He stood shivering in the parking lot, debating his method of traveling back home. There were gyros for hire parked at a charging station a block away. The ride would be comfortable and air conditioned. His own means of flying were faster yet tiring. He was meant to be incognito, however, and being caught flying about would irritate the de-Programmed haters and bring unwanted media attention to Harristown. The hooks in his brain were pulling him forward. If he didn’t get something to settle his system, he’d blow.

“Screw it…” he grumbled to himself as he pulled a pair of goggles from his coat pocket and slid them on, covering his eyes. The sun had gone down so nobody would see him - unless he flew in front of a commuting gyro. William levitated himself upward, pushing against the earth with invisible hands of telekinetic power until he reached a safe height to travel at. He leaned forward. The hands pulled him through the sky, reaching over vast distances of land to slingshot him. The cold Autumn wind buffeted his face, burning his cheeks and pre-maturely bald head. The hair replacement drugs Kemprex had developed didn’t work on him for some reason. Not that he cared what people thought of him anymore, it was just easier to have a full head of hair sometimes than wearing a beanie which could fly off your head at break-neck speeds.

He left the limits of Harristown, a piss-hole little village, built post war to hide Kemprex’s underground facilities. So many important factories and buildings had been nuked during the war that anything of note these days was built in bomb proof bunkers or camouflaged beyond recognition. Harristown’s residents were all Kemprex employees. Even the people working in the scant few shops. William always felt like he was being watched whenever he visited the town, and the psychic chatter drove him insane. That’s why he preferred to live far away from human habitation. He had a cabin hidden in the woods. Few people ever went hiking or hunting up there, so he was free to truly cleanse his mind after the rigors of work.

“Fucking Connor,” said William bitterly, his words lost in the wind. Controlling the kid was a considerable chore. And it wasn’t getting easier. The day-in-day-out monotony of keeping a tortured mind stable had taken its toll on him. No amount of money or luxuries could offset the mental and emotional fatigue he was experiencing every day. He needed a break. His uncle had abandoned him to this shitty corner of the world while he swanned about with the cream of the corporate circles, sitting pretty on the patents William’s unique gift had built. William made up his mind. He would confront his uncle and demand a vacation. He could use his gift if needed. Even over a long distance. All he needed was for the man to pick up the phone and he could form a connection.

Farmland gave way to low, wooded hills. He followed a winding gravel road, originally built by loggers a century or more ago. Far to his right spread a lake, an inky black mark against the landscape. Light shone from a lone cabin near its shore, Williams closest neighbour. His cabin was a little further into the woods, tucked up next to a rocky outcrop. Little sparks of simple thought were scattered through the woods. He could feel them, even as he flew high above. The thoughts were unintelligible yet twinned with understandable emotion. Hungry. Tired. Danger. He preferred the thoughts of animals over men.

William saw the clearing ahead. He slowed his flight and extended one last telekinetic hand down to the bare ground. He floated softly to the floor, his boots crunching softly on the carpet of pine needles and leaves. William released his ability and sighed as the mental and physical exhaustion set in. He strode up to his cabin, legs wobbling and jaw clenching. He had to have a fix. With a wave of his hand he released the heavy steel lock he had installed on the front door as he struggled up the wooden steps. He reached out with his mind and flicked on the petrochemical powered generator along with the lights and the stereo. The driving beat of a Euro drum ‘n bass number started as he walked through the doorway. It was a small, one room cabin with a separate bathroom and a tiny kitchenette. William kept it barely furnished but tidy. The bulk of his possessions were the electronic entertainment devices stored in a tv cabinet and his clothes which were mostly Kemprex issued scrubs and a few non-descript items for when he ventured into town. He didn’t bother trying to make the cabin into a home as Harristown was only meant to be temporary. He didn’t want to put down roots here or grow comfortable. His uncle was developing a method of controlling Connor which didn’t require his talents, or so he promised. As a result, he kept the cabin in a state that he wouldn’t miss if he were to abandon it tomorrow.

William stalked across to the only chair in the room, a worn leather recliner that fit his body perfectly after years of occupancy. A cigar box sat on small table nearby. He lifted it with shaking hands and rummaged through. William found the zip locked bag of cream coloured, military strength Oxy pills. He tore the top open, counted out a safe portion and crammed them into his mouth. He chewed, eager to get them down quickly.

“Ugh...”

William walked over to a small bar fridge tucked into the corner of the kitchenette, removed a local tallboy, ripped the tab and downed half its contents. He stood still with his eyes closed, waiting for that moment when the itch subsided. The hooks let go of the soft grey matter behind his eyes, retreating to their lair in the haunted nether regions of his brain. He allowed himself a smile and the rest of the beer. With a belch he flung the can towards the trash, giving it a mental nudge into the basket when it was obviously going to miss. He took another beer can from the fridge and walked back to his recliner. Should he call his uncle now or wait until he had calmed down a bit? William slumped into the comfortable chair and crossed his legs.

