morning training went by in a blur. Time spent in the company of Parker and Kenneth was always a pleasure. Their method was so informal that it really didn't feel like training. And thank goodness. Between their easy-going method of instruction and Paul's near-celebrity status for the day, they barely noticed that he wasn't putting his best effort forward.

Their instruction consisted of what to do if you became separated from your buddy when you were on a mission, both before and after the Target had been acquired. Of course there wasn't as much concern about whether or not you reconnected with your buddy once you had the Target, because after that you were pretty much on free time until the end of the night. Once the morning rays began peaking over the horizon, they reasoned, you'd be back in your safe room with your Sentinel no matter where you ended up at the end of the dream.

Before acquiring the Target though, that was a different story. On so many missions, it usually took two Walkers to find the right opportunity to get to the Target. If one buddy lost another, there was a series of universal checkpoints based on landmarks and the points of the compass that everyone used.

It was pretty basic stuff. You started by finding the highest geographical point to the north, like a hill, but it had to be the highest hill in sight. If that failed because of some obstruction such as a body of water or a large valley or canyon being to the north, you went clockwise on the compass and headed east, using the same strategy. If east failed, you headed south, and so on. It only took them about ten minutes to explain the concept, which Paul immediately understood, but when they went outside and applied it to the real-life scenario of the terrain that surrounded Astralis, Paul recognized how simple visual obstructions like trees could make using their system a little more difficult, especially since when they used it, it would always be dark.

By lunchtime, the three of them had worked up quite an appetite hiking around the rocky area around Astralis, purposely losing one another and then using the universal checkpoint system to reconnect again. Paul was so hungry he'd nearly forgotten about his appointment with Abrams until they were on their way back. "Not quite as easy as strolling around in the dream, is it?" Kenneth joked, looking pointedly at Paul's sweat-soaked clothing.

They walked for a minute or two without Paul answering and Parker said, "Paul?"

"Hm?" Paul looked up, startled, having been lost in thought about James, the things he'd said, and the idea that Abrams was probably going to be calling Paul out on the whole situation in about an hour.

"You alright, buddy?"

"I'm good," Paul answered distractedly, "Why do you ask?"

"Because you've been acting a little strange all day. I mean, this morning was kind of a big deal. At least it would have been for just about any of us. But you seemed like it wasn't all that much to you. With the way you've been working so hard on your training, I'm just a little surprised you weren't happier about doing so well."

Refocusing his attention back to the present, Paul said, "I'm sorry. I am happy and I really appreciate how much everyone's been supporting me through my training."

"But...?" Kenneth smiled and asked.

Paul really wanted to share what James had said, but he wasn't sure how it would be received. He was still new at Astralis and had no idea if the organization had any sort of penalty for negative talk. Not to mention, there was still the matter of Steven. He could be putting his friend in a potentially worse situation just by association. So instead of responding with the absolute truth, Paul took the route of partial truth. "I'm just really worried about Steven. I know I've been doing well with most of the day training exercises, but it seems like everything that has to do with Walking, which is really the reason I'm here, I'm horrible at. If I could figure out my trigger and use my ability, Steven wouldn't look and feel like a zombie right now."

Kenneth put a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you're just going about it the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you considered that anger might not be your thing? I know Dittrch and Hodge are having you go that route because it made your ability manifest before, and because it works for Hodge. But as far as I can tell, you're not anything like Hodge."

"And thank God!" laughed Parker, eliciting smiles from Paul and Kenneth.

"Dittrich may tell you to channel anger, Paul, but you don't strike me as an angry kind of guy. Maybe a little sad, maybe a little lonely, but not angry."

They spent the remainder of the walk back to the building in silence.

For the first time since he'd arrived at Astralis, Steven wasn't in the commons room for lunch. Paul spent most of the meal turned inward, thinking about James, the coming talk with Abrams, and what Kenneth had said on the walk up.

He was still the talk of the facility, everyone excited about his progress, and he got congratulations and expressions of camaraderie from everyone—even Hodge, albeit grudgingly. Normally, this would have been a time he would have relished, because so far in his young adult life he'd had very few such moments. But with so much going on he had a hard time allowing himself to be part of the excitement.

When lunch was over, he half expected Dr. Abrams to come and get him, but the doctor didn't make an appearance so Paul instead went to him.

Knocking on the door to Abrams' office, Paul was surprised when Natasha opened it, not to let him in but to let herself out, closing it behind her. "Follow me, Paul, and I will take you to him."

They went to the elevators without any small talk, which normally would have suited Paul just fine. In this instance, though, he really wished Natasha would drop a hint or two on what Dr. Abrams wanted. Once they'd stepped inside, Natasha hit the button to close the doors. Instead of just pressing the down arrow, Paul watched her hit both the up and down arrows in a quick sequence. Immediately, they began to descend.

He knew there was a lower level already. The other Walkers had made mention of going 'down to the Sanctum,' to their safe rooms, at the end of the day. But the elevator seemed to be going quite some distance down, further than he would have expected.

"So..." Paul began, trying to give an outward appearance of calm. "I thought Dr. Abrams said we were meeting in his office."

Aware of his discomfort, Natasha smiled reassuringly. "We are going to his office. Not the welcome office, though. His office."

Nodding as if he understood, Paul couldn't think of anything else to say without showing how nervous he was. "So... training. What kind of training are we going to work on?"

"I think it would probably be better if I let Abe just explain that to you."

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to a fairly nondescript hallway. It was short, ending at an oak door after no more than twelve feet. They began to walk toward the door, but Paul stopped short. "Wait a minute. Abe?"

"Yes...?" Natasha answered, confused.

"Dr. Abrams' name is Abe Abrams? Like, Abraham Abrams?"

"Yes," she replied again, still confused. "It is."

Paul stared at her for a couple moments, but obviously she didn't see the humor. This was definitely a fun-fact to share later with Steven. Unsure whether he should explain or laugh, he turned back toward the door and swept a hand forward to indicate that she should lead on.

Without knocking, Natasha opened the oak door into what looked more like a hotel suite than an office. The entry area was a vestibule with two doorways on the left, one on the right, and one straight ahead. Both doors on the left wall were closed, but the other two were wide open.

Dr. Abrams and Carlisle came from the area directly in front. Dr. Abrams greeted Paul with a handshake. "It's good to have some time together again, Paul. I've been looking forward to when we'd have the chance. I know how busy we've kept you with your training and really, even now I'm loath to pull you away from it because I believe we may have even less time than I originally anticipated." Without any further explanation, he turned and entered the room on the right. Natasha followed, and although Carlisle remained in the vestibule, he nodded that Paul should follow Natasha.

The room was indeed an office and was much more of what Paul would have expected someone like Dr. Abrams to have. It was paneled in dark wood with maps on most of the walls. Interspersed among the maps were corkboards with various photos and pages both handwritten and typed, attached by plastic push-pins. There were two large screen televisions, two couches, and an enormous oak desk flanked by chairs, piled high with papers and file folders.

"As you can see," Dr. Abrams said, "you're in my personal office where most of my work is done. Once again, I hope that you'll recognize and respect that I am allowing you to know a part of my life many others are unaware of. Please, have a seat."

Choosing one of the chairs, Paul sat down and tried to gauge the situation. He fully expected that the reason he'd been asked to a one-on-one with Abrams was to discuss what he and James had talked about. He was very nervous.

"Tell me Paul—how do you like it here so far?"

Fidgeting in his seat, Paul recognized the question as the same one that James had used to start their conversation last night. "I can honestly say that I've been happier here in the past week than I have been in my entire life," he answered truthfully.

Paul couldn't tell if it was just for effect, but Dr. Abrams looked genuinely relieved to hear it. "I am so glad. I have been watching, of course, and I've talked to some of the others, but to hear it directly from you is heartening. I know that many of the others have already come to count you as a friend in the short time they've known you. And after your display of considerable memory control the last two days, all of them consider you much more of an asset than they'd expected. And that is saying something, because with your ability they already had high expectations."

"Well I like them, too," Paul answered simply, unsure what Dr. Abrams was looking for. "Most of them, anyway."

Chuckling a little, Dr. Abrams said, "Hodge."

Paul said nothing in reply, looking around the room to fill the gap in the conversation, not really focusing on anything specific. "Dr. Abrams, why did you ask me down here? You originally said it was for training...?"

Dr. Abrams raised his eyebrows. "There it is again. Your ability and desire to get right to the point. Do you have any idea how refreshing and rare that is? So many people prefer to dance around the real topic of a conversation in an attempt to hold off the inevitable main subject. I suppose it must somehow make them more comfortable to talk about other, trivial matters before diving into what really counts. It has always seemed like such a waste of time to me, but also such a necessary part of conversation, because the vast majority of people simply will not get to the point right away, even if you ask them to."

"Yes. I've noticed that too," Paul said, giving Dr. Abrams a pointed look, causing Natasha to stifle a giggle.

Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Abrams smiled. "I've brought you down here for two reasons. The first is for a short history lesson, which I believe is necessary in order for us to talk about the second topic, which is the current state of things here at Astralis."

"Alright," Paul answered, intrigued. This was not at all what he'd expected.

"Alright," Dr. Abrams echoed. "I will try and keep this as straightforward as possible. A lot of this is very personal to me, so I apologize in advance if I tell you more than you feel you need to know. This is the history of how Astralis came to be and why I do what I do."

Chapter 16

"In 1981, I began having the dream. Just like most of us, I had no idea what it was at first, and it took me almost a year before I realized that what I was seeing was real. It happened as a result of hearing my little brother, Thomas, talk about something he'd done the night before. It was something I'd watched him do, but at the time I thought I was just dreaming. The next day, after watching him again during the night, I described what I had seen him do. He confirmed it, and from then on I knew I was a Walker. And so did my brother.

"So when it happened to Thomas two years later, we both knew exactly what it was and of course on his first night I was waiting for him, because I was confined to the house unless someone left a door open long enough for me to get out."

Smiling, nostalgia painted on his face, Dr. Abrams continued, "We were close before that, but we became inseparable afterward. Nothing was out of our reach as long as we left our bedroom window open. We aced every test in school because we found ways to get in to the school at night and read the answers before the tests were given. We knew every dirty little secret about every person in our town and sometimes we used it to our advantage when we needed to. And the girls," he glanced over at Natasha. "Well, you can imagine what we knew about the girls in Springfield, which was where we grew up—a town just outside of Washington D.C." Natasha smiled and let him continue.

"Unfortunately, it was our ability to know everything about everyone that led to us having to find a way to make it on our own as teenagers.

"I was seventeen and Thomas was fifteen when we took our mother aside and told her we'd learned that our father was cheating on her. We told her who it was, we told her where it happened and how often. Our father, of course, denied it and our mother chose to believe him. So of course he continued to do it, until finally one day we confronted both my father and mother together. We only wanted what we thought was best for our mother, but instead of saving her, we condemned ourselves. When our father found out it was us that had leveled the original accusations, Thomas and I were no longer welcome in their home."

Looking away, Dr. Abrams paused to take a breath. Paul could tell that it was unpleasant for him for tell this part of story. "If this is something that bothers you to talk about, we don't have to," Paul offered.

"That's very kind, Paul," he said through a weak smile. "And you're right. It is painful to speak of. But it is also therapeutic. Some of the people here at Astralis know some of this history, but none of them know it all. You'll be the first, and I'm glad to finally tell it."

"I couldn't agree more," Natasha spoke up for the first time. "It is well past time that we bring someone into the fold."

Continuing, Dr. Abrams said, "You can imagine how it was for two boys our age, with our condition, to try and make it on our own. We had friends, of course, and many of them let us stay in their homes, but it always ended with an apology and an excuse in some form or another as to why it wasn't working out. We were just too abnormal and made the families we stayed with uncomfortable, and understandably so.

"That is, until we stayed with our friend, Ben. His father was a private investigator who barely made a living, but had been doing it for so long that he didn't know anything else. We'd been living with them for about a week, hearing Ben's father often gripe about the different cases he'd taken but was unable to solve. Thomas and I asked questions at the dinner table under the pretense of simple curiosity, but we both knew we could help him.

"After we'd given him good information on three of his cases, Ben's father began coming to us for most of his work. In turn, we gladly helped him in order to remain in his home. After my graduation, I went to work for him full time. It took less than a year after that for him to become widely known as the guy who could find anything or anyone for you in the D.C. area.

"He grew wealthy, and was always kind to Thomas and me, sharing the profits of his company with us. By the time Thomas graduated high school, we were both making more than enough money to live on our own and handled most of the smaller cases ourselves.

"It was through one of those cases that Thomas met Natasha."

Paul looked over at her in surprise. She looked back, thin-lipped. Clearly, if Thomas was not sitting in this room helping to tell the story, there was not a happy ending. "I married Thomas in 1989," she said simply.

Giving her a supportive look, Dr. Abrams said, "Natasha was originally married to a different man who, as it turned out, was also married to not one, but two other women. He was in sales and traveled a lot, which allowed him to carry on his charade. Natasha knew something wasn't right with her marriage and brought the case to our company for help. We solved it and somewhere in the midst of it all, Natasha and Thomas found love.

"Natasha moved into our home, and on the first night back from their honeymoon something amazing happened; I didn't fall into the dream at sunset. It had to happen a few times before we realized she was the common link. When we finally recognized that she had this affect over my sleep patterns, the result was that Natasha and I became great friends, because every night after dark there was no one in the house left to speak to except me."

Paul could already guess what happened next.

At this point, Natasha took over the story. "Thomas became understandably jealous. Nothing ever happened between Abe and I that could be considered even remotely improper, but that didn't matter. And although Thomas tried to be happy for his brother, night after night his feelings of isolation from me grew, eventually turning into something ugly and angry.

"There were arguments between everyone. Thomas simply couldn't stand the idea that the woman he loved had some sort of chemical link with his brother. Even though it was truly chemical in the most clinical sense, it didn't matter. He..." Natasha's voice cracked and she stopped, visibly willing her cultured exterior to take over.

Dr. Abrams cut in. "For lack of a better description, he went mad. Stopped listening to reason. The isolation was just too much for him and it caused him to lose touch with reality. It took about a year for him to leave. We'd amassed quite a fair amount of money from all the years of successful case solving and he took exactly half when he left."

"We tried to find him," Natasha said, "but having been in the business of finding people for so long, he knew how to keep himself from being found."

"So where is he now?" Paul asked.

"We're still looking," answered Dr. Abrams.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as Paul let that sink in. "So—still? After all these years?"

"Every day," answered Natasha.

Nodding, processing what they'd told him, Paul said, "I see how that explains the two of you but what does it have to do with Astralis?"

"Everything," replied Dr. Abrams. "When Thomas left, Natasha and I began working together on cases. It was a good partnership because she could take care of things like transportation at night or meetings that could only be held after dark.

"In 1991, Ben's father passed away and left the business to us in its entirety. It was that same year that an agent from the CIA approached us with a case she couldn't solve. She'd heard about our reputation and was in a bind; the case she was assigned to was high profile and could make or break her career. We took the case confidentially and had it solved within three days.

"After that, she began bringing us more cases. We solved 100% of them at a fraction of the cost and in a fraction of the time it would take the CIA. Her career exploded and before long she gained the attention of the director of the agency. Being an upfront and honest agent, she explained her association with us and through that connection more cases were passed our way. Trust grew over time between our organization and theirs, the cases they passed to us became higher priority and, to make a long story short, eventually the Agency brought us to the attention of the United Nations. The UN offered us a 'permanent situation' to become a part of what they term as 'world diplomacy.'

"We accepted their offer so long as they agreed to allow us to work only through our original CIA contact who, by the way, we still trust implicitly. They allow us to recruit at our own discretion, to only take the cases we feel are not morally reprehensible, and they provide enough funds to establish and maintain these headquarters and training facility.

"This is how Astralis was born and how it came to be. It is the child born of my desire to have the ability to help every Walker cope with our curse of isolationism. It is so that Natasha and I always have the resources with which to search for Thomas. It is so that no Walker is ever forced to try and make it alone."

Dr. Abrams leaned back in his chair, finished with his story. Paul looked from him to Natasha, not knowing how to reply to everything he'd heard. Latching on to the first thought that came to mind, he asked, "Who is the CIA agent?"

Smiling, Natasha said, "That would be Lydia. She handles all incoming and outgoing communication for us and helps determine which cases we should accept."

"Paul," Dr. Abrams said, "I know what James said to you last night. I know that there are people at Astralis who feel trapped, or that we should have more, or be paid big salaries. But look around. What are we lacking?"

Paul's pulse quickened at the unexpected shift in the conversation. So it was last night's conversation that prompted this meeting.

"Most of all," Dr. Abrams continued, "I want you to consider the most important thing we have that would be very hard to find anywhere else. The answer should be clear: security. No one bothers us here. We are out of sight and out of mind."

So this was why he was here. This was Dr. Abrams telling him why he thought someone with a view point like James' was wrong. The truth was that Paul didn't have to be convinced. Although he could see the point James had been trying to make, there was a lot more to what a place like Astralis could accomplish than accumulating wealth for the people who were a part of it.

"I agree with you," Paul answered honestly, making sure he looked Dr. Abrams directly in the eye. "But people are people and there will always be differences of opinion, like with James. I can see his side of it, too."

Leaning forward with his elbows on his desk, Dr. Abrams face turned even more serious. "If it were as easy as a difference of opinion, we wouldn't be talking about this. Everyone who lives here knows they can leave at any time. The door opens both ways. But it isn't just James with an opinion. There are more of them and they've been talking."

"What have they been talking about?"

"They want Astralis for themselves and they want to turn it into a for-profit institution. I believe they would have already tried if you hadn't been found."

"What?!" Paul asked in alarm.

"Remember, we found you over six months ago. We found you, watched you, and then inserted Lisa into your school to approach you. We were fairly certain you could move objects after the first month. This is why I believe they haven't made their move to take over the installation. Now that they know someone like you exists, they want to keep you."

Chapter 17

Paul walked the halls back to his room in a kind of numb haze. What had he gotten himself involved in? How he had gotten himself involved? He wanted to blame Dr. Abrams or Dittrich or even his parents for allowing him to be hustled away from his home so quickly, but the truth was that he could have said no at any point, and he didn't.

He knew what he needed—he needed to find some balance, some perspective. He needed to talk to Stephanie. After dinner, he went straight to his room. Closing the door, he dug out his cell.

"Stephanie," he said without preamble when she answered, "I really need your help."

"It's about time you realized that," she replied with just a hint of sarcasm. "Tell me what's happening."

"Well, you know Steven is here and that the reason he's here is for me. The thing is, for him to stay permanently, he has to complete some training and a lot of it isn't very easy. Actually, I guess you could say most of it isn't easy."

"Oh God," she groaned. "Is Steven making things harder for you there? Is he being his usual self?"

"No, he isn't at all. Well—yes, he is being himself. I don't think he knows any other way to be. But he's doing really well with the training. Everyone tells me so, anyway."

"So what's the problem?" she asked, confused.

"The problem is that part of the training he is doing is very... um... unpleasant. He's been holding up and says he can take it, but I can tell he's about to drop. The worst part is I can end it, if I could just figure how to finish some of my own training. But I can't, and I'm really feeling helpless."

"What do you have to do?"

Paul knew he had to answer carefully, or they'd end up discussing whether or not he was crazy instead of how to help Steven. "I have to use my emotions," he said slowly, considering each word as he said. Lord, why hadn't he thought about what he was going to say before calling her? "I have to figure out a way to pour my emotions into a tangible action." What? He thought. Tangible action?

Sure enough, her reply was just about what his would have been if their roles had been reversed. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Paul," she said flatly. "Make sense."

"I have to find a way to focus all my emotional energy into one task. They tell me all I have to do is get mad enough and it'll happen, but I just can't make myself get that way. I can't. I've tried, but I can't." He stood up and began pacing.

"That's because you're such a sweetheart," she replied, and he could tell she was smiling when she said it.

"Steph, this is pretty serious..."

"I know, I can tell it is. I was only half-joking. You really are a sweet guy. Maybe it just isn't in you to get that mad."

There it was again. Kenneth had said basically the same thing. Paul thought about the night he'd banged on the door to his room and when he'd bumped the table in the training room. "No, I'm positive it's in me. I've done it before, just not on purpose. I need to do it on purpose."

"Getting mad because you're genuinely mad is something everyone does. It's natural. But it isn't part of you like it is with other people, Paul. Not as an everyday thing. I can't remember the last time I saw you really angry, except maybe if you count that time when you first starting having your sleep issues. Like—seriously."

There was silence on the line for a few beats as Paul reflected on what Kenneth had said earlier and what Stephanie was telling him now. Maybe they were right, maybe anger just wasn't his thing. "So what is a natural part of me?" he asked, almost to himself.

"Define Paul Bennett in tens words or less," she responded. "Okay. Here goes. Tired, sad, kind, quiet, smart, ashamed, loyal..."

"Sounds kind of pathetic so far," Paul interrupted.

"Well it shouldn't!" Stephanie protested. "So I guess that's where the 'ashamed' part of you comes in. For some reason, you always seem like you're apologizing for who you are. Like you don't feel like you're good enough. That's always seemed ridiculous to me, because you're so amazingly smart. So you have this sleep problem, big deal. Why do you even care about whether other people know about it? Who are those 'other people' to you? They're nobody, that's who!" Paul could tell Stephanie was getting worked up.

"I don't know how this helps me figure out the current issue," Paul replied, a little uncomfortable with where the conversation had gone.

"Your shame in who you are might be the problem! Maybe you don't feel like your anger is justified. Maybe instead of focusing on anger, you should instead focus inward, on yourself. Take a good long look at who you are, what you are, and what you mean to the people who mean something to you. Recognize your own strengths, the dignity in the way you hold yourself and how you don't have to be the center of attention to feel validated. Paul, if there has been one clear constant in my life it has been you and the friendship we share. There's your emotional focus."

Paul stayed quiet, thinking.

"Paul?" she asked.

"I'm here," he replied quietly. "You know... you're pretty wonderful."

"Actually, yes I do know that," she smiled into the telephone.

"And by the way, earlier when you were describing me you forgot about good-looking."

"I was getting to that before you cut me off," she giggled.

* * *

After they hung up, he didn't leave his room. He did something that he never usually did—he lay down on his bed. He lay there thinking about who he was and who he had in his life. He had his mom and dad, of course, and he felt like family should always come first, but the truth was they didn't, not for him. They hadn't for a long time. Throughout the time that he'd been dealing with his sleep issue, it had always been Stephanie and Steven who helped him through it. With them, he never had to apologize for it and never had to feel like he couldn't be himself.

Other than Stephanie and Steven, there really weren't any others that he would call true friends. He had acquaintances back at North Hardin High, but that's all they were. No one else there knew about the biggest issue in his life: his sleeping problem. Some of the people at Astralis like Liz, Juliet, Kenneth and Parker seemed like maybe they could become better friends someday, but he knew that they'd never achieve the same degree of trust and loyalty that he had with Stephanie and Steven. There was just too much history and shared experiences for anyone else to get there.

Stephanie was right; he wasn't an angry guy. He just generally didn't get angry because he knew what that was like and he wanted no part of it. Back when he'd first starting dealing with his sleep issue, he'd spent a few months feeling angry almost every day. During that time, he alienated most of the people that cared about him while carrying his resentment around in the pit of his stomach. It didn't take more than a few months before he'd found himself alone most of the time. It was then that he realized what a waste of time it was to dwell on anger and resentment. The simple truth about anger was that the only person who ever knew how angry you really were was yourself. No one else could ever recognize it for what it was. You could tell them, but even then it would still only be words they heard, not that awful burning, consuming, and self-destructive emotion. Anger, he'd realized, was self-pity in another form.

So he'd let go of it. Not because anyone felt he should, but because he'd known it was such a colossal waste of his time and energy. He'd simply made the decision not to be angry and there hadn't been a day since that he had allowed himself to get to the point that his anger brought on self-deprecation.

Loyalty and friendship. Those were two words that Stephanie had used, and he had to admit that when he thought about the bond the three of them shared it did bring a fire into the pit of his stomach, but not like what you'd feel with anger. More like a warm glow.

"Ten minutes." Lydia's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He and Stephanie's conversation was what was on his mind when the sun set and he drifted down into the dream, that warm ember of friendship filling his mind and heart.

When he opened his eyes, only a few moments had passed. He stood up, feeling good and thinking how lucky he was to have a friend like Stephanie, until he realized that the door to his room was still shut. He'd been so intent on speaking with her that he'd closed it for privacy and then forgotten to open it back up before falling asleep.

Reaching for the knob, he grabbed hold and tried to turn it, but nothing happened. His hand just slid around the outside.

Turning away, he paced the small floor of his room, thinking.

He tried to focus on being angry for his lack of forethought and channel that into a strong enough emotion to get the door open, but just like in the training area he couldn't work himself up to it.

Standing in the center of his room, feeling impotent and stupid and knowing it was his own fault, he shook his head, calling himself a fool.

And then he realized Stephanie was right. He was ashamed. He was always ashamed of being so different from everyone else. He'd spent so many nights over the past five years wandering the streets of Radcliff, lost in self-pity. What a waste of time. What a waste of energy.

Or was it?

He thought back to those nights and realized that every night, somehow he had found a way out of his house. If he wasn't able to touch or move anything, how had he gotten out?

Simply by knowing he could, that was how. Or more accurately, by not knowing that he shouldn't be able to.

Picturing himself in his mind's eye, Paul realized he'd been moving things all along, not because he was angry, or happy, or sad, but simply because he hadn't been trying. He hadn't known he wasn't supposed to be able to do it. It hadn't occurred to him that he should be trying to focus just to open a door or even lift his covers off himself to get out of bed. All along, he'd been doing it naturally.

And since coming to Astralis, somehow he'd blocked that natural ability simply because he'd been told by everyone here that he shouldn't be able to.

Walking back to his door he stood for a moment, looking down at the door knob.

There is no block, he told himself. There is no block. You can do this.

And then he reached out and focused his mind on the door handle. He felt a warm wash go through his body, ending at his outstretched hand. It felt as if someone had run a warm liquid through his veins, warming him from the inside out. He grabbed the door handle as natural as he would at any time during the day... and opened it.

Watching it swing open on silent hinges, he stood there, quietly exultant.

He breathed in deeply and then set off down the hallway.

The elevator was no problem this time. Gladys just happened to be walking past when the door slid open and he laughed in glee as she ducked her head into the elevator car, peeking to see if anyone was there. He was a little surprised when she softly asked, "Paul?"

He wasn't aware that she knew about his ability, but he supposed it made sense that she would if she was working with a CIA agent like Lydia. In fact, Gladys was probably with the CIA herself. He'd have to ask Dr. Abrams about it.

Just because he could, he reached out and squeezed her hand. She jumped and gave a shrill shriek. Watching her turn tail and head back toward the reception area, Paul chuckled and hurried on toward the training room.

As with the previous two nights, everyone was there waiting for him. Steven stood on his podium, his body rigid, as if he were holding himself up simply by force of will.

