Edge of Desperation Page 3

  “Can you get that struck?”

  Bethany was quiet for a while, then she hmmed in thought. “I'll try. The paperwork hasn't been sent through yet. So, you can vouch for him? He's not criminal?” She sounded tense.

  “Sis, I don't think so. I think he's just some young man who's trying to stay low, but the cults got their sights on him. I do not want him in a cult, and if the Bureau pushes him, he'll have nowhere else to go.”

  Her voice dropped again, the words steady and hard, but Reggie heard their fury. “Damn it, Reg, I know that. Don't treat me like I'm on the other side.”

  Reggie inhaled and counted to three. He didn't have time for ten. “I know, Beth, but you don't know what it's like on this side. The BWS just rounds men up and shunts them away. How many male Wielders have been released from the hospitals?”

  “There are some, Reg. Don't make it sound like an internment camp. I know the evaluation system is skewed to—”

  “Skewed!” He turned his back on the street to hiss into the phone. “Men get picked up, they have done nothing criminal and your people lock them away forever. It's those hospitals that make them go mad, not the Nerve. No wonder the cults have so much power. You'll never stamp them out until the BWS changes its policy. And you'll never change that until Ricksfield is removed. She's an evil bitch and—”

  “Reggie. Stop it.” Bethany bit her words off at the root and with it, the heat from Reggie's anger.

  He picked up a stick and began snapping it into small segments, his phone jammed between his ear and shoulder. Ricksfield hated male Wielders. If she had her way, Reggie was certain all of them would be hidden away behind white walls, drugged to the gills to prevent them from doing anything: speaking, thinking, let alone Wielding.

  “They've been making some progress with inhibitor drugs, but... the side effects... Ah screw this.” Her voice through the phone ground her speech into shards of vehemence. “I'm not condoning the Bureau, but somebody has to police Wielders. Male and female. You can't save everyone.”

  He stared down at his grass, still green even this late in the season. Too much west coast rain. “Yeah, I know, sis.”

  They were silent for a moment. Reggie could hear other people talking in the background of his sister's call.

  “I'll let him go, but I'm going to tell him to contact you. That if we catch him again, I won't let him have any leniency. Maybe that will instill in him the fear of the BWS. Can you help him?”

  “Yes,” he said with assurance. Though, he could only help the man if he wanted to be helped.

  His phone beeped, announcing another call.

  “Sis, got another call. Tell him to call me and I'll make it work.” Somehow.

  “Okay, Reg. Take care and see you at the recital.”

  He clicked off and answered the other line.

  “Reggie,” came the gruff voice of Michael Chancellor, the Dean of the College of Engineering.

  “Hello, Michael. How can I help you?” He hoped he wasn't going to be asked to pick up a Freshman seminar class for next term. He didn't have the time.

  “I need you to come into my office today. I'm afraid I've got a few complaints.”

  “Complaints?” This had to be about him canceling his office hours the other night. My God, these students were so spoiled.

  “Unfortunately. It's from a student. She claims you've sexually harassed her.”

  Chapter 4

  Reggie sat stiffly in the chair parked before the Dean's great wooden desk, an artifact inherited by each new Dean through the history of Albion's engineering department.

  Michael had a sallow complexion and a habit of toying with his silver pen. He'd click it open, click it closed. The constant clicking caused Reggie to squirm. A mild form of mental torture. He gripped his hands together in his lap.

  “She said that you asked her out repeatedly, in which she turned you down—”

  “I've never—”

  Michael held up his hand. “Please, Reggie, let me continue. She then claimed you grabbed her arm and forcefully kissed her.”

  “What?” Who could be sending this witch hunt on him? He hadn't kissed a woman since... well, he couldn't even remember. Junior high?

  “Whereupon she slapped you and felt like she should drop your class because of the unsafe environment the class represented. But since she needs the class, hasn't dropped it yet.” Michael pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.

  Reggie's head spun. He couldn't believe anyone would do this to him.

  Michael continued. “Then another student came forward and said you'd also approached her.”