“Might as well rip the band-aid off…”

He killed the music with his mind while he extracted his phone from his jeans pocket. Kurniec was one of only a dozen contacts within the device. The rest were drug dealers or colleagues. William refused to let the depression sink in as he scrolled through the short list, searching for anybody he would rather talk to. He hit Kurniec’s icon and the phone established a link over the Wi-Fi. It kept ringing, eventually going to voice mail.

“Pick up you bastard,” muttered William, hanging up.

He sent a message instead, typing out something short and without preamble.

I need a break. Work is killing me.

He sent the message and lay back into his chair. He turned his thoughts to where he should go on his vacation. Somewhere hot like the southern beaches? A place with night life and women and readily available substances. Somewhere with a pulse that was more than crops and secret biotechnological research. He cracked open the beer and sipped as the options poured through his mind. His phone vibrated in his hand. Mustering up his hopes, William raised it to read.

No. Many projects at critical junction. Need star player.

“Fuck!”

William breathed deeply, taming his spiralling rage. He could lose control while in a fit, lashing out with battering rams of telekinetic force. He turned his anger, narrowed it to a sharp focus on the screen of his phone.

I’m taking a vacation. Burning out. Find a way.

William chugged the rest of the beer and flung the can over his head, careless of where it landed. He felt an urge to be moving. Sitting still wasn’t going to help tame his emotions. He sprang from the chair and paced around the room in erratic lines, his head bobbing and his hands twitching and curling into fists. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare!” he grated over and over again, as if the simple words were a mantra. The phone vibrated in his hand, snapping him out of his dirge. Heart hammering, he came to an abrupt stop. William brought the phone up in both hands, cradling the device like it was his last hope, hands shaking from stress. Or was it the Oxy?

“Please…” he intreated the screen as his thumb hit the message icon.

No. Give me another month. Your replacement will be operational then.

“Bullshit!” spat William. “It’s always another month! I’m sick of your lies.”

He typed and deleted several heated messages before giving up and throwing his phone across the room. Something made an audible crack as it hit the wall. William’s emotions were riding too high to register any concern for his phone’s wellbeing. He stood breathing heavily, shoulders slanted at sharp angles, his hands turned to claws, shaking as he fought to contain the telekinetic forces which threatened to lash out. He felt a rising tide of anger that begged to spill over. In the undercurrent of that anger came an urge, or perhaps that precursor to his insidious addiction. He needed more. More alcohol. More pills. William needed the emotionless oblivion of a mind altering bender. His body craved the chemical cocktail, all he had to do was give in to its demands.

The stash was in his hands before he could change his mind. Another pill. A hit of lace to calm his nerves. A third beer found its way into his hands. William collapsed on the chair, alternating between the pipe and the beer can until his thoughts and feelings were so fogged with substance, he couldn’t understand them. The anger and stress drained away, replaced by a calm stupor. William stared at the ceiling, tracing the grains of the rough wooden boards. His eyes started to droop.

The claws in his brain dragged him awake, itching, begging for more of the drug. The claws worked in concert with a pounding, demonic headache, cutting between the waves of swelling pain. His stomach felt like a knotted and poisoned wasteland, screaming at him for the punishment it had received. His whole sense of balance seemed off. William opened his eyes to find himself on the floor, inches away from a pool of vomit. He rolled onto his back, clutching his hands to his aching head.

“Faaaaaark…” he croaked.

He needed water and some painkillers. Maybe an Oxy to take the edge off. He tentatively removed his hands from his eye sockets and looked to the window. Daylight crept through the thin drapes, bathing the room in warm sepia tones. How long had he been asleep? Another thought dawned on him. William scrambled to his feet, ignoring the vicious assault within his head as his heart began racing with worry.

“Where is it?” he asked himself, slapping his pockets and casting about.

He wobbled about the room looking for his phone, holding himself upright with the furniture and walls. He spied the phone by the tv stand. William lurched toward it, falling on his knees as he bent over to scoop it up. Shaking, he turned the device in his hands and pressed the cracked screen. Seven missed calls and a slew of messages from Kemprex’s head of security. Two missed calls and a message from his Uncle. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. His eyes flickered upwards to the date and time.

Ten twenty-one.

Friday.

William’s sluggish brain did the maths. He had been out cold for thirty-six hours.

How long could he leave Connor before his telepathic paralysis wore off? Something told him it was less than thirty-six hours.

He opened the message and his heart dropped.

One has escaped. Happy now?

William slumped backwards and sat on the floor. The phone fell from his stunned fingers.

“No, no, no no.”