The Search for Artemis

Chapter FIFTEEN

MEDICAL

IMPRISONMENT


Winter came and went, bringing spring to the valley with new, verdant growth filling the trees and covering the grounds. The frozen lake thawed, and the grey and gloom were replaced with a profusion of color. But just as everything was starting to abound with new life, Landon felt like he wanted to die.

As his training progressed, he found himself in a perpetual state of muscle fatigue. And he never had time to do anything for himself. He couldn’t go swim in the lake with the other students or play video games in the Rec Center with Riley. Instead, he’d been ordered to spend every available hour in the Palaestra getting trained in the art of war and the full spectrum of violence and espionage.

He had marksmanship and weapons training every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he attended combat training and stealth maneuvering between his Thought Reception class and dinner, and then once he’d shoveled a meal down his throat, he was required to be present at Professor Clemens’ military history class in the Forge. Which meant that nearly those entire afternoons were spent in the company of the most deadpan and monotonous instructor in the Gymnasium. Landon often had to slap himself in the face or pinch himself to stay awake after the exhausting day he had already had.

He was also expected to get up early every morning and spend at least two hours before breakfast working to improve his fitness levels. That meant cardio, like rowing on an ergometer and running on the treadmill, as well as weight training and plyometrics. Tactical psychokinetic and field training were reserved for the team sessions on Saturdays. It was grueling, and Landon was having difficulty acclimating to all that was now being expected of him. He felt overworked, unbalanced and exhausted every day. He couldn’t understand why he was having such a hard time with the training. Everyone else seemed to manage it just fine.

It wasn’t like this was his first time training for something. He had done it many times before; it was inevitable given the countless sports his mother had encouraged him to try while growing up, and those sports were on top of his other extracurricular activities and his regular schoolwork. But he’d never done anything to the extent the Pantheon required; the pain and exhaustion then was cake compared to what he was experiencing now. Every inch of his body was tender to the touch, and felt like a team of mixed martial artists had punched and kicked him until he was bruised from head to foot. The aches were deep down to the bone, making it difficult for him to even walk, let alone take the stairs.

But the pain was nothing compared to how difficult it was to keep the Pantheon secret. Landon had no difficulty keeping secrets. His ability to keep the truth behind his apocratusis unknown was a testament to that, but to constantly work on diverting conversation to topics that now seemed absolutely pointless was exhausting. It didn’t help that Landon couldn’t always keep hidden the black-and-blue welts and bruises he’d incurred from combat training. Dealing with Riley was the worst. He grew ever the more curious as Landon’s absences grew more frequent and lengthy. Now he couldn’t be around Riley without being interrogated as to his whereabouts, which had resulted in Landon attempting to avoid him most of the time.

There was one person, however, aside from the professors, who now knew the truth of his debut. Right around the holidays, Landon found solace in Celia. Their friendship really began on Christmas day.

Landon was sitting in the Library reading Dickens’ A Christmas Carol—something his mother and he read together—when Celia happened into his usual alcove. He was surprised, because he expected her, like all the other students at the Gymnasium, to be spending the holiday with her immediate family members, who had arrived that morning via a caravan of helicopters.

Upon his arrival at the Gymnasium, Landon was told that the majority of students had a rather low-key debut. After their apocratusis, Sofia appeared on their doorsteps and told the family about the student’s special gifts and the existence of the Gymnasium. The parents then had to decide whether or not to send their child to the facility, but there was one stipulation: if they said yes, they had to accept that their child would be cut off from all communications while in training.

When Landon first heard all of this, he thought it sounded extreme. Who would agree to allow their kid to go to some secret facility with no means of communicating with them? But he was then told that Sofia would explain the real security risk involved should someone hear about their abilities or the Gymnasium. If their existence or their location were ever discovered, there was no telling what horrible thing some government, military, extremist group or private citizen would do to the students. Cutting the psychokinetics off from the world was a radical decision, but it was also a necessary one.

Christmas, however, was one of the two times a year when parents and siblings were allowed to visit. To maintain the security and safety of the facility, the Pallas Corporation chartered a platoon of blacked-out helicopters to shuttle relatives from an undisclosed location to the Gymnasium. This was after they were told to board predetermined, chartered flights with no knowledge of its destination, followed by a multiple hour journey in yet another blacked-out utility vehicle. Even with the hassle, the families accepted the complicated protocols and arrived in droves, ecstatic to be given the opportunity to see their son, daughter, sister or brother.

