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  I’d arrived at the green floor fairly often in my forays to visit my father. It was a quieter and more sedate floor than emergency. Obviously. I rolled my eyes at myself. I was just full of insightful thoughts all of a sudden. I made my way toward the nurse behind the circular desk area in the middle of the room, with a true smile across my face as my eyes found the attending nurse.

  "May!"

  Looking up sharply at the sound of her name, May's face mirrored the genuine happiness mine held. The nurse was dressed in bright pink scrubs, a designation of this floor, and bright white sneakers which squeaked more than my own as we hurried toward one another. Soon I was enveloped in the arms of a tiny whirlwind of enthusiasm.

  May was one of the few people I had met in the hospital or otherwise who genuinely didn't care who you were. She was going to make you feel better. I loved her. She embodied Sages in stature, being just over five feet tall with few curves to her name. Wild brown curls were contained with the rubber band which really only succeeded in keeping her face clear of the mass. Her hazel eyes sharp and bright, often with a bit of a so called twinkle, her lips were thin but bowed perfectly. She was gorgeous; inside and out. Never mind that she had a limp. Her personality made sure you never noticed the defect.

  The older woman pulled back and held me at arm’s length to look me over head to toe. The mental catalog reminded me of last week when Holden did the same. I heard Holden chuff internally, which translated to a puff of exhalation verbally. Blushing, I pulled back.

  "May, this is Holden." I motioned to the curious male at my back. May looked around me toward Holden, scanning him in much the same way she had me, except this one was clinical; assessing, and not familiar.

  "You looking out for my girl here, boy?" Wow, she's got more bite about her than my own mother.

  Holden held her gaze and dipped his chin in acknowledgement, as I tried to wave off the insinuation.

  "We're working together, I accepted a recruitment." I looked over my shoulder and shot my eyes toward Holden's. Their blue seemed brighter. His answer was a low mental growl which I waved aside, then hedged. "We're feeling things out." I lifted my eyebrows in question, was that good enough for him?

  Nodding slowly once, he acquiesced.

  When I turned to face May again, she was staring toward the hallway leading to the rooms. A pretty blush rose to accompany her stare as I followed her attention to…Commander James. Interesting. It seemed May liked looking at the good commander if nothing else.

  He was walking briskly toward our little group, his heavy boots clomping purposefully. His eyes were flitting between the group, before resting on May as he reached our huddle in the middle of the room. His thoughts mirrored May's in appreciation. Very interesting. Holden snickered, bringing me out of my meddling.

  Other mental voices buzzed in the background but were drowned out by those standing with me. I quickly retrieved the earbud I removed in the lobby, stuffing it harshly into the ear currently void of melodic distraction.

  I released a heavy breath as the punchy beat overtook my attention. Safe and sound, just like the song says. There was a brief discussion between those surrounding me which I was able to completely ignore, lost as I was to the music. The commander turned on his heel and waved us forward, down the hall and into Room 314, where Rolph currently lay in a medical bed, nearly unconscious.

  I didn't enter patient rooms when I visited, only stayed in public areas. Usually the nurse's station, which was one reason I knew May, and spoke to my father when he had time. The room was as you would expect for the most part. Sterile, white monochromatic color scheme throughout. A large window encompassing the far wall, with slatted vertical blinds that would cast dancing shadows across the walls in daylight. This room, however, was also covered in various bouquets of bright color as cheery flowers enveloped most available surfaces.

  Rolph was loved. From the number of little bouquets, I would guess by many. I felt my eyes sting at the thought that someone had tried to end a man who held the hearts of so many. I jumped at the tap to my shoulder, lost as I was in my own thoughts. I removed an earbud and turned my attention to the tapper– Commander James.

  "Rolph," Commander James inquired gently, stepping to the side of the infirmary bed.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at the figure on the bed. The man lying atop its surface, took up most available space, though much of his right side was encased in thick white casting, adding to the bulk of the already large male. His midsection, right hip and upper leg were all cast heavily with no option for mobility.