  Tight constriction squeezed his chest. Reggie was floored. Should he tell the Dean that these women held no attraction for him? No, he didn't want that stigma stamped on his forehead. Best not to draw any more attention to himself. Plus, it was no proof that he would not harass anyone.

  “If you'd like, we could bring in a mentalist to read your mind and that of the students'.”

  Bring in the BWS. Someone rooting around in his mind, flushing up all his secrets. They would never allow his sister to be the agent involved, and she was the only mentalist he trusted. Though he was excellent at shielding, he didn't think that knowledge would go over well, either. Reggie shook his head. “Michael, I'm certain that you'll find no proof of any wrong-doing on my part. This student probably received a harsh grade and is just lashing out at me. I've done nothing inappropriate to any of my students.” His hands pulled apart and twisted into fists. The dam holding back his pent up frustration collapsed. “I've never pushed myself upon any woman in my life!” He nearly leaped from his chair. The ridiculousness of it.

  “Reggie, calm down. I'm going to lead this investigation myself. You have been an exemplary assistant professor and I also believe these accusations are false, but I must perform a full investigation. As it stands, however, I'm going to have to suspend you. We'll keep it quiet, say you had to take leave for some other reason. I'll get Nelson and Boltmier to take your classes, so please meet with them to discuss your syllabus. It should only be a few weeks.”

  A few weeks? Words, arguments, pleas all trapped behind the newly formed wall of betrayal. Just like that, one person's false accusation uprooted his world and dragged it through the mud.

  “Can I ask, sir, who accused me?”

  Michael gave him a look. “I'm sorry, that's confidential.”

  Reggie nodded. He had assumed as much, but he couldn't imagine which of his female students would do this. They seemed to like him.

  Reggie gathered up his jacket and pulled it on. He thanked the Dean and left, closing the door quietly. He was adrift in thought as he walked through the echoing halls, at a loss as to what he could do. Other than go under a mentalist, he couldn't see a quick way out of this predicament, but the mentalist could cause more problems than she would solve.

  He trotted down the steps and hit the ground floor where Sandra Scott was sitting on a bench, reading a text book. She glanced up at him as he pushed open the outer door.

  ~~~

  “Tonight on your local news: are the Wielder gangs getting out of control? How you can help the Bureau of Wielder Services find the cults that spread crime across our city.”

  Reggie flipped the television from the grim faced TV anchor to another channel. Some oldies channel where the shows were in black and white and the good guys always won. Columbo sucked on a cigar as he acted the bumbling detective, only to trap the bad guy in his own net.

  His phone rang. The second one. The one without a listed number.

  He dove for his bag and dug it out of its deep pocket. He flipped it open. The number wasn't familiar. “Hello?”

  “Um, hi. I saw your flier.”

  It was a woman. Reggie's shoulders slumped and he went to a list of other numbers he'd need to feed the caller. “Yes. Hello. Can I help you in any way?”

  “Well, you see... I...” Quiet indecision laced the pause.

  “It's okay. I kno
w a lot of people who can help you, young lady,” Reggie coaxed.

  “I'm pregnant,” she blurted.

  Reggie scanned the page, anxiety slipping from his body. This was a fairly easy one to filter. It was the suicides that kept him up at night.

  “It's okay. Depending on what you want to do, there are a lot of choices. Have you called Ferrows?”

  “Ferrows Women's Clinic?” she asked, unsure.

  “Yes. They offer counseling and can help you make a decision that is best for you.”

  “I don't want it. I want an abortion.”

  He nodded to himself. Most women who did want the baby had already gone other routes. “They can help you find a place for that too. They won't show you nasty pictures or tell you you're evil or anything. They will talk to you about it, though. There is also Family Planning.” He gave her the two numbers.

  “Um, thank you. For not judging.”

  He laughed. “I've no right to judge you for anything.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice when she thanked him again and hung up.

  He stared at the phone. Even if his flier didn't direct too many Wielders his way, at least he could help someone.

  The phone rang again. Reggie nearly dropped it in surprise.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, this is Kyle. I was told by Agent Wolfe-Martin to call you or be sent off to the oubliette.” Kyle laid on a show of sounding put out, of hating the bitch detective, but Reggie thought he could tease out a hint of hope within his reticence.

  “Kyle.” Reggie paused and steadied his shaking voice. In a level, authoritative tone he said, “I can help you.” He prayed the kid would listen.

  “Yeah? Well, we'll see.”