Landon never went outside, unlike the other students, to watch the first helicopter arrive. Instead, he made a beeline for the Library. He knew that watching the happy, joyous faces of countless parents and siblings as they stepped out of the aircrafts would destroy him. That Christmas was one of the worst in his life, as it solidified in his mind what he felt he destroyed. Thanksgiving hinted at it, but his first Christmas at the Gymnasium made him realize that he had lost everything. His parents, his home, his old life—it was all gone forever.

Landon had just finished reading the end of Stave II, The First of the Three Spirits, when Celia walked into the room. She apologized for interrupting, obviously expecting, as Landon had, to have the Library to herself. Why would anyone choose to be cooped up there while the festivities commenced in other parts of the Gymnasium?

“I think there’s plenty of room for the two of us,” Landon said, trying to assure her that her arrival was not as much of an offense as she seemed to think, but Landon couldn’t help but feel a bit curious as to why she was there at all. “But why aren’t you with the others, having breakfast with your parents?”

Landon watched as Celia dropped her gaze. He immediately regretted asking her. It was obvious now that her parents weren’t coming. Landon looked down at the book, searching for something to say that would break the sorrowful atmosphere, but what could he say that would make her feel better? He had never seen anything on Celia’s face other than confidence and a smile.

“Mine aren’t coming either.” He tried to say it as if his parents were just too busy to take the time to come for the holiday.

She looked back up at Landon through tear-filled eyes and gave him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry,” she said as she wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand. “Christmas is always a bit hard for me. My parents died when I was seven, right around this time of year. Ever since, I like to be alone on Christmas. Think about the good times, you know? But every year it gets harder to remember their faces.”

“Oh . . . I can get out of here if you want to be alone,” Landon replied. By looking at her, he never would have guessed that she had been orphaned as a child, but her story resonated with him to the core. It drew out images of his mother cooking dinner for him and her joyous smile during their spontaneous vacations. Would he forget those things as the years passed? Would the image of his mother fade into nonexistence? He could feel the mass of sadness and doubt build up and form a lump in the base of his throat. “My parents died, too.” The words left his mouth before he even realized he was speaking. “It was my fault. My debut, it—”

“I know, Landon,” she interrupted. Landon looked at her, paralyzed by fear and confusion. “I know what happened to your parents on your debut. I’m sure you hear it a lot, but it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done.”

“How? How could you know that?” Landon asked pointedly.

“You had nightmares for a long time, right? The fire? The woman screaming? The woman’s your mom, isn’t it?”

Landon felt sick. “I never told anyone about them, not even Dr. Brighton. How do you know about my dream?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but for the first few months here, I kept having a nightmare of a fire in an empty room. And there was always a woman screaming. I figured it was just a nightmare, but when I had the same one the next night and the next, I knew something was weird. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before, but I realized I wasn’t the person in the dream. It was you. I spent quite a while trying to make sense of it, you know? Why was I having nightmares, and why was I you? But then I realized it wasn’t my nightmare I was having . . . it was yours. I can’t explain it, but for some reason I can’t seem to stay out of your head. It happens the most when I’m sleeping, but even sometimes in class I can hear what you’re thinking.”

The worn copy of A Christmas Carol slid off Landon’s lap and fell to the floor with a loud thud. He didn’t even notice. His mind was too preoccupied with processing what he was hearing. What Celia was talking about was supposed to be impossible. Thought reception was limited, restricted to only hearing outwardly projected thoughts. How could he focus when Celia was repeating things he had never told another person? Dreams can’t be outwardly projected, can they? What else does she know?

“But don’t worry,” Celia said. She had been standing silently, watching as Landon worked through the bomb she had just dropped on him. “It doesn’t happen that often anymore.”

“How do you do it?” Landon asked, his voice quivering slightly.

“I have no idea,” she said, sounding as if she had wracked her brain but failed to come to any sort of explanation.

“Umm,” Landon started. “Do you think it can work both ways?”

“What do you mean?” Celia asked, concerned.

