Read Online Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2) by Sarah Noffke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Noffke
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already knew that, didn’t you?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, George. There’s nothing we can say that will make me feel any better, so no. I don’t want to talk.”
“We don’t have to talk about what’s bothering you,” he says, letting the obvious truth be known. “Maybe something else, something that takes your mind off of things.”
I release a long exasperated sigh. That’s what I spent my entire night trying to do: take my mind off my worries. “I’m game for anything at this point,” I say, mashing my peas with my fork.
“When I was a kid, and I heard people say they had a sixth sense, I thought they said sick sense,” he says, staring off, recalling the long-ago memory. “After that I actually wanted to get sick. There was a long period where I didn’t wash my hands. Luckily I didn’t contract a fatal disease. Pretty ridiculous, huh?”
“That’s adorable actually. How old were you when you thought that?” I ask.
“Last year.”
We laugh.
“Actually, I wasn’t more than eight-years-old. Then a couple years later my empathesis developed, and I actually thought I was sick. I thought I was going crazy. Schizophrenic. I couldn’t understand how all of a sudden I felt so much around me. It took a little while for me to realize it was other people’s emotions I was feeling.”
His intimate admission jolts me. George rarely talks and when he does it’s not like this. He eyes me again like before. And I realize he’s trying, really trying, like there’s something major riding on this moment. He’s pulling out all the stops, trying to repair things between us. And if he could read my mind, he’d know it’s working.
“It’s interesting that you wanted to have a sixth sense so badly and you ended up with one,” I say, thinking of all the kids who wish for special powers and grow up to be accountants.
“Yes, surprising to say the least,” he says, a satisfied expression in his eyes.
“The first clairvoyant flash I saw was of an owl,” I say.
George raises a curious eyebrow at me.
“I saw it in a tree, then a few seconds later it flew into the same tree from my vision. This was followed by a flash of a leaf falling off the exact same branch where the owl was perched. Then the leaf fell, just like in my vision. Like you, I always wanted a special gift. I was pretty disappointed to discover that my power was so lame.” I laugh, remembering the memory clearly.
“That’s ironic, actually,” George muses.
“How so?” I ask.
“You’re the most powerful person I know.”
“You need to get out more then,” I say.
He chews his lip. “You have more power than you realize.”
I clasp the frequency adjuster, feeling suddenly heavy from its weight.
With a deliberate shake of his head, he says, “Not only in that way.” His voice is tormented.
Tense silence fills the space.
“Roya, your power isn’t solely in your clairvoyance. I can’t even tell you what it is though. I just feel it.”
Nerves clamp my throat shut.
“Maybe you know what this hidden gift is within you,” he continues. “But my guess is you don’t. My guess is that it’s waiting to be revealed. And when that happens I think you’ll feel more confident than you do now.”
How do I respond to that? All my words sound cheap in response to his heavy insights. Finally I meet his quiet eyes and say, “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“That’s not why I told you this.”
Why did he tell me I had some veiled gift? Is this a game? A way to keep me intrigued? George doesn’t play games though. I never have to doubt his words. Question his integrity. “Yeah, I know,” I finally say, my voice awkward.
♦
“I’ve made up my mind to leave the Institute on the twenty-seventh,” I say to an impassive Shuman. “But I’d like to work here until then, if that’s all right.”
She gives me a cold stare. “Your reports are interesting. You have been picking up something
I shake my head. “Thanks, George. There’s nothing we can say that will make me feel any better, so no. I don’t want to talk.”
“We don’t have to talk about what’s bothering you,” he says, letting the obvious truth be known. “Maybe something else, something that takes your mind off of things.”
I release a long exasperated sigh. That’s what I spent my entire night trying to do: take my mind off my worries. “I’m game for anything at this point,” I say, mashing my peas with my fork.
“When I was a kid, and I heard people say they had a sixth sense, I thought they said sick sense,” he says, staring off, recalling the long-ago memory. “After that I actually wanted to get sick. There was a long period where I didn’t wash my hands. Luckily I didn’t contract a fatal disease. Pretty ridiculous, huh?”
“That’s adorable actually. How old were you when you thought that?” I ask.
“Last year.”
We laugh.
“Actually, I wasn’t more than eight-years-old. Then a couple years later my empathesis developed, and I actually thought I was sick. I thought I was going crazy. Schizophrenic. I couldn’t understand how all of a sudden I felt so much around me. It took a little while for me to realize it was other people’s emotions I was feeling.”
His intimate admission jolts me. George rarely talks and when he does it’s not like this. He eyes me again like before. And I realize he’s trying, really trying, like there’s something major riding on this moment. He’s pulling out all the stops, trying to repair things between us. And if he could read my mind, he’d know it’s working.
“It’s interesting that you wanted to have a sixth sense so badly and you ended up with one,” I say, thinking of all the kids who wish for special powers and grow up to be accountants.
“Yes, surprising to say the least,” he says, a satisfied expression in his eyes.
“The first clairvoyant flash I saw was of an owl,” I say.
George raises a curious eyebrow at me.
“I saw it in a tree, then a few seconds later it flew into the same tree from my vision. This was followed by a flash of a leaf falling off the exact same branch where the owl was perched. Then the leaf fell, just like in my vision. Like you, I always wanted a special gift. I was pretty disappointed to discover that my power was so lame.” I laugh, remembering the memory clearly.
“That’s ironic, actually,” George muses.
“How so?” I ask.
“You’re the most powerful person I know.”
“You need to get out more then,” I say.
He chews his lip. “You have more power than you realize.”
I clasp the frequency adjuster, feeling suddenly heavy from its weight.
With a deliberate shake of his head, he says, “Not only in that way.” His voice is tormented.
Tense silence fills the space.
“Roya, your power isn’t solely in your clairvoyance. I can’t even tell you what it is though. I just feel it.”
Nerves clamp my throat shut.
“Maybe you know what this hidden gift is within you,” he continues. “But my guess is you don’t. My guess is that it’s waiting to be revealed. And when that happens I think you’ll feel more confident than you do now.”
How do I respond to that? All my words sound cheap in response to his heavy insights. Finally I meet his quiet eyes and say, “Thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
“That’s not why I told you this.”
Why did he tell me I had some veiled gift? Is this a game? A way to keep me intrigued? George doesn’t play games though. I never have to doubt his words. Question his integrity. “Yeah, I know,” I finally say, my voice awkward.
♦
“I’ve made up my mind to leave the Institute on the twenty-seventh,” I say to an impassive Shuman. “But I’d like to work here until then, if that’s all right.”
She gives me a cold stare. “Your reports are interesting. You have been picking up something
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