I have a different escort for the afternoon round of testing, although there isn’t a dime’s worth of difference between her and Bellamy. Same uniform, same attitude, and pretty much the same response when I ask for information about Deo before the testing begins. The only noticeable change is that several of the afternoon tests are on computers. I guess the experts who thought technology and psychic abilities don’t mix lost a few battles along the way.
As before, I have no clue whether I pass the tests or fail them. In a few cases, I can’t even tell what the test is trying to measure. All I know is that each time they ask me for an answer, I pull it out of thin air. I don’t see a blue card or a red card or any card in my mind, no matter how hard I focus. It’s pure guesswork every time.
Later in the day, they tape thin wires to my scalp and ask me to move various objects with my mind. I play along, but it’s all I can do to take them seriously. I don’t exactly doubt that some people can do these things. In fact, given my own abilities and what I’ve learned over the past few days, I’d say it’s entirely possible.
But even if some people are telekinetic, why would they assume that I’d voluntarily use that power during a stupid test? If I suddenly discover I can move objects with my thoughts, the first time they’ll have any indication will be after I find Deo, when I fling every object in the building into their path to block them as we run for the exit.
Assuming I ever locate an exit. We passed what looked like an elevator earlier, just down from the rooms where I was tested this morning, but I didn’t get a close look. This is the only large building I’ve ever been in that didn’t have at least a few signs pointing you toward the exits in case of emergency.
The afternoon session wraps up around six thirty. I follow my escort toward the cafeteria, confirming along the way that it was indeed an elevator I saw earlier. There’s a security panel next to it however, so I doubt it would work without one of those bracelets.
I’m not the slightest bit hungry given how much I piled onto my tray at lunch, and even if I was, there are leftovers back in my room. But I got more information about this place from five minutes in the cafeteria than I’ve gotten all day. And I’m really hoping I’ll get a closer look at Daniel’s doppelg?nger. Although the more I think about it, the more I’m wondering if it isn’t Daniel himself. I keep remembering that weird exchange between him and Dacia at the beginning of the meeting at the police station. He lied about his eye color, and I don’t know which I find more puzzling—the fact that he lied about it, or the fact that she believed his lie. The lighting was less than perfect in the interrogation room, but she was only a few feet away from him.
I hear the faint noise of the cafeteria at the end of the corridor, but we stop before we reach it. “I thought we were going to the cafeteria.”
The woman doesn’t respond. She just gives me a guess-that’s-what-you-get-for-thinking look and waves her wrist in front of the security panel.
After the various tests today, I’d have sworn that the only psychic ability I have is my unfortunate knack for sweeping up psychic residue and hoarding it for future use. But there must be a tiny bit of intuition, some hint of precognitive awareness in the mix somewhere, because I quickly shift my thoughts about what I saw today in the cafeteria into my Recent Memories folder, then shove everything behind my second wall and raise every shield I can muster.
Dacia is curled up on a well-padded sofa, thumbing through something on her phone. Compared to the spartan testing rooms I’ve been in all day, the décor here is much more comfortable and welcoming.
Her smile when she sees me is far from welcoming, however. It’s closer to predatory. She’s discarded the power suit from our last encounter in favor of jeans and a sweater, similar to the one I’m wearing, although she fills it out much more dramatically.
That same little voice that told me she was here is whispering that I need to distract her—keep her off guard, maybe a little angry. Tell her more than she wants to know so that she has less reason to look closely at things I don’t want her to notice.
Dacia takes my arm from the guard whose name I’ve already forgotten. Bellamy II, I guess. The buzzing sensation starts instantly. “This will be quick. Ten minutes.”
Once the guard is gone, Dacia releases my arm and nods toward the sofa. “Don’t want to keep you too long. Because you are hungry . . .” Her voice rises, making it almost a question, like she’s unsure of that point. “Disappointed not to go to the cafeteria. Is the food really so extraordinary here?”
“No, the food actually kind of sucks. Still, beats hanging out with you.”
I sit down and she grabs my wrist. The buzzing . . . I’m not sure if it starts again or simply increases when she touches me. I pull my hand back but she tightens her grip.
“What happened to you saying ‘I’ll cooperate. I’ll do whatever you say, just don’t hurt him’?”
Her voice takes on a mocking tone. If I had any choice in the matter, I’d be slamming my fist into her face rather than cooperating.