“It’s just that a few days ago in the cafeteria, I remember looking at Peregrine and having a thought like, ‘I wonder if I could pull off her hairstyle.’”

“Well, honestly, her hair is amazing, but not everyone can wear theirs like that,” Celia said with surprising enthusiasm. “You have to have the right bone structure to pull off short hair.”

“Thank God! I thought I was having a serious personal issue I’d have to come to terms with later.”

Landon and Celia caught each other’s eyes, and after a second, they both chuckled.

The rest of the day Celia and Landon were inseparable. They spent a good chunk of the morning in the Library talking about their favorite books. Celia had a similar interest in literature, but she leaned more toward period romances like those of Jane Austen. They spent the afternoon out by the lake and in the woods. It was the best place to go while the faculty hosted guided tours of the Gymnasium for the visiting parents. For dinner, they managed to sneak into the kitchen and steal a tray of lasagna and a pie that had been prepared for the evening’s holiday feast. Landon had a blast navigating the Gymnasium with the intent of remaining unseen by parents, staff or students. He thought it would be fun to show off what he’d learned in stealth training, but to his surprise, Celia seemed to have a knack for getting around unnoticed. She could move from pillar to pillar and corridor to corridor without ever making a sound. It was quite impressive.

• • • • •

As the months lumbered on after Christmas, Celia proved to be a saving grace. He hadn’t realized it before, but Celia was the only person, apart from Brock, who Riley was intimidated by, even if for completely different reasons. If they were around Celia, Riley avoided asking prying questions and barely spoke at all. He talked up a big game when it was just with the guys, but when Celia was around, she made him speechless.

“He just feels left out,” Celia told Landon one day as they left the cafeteria to go to Thought Reception.

“I know, but there isn’t anything I can do about it,” Landon replied.

“They would understand if you told him.”

This wasn’t the first time Celia had spoken like she knew all about the Pantheon. Landon never directly talked about it, but he was afraid through their strange connection he had accidentally told her everything.

Every time they were in the same room, he became more conscious of his thoughts. He didn’t want to think of something embarrassing that she could hold against him. However, in a way, it was nice to have someone with whom there were no secrets—at least on his end.

Landon noticed two guys from their Telekinetics training class run by. The food’s not going anywhere, he thought as the guys sped toward the cafeteria. Landon looked over at Celia, perplexed; she had a similar expression on her face. Then, Austin Thompson, an African-American guy his age that shared the same Tactometry class, turned the corner and sprinted toward them. Landon moved into his path, which caused Austin to slow down. He shuffled around, working to get past Landon and Celia and back to his journey toward his destination.

“What’s going on?” Landon asked as Austin passed.

Austin answered between breaths, “There’s a fight . . . in the cafeteria . . . Riley is fi . . .”

But Austin had moved too far down the hall for Landon or Celia to hear anything else. Without hesitating, or even consulting Celia, Landon sped behind Austin, making his way toward the cafeteria. Celia followed suit.

When they reached the cafeteria, they had to force themselves through a crowd of students that had gathered around a growing commotion. All the spectators were cheering and goading on the fight. What Landon found when he had edged his way through was Riley on top of Jeremiah Crane, pinning him to the ground. Joshua Crane sped across the cafeteria and pulled Riley off his twin brother, throwing him backward onto the floor. Jeremiah quickly got to his feet as Joshua lifted Riley and held him in a full nelson. Landon couldn’t do anything but watch as Jeremiah planted his fist into Riley’s abdomen. Riley dropped to the floor and fought to catch his breath, all the air in his lungs had been violently forced out. All the while, Landon could hear Katie Leigh’s screams as she tried to stop the fighting.

“Castor! Pollux! Stop!” Landon yelled as he broke through the crowd of students and rushed to the aid of his helpless friend. He made his way toward Jeremiah, who appeared to be preparing to kick Riley in the side while he was down. He shoved him back with a push to the chest, all the while screaming, “Castor, stop! Leave him alone!” Landon then turned to get Joshua in check, but was stopped by a fist. Riley had gotten to his feet and blindly threw a punch that connected square with Landon’s right temple. Everything went black.