Dittrich was standing in the doorway and began by saying, "Paul, I thought tonight we might start with some exercises—"

But Paul strode right past him to the table. Focusing all his energy, feeling the warmth, he swiped the ball from its resting place with the flat of his hand, bouncing it off the wall at the far side of the room.

"What the crap!" Steven yelped, looking around wild-eyed. "Paul, man, is that you?"

"Damn right it is, buddy." Even though he knew Steven couldn't hear him, it felt right to reply.

He went to his friend, the warmth still coursing through his veins, and happily shoved him hard enough to push him off the podium into a heap on the floor. Focusing one last time, Paul patted Steven on the back twice.

He turned back to the stunned group in the room and asked, "So now what do we work on?"

Chapter 18

Once the initial excitement died down and the congratulations had subsided, they encouraged Paul to demonstrate his ability a few more times. It never seemed to get old for the others. They watched with admiration in their eyes, most of them clearly happy for Paul and excited about what it meant for the future of Astralis. Some, specifically Hodge and Allen, watched with something closer to jealousy.

Steven wasted no time leaving the room. He'd spun around in a circle a couple of times, waiting to find out if there was anything more to see and said, "Looks like I'll be bidding a fond farewell to this crappy room. Hope to never see it again. Paul, if you're still in here, you have me officially freaked out and we got some talking to do tomorrow. But until then, I'm crashing." And with that, he gave a small, sloppy bow, kicked the podium once for good measure, and left the room.

At midnight, Paul, Kenneth and Parker went outside to a waiting helicopter. It was a different, smaller one than the Sikorsky that had carried Paul and Dittrich to Astralis originally.

"We have access to four different birds," Kenneth explained. "The Sikorsky is more for show and comfort. That's the one Abrams and Dittrich normally use. These, like the one we're taking tonight, are Bell CH-146 Griffons. They were made to be used as utility vehicles for the military, but Astralis uses them for missions because they were easy to retrofit for our special needs."

They didn't go far. Their training for the night consisted of each of them being dropped in separate locations. They then used the buddy system and universal checkpoints to find each other.

It took about an hour for them to reconnect on a hilltop that was so far north of Astralis that they couldn't even see the lights of the facility, but they didn't care. They spent the rest of the night lazily making their way back, chatting about what Paul had accomplished. As added entertainment, they had Paul to move branches out of their way whenever one blocked their path.

It was great to be able to spend time, just the three of them, and nurture the growing friendship.

That is, until he remembered what Dr. Abrams had told him. Were either of these two part of the group that Dr. Abrams had said wanted to use Astralis for profit? To take it over? He couldn't imagine they were, but how much about them did he really know? And if the others ever did take over Astralis, did that mean that Dr. Abrams would be forced to leave, or worse? What was their plan?

* * *

Steven was already in the commons room the next morning when Paul arrived. He was sitting with three other people Paul had never met before. All of them, except Steven of course, were solidly built and had military-style buzz cuts. They were talking animatedly to each other, but as soon as Steven saw Paul enter the room, he stood and shouted, "Ladies and gentleman, I'd like to introduce to you all the man responsible for giving me the best night's sleep I've ever had –Mr. Paul Bennett!"

Laughing, most of the people in the room joined in clapping along with Steven. Blushing but grinning, saying nothing through his embarrassment, Paul ducked his head raised one hand in acknowledgement and took a seat at the table with Steven.

"Dude, last night was about the wildest thing that ever happened to me. And when you patted me on the back I knew it was you for sure." Pausing, Steven asked, "You did pat me on the back, right?" Steven was talking about a million miles an hour. Obviously the sleep had done him well.

Laughing, Paul said, "Yeah that was me. I'm glad you got some sleep. You look a lot better already. I was getting worried."

"So how'd you do it? How'd you figure it out?"

"You know, believe it or not, it was Stephanie that helped me put it together." Paul considered explaining the whole thing to Steven, but then thought better of it. For one, Steven probably wouldn't get it anyway, and secondly, they were sitting at a table full of strangers. "So are you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Definitely," Steven answered. "This is Rodrigo, Shane, and Jake. These are the guys, along with that ass-clown Rex, that have had the pleasure of kicking my ass every morning for the past three days."

Laughter again and then a lot of hand shaking. Every one of them had crushing grips and direct eye contact when they spoke to him. Military or ex-military, every one of them. Paul could tell, having lived so close to Ft. Knox his whole life.

They spent their breakfast telling Paul all the ways Steven had managed to surpass their expectations during training. Every one of them freely admitted they had intended to break him quickly so they wouldn't have to waste their time with a guy who wasn't cut out to be a Sentinel. But over the past three days he'd proven himself to be their equal and, in some cases their superior. They spoke especially highly of his outdoor survival and hunting skills. This didn't surprise Paul in the slightest. Steven spent as much of his extra time in the woods as he could. Paul, himself, had never been into hunting, and had never gone into the woods with Steven, but it was common knowledge in Radcliff that Steven had skills. It appeared those skills carried over into Virginia, as well.

After breakfast, Paul spent the day with Allen learning about mapping and mazes. The mapping part was easy because of Paul's ability to remember everything he saw. As long as a route was clearly marked, Paul could repeat it back exactly.

Mazing was a little different. It involved remembering a route, but before that could happen, the route had to be found and established as the best one to take. Pouring over maps of cities from all over the world, it could be a challenge to find the most direct routes. There was a lot more to take into account than just tracing a line from one point to the next.

A great deal of this portion of the training wouldn't apply to him, since so much of it was based on finding routes that wouldn't be blocked by anything such as a door, window, gate, or even shrubbery. But since Astralis missions operated on the buddy system, and there would be times when he and his buddy might have to split up or if they lost track of each other, he had to take into account that whatever route was chosen had to be accessible for both of them.

The morning went by slowly. The training was a little lackluster, and he and Allen never really hit it off socially. Allen usually sat at Hodge's table for meals, but he didn't appear to be very good friends with anyone. It looked more like Allen just went there by default. Paul didn't know what it was, exactly, but something about the guy just didn't hit him the right way.

Allen seemed to almost deliberately fuel his body with the worst kind of food he could find. Because he was overweight and ate so poorly, he was usually a little sweaty, even when he was just sitting still. He only shaved about once a week, so his face was usually covered by a mass of half-grown beard that only added to his generally slovenly appearance. His hair was a thick, black, curly, tangled mess that looked like it had been washed about as often as he shaved. Thankfully, he normally wore a black knit hat on his head to cover it up. All in all, he was an unpleasant person to be around. His method of training was much like his appearance—disorganized, slow, and not very interesting.

When it was finally time for lunch, Paul practically leapt out of his chair and made a bee-line for the commons room, starved for some intelligent interaction.

Steven was there, sitting at a table with Liz and Juliet. Rodrigo was with them too, in addition to a woman Paul had never met before. Both Rodrigo and the woman wore amused expressions as they sat listening to Steven carry the conversation.

"... so he wakes up and has no idea, right? I mean you must know how it is. There's pretty much no way he could have known I did it. I could've could throw him in a bathtub full of ice and he wouldn't have woke up, right?"

"Uh huh," said Liz, giggling alongside Juliet.

"So he gets up and gets all his stuff together to leave and passes my dad getting his morning coffee and bourbon in the kitchen."

Juliet and Liz were laughing so hard tears were coming out of their eyes. Paul pulled out a chair and sat down, a cautious smile on his face. "Hey—how's everyone doing?"

Juliet and Liz looked at him with raised eyebrows and laughed even harder.

Steven continued, "My dad squints at him like he's not sure if he's really seeing this and asks Paul if..." at this point Steven was laughing, too, and almost couldn't finish, "if he did something different with his hair."

The whole table was laughing now. Even Rodrigo and the woman were unable to hold back. Groaning and putting his face in his hands, Paul realized that Steven was telling them the story about the time Steven shaved off his eyebrows.

"So Paul leaves the house and, you know, there's, like, no way I'm not going to see where he goes. So I follow him to McDonald's and I watch all these people staring at him like he has some kind of disease and he's there, in line, completely oblivious until the cashier says, 'Dude, you have trouble lighting the grill or what?'"

Juliet was practically choking because she was laughing so hard and Liz wasn't much better. Steven, grinning, popped a chicken nugget in his mouth and slapped Paul on the back. "So how's your morning been, big guy?"

Raising his head, Paul said, "Steven, you're killin' me."

"Just helping these fine folk get to know who the person they're starting to worship really is," Steven replied with a smirk. "Humble beginnings and all that. It's good back story."

"Tell me why I brought you here again?"

"Because you can't live without my charm and wit," Steven replied, waggling his eyebrows at the girls. "So you met Rodrigo this morning, but this fine beauty here is Kate. Kate, meet Paul. Paul, meet Kate."

Paul reached over and shook her hand. Like the four guys he'd met at breakfast, she also had a crushing grip. "Very nice to meet you." Pausing, not sure if he would be putting his foot in his mouth, he asked, "So... you're a Sentinel?"

"Yes," she replied without any further elaboration.

"She's my Sentinel," Liz said. "She's been with me since I first learned I was a Walker. I don't think I could survive without her."

"I think that's probably been proven to be literally true more than a few times," Juliet said as she bit into an apple while Liz beamed a smile over at Kate.

"So..." Paul said, a little unsure of how to ask it. "You're female?"

Giving him a level look, Kate replied, "Why, yes. I am. So kind of you to notice."

"So..." Paul floundered, looking helplessly around the table, hoping someone would jump in. Of course, there were no takers.

Kate raised her eyebrows, lowered her head and looked at him, clearly waiting for him to finish.

"God I suck!" he finally exclaimed. "I just meant that you're the first girl Sentinel I've met. I guess, I don't know, I guess I just assumed they were all guys."

Kate still said nothing, not smiling and looking him straight in the eyes.

Steven slapped Paul on the back again and said, "Wow. And I thought I always said the wrong thing. Yeah, there's two female Sentinels. The other one is Felicity and they're both badass honeys."

Kate shifted her gaze over to Steven.

"I meant that in the kindest and most sincere way possible." Steven practically purred the words. Kate snorted in reply.

The rest of the lunch was spent in light banter. Paul was actually feeling pretty good, even when he got up to spend the rest of the day with Allen.

The entire afternoon was spent going over all of the exact same information they'd covered in the morning. Paul got bored so quickly, he thought for sure Allen would call it quits early. Instead, Allen kept him right up to the last minute before announcing that he felt they'd put in a solid day's work. Relieved that he'd made it through what was certainly the most boring day he'd had Astralis, Paul was appalled when Allen handed him a black and white map of a maze and said, "Looking forward to our training exercise tonight. Should be pretty cool."

Heaving a sigh, Paul trudged upstairs for dinner.

Dinner was just as enjoyable as lunch, with everyone there for the first time since Paul had been at Astralis. He didn't know why the Sentinels had begun taking their meals with everyone else and didn't ask, but he was glad to finally have a chance to meet them. As far as he could tell, everyone except Rex had taken a liking to Steven to the extent that they already included him as a member of their group. Their demeanor around him was relaxed and friendly. When Paul commented on it to Steven, the reply was, "Don't let 'em fool ya. An hour ago they were tossing me around like a rag doll and explaining all the uses that white trash had in this world. Believe me, they may have accepted me, but they ain't done with me by a long shot."

"So what's your training tonight, Paul?" Kenneth asked from across the table.

"Well, first I'm going to work a little more on honing my ability to make sure it wasn't just a fluke, then I guess I have something I'm doing with Allen after that." Shooting a glance across the room to Hodge's table, Paul looked sullenly at Allen.

Catching Paul's lack of enthusiasm, Parker grinned and said, "He's quite the barrel of fun, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah, loads," Paul answered and dug into his pocket for the paper with the black and white maze on it. He handed it across the table. "I guess it has something to do with this."

Looking at it with a smirk and handing it over to Parker, Kenneth grinned and said in a terrible attempt at a British accent, "Oy guv'na—wat you make of this?"

"Blimey, guv'na!" Parker replied in kind. "It looks like a maze, it do!"

Giving them both looks of exasperation, Paul reached over to try and snatch the page back.

"Paul."

Hearing his name spoken as he was stretched over the table, Paul replied with an impatient, "What!" before realizing that the voice belonged to Dr. Abrams.

"I'd like you and Steven to come with me, please."

Looking at Steven and getting a blank look in return, he gave a small shrug. "Alright."

They followed Dr. Abrams to the elevator and got in as he pressed the down arrow.

Feeling a small ball of anxiety growing in his belly, Paul asked, "Are we going to your office?"

Looking meaningfully at Paul, then at Steven, and then back at Paul again, Dr. Abrams said, "No we are not. I believe that in light of your success last night and Steven's continued success with the Sentinel program, it is time we move you two to permanent quarters. I'm taking you to the Sanctum, to your safe room."

"So we're to be considered permanent now?" Paul's nervousness turned to excitement.

"You and Steven are only on your fourth day of training, but yes. I think you could both consider yourselves very likely to be permanent residents here."

Grinning, Paul and Steven exchanged pleased looks.

"And since you've been scheduled for your first real-world training tomorrow, you'll need a safe room in order to complete the mission."

"That's right," Paul said. "I'd almost forgotten. Three real-world training exercises throughout the two week period." Feeling anxiety at the thought of his first real assignment, Paul asked, "So what is it that I will have to do?"

Dr. Abrams paused. "We'll get to that tomorrow. For now, let's concentrate on getting you settled and familiar with your room."

The door to the elevator opened into a large, square antechamber. The floor and walls were made of dull metal riveted together at the seams. There was absolutely nothing in the chamber aside from the elevator doors and a second door directly across from the elevator. There was also an open doorway with a set of stairs leading upward next to the elevator door. The door across from the elevator looked like the type that could be found on a ship or submarine, with a large cog wheel in place of a handle and a round porthole centered near head level.

"Dude..." Steven said. "This doesn't really make me all that comfortable. Feels like a dungeon."

"Actually, Steven," Dr. Abrams answered. "This room was designed specifically for safety. Because the Walkers are this organization's greatest asset, we built this outer chamber with the intention that if ever Astralis were attacked and breached, the Walkers could find sanctuary in their safe rooms, knowing they are protected by this outer chamber and the blast-proof door that separates it from the Sanctum."

"Oh," Steven replied. "Well why didn't you say so."

Next to the blast door was a keypad with a fingerprint scanner. Motioning toward it, Dr. Abrams said, "You each share the same code, 40160, and are required to enter that code along with a scan of your thumbprint to gain entry. It should go without saying that you are never to share it with anyone else. I'd like you both to try entering your code and thumb print before we go inside."

Steven tried his first, Paul second. Both times, a green light blinked 'on' at the top of the keypad. Satisfied that they both had access and knew how to use it, Dr. Abrams grasped the cog wheel and turned it to the left two full rotations and pulled open the door.

If the antechamber was as plain and nondescript as any space could be, the room they entered into was its polar opposite. Easily forty feet by forty feet with a ceiling well over twelve feet high, the room was as opulent a space as any Paul had ever seen. The floors were a polished marble with a much larger rendition of the symbol that was painted on the tail of the Astralis helicopter etched into it; a circle with an eye through the center of it. Encircling the symbol were the Latin words Vigilo Nox Noctis.

Looking down at the floor, Paul said, "Watchers of the Night. It is what we do and who we are."

Neither Dr. Abrams nor Steven replied for a few moments.

"Cool stuff," Steven finally said.

"It is indeed," replied Dr. Abrams. "And speaking of cool stuff, you'll see that we have two wide screen televisions, one on either side of the room, with very comfortable couches. The work stations you see all have high speed connections to the internet and can be used for personal or mission-related research at any time. The snack bar and refrigerator are always fully stocked. Feel free to grab anything at any time; we refill both daily."

"Ok, the beat-downs have now officially been worth it," Steven said.

Dr. Abrams pointed across the room to a wide hallway. "Down that hall you will find everyone's safe rooms. Yours is the second-to-last door on the right."

"You mean we have to share a room?" Steven asked.

"Since your sleep schedules will never coincide, yes. All Sentinels share a room with their Walker. Come along and I will show you to yours."

As they walked down the hall, Paul couldn't help but notice the odd construction. All the safe room walls were built of the same riveted steel that the antechamber was made from, with a small gap separating the walls of each room. "This is odd construction, Dr. Abrams. I've never seen anything like this."

"I'd be surprised if you had. Each room is its own unit, literally."

"I'm not sure I follow," Paul replied.

"Each safe room can be separated from the rest. Essentially, each safe room is its own giant safe."

"Safe room," Steven parroted. "I get it."

Smirking over at Steven, Paul asked, "But they're... rooms. How do you separate something so big? Like with a forklift or something? And why would you?"

Smiling and almost appearing excited to answer the question, Dr. Abrams replied, "You may have noticed the field of steel plates on the east side of the building when you first flew in?" Paul nodded that he had. "Those are the roofs of each one of the safe rooms. The steel beams that you may have seen coming up at angles are attached on the four sides of each room and meet at a steel ring in the center that can be attached to a helicopter line for transport. When a Walker has an overnight mission that is far enough away, they take their safe room with them."

"You're kidding me—that's so cool!" Steven said.

"Not kidding, and tomorrow you'll both have a chance to experience it." They'd passed four sets of doors, each with a blast door like the one that separated the living area from the antechamber. At the fifth one, Dr. Abrams stopped and said, "Ah. Here we are."

A keypad similar to the one in the antechamber was located next to the door. Dr. Abrams indicated they should again try their code and thumb print. "Steven, would you like to do the honors?" asked Dr. Abrams.

Grasping the cog wheel, Steven turned it to the left and pulled open the door. The room was a twelve by twelve cube, the walls the same dull gray steel color as the door. On the far wall, there were two beds, one on each side of the room, separated by a desk. On the wall near the foot of one of the beds was a small handset. At the foot of each bed was a slim wardrobe with a set of drawers in the lower half. There was a small table with two chairs near the entry just to the right of the door.

Looking over the area, Steven nodded judiciously and said, "Even sharing a bedroom, this is better than my room back in the trailer. Definitely cleaner."

Rolling his eyes, Paul said, "This looks great, Dr. Abrams, thank you."

"You're very welcome. You'll find that all of your belongings have already been stowed in the wardrobes, so if you look for any of your things, look there first. Also, the lavatories are at the end of the hall. There is one on either side. They are full bathrooms with showers and tubs and are shared by everyone, so please have enough respect for the ladies who live in this area to keep them clean."

"Why are you looking at me when you say that?" Steven asked with a grin.

"Everyone should be down within the next hour for sunset. Steven, as Paul's Sentinel it is one of your main responsibilities to make certain that if the door to his safe room is closed at sunset, you immediately open it so that he has access to the rest of the facility. Otherwise, he could be locked in this room all night. This may be less true for Paul than the others, but let's not make it harder than it needs to be. Also, effective immediately you are no longer required to train the first half of the day. You are, however, required to stay awake, alert, and in this area while Paul is asleep in his bed. It is now your responsibility to ensure the safety of his physical form while his spirit is away."

Uncharacteristically, Steven nodded once without a word.

Dr. Abrams indicated the handset on the wall. "That is a direct line to the front desk, myself, and Natasha. It is for emergencies only."

Paul and Steven nodded with a shrug.

Spreading his hands in a 'that is all' gesture, Dr. Abrams said, "If there's nothing else, I will leave you two to make yourselves at home while I attend to some personal matters. Paul, if you haven't shared my concerns from yesterday with Steven yet, now might be a good time to do so."

Surprised, Paul nodded. "Thank you for everything."

Bobbing his head in a farewell bow, Dr. Abrams left the room, shutting the door as he exited.

"Share what with me?" Steven immediately demanded.

Paul filled Steven in on the things Dr. Abrams had told him regarding the way some of the Walkers felt about what should be done with Astralis. He also told him about the conversation that he and James had on their run a couple of nights ago.

"Man it just gets deeper and deeper with every step we take here, doesn't it?" Steven said. "So what do we do about it? I mean, who do you think are the ones that want to take the place over?"

"Well after what James said to me, it sure seems like he might be a part of it. The only other person I would put my money on at this point would be Hodge. I could see him being the one behind the whole thing, as far as I'm concerned. As for what to do about it, I don't know. I just don't know."

Chapter 19

That evening, after Paul spent a couple of hours working on honing his ability, Allen led him outside to the helipad. One of the Griffon helicopters was there waiting, the rotors already spinning. They climbed inside to find the cabin empty. As far as Paul could tell, the only other person on board was the pilot.

"This is for us?" Paul asked.

"Yup," replied Allen. "It's pretty much standard for any mission that doesn't require an overnighter. Bird leaves nine p.m. sharp. Be on it or miss your ride."

"This is an actual mission?" Paul asked nervously.

"Nah, this is just training. But why change anything, right?"

"So has anyone ever been late and missed their ride?" Paul asked jokingly.

Looking seriously at Paul, Allen replied, "Never."

The craft shook slightly. Paul looked over to see Steven and Jake pull the steps from the doorway. It was then that Paul realized there was a doorway, but no door. He hastily sank down in a seat and gripped the armrests.

Jake called out, "Good to go!" and slapped the side of the helicopter twice. The engine immediately revved and they lifted off.

"So..." Paul began, yelling over the noise of the chopper.

Allen looked at him, a blank expression on his face.

Obviously, this was going to be a fun ride.

"Where we goin'?" Paul asked. "And, um, I noticed there's no door?"

"Yeah, door's gotta be open or we can't get out," Allen replied, as if Paul had asked a completely obvious question, but then looked at Paul as a thought occurred to him. "But then, I guess with you on the job we could've opened it ourselves."

"Maybe," Paul replied, wondering more about their destination than if he could open a door. Allen still hadn't offered him a clue. "I'm still not totally in control," he yelled. "Now that I know I can do it, the hard part is making sure it's turned off when I don't need it and turned on when I do. I can bump or hit stuff every time I try, but for stuff that involves actually moving something, like turning a door handle for instance, that seems to be a little more complicated. It's like I have to keep a focus the entire time I'm turning it as opposed to only focusing for a second for something like hitting something or knocking on something."

Allen's only reply was a short, "Hm." Paul should have expected it.

They sat in silence for a few long minutes. Paul looked at Allen every few seconds to see if maybe he had any interest in a conversation, but Allen just stared into space, his body rocking with the movement of the helicopter's flight. After about ten minutes of nothing, Paul couldn't take it and tried again.

"So we're going somewhere to work on mapping and mazes? I took a good long look at that maze you drew me. I even showed it to Parker and Kenneth. They both seemed like they knew what it was, but they didn't tell me."

Allen smiled a little. "They should know it. They trained with it too."

Paul nodded in a way that would have encouraged just about anyone else to continue with their story, but Allen just went back to doing nothing. Frustrated, Paul took a breath to ask again where they were going, but before he could, Allen seemed to come to some sort of decision and interrupted before Paul could begin.

"So Paul," Allen faced Paul directly, looking him in the eye. "You think we're getting screwed?"

Surprised by the question and not knowing for sure what he meant, Paul squinted and shook his head to show he didn't comprehend.

Allen thought for a second and then put it another way. "You think we should be rich for what we do?"

Paul realized that Allen was speaking from the same perspective that James had spoken. The underlying theme seemed to be 'Astralis is not giving us our due,' which was exactly what Dr. Abrams said was being talked about by some of the Walkers. Now Paul could be fairly sure that both James and Allen were part of that group.

Paul answered carefully, speaking slowly. "I don't know. I mean, I've only been here a little over a week now. Do you?"

Allen sighed through his nose. "I'm starting to think so. Let's face it; what we do is kind of a one-of-a-kind thing. Seems like there'd be a big price tag on it."

"Well, we're definitely unique," Paul agreed. He didn't want to let anyone know he'd already had a conversation with Dr. Abrams about it. It was almost certain that Allen knew that James had spoken to Paul, but Paul kept his tone light. He didn't want to give the appearance that he already understood the bigger agenda being pushed on him. Allen was still looking ahead into space as he spoke, but it was clear from the way he looked sideways at Paul in quick glances that Paul's answer was very important to him. "I don't know, Allen," Paul said carefully. "You know, James said something similar to me just the other night."

Allen didn't react at all, which confirmed to Paul that he was right about Allen and James being part of the group Dr. Abrams had described. For all Paul knew, they might be the group.

"I guess that's not a surprise," Allen said finally. "There's more than just me that thinks we shouldn't live like monks."

"Really? I guess so far I've just been kind of blown away by everything that's happened," Paul said. "Honestly, I don't know if I've ever been happier or felt more like I'm a part of something in my life. I really like it here."

Finally looking at Paul, Allen said, "I like it here, too. But you know how many times I went out to do something for myself, away from Astralis, in the past year?" Paul shook his head in reply. "None, that's how many. And you want to know why? It isn't because anyone says I can't, it's because I have to ask in order to do it."

Paul looked at Allen quizzically. "I was told we can leave here any time we want for any reason we want."

Allen snorted. "That's what they say, sure. But for a guy like me that grew up in New Mexico, that's where all my family is. What am I gonna do, try and drive there? There ain't enough daylight for me to do that without making myself a target. If I want to do anything that ain't within five hours of here I have to ask like a damn kid if I can have the helicopter take me or ask if I can get booked on a plane ride."

Paul remained silent, unsure how to respond.

"For what I can do," Allen continued, "I should have my own damn plane with my own damn pilot waiting to take me anywhere I want, any time I want. I mean, we should at least get paychecks, but we don't even get that."

Trying to find a neutral reply, Paul asked, "Has anyone tried talking to Dr. Abrams about it?"

Allen snorted again. "His majesty? Sure. Dittrich tried a bunch of times, but Abrams always tells him he can't make changes to our setup without U.N. approval."

"Seems like a legitimate answer," Paul replied.

"It's a bunch of crap is what it is. Dittrich even says so. We don't need the U.N. and Abrams knows it. We can do what we do without them, and make a lot more money. If we started selling what we do to corporations, can you imagine that? We'd all be richer than Bill Gates."

Paul was saved from making any sort of answer by the deceleration of the helicopter and a drop in altitude.

"Looks like we're here," Allen said, standing up and looking down through the open door. He looked over at Paul, who still had a white-knuckled grip on his armrests, and motioned him over to the door. "Come on, man, don't want to miss the jump."

Standing on shaky legs, using the cabin wall to keep steady, Paul inched his way to the door.

"Don't like heights, huh?" Allen laughed at him, having to shout over the sound of the helicopter blades and the wind. "That's kind of funny, considering!"

Paul looked down at a full-sized, real life version of the maze that was on the page Allen had given him earlier that afternoon. A hedge maze. The helicopter was about a hundred feet above the center, slowing its descent to the point that it was just hovering.

"Where are we?" Paul shouted back, amazed that they'd traveled for only about an hour and reached something like this. "Is this owned by Astralis?"