  Moving my perusal upward, his right arm was encased in a blue fabric sling, the material extending over his elbow, a strap crossing his chest and around his back, holding the appendage at a forced right angle. He reminded me of the jerk boss in one of the superhero animated movies I remember watching when I was younger; nearly covered head to toe in bandaging and unable to move.

  Finally, I allowed myself to look at his face. His neck was in a brace, most likely a nasty case of whiplash incurred as he hit the pavement. Dark brown eyes rimmed with purple bruising followed my appraisal making heat rise up my neck. Mr. Duggan's head was wrapped heavily with gauze, making me remember the spreading pool of blood beneath him.

  It wasn't until I heard a woman's distracted voice that I realized the door had opened to admit another into our little party. I jerked my head to the entry as a list was absentmindedly created by the interloper—Deena and Davis are with my parents, the bed is set up, neighbors are already bringing food…She sighed heavily, a weary sound. Her words and movement stalled as she stepped further into the room, noticing the now crowded space.

  The woman was tall—close to six feet—with broader shoulders than I’d ever noticed on a female. She was trim and muscled, giving her the overall appearance of swimmers I had once seen perform on TV. When her gaze landed on Commander James, they lost their suspicious glint. Instead, lighting with a fire her thoughts mirrored.

  "Travis, Rolph would not have just run into traffic!" A deep breath. "What happened?" Her mind took up the chant as she moved to the bed, grasping Rolph's left hand—one of the few areas not encased in white plaster—and began rubbing her thumb across the back side as she slowly lowered herself into a chair which sat in sentry next to the bed. I turned toward Holden when her thoughts were broken by anguish.

  "Sheena," Commander James began tentatively. His voice also held despair, something I had not previously associated with him. His thoughts revealed that this couple, this family, was close to our commander. I cut my eyes to Holden, wondering if he felt the same, and if he did, why had he not mentioned something earlier? He was with me when Rolph lay unconscious and bleeding on the cracked roadway.

  Sensing my attention, Holden glanced my way. I raised my eyebrows in a silent Why didn't you tell me you knew him? accusation, to which he only lifted one shoulder and said, You needed me more. That obviously wasn’t true. He’d been the one laying sprawled brokenly on the roadway. I opened my mouth to argue, but Holden had turned his attention toward the remaining occupants of the small room. Seriously, the room couldn't handle any more bodies.

  As if God found it funny, at that moment, the door once again opened. This time admitting a mumbling man in green scrubs staring intently at the clipboard he held. The other hand grasped the knob on the still open door. The distracted surgeon was my father. Perfect.

  CHAPTER 14

  "MR. DUGGAN," MY FATHER began distractedly, still looking at the chart in his hands, "the surgery went well and we were able to repair the ilium and pubis of the lateral compression fracture you sustained from impact." After finishing with his reporting of the procedure my father finally looked up and took stock of his surroundings.

  The room was becoming too loud with unspoken words, making my fingers twitch. I wanted to escape into my music—if I couldn't escape the hospital entirely—to eliminate the competing voices. It wasn't like a typical verbal conversation where e
veryone waited their turn to speak. Nope, we all thought over each other’s words, and if I had no focus, it sounded like a cocktail party in my own head, though thankfully sometimes on a lower volume so I could drown it out with music.

  Once again, my fingers twitched to put the earbud back in, making me feel like an old west gunslinger, itching to pull my weapon. I always felt like a creeper when I heard people struggle with private thoughts. Thoughts which I had no business knowing. But then wasn't that exactly what I was to do for Commander James? Peek into people's minds to find answers to questions they otherwise may not answer? My brow furrowed with the effort of not grabbing for the magical little music delivery device. The unilateral audio flow I was currently experiencing was not near enough.

  Just then, my father's attention landed on me. He knew the struggle. I may not be able to read him, but I knew him, and he knew me. He turned to Commander James with a slightly censorious look.