• • • • •

When Landon woke up, he was lying in a bed in the medical wing. Riley was crouched over in a chair with an ice pack on his hand, and a nurse was writing things on Landon’s chart. Suddenly, Landon realized what had happened, and he couldn’t believe he’d landed himself in the medical wing from one errant punch. Even his first sparring match before Christmas wasn’t as embarrassing as this.

When Riley noticed that Landon had opened his eyes, he hesitantly stood up and walked over to the bed, but he didn’t say anything. The nurse finished her examination. After sliding Landon’s chart into its holder, she turned to Landon and gave him her assessment.

“Landon Wicker,” the nurse said, “you appear to be fine, but we’re going to request that you remain overnight for observation. When you were knocked unconscious”—she gave Riley an accusatory glance—“you hit your head pretty hard on the floor. We need to make sure you didn’t suffer a concussion or any other possible injuries.”

Landon nodded in understanding. The nurse, after giving Landon a gentle pat on the shoulder, left the room through the open door.

“My bad, man,” Riley said as he gave Landon a brotherly shove with his arm.

“I was trying to help you, you know?” Landon returned derisively. He wanted to just say he understood and that everything was all right between them, but after the past few weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Landon was more than a little aggravated that he had ended up in the medical wing not from his training, or from the Cranes, but due a rogue punch from the person he was trying to help. The pain that was pulsing from the impact point on the side of his head only made him less forgiving.

“I didn’t mean to. The twins, they knocked my tray out of my hands when I was walking by, and I just snapped. And when I hit you, uh, I wasn’t even looking. I just kind of swung with everything I had.”

“Well, you really should look where you’re punching next time. Seriously!” Landon snapped back. “And why would the Cranes be messing with you?”

Riley was taken aback, but his shock turned to contempt.

“Cuz I’m not you! . . . And you know what? Don’t worry about me!” he barked. “Next time, don’t come butting into my business. Just stay out of it! Stick to your oh-so-secret techniques at your oh-so-special training and I’ll just stay as I am! You know, you’re not as special as you think you are Landon. I’m done! Got it?”

“There it is!” Landon was exasperated and sat up in his medical bed. “It always comes back to the training! Whatever happens, you just can’t let it go!”

“Oh,” Riley interrupted, “I’ve let it go! You know what? . . . I’m not sorry I hit you. You deserved it!” His face red with anger, Riley turned on the spot and stormed out of the examination room.

“You know, maybe if you weren’t such a whiny little baby, they would’ve wanted you too!” Landon yelled as Riley disappeared through the door.

Landon fell back onto his pillows with a huff. He was so mad that he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Trying to lower his blood pressure and calm down, he closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. He was surprised he had gotten so worked up. After the blood left his face and returned to a normal color, Dr. Brighton entered the room looking angry. His brows were furrowed and his lips pursed, and after shutting the door behind him, he immediately crossed his arms over his puffed up chest.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked.

Landon suddenly became aware of himself. A glob of spit formed in his mouth that he couldn’t seem to swallow, his arms and legs tingled, and a faint buzzing started to ring in his ear. No I don’t, he thought.

Not knowing what to say, he blurted out, “They say I’ll be all right, in case you were wondering.”

“You insolent child,” Dr. Brighton said as he rushed to the bed and leaned over Landon, his arms pressed deep into the mattress to hold himself up while he got close to Landon’s face. “You could have exposed us all,” Dr. Brighton said in a low yet forceful volume, so no one would overhear. He was enraged. The muscles in his face were all tense, and his eyes were locked on Landon’s, boring deep into his soul.

“What are you talking about?” Landon asked as he tried to sink deeper into his pillows and put a little distance between Dr. Brighton and himself.

“The code names are to only be used during missions and under the security of the Olympic Tower. What were you thinking calling the Cranes Castor and Pollux in the cafeteria, especially when the entire student body was in attendance?”

At the time, Landon hadn’t even realized it, but as Dr. Brighton told him what he had done, his mind wandered back to the memory of being in the cafeteria and screaming for Joshua and Jeremiah to stop, using their Pantheon code names as he pushed the two off Riley.

“I knew you weren’t ready,” Dr. Brighton said as he pushed himself off the bed and paced the room. “I told them it was a mistake.”