"No, but we're still in Virginia! We're in Williamsburg!" Pointing to a three-story brick building with two tall chimneys and widow's walk, Allen explained, "That's the Governor's Palace from back in colonial days! The hedge maze is part of that. Ready?"

"Ready for what!"

"We gotta jump, man! Pilot's gonna leave any second!"

Paul knew he'd be safe. He'd already jumped (well, been pushed - but whatever) from the ledge on the night of the Glory Run from an even greater height, but between his fear of heights and the fact that everything in his head was telling him not to jump, he still had a hard time accepting it would be fine.

Grinning evilly at Paul, Allen shouted, "Don't be a wuss! Tell you what! We'll go on three!"

Paul just nodded, his face clearly showing how terrified he felt.

"One!" Allen yelled. "Two!" And once again Paul fell for it, quite literally. Before he had a chance to recognize what was happening, Allen had grabbed Paul around the waist and leapt from the doorway, hauling Paul with him.

The jump—or more accurately labeled: fall—was over before Paul really had a chance to be frightened of the consequences. It hurt just as badly as the last time, but because he knew that the pain would soon subside, it didn't seem as bad. Within less than a minute, he and Allen had sorted themselves out and stood together in the center of the maze.

"So here we are," Allen announced, as if they hadn't just finished a bone-breaking jump. "Nothing fancy about this. It's a maze and we're going to see who can make it out first. As you saw in the drawing, there's only one entrance and it's also the exit."

Paul nodded, conjuring in his mind the memory of the drawing. Although he could remember the general shape of the thing and he knew the exit to the maze was in the same direction as the exit out of the center, he had a hard time remembering anything more specific. Cursing himself silently for not taking the drawing and Allen a little more seriously, he realized he probably should have memorized a series of turns for each intersection.

Sure enough, Allen said, "Normally we're supposed to give trainees a head start of ten minutes since the rest of us have already been through it at least once, but since you're some sort of boy memory genius, you and me are going to leave at the same time. I'm sure you memorized all the turns anyway. If you did that, you're gonna beat me, cause I always end up making at least a few wrong turns."

Looking around the center area of the maze at the eight-foot tall surrounding hedges, Paul said, "I see what you meant in training about it being so much different. When you're actually standing in the middle of something like this instead of looking at it on a screen or sheet of paper, it's hard to visualize."

"Yup," Allen said with his usual lack of editorial. "Ready?"

At Paul's nod, Allen gave him a cross between a grin and a sneer and then turned and ran without another word.

Chapter 20

Paul's first effort was a disaster. Allen claimed to have spent almost an hour waiting for Paul on a bench right outside the exit to the maze, which Paul felt had to be an exaggeration. The second effort, the race back to the center, was not a disaster. Paul had been smart enough to remember all of the correct turns from his first try and made it flawlessly back. He and Allen had run side by side to start, but about three turns into the maze, Allen had laughed as he made what Paul knew was a wrong turn and shouted, "Don't worry, I'll wait for you again!"

When Allen finally burst into the center of maze and found Paul casually strolling its perimeter, he cursed, demanded a rematch, and spent the rest of evening trying to win again. The only strategy that worked for him was to follow Paul's lead until the end and then try to sprint past him to claim victory, but of course that only worked once. By the time the sun rose, Allen was bitter and barely speaking. Obviously he'd wanted to be able to tell everyone he'd beaten Paul, so it was with relief that Paul saw the first ray of sunlight peek over the horizon and, in the blink of an eye, was back in his safe room.

He woke to find Steven pacing the small space of their room. When he propped himself up on his elbows, Steven said, "Dang man, it's about time. I'm freakin' starving. Hop in the shower and let's get upstairs for some breakfast. Today's our first real-world training mission. We got a big day ahead of us."

Shaking his head to clear it, Paul stretched and did as Steven asked. On their way up to the commons room, he asked, "What do they have us doing?"

"Not us," Steven replied. "You. This is your first real-world training mission. All I got to do is make sure no one messes with you while you're doing your thing. Long as we see the morning in one piece, I've done my job just by standing there."

"Ok..." Paul replied, insinuating through his tone that Steven should continue, but Steven didn't, which was very odd. Normally Steven loved to talk about... anything. "So then what do they have me doing?"

"I don't know, man," Steven replied, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. "They didn't tell me your part, just mine."

As they stepped from the elevator into the second floor hallway outside the commons room, Paul made Steven stop. "You alright? You seem edgy."

Still fidgeting, Steven replied in rapid-fire speech, "Yeah, well, man, that's because I am. This may be just another night coming up for you but this is my first run, man. My first job."

Realizing that Steven was actually worried about doing well at something besides getting laid or partying, Paul felt a surge of pride at the change in his friend. Putting a hand on Steven's elbow, he said, "You're going to do fine."

"Yeah, well, easy for you to say."

"Seriously, it didn't even cross my mind to be worried," Paul encouraged. "I know I've got nothing to worry about as long as you've got my back."

A smile crept into Steven's eyes. "Thanks, bro. And get your hand off my arm. People gonna think we're hot for each other."

Grinning as they went up to fill their breakfast trays, Paul reflected on how much just five days at Astralis had changed Steven. If anyone had ever forced Paul to seriously guess what Steven would be doing for a living after high school, he would have had to say something along the lines of factory work or construction. Now, in this short time, Steven was becoming a respected member of an elite organization that worked for the United Nations. It was a lot to absorb.

They ate their meal a little subdued, both of them wondering what the day would bring. The rest of the group at the table recognized their tension and mostly left them to their thoughts. As they finished their meal and everyone else stood up to go about their day, Kenneth said, "Don't be nervous, Paul. We all do the same three training missions and I can tell you for sure—you're going to do totally fine."

Smiling at his new friend, Paul thanked him. The table cleared away, leaving only Paul and Steven sitting there.

"So what do you suppose we do now?" Steven asked.

Looking around as the commons room rapidly emptied, Paul sighed and pointed across the room. "Looks like we're going to find out from some of the last people we want to hear it from."

Hodge and Rex were still sitting at their table, kicked back in their chairs with their feet up. Both of them wore knowing smirks on their faces. They stared back at Steven and Paul, obviously aware that the two of them had no idea what was going on.

"This should be fun," said Steven. They got up and walked over to Hodge's table.

"How we doing today, New Guy?" Hodge asked when they got close enough. He and Rex stayed with their feet propped up, clearly enjoying the fact that they'd made Paul and Steven come to them.

"We're wonderful," Paul replied evenly, looking back and forth between Rex and Hodge. "I don't suppose you have anything to do with my first mission?"

Bringing his feet down and leaning forward so that his chair came down with a loud clack, Hodge said pleasantly, "Why yes, sir. As a matter of fact I do. In fact, Rex and I both do."

"Joy," said Steven sarcastically, mostly under his breath.

Turning a taunting ear toward Steven, Hodge said, "What was that you toad-eyed little redneck? You say something?"

Steven stepped forward to reply to Hodge, but Dittrich's voice came from behind, stopping him. "Glad to see you're already teamed up." Dittrich gave Hodge a long look. "As you may or may not already know, the four of you will be working together on Paul's first real-world training mission. Paul, it will be up to you to acquire the Target. Hodge will be there for backup and guidance as needed.

"Steven, it will be up to you to stand sentinel over both Paul and Hodge in the hours between sunset and sunrise. Rex will be there to monitor how well you employ the training standards that you have been taught up to this point."

Handing Paul a sealed, yellow legal-sized envelope, Dittrich said, "Instructions for your mission and the nature of the Target are in this envelope."

Paul turned it over in his hands. It was not labeled. "Do I open it now?" he asked.

"Open it whenever you like," Dittrich replied. "You have until just after lunch to familiarize yourself with the contents and form a game plan. At one p.m., be sure that you and Hodge are safely enclosed in his safe room." Addressing Steven, he said, "You and Rex will need to be on board the Griffon by 12:45 and ready to go."

To Paul's surprise, Steven nodded and said, "Yes, sir."

Dittrich looked them over, one person at a time, and said, "I'm sure there will be plenty to plan and plenty to discuss between now and the time you arrive at your destination." Did his gaze linger on Hodge longer than the rest? Paul couldn't be positive, but it sure seemed like it had. Nodding one last time, Dittrich said, "I'll leave you to it, then," and left the room.

Looking at the envelope in his hands, Paul said, "Well I suppose we should open it and get to work?"

Standing up, Hodge said, "Yeah you should. Wouldn't want to screw up your first time out of the play pen. As for me and Rex, here, we already know what's in there so... good luck."

With that, he nudged Rex on the shoulder and the two of them strode away.

Frustrated, Paul said to Steven, "That guy is such an asshole." Steven bobbed his head in silent acknowledgement. "So now what?"

"Now we plan your first mission," Steven said, his face breaking into a grin. "Should be a ball, man. How many times did you watch a 007 movie and wish you were Bond? Now you get to be."

Steven actually seemed excited, which surprised Paul, and he said as much.

Steven looked at him like he was crazy and said, "Dude, we got an underground lair with computers, big screen TVs, and a helicopter to take us and our super secret safe room wherever we need to go. On top of that, we got unlimited snacks. What's not to be excited about?"

Grinning by the time Steven finished speaking, Paul said, "Let's kick this shiznit into high gear."

Steven stopped smiling, shook his head and looked at Paul with mock pity. "Wow. You try so hard, don't you? Don't worry, someday you'll be cool. I promise."

Punching Steven in the shoulder, they made their way down to the safe room area.

* * *

It turned out the envelope contained only two pages with very simple, minor instructions. An address in St. Ignace, Michigan was listed with the instructions, 'there will be a phone call in the master bedroom on the second floor at 11:47p.m. this evening. The side of the conversation you can hear is your Target.'

Paul and Steven agreed that the Target seemed simple enough; listening to one side of a telephone conversation while potentially standing right next to the person on the phone didn't seem like much of a challenge at all.

On the second page was a map of St. Ignace with one red circle labeled 'DROP' and a second red circle labeled 'TARGET'.

"So obviously the one labeled 'DROP' is where we're being put down," Steven said, pulling the pages closer in front of him. "That's where we begin."

After concentrating on the map for a couple of minutes, Steven said, "Doesn't look like a very big town. Shouldn't be too bad. We're being dropped right near the edge of Lake Huron, so my guess is we might be in a shipping yard or some kind of outdoor storage area."

Paul watched and listened, delighted as Steven dug in and broke down all of the specifics of his route. Steven put Paul in charge of searching the internet whenever he needed specific information, which worked out well because Paul was quick with computers. Steven had never been terribly comfortable with most types of technology, being more at home in the woods or playing basketball with friends. The limit of Steven's technological advancement pretty much ended with his smart phone and YouTube videos.

They found that they made a great team—at least that was their opinion—and by 11 a.m. they felt they had all the details worked out. Paul found himself drawing more upon Allen's mapping and maze training than he'd realized he'd learned. Most of the issues they perceived to be big problems, at first, turned out to be no-brainers, like when they pulled up the information on the drop point and found that it was a shipping yard that was surrounded by an electrified twelve foot chain link fence.

"We got to find a way to get you through that fence," Steven had said, deep in thought.

"Dude," Paul said. "I'll just climb it. It's not like I'm going to feel an electrical current."

"Oh yeah..."

And on it went like that. Once they had the route established, Steven took a red marker and drew it on the map. Remembering the hedge maze and how it had been easier for him to remember numbers and turns instead of the whole maze, Paul applied the same principles to his path through St. Ignace. Steven suggested that he use letters for directions—'L ' for left and 'R' right was simple enough—and then numbers to represent the number of streets he would have to pass before making any turns.

"So if my first turn is the first street on the left; that would be '1L'?" Paul asked.

"Exactly."

Paul's simplified code for the route was 1R, 4L, 1L, 3R, 4L, T. The 'T' being for Target.

They ran through his directions a half dozen times, Paul reciting them back each time without any errors.

"Soon as I stepped out on the very first street, I'd be like, '7L, 16L, 4L, 1R?'", Steven remarked. "I'd end up landing myself in one of the Great Lakes. Glad you got that insane memory thing going for you."

At 12:30 Hodge came down into the Sanctum, sarcastically saying, "Better get your ass topside, redneck. Wouldn't want the bird to leave without you."

Rolling his eyes, Steven grabbed their mission pages and put them back into the original envelope. "See you in Michigan."

"Not if I see you first," Paul replied.

"Homos," Hodge scoffed. "Let's go, New Guy."

Hodge led the way to his safe room, stopping just outside the door. "Don't touch a damn thing," he warned. "You can sit in a chair, but don't lay on either of the beds. It'll either be my bed or Rex's, and both of us agree that we don't want you laying all up in our personal space."

Rolling the cogwheel and pulling the door open, he added, "If you gotta piss, now's the time. Once we get there, if it's still not dark, you won't be able to go without an escort."

Always classy, thought Paul. But Hodge made sense, so Paul went to the end of the hallway to take care of business.

After washing his hands, as he was grabbing for the handle of the restroom door, it opened in on him. Stepping back, he was shocked when Lisa slipped in and locked the door behind her.

"What are you—"

"Shh!" she cautioned. "Listen to me. Hodge is planning to set you up tonight."

"What?" Paul exclaimed, getting another 'shhh.' "How? What do you mean? What could he possibly do?"

"Trust me," she whispered. "He can do plenty. He hates you. He's threatened by you and he wants you to fail."

"Lisa, you and I haven't said more than ten words to each other since I got here. Why would he be worried at all?"

"It's not just me. It's you. It's how bad they want you to be part of everything they have planned. He hates that they think that they need you so badly. He wants you gone and he figures the best way to do that is to make you look incapable."

"Well don't worry," Paul said. "I can handle your boyfriend."

"Paul, you don't know him. He can be so spiteful."

"Then why are you with him?" Paul demanded. "If he's such a bad guy, just tell him to piss off!"

Sighing and looking at the ceiling, Lisa said, "It's not that simple. There's history. And then there's my father and..."

"You sound like a bad soap opera script," Paul interrupted. "So why are you telling me all this, then? If you're 'with him' this is a strange display of loyalty."

"Because you're..." she trailed off. She may have been hoping that Paul would speak up and let her off the hook, but he waited her out. "Because you're a nice guy," she said finally, looking down at the floor. "And I don't think you deserve this. It's one thing to come here as a Walker and run missions, but what they want you to do is something that..."

Sudden pounding from the other side of the door interrupted her. "Pinch it off, New Guy! Time to go!" Hodge called out.

"I'm coming!" Paul called back. To Lisa, he whispered, "We're not done. When I get back, I want to know what you were going to say."

Eyes wide and frightened, Lisa nodded and then squeezed into the linen closet, quietly closing the door.

Paul flushed the toilet, ran the sink water for a few seconds and then grabbed a hand towel while opening the door. Hodge was standing on the other side and immediately looked in. Paul pulled his head back and looked at Hodge like he was crazy. "Stalker much?" Paul asked.

Peeking around in the bathroom, Hodge said, "Smells like roses in here. Faggot."

They went back to Hodge's safe room where Hodge directed Paul to sit in one of the desk chairs and buckle up. The only real amount of time Paul had spent in his own safe room had been to sleep, so he hadn't realized that everything was not only bolted to floor, but that there were seat belts for every chair in the room.

Hodge grabbed the handset off the wall, punched in a three-digit number and said, "We're good to go." He hung up without waiting for a reply.

The noise of heavy metallic clanking sounded briefly from overhead, and then the entire room tilted slightly as Paul felt them rising, a lot like in an elevator, but with a swaying motion added. He looked over at Hodge, who was watching his reaction closely. Knowing that they were probably already dozens of feet in the air suspended by a helicopter and rising further to what would likely be hundreds of feet in the air, Paul fought against his natural urge to panic and instead forced himself to look calmly at Hodge and say, "And we're off."

Clearly disappointed, Hodge said in a taunting voice, "Allen told me how much you like heights."

Refusing to take the bait and not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking, Paul instead forced a yawn and said nothing.

Hodge snorted, grabbed a magazine from one of the desk drawers and began reading, ignoring Paul as if he wasn't there.

It went on like that for almost two hours; Hodge not speaking and Paul sitting there saying nothing. That was fine with Paul. He was fully in his comfort zone with silence. Once, Paul began to look around for something to read for himself, but Hodge said, "Touch nothing," without looking up from his magazine. So Paul instead spent his time mentally going through the upcoming mission, working to recall every detail he and Steven had worked out earlier in the day. Ironically, it was a lot like all the nights in Radcliff he'd spent on his bench waiting for the sunrise. He was no stranger to the boredom that came with spending time in his own mind.

Finally, well into their third hour, Hodge put down what he was reading, unbuckled his seat belt, and stood up. Paul hadn't realized that was an option and moved to do the same, but Hodge snapped, "Don't even think about it. One solid blast of the wind and we sway all over the place. Surely you've felt a few of those already. You slam your head into a metal wall on this mission and it's my ass."

"Then how come you're..."

"They ain't gonna say nothin' if I'm stupid enough to hurt myself," Hodge interrupted. "What? You worried that they'd blame you? Their golden boy?" Sneering, Hodge used the wall as balance to make his way to his bed and flopped down. "Hell no."

Having to turn in his seat to see Hodge because he was still buckled into his chair, Paul awkwardly said, "Hodge, why can't we bury the hatchet? I'm not after your girl, I'm not after your glory. It seems like I could learn a lot from you and, after all, we're supposed to be on the same team."

"We ain't even close to 'on the same team,'" Hodge replied. "You'd like that, though, wouldn't you? Well I can tell you without any doubt whatsoever—we ain't never gonna be best buds. And you'll be damn lucky if you get as far as calling me 'co-worker.'"

Paul just stared, completely at a loss as to how to respond to such unequivocal dislike. There had been plenty of people back home that hadn't liked him for one reason or another, but never in his life had he ever been faced with someone who felt so irrationally negative toward him.

They spent the rest of the trip that way, in silence, with Paul staring at the wall in front of his desk and Hodge lying on the bed. When their descent finally began, Paul was relieved to know he'd soon be seeing Steven's friendly face. It was close to six p.m., which meant they had less than two hours until sunset.

Chapter 21

Immediately after they landed, Paul felt more than heard the safe room being detached from the helicopter and the sound of the rotors fading into the distance. The safe room door opened and Steven and Rex quickly came inside and shut the door.

"Ok, here's the deal," announced Rex. "Until the sun sets, Steven and I are in charge, because your safety is our job. As such, you will defer to us in any matters that don't involve sitting in this room and waiting for the sun to go down. Because I have seniority, my word takes precedence if there are any matters of dispute between now and Go-Time."

Steven gave Paul a small nod indicating that this was standard procedure, nothing to worry about. Then they went through the same verbal lashing that Paul had already endured once, Hodge and Rex cautioning them both not to touch anything and just sit there and wait.

"Don't you want to go over our mission?" Paul asked.

"No I don't," snipped Hodge in reply. "I know the mission. And besides, it ain't our mission, it's your mission."

So Steven and Paul sat at the desks while Rex and Hodge lounged on their beds. Paul and Steven talked about the ride in. Steven described how the helicopter had been attached to the safe room by a single cable and hook, which Paul was glad he hadn't been told about before he got in for the ride. Rex had been the one to secure the hook. It had taken him less than a minute and that had been all it had taken to get them air born. The safe room itself was paneled on the exterior with metal sheeting to make it look like a small cargo container from a train or boat to keep curiosity to a minimum.

Predictably, Rex had treated Steven with disdain, spending all but the takeoff and landing with the ear buds of his iPod jammed in his ears. Steven, true to his friendly nature, had jumped into the co-pilot seat and engaged the pilot in conversation the entire ride. "Dude, I got to wear the headphones and all."

Just before sunset, Rex took out a plastic sheet and spread it out over the top of his bed.

"Really?" Paul asked.

"My bed. My rules. No need for me to have to sleep in your stink after we're done."

Crawling onto the crackling plastic, Paul looked up and rolled his eyes at Steven one last time before letting the dream pull him down into the drift.

He opened his eyes to the sound of a timer beeping. Rex opened the door to the room and announced, "Ninety seconds."

Hodge immediately got up and walked past Rex, outside. Paul did the same, but paused on his way out, quickly focusing his energy to slap Steven on the ass, getting a little jump and a, "Hoo! Go team!" in response.

Less than a minute later, the door to the safe room was closed, leaving Paul and Hodge standing together outside. "Ready to go?" Paul asked.

"Lead on, big man," Hodge replied.

Running through the directions one more time in his head, Paul turned and went to the fence, climbing up and over without hesitation and landing on the sidewalk on the other side.

Hodge followed, saying, "Sure you want to go this way, Golden Boy?"

"I know where I'm going."

Heading off down the street, Paul didn't wait or look back to see if Hodge was following. As he made their way through the town, Hodge tried to make Paul second-guess every turn, as if trying to persuade him to go the wrong way. If this was Hodge's big plan to make Paul look incapable, it wasn't going to work. Paul knew exactly where he was going.

They reached their destination in less than an hour, leaving plenty of time before the phone call. "Looks like it's about 9:30," Paul said, looking up at the night sky.

"Sounds about right," Hodge said absently, not even bothering to look up.

"So what do we do now?"

"You tell me. This is your mission. I'm just here to babysit."

"Well," Paul said, annoyed, "I could probably open the door myself."

The house was nondescript; it could have a house in any middle-class neighborhood in America. A brown Volvo station wagon was parked in the driveway.

They walked up to the front door, Hodge trailing behind. There were windows on both sides and a small one inset into the top part of the door itself. Paul sidled up to the window on the right side of the door, his back to the wall, and peeked in over his shoulder with just the side of his head.

Hodge made a sound of disgust and walked up to the window, bodily facing the interior. "They can't see you, dumbass. What the hell are you hiding for?"

Embarrassed at his own stupidity, Paul turned and looked through the window. There was a very normal-looking living room with two couches and a television. A lamp sitting on an end table was on, as was the television, but there was no one to be seen. Looking through the window on the other side of the door, Paul could see nothing because there was no light on. He assumed it was probably a bedroom. Going back to the front door, he stood on his tip toes and peered in through the window at its top—no one there, just a set of stairs to the left and a hallway that led to what looked like the kitchen.

"Ok, I'm going to try the door," he whispered.

"You don't have to whisper," Hodge replied in a mocking singsong voice.

Reaching down, Paul focused on the doorknob, grasping hold and shutting out all doubt, shutting out Hodge, especially. Feeling the warmth course through him, he turned the knob quickly to the right and pushed, all in a single motion, and the door swung open with the suction of released air, creaking slightly as it did.

Moving quickly, he slid inside the house as soon as there was room enough to get past the door. Hodge followed more slowly, breathing heavily as he did. Paul gave him a worried look. "You ok, Hodge?"

Hodge's only reply was to keep breathing, his eyes narrowing. Paul knew that look; it was the look that Hodge had when he was making himself heard in the dream.

"What are you doing?" Paul demanded. "We don't want them to hear us, why would you..."

"Hellooooo!" Hodge bellowed. "Anybody hooooome?"

"You asshole!" Paul exclaimed. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

A middle-aged, balding man dressed in rumpled business clothes came out of the kitchen, looking around in curiosity. "Hello? Who's there?"

Hodge, now speaking normally so that the man couldn't hear him said conversationally, "Just me and my good buddy Paul, here. We're your local voyeur club come to watch all the nasty things you do when you're alone."

The man went to the door, peering out onto the street, looking right and left. "Hello?" he called out again.

"You're such a prick," Paul said.

Hodge shrugged and turned away, heading leisurely toward the kitchen.

The man carefully closed the door and looked around the living room. It looked like he was checking to see if anything was missing.

Looking toward the kitchen where Hodge had gone, Paul shook his head in disgust and headed up the stairs to find the master bedroom. To hell with Hodge. There was no way Paul was going to miss his first Target.

It turned out that the master bedroom was not hard to find, as all the doors on the upper level were open. The two other rooms on that level were clearly used as an office and a guest room.

Entering the room, Paul located the phone on a nightstand table. A digital alarm clock next to the phone showed the time as 9:53. Still almost two hours until his call would come. He had plenty of time to explore the house, the neighborhood, even the town if he wanted. The smart move, though, was to stay right where he was and stick it out for those two hours. Anything could happen between now and then and he knew it was best to stay put in the place he had to ultimately be.

Resigned to a wait, he was easing himself down on the bed when he heard clattering and Hodge's voice screaming incoherently from downstairs.

"Son of a..." he said under his breath and ran down the steps just in time to see the balding man run out the front door like the devil was in pursuit. Hodge was right behind the man, cackling like a madman with a look of maniacal glee on his face. Hodge was throwing his voice at the man, scaring the hell out of him.

"Hodge!" Paul yelled as Hodge ran after the man, leaving the door wide open. Pausing in the doorway, knowing he shouldn't leave the house for risk of losing access to the Target, he waited just long enough to see the man make a break for his car. Hodge was showing no intention of letting the man drive off alone. Hodge was going to get into the car with the guy!

Dashing down the sidewalk, Paul watched in dreaded slow motion as the man yanked open the door to his Volvo, giving Hodge just enough time to jump in with him before he slammed the door and hit the locks.

Paul ran to the window of the car, pounding on it and screaming at Hodge. The man didn't hear Paul screaming, but from the way he jerked his head back, he definitely heard Paul pounding. Paul realized that although he hadn't meant to focus his ability, his anger at Hodge had taken over.

Realizing his mistake too late, he watched as the man panicked even further and slammed the car in reverse, pulling out of the driveway with a screech. Hodge rode in the passenger seat, grinning and waving goodbye with four waggling fingers. The car lurched away, hitting garbage cans as it sped off down the road.

Putting his hands to either side of his head, Paul fumed over what had just happened. Obviously, Lisa had been telling him the truth about Hodge's intentions tonight. He considered running after the car, but even with the ability to run without getting tired, there was no way he could run fast enough to catch up with them.

Hodge had really screwed him. What now? What was the right move? The way he saw it, he could try and find Hodge or he could wait at the house. Having no idea where the man may have driven off to, Paul figured the only real option that made sense was to stay at the house and hope the man came back. Besides, the poor guy had left the door wide open in his haste to get away. Anyone could come along and rob him blind.

Paul went back inside, focusing to push the door shut. That being done, he decided to go up to the master bedroom and do what he'd intended to do in the first place; wait it out.

The clock on nightstand now read 10:02. Only nine minutes had passed. Nine minutes was all it had taken for Hodge to blow his first mission for him.

He sat there, dejected, for over an hour, hoping to hear the Volvo pull back into the driveway. The digital display on the alarm clock silently ticked through the minutes.

Finally, at 11:41, he heard the sound of someone at the front door. Sprinting down the steps, he got to the closed door and looked out through the window.

"Yooooo-hoooo," Hodge said in a high pitched voice. "I seeee you."

Going to the living room window, Paul looked out at the driveway. No Volvo.

"Where's the guy?" Paul asked through the door.

"Oh, I don't think he's gonna be able to make it for his call," Hodge answered.

Paul cursed under his breath, trying to think.

