Read Online Modern Rituals by J.S. Leonard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.S. Leonard
Tags: thriller, Science-Fiction
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planned?”
Theo wiped all doubt from his face. “Absolutely, sir,” he said.
Susan broke the tension with some good news.
“Sir! Super-814N just appeared. She seems to be in pursuit of Part Seven,” she said.
The saggy weight on Theo’s chest lifted. He swung around, identifying Part Seven’s position. Not far from the classroom building.
Thank God.
“Susan, we need to make things a little tougher for our friends. It’s time to turn out the lights,” Theo said.
4
It was the bloody dream again.
A moist pillow licked Olivia’s neck and a soaked nightgown clung to her in stabbing chills. A comforter was near her feet—no, it was across the room, strewn like tossed dough over her footboard. She had unfurled the corner of her fitted bed sheet and had entangled it in her feet.
Bollocks.
She slid her head up her headboard and pulled her back tight against it then shoved her pillow under the small of her back. The bed sheet flew from her feet after a few concerted kicks—she drew her knees into her chest and floated in the darkness.
The darkness.
It had engulfed her. She recalled the penultimate image of her mother, standing within a black void, arms outstretched, calling to her. Then an absence—not black—but a color devoid of light. It receded from her mind’s eye as she wended through the dream stuff and replayed the vision—no, a dream, not a vision— a dream, right?
A leather tunic had draped her chest. Only it was hadn’t been her— it had been someone else that “she” had inhabited. The leather’s gritty underside scraped at her where folded skin—her armpits, her bosom—lay tight against the material. It even itched—she had never itched during a dream. These sensations came to her through an unfamiliar channel, like a game of telephone, where the experience was manifested from a whisper rather than truly felt.
It was weird.
Then she was off, carried in a fleshy vehicle that dashed and danced along a lengthy corridor. Two forms traveled with her—they all followed an enormous figure whose naked torso rippled and tensed with each imposing stride. Upon the figure’s arms golden bangles sparkled, and these were all she could focus upon through the mask’s eye holes—her “head” refused to move.
More senses spoke to her. The shaft of something heavy and wooden weighed down her left hand, and by chance, her head stole a glance at the object: an ornate bow of intricate leaf carvings that swirled and wrapped its frame. An almost imperceptible, taut string pulled the bow’s long limbs tight and looked as though it could slice steel. Her head looked away. She was now in a vast throne room.
Images sped by. A man in black. Weapons. Yelling—and falling. Darkness. It was then she realized she no longer occupied another’s body—she no longer occupied any body. There was no earth. No gravity—only an alien lightness, as if the cosmos and Earth swapped places and she wafted in the space between. And in this limbo her mother appeared then vanished—and she awoke.
Mum…
Olivia hadn’t seen her mother in months and they rarely spoke. Belfast proved too far and her mother far too busy. Jordan had left—with his mother now, she assumed, or perhaps with that hussy who stole him from her—maybe both. She reflected on the day she recommended they move to Belfast, her good intentions paving a road to hell. Oh well—she’d manage. She always managed.
On Olivia’s 18 th birthday, her mother acted totally out of sorts, left work early and took her to dinner. There they got legless over peppermint schnapps and eventually found themselves fireside in her mother’s town house having moved on to a bottle of syrupy Petite Syrah. Choking between laughs, her mother had mentioned Olivia’s grandmother, of whom she spoke little—it caught Olivia off guard and Olivia’s laughs settled into a serious stupor. Her mother explained that Olivia’s Nanna had a gift—a gift that skipped
Theo wiped all doubt from his face. “Absolutely, sir,” he said.
Susan broke the tension with some good news.
“Sir! Super-814N just appeared. She seems to be in pursuit of Part Seven,” she said.
The saggy weight on Theo’s chest lifted. He swung around, identifying Part Seven’s position. Not far from the classroom building.
Thank God.
“Susan, we need to make things a little tougher for our friends. It’s time to turn out the lights,” Theo said.
4
It was the bloody dream again.
A moist pillow licked Olivia’s neck and a soaked nightgown clung to her in stabbing chills. A comforter was near her feet—no, it was across the room, strewn like tossed dough over her footboard. She had unfurled the corner of her fitted bed sheet and had entangled it in her feet.
Bollocks.
She slid her head up her headboard and pulled her back tight against it then shoved her pillow under the small of her back. The bed sheet flew from her feet after a few concerted kicks—she drew her knees into her chest and floated in the darkness.
The darkness.
It had engulfed her. She recalled the penultimate image of her mother, standing within a black void, arms outstretched, calling to her. Then an absence—not black—but a color devoid of light. It receded from her mind’s eye as she wended through the dream stuff and replayed the vision—no, a dream, not a vision— a dream, right?
A leather tunic had draped her chest. Only it was hadn’t been her— it had been someone else that “she” had inhabited. The leather’s gritty underside scraped at her where folded skin—her armpits, her bosom—lay tight against the material. It even itched—she had never itched during a dream. These sensations came to her through an unfamiliar channel, like a game of telephone, where the experience was manifested from a whisper rather than truly felt.
It was weird.
Then she was off, carried in a fleshy vehicle that dashed and danced along a lengthy corridor. Two forms traveled with her—they all followed an enormous figure whose naked torso rippled and tensed with each imposing stride. Upon the figure’s arms golden bangles sparkled, and these were all she could focus upon through the mask’s eye holes—her “head” refused to move.
More senses spoke to her. The shaft of something heavy and wooden weighed down her left hand, and by chance, her head stole a glance at the object: an ornate bow of intricate leaf carvings that swirled and wrapped its frame. An almost imperceptible, taut string pulled the bow’s long limbs tight and looked as though it could slice steel. Her head looked away. She was now in a vast throne room.
Images sped by. A man in black. Weapons. Yelling—and falling. Darkness. It was then she realized she no longer occupied another’s body—she no longer occupied any body. There was no earth. No gravity—only an alien lightness, as if the cosmos and Earth swapped places and she wafted in the space between. And in this limbo her mother appeared then vanished—and she awoke.
Mum…
Olivia hadn’t seen her mother in months and they rarely spoke. Belfast proved too far and her mother far too busy. Jordan had left—with his mother now, she assumed, or perhaps with that hussy who stole him from her—maybe both. She reflected on the day she recommended they move to Belfast, her good intentions paving a road to hell. Oh well—she’d manage. She always managed.
On Olivia’s 18 th birthday, her mother acted totally out of sorts, left work early and took her to dinner. There they got legless over peppermint schnapps and eventually found themselves fireside in her mother’s town house having moved on to a bottle of syrupy Petite Syrah. Choking between laughs, her mother had mentioned Olivia’s grandmother, of whom she spoke little—it caught Olivia off guard and Olivia’s laughs settled into a serious stupor. Her mother explained that Olivia’s Nanna had a gift—a gift that skipped
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