“Dr. Brighton, I’m sorry,” Landon pleaded. He felt awful, but Dr. Brighton didn’t acknowledge him. He continued to pace the room with his hand resting on his chin, deep in thought. Landon assumed he was deciding his fate. Was it that easy to kick someone off the Pantheon? What would happen after? Did they have a strange contraption that could wipe his memory of any knowledge of the secret team?

“Professor,” Landon interjected forcefully. It worked, albeit not exactly as planned for when Dr. Brighton turned and faced him, his expression made it clear he was in no mood for games and that his patience was waning—fast. Landon fought to continue, “I, uh . . .” Landon suddenly felt dizzy and nauseated. The ringing in his ears had grown to a painful volume. “I, uh . . .”

“What is it Landon?” Dr. Brighton asked. “Spit it out.”

“I . . .”

Before Landon could continue, his vision went blurry, his body went limp, and he passed out.

A minute later, Landon regained consciousness. It took him a moment to acclimate to his surroundings; he felt a bit groggy and confused. Looking particularly concerned, Dr. Brighton stood over Landon, checking his eyes and asking him simple questions, like What’s your name? and What year is it? Then the nurse sped back into his room.

“Landon,” she said as she pushed Dr. Brighton aside and began unlocking the wheels to the bed, “I’m taking you to get a CT scan. It appears you may have some internal brain injuries.”

He watched blearily as the nurse gripped the bed and moved it down the hall. It was a strange experience; he watched the roof and walls as they flew by, but the nurse’s torso and head remained stationary, as if she was a statue. Her legs would have told a different story entirely, but before Landon could even process what was happening, he was in the computed tomography scanner at the east end of the medical wing.

“It would seem that you’ve suffered a concussion with a minor amount of bruising that has caused your brain to swell slightly,” Dr. Márquez stated matter-of-factly after turning away from the series of images of Landon’s brain that were secured in the light box fixed to the back wall. “Unfortunately for you, we’re not going to be able to discharge you until we see the swelling go down.”

Dr. Márquez turned, glancing at Dr. Brighton, who was standing a few paces back from the bed, and continued, “Dr. Brighton tells me that you two were having a pretty intense conversation when you fell unconscious. I’m afraid that may have increased your blood pressure enough to cause you to pass out. As a result, I’m going to recommend that you have no visitors until you’ve recovered. Until I can feel confident that you’ve improved, all I can ask of you is to rest.”

“But—” Landon started, but he stopped mid-rebuttal after looking at Dr. Brighton, whose face informed him there was no way he would be able to persuade the doctor of a different treatment. Defeated, Landon closed his mouth and fell dejectedly back onto his pillow.

As Dr. Márquez and the nurse left the room, Dr. Brighton stepped over to the bed and rested his hand onto Landon’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I’m your CO; I should’ve controlled my temper.” He gave Landon’s shoulder a little pat and headed out of the room, but just before he reached the door, he turned and added, “Get better . . . Apollo”

The room was uncomfortably silent. Landon tended to like being alone, but for some reason, his forced seclusion in the medical wing was different. He felt constricted under the sheets of his bed, fidgety and bored. His head did still hurt a bit though, and he felt a little drowsy, so he turned on his side and closed his eyes, hoping he might be able to sleep through the majority of his medical imprisonment.

• • • • •

Landon jumped up from his pillow. He wasn’t sure what had just happened. He was sleeping dreamlessly when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through his head. It resonated with the same pain as his mother’s scream in his old nightmares, but this one wasn’t from his mother—the voice was masculine.

He looked around the room, searching for some explanation, but nothing seemed to be out of place. The lights in the medical wing had dimmed to a low, pale yellow, telling him that it must be nighttime. He couldn’t be sure, though; there were no windows that looked out on the valley for him to check through. All he could do was stare into the hallway through the slats of the blinds.

He could only see the doorframe and window of the examination room across the hall from his. It was dark inside; the lights were off. The entire medical wing seemed abandoned. He couldn’t hear any rushing steps or muffled voices, no one was running by his window screaming “Code Blue!” or some other medical code. He couldn’t even hear any more screams.

Putting his hands behind his head, Landon lowered himself back onto his pillow. He stared pensively up at the ceiling, wondering if he had heard the scream, or if it was just a dream.