"Hey little piggy," Hodge said. "Why don't you let me in?"

"Why don't you kiss my ass? What did you do? You think Dr. Abrams and Dittrich aren't going to find out what you did? You can bet your ass I'm going to tell them!"

"Oh no, please don't tell on me!" Hodge cried out mockingly. "What you think's gonna happen? You think they'd kick me out? You think they'd automatically believe you over me? Hell no."

Maybe Hodge had a point. Hodge had been at Astralis a long time and was considered the best when it came to missions. Would they believe Paul over Hodge?

"You gonna let me in or not?" Hodge asked.

"Hell no, I'm not letting you in."

"Seriously, New Guy, don't be a turd. It was all part of the plan from the start. You were supposed to find a way to stop me from doing what I did. It isn't your fault you failed. It's just your first mission. Maybe you'll do better next time."

"That's B.S., Hodge, and you know it."

"No man, I'm serious. You're a new thing for us so we tried something new. I couldn't tell you what that was, of course, but now that the gig is done and you didn't stop the guy, why don't we go have some fun? Come on, open the door and let's go see what this town's like."

Paul stood still, considering whether or not to believe Hodge. It was possible. It could all have been a set up right from the point when Lisa snuck into the bathroom to warn him. But why would she have been asked to do that? To test his loyalty? To see if he could determine the right path from the wrong one at a moment's notice? That just didn't make sense. It didn't mesh with the things Astralis had trained him for and it didn't mesh with the basic culture of the place.

"Sorry, Hodge, but..."

The phone upstairs began ringing.

"There it is, that's the signal," Hodge's muffled voice said. "If the phone still rings even when the guy isn't here, that's our cue to pack it in. Come on, let's get out of here. You'll get it right next time."

Paul still stood there, not moving.

"Look, man—you're right," Hodge continued. "We need to bury the hatchet. Let's do that. Let's work on that. I been rotten to you."

The phone was on its third ring as Paul put his hand on the door knob. Hodge, peeking in through the door window, said, "Right on, man."

Looking up into Hodge's wide eyes, Paul realized that he still had one more option.

Turning, Hodge's yelling voice followed him as he took the steps two at a time to the second floor. "New Guy! Open the door! Get back here!"

Ignoring Hodge, Paul went to the phone, concentrated, and landed a slap to the handset, knocking it to the floor. Lying down next to it, Paul put his ear to the receiver and listened.

"Hello?" came the unmistakable female voice of Lydia.

"Hello!" Paul called out hopelessly.

A slight pause and then Lydia spoke again, puzzled, "Is there anyone there? Mr. Glynhall?"

"No, it's me..." Paul said helplessly, knowing she couldn't hear him.

"Mr. Glynhall, if you're there it is very important that you speak to me. Our arrangement is that you will answer a series of questions at this precise time of the evening. If you do not uphold your end of the bargain, we may be forced to find another arrangement. One that does not involve your services."

The muted sound of speaking followed. Lydia's hand must have been over her own handset, and then, "Mr. Glynhall? I'm hanging up now, sir."

Another pause, a click, and then a dial tone.

Paul rolled over onto his back and let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling. Hodge really had been trying to sabotage his mission all along.

Chapter 22

Opening his eyes to the morning, Paul found himself back in his safe room. The first thing he noticed as he propped himself up on his elbows was that the door was open. The door was blocking his view to the outside, so he couldn't see if anyone was standing guard, but even if they were it was against protocol. One Sentinel was supposed to stay in the room at all times if there was a Walker present.

Rolling into a sitting position, he realized the bed wasn't covered in crackling plastic. That was when it hit him that he was in his own safe room, not Hodge's. Confused, he got up and padded down the hallway to the lounge area. He found Steven sitting alone on one of the couches watching cartoons.

"Rise and shine!" Steven greeted him. "How'd it go last night?"

Confused and disoriented, Paul started to reply, but Hodge walked into the lounge area from his own safe room. He shuffled past with his head turned toward Paul, looking him in the eye the entire time. Paul wouldn't have thought it possible, but there was even more hatred than he'd ever shown before. Hodge hit the button for the elevator and, without a word, got in, letting the door close behind him.

"I take it you two didn't bond much on your first run," Steven ventured, popping a mini powdered donut into his mouth.

Sighing, Paul flopped down on the couch next to Steven and sat staring into space for a few moments.

"Hodge tried to make me fail last night," he finally said. "I think he might have succeeded. You have white powder all over your mouth."

Wiping his mouth with his forearm and smearing most of the powder onto his cheek, Steven said, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"How did we get back here?" Paul asked.

"The helicopter came back and grabbed Hodge's safe room like an hour after sunset. I thought you knew that was the plan. Sorry, guess we should have clarified that. What do you mean you failed? You couldn't find the house? You couldn't get in? What?"

"I got in fine. Hodge made the guy freak out and leave so that no one was there to answer the phone when the call came."

"Son of a..." Steven said angrily, standing up. "That's crap. Being a prick is one thing, but that's going too far, man. We got to straighten this out right now."

"We have to do something. But I don't know what yet. Sit down, let me think. I need to think."

Grumbling under his breath, Steven flopped down on the couch, glaring at Paul. When he didn't get any response, he went back to his Scooby-Doo.

A half an hour later all of the other Walkers had come out of their safe rooms and gone upstairs. Finally, Paul and Steven went up too. They knew everyone would be waiting to hear the results of the mission.

Sure enough, as soon as they walked into the room it got quiet. The Walkers and their Sentinels were split into the usual two main tables, with Hodge and his gang at one and the rest at another.

Dr. Abrams, Natasha, Lydia, Gladys, and Dittrich stood clustered together near a third table, so engrossed in conversation that initially they didn't see Paul and Steven come in the room. From the way they huddled so close and the seriousness of their expressions, it was clear something was not right, which was probably why everyone in the room went quiet at the sight of Paul and Steven.

"So what's the play?" asked Steven in a near-whisper.

Looking across the room at Lisa, Paul tried to get some idea of whether or not anything had been said regarding what Hodge had done last night. With wide, frightened eyes, she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Did that mean she didn't want him to say anything about what she'd told him? Did that mean she didn't want him to say anything about what Hodge had done? Or did it mean that everyone already knew and he was in some sort of trouble?

Looking at Hodge, Paul got a cold, blank expression in return. Nothing. Not even his usual sneer.

"I'm still thinking," he replied to Steven, and walked forward as Dr. Abrams waved the two of them over. Passing his usual table, Liz looked up at him and gave him a smile of encouragement, but all he could offer in return was a thin, tight-lipped attempt at a smile.

"Good morning," Paul said to the group surrounding Dr. Abrams, receiving only brief nods from Dittrich and Gladys.

Looking across the room, Dittrich called over, "Hodge, could you and Rex please join us."

"Paul, Hodge," Dr. Abrams began without preamble once Hodge and Rex had joined them, "it appears there is a fairly serious situation regarding last night's mission."

Everyone in the room was now silent, trying to hear what had happened. Paul looked over at Hodge, but again got nothing—Hodge remained stone-faced—so Paul just nodded instead of saying anything.

"At the time that you were supposed to obtain the Target," Dr. Abrams began, addressing Paul, "Where were you?"

Without hesitation, Paul replied, "I was in the master bedroom of the home that I'd been directed to—per my mission instructions."

Steepling his fingers in front of his lips, Dr. Abrams paused before asking, "And how did you gain entry to the home?"

"Through the front door," Paul replied. A few snickers came from nearby tables. Not wanting to appear as if he wasn't taking the situation seriously, Paul clarified, "Using my ability."

Dittrich nodded. "And was anyone in the home?"

There had been when they'd arrived, but he had specifically been asked about the time during which he was supposed to obtain the Target, which was later, so technically he wasn't lying when he replied, "No, there wasn't." He felt Hodge's eyes on him but didn't turn to look. He felt awful not telling the entire truth, especially to Dr. Abrams, but he knew he had to be careful.

Leaning forward intently, Dittrich asked, "Are you sure there was no one there?"

Narrowing his eyes at Dittrich, as if confused at the reason for repeating the question, Paul said, "Yes, I am sure."

No one spoke for a few moments. Finally, Dr. Abrams, Dittrich, Lydia, and Gladys exchanged a look.

"Paul," Dr. Abrams began, "at 11:47 last night, you say that there was no one in the house and yet, at that time someone did pick up the telephone."

"I can explain that," Paul supplied.

"At 11:24 last night," Dr. Abrams continued as if Paul hadn't spoken, "the owner of the home, a Mr. Glynhall, struck a telephone pole two miles from his home while driving his Volvo at a speed in excess of one hundred miles per hour and was killed."

You could hear a pin drop in the room. Paul turned and looked directly at Hodge, the obvious question in his eyes. Hodge looked back, cleared-eyed and still without expression. Finally, Paul let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and looked back, addressing Dr. Abrams. "That... is awful. What... how did it happen?" Paul felt more than saw Steven go rigid and take a tiny step back.

"The details are still out of our reach," Dr. Abrams replied. "But it does put us on somewhat of an alert. It is too much of a coincidence that this man died just twenty minutes before the scheduled time of your first real-world assignment."

Standing taller, addressing the entire room in a louder voice, Dr. Abrams announced, "You've all just heard what happened last night. It may have been fate or just poor timing for Mr. Glynhall and for us, but we would be remiss if we did not do our due diligence and keep our eyes open.

"Effective immediately and until further notice, we will remain at minimum lock-down status. All visits by friends and family are to be approved through Lydia or myself. All non-essential excursions, day or night, must also be pre-approved.

"This may be nothing, people, but it is also possible that someone else has taken notice of Mr. Bennett's unique skill-set and decided to try and take him for their own use."

There was a fair amount of grumbling around the room. In particular, Paul thought he caught James glaring at him, but when he tried to meet James' eyes, Paul realized it was actually Hodge that was getting the glare.

"Paul," Dr. Abrams said, snapping Paul's attention back to him. "You said you could explain the phone being answered?"

Paul took a moment to recall what he'd heard last night and recited, "Hello? Is there anyone there? Mr. Glynhall? Mr. Glynhall, if you're there it is very important that you speak to me. Our arrangement is that you will answer a series of questions at this precise time of the evening. If you do not uphold your end of the bargain, we may be forced to find another arrangement. One that does not involve your services. Mr. Glynhall? I'm hanging up now, sir."

A beat of silence and then the entire room began chattering. Dr. Abrams looked at Paul with a smile. "It was you that picked up the phone."

"Slapped the receiver out of the cradle, actually," Paul replied honestly.

"So you've managed to obtain a Target, after all," Dr. Abrams said with grim pride. "Well done, Paul." To the room at large, which was still buzzing with conversation, he announced, "Paul's training will continue without interruption. That is all for now."

Giving Paul one last nod, Dr. Abrams and the rest of the administrative group made their exit.

Hodge turned to face Paul, the blank look he'd been wearing now replaced by a mask of fury. Confirming what Paul had suspected, Hodge whispered fiercely, "You think you just bought a buddy? Think again." He turned and stalked back to his table.

"What's the matter with you?" Steven said. "Why didn't you bust him out? Everyone is here. There couldn't have been a better time. You'd think he'd be grateful. He killed that poor bastard."

"He's not grateful, not even close. He wanted me to tell Dr. Abrams what he did. I don't know what his angle was, but he had a plan last night. And he had a plan this morning if last night's plan didn't work out."

They both turned and watched Hodge pick his fork back up to finish eating. Steven said wonderingly, "That wily son of a gun."

Looking askance at his friend, Paul said, "Wily he may be. But we be wilier than he."

"Do we be?"

"We do indeed."

Chapter 23

Before joining Liz in the training area, Paul went to the balcony for some privacy and tried calling Stephanie. It rang through to voice mail before he realized it was nine a.m. on a school day and she was almost certainly sitting in her second-period class.

"Hey Steph," he said softly. "Guess I forgot that you'd be in class right now. I'm going to try and call you tonight before it gets dark." He paused, not hanging up right away and said, "I miss you."

Down in the training area, he was paired with Liz for training in ethics. They talked for the better part of the morning about all of the do's and don'ts associated with the kind of decision-making Walkers often faced. Violating people's privacy and using one's skills for personal gain were the two main topics. Covering such a broad spectrum of situations, they still hadn't finished that part of the discussion by noon.

Throughout lunch, he fielded questions about the way the previous night had gone. The majority of them were centered around the way he'd had to improvise when he realized no one was going to be home for the call. He was thankful no one asked about Mr. Glynhall. Steven ate in silence, not contributing to the conversation. Hodge looked on from his table with an icy stare, and glowered when the table erupted in laughter over the image of Paul lying stretched out on the floor with his ear desperately pressed up against the handset.

"You alright?" Paul asked Steven as they were leaving, each to return to their respective training areas.

"Fine," Steven said flatly. "I'm fine," and continued on in silence.

Back in the training room, Liz said, "There is a whole lot more that I'm supposed to cover, but honestly it is all just common decency stuff that I can't see being an issue with you. But we do have the rest of the day and unfortunately we can't go take a stroll or anything, so—what about you? Any questions?"

"Hmmm," Paul said. "No ethical questions really spring to mind for me."

Liz looked intently into his eyes, "What about questions that don't relate to ethics?"

Was she talking about last night? Did she know? Was she part of the 'bad guys'?

"Here's somewhat of an ethical question," Paul replied carefully. "Do you think we should be paid for what we do?"

Sitting back in her chair, Liz replied, "You've been talking to Dittrich, haven't you?"

Surprised, Paul said, "No, why would you think that?"

Dismissively, she said, "Because that's his thing. Since as far back as I can remember, he's always said we should be rich because we offer such a one-of-a-kind service. Don't tell me he hasn't gotten up on his soap box yet and tried to preach to you about it."

"No," Paul was able to reply honestly, "he really hasn't. A couple of the other guys mentioned it, but I didn't take it seriously."

"It's not like we don't have all we need right here," Liz said. "As far as I'm concerned, we have more than we need; a nice, clean, safe place to live, food, and a purpose for our lives. Not to mention some pretty darn good company. I'm referring to me, of course, when I say good company."

Smiling, and relieved he could be fairly certain she wasn't a part of the conspiracy, Paul asked, "So do you think there is a chance this place would ever change the way it operates? Like, become more of a business than an institution?"

"No way," Liz answered. "Dr. Abrams would never let something like that happen. There's too many perks being part of a U.N.-funded organization. Not to mention he'd lose his relationship with the CIA. With his brother still out there somewhere, there is no way he would risk that."

"So you know about his brother?"

"Most of us do. You know how it goes... Dr. Abrams told Dittrich, Dittrich told Lisa, Lisa told Hodge, and on down the line."

"The best way to make a secret known is tell someone it's a secret," quoted Paul.

"You got that right."

"So what about you, then, Liz? Don't you have any dreams or ambitions?"

"You mean past being a super secret spy for the United Nations?" she joked. "Sure. Plenty. But before I try working toward any of that, I have to be sure I can handle it."

Puzzled, Paul said, "But you seem so... together. It's hard for me to believe there'd be much you couldn't handle."

"You'd be surprised. I'm not much older than you and believe me, I wasn't always the picture of grace that you see here before you today. Before Astralis found me, I was as close to a basket case as I ever hope to be—depressed, isolated, and angry, feeling like there was no place for me; not even with my own family."

"Sounds familiar," Paul said understandingly.

"I'm not surprised. Ask around, Paul. Ask just about anyone here and they'll repeat your own story back to you. We've all gone through it and if it wasn't for this place we'd all still be in the same place with no end in sight."

They spent the rest of afternoon talking and didn't worry about any more training. They decided to call it quits a little early since they weren't really working anyway, so Paul took the extra time to try and find Steven and explain to him what was going on.

It took over an hour of wandering back and forth between the commons room and the Sanctum before Steven finally ambled in to find Paul pacing in front of the snack bar, nervously popping peanuts into his mouth.

"Hey," Steven said evenly. "What's up?"

"Plenty," Paul said. "I need to explain to you what's going on, because now I think I finally get it."

The two of them went into their safe room, Paul closing the door behind them.

"Super secret meeting?" Steven asked with a grin as he watched Paul secure the door lock.

"Steven, this is serious stuff I'm about to tell you. We might be in some deep trouble."

Steven's demeanor immediately changed, his attention completely focused on Paul.

"Four nights ago, I went on a run with James. He asked me to come because he said he just wanted some fresh air, but once we got far enough away, he started asking me a bunch of questions about how I like it here and whether I thought we were basically just prisoners of the place because we don't get paid."

Bouncing his head from side to side in consideration, Steven said, "I can see how some people might see it that way."

"Yeah, well, that's pretty much what I said, and at the time I didn't think much of it. But the day after that, Dr. Abrams cuts my training time short and brings me down into his and Natasha's living quarters."

"Abrams and Natasha are shacked up?" Steven asked. "Never would have pegged that one, they seem more like co-workers than friends. Down? Down where?"

"Under us. He has a thing down underneath us. And they aren't shacked up like that. They have separate bedrooms. It's more complicated than that; she's his family. But that's beside the point, or I guess it's part of the point, maybe. Anyway, I'm down in his office and he and Natasha basically tell me their life story as well as the story of how Astralis became what it is today.

"Someday I'll tell it all to you, but for now the most important thing to know is that Lydia... you know, the lady who runs the front desk and does the announcements?"

"Sexy voice. I'd tap that just for the voice."

"Yeah. Ew. Man, you got issues. Anyway, she's CIA. And the other two ladies up there? They are too."

"A sexy CIA agent. This just gets better and better."

"Focus, Steven-san. Dr. Abrams explained that it was through Lydia that he met others in the CIA and through that relationship, he was eventually approached by the United Nations to create an agency that could use the talents of Walkers."

"What does this have to do with James?" Steven asked.

"I'm getting to that. The deal with the United Nations is that they supply the budget for this building, our training, our missions, and any costs for anything else we need. We basically have an unlimited budget, far as I can tell."

"And James thinks all of us should get paid since we're the ones that make it work," Steven guessed.

"Right."

"Big deal," Steven said. "Let him think it, so what. If he wants to make money, why doesn't he just go out and open his own spy shop? Once he actually thinks about it, he'll realize he has a pretty good thing going here."

"He actually said something along those lines and he knows that he couldn't do it on his own. But let me get back to what Dr. Abrams told me; he said that there is a group of Walkers here who feel the same way that James does." Steven's face became very serious. "Not only that, but he thinks that group wants to take over Astralis and turn it into a business, and he said that the only reason they haven't done it yet is because of me."

"You?" Steven exclaimed. "What do you have to do with it?"

"Because I can move stuff while I'm in the dream. No one else can do that. Before they found me, they didn't even think it was possible. Dr. Abrams said that they found me over six months ago and they knew I could move objects within the first month. Everyone here has known what I can do for all that time."

"And they figure if they have you on their side basically nothing can stop them," Steven surmised.

"Basically, yeah."

"Man, we're in a situation. Who do you think is part of this group?"

"Well, that's what I'm getting at. James pretty much tipped his hand that night on the run. Two nights after that, which was like, two nights ago, I did the maze run with Allen and on the way there he started asking me about whether or not I was happy. It was practically the same conversation I had with James, but dumbed-down a little."

"So there's number two on the list."

"Yup. And last night before we left on the training mission Lisa snuck into the bathroom with me and warned me about Hodge. She told me he was going to try and sabotage the mission."

"Alone in the bathroom with Lisa, huh?" Steven raised an eyebrow in an unspoken but clearly implied question.

"No," Paul said. "It was nothing like that. I swear to God, you're such a gutter rat. She tells me Hodge is going to sabotage my mission, she says he hates that they think they need me so bad. So does that mean Hodge is one of them? Did she mean 'they' as in the people who want to take this place over, or did she mean 'they' as in Astralis in general? If anyone, I would have thought it would be Hodge that was the ring leader, but what she said makes me think he's not—if they think that they need me so bad, who are they?"

"He still could be the main guy," Steven said. "Maybe it's James and Allen that are the ones who think they need you and Hodge is frustrated that they think so."

"Maybe... I don't know," answered Paul, thinking.

"You haven't mentioned the other question," Steven said.

"What question is that?"

"Lisa knows something. How much she knows, we don't know, but she knows something or she wouldn't have known to warn you and wouldn't have said it the way she did. So the question is: is Lisa one of them?"

Chapter 24

The next thirty-six hours were very tense for both Paul and Steven. They spent their meals trying not to let their paranoia show, but it had to be obvious to anyone who took the time to notice. Juliet even went as far as asking at one point if Steven was feeling well.

Training went on as it had for the past six days with one exception; because of the lock-down status that existed, all night-time training was conducted indoors, so Paul spent all day and all night in the training rooms except when taking meals or for the couple hours of free time everyone had between dinner and sunset.

He learned how to spot other Walkers, which was a staple skill as far as Dr. Abrams was concerned. Whether you were on the most important mission of your life or just visiting your Aunt Flo, part of your duty as a member of Astralis was to reach out to other Walkers, or at least report their existence to Dr. Abrams.. The rationale behind this was two-fold. More Walkers at Astralis meant strength in numbers and greater options for them as an organization. And, just as Liz had said, almost every Walker started out thinking there was something wrong with them; extending a hand to them people could literally wind up saving their lives.

He spent a day with James going over facial and vocal recognition. The entire time, Paul kept waiting for James to bring up what they'd discussed on their run, but it never happened. James kept to the training program that he'd put together, and although his personality was too dry and mistrustful to ever be called fun or friendly, the day was not unenjoyable and the information was very interesting, particularly the parts that dealt with vocal recognition.

On his seventh day of training, Paul was informed by Dittrich that his second real life training mission was to be moved up to the following day. It had originally been scheduled for day 10 of his training, but Paul's ability to recall in such detail nullified the need for a good portion of the program. And, with the current state of unrest, they had a greater chance of facing any threat that may exist to Astralis if Paul moved forward.

If all went well on this second mission, Dittrich explained, Paul would have only three more days of training followed by a third and final mission which was the equivalent to a final exam. If he made it through the final mission without any mistakes, he could officially consider himself a member of the Astralis team.

There was a little muttering from Allen and James with regard to the new timetable, their objection being that it would be their ass if they were on a mission with him and he hadn't been fully trained, but Dittrich took the two of them aside. Whatever it was that he said seemed to do the trick, and Paul didn't hear any more griping.

He spent that evening with Kenneth, learning pattern recognition theories and how they applied to using them for acquiring the Target on missions. Very often, missions required weeks of preparation before they could be carried out and many of those missions required several nights of waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. On those missions, it was essential to have patience and the ability to wait and watch for patterns in behavior and routines. Using those patterns allowed for planning what was normally the optimum time to carry out the mission. Paul's first training run had obviously been set up and carried out by Astralis; there was no need to try and establish where or when the phone call would be coming. It was rarely that easy, though. Normally, finding that kind of information—and knowing that it was reliable—was the hardest part of every mission.

When Paul told Kenneth that he would be heading out the next day for his second mission, Kenneth was shocked.

"Already? That seems way too soon. Who made that decision?"

"Apparently Dr. Abrams did. I guess I don't really know, but I would assume so. Dittrich told me."

"You think you're ready?"

"I wish I could say yes or no," Paul answered, "but I don't even know what the mission is, where I'm going, who I'll be buddied with, or... any of it. I just know I'm going."

"Things seem like they're unraveling here a little," Kenneth said quietly. "I guess we shouldn't be surprised."

Getting a bad feeling in his stomach, Paul looked up sharply. "We? We who? What did you mean by that?"

Looking around through the glass walls of the training area to make sure no one was in hearing distance, Kenneth said, "Relax, Paul. Dr. Abrams told me he spoke with you about what's been going on here."

Paul let out a breath of relief. "Oh thank God. The only person I can talk to about this is Steven and Dr. Abrams, and you know how hard it is to actually get any time to speak with Dr. Abrams."

"There are a few of us that know, but we don't ever talk about it because we constantly worry that people might be listening."

"Who? Who else knows?"

"Parker, Liz, and Juliet. We've thought about trying to talk to Lisa, but she's with Hodge and we think he might be the source of it all. It has to be Hodge or Dittrich. We know James and Allen are a part of it because those two have tried pushing the whole 'we're getting screwed because we aren't rich' agenda on every one of us."

"So why doesn't Dr. Abrams just make those two leave?" Paul asked.

"Because they could get back in any time they wanted. Doors are always open, remember? And besides, it'd be a shock to everyone if either one of them really was the leader. Dr. Abrams subscribes to the 'keep your friends close but your enemies closer' philosophy. When they finally make their move, he doesn't want to be surprised by it."

"This is such a mess," Paul lamented. "Maybe I should be the one who leaves. If they're just waiting for me to pick a side, maybe I should just take myself out of the equation."

"They were going to do this anyway. This has been something they were talking about long before you got here. If anything, the fact that they want you on their side is what has kept them from taking action yet."

"There has to be something we can do," Paul said. "It doesn't seem right to just wait for something to happen."

Reaching a hand over and patting Paul on the shoulder, Kenneth said, "We'll be fine, I know it. The fact that you just said 'we' and 'us' tells me that they're not going to get what they want. Don't worry; Dr. Abrams will always watch over us."

Smiling, Paul replied, "I'm so glad you're not on the other side of this, Kenneth. You've become a great friend."

"Back at ya."

* * *

The following morning at breakfast, Dittrich came to Paul, Liz, Juliet, Kenneth, and Parker's table to inform Paul that he wouldn't be leaving for his mission until after sunset and that he was to report to the helipad at 9 p.m. His day training would be spent with Lisa, working on item recall, as well as attending a group lecture on isolationism and identity.

Once Dittrich left the room, Kenneth leaned forward in his chair and said, "Something's very wrong. We all know that the second mission is an overnighter that always leaves during the day." He looked at Paul. "I don't want to scare you, but whoever you get paired up with on this mission is almost definitely a part of the group that wants Abrams out."

"So what do I do?" Paul asked. "It's not like I can just tell them I'm not going to go."

"No," Parker chimed in, "we want you to go. We need to know what's going on. Ask questions. Find out what they're planning and when they're planning it."

"Shouldn't I go to Dr. Abrams?" Paul asked. "Wouldn't it be better if we kept him in the loop?"

"He's in the loop," Kenneth answered. "He's always in the loop. I guarantee he knows more about what is going on with this than we do. That's the issue for us lowly Watchers; I trust the man, but his operational style has always been to share information only when it needs to be shared."

"Did you notice the way all the Sentinels were called away immediately after day break?" asked Liz in a whisper. "What do you think that is all about?"

"I thought it was just for Steven's training," Juliet replied.

"No way," said Parker. "Not all of them at the same time. They always work their training in shifts, half on and half off."

"Let's all meet down in the Sanctum at lunch time," Kenneth said. "With any luck, everyone else will be in this room and we'll be able to discuss things with a little more privacy. Let's all ask questions and see if we can find out where the Sentinels are as well as anything we can about Paul's mission tonight."

Everyone nodded and as they stood up to leave, Kenneth added, "Keep your eyes open."

