Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(89)

Suddenly, the moth’s forward momentum ceased. It spun about, flapping harder than ever, but going nowhere. Long sticky strands clung to its wings, legs, and thorax, each movement only increasing its ensnarement.

Heather focused her thoughts, drawing herself into the meditation, which returned her to the present. Looking around the room, she found the moth perched atop her lampshade. Without hesitation, Heather arose from her bed and walked directly to her closet. She opened the closet door, switching on the light as she reached inside.

There it was, high up in the far left corner, the same web she had seen in her vision, a fat black spider moving along an upper strand. Interesting.

Heather grabbed one of her tennis shoes, reached up and smashed the spider, sweeping the web away. Wiping the shoe on the carpet, she paused as she set it back where it belonged.

What had just happened? Had she changed the moth and spider’s futures? That was certainly true, but she’d done it to prevent one of her visions from coming true. No doubt about it. Her mind was doing a version of its math thing, allowing her to visualize the most probable outcome of a scenario. Just because she experienced the vision didn’t mean it couldn’t be changed.

The other interesting aspect of this vision was that it had focused on what she had been thinking about. Maybe she could learn to control that too.

But it didn’t explain the visions that came at her from nowhere. Maybe her subconscious was picking up signals that her conscious mind failed to notice. It was going to take a lot more experimentation to come to grips with how this really worked.

Returning to her bed, Heather paused to look at the moth. “You owe me, big time.”

A smile spread across her face at the thought that she had just become the first superhero for hapless insects.

Heather rearranged her pillows so that she could sit back against the headboard and settled in for another round of deep meditation. It wouldn’t do to start the next exercise even slightly tired from the last, at least not until she had gained more confidence.

Morning came quickly, the first light of dawn bringing her out of her practice session. She was so anxious to tell Mark about her progress that Heather considered sliding into some clothes without showering. A quick glance in the mirror changed her mind. Even a good friend deserved better than that.

By the time she had showered, dressed, and made her way downstairs, she could hear the Smythe’s talking to her parents by the front door.

“Hi, everyone…” The words froze on Heather’s lips as she saw the grim faces. Mrs. Smythe’s eyes showed clear evidence that she had been crying.

Heather’s mom reached out to put an arm around her. “Jennifer’s gone.”

“Gone?” The panic that clutched at Heather’s chest robbed her of her breath.

Linda Smythe began to sob softly, burying her face into Mr. Smythe’s shoulder. It was Mark who answered her question, his voice cracking with emotion.

“She ran away sometime in the night. She left this note.”

Heather took the paper from his hand. There, written in Jennifer’s beautifully precise handwriting, were the words that removed all doubt.

“Dear Mom and Dad. I’m so sorry to hurt you this way, but I have to find my own place in this world. I love you both. Say good-bye to Heather for me. Jen.”

No mention of Mark. The realization struck her like a slap in the face. As her eyes locked with his, all doubt faded away. The omission had not been accidental. Jennifer had known exactly how to hurt her brother, and from the look in those eyes, she had been successful beyond her wildest dreams.





90


“And what does that mean?” The confusion in Heather’s voice matched the darkness that had crept into Mark’s soul.

Staring at the empty place on the bench in their garage workshop, Mark felt as if he had been repeatedly kicked in the stomach. It was gone. Jennifer had taken the newly modified laptop, the one containing the miniaturized subspace receiver-transmitter.

“Jesus!”

Heather’s exclamation caused him to look toward her as she scrambled to move the folding stepladder across the garage.

Suddenly, a deeper understanding widened Mark’s eyes. Racing to Heather’s side, Mark helped her position it. After spreading the metal legs and sliding the locking hinge into place, he scrambled up.

With one hand, he raised the ceiling panel and slid it aside. The attic space was dark, but to his eyes, it appeared dimly lit, the slatted two-by-fours separated by faded yellow foam insulation. A quick shove of his powerful arms lifted him up and into the attic, where he crawled along the support slats until he reached the lowest point in the overhang.

Mark reached out, sliding his hand under the insulation until it came to rest on the long flat box they had placed there weeks before. Pulling it free, he backed up until he could sit erect. Heather moved into the attic beside him, staring down at the closed box, which now lay across his lap.

For an instant Mark hesitated, his eyes fixing on Heather’s as he worked up the nerve to look inside. Heather beat him to it, reaching across to tilt up the lid. At first, he thought it was okay, that they were still right here, safely hidden away. Then the lid came fully open.

Heather rocked backward, a soft moan of dismay escaping her lips.

Unable to believe what he was seeing, Mark could only stare into the box. Of the original four alien headsets, only two remained.