  ~~~

  Kyle stared into his cup of coffee, black, no sugar, and turned the mug, twisting it in a clockwise spiral. The evening had gone to night before he'd arrived twenty minutes ago at Reggie's house, wearing a ball cap and only a hint of eyeliner. There had been small talk and coffee and a decade of silence.

  “I know it's hard to trust anyone, Kyle. You've been forced to hide and defend yourself in any way possible. I understand. But if you'll listen to me, I can show you how to reduce your Taint.” Reggie set his own coffee cup down on the end table, forcing himself to stay seated on his couch, though he just wanted to take the man's shoulders and shake him, inject sanity into his brain.

  Kyle snorted. “How can you even do that? You've no idea how it works. The scientists and mentalists don't even know how it works, so how can you, an engineering professor, have a clue.”

  Reggie grunted. So, Kyle'd done some research on him.

  “My sister is one of the top mentalists of the Bureau. She taught me a few tricks.”

  “So, she knows how to control Taint?” Kyle finally looked up from the dark recesses of the mug, the youth in his eyes vulnerable, hopeful.

  Reggie took a deep breath. Then grit his teeth as he made his decision. “Kyle, I'm going to tell you something that you cannot tell anyone else. Do I have your word?” How could he expect trust when he didn't show trust? It was a long argument he'd held with himself.

  Eyes wide, Kyle nodded eagerly.

  “I'm a mentalist. She didn’t teach me how to do this. I learned myself.”

  There it was. His greatest secret flayed open and laid bare.

  The mug clacked against the table. Kyle rubbed his palms together. “You? You're a Wielder?”

  Reggie nodded, not trusting himself to confirm his confession and take it all back with a forced fake laugh and convincing lies. “And if you say anything, I'll most likely lose my job.”

  Kyle hadn't seemed to listen to that last part. “So, you've learned to stop Taint?”

  Reggie wanted to say “Yes!” and tell this hopeful young man how easy it was, but nothing was ever that easy. Nothing was ever that simple.

  “I've learned to slow it. It requires limiting the use of your power, though. If you keep bending, then what you do to stop the Taint can be torn down.”

  Kyle scoffed, pushed the mug away. Coffee sloshed over the edge into the polished wood. “What's the point then? I can't stop bending; how else can I protect myself? You want me to carry a gun and shoot 'em all dead?”

  Reggie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Who is it, Kyle? Who is harassing you?”

  Kyle pressed his lips together. “Local cult.” He shrugged, suggesting it was no big deal. No skin off his back. Daisies in a field.

  “Do you have a name?”

  Kyle stilled for a moment, frowning, then popped out of the chair and went for Reggie's kitchen, returning with a kitchen towel and began mopping up the spilled coffee. “Mara Murda.”

  Mara Murda. The cult that stretched a little beyond local. They had more members than the other small fry male Wielder cults. Probably fifty. Mostly singed. Rumors of branches in other cities over the northwest existed. Not too many stable minds in a Wielder cult, and this one had a worse reputation than the others. According to the news, and affirmed by his sister, Mara Murda was tied in with armed robbery, drugs, extortion, coercion, brainwashing, and murder. Their membership could be traced to high levels of police and government, or so the conspiracy theorists claimed.

  “Kyle, you need to stay away from them.”

  “Like, no duh, teach.” Kyle ran his palm over his dark hair. Reggie noticed a shake to Kyle's hands as he fiddled with the mug of coffee again.

  “Do your parents know?” A long shot. If they didn't know he was a Wielder…

  “No.”

  “All right then, here is the plan. Are you listening?”

  Kyle looked up, his face a mask of desperation. He nodded faintly.

  “First. You go to class, you go home, you come here. Don't go anywhere where there aren't a lot of people. Don't put yourself at risk. Got it?”

  Kyle nodded with a pout.

