52: Red Light Green Light One-Two-Three

Jack filled with excitement as Rose pulled him through the crowded airport. She held onto his arm with one hand, the spring in her step forcing Jack to skip to keep up, and held her book to her face with the other. It amazed Jack how well she managed to navigate the busy airport with the book obscuring her vision. She marched forward in a more or less straight line. Every time they came close to colliding with another person she tugged on his arm, snapping him to the side, all while keeping her eyes focused on whatever she was reading.

At first, Jack didn’t know he’d be flying in an airplane, but he certainly wasn’t disappointed—flying was awesome. The few times Rose stopped long enough to answer one of Jack’s many questions, all she told him was that the camp was located in Haines City, Florida, and it would be a two and a half hour flight. For some reason, Rose seemed just as anxious to get there as Jack did.

Rose didn’t allow Jack to stop for anything. He didn’t eat breakfast, so his mouth watered at all the cafes they passed by as they made their way through the terminal. It had been years since Jack last went to an airport, and he didn’t remember seeing all of the shops that now lined the place. There were newsstands, bookstores, candy stores, and twice he spotted a Starbucks. Rose didn't let him have any of it. She was mean.

Jack followed as best he could; Rose seemed to be making certain of it. If Jack slowed even a little, she’d pull on his arm until it became painful.

They slowed as they came to a line forming in front of them. People were removing hats and taking laptops out of bags. The items rolled through a scanner, while the people stepped through booths that Jack assumed were metal detectors. Rose pulled him off to the side, towards an unoccupied station.

“Shoes off,” Rose demanded. Jack shrugged and did as she told. She grabbed his shoes and the traveling pack his mother had left for him, then threw both inside the scanner.

“Excuse me, ma'am, just what do you think you’re doing?”

Rose didn’t respond to the pair of approaching T.S.A agents in blue baggy uniforms. Instead, she lowered her book for a moment and retrieved a shiny badge with her picture on it, waving it before the two women. For a moment there was no reaction, and then instantly their faces turned blue and they backed away. “Sorry, we didn’t know.”

Jack watched in fascination as the two rejoined the other T.S.A personnel. Could Psych generals do anything they wanted? Rose waited on the other end of the machine and instructed Jack to put his shoes back on. Once again, she didn’t give him the chance to follow, snatching his arm in her wrist and dragging him across the airport.

Jack had to raise his voice to be heard over the thrum of voices. “What was the point of all that? I mean, if you can just do that flashy-wavy thing and everyone listens to you, then why did I have to go through the scanner in the first place?”

Rose used her chin to turn a page in her book and, somehow, Jack knew he wasn’t getting a response.

Benches and chairs surrounded the dome-shaped waiting area. There was a variety of people traveling. Men in business suits sipped coffee and read boring-looking magazines, while vacationing families pointed out tourist spots on brochures. Rose pulled Jack past all of them and into a terminal labeled “Flight 78-D.”

“We’re preboarding before the other passengers do,” she said, lowering her book. Again she flashed the badge before the two lanky security officers and they parted to let her pass.

She seemed to relax as they walked through the air bridge, slowing her pace and allowing Jack to walk without pulling him. Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw the cockpit.

Whoa, he thought. Look at all those buttons. Oh my god I wanna push em! I wanna push all of them!

“Don’t even think about it,” Rose said. “And no, I am not listening to your thoughts, Jack Harris. You are simply too obvious.”

Jack tried—and failed—to conceal a glare. He hated when people thought they knew everything about him. He followed her a quarter-way through the plane when she stopped abruptly, and Jack knocked into her. Once again, the book was back to her face, and with her free hand, she placed their bags into the carry-on luggage compartment.

“I call window seat!”

Jack relaxed in the comfortable leather seat, and to his delight, he found a working television on the back of the seat in front of him. “This is so cool. There are TVs on every seat! Do we get peanuts, too?”

Rose turned three full pages before muttering, “Probably.”