Paul found Lisa down in his usual training room waiting for him. She had flash cards as well as a computer program loaded for instruction on item recall. After discussing the techniques that she would be focusing on, she placed him in front of the computer. The program was essentially made up of a group of photo slides that would flash into view for a random amount of time between one and ten seconds. After a slide was shown, there would be a list of questions regarding the photo that, if answered correctly, would allow him to go on to the next level of difficulty in the program. For each level of difficulty, an additional slide was shown. At times, the questions would be about just one of the slides, other times they would be about a group of them, and sometimes the questions would include all slides. Even with Paul's remarkable memory, it became extremely difficult once he reached the point where five slides would flash past and he would have to remember some of the smallest details regarding each and every one of them.

At one point, Paul made an effort to engage Lisa in conversation that didn't have anything to do with his training, hoping to talk about what might have happened after he and Hodge had returned from their mission, but she deflected every attempt. She would answer his question in a lighthearted tone, which at first he mistook for her not understanding what he was asking, but after a number of attempts he saw that even though her tone was light, there was a warning in her eyes, so he backed off.

They stuck to her lesson plan until lunch time, at which point she simply said, "Great work today, as always. I'll see you after lunch in the red room for the Isolationism and Identity lecture."

Giving him a thin-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes, she left the room without another word.

Confused, he made his way to the Sanctum. Why hadn't she talked to him? She had gone to such lengths and personal risk to warn him about Hodge the other night. Why would she not take the opportunity to speak with him when they'd had a whole morning together in the same room?

That question was on his mind as he punched in his code and turned the cog wheel to open the door to the Sanctum, but was quickly forgotten when he saw not just the four Walkers he'd agreed to meet, but their Sentinels as well. They were all talking in low tones, their heads together. They stopped when they heard the door open, looking up in mild panic.

"What's up, buddy," Steven greeted him.

Paul closed the door. "Everything alright?" he asked of the room in general.

"We don't know," Kenneth replied. "It may be nothing, or it may be the beginning." Pausing to look Paul directly in the eyes, he said, "All our Sentinels were called to train Steven this morning, but none of theirs."

"Ok?" Paul replied. "That's how it is has been every day for over a week."

"No it hasn't," Kenneth said. "Steven has been trained every morning by the same group of Sentinels and every afternoon he gets trained by a different group.'

"And I take it that some of the Sentinels here are normally part of the afternoon group?" Paul guessed.

Kenneth nodded and Liz chimed in, "And it wasn't just our Sentinels that were called away this morning—it was all of them."

"So what were the rest of them doing if yours were training Steven?" Paul wondered out loud.

"Exactly," answered Kenneth.

Just then the door to lounge beeped once and was opened by Rex. He paused in the doorway as they all turned to see who it was. He looked back at the group, narrowed his eyes, but left his earphones stuffed in his ears and didn't say a word. He closed the door without taking his eyes off them and walked past, toward his safe room.

No one spoke for a few moments until Juliet whispered, "Do you think he heard us?"

Everyone jumped a little when Steven replied in a normal voice, "Does it matter? If he's part of a group planning something, then he already knows who he has in his little club. And if he isn't part of it, then we got nothing to worry about. Besides, he had those damn ear buds jammed in his ears anyway."

Still whispering, Juliet said, "What do you think he's doing down here? People almost never come down here for lunch."

"I'm sure he's wondering the same thing multiplied by ten right now," Parker answered.

They stood around, not saying anything for a little while longer, waiting for Rex to come back out. Paul got a soda and some trail mix in place of a real lunch. Steven went for the cupcakes.

Finally, Rex came back through the room. He was wearing a different shirt than he'd had on and, again, didn't say anything to anyone as he walked past. He gave them all a weird, questioning look and then made his exit, closing the door behind him.

"Well?" Liz asked. "We don't have that long before the lecture starts and we're all supposed to be there. Did anyone find anything out today?"

Everyone looked at Paul. "I..." he stammered, "no. I spent the morning in training with Lisa. She didn't say a word about anything except stuff that pertained to what she was teaching me. I tried to get her to talk about other things, but she always switched the topic back to the training. She..."

And then he realized what it was that he'd seen in her eyes when she left the room. "She looked scared."

Chapter 25

It was unlikely that anyone retained any of what was discussed through the lecture that afternoon. Dittrich led the discussion, but for those that may have benefited from his instruction, it was impossible to be aware of anything except the tension that hung so thickly in the room.

Dittrich gave the outward appearance that he was unaware of it, but there was no way to mistake the air of anticipation and anxiety. The room had separated itself into two very clear groups. He spoke for almost four hours with only one small break.

Finally, he said, "In closing, I want you all to think about what has been discussed here today. I want you all," and he slowly, one by one, focused on everyone on Paul's side of the room, "to think about what it would be like to be on your own again.

"Many of you were found while still living with your family and never had to survive without some sort of support system surrounding you. For the ones who did not have that benefit, and were attempting to find a way to survive alone, I'm sure you can attest to the fact that people with our ability need other Walkers around them to keep from falling into the trap of insanity that can so easily claim us as victims.

"We are special. We are unique and we do need and deserve special treatment. Do not," and here he paused to make additional eye contact, "ever make the mistake of turning your back on an institution as devoted to your welfare as this one is."

Leaving an uneasy silence in his wake, Dittrich left the room. Slowly, silently, everyone rose and began shuffling out of the room.

"Well," Kenneth said with raised eyebrows, "if that wasn't a veiled threat I'm not sure what else it would be."

No one else said a word on the way to the commons room for dinner.

They ate mostly in silence, a mood that was reflected throughout the entire room. Even the Sentinels, not having been present for the lecture, recognized the subdued air and kept to themselves. There was an awareness of the unknown, and it scared the hell out of all of them.

After they ate, Steven and Paul agreed that it would be a good time to go out on the balcony and try to call Stephanie.

"Paul, are you ok?" she answered on the first ring.

Standing ear to ear, both listening, Steven replied, "He's fine. So am I, thanks for asking."

"Steven!" Stephanie exclaimed in delight. "So everything is ok? You guys are fine?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Paul said. "Steph, there is a reason Steven and I are both on the phone. There is something I need to tell you and I need you to believe me."

"Us, dude," Steven said.

"Us. Absolutely. I meant that I need you to believe us. Of course." Taking a deep breath and getting a look of encouragement from Steven, he said, "Steph, when I go to sleep I don't exactly go completely to sleep."

"Ok..." she replied.

"I never actually sleep. I can go anywhere I want, see anything I want, and hear anything I want when I'm asleep. It's just... no one can see or hear me."

"Umm..."

Paul could tell she had no idea how to respond to what he'd said. Who would? "I know it is impossible to believe, but it is completely the truth. I had a hard time believing it myself when Lisa first explained it all to me, and she explained it to me while we were both in the dream."

"Lisa? What do you mean you were both in the dream?"

"There is so much more to this," Paul began.

"You don't know the half of it," Steven interjected.

"Lisa is like me," Paul said. "Someone who can go places while they're sleeping. She can do the same thing I can. There are a bunch of people like me here at Astralis, they call us Walkers. They recruited me."

"Re-..." Stephanie started to ask flabbergasted, and switched gears. "Why would a sleep clinic recruit you?"

"They're not a sleep clinic..." Paul began.

"They're a super secret spy agency that does stuff for the U.N.!" Steven finished.

"Alright, so you and Steven somehow found booze and you guys decided to drunk dial me," Stephanie said. "Look, I've been worried sick about both of you and now you call me with this crap?"

"Steph," Paul said quietly. "It isn't crap. We're not lying and I need you to believe me. I'm here because Astralis is always looking for more people to join their agency. Steven is here because for every person that can do what I can do, there is someone assigned to protect them while they sleep."

"Why are you telling me this now, over the phone?"

"Because we're in big trouble," Steven answered.

"Right now this place works for the U.N., just like Steven said," Paul explained. "The U.N. provides money for the facility and for training and stuff. It's a pretty decent setup, but there are a group of Walkers here that think we're getting screwed and that we should all make millions off of what we do."

"And it looks like they're about to stage a mutiny on the guy that runs this place," Steven said.

"Oh my God," Stephanie replied.

"And they think Paul's going to make all the difference in winning or losing the mutiny so they're trying to force him to join them."

"Unless you two are on some serious drugs, you need to get out of there!" she said, panic in her voice.

"You believe us, then?" Paul asked.

"This is too ridiculous for you two to come up with on your own. Yes, I believe you."

"You're the best, you know that Steph?" Paul said with affection.

"Oh stop it," Stephanie said, obviously meaning that he shouldn't.

There was a short pause as they both smiled into the phone at each other.

"Are you serious?" Steven exclaimed. "Hello! Get a freakin' room, you two. We got bigger issues right now than your unspoken love!"

Paul paused a moment to pull his head back and glare at Steven, then put his mouth back to the phone and said, "That's actually why we called, Steph. We aren't ready to leave yet, but we're close. If we call, will you come?"

"Of course I will!"

"Thank you," Paul said, echoed by Steven thanking her as well.

"Look, Stephanie—it isn't long until sunset. I know I just dropped a big fat load of crazy in your lap, but we have to get down to our safe room for the night."

"Safe room?"

Laughing, Paul said, "I'll explain that the next time we talk. You just would not believe everything that has happened since I got here."

"We, dude," Steven reminded him again.

* * *

Paul settled into bed, looking up at Steven one last time. "Keep your eyes open."

"Always," Steven replied.

Paul closed his eyes, fell down into the dream, and reopened them to the sound of Steven opening the safe room door. He watched as his friend stepped out into the hallway, looked both ways and then stepped back, leaning against the doorframe.

"Don't know if you're still in the room or not," Steven said in a singsong, quiet voice, "but I just caught the tail end of Hodge's whole crew of Sentinels scurrying their way out of the Sanctum." Pausing, looking around the room as if he might somehow find a way to see if his friend was still there, Steven continued, "I don't know if you know this, but that's one hundred percent against the rules. A Sentinel never leaves sight of his Walker at night unless it directly pertains to a mission, and then only for very brief amounts of time. You be careful on this mission."

So something was obviously either happening or in the works. Paul looked up at the digital display on the wall, seeing that he had just twenty minutes to get to the helipad.

The halls were quieter than usual on his way out to the parking lot. He didn't pass a single soul, Walker or otherwise.

The Griffon was on the helipad, already running as it had been on the night he and Allen had run the Governor's Maze. Grabbing the handle to steady himself as he climbed into the cabin, he stopped in a moment of brief shock when he saw Lisa sitting in one of the seats.

Climbing in next to her, he asked, "You're my buddy tonight, eh?"

Smiling her dazzling smile, she said, "Yup. Hope that's okay?"

Caught off guard by the change in her demeanor from earlier, he could only manage to reply, "Of course."

Outside, Steven and a young woman dressed in black with short, bleach blonde hair pulled the steps away from the helicopter door. She slapped the Griffon twice on the side and yelled, "Good to go!"

The helicopter rose into the air and they began their journey.

"So..." Paul said, "where are we going and what is our Target? On the last mission I got an envelope ahead of time with all the information."

Instead of answering his question, Lisa looked into Paul's eyes and said, "I'm so sorry about what happened when you went out with Hodge."

Trying to read her expression, Paul couldn't tell whether or not she meant it. He just didn't know her well enough. "I appreciate you saying so."

Lisa pursed her lips and nodded, obviously understanding that Paul didn't know where he stood with her. "We're heading west toward a small mining community in eastern Kentucky called Island Creek. It shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes to get there."

Having lived in Kentucky his entire life, Paul tried to remember where Island Creek was, but couldn't. "I've never heard of Island Creek."

"It isn't surprising," Lisa answered. "It has never been a big community, barely big enough to even get a dot on most maps, maybe fifty families, tops. It's in the mountains in a coal mining area. In the last twenty or so years it's gotten even smaller because of the strip mining that's been going on. Big mining corporations have come in and really unhinged the local ecosystem. Now there are probably more like twenty families living in the area."

"And what is our mission?"

Looking at him with clear eyes, she replied, "I can't tell you until we get there."

Paul asked why but her only reply was to give him a thin-lipped, apologetic smile and turn her head to lean against the window so she could watch the darkness blur past beneath them. Frustrated, Paul turned away and did the same, left to wonder why they were heading out into the middle of nowhere for him to complete a mission that hadn't been explained to him.

Less than an hour later, Paul felt the familiar tug of lessening centrifugal force as the helicopter rotors slowed and they began to descend. Following Lisa's lead, Paul unbuckled and joined her in the open doorway of the craft.

It was all blackness beneath them aside for the lights of the helicopter shining down. It was a surreal-looking landscape, almost alien against the glow of their lights. Mountaintops had literally been sliced away by the mining companies, leaving a landscape that was strangely both smooth and ravaged at the same time.

As their descent began to slow, Lisa gave Paul one quick look and then leapt from the doorway without a word.

"Son of a..." Paul said under his breath. "Are they all masochists?"

He took the leap as well, not knowing if it was a short drop or a long one, unable to brace for the impact that happened a just few seconds later. This was his third jump, but the first time that he actually made the leap of his own accord. He was smart enough to try and control the way he landed this time. Landing feet-first, the impact was still bone-jarring right up to his spine, but by a force of will he managed to tuck and roll after landing. Tumbling to a stop against an outcrop of boulders, it took only a few seconds for him to sort himself out and get to his feet.

"Lisa?" he called out as the sound of the helicopter faded away.

"Here," came her calm voice. She stepped into view only a few moments later, almost ghostly against the complete blackness of the night.

Turning in a complete circle, surveying where they were, Paul said, "It doesn't look like there is a single house or building in sight. How far do we have to go?"

"We're here, Paul. We don't have to go anywhere."

Her serious tone caught him by surprise. Had she brought him out here to somehow hurt him? That didn't make any sense—how would she be able to?

"If we're already here, then what is the mission?" he asked carefully.

Looking at him with an open, non-threatening expression, she replied, "There is no mission, Paul. I brought you here to talk to you. I needed to talk to you in a place where no one else could listen."

How had she been able to commission the helicopter for a night run, taking him with her and no questions had been asked? "How were able to pull this off? How did you get Dr. Abrams to sign off on something like this?"

"I didn't," she replied. "My father did. And Abrams trusts my father completely, so he allowed for the change to your training without any questions."

Sighing, Paul sat down on a rock. "So you're part of them—the group that wants to change Astralis and make Dr. Abrams leave?" He wasn't really asking. He already knew the answer.

Looking at him with something close to sympathy, Lisa moved over and sat down next to him, putting one hand on his arm. He flinched a little, but she pretended not to notice. "Paul, I know you think that Dr. Abrams is your friend, but he isn't. He only cares about himself."

Paul didn't answer and didn't look at her, he just listened.

"We've tried to talk to him about this. Well, my dad has tried. For years, Paul—years. But Abrams won't listen, won't even consider what we're proposing."

"And what is it you think is being proposed?"

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"

Answering before he even knew the words were coming out, he snapped back, "I haven't had a chance to make up my mind! Ever since I got here, everyone has been trying to make it up for me. But I'll tell you this, Lisa—so far it looks to me like you're on the wrong team. You come to my hometown, to my school, lie to me and pretend to have an interest in me."

She began to protest but he continued on without allowing her to, standing up in his agitation. "Then you and your dad more or less kidnap me, telling me that if I don't come I could be putting the people I love in danger. Who are these dangerous people you warned me about? Do they even exist? Are they you?" Again she opened her mouth to answer, but he plowed on. "Then I get here and find out you have a psycho boyfriend that wants to make my life miserable out of petty jealousy for issues that are either in his own head or are beyond my control. This same psycho boyfriend is one of the main players of a drama that your dad—the guy who arranged my kidnapping—wants to give me a starring role in, ousting a man who has, so far, been nothing but kind to me. Is that about right?"

"Paul, you don't understand. They're not talking about kicking him out. They're talking about something much more definite and permanent."

Shocked, he stopped pacing. "What? You can't be serious!"

Staring him directly in the eyes, she nodded slowly.

"How can you be a part of this? We have to do something! Lisa, we can't let this happen. Dr. Abrams is not a bad guy and he has done nothing to deserve losing his life's work, let alone his life itself! Your dad is acting out of greed, plain and simple. We have to tell Lydia, get the CIA or the U.N. involved."

"It won't matter," she said softly. "There is nothing they can do. It's already going to happen and they can't stop it. Neither can we. The wheels are in motion."

"There has to be something! How can you just sit there and act like this all okay? You're talking about going along with killing a man who has been good to you! Lisa, I know I haven't known you very long, but this isn't you. I know he's your dad..."

"He's not my dad!" This time she cut him off. Her eyes were wide as if she hadn't meant to say what she'd said. Hurt filled her eyes as she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Softly, she continued, "He's not my dad. He is more than that. Please, sit back down."

"Not your dad? What?"

"Please, Paul. Sit down and let me explain."

"Lisa, if something is going to happen, we have to get back."

"It isn't going to happen tonight. Tonight is about you. I'm your last chance, Paul."

Chapter 26

"Kendall isn't my dad," Lisa began. "My biological father was a rotten bastard that I will never call dad. Kendall was my dad's friend when I was growing up." She paused, reflecting back. "I guess he wasn't really ever his friend, not really. They were just business partners that spent a lot of time together." Sighing, she said, "I guess I should start with Kendall.

"He grew up in Indiana, in Michigan City. It's where the state prison is, so even though it isn't a huge town, there's a big mix of people. Some of them are the bad type, living there so they can be close to friends or relatives that are locked up.

"Kendall has always been a small guy, physically, and I guess he got picked on a lot growing up, but once he started Walking—that was when he really became an outcast. Like all of us, he had no idea what was happening to him and was just a scared boy who couldn't make any lasting friends because he was afraid to be away from his house for fear of falling asleep. He got in a lot of fights at school and even though he was a smart kid, it alienated him from school as an institution, so he dropped out on his sixteenth birthday.

"His parents didn't understand. They wanted to help with his problem, but they didn't have the money. His mom was a waitress and his dad was a night prison guard who kept getting laid off every time the state made a budget cut. By the time he dropped out of school, they were exhausted. Their way of dealing with his condition was to kick him out of their home."

Paul said, "I sympathize with Dittrich, but I don't understand how this relates to you."

"I'm getting to that," she replied. "They kicked him out with just a few hundred dollars in his pocket. Angry and determined to never come back to them for help, he left and headed north to Michigan, which is where he met my biological father.

"I grew up in a town called Ionia, which is also a prison town. Kendall picked it because he knew prisons; he'd followed his dad to work enough nights as a Walker and had become familiar with the way they worked. His plan was fairly simple; if he could find the right prison guard to partner with, he could find every nickel of every stolen dollar that was ever written down or discussed by the convicts. I was three years old when Kendall approached my biological father, who was a prison guard for one of the biggest maximum security prisons in the state.

"Kendall and my sperm donor didn't always make a lot of money, but they made enough. When it got tight, they didn't just go after stolen money but also stole bank account information and took that money too. They did it for almost a decade. When times were good and we were flush with cash, my biological dad and my mom would go on benders, drinking themselves into oblivion at night and snorting cocaine in the mornings to pick themselves back up."

Looking down at her hands, she continued softly, "When I was thirteen I started Walking for the first time. My parents were too wasted all the time to do anything about it. They told me I was just going through growing pains and needed extra sleep. Less than a month after it began, my biological dad started molesting me while I was asleep."

She paused, breathing heavily. Paul, shocked, didn't trust himself to say the right thing so he kept silent and waited for her to collect herself.

"Sometimes I watched. Of course there was nothing I could do about it and at that point I tried to tell myself they were just awful nightmares, but I knew. I knew because I would wake up... hurt."

Paul turned his head away, wanting to say something, anything, but he knew that there was nothing he could say.

"My biological dad must have told Kendall about the way I was sleeping. Kendall had never come to our house before, not that I knew of anyway, but one night he did and he saw everything. He called the police the next day and they arrested my dad after talking to me.

"My mom..." again she paused. "When my mom found out, she locked herself in the bathroom with a bottle of tequila and slit her wrists. She didn't say a word, didn't leave a note—she just did it. I guess she just couldn't face the world, or me, after that."

"I'm so sorry, Lisa," Paul said.

"I could have become a ward of the state or been placed in a home or any number of things. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine trying to make it in one of those places as a Walker?"

She took his hands in her own, looking intently at him. "Kendall took me in, took me away from that town and took care of me. He saved my life. He promised me when we left we would never want for anything; we would never be subject to any one or any thing again because we were special, we were better than regular people."

"Lisa..." Paul began quietly in disagreement.

"No," she said. "Kendall is a good man. He has tried to convince Abrams to change the way we operate, he has given him years of chances to do it. Kendall didn't want it this way, but it's time. Abrams is only worried about himself and finding his brother. He's willing to keep us all prisoner to do that. It has to change, and no matter how it happens I have to stand by Kendall. My dad. My real dad. I owe him that much."

"There has to be another way. Killing someone is not the answer."

"Paul," Lisa said with absolute certainty in her eyes, "Abrams will have one more chance to make the right choice. If he doesn't, we will be forced to act. He is being given that chance tonight. As for you, Paul—we want you with us. I want you with us. But if you decide that you don't want to be a part of what is inevitably going to happen, then you're against us. If you don't want to end up hurt too, you should leave. Soon."

* * *

Sitting straight up in the bed in his safe room, panicked, Paul opened his eyes and called out, "Steven!"

In moments Steven rushed into the room with a gun in his hand, yelling, "What? What!"

"Wow," Paul said, impressed. "You're fast. What the hell? When did you get a gun?"

"The day I started training. Every Sentinel gets a piece. Jesus," Steven put the gun away. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry, but we have to find a way to get out of here. As soon as we can."

Steven shut the metal door to the room as Paul continued, "Lisa just gave me an ultimatum and she said Dr. Abrams was getting one last night, too. She said that if Dr. Abrams turns Dittrich down this time, they would be forced to move forward with a take-over attempt."

"Well what do they think Abrams is going to do? Just hand them the keys and leave?"

"No, that's not even an option. They're going to kill him. She flat out said they would kill him." Paul was already out of bed, pacing the small room.

"And she threatened to do the same to you? Lisa did!?"

"In a roundabout way, yes. She said that if I wasn't with them I was against them and if I didn't want to end up hurt too, I needed to leave."

Clearly stunned, Steven leaned back against the wall, staring at the floor in front of him as he thought through the situation. "Maybe it was just a bluff to make you either commit or leave. If there was one guy that could screw up their plans the most, it's you right? I mean, for any non-Walker, there's pretty much no way to stop you from doing anything you want at night."

That was the simple version of why they had waited for him to come to Astralis and train. Paul already knew it, and so would anyone else who took more than a moment to consider the motivation behind Hodge's group waiting to make their move. Dittrich wanted to turn Astralis into a profit center and through Paul he could do it much easier. No Walker could go where Paul could go at night and, as such, no Walker could stop him, either. By simply having the ability to open or close a door, Paul was more powerful than any Walker in the facility.

And more dangerous to their cause if he decided to try and stop them.

He jerked his head up at Steven. "We have to call Stephanie. We have to go as soon as she can get here. We have to warn Dr. Abrams and we have to warn everyone else, too."

"Dude, slow down. What if that's what they want you to do? What if they stuck hot-assed Lisa in a helicopter with you last night just so you would believe her and feel threatened without making you feel angry? What if the plan was to make you feel that you were somehow indebted to her for telling you at all, making you feel obligated to go? Don't you think that would be more likely to make you leave than if you got mad and decided to stay and fight?"

Paul hadn't considered that and probably never would have. Once again, Steven had unknowingly proved the reason Paul needed him so badly. Paul was smart; he could see or hear almost anything and remember it. But he wasn't street smart; he wasn't people smart, and how could he be? He'd spent the last three years more or less alone, barely interacting with anyone else because he'd been so focused on his own issues. He never learned the subtle and devious ways that people could be manipulated.

"It still comes back to Dr. Abrams," he decided. "If they did approach him last night then we need to make a decision one way or the other. And I still think we should call Stephanie just so she knows what happened last night and how this all stands."

They agreed, and pulled open the door and stepped out into an empty hallway, listening. The only sound was the whir of the fridge in the lounge kicking on. Steven started humming Revolution by the Beatles as they cautiously walked into the empty lounge. At this early hour, it wasn't strange for there to be no one in the Sanctum. Normally, everyone took their breakfast upstairs in the commons room.

"If they did make their move, you'd think there'd be someone down here waiting for us," Paul said.

Turning the cog wheel and opening the door to the steel antechamber outside the lounge, they found the same thing waiting for them; nothing and no one.

Paul let out a contemplative breath through his nose, thinking. Maybe they were waiting right outside the elevator door, upstairs. He considered taking the steps instead of the elevator, just for the sake of having a chance at being quiet, but he figured if something had happened and if someone was waiting at the elevator door, they would also be waiting at the stair door, too. The stair door was right next to the elevator, after all.

Steven launched into the instrumental solo of the song he was humming, startling Paul out of his thought process. "Will you cut that out!" he said, jabbing Steven in the ribs and hitting the call button for the elevator.

The door opened onto the second floor, the glass doors of the commons room in front of them. Looking through the glass, Paul saw all the usual people at their usual tables, talking and eating breakfast. Lisa was in the middle of saying something to the people at Hodge's table, but when she saw Paul and Steven step out of the elevator, she lifted her head. Only Hodge turned around to look, a grin already on his face that spread wider when he saw Paul staring. Hodge held his gaze for a few moments and winked before leisurely turning back to the table.

The message Hodge had sent was clear—I know you know and I can't wait to take you down.

Steeling himself, Paul forced a calm expression and entered into the room. Knowing that he may not have many more chances to eat, he grabbed a tray of food and sat down with his friends.

"Anything?" Kenneth asked.

He could tell them. He could repeat back everything Lisa had told him last night and prepare them for what she said was coming. But was that what she expected? Is that what Hodge's crew wanted to happen? If he told them, they'd almost certainly act on it. Kenneth, especially, seemed eager to make some kind of move.

Looking at Steven, Paul thought about what he'd said in the safe room; how it was possible that the only reason Lisa had told him the things she'd said last night was to provoke some sort of reaction from him that would incite a reaction from his group. It was clear that nothing had happened so far—none of his friends showed any sense of urgency except maybe Kenneth. He had to find Dr. Abrams to be sure. Until then he might start a revolution just by sharing that information.

He realized that everyone was still waiting for him to reply. He covered his hesitation by looking over his shoulder at Lisa, who flicked her eyes up at him briefly but didn't fully return his look. Almost like she was trying hard not to let him catch her watching him.

"Nothing that we didn't already know," Paul answered, still looking over his shoulder. "She's with them. She's daddy's little girl."

"Everyone needs to watch and listen, then," Kenneth said. "We need to make sure that if they say anything about when or how they're going to do this, we hear it."