  "Commander, do we need to do this now?"

  "Don't you think we should get a start on this if we can?" Commander James returned with raised brows. He stood tall, almost rigid, with his feet planted in the stance I was coming to know was like a default hip width apart and flat on the floor. There was no impatient fidgeting from the dear commander, he was too disciplined for that.

  "Do you truly think you will get any answers with his current state," my father countered.

  "Five minutes."

  My father slid his eyes to Mr. Duggan, contemplating, then to the woman who I assumed was Mrs. Duggan. They both returned his curiosity, but not about their mental state, about the situation which caused all of us to be standing here, around the sterile hospital room and talking about them. Both their thoughts were focused, though Rolph's were slightly slower than I assumed to be normal for him. Probably the combination of anesthesia and pain meds.

  "They’re up for it," I broke in. I flushed pink, heat suffusing my neck and cheeks, as all eyes in the room turned to me. I was now the bull’s eye of five sets of peepers, and four mental inquiries—though I knew the number was truly five. I centered my attention on my father who still stood by the door. He nodded, knowing I would be privy to that information.

  "All right, five minutes," he returned my stare, "and I'm staying."

  My head whipped to the commander for confirmation, as did Holden's. I realized then that Holden had been fairly quiet in the mental cacophony that had been assaulting my senses, and I smiled privately at the thought that he was trying to be unobtrusive. For me.

  The commander was standing near the foot of Rolph's bedside when he began. "Rolph, can you tell me what happened? Why did you rush into the street?"

  Rolph blinked slowly and focused on the commander in hopes of better assimilating the questions being asked of him. The wheels in his mind began turning faster than he was able to relay verbally, though it was broken and stilted.

  Standing, talking with. Regulars. Past outside seating.

  Seeing the difficulties he was having in speech, I jumped in. "He was standing near the edge of the outdoor seating, talking with a group of regulars." I looked directly into Mr. Duggan's eyes as his attention jerked to me. "Don't move your head like that Mr. Duggan," I admonished, "it's bound to hurt." Holden chuckled, the slight movement of his shoulders and chest the only outward signs.

  The commander jumped in to explain just as Mr. Duggan tried to voice the question, his furrowed brow giving away his intent. "She's telepathic. She's working with me on a case," he cleared his throat before continuing with, "a case we think may involve you."

  Rolph refocused on Commander James. Questions began pinging through the minds of both Mr. and Mrs. Duggan, rapid fire like. It had me rubbing my temple and closing my eyes. I tried focusing solely on Rolph to lessen my struggle.

  "Please, don't get quite so worked up," I pleaded. "It really does project well." I gave a humorless twist of my lips that would not pass as a smile and powered on. "Even if you can't verbalize what you want to say, I should be able to get the general idea. I can then relay to the others."

  Rolph watched me warily, trying to decide how much he disliked the idea of someone hearing his thoughts. Get in line, mister.

  "Trust me, Mr. Duggan, I wish I could have had any other ability."

  He eyed me skeptically but after a moment, opened his mouth to speak. Everyone within the cramped room ceased their internal chatter to hear.

  "Thought," the word came out a near croak, as he battled to recover from anesthesia and trauma. He cleared his throat, readying for his next attempt. I didn’t interrupt, though I could see the image flashing in his head. This one would be more difficult to suss out whether it was planted, due to the haze surrounding all his thoughts. So it appeared things could influence the clarity of what I read from people. Makes sense.

  I needed to remember that and let the others know. I should still be able to tell if the "voice" was his or not, whether the thought was his own. Especially because I already knew what our illusionist "sounded" like.

  "Saw my daughter."

  "You saw Deena?" Mrs. Duggan said anxiously. She’d previously gripped his left hand and had been idly rubbing then stilled at his words. Wrapping her previously free hand around it a heartbeat later, she brought them to her face to lay her cheek upon the tangled mass. Her thoughts now racing with questions of how that could be, when she knew the child to be with her parents.