The plane filled up soon after they’d boarded. A line of people entered, walking to their seats then stowing away their luggage. Jack flipped through the channels and tried to focus, but he was too excited for takeoff. Every so often, he’d spot Rose giving him evaluating looks out of the corner of his eyes. He never quite caught her in the action; each time he’d look over, she shifted her eyes back to her book and pretended nothing had happened.

This continued during the agonizing twenty-minute wait for takeoff. The flight attendant arrived and went through the usual generic instructions. Jack wondered what the point of it all was. Who wouldn’t know how to put on a seat belt?

“Damn,” he whispered a few seconds later. “These seat belts are trickier than I thought.”

Jack grew more and more eager as the planes in line took off, until there were only two remaining in front. When the time came for Jack’s flight to depart, he was sitting on the edge of his seat, wearing a massive grin. “I love this part. Whoosh!” Jack said, imitating the loud hum of the plane’s engines.

It was just as he remembered it. At once, the plane lurched forward, as fast as a car on a highway. Then, it picked up speed, until it felt more like a roller-coaster ride. The sound of the engines grew louder, and Jack had his face pressed against the window as if it were glued to him. Then came more speed, and with a belly-tingling jolt, the aircraft lifted off the ground, until the airport, the small vehicles that taxied the planes, and the cars in the airport’s massive parking lot shrunk to the size of ants as the plane gained altitude.

Through it all, Jack had the uneasy sense that Rose was once again staring at him. His mood soured.

“All right, what is it? I know you keep looking at me.”

The last thing Jack would’ve expected was for Rose to blush, so when her cheeks reddened and her eyes darted back to her book, Jack ran a hand through his messy hair and tried to make sense of her reaction.

She read a few more pages before responding. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that it’s weird seeing you without all the foxes trailing behind.”

“Foxes? What do you mean?”

Rose sighed and did something even more unexpected than blushing. She put the book down completely and turned in her seat to face him, even making eye contact. Jack was in awe of her—of her omniscient, seemingly luminous eyes.

“I don’t like to speak unless I know what I want to say, Jack Harris, so I usually don’t, but … I did promise you once that I’d put the book away whenever we spoke to each other alone. You never could stand it.”

Jack raised an eyebrow; he had no idea what she was talking about. Since when did she make a promise to him?

She’s gotta be insane. I better just go along with it.

Jack smiled and nodded along. “Ah, yes, the promise—how could I forget? Well, I guess I’ll get back to watching TV now.”

Rose chuckled, another off-putting show of emotion from the usually dispassionate woman. “Once again I’m sorry, Jack Harris. I am very easily confused sometimes.”

“Confused?”

“Yes, confused. Between now and then.”

Oh, she’s totally insane! And I’m stuck on a plane with her. Just great.

“You don’t believe me, do you, Jack Harris? Or is it that you don’t understand me?”

“Umm, no, no, I understand you just fine,” Jack said, waving his arms defensively. “You’re just confused between now and then. Hey, that makes perfect sense. Happens to me all the time. Just the other day I was confused between now and then, so—”

“Cut it out!” she snapped. Jack was taken aback. There was a dark glare in her eyes. He’d made the madwoman angry.

She took a breath. “What is a memory, Jack Harris? Do tell.”

Jack realized if he was going to be stuck on a plane with her, he might as well play along. He thought about the question—it was difficult to answer. “A memory, well, umm, it’s something that happened, and like, you were there for it so you can play it in your mind like a movie.”

“Fair enough,” Rose said. “So then, tell me this: how do you know when something is a memory?”

Much to his surprise, Jack was discomforted by her now immediate responses, although it was also somewhat flattering. He wondered if she’d ever spoken to anyone else this way, and oddly he found himself wishing she’d go back to the intermittent pauses with her book.

“Well,” Jack answered, “you can remember how old you were when it happened, or the date.”

“Another good answer. But tell me—other than that, how do you know that a memory is from the past?”

Jack was quiet for a few moments while he contemplated the question. “It’s a memory, so it has to be of something in the past.”