"Has anyone seen or talked to Dr. Abrams today?" Paul asked, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"I had to drop the results of the training you did with Kenneth at the front desk this morning." Liz answered. "I saw him getting in the elevator with Lydia. That was about an hour ago, I guess. Since they're not up here, they must be down in their suite."

He had to find a way to have a conversation with Dr. Abrams. The problem was that the doctor was almost never to be found around the facility. Most of the direction Paul had received since coming to Astralis had been through Dittrich or through information passed on to him through other Walkers. No one ever talked about 'going to Abrams' with a problem, and in this instance, he certainly didn't want to give the impression that there was anything wrong. That meant he couldn't ask anybody that was part of his regular group and he definitely didn't want to let anyone in Hodge's crew know that he was trying to get a meeting with Dr. Abrams.

That only left Lydia. With the history that Dr. Abrams had explained, it was obvious he trusted her. As a matter of fact, she probably had as much to lose as Dr. Abrams if Dittrich was able to pull off his coup. He didn't really know her; he'd only spoken to her when he'd first arrived, so he really didn't know if she was even approachable or could grant him access to Dr. Abrams' office suite. But if she was his only way to finding a way down there, Paul had to give it a shot.

Parker was supposed to work with him today on the basic understanding and recognition of foreign languages, so he told Parker he would meet him in the training area in about a half hour. Steven once again had morning training scheduled with the Sentinels that weren't a part of Hodge's crew, a fact that made Paul a little nervous. What were all of Hodge's people doing if they weren't training Steven?

At the front desk, Lydia was nowhere to be found, but Gladys and Martha were both there.

"Do you have any idea when she'll be back?" Paul asked.

"Not until later this afternoon," Gladys answered. "She had a doctor's appointment scheduled this morning. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Disappointed, Paul replied, "No, I don't think so. Thank you, though."

Seeing the look on his face, she gave him a motherly smile and said, "Sure about that? Never know unless you ask."

It might be worth a shot. As far as he knew, all three of the ladies that worked in the front area were with the CIA. Chances were that they'd been hand-picked by Lydia. The way he saw it, his options were to wait until late afternoon or early evening to ask for Lydia's help, hoping to find Dr. Abrams somehow in the meantime, or allow Gladys to see if she could do anything. It might not even be a big deal to ask to speak with him.

"I was looking for Dr. Abrams but hadn't seen him this morning and was hoping Lydia might help me track him down." He hoped he sounded nonchalant but still sure enough of himself that she would take him seriously.

"I'm so sorry," she said, giving him an apologetic look, "but I'm afraid that handling who sees Dr. Abrams while he's in his office really is Lydia's domain." Motioning with her head toward Martha, she said, "Unless we've specifically been asked to send someone to see him, we really can't make that decision on our own."

"That's all right," he tried not to let his disappointment show. "I'll just see if I can't run him down later on."

"If I see him, I'll be sure to tell him that you're looking for him."

Closing the door to the office area, he was halfway to the training area when he heard Gladys calling his name from the door, waving him back.

"I'd forgotten all about this," she said. "You can thank Martha for reminding me." Grabbing a small Fedex package off her desk with an accompanying letter-sized envelope, she handed them to him. Fragile and Urgent were stamped across the front of both. "Here's a good excuse for me to send you down to see him. This package arrived early this morning and he hasn't been by to pick it up. They're both marked 'urgent,' so I can't imagine he would consider it an intrusion for you to bring them to him. Besides, Martha and I aren't allowed to leave the desk, especially being one person short today."

"Thank you so much," he smiled in gratitude and accepted the items.

"Do you know the button sequence to get to the sublevel where his suite is?"

"I believe I do," he replied, getting a raised eyebrow from her in response. "Natasha brought me down once before," he explained, "for a meeting with him."

"I see," she replied, giving him a speculative look. "Well then you best get to it. From what I've been told you're doing exceptionally well with your training, but I know you're not done yet so I'm sure there is someone waiting for you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Back in the elevator he paused, thinking that before he committed to heading down to see Dr. Abrams he should try to call Stephanie. The way everything seemed to be heading at Astralis, he needed to have as many options open for himself and Steven as possible. It was foolish to think that by simply telling Dr. Abrams that a take-over was imminent, the problem would be solved. What would he be able to do? Even if he took Paul at his word there was a question of ethics involved. If Dr. Abrams attempted to preemptively quash a rebellion before it happened, Dittrich would have the ability to cry innocence to the United Nations and bring Dr. Abrams' judgment into question.

No, the truth of the matter was that Paul wasn't going to be telling Dr. Abrams anything he didn't already know or at least suspect. If Paul was being honest with himself, he knew that his true motivation was that he hoped he would feel a greater sense of security after speaking with Dr. Abrams.

Pressing the button for the second floor, he was relieved when the door opened to a commons room that was now empty save for Parker, who saw him and spread both hands apart as if to say where you been, we're supposed to be training!

Holding up one finger, he walked around the perimeter of the room to the far end of the hall. Since the facility was on lock-down status, he could be sure that there were no guests that could listen to his conversation.

He hit his speed dial for Stephanie and waited while it rang and rang and rang again, finally going through to voice mail. "Stephanie!" he hissed, cupping his hand to the receiver so that he could speak without being heard by anyone nearby. "I know you're in school, but right now, for the next few days, no matter what you have to answer your phone if I call. Last night I went with Lisa on what was supposed to be a training mission but it wasn't—she's part of the group that wants to take this place over and she told me that if I don't join them I better get out quick, and that's exactly what I'm going to do if things start to get crazy. I'm sorry to drop all this on you, but besides Steven, you know you're my only friend and the only one I can call." Hearing footfalls, he looked up to see Parker coming around the corner, clearly annoyed. "I got to go," he whispered, and hung up.

"What are you doing?" Parker demanded. "We were supposed to start training almost a half hour ago."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that Parker, really. It's just..." he fumbled. He didn't want to lie, not to Parker, but he didn't want to inadvertently start the rebellion by telling him something that wasn't going to happen, either. "I went down to talk to Lydia, but she wasn't there. I wanted to see if she'd get me in touch with Dr. Abrams." To Parker's questioning look, he replied, "I need to know what's going on. It's driving me crazy wondering if we're on the brink of war."

"I know what you mean," Parker replied. "I'm going out of my head, too. So then what was the phone call about?"

"I was trying to call my, um... friend. Stephanie. I promised I would keep her updated. She knows what is happening here." He'd shocked himself by almost calling her his girlfriend without realizing it. Whoa. What did that mean?

Smiling knowingly, Parker said, "Your friend, huh? You never told me you had one of those friends."

"No, no, no," he backpedaled. "She really is just my friend. It's complicated. She's been my friend since we were kids." Why were they talking about this now?

"So what's in the package?"

He'd nearly forgotten that it was tucked under his arm. "This? It's for Dr. Abrams. Lydia wasn't at the front office, but Gladys and Martha were and they gave me this package and envelope to deliver to Dr. Abrams. I think they were kind of killing two birds with one stone by giving me a chance to see Dr. Abrams and having me carry it down for them."

Parker sighed. "So we're going to get started even later? I guess it's for the best. Foreign language training is super boring unless you're into that kind of thing. I drew the short straw by being the one who had to go over it with you. How about we just meet up in an hour down in the training area?"

"Thanks Parker, that's a plan. I'll be there."

Parker left, using the stairs so that Paul could take the elevator down to Dr. Abrams' suite. Going back in his mind to the day that he'd watched Natasha hit the button sequence to take them there, he punched the buttons: 1,1,1,2,B,2,2,1. The doors closed and the elevator descended.

Reaching the sublevel, he paused at the door to the suite. Should he knock or was it like a business office that you just entered? After a moment of hesitation, he raised his hand to knock but the door was opened by Natasha before he had a chance.

She jumped back, startled, one hand to her chest. "Paul! Oh my goodness! I heard the elevator but wasn't expecting anyone. You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Wincing, he apologized. "I'm sorry! I tried to find Lydia to ask her to call down ahead, but she's not at her desk today."

"Yes, doctor's appointment. The poor dear has chronic arthritis and has to have regular treatment." Pausing, she looked him up and down, her eyes resting on the package he carried. "So what can I do for you, Paul?"

"Oh, yes, this is for Dr. Abrams. When I went to see Lydia, Gladys gave this to me to give to him."

Accepting the parcels from him, she backed away from the doorway, allowing him to enter, as she studied them closer. "There is no return address," she noted. "Gladys didn't say whether she knew what they were about or who they were from, did she?"

"No. Just that they'd been left this morning."

As he waited while Natasha opened the envelope and read the letter that it contained, Paul craned his neck around to peer through the doorway to Dr. Abrams' office, asking, "Is Dr. Abrams here? I was hoping to speak with him."

When she failed to reply, he looked back and saw that she was still staring down at the page. Her face had gone a pale white. Her lips were moving as she read it, her head moving from side to side as she absorbed what it contained.

"Natasha?" When she didn't answer, he stood awkwardly for a moment and tried again. "Natasha what is it?"

Finally she looked up at him, slowly, her mouth open, eyes glazed. "It's about Thomas." Hands trembling, she tucked the letter under one arm and began to tear at the package.

"Is it... good news?"

Ripping one end of the box open, she slid a small electronic device from the package. It was about the size of a portable tape player. She stared uncomprehendingly at the piece of hardware for a moment and then finally focused back on him. "I'm sorry, Paul. Abe is here, but in light of what you've just handed me, I'm afraid we'll be indisposed for at least the rest of the day."

He wasn't sure how to respond. Obviously, whatever the letter said was big news, but the idea that Dr. Abrams might be in mortal danger seemed like it should trump any information about his brother.

Natasha put one hand on the door to let him out, but he made one last attempt, "It's important. It's about what we talked about when I was down here last. About the group that wants to take over Astralis."

Her eyes were clear, now. So intense that she almost appeared angry. "It will have to wait, Paul. You just focus on your training today and I'll make sure that he comes to find you as soon as he can."

Gently but firmly closing the door, forcing him to back out into the antechamber or be hit by the door, she locked it as soon as it was fully shut.

What had just happened? He'd come down to warn Dr. Abrams that someone was planning to assassinate him and instead he'd been asked to leave. He had his fist halfway up to the door, intent on pounding on it until he was asked back in, before he forced himself to stop. He had to trust that Natasha and Dr. Abrams were both aware of what was happening at Astralis.

He took a calming breath and got back in the elevator to head upstairs for training.

Chapter 27

Foreign language training was exactly as Parker had described it: boring. Thankfully, because Paul had taken three years of Spanish in high school they were able to skip over that portion, but it still left every other language in the world.

"As boring as this is," Parker explained, "without some basic knowledge it would never make sense to send you on a mission to a foreign country. The Target almost always contains some sort of verbal memorization, and if you don't know the nuances of that country's language, even with a memory like yours, you could end up reporting back a conversation completely wrong. Emphasis or changes to a syllable's pronunciation, stringing words together thinking they're part of a single one—there are so many ways to misunderstand language that you don't speak. You can never train too much on this aspect of our job."

He was right. Especially as they began focusing on variations of similar dialects and on syllables, slang, and the speed with which each language was spoken. So many things required consideration and all of it changed from dialect to dialect.

By lunch they'd barely made a dent and by dinner, after having spent a solid six hours at it, Paul still didn't feel as if he'd made any real progress.

Parker only brought up Dittrich once more, and when Paul didn't engage in the conversation, nothing more was said.

Dinner was subdued. The commons room was full. Because both sides were fully aware that it was only a matter of time before something happened, no one spoke much. When they did, it was at low volumes, as if the weight of what was about to happen somehow suppressed the volume of the room itself.

Steven suggested that they try calling Stephanie one more time, but when they went out to the balcony to try they only got voicemail. Frustrated, they returned to their table where their friends were still seated.

"So does anyone know who my night trainer will be?" Paul asked, looking around the table.

He got shrugs and head shakes from everyone.

"Great," he said, looking over his shoulder at Hodge's group. "That means I'm paired with one of them. Wonderful."

Lisa saw him gazing in her direction and gave him a strangely sympathetic and apologetic look. He frowned and turned his attention back to his own table.

Liz, lifting her head abruptly, said, "Anybody up for a movie downstairs?"

"Seriously?" Juliet asked. "How can you even think about watching a movie right now?"

The table got quiet again, none of them looking directly at anyone else. Paul watched everyone retreat back into their own thoughts, worry on their faces. This was the beginning of them being beat, he realized. So far there had only been talk. No one had been hurt and Astralis was still whole. To brood upon something that would either not happen at all or—if it did—would be acted upon to the best of everyone's ability, was the first step in Hodge's group winning.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Paul said to Liz, taking in the rest of the table as he said it. "How many more chances will we have for some down time after this?" He jerked his head toward Hodge's table. "We know where they are right now, so why not, right? It's pretty clear they're not on high alert tonight."

Liz smiled across the table at him.

"He's right," Kenneth said, "Why should we let them hold us prisoners of fear?"

"And besides," Steven added with a smirk, "it'll really throw them for a loop when they come down into the Sanctum and see us sprawled on the couches eating popcorn and Jujubes."

For the first time that day everyone laughed and, to the puzzlement of Hodge's table, spontaneously stood up and left as a group, chattering the whole way about which movie they'd pick.

They chose a comedy, and even though most of them had already seen it, for some reason it was better than it had been any of their previous viewings. They laughed loudly at the funny parts, and talked during the slow parts about which way the plot would twist even though they already knew. It was therapeutic for all of them, a reaffirmation of a commitment to each other that wasn't just about friendship. Without having to say it out loud, they all knew that when the time came they would have each other's backs. No matter what.

The movie ended just before sunset. As the credits rolled, the Walkers and Sentinels from Hodge's group came down giving them stares that ranged from icy to indifferent depending on who it was.

Paul and the rest of the gang did the same, each and every one of them wondering if tonight would be the night.

Paul didn't immediately rise from his bed after entering the dream. He watched as Steven opened the door to their room and stepped through the threshold. Paul could see other Walkers moving past his door, both from his group and from Hodge's, going toward the elevators. None of them seemed to be in a hurry.

What were they waiting for? He hadn't specifically declined their offer, but he hadn't said yes either which, according to Lisa, meant that in their eyes he was against them. So if all they had been waiting for was a chance to bring him into their ranks, why weren't they beginning their take-over now that they knew he didn't plan to accept?

Confused, he was deep in thought when the hotline on the wall of his safe room jolted him back to full awareness with a shrill ring. This was the first time he'd ever heard it—it was loud, ringing with a persistent double ring like something from an old-fashioned detective movie.

Steven had already stepped back into the room and tentatively picked up the receiver. He stood for no more than a few seconds, listening, and then said, "I'll take care of it."

He hung up the phone and closed the door to the room. "That was Natasha," he said. "If you're still in the room, you need to get outside and head south three hundred yards."

Opening the door again, he took up his former stance in the threshold of the doorway.

Quickly leaving the room, Paul made his way to the main level to find his path blocked. Standing in the hallway in a cluster were Hodge, Allen, and James. They were in the middle of an intense conversation until James noticed Paul and gave the other two a warning look and nodded in Paul's direction.

"Need something, New Guy?" Hodge asked.

"Not from you," Paul answered.

He stepped back into the stairwell, thinking. He needed to get outside without being noticed and he certainly couldn't do that with them blocking the only hallway that led to the main lobby.

It would have to be the balcony. If there was anyone in the commons room, they'd clearly be able to see him if he left that way, but he'd have to take the chance. Natasha had not left any instructions about whether or not he could tell anyone where he was going, but he could be fairly confident it was implied that he should keep quiet and come alone.

Waiting an extra minute to be sure none of Hodge's group peeked around the corner, he counted to sixty and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Pausing outside the glass wall that separated the upper hallway from the commons room, he peered in but saw no one and let out a quiet sigh of relief. Even if it were someone that was one of the good guys, he would still have to come up with some sort of explanation as to why he wanted to use the balcony to get outside. He didn't want to lie to any of his friends if he didn't have to, but an explanation for that would almost certainly require a degree of fabrication.

Quickly making his way toward the far end of the room where the doors to the balcony were, he focused his ability and pushed one of them open. A blast of wind hit him as he stepped out, a curious feeling because although he could plainly feel that the wind was cold it didn't actually make him cold. He wondered if that meant he could withstand extreme temperatures. Would he be fine in a place like Antarctica? How about on the sun? If he really was 'all soul,' as Lisa had put it, it raised some very interesting possibilities.

Lifting one leg and then the other over the balcony rail, he was poised and ready to jump backward when he saw Kenneth standing near their normal table. He was staring right back at him. Kenneth's eyebrows were raised and his mouth was opened as if he were asking, "Why?" or "What are you doing!" but of course Paul couldn't hear him through the thick glass.

Looking down once onto the sidewalk below and then turning back to give Kenneth a look that he hoped conveyed an apology, he pushed himself away from the railing and twisted around so that he would land feet first. It only hurt a little. Although it was just a short distance as compared to his three previous jumps, he was proud of the fact that he was able to stay on his feet, grit his teeth through the pain, and begin walking almost immediately.

He didn't look back up at the windows to the commons room because he knew Kenneth would be standing there. There was nothing he could do at this point except follow Natasha's instructions. South was more or less the direction that the road leaving Astralis followed. It curved a lot, but it more or less went the right way, so he followed it for convenience.

Once he got far enough to be certain no one could see him, he slowed his pace enough to check behind him and make sure he hadn't been followed. Through the trees, he could still see the front of the building. He watched for a few minutes as a precaution. When no one came, he turned and continued along the road.

It was only a short distance further that he found Dr. Abrams waiting patiently on a rock, gazing up at the stars.

"I don't think I will ever get used to the beauty of the night sky in places where mankind has not impeded its view," he said.

Making a sound of agreement, Paul looked up at the sky for a moment and then back at Dr. Abrams. Certainly the man had not set up this meeting to star gaze.

Still looking up, Dr. Abrams glanced at Paul out of the corner of one eye and chuckled. "Straight to the point, as always," he remarked. Rising from the rock, he brushed his hands together as if to wipe off the dirt, but stopped as he realized the futility of it. Smiling, he said, "I suppose not getting dirty from touching rocks is another thing I'll never get used to."

Paul smiled politely back, patiently waiting for Dr. Abrams to say what he'd come to say.

Sizing Paul up, Dr. Abrams finally said, "You are a disconcertingly quiet individual, Mr. Bennett. I'm sure many people mistake that as a lack of confidence, but I think you and I know it is exactly the opposite. You know what your thoughts are and don't need to explain them to others in order to validate them, yes?" Nodding as he continued, Dr. Abrams said, "I believe that we are very lucky that you have not committed to helping Mr. Dittrich pull off his little invasion."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Paul said, "So you know it is Dittrich."

"Yes," Dr. Abrams replied, looking at the sky once before continuing. "I am very aware that the man whom I placed so much faith and trust in has made the decision to betray me."

Paul looked down at the ground for a moment. "I am very sorry that this is happening. I am very sorry that I have become a part of it. I've come to love it here, and I can't begin to tell you how sad I am to already see it falling apart."

Regarding Paul kindly, Dr. Abrams said, "Paul, what is all this talk of doom and gloom? Nothing has or is going to fall apart. Now, you look me in the eye, son."

Paul did as he asked, raising his head and looking Dr. Abrams directly in the eyes. What he saw there wasn't panic or fear, nor was it anger or haste. It was kindness and resolve. It was the look of someone who already knew the way the story would end and was confident that his version was the right one. "You came to my office to speak with me this morning and it sounded important. I'm sorry that Natasha asked you to leave so abruptly but we got news of Thomas and she was shaken."

"Was it good news?" Paul asked.

Pausing as if the answer to his question was not a simple one, Dr. Abrams replied, "We don't know yet. But thank you for asking."

"I hope that you and Natasha know that if there is ever anything I can do to help you find him, all you have to do is ask."

"I believe I do know that, yes," Dr. Abrams' smile was now very genuine. "But we're getting away from our main topic. I came here so you could explain the reason for your visit this morning."

Paul quickly went over the trip he and Lisa had taken and the conversation that they'd had, ending it by saying, "They're talking about really hurting you, Dr. Abrams. They're talking about killing you."

Dr. Abrams' face showed no sense of fear or alarm. "I am not surprised. My conversation with Dittrich went much the same way as yours did with Lisa. He knows that if he took control of Astralis I would spend all of my time and energy re-establishing it or something comparable to it. That would create competition for the business he intends to create and he certainly doesn't want that. The greatest part of what Astralis has to offer is that there is no other company or agency in the world that can provide the same service. No, there is no way that he would reach the financial heights that he is striving for with me still around. That being the case, the only logical course of action is for him to remove me completely."

"What should we do? Dr. Abrams, I hope you know that Liz, Kenneth, Juliet, and Parker are all with you. Just tell us what we need to do and we'll do it."

Looking up at the sky once again, Dr. Abrams said, "I have just a few minutes before Natasha will be pulling me back, so I'm going to say this quickly, without any embellishment, and I want you to do as I ask: Do nothing. Have you told them 'no' in absolute terms?" Paul shook his head. "Good. Maintain that position. Do not commit verbally to either group. Do your best to stay on the outside of the confrontation. It is possible that if they think there is still a chance you would join them, they may not hurt you. If anything, get yourself as far from here as you can. There may not be time to do that. I have a feeling this confrontation will come soon—but if you can leave safely, please go."

"What about everyone else? It has to be clear to them that my group wants nothing to do with their plan. What happens if Parker, Kenneth, Liz and Juliet end up in harm's way?"

"Do not share with them what you have told me tonight. It will only cause fear and anger. I do not want anyone getting hurt on my behalf."

"I can't just say nothing to them!" Paul protested.

"You can and you must," Dr. Abrams told him firmly. "Whether or not you chose to be, you are the focal point in this fight. You are in a position of responsibility now, simply through your knowledge of events. If you care about your friends, and I know you do, then it is your responsibility to protect them. By not telling them what you know, you won't earn any gratitude, but you will keep them from acting prematurely and getting themselves hurt."

Frustrated, Paul nodded.

"We won't be speaking like this again, not until this is over," Dr. Abrams said. "Doing so puts you at risk. But there is one more thing. Astralis must remain. It must. When the time comes that Hodge..." Dr. Abrams looked to sky. "She is calling me back. When the time comes that Hodge asks..."

But he never finished. His body was pulled north toward Astralis and in the blink of an eye he was gone. Paul swore under his breath. What was Dr. Abrams going to say? What was it that Hodge would be asking? And what was it that he was supposed to say or do when that happened? Turning left and right, as if the answer might be visible to him in the air around him, he thought furiously, trying to come up with what it might have been.

He took a deep, calming breath and concentrated on everything that had happened so far, on the things that he was sure he knew. First and foremost, he knew that Dittrich was behind it all. He'd had that confirmed not only by Lisa, but also by his friends who'd told him that Dittrich had been talking about turning Astralis into a for-profit institution for years. He knew Lisa was also part of Dittrich's plan; she'd confirmed that when they took their trip to the middle of nowhere. James and Allen, although not having directly said that they were a part of it, had implied it through their conversations with him.

Hodge, though... he just wasn't sure. It seemed too obvious. Hodge had never treated Paul with anything but hostility and contempt, but he had never stated or implied that he was a part of Dittrich's plan. Paul had always assumed that through his connection with Lisa and the way Hodge treated him so badly that he was. But what if he wasn't? What if he wasn't and Dr. Abrams knew it? Was it possible that the reason Hodge had always treated him like garbage was because Hodge wanted to alienate Paul from Dittrich's cause?

It was a stretch and Paul knew it. The simple fact that Hodge so obviously valued his relationship with Lisa should be more than enough for Paul to assume that he would choose her side by default. But everyone respected Hodge at Astralis, even Paul's friends. There was history, there. It was a possibility.

Sighing, he sat down on the rock that Dr. Abrams had been sitting on when he arrived and resigned himself to a long night of waiting. He could go back to Astralis and let himself in, but then he would run the chance of having to explain to Kenneth and everyone else why he had left the building. Besides, he needed more time to think everything through.

Sitting on the rock, he realized he had come full circle back to where he'd been before Astralis. The rock may not be as comfortable as his bench in Radcliff, but it was a place to sit alone with his thoughts while he waited for the sun to rise.

Chapter 28

He woke in his safe room to find Steven pacing impatiently between their beds.

"Dude, that had to be the longest night I have ever spent," Steven said by way of greeting. "What was that all about? Who did you have to meet?"

Paul quickly filled Steven in on what Dr. Abrams had told him and how he'd requested for them to stay neutral, not tell anyone else about the threat on his life, and leave if the opportunity presented itself.

"We're not going to do that, are we?" Steven asked. "I mean, we can't just abandon the guy when he is obviously in trouble. And as far as telling everyone else, we have to do that, too. They've been here longer than us by a long shot. It's safe to assume they care as much about Astralis and Dr. Abrams as we do. If you think you'd be angry if they kept something like this from you, imagine how they will feel?"

"We're going to tell them," Paul agreed. "We have to. Let's get upstairs and do that."

But no one was in the commons room when they got there.

"What the hell?" Steven asked, looking around.

"I don't know. No one said anything to me about anything going on today."

"Think they're down in the training area?" Steven guessed.

"I don't know," Paul repeated. "I guess that's pretty much the only other place they could be."

"Mr. Bennett," came Dittrich's voice from behind, startling them both. "I was hoping that I would find you here!"

Sharing a quick glance, they both turned. Dittrich was smiling with an air of perfect ease and comfort. He did not look at all like a man who was about to stage an uprising and possibly a murder.

"Steven, I believe you're supposed to be down in training this morning, aren't you?" asked Dittrich.

"I... wasn't really sure if I was," Steven replied truthfully and just a bit sarcastically. "You know, with the way things have been a little tense around here and all..."

Paul looked wide-eyed at Steven, trying to will his friend to not be so plainly antagonistic.

"I understand," Dittrich said smoothly, still smiling. "We've all certainly been on edge these last few days. I was just down there and I know that there are a group of Sentinels waiting on you as we speak."

Steven took a half-step forward and then looked over at Paul. Paul gave him an almost imperceptible nod and Steven left, not looking at Dittrich as he did.

When Steven was out of earshot, Dittrich said jovially, "If I didn't know any better, I would think your friend doesn't like me."

Paul looked at Dittrich through veiled eyes. "You just need to get to know him, I suppose."

"I'm sure you're right. Come, let's take a walk."

Reluctantly, Paul followed. "Isn't there training that I should be working on today?"

"There is and you are," replied Dittrich over his shoulder. "I am your assigned trainer and I have some very specific discussions planned. I think today will be an enlightening day for everyone."

They left the commons room and took the stairs down to the main level. Dittrich walked as if he didn't have a care in the world, practically strolling as he moved through the halls. Entering into the training area, Paul could see most of the other Walkers.

"So how come no one came to breakfast in the commons room this morning?" Paul asked.

Turning to face Paul and stopping, Dittrich put a hand on Paul's arm and smiled. "They were all given some very specific assignments to complete. Those assignments required completion by ten this morning. They all opted to have their breakfast late in order to get their projects done."

