Read Online Vs Reality by Blake Northcott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Blake Northcott
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the refrigerator as they continue to bicker.
“I don’t like this,” Paige says, talking about Cole as if he’s not in the room. Donovan is suddenly eight years old again, listening to his mother discuss his lack of grammatical skills with his second-grade teacher. The urge to retreat tightens his chest.
“He’s one of the good guys,” Dia assures her sister, “I owe him.”
“Then pay him off and release him back into the wild.” Paige pats down her jeans, front and back. “I think I have a couple pills left.”
Brodie continues to search the fridge, bottles clanging. “He’s not here to score,” he says offhandedly. “He doesn’t even know what a trigger is. He’s a noobler.”
Paige casts her sister a skeptical glance, and Dia nods back reassuringly.
“Fine,” Paige says, half-convinced and half-defeated. “You can keep him. Just don’t let him touch anything.” She drops into her chair, readjusts her glasses and glues her fingers back to her keyboard.
Brodie chuckles, head still inside the fridge. “Paige is the brains of the operation. We all have our talents: Dia has the money, I have the looks, and she’s the computer nerd.”
Dia rolls her eyes. “What he meant to say is that Paige spends a lot of her time researching, trying to find others like us.”
“So how do you track these people down?” Cole asks.
Paige removes her glasses and lets out a heavy sigh. “I run a website from a re-routed IP address. I spend most of the day researching unusual news stories, and I scan forums trying to connect with people who claim to have manifested or witnessed an event.”
“So do you get a lot of replies?”
“Once in a while we get credible information,” Paige replies flatly, her fingernails clacking the plastic keys as she speaks. “ Sometimes it’s about Collectors, manifestations, or chemical compounds that can help us trigger and maintain our transformations. But most of the time it’s just guys sending me pictures of their dicks.”
Brodie chuckles. “Ah, the miracles of technology. But before we get into all that, you should probably see something first.” He pulls a silver beer can from the fridge and tosses it to Cole, and shoves several more into the deep pockets of his cargo shorts. “Let’s head to the screening room and we can get the new guy up to speed on current events.”
Cole follows Brodie down a long narrow corridor with Dia and Paige trailing a few steps behind. He hears them exchange heated words in a hushed tone. It’s inaudible, but Paige sounds significantly more agitated, with her whispers coming out like a hiss; a parent scolding their child in a crowded movie theater. His palms slicken once again and he wipes them off on his shorts. If they were going to kill me, Cole thinks, surely they’d do it on the rooftop. Toss me to the concrete fifty-stories below, or blow my brains out where the rain could wash away the evidence. Not inside their fancy apartment…especially given the snowflake white carpets and pristine matching walls. The cleaning bill would be horrendous. Though if Dia has an unlimited budget maybe they don’t care?
They reach a set of mahogany double doors with polished brass handles. Brodie flings them open to reveal a warmly lit room, lined with plush raspberry-colored recliners and matching velvet curtains draped across the entire far wall. Cole steps inside, eyes trailing along the floor. It’s carpeted with a gold and black pattern; swirling flourishes like the back of a playing card, and rope lighting that trails along the wainscoting. If he’s going to die at least it’ll be in one of the fancier rooms in the house.
With everyone inside, Brodie pulls the doors closed and flicks a light switch to the left of the frame, plunging the room into darkness. Cole swallows hard in a dry throat. A moment later Paige’s face illuminates with the faint lunar glow of her phone; three rapid taps of her finger later and the velvet
“I don’t like this,” Paige says, talking about Cole as if he’s not in the room. Donovan is suddenly eight years old again, listening to his mother discuss his lack of grammatical skills with his second-grade teacher. The urge to retreat tightens his chest.
“He’s one of the good guys,” Dia assures her sister, “I owe him.”
“Then pay him off and release him back into the wild.” Paige pats down her jeans, front and back. “I think I have a couple pills left.”
Brodie continues to search the fridge, bottles clanging. “He’s not here to score,” he says offhandedly. “He doesn’t even know what a trigger is. He’s a noobler.”
Paige casts her sister a skeptical glance, and Dia nods back reassuringly.
“Fine,” Paige says, half-convinced and half-defeated. “You can keep him. Just don’t let him touch anything.” She drops into her chair, readjusts her glasses and glues her fingers back to her keyboard.
Brodie chuckles, head still inside the fridge. “Paige is the brains of the operation. We all have our talents: Dia has the money, I have the looks, and she’s the computer nerd.”
Dia rolls her eyes. “What he meant to say is that Paige spends a lot of her time researching, trying to find others like us.”
“So how do you track these people down?” Cole asks.
Paige removes her glasses and lets out a heavy sigh. “I run a website from a re-routed IP address. I spend most of the day researching unusual news stories, and I scan forums trying to connect with people who claim to have manifested or witnessed an event.”
“So do you get a lot of replies?”
“Once in a while we get credible information,” Paige replies flatly, her fingernails clacking the plastic keys as she speaks. “ Sometimes it’s about Collectors, manifestations, or chemical compounds that can help us trigger and maintain our transformations. But most of the time it’s just guys sending me pictures of their dicks.”
Brodie chuckles. “Ah, the miracles of technology. But before we get into all that, you should probably see something first.” He pulls a silver beer can from the fridge and tosses it to Cole, and shoves several more into the deep pockets of his cargo shorts. “Let’s head to the screening room and we can get the new guy up to speed on current events.”
Cole follows Brodie down a long narrow corridor with Dia and Paige trailing a few steps behind. He hears them exchange heated words in a hushed tone. It’s inaudible, but Paige sounds significantly more agitated, with her whispers coming out like a hiss; a parent scolding their child in a crowded movie theater. His palms slicken once again and he wipes them off on his shorts. If they were going to kill me, Cole thinks, surely they’d do it on the rooftop. Toss me to the concrete fifty-stories below, or blow my brains out where the rain could wash away the evidence. Not inside their fancy apartment…especially given the snowflake white carpets and pristine matching walls. The cleaning bill would be horrendous. Though if Dia has an unlimited budget maybe they don’t care?
They reach a set of mahogany double doors with polished brass handles. Brodie flings them open to reveal a warmly lit room, lined with plush raspberry-colored recliners and matching velvet curtains draped across the entire far wall. Cole steps inside, eyes trailing along the floor. It’s carpeted with a gold and black pattern; swirling flourishes like the back of a playing card, and rope lighting that trails along the wainscoting. If he’s going to die at least it’ll be in one of the fancier rooms in the house.
With everyone inside, Brodie pulls the doors closed and flicks a light switch to the left of the frame, plunging the room into darkness. Cole swallows hard in a dry throat. A moment later Paige’s face illuminates with the faint lunar glow of her phone; three rapid taps of her finger later and the velvet
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