“Pretend for a second it wasn’t, Jack Harris. Pretend that there are memories from the future. Then, how would you tell the difference?”

Jack felt nerves bubble in his stomach as he realized what the General was implying. He gulped. “Are you saying … are you saying your memories aren’t from the past?”

Rose leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes. “Not all of them, only some. One last question, Jack Harris. Suppose for a moment you have a memory. Of a person, of a friend, of anything, and suppose that memory wasn’t from the past. Does that mean it didn’t happen? Even though it’s a memory? I’ll ask you again: how can one tell the difference?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t know,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t know the difference. I mean, last week I remember enjoying the days off from school, but … but that happened. I know it happened, because I remember it.”

On the outside, Rose smiled, but her eyes drooped and became saddened. “Exactly, Jack Harris. As hard as this may be to believe, there are things I have come to know for certain. Most Psychs believe I ‘see’ them, but that is not always the case, because the things I ‘see’ can be changed. Memories, on the other hand, they are simply things that have happened, or will happen, but what is the difference? Many times I have difficulty telling them apart. That is, the things that have happened from things that will happen. Do you understand now, Jack Harris? This is why I use the book. I need time to collect my thoughts, for a single misspoken word can bring about the greatest of problems.”

“So if you have a memory that didn't happen yet, then … it definitely happens?”

“Such is the case.”

Jack believed her. He didn’t know why he believed her, but he did. After all, with everything he’d seen since finding out he was a Psych, who was he to cast doubt?

“So you're saying in the future I tell you to stop reading books when you talk to me?”

Rose’s smile became genuine, and her eyes brightened. “You did, Jack Harris. You made me promise. I wasn’t sure if it applied now, since the promise has yet to be made, but at the same time, it has. That is … I at least remember it, so to me it has happened.”

Jack repeated the words in his mind, and came to the conclusion they were too difficult to follow, and he’d have to accept them on face value. “It’s kinda weird,” he said. “But I’m okay with it. You are who you are, Rose.”

Rose again closed her eyes. When they didn't reopen, Jack decided to let her rest. He peeked out of the window, letting his imagination see shapes and faces in the clouds. The plane was too high to make out any distinct buildings or landscapes—everything looked like yellow-orange lines, alternating with green rectangular patches of grass.

An hour into the flight, Jack felt something brush against him, and he looked over to see the general’s head slumped over, resting on his shoulder and breathing softly. He was careful not to move or disturb her. The flight attendant came around to take orders for drinks and snacks, and Jack made sure to whisper when he asked for peanuts.

“Jack Harris,” Rose breathed. Something was off about her voice, it sounded … frightened.

Jack wasn’t sure if she was speaking in her sleep or if she was speaking to him. The question was answered soon after, when she cracked her eyes open slightly, just enough for Jack to look down and make out the glow from her pupils.

“I want you to know,” she whispered. “That I don’t blame you. That it’s okay. I don’t know if I ever get a chance to tell you, so I’ll tell you now. I forgive you, Jack Harris, and I don’t blame you.”

“Hmm? Blame me for what, General Rose? Do I do something to you someday? What don’t you blame me for?”

“For the night you crept into my home and killed my husband, and then slaughtered me and my unborn child.”

Jack blinked, mouthing back the words. “For the night I …”

What happened next was a reflex. Jack threw Rose off him and grabbed her by the shoulders. The words slammed into him, and he shook as they bounced back and forth off his mind. Nauseating venom exploded in his stomach, the bile creeping onto his tongue.

“I’m sorry, umm, what did you, what—?”

Other passengers turned to look. Jack was breathing heavy and sweating, all while he held onto Rose’s shoulders for dear life. Each passing second her words became more coherent, more real. Jack tried to form words of his own, but whenever he opened his mouth he had to force back the desire to vomit.

Rose looked alarmed, and she shook her head, rubbing her eyes. “Oh dear,” she said. “I was rambling in my sleep, wasn’t I? It’s okay, Jack Harris, it’s okay. It was all a mistake. Whatever I said wasn’t true.”