Paul began moving again so that Dittrich would be forced to remove his hand from his arm. "What were the projects?"

"Oh, that's not important," Dittrich said dismissively. "Just busy-work, really."

What was this all about? Why was Dittrich wandering the halls with no apparent destination? "So... they were given busy-work projects that had to be done by a specific time?"

"By ten this morning," Dittrich affirmed again without elaboration.

Paul tried another tack. "Where are we headed?"

"I thought I would show you where Steven has been training all this time. Normally we don't allow Walkers into the area while Sentinel training is in progress—such a distraction, you know—but you'll be with me, so it will be fine."

Paul had to admit that this was a part of Astralis that he'd been intrigued to get a look at since the day Steven told him about it. But why would Dittrich show this to him today? Why would it even matter if Dittrich knew Paul wasn't going to be a part of his plan?

They looped through the training area, past other Walkers that were hard at work. Each was in his or her own training room. Every time they passed a room, the Walker would stop working and pause to look at the two of them as they passed. Paul nodded to each of them, but the best he got were uneasy smiles in return. From Hodge's group he got stone-faced looks and, unfortunately, the same kind of look from Kenneth.

If he could have stopped right then to explain to Kenneth what he'd been doing last night, he would have, but being stuck with Dittrich made it impossible.

Having made a full circuit of the training area, they reached the main hall again, but instead of going back toward the front of the building they turned and headed the other way. Steven had said he was pretty sure the training area was set into the mountain, and from the direction they were heading it appeared he was right. So why the long detour when they could simply have taken the main hall straight through?

There was only one more turn and then the hall ended against a stone face with a wide metal door much like the one leading into the Sanctum. Turning the cog wheel, Dittrich hefted it open and, with a flourish of his arm, bid Paul to enter.

"We call it," Dittrich said grandly, "the Cavern."

Paul was astounded at the vastness of the room beyond, a room that truly could not be more accurately described. It appeared to be natural, the walls not following straight lines, but still smooth. It was roughly circular, with lights hanging at least thirty feet above their heads. The ceiling itself continued much further up, its true height masked by the glow of the lights.

An asphalt track encircled the perimeter, or at least Paul assumed it did. Due to the enormity of the room, much of the track was not visible from where they stood. On the far side was a large pool, appearing to also be a natural formation of the Cavern. To the right of the pool was a tile wall separating it from what Paul assumed to be lockers and showers. A section of the floor to their left looked a great deal like a sand trap at a golf course, but much larger. Distributed throughout the rest of the cavern were pieces of training equipment, foam and rubber mats, and a sparring ring as the center piece.

"This is amazing," Paul commented to Dittrich, momentarily forgetting that he despised the man.

"It is quite the spectacle."

Across the room, Paul saw Steven training on one of the mats. He was surrounded by the same Sentinels who normally joined them at their table for lunch, taking what appeared to be hand-to-hand instruction from them.

Nate, the Sentinel whose job it was to protect Parker, noticed them first, and the rest of the group stopped what they were doing to turn and watch them. Dittrich turned to Paul, gave him a huge smile, and laughed loudly. He threw his arm around Paul's shoulders, guiding him toward the Sentinels. "I believe we caught these Sentinels off guard! Looks like they expect a grand entrance!"

While Paul tried to extricate himself from Dittrich's fatherly arm without looking like a fool, Dittrich led him to a small stand of viewing bleachers. "I need a quick word with them, privately. I will only be a moment. Feel free to let your gaze wander around the room. Take it all in." He waved his arm around the Cavern dramatically. "Once you and Steven have completed your training, you'll both be allowed to come in anytime you like for exercise and training. But for now, this may be your only chance until then."

To Paul's irritation, Dittrich patted him twice on the knee before walking over to the now silent group of Sentinels. Reaching them, Dittrich leaned in close and begin speaking in low tones. Dittrich kept his back to Paul as he spoke, keeping the Sentinels in a semi-circle around him, almost like a huddle. They frequently glanced over as Dittrich spoke. Steven, in particular, never looked at Dittrich once, but kept his eye firmly fixed on Paul, expressionless.

Eventually, Dittrich finished whatever it was he had to say and came back, gesturing with a flick of his head for Paul to follow him.

"What was that all about?" Paul asked.

"I'll explain later," Dittrich said. "For now, I need to attend to some other matters. So until after lunch, I would like you to spend your time in the orange room. You will find a small library of books there. The top two shelves of the right-most book case contain a number of teachings on philosophy, isolation, and the innate responsibilities of every American. Start with any volume you like and continue to read until I arrive."

Without waiting for a reply, as soon as they'd left the Cavern and closed the door, Dittrich walked briskly away, leaving Paul alone outside the Cavern.

Paul just stood there, trying to understand what the purpose of the morning had been. Was that somehow supposed to have been training? If it was, Paul couldn't figure out what it meant. All they'd done was walk around the facility. And at this point, why would Dittrich have any interest in training him? If Paul had no interest in being part of Dittrich's grand scheme, and Dittrich knew that, why would he spend any time with him at all? And why had he been so nice to Paul, putting his arm around his shoulder and such?

Maybe that was the point. Maybe since Paul hadn't committed to Dittrich's cause but still remained in the facility, Dittrich was purposely attempting to keep him off guard.

Instead of going straight to the orange room, Paul went upstairs to the balcony to try reaching Stephanie. He and Steven had agreed that she should be called, but she'd been unreachable for an entire day now. It wasn't like her to not have her phone with her and it was even more unlike her to fail to answer when she knew he and Steven may need her.

He was pulling out his phone when the door to the balcony opened behind him and Kenneth came out. He stepped up to Paul without speaking, just holding his gaze. Waiting.

"I owe you an explanation..." Paul began, but Kenneth interrupted.

"Yeah I think you could say that," Kenneth replied angrily. "What's going on?"

Surprised by Kenneth's tone, Paul took half a step backward. "I... don't know. I do have some things to tell you, and everyone else, but as far as I know nothing has happened yet."

"Well that's not what everyone is saying. I saw you. Liz saw you. Our Sentinels saw you—everyone saw you. Walking around with Dittrich like you two were best pals; laughing, joking, his arm around you."

Stunned, Paul fell back against the balcony rail. It all made sense now. Dittrich was sowing discord, purposely making it appear like he'd won Paul over. And Paul had been stupid enough to allow it to happen, not recognizing what he had been doing. Dittrich must have decided that if Paul wouldn't join him, he'd make it so the other side wouldn't want him either.

"Kenneth..." Paul began.

"And then you disappear last night, jumping ship right in front of me without any explanation. You need to tell me what side you're on and you need to tell me right now!"

Hearing a thump from the door to the commons room, they both jumped and turned to see Hodge grinning at them through the glass with veiled eyes. Pushing open the door, he stepped onto the balcony, almost daintily, taking his time. Casually he sauntered over to the rail.

"Don't mind me," he said placidly, looking out over the parking lot. "By all means, I'd like to hear the rest of this little tiff."

Their conversation would have to wait. "Kenneth," Paul gave Kenneth a pleadingly wide-eyed look. "I need you to trust me." Looking pointedly at Hodge, who raised his eyebrows pleasantly without saying a word, Paul continued, "Now is obviously not the time to continue this talk. But please believe me when I say that we will all get together tonight and I will explain it to you. To everyone."

Kenneth looked almost as if he were willing to challenge Paul and demand the answers anyway. He looked at Hodge, clearly weighing his options and whether he should trust Paul. "Alright. Tonight." Looking pointedly at Hodge, Kenneth said to Paul, "You've never given me any reason not to take you at your word before."

Without looking back, he made to move past Hodge, who didn't move but instead stood in his way, silently grinning.

"You want to get your side-burned, eighties-reject-looking ass out of my way before this gets ugly?" Kenneth asked.

Hodge's grin slid from his face and he moved in very close to Kenneth, eye-to-eye. Kenneth didn't flinch, finally shoving Hodge's shoulder, forcing him to let him pass as he jerked open the door to the commons room and went inside.

With a glint of fury in his eyes, Hodge watched Kenneth go and asked Paul, "What was that all about?"

Not bothering to answer, Paul walked back into the building as well, leaving Hodge alone on the balcony. He was so angry at having been used by Dittrich and so frustrated with the situation that he reached the orange room before realizing he'd forgotten his original reason for being on the balcony at all. He fished out his phone again, but there was no signal in this section of the facility. Wonderful. It made sense. He was about as far back in the training area as he could get. One of the walls to the orange room was rock; the side of the mountain. The bookshelf Dittrich had mentioned was chiseled into that rock with wood planking lining the back and bottoms of each shelf.

He grabbed a thin book at random from the right side of the top book shelf and began to read.

* * *

By lunchtime, Dittrich still hadn't made an appearance.

Paul had finished the first book and already begun a second one. The subject matter was actually pretty interesting stuff; both books dealt with the subject of isolationism both as a personal and as an organizational concept. It drew parallels between individual behavior and the behavior of groups as large as entire nations such as North Korea. It was engrossing for Paul, especially since he'd spent so much time in the last three years dealing with many of the issues being discussed.

It was after the noon hour, so he marked his page and was getting ready to leave the room when Allen came in carrying a tray laden with food.

"Hey man," he said. "I was told to bring this to you because you'd be training through lunch. I guess they wanted to make sure you didn't go hungry while you were working so hard."

"They?" Paul asked. "They who?" He knew what this was about; it was about keeping him from seeing any of his friends to tell them what was going on.

Allen looked at him blankly. "I dunno. I just assumed there was a 'they' to it. Isn't there always? Gladys called me down to the front desk and gave me the instructions, though, so... Gladys? I guess?"

Dittrich had certainly picked the right person to bring him his food. Paul wouldn't get any answers out of someone like Allen. The guy was a few Prozac short of a prescription.

"Well, thanks Allen," Paul smiled. "I sure do appreciate you bringing me some food. I am definitely hungry."

Paul had no intention of staying in the room a moment longer than he needed to, but he was sure that if he left, Allen would tell Dittrich. So he kept a smile fixed on his face and let Allen leave the room.

Paul turned his back to the door to give the appearance that he was going back to his training and heard the distinct sound of the door being locked. Swiftly turning around, he was just in time to see Allen pulling a key from the other side of the door and shoving it in his pocket. Looking up at Paul, he gave a toothy smile and a slow wink before turning to walk away.

Clutching the door handle, Paul yanked on it several times, rattling the door, hoping it would open, but it was indeed locked. Seething, he threw himself down in his chair and pushed the lunch tray to the far side of the table. Maybe Allen wasn't quite as slow as he let on to everyone.

So now what? He was a prisoner? Certainly someone would walk past and see him. After all, the walls were all glass! All he had to do was get their attention. He peered around to see if anyone was nearby, but saw no one. He was the only one that wasn't upstairs for lunch. He didn't have a complete view of the whole training area, since he was all the way back in the far corner. Peering through multiple panes of glass, after a few of them, the view became distorted. Clearly that was why this room had been chosen for his 'training' today.

Muttering to himself, he pulled his cell phone back out of his pocket and placed it face-up on the table so that he could check it regularly. Maybe he'd get a signal at some point and be able to call Steven.

Next, he tore two blank pages out the front of the book he had open on the table and wrote as darkly and prominently as possible, LOCKED IN, on them. If he did see anyone in the training area, he would be ready and hold up the pages to get their attention.

He spent the next few hours pacing back and forth in the room. He tried to quell his agitation and anger as best he could, knowing it was a waste of his time and energy, but couldn't fully. At one point, he became so angry at the helplessness of his situation that he began kicking the door and walls, even throwing chairs against them in the hope that he could break the glass. But of course the only thing he broke were the chairs, which left him only the table to sit on.

Anything could be happening out there. For all he knew, Dr. Abrams was already dead. His friends could all be dead. Steven could be dead. If they weren't dead and Dittrich had begun his take-over, certainly his friends thought that he was a part of it after the parade that Dittrich had put him through that morning.

At one point he saw someone moving at the far end of the training area close to the main hall, but he couldn't tell who it was. All he could make out was a smudge of color. He yelled and pounded on the glass but got no reaction from whoever it was.

It was well after dinner time when Paul finally caught a glimpse of movement coming toward him. He watched the blurred shape become more distinct the more panels of glass it passed, finally materializing into a familiar face that did nothing to raise Paul's spirits.

It was Dittrich, strolling toward the room as if he had no idea that Paul had been locked away at the far end of the facility for the last eight or more hours. Once he was close enough, he even raised a hand in greeting, giving a small wave with a cheery expression as if to say, "Oh hey! Sorry it took me so darn long!"

Paul did not wave back.

Not pausing to see if the door was locked, Dittrich pulled a key from his pocket and let himself in, closing it again behind him.

Looking around the room at the broken chair pieces strewn on the floor and the torn pages from the books, he put his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and looked up at Paul through his little round glasses. "Tough day?" he asked in his nasally, high-pitched voice.

Paul had never wanted to assault another human being so badly. "Let me out."

Smiling lazily at him, Dittrich replied, "Certainly. Absolutely. But first I would like to have a little chat. Just you and I."

"I can't see that we have much to talk about."

"That may be true. From what I've been told I believe that probably is true."

"Then we're done already. I have places I'd like to be, not the least of which is a bathroom since I haven't been able to go in the past eight hours. I'm sure you also have obligations to attend to."

"In fact I do," replied Dittrich, "but first you will sit down. And you will listen to what I have to say. And never, ever, will you address me in so familiar a tone again."

Taken aback by the abrupt change in Dittrich's normally composed and polite demeanor, Paul, stunned but intrigued, grudgingly sat down on the desk top. Dittrich was finally showing his true colors. Paul wanted nothing more than to be out of the room and away from him, but he had to know what could possibly be on this lunatic's mind.

Giving him a level look as if he were a school teacher making certain there would be no more outbursts, Dittrich leaned against the door wall with crossed arms and said, "Allen, James, Lisa... they've all shared with me the conversations they've had with you." Paul noticed that Dittrich had left out Hodge's name. Once again, Hodge was not included with the rest. Interesting. "And although they all came back with different spins on how they felt you reacted to what they had to say, the common theme was that you would not commit."

Paul said nothing. He knew that Dittrich would continue because Dittrich was the kind of man who loved to hear himself talk way too much. And Paul was right.

"I'm told you like it here," Dittrich continued. "As James tells it, you have found the home you've always been looking for, mostly because of the people you've met here."

Paul was a little surprised by that. He had assumed the only thing that mattered in the conversation with James was whether or not he agreed with what they'd discussed. James seemed like the type that would always use as few words as possible simply to avoid having to be descriptive.

Seeing Paul's look, Dittrich said, "Oh yes. James actually thinks quite highly of you. Allen... not so much. Although I wouldn't say that he dislikes you, I think Allen is mostly just concerned about Allen. But, now, Lisa—she's a whole separate story."

Paul tried to maintain his poker face, still saying nothing, but Dittrich immediately noticed a tightening of his mouth and winked in reply.

Giving Paul a conspiratorial grin, Dittrich said, "Yes, sir. I do believe she's taken quite a shine to you. And if I'm not mistaken, according to the reports we got back from when she was in Radcliff, you may have taken a liking to her as well. Am I right?" Not waiting for a reply, Dittrich continued, "Who wouldn't though, right? She is one fine-looking young woman if I do say so myself."

Paul gave him a disgusted look, to which Dittrich replied, "Hey, I'm a man, too. And as you now know, Lisa isn't my flesh and blood so there is nothing in the rule book saying I can't check that out every now and again."

Paul looked down at the floor to hide the hate and revulsion he knew was in his eyes. Now wasn't the time to go head-to-head with this man. First, Paul needed to know whether anything had happened today and he knew the only way Dittrich would tell him would be if he didn't see Paul as a threat.

Pushing away from the door wall with his shoulder, Dittrich began pacing while he spoke, circling Paul as he tried to reason with him. "You love it here. You love the community that exists. I get that. We all do. There isn't a single one of us who hasn't found themselves made into a better person—and I'm not talking about being a better Walker, or a better spy, if that's what you want to call it. I'm talking about becoming whole. Knowing this isn't something that's wrong with us, but instead knowing it is something right with us. And all just from being around others with the same talent."

Still circling, he continued, "I'll always be grateful to Abrams for that. For bringing us together. For having the vision to create what exists here. He has been a great help to me, to Lisa, and to everyone else that has been taken under the wing of Astralis."

Stopping directly in front of Paul, causing him to look up due to the pause in the monologue, Dittrich looked Paul intently in the eyes and said, "But Abrams has no right to keep us from becoming financially independent. I have spoken with him multiple times, pleaded with him to see reason in allowing each and every member of this team to receive dividends through jobs done not just for the government, but for private industry if we so chose. Why not? If one or all of us is willing to sell our service in return for financial compensation, what right does he have to say whether it is right or wrong?

"None!" Dittrich shouted, slamming a fist down on the desktop. "He has none!" He stared angrily into Paul's eyes, awaiting a reply, but Paul gave him none.

Almost in a whisper now, Dittrich said, "You love it here? You believe you've found the place you'd like to stay for the rest of your life?

"Good!" Dittrich continued, eyes wide with an almost evangelical gleam. "I can give that to you! Because, Paul, make no mistake, this organization will continue after I've taken over. And all of the things you love about it will still exist."

And there it was. That was all Paul needed to hear. Dittrich had just said after I've taken over. He hadn't done it yet. There was still time to stop him.

"Paul, to turn your back on what I offer is to put yourself out on the street. There will not be an alternative. Do I need to remind you what it was like for you before you got here? It was only a couple of weeks ago! You were alone, scared, and depressed. Look at you now! You are held in high regard at this institution for the skills you possess and even more so for the person of character you have shown yourself to be!

"Paul," Dittrich whispered, pausing for effect. "Now. Right now, this moment. This is your last chance to secure your future with this organization." Softening his tone, he finished in a kind and fatherly voice, "I would very much like you to say yes." Offering a hand to shake, Dittrich asked softly, "What do you say?"

The man was a lunatic. He actually believed he had a chance to sway Paul's decision. All manner of replies came to Paul's mind, most of them very much in line with what he imagined Steven would probably have said. But Paul wasn't Steven; he couldn't fight himself out of this situation and even if there was a chance, Paul knew it was smarter to get back to his friends and help them find a way to either stop this from happening or get them all out.

Paul looked down at the hand that was being offered to him. Taking a deep breath, he raised his own hand up slowly, very slowly... and kept raising it past Dittrich's outstretched hand, instead placing it on the man's shoulder.

Looking at him with raised eyebrows and pitying eyes, Paul said earnestly, "Not a freakin' chance in the world," and left the room.

Chapter 29

Paul raced through the training area, running as fast as he could until he reached the Sanctum, hoping and praying he would find everyone there. It was less than an hour until dark and he had to warn them.

He was in so much of a hurry he had to punch in the code to open the blast door three times before he got it right. Yanking it open, he was greeted by a small crowd of his friends. Steven, Liz, Kenneth, and Parker were all there with their Sentinels.

Breathing heavily in relief, he panted for a moment, bent over double with his hands on his knees. He straightened up only to feel his gut constrict with a cramp so he raised one finger and bent back over for just a little more air.

Still staring down at the floor, he gasped, "Where's... Juliet and Rodrigo?"

Steven came over and slapped him on the back a few times. "In their room, man. Just down the hall. I'll go get them."

Paul closed his eyes and nodded.

By the time Steven returned with them in tow, Paul was able to speak clearly without pausing between words. "Man it's a lot harder to run full tilt when you're awake."

A few chuckles came from the people surrounding him, but most were waiting for his news. Kenneth, in particular, was still eyeing him with clear distrust, so he started there.

"Kenneth, I'm so sorry that I didn't explain what was happening last night. Dr. Abrams asked me to meet... someone... outside of the facility and I couldn't get out the front door because Hodge and his goons were blocking the hallway. I would've stopped to explain, but I was afraid Hodge's crew would find out."

Kenneth's face remained impassive. "Steven told me the same story," he said, "and I think I believe you, but I have to tell you—I haven't seen Dr. Abrams all day and that makes me just a little nervous. Who was this person you say you had to meet?"

Paul looked around at the assembled faces. Although he wanted to, he couldn't tell them Dr. Abrams' secret. It wasn't his to tell. Clearly, if they didn't know, then it wasn't something Dr. Abrams wanted to be common knowledge, even among those he knew were loyal to him.

"I would very much like to tell you that," he answered carefully, hoping his sincerity showed through in his eyes. "But I can't." He took time to look every one of them in the eye. "Dr. Abrams specifically asked me to keep this to myself and I will. I am very sorry if that makes you trust me less or if it angers any of you, but I gave my word and I want him to feel he can trust me."

He was met with silence from the group as they weighed whether or not he was playing them for fools.

Finally, Liz said, "I trust you, Paul. I've only known you for a couple of weeks, but I feel like we've become real friends and I'd like to think I know the difference between what's real and what isn't."

Liz's words broke the silence. Everyone else joined in and followed suit.

"I trust you too," Kenneth said. "But what was the deal today with you and Dittrich? What was that all about?"

"That's what I came down here to tell you!" Paul exclaimed, looking up at the clock, realizing that he only had a short while to explain everything that had happened in the past thirty-six hours.

He told them about Lisa and how his most recent training mission was not a mission at all, but a fabricated pretense for her to attempt to sway him over to Dittrich's side. He didn't bother to tell them about her history or that she wasn't actually Dittrich's biological daughter. He didn't know why, it just didn't seem like the kind of thing that should be shared, even when it pertained to someone who'd more or less declared themselves an enemy.

He told them about Dr. Abrams and Natasha's reaction to the news that he had absolute confirmation Dittrich was behind the treachery that existed at Astralis.

"Abrams has always seemed one step ahead of everything that goes on around here," Parker observed, getting nods in response from everyone else. "Why should this be any different?"

He told them about his most recent experience with Dittrich in the training area, explaining how he'd been paraded all over Astralis in the hopes of sowing doubt in their minds. Lastly, he described how he'd been locked in a room at the far corner of the training area.

When he was finished, Kenneth came forward and held out his hand. Unlike the hand Dittrich had offered less than an hour ago, Paul gripped this one firmly, smiling.

"I'm sorry I let that big-nosed, high-pitched prick get the best of me," Kenneth said. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

Grinning, Paul said, "No harm done. I would've been wondering the same thing, too, with all that's happened. Don't give it another thought."

"So what's the plan?" Juliet asked. "What do we do?"

"Ten minutes," came Lydia's voice on the overhead.

Paul looked to Kenneth for instruction, but only got a look in return; a look that clearly implied that Paul should be the one to answer. Looking around at the rest of the group, he saw that they all were waiting for him to speak.

Strangely, he didn't feel at all nervous about being the one to form a plan. A month ago, he knew, not only would he have felt way out of his league trying to solve a problem as large as this.

Paul looked again at the clock. "We're all going to be asleep soon. That's when we're most vulnerable and Dittrich knows it." He looked at Alex, Nate, Kate, Rodrigo, and Steven. "It will be up to our Sentinels to protect us."

He began to pace back and forth so he could think better. "If I were Dittrich, I would make my move against Dr. Abrams at night. That means he'll have to either use Sentinels or someone outside the facility to get to Dr. Abrams, because we all know I'm the only Walker that could hurt him or even get to him from the dream, and of course that's definitely not happening.

"I say we double up in safe rooms until this is over. That way we double up on Sentinels, too. One in the room and one outside. Juliet and Liz, you two share a room. Kenneth and Parker, you two share another. I guess I'll be the odd man out, but that's okay because I have the best chance at staying safe with my ability. Safe room doors are only to be opened immediately after sunset and for no more than ninety seconds."

"No," Kenneth said. "You are the biggest target because of your ability. I'll be the odd man out. You bunk with Parker. Alex is the strongest Sentinel, anyway," he said, grinning at the rest of the Sentinels who smirked and grumbled but didn't refute it. "Everyone knows that."

Paul opened his mouth to disagree, but Parker jumped in and said, "Kenneth is right. Both about the fact that you're the biggest target and that Alex can handle himself best in combat."

Out-voted and running out of time, Paul reluctantly agreed. "Okay, so Nate stays in the safe room with Parker and me as a last line of defense. Kate stays in the room with Liz and Juliet. The rest of the Sentinels stay in the hall outside the safe rooms. Together. Agreed?"

Getting nods all the way around the room, Paul pulled Steven aside and said quietly, "At the first sign of trouble, you do everything you can to get Dr. Abrams or Natasha on the handset in the safe room. It'll probably be Natasha. If it's Lydia, that's okay too. Use our room. I'll bunk in Parker's. That way you can use a handset where no one is sleeping. Once you get a hold of someone, tell them who you are. They'll listen if they know it's you."

Steven waited to see if Paul was going to spout out more instructions. When none were forthcoming, Steven's face broke into a big grin. "Dude. You worry too much. Piece of cake."

Oh boy, Paul thought and went to Parker's room.

Lying there on Nate's bunk with Parker no more than six feet away and Nate pacing the floor between them, Paul said quietly, "I want you to know, Parker—I know I've only been here a couple of weeks, but I promise I will do everything in my power to make sure Dittrich doesn't succeed. You, Kenneth, Liz and Juliet—you've all become like family to me."

Looking drowsily over at him, Parker replied, "You're such a ssswell guyyy..."

And then they fell asleep, drifting down into the dream together.

* * *

Almost immediately, they were jolted up into full alertness by the sound of an alarm.

"This is it," Parker said to him with wide eyes.

Jumping up, Paul went to the door, but Nate was still standing in the center of the room, not moving. He just stared up at the speaker from which the alarm blared.

"Nate!" Paul cried out in frustration, even though he knew the Sentinel couldn't hear him. Growling in impatience, Paul focused his ability and bumped the heel of his hand against Nate's shoulder, pushing him toward the door.

Nate looked around wildly, "Paul?" he asked, still not moving.

"Are you kidding me?" Paul exclaimed, and stepped over to the door. He focused his energy, pounding three times on the door.

Finally, Nate snapped out of it. "The door!" he said. "Open it for ninety seconds. Yes! Sorry!"

After Nate finally opened the door, Paul squeezed through to find the hallway in turmoil. Liz, Juliet, and Kenneth were already out of their rooms, standing in a group. Looking toward the lounge, Paul saw Hodge and his group of Walkers making a break for the stairwell.

As for the Sentinels, aside from Nate and Kate they were all—both Hodge's group and Paul's—in the hallway outside the rooms, most of them in the process of closing the doors to the rooms they guarded. Alex and Rodrigo eyed the other Sentinels suspiciously, who returned their looks with equal suspicion.

Steven was the only Sentinel on the move, running to his and Paul's safe room to make the call that Paul had asked him to make.

There was no sign of Hodge, even though Rex was there with the rest of the Sentinels.

"What do we do?" Liz asked. "Do we go upstairs? Do we stay here? It doesn't look like whatever's happening is going on down here."