  "She," cough, "she was in the street." His voice cracked with emotion this time.

  That one statement got the inhabitants of the room buzzing. Though the reigning thought was simple: How? For the Duggans, it was: how could he have seen their daughter in the middle of that crowded street. For the rest of us–the agents–it was how is he doing it? As the Duggans spoke softly to one another, Holden moved to catch my attention.

  We need to have a serious brainstorm about this guy. He turned and signed the same to his uncle who gave his response in the form of a curt nod, then caught my attention as well. Locking eyes, Holden communicated, Tomorrow, after you finish work, chuckle, we will have a sit down to try to find some answers. He narrowed his eyes a bit and said in a lower, more serious tone. You'll officially be an agent in training. We need to get that started, ASAP.

  I nodded my assent and tuned back into the Duggans at about the same moment they came back from their own conversation. Mrs. Duggan seemed to have been reassuring her husband that their daughter was in fact not ever downtown, that she was safe.

  Both their mental voices seemed more at ease, calmer than when the conversation started. Rolph also seemed more lucid, the effects of the sedatives wearing off, albeit slowly. A lively group of cut flowers caught my attention briefly. The mix of pinks, purple, and white—lovely really—were so cheery, I momentarily forgot they adorned the countertop of a sterile hospital recovery room.

  I tried to focus some of my energy on the music flowing from my headphones, one of which still remained plugged in its corresponding ear. The vigorous violin grounding me while the bass pulsed through my body at a steady tempo.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath I once again focused on the now.

  "I know, my friend. It may be hard to recall the events between the incident and now, but Rolph, this is important. I need you to remember exactly what you saw that flipped you." He stalled Rolph from speaking by raising his hand in a “wait a moment” gesture I was beginning to realize was almost like a trademark move for him and steamrolled ahead. "I know you saw Deena, but was anything off about her?"

  "Yeah! The fact that she was supposedly standing in the middle of a downtown street," Mrs. Duggan said heatedly, clearly exasperated and not understanding why we would be asking these types of questions. She thought her husband had been hallucinating. Probably a sound conclusion under normal circumstances, but we all knew that Minefield was nothing near normal, which was what necessitated our involvement in the first place.

  Mr. Duggan thought about what he had seen, so I got a peek. His daughter l
ooked to be around six or seven but it could be hard to tell with Primals, they were just so large…I digress. Round brown eyes looked to be pleading, shining with yet unshed tears and staring directly at me —so directly at her father—as she stepped out into traffic.

  Her light up tennis shoes were flashing, one poised to take another step when I heard Rolph yell to her and dart forward. The image was clearer now. It did contain the signature of our unknown subject. His clipped way of forcing an image made me think he was still honing his craft. Maybe that was why he was targeting Primals, less chance of them noticing little inconsistencies and stopping to wonder what they were seeing.

  He was counting on the Primal reactions. I needed to remember this little lightbulb moment, when the time came to actually sit and discuss a plan of action for this asshole.

  "Her clothes were wrong." Mr. Duggan had been analyzing the image of his "daughter" as I had been analyzing the signature, and found the image lacking. Hopefully this would give us some insight. We needed to find this guy and put a stop to his little game.

  "Her hair was shorter." Mr. Duggan nodded, confident in his realization that he had, in fact, not seen his daughter do such a foolhardy thing. But with this realization came anger, just like the other man Jerath. Another Primal reaction: rage. We should have seen this coming, we should have brought Jade.

  "Rolph, man. This wasn't some heedless thing you did," Commander James soothed, "this was done to you." That last statement seemed to pull Rolph from the anger at himself so the commander continued. "This is at least the second incident which has brought harm," he gave a small squeeze to Rolph's uninjured shoulder to convey solidarity, "We’re convening and will be actively looking for whoever did this to you. I don't suppose you remember anyone of note, anything different about today, anyone that seemed upset with you?"