  “You're going to come here daily, and we're going to work on teaching you how you can reduce your Taint. You've no madness yet?” It was a very intimate question, but Reggie needed to know.

  A blush flushed across Kyle's light skin. “Not that I know of. But do the mad ever truly know?” He stared hard at Reggie, a kind of challenge that neither one could win.

  “I find that when it comes to Taint madness, that yes, most people do know.”

  Kyle tore his eyes away from Reggie's. “I don't feel mad.”

  “Great. The first step is to work you to exhaustion. Then we get to the delicate stuff.”

  Kyle laughed, another challenge. “You can just try that, teach. You think you can wipe me out?”

  Reggie leveled a look at Kyle. “I hope so, and so should you. It's one of the steps to help you disentangle the Nerve, and therefore control your Taint.”

  Kyle's laughter died on his lips.

  Chapter 5

  The bike tires clacked against the wooden boards of the bridge. Reggie coasted around a corner along Riverfront Park, waiting for Kyle to catch up. On foot. Through helping other male Wielders, Reggie found that biking while a bender ran was the only way he could push a force Wielder. Not only was Kyle younger than Reggie—though not by too many years—but as an active bender, he'd had to build up his stamina so he didn't pass out every time he used his power.

  “It's not fair, you know,” Kyle said from behind, panting as he spoke. “I feel like I'm in a training montage. This is not an '80s inspirational movie.” He stumbled, caught his feet and continued running after Reggie.

  Before them, a long, well-used path abutted the edge of the city. On the other side flowed the river, deep and wide at this section of its tamed run. A small sailing boat coasted by as Reggie pedaled casually down the sidewalk.

  “Think of this as a way to get a hot body to pick up all those dates,” Reggie said with a laugh. He loved the wind against his face.

  “I already got the hot bod that brings in the guys I'm fishing for.”

  Reggie could not stop himself, he glanced back at the kid runnin
g behind him. The little shit was sporting a mile-wide grin even as he was panting to keep up.

  It was their third day of working the force Wielder to exhaustion. Reggie had considered swimming, but Kyle said he didn't swim well. So, they settled for this cat and mouse, in more ways than one.

  Reggie rode off the bike path and onto the street back towards his quiet neighborhood near the university. Sweat trickled down his back, making his skin itch. He hated that feeling. He needed to shower soon or it would only get worse. He could hear the tap tap of Kyle's sneakers against the pavement as he chased after. Above, the sky had gathered more clouds; the dry weather was coming to an end.

  “Let's hurry back. Looks like rain.”

  “I am hurrying, you dickweed!”

  The rain began to patter as they hit Reggie's house. He needed to rake again, more leaves from the perpetual leaf producing maple coated his lawn. Maybe he would make Kyle do it.

  “You tired yet?” he asked Kyle.

  Kyle wobbled up to the door, leaning forward with his hands braced against his thighs trying to catch his breath.

  “I'll take that as a yes. Come on, let's go mind-meld.”

  Reggie held his door wide and followed his tired student in.

  “So, teach, you haven't been missing all your classes just because of me, have you?” Kyle looked over his shoulder at Reggie, his questing eyebrows lifted. “I mean, you haven't been up to campus to my knowledge.”

  Reggie studied the studs in Kyle's ears. Three in the left. One a little skull, another a ball, and the third a male symbol. He'd had hoops on the day before. One hoop still remained in the right.

  “I'm taking a leave of absence,” he said. “Come to the living room. Sit.”

  Reggie wanted a shower to save his skin, but he didn't want Kyle to regain his energy while he tended to his own needs.

  The two men sat across from each other on the floor, cross-legged—Kyle panting, Reggie already clearing his mind. Touching and 'seeing' the Nerve was Reggie's own unique power that he'd developed as a mentalist. Through this ability, he could disentangle the Nerve. Kyle blinked and wiped sweat from his eyes. He wanted to look away, Reggie could tell. Sitting this close to someone, eyes locked, was terribly personal. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul. While Reggie couldn't read this young man's soul, he could see into his mind and find that place within that was tangled up with the Nerve.