"We stay here," Paul said. "This is what this area was built for. We'll be safe here as long as someone is smart enough to get that blast door closed."

As if he'd heard him, Steven ran from their safe room and out through the blast door, disappearing into the stairwell. Paul had no idea where Steven was going, but he had to trust that whatever Steven had heard over the phone was what had motivated him to go. As if spurred by Steven's actions, Rex went to the door and grabbed hold of the cog wheel to pull it shut until a voice stopped him.

"Stop!" Hodge's yell came from the other side of the door. "Not yet!"

Rex stopped, looking around at nowhere in particular. He'd clearly heard and recognized Hodge's voice. None of the other Sentinels made any move to encourage him to do otherwise.

"Paul!" Hodge called out in a panic. "I need your help! They're going to kill him!"

Paul and Kenneth exchanged confused looks and moved toward the blast door where Hodge was waiting.

"What do you mean?" Paul asked. "Kill who?"

"Abrams, you dumb ass, who do you think?" Hodge was almost incoherent. "They kept saying they were going to do it but I didn't believe them. But they're going to do it! They're going to do it now! You have to come with me! We have to stop them!"

"Stop who? Who kept saying it?" Paul asked, looking back at the Sentinels. "They're all here!"

"You want me to write a frikkin book? Dittrich and his goons are headed to find Abrams right now and if we don't get there—now—he is going to die!"

Paul took a step forward and hesitated. Should he really consider trusting Hodge? Thinking frantically, he tried to remember a single time Hodge or anyone else had said that Hodge was involved with Dittrich's plan, but he couldn't. Not even Lisa or Dittrich had ever said anything about Hodge, not directly. Paul had always assumed because Hodge was so rude and was Lisa's boyfriend, that he must be involved. But that didn't necessarily mean Paul was right.

He looked over at Kenneth and saw the same thing going through his mind.

"I'll go with you," Kenneth said to Paul.

"Perfect!" agreed Hodge impatiently.

As the three of them ran through the blast door, Hodge took a deep breath and yelled, "Close it!"

Rex didn't waste any time. He slammed the door shut just as Kenneth got through.

Paul raced for the stairwell but Hodge stopped him short. "Wait! No! Down in Abrams' suite! That's where we have to go!"

* * *

The alarm blared deafeningly, jolting Steven into motion.

This is it, he thought, his heart hammering. For a moment, he was completely disoriented, but only for a moment. Paul needed him. He turned and ran as fast as he could back to the safe room.

He passed Parker's room and saw Nate standing in the doorway. He gave him a brief nod and raced past.

Inside the safe room, he wasted no time. He grabbed the handset off the wall and yelled, "Hello?"

Had Paul and Parker gotten out of their room? He hoped so.

"Hello?" he yelled again. "This is Steven! Is anybody there? Hello?"

"Steven," replied a calm, female voice.

"Who is this? I need Dr. Abrams! I need him immediately!"

"Steven, this is Natasha. You need to get topside immediately. Go straight to the welcome office as quickly as you can. Do not stop for anything. Go now."

Natasha spoke unhurriedly, a strange contrast to the mayhem of the alarms.

"I don't understand," he protested. "What about Paul?"

"Go now!" Natasha's voice finally held a sense of urgency.

With a huff of frustration, Steven slammed the receiver back into its cradle and left the room.

Out in the hallway, Sentinels from both sides were eyeing each other suspiciously. Steven knew it would only be moments before something happened. The tension in the air was too thick for it not to.

He and Rex briefly locked eyes. Rex's upper lip twitched. Steven would have liked nothing more than to put an end to their feud, once and for all, but he had orders. Paul trusted Natasha, and Steven trusted Paul. He sprinted for the exit, moving so quickly that no one on either side had any chance to react.

Steven took the stairs two at a time and burst onto the main level without slowing. He reached the welcome office in seconds, throwing himself against the door and exploding into the room.

A frightened shriek brought him up short, the sound as familiar to him as his own voice.

"Stephanie?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh thank God!" Stephanie flung herself into his arms. "I was so scared! What is going on? Why are these alarms going off?"

Steven disentangled himself from her and held her at arm's length, trying to understand how she could be there. Of all times, why now?

"We have to get you out of here." He grabbed Stephanie's arm and pulled her toward the door. "Once I get you outside, I can't stay with you. You'll just have to go on foot for now. But run. If anyone except me or Paul comes for you, hide. You hear me?"

"Steven!" Stephanie wrenched her arm from his grip. "I can't go! You have to take me to Paul!"

"What? Why?"

"They didn't say. But the doctor and the woman said to tell you to take me straight to Paul."

* * *

Paul focused his energy and jammed the elevator button with a knuckle. The doors slid open and he, Kenneth, and Hodge piled in. Focusing his energy again, he hit the sequence of up and down arrows to take them to Dr. Abrams' office. The doors shut and the elevator immediately began to descend.

Hodge stood silently, staring straight ahead at the elevator door.

"What did Dittrich say?" Paul asked. "He must have had help if he was heading down here. Who did he have with him?"

Looking out of the corners of his eyes, keeping his head forward, Hodge answered, "Gladys. It was Gladys that came for Dittrich. They had it planned all along. She came into the room, waited for about ten seconds, and then walked back out with Dittrich right behind her. It was right after that when the alarm started going nuts."

"Gladys?" Paul and Kenneth said at the same time.

"But Gladys is CIA!" Kenneth exclaimed. "She's been here since Astralis first came into existence!"

"Well I guess she and Dittrich been bumping uglies for a while, now," Hodge responded in his usual, elegant way.

Paul and Kenneth both flinched with a disgusted shiver as the doors slid open to the antechamber outside Dr. Abrams' suite.

The door leading to his suite was closed and it was quiet, almost eerily so. The alarm had either been turned off, or it didn't reach this far down. There was no sign that anything was out of the ordinary, which only served to make all of them even more nervous.

"You sure about this?" Paul asked Hodge quietly.

"Positive."

Paul stood still, listening. There was no sound of a scuffle, no voices heard through the door. How would Dittrich do this? If he had Gladys with him, and since she was a member of the front office staff, she certainly had access to the elevator code. Once they'd arrived at this level, she could have quietly opened the door and allowed Dittrich to slip into the suite. But then what could Dittrich do? Would it be Gladys trying to kill him? Abrams may have had no idea what hit him.

What Dittrich certainly did not know was that Dr. Abrams was a Walker too, and was more vulnerable after sunset than Dittrich could have ever hoped. But if Abrams was in his suite, in the dream, then certainly he would confront Dittrich.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Hodge asked.

Kenneth made a sound like he wanted to disagree, but instead said, "He's right. We have to go in. If Dittrich is already there, we might be too late."

Stepping forward, Paul focused his energy and pulled open the door. It swung open on silent hinges and Hodge immediately lunged past Paul into the suite. Paul exchanged a look with Kenneth and the two of them followed more slowly.

All doors to the suite were wide open, but none of the lights were on. The silence of the place was unnerving.

"It doesn't look like anyone is here, or has been," Paul said in a whisper.

After leaning into all the rooms to get a look, Hodge said, "If no one else is here, you don't have to whisper, dumbass. Close the door. If nobody's been here yet, no use giving them an open invitation."

Hating the way Hodge said it, but knowing he was right, Paul focused his ability and pushed the door shut.

Hodge had been standing just inside the door, watching while Paul closed it. As soon as it was completely closed, Hodge turned and walked purposefully into Dr. Abrams' private quarters.

"Something's not right, here," Kenneth said quietly to Paul.

Not answering, not knowing what was going on himself, Paul walked slowly into Dr. Abrams' bedroom.

Dr. Abrams was there, asleep in a large, four poster, canopied bed. Hodge stood over him, staring down with a look on his face that was a mixture of pity, hatred, and sadness.

"Hodge?" Paul asked.

Hodge jerked a little and looked up at Paul without really seeing him, looking almost through him, and then turned away, searching for something in the room.

"Hodge?" Paul repeated. "What's going on?"

"What's going on," Hodge sing-songed as he turned his head this way and that, scanning the contents of the room. "Whaaat's going on." Apparently, he found what he was looking for on a night stand. He went to it as soon as he spotted it.

He kneeled down in front of the night stand so that his face was level with the top of the table and then turned, leering at Paul and Kenneth.

"Dittrich never came down here," he said through a toothy smile.

"Clearly," answered Kenneth in a scathing tone.

"Up yours, Kenneth," Hodge spat. "You think you're the man, don't you? You always have. Always so calm, so confident—so freaking cocky. You shouldn't have pissed me off today on the balcony. Now you get to be first."

"First?" Paul asked. "What in the hell are you talking about, Hodge?"

"Well, first..." Hodge began, but then trailed off, taking deep breaths at an increasing pace. Paul knew that look on Hodge's face. He was working himself up, focusing his anger in order to carry his voice outside the dream.

Paul had no idea what Hodge was up to, but he didn't want to find out the hard way, especially when Hodge was kneeling right next to a sleeping Dr. Abrams. Paul moved closer to see what Hodge was doing. He felt a sense of dread when he finally saw what it was that was on the night stand next to the bed.

It was the little black electronic device that Paul had delivered down to Dr. Abrams himself.

The one that Gladys had given to him. Gladys, who was working with Dittrich the entire time, if what Hodge had told him was true.

"What is that thing, Hodge, and what are you doing?" Paul demanded.

Still breathing heavily, his face distorted, Hodge turned to Paul and gave him a grin that sent chills down his spine.

"Is est vicis," Hodge spoke in a loud, anger-edged voice.

"What—" Paul began, but stopped. A green light on the black device blinked to life. He looked at Kenneth, who was clearly just as confused. "What is that?"

"It is time," Hodge said. "That's what it is." He got to his feet. "It is time for the good doctor," he pointed down at the slumbering form of Dr. Abrams, "to finally realize the arrogance of assuming that his own wants and needs are more important than everyone else's."

A red light next to the green one popped on with an audible click, and a yellow cloud of fumes began spewing out the side of the device.

Beginning to feel the first stirrings of panic, Paul looked down at Dr. Abrams. Whatever the fumes were, they didn't look good. "What have you done, Hodge!"

"I think the right question to ask, New Guy, is what have you done? It was you that brought me down here, and it was you that delivered this ventilator to Dr. Abrams."

Kenneth looked at Paul with wide eyes.

"I didn't know!" Paul protested.

"That's okay," Hodge sneered. "The important thing is that you did what we needed you to do." Mockingly, Hodge put one hand over his heart and said, "We couldn't have done this without you."

"This was all just a trick?" Paul asked incredulously. "Today with Dittrich, parading me around to make everyone believe that I'd joined him? The idea that we were under attack upstairs? None of it mattered because the real attack is here—right now."

"Oh there is a real attack up there, too," Hodge answered, moving away from the bedside toward Paul and Kenneth. "You bet your ass there is. But it didn't start until I got you to leave the Sanctum. Rex didn't close that door by accident."

"If you hurt a single one of our friends...." Kenneth began, stepping toward Hodge.

"You'll what?" Hodge asked. "Nothing, that's what. Because Astralis is going to be ours within the hour and Abrams will be dead. Look around this room."

Hodge waved his arms around the room. It was quickly becoming filled with yellow-tinted air. "The fumes are toxic," Hodge said. "Abrams won't even know he's dying. He'll just take a few more sleepy breaths, his esophagus will close and his lungs will collapse, and then... end of story."

"You bastard!" Kenneth ran at Hodge, fists cocked.

Hodge, looking almost bored, took one step to the side rammed a meaty fist into Kenneth's gut, doubling him over. Pivoting on his heel, Hodge slammed an elbow down on Kenneth's neck, forcing him to his knees.

Hodge stepped back, grinning. "Come on, you pathetic piece of crap! Get up! You don't have much time left on this earth and I'm more than happy to fill your last minutes with pain and humiliation."

Roaring in fury, Kenneth surged to his feet and rushed at Hodge, but once again Hodge proved the better fighter, turning on his heels to let Kenneth miss him, almost like a bullfighter. As Kenneth passed him by, Hodge pushed him from behind, propelling him head-first into the wall.

"Right now, Rex is making his way into your safe room, Kenneth," Hodge spat. "I made sure to tell him to do you and that pathetic midget you call a Sentinel first."

Grinning sadistically, Hodge continued. "Every Sentinel that isn't part of our group is now locked in the Sanctum. They're being given a choice. They can either surrender the fight or surrender the life of the Walker they protect. But first," he looked down at Kenneth, who was rising to his hands and knees from the floor. "Just to show them that we're serious, I told Rex to drag your limp, helpless body into the hallway and make an example of you."

"Hodge—why?" Paul cried out.

"Because I can!" Hodge sneered into Paul's face. "Because today is the beginning of a new life for me! And you, New Guy—I'm going to make sure that you won't be part of it no matter how bad Dittrich wants you."

Kenneth cried out from the floor, clutching at his stomach.

Paul rushed to him. "Are you alright? What is it?"

"It's my stomach, it burns!" Kenneth said, lifting his shirt.

Shocked, Paul saw a deep slice in Kenneth's abdomen just below his chest. It was wide open, and although there was no blood Paul knew there had to be plenty of it upstairs where Kenneth's body was.

Rex's preferred weapon—a blade.

Kenneth looked up, naked fear clearly conveyed. Paul felt helpless, useless. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. There was nothing that could be done and they both knew it.

"Aghh!" Kenneth cried out again, clutching his belly as another wound opened.

Paul looked up into Hodge's grinning, stubbly, gap-toothed face. "You'd do this just to prove a point?"

"No," Hodge's face became serious. "I would do this because this piece of dirt couldn't learn proper manners this morning on the balcony."

Kenneth cried out again as Paul roared in fury and threw himself at Hodge.

"You arrogant bastard!" Paul screamed.

Catching Paul's enraged charge as if he were catching an unruly child on a playground, Hodge allowed Paul's head to ram him in the stomach while reaching down and grabbing Paul around the waist, throwing him to the side like a sack of potatoes into a dresser with a large mirror.

The dresser slammed back against the wall and the mirror shattered as Paul's body impacted it. Hodge paused, momentarily shocked, but then remembered Paul's ability had been triggered by anger in the past.

"Oh this is going to be fun!" Hodge cried maniacally. "I get to kick your ass and bust the place up! Hell yes!"

Grabbing a handful of Paul's hair, Hodge pulled him up from the glass-strewn floor and slammed a fist into Paul's nose. The pain was incredible, exploding across Paul's face. He opened his mouth to choke out a cry of pain, but Hodge relentlessly swung again, driving his fist into Paul's cheekbone, stifling the cry and driving him once again back against the dresser.

"Oh come on. Don't tell me you've never had a really good ass-kicking before?" Hodge cried out happily as he kicked Paul in the ribs, knocking him away from the dresser toward Kenneth. Paul tried to get up, getting as far as raising to his hands and knees, but all it did was give Hodge a better angle for another well-placed kick, this time raising Paul slightly into the air and landing him with a grunt face down on the floor right next to Kenneth.

"Kenneth," Paul whispered, looking into Kenneth's eyes. "You hang in there, Kenneth. Don't you let go. We're going to find a way to stop them."

Kenneth's mouth worked, opening and closing, but the only sounds that came out were gasping attempts at speech. His arms, clutched against his belly, twitched as if he wanted to reach out to Paul.

"You two having a huddle down there?" Hodge stepped over to look down on them. "Looks more like a cuddle to me." Bending down, he grabbed Paul by the back of his pants and the back of shirt, lifted him to chest height, and then dropped him face-first down on top of Kenneth. "There. Now you're having a cuddle."

Groaning, Paul pushed himself off Kenneth and into a kneeling position. He took Kenneth's hand. "Kenneth? Can you hear me?"

Kenneth looked as if he might nod, but then his entire body twitched, twice. Angling his head to look up at Paul, his eyes grew wide.

Then he slowly faded away. Literally. The hand Paul had clasped in his own became less and less substantial until he was no longer holding anything. The floor in front of him was empty. It was as if Kenneth had never been there.

* * *

Steven paused outside the door to the Sanctum. He turned to Stephanie and put a finger to his lips.

The door was closed tight. Muffled shouting could be heard from the other side.

"I'm going to open this door," he told Stephanie quietly. "And then I'm going to let myself into the next room."

Stephanie nodded fearfully.

"You stay right here." Steven took her by the shoulders and guided her away from the door, out of sight from the other side. "Don't move until I come get you, okay?"

Stephanie's eyes were wide over a pale face, but she bit her lip and nodded again.

"It's going to be okay," Steven assured.

He placed his thumb on the scanner and punched in his code. The beep and release of the door was loud in the small antechamber and Steven tensed, counting to five, but there was no change in the sound from the other side. He gave Stephanie one more reassuring nod and then slipped quietly into the Sanctum.

On the other side, he was greeted by a horrific scene. Blood was everywhere, centered in a pool around Alex. He wasn't moving, and from the unnatural way his body lay on the floor it didn't look like he would again.

Just past Alex's body, the Sentinels loyal to Dr. Abrams stood in a cluster, ringed at gunpoint by those loyal to Dittrich. Beyond them, Rex was on the floor, gleefully straddled over Kenneth's unconscious body and slicing into it with his dull blade.

At first Steven froze, horrified, but in an instant it turned rage. Rex had to be stopped.

Without realizing it was his own voice, Steven flung himself at the Sentinels closest to him, screaming his defiance as he rocketed into the group. Allen turned in shock, just in time to be barreled over by Steven and knocked to the floor.

The rest of Sentinels who were being held at gunpoint leapt into action, using Steven's surprise attack to their advantage.

Steven pummeled Allen with his fists, repeatedly landing blow after blow until the big man's eyes began to glaze over. He raised his fist for one last punch, but by then Rex was on him, grabbing him around the neck and dragging him away.

Completely by reflex, Steven lunged backward, slamming the back of his head into Rex's face. Rex's hold loosened just long enough for Steven to clamber to his feet and they squared off. Rex's nose gushed blood, his dull blade held at the ready as his eyes darted to the others in the hall.

Rex backed away, his movements jerky and erratic.

Sensing Rex's panic, Steven risked a glance and saw that the Sentinels loyal to Dittrich had already been all but beaten. Most had already fled to their safe rooms and were dragging the unconscious bodies of their Walkers into the hall, toward the exit.

Steven smiled grimly. "You're done," he growled. "You've lost."

Rex paused, his eyes still darting around the hall, and then he, too, bolted toward the safe room he shared with Hodge.

Steven started after him, but was halted by a shout.

"Let them go!" Rodrigo ordered.

"What?" Steven protested.

"We're not like them—let them go!"

And that quickly, it was over. Rex ran past him with Hodge over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, making a bee-line for the exit. He was the last one loyal to Dittrich to leave the Sanctum.

Stephanie, Steven realized. She was still in the antechamber.

He raced to the exit, Rodrigo and Kate shouting at him to stop, mistaking his fear for aggression. He got through the door and turned—and there was Stephanie, standing in the corner of the room with her arms drawn up against her chest, shaking.

"Are you okay?" Steven asked, hugging her. "Did they hurt you?"

"Paul," she replied in a quivering voice. "I have to get to Paul."

* * *

Paul knew it was his fault. If he hadn't jumped from the balcony to reach Dr. Abrams, Kenneth would have never seen him there. No one would have wondered what he was doing and, consequently, no one would have been looking for him the next morning. Kenneth would never have had words with Hodge. Paul was the reason that Kenneth was on that balcony.

"Oh my God," Hodge said in a deadpan monotone. "I killed Kenny."

Turning his head to look up at Hodge, Paul grew more furious than he'd ever been in his life. "You psychopath!"

Lunging shoulder-first into Hodge, Paul rammed him back into Dr. Abrams' bed, landing them both in a heap on the mattress. Flailing with fists, knees and feet, anything he could use, he struck Hodge again and again in unbridled rage. Hodge laughed, rising up on his knees and deflecting most of the blows that Paul rained down on him.

As he lunged and struck Hodge, the canopy to the bed became entangled in his fists as his ability kicked in full-throttle through his anger. The two of them continued to trade punches and gouges, and eventually Paul pulled down the entire canopy over top of the bed, covering both them and Dr. Abrams in the sheer, white fabric.

Abrams didn't budge. His body was still and lifeless. Paul knew it probably meant that Abrams had already succumbed to the toxic gas, but he couldn't stop to consider the implications. If he did, he might lose himself in sorrow, and he couldn't afford to do that right now. Not with Hodge trying to beat him into oblivion.

He needed to get upstairs, to where the others were. Kenneth had already died—had anyone else? He might be able to stop it, which, he was sure, was another reason why Hodge had lured him down into Dr. Abrams' suite.

Scrambling to the end of the bed, Paul barely got his feet onto floor in time to feel his collar being yanked from behind.

"Oh no you don't!" Hodge exclaimed.

Paul flew backward, slamming the back of his head against the foot board of the bed.

Once again numb with pain, he rolled sideways to try and get to his feet, but Hodge was there and ready with an uppercut to the jaw that landed him right back on the bed. Dazed, he rocked himself to the right and left, trying to finding something to grab on to, but his outstretched hands only found empty mattress.

Immediately, he realized something wasn't right.

Empty mattress?

He searched the pillows at the front of the bed and looked all around. The bed was empty. Scrambling up onto all fours, energized, he scanned the room.

Hodge, confused by the change in Paul's demeanor and lessening of intensity, demanded, "What the hell you think you're going to find? A way out? There's only one way out and you ain't getting there!"

Paul knew with sudden clarity what had happened. What was it that Parker had said? 'Abrams has always seemed one step ahead of everything that goes on around here.' Apparently, he still was.

Dr. Abrams had known as soon as Paul had brought the little black device down into his room what it was and what it was for.

Laughing, Paul clambered to the far side of the bed and climbed out, facing Hodge.

Hodge's eyes narrowed.

"Look around, Hodge!" Paul mocked him. "Notice anything missing?"

Paul looked pointedly at the bed when Hodge failed to understand.

Dr. Abrams had been in the bed, present in the room as a Walker the entire time, but his sleeping body had been somewhere else—obviously somewhere near Natasha. He had played possum the entire time they'd been in the room and somehow alerted Natasha to pull him back to the Waking world at just the right moment. If Paul had to guess, they probably used the same device that delivered the deadly fumes to send a signal of some sort.

Realization hit Hodge like a sledgehammer, his eyes growing wide with anger. "What the hell did you do, New Guy? Where is he?"

"I couldn't tell you," Paul answered truthfully. "But I can tell you this—you and your hero Dittrich have failed. You've failed, Hodge. No matter what's already happened upstairs, I can guarantee that by the time you find your way out of this room it'll all be over and you'll be out on your ass. Or maybe even worse—locked up."

"You're full of crap..." Hodge replied vehemently.

"Hmmm..." Paul said. "I wonder what that would be like; locked in a jail cell all day long only to fall into the dream at night and wake up... still locked in the same jail cell. I'm thinking that might be enough to drive a Walker insane."

Hodge roared and leapt across the bed, slamming a right hook into Paul's temple. Paul fell back, momentarily blinded by pain, but he managed to stay on his feet and bring up his fists.

"Oh now that's more like it," Hodge said, bringing up his own fists, taking up a boxing stance.

Paul shook his head to clear it and Hodge took the opportunity to land two quick jabs just below his right eye, rocking his head back again.

Swaying on his feet now, Paul tried to form a plan but the pain was so intense he was having trouble with simple, rational thought. The door... he had to get out the door and save his friends. He turned toward the exit and Hodge took advantage of it, moving in to jab him twice more.

He wiped a hand across his face, fully expecting it would come away bloody, before he remembered he was still in the dream.

Pain. What was it about pain that he'd been told? It was just a feeling. Like anger. He could put it aside. He focused on the room, on Hodge, and tried to force the pain somewhere deep into the back of his consciousness.

He lunged at Hodge clumsily, his lack of fighting skill clearly evident with every move. Hodge laughed and swatted his arm aside, twisting to land three solid punches to Paul's ribs, dropping him to knees.

"Paaauuul."

Paul turned toward the sound of the voice. It sounded as if he was being called from very far away, like someone calling through a tunnel to reach him.

Am I hallucinating? He shook his head, looking around in confusion.

Hodge saw him looking blearily around the room and sneered, lifting him again by his shirt collar. "No one's here, New Guy. You're all mine until morning."

As if from very far away, Paul heard it again.

It sounded like Stephanie's voice calling his name, calling to him and telling him to wake up—wake up!

Was he losing his mind?

Shaking his head groggily, he looked into Hodge's eyes and got ready for another round of punishing blows, unsteadily moving forward on wobbly legs.

Raising his arms and clenching his fists, he heard Stephanie's voice again, but this time it was clear—as if she were getting closer. Looking around wildly, he tried to pinpoint where it came from, but every time he turned his head it seemed like her voice was somewhere else.

Disoriented, he tried to stop moving in an attempt to get a bead on what he was hearing, but couldn't. All of a sudden, he felt himself pulled forward at such an intense rate of speed that the room zoomed past in a blur, left behind so quickly that even when he turned his head to look back toward Hodge, he instinctively knew that Hodge was now far behind him.

Everything moved past so fast, he had to close his eyes. It was nauseating to keep them open.

And then it all stopped.

He opened his eyes to find himself in Parker's safe room, with Steven and Stephanie staring down at him.

"Wake up!" Stephanie yelled again.

Coming out of the fog of the dream, he asked, "You... can you hear me?"

"What?" She asked. "Yes! Of course I can hear you!"

"How is this...?" He looked wildly from Steven's grinning face to Stephanie's, trying to make sense of how he could be awake.

How could Stephanie be here?

And then it all came together. Staring into Stephanie's dark eyes, those eyes that he knew he could trust with his life, he said, "Oh my God. You're my nullifier."

Quickly, lunging past a confused Stephanie and a grinning Steven, he grabbed the handset from the wall and speed-dialed Natasha. "We're in trouble, Natasha! Big trouble! We need to find a way out of here and we need to do it quickly. I don't have time to explain!"

"Hello, Paul," Natasha's calm, unhurried voice came from the other end. "I am pleased to hear that Stephanie found you. That is wonderful news."

Paul gaped at the phone in disbelief. "Natasha, we're under attack!"

"Dittrich and his group have fled," Natasha answered calmly, "and the facility has been secured." She paused briefly. "You'll want to say a special thank-you to your Sentinel."

There was a click, and the connection was broken. Paul held the receiver away from his ear, a look of confusion on his face.

"What did she say?" Steven asked. "She told you I'm the man, didn't she?"

Paul looked dumbly back at his friends.

"Yeah," Steven grinned and leaned back against the wall. "You know she did."

###

Book Two: The Rise of Indicium, now available at all online retailers.

A Note from the Author-

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Matthew Keith

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About the Author

Matthew Keith is originally from Michigan and now lives in Kentucky with his wife, two children, and their dog Elvis.

In his lifetime, Matthew has been author and a restaurateur. He is an amateur musician, sings and plays bass (badly) in a garage band, and writes music in his spare time.