Jack exploded, his shouting voice frightening the other passengers. “Why would you say something like that?”

Rose looked around the plane. Flight attendants rushed over to see what the commotion was about. “It’s all right,” she said as they approached. “He fell asleep and had a nightmare.”

Goosebumps covered Jack from neck to toe, and at the last possible moment, he grabbed the vomit bag in front of him and hurled into it. Rose patted him on back and hushed him. “You see?” she said. “It’s just airplane sickness.”

“We’ll get him some water.”

The flight attendants left, and Jack struggled to control his breathing. Tears fell down his face while the terrible words reverberated in his mind. “Why?” he pleaded. “Why would you say something like that?” His nose became moist as tears slid off his eyes and landed on it.

Rose sighed. “This is why I use the book. It was a simple mistake, Jack Harris. What you heard was nothing more than a random combination of words. They had no meaning.”

“B-but,” Jack sobbed. “Y-you said y-you c-can see the f-future.”

Rose inhaled. “I can, Jack Harris, and that was not part of it. Put your mind at ease.”

“It was just a mistake? Y-you promise?”

“I promise.”

Jack took a deep breath, while a cool wave of relief washed over him. He graciously accepted the water the flight attendants brought for him, and he used a tissue to wipe the tears from his eyes. After a few moments he began to chuckle. “I’m such an idiot,” he said. “It was just so sudden, I’m sorry I flipped out.”

Rose closed her eyes and ducked her head in acknowledgement. She retrieved her book and once again continued to read. “I already regret this promise.”

******

Sebastian drove onto the busy street, checking his mirrors before pulling into the sole vacant spot. The streets of Washington D.C were as busy as Manhattan’s were. Though the buildings weren’t as tall, the traffic was worse.

They’d be meeting Cyrus across the street. Sebastian didn’t like this; no, not one bit. No matter how smoothly things went, he couldn’t picture a situation that didn’t result in a loss of life. Nothing with Cyrus ended well, at least not for the people involved.

Why? Sebastian thought. Why hasn’t the organization done anything yet?

After a decade-long hunt, he’d managed to locate and bring Cyrus back to the states, so why wasn’t the organization moving in to either kill or apprehend the maniacal Psych? Sebastian had tried infinitely many times to reach his old contacts, but they were seemingly ignoring him, and from the looks of things they were ignoring Requiem as well. No matter how many times he questioned her, the answer was always the same: she’d been told to find Sebastian and wait. He believed her, too. What game was the organization playing at?

“Darling, why must I stay in the car?” she asked.

“Because, Requiem, I need you here. That’s why.”

Requiem inclined her head in defiance, her blue eyes filling with mistrust. “You think you’re protecting me from witnessing bad things, don’t you? Sebastian, Darling, I’d make you blush with the things I’ve seen and done. I’m getting out of the car.”

Sebastian wasn’t in the mood to argue. It was true he didn’t know what Requiem had done before she found him and Cyrus, but he didn’t care, either. Sebastian felt like the girl was his responsibility now, and he would be damned if she was getting out of the car. She leaned over to unlock the door, and Sebastian pushed her back into the seat. “Requiem,” he growled. “You’re staying put, and that’s that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Darling, remove your hands from me this instant.”

“You won’t stay put, will you?”

“No.”

Sebastian sighed and drew a small bit of power. There was a sharp zipping sound. The two seat belts in the back of the Honda Civic ripped free and coiled around her, along with the two in the front. “How dare you!” Requiem shouted. The seat belts twirled, wrapping around both Requiem and the seat, securing her. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Sebastian leaped out of the vehicle as a sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. “Cut it out, Requiem!” He limped the last few feet into the bank before gaining enough distance to be free of her spiteful mental attacks.

Cyrus and three other Psychs were sitting with their legs crossed on a nearby bench, while seven other Psychs tagging along were integrated at tactical positions around the bank. Sebastian walked to the bench and took a seat.

Cyrus grinned. “Ah, right on time, Sebastian. You ready to have some fun?”

A nervous pit of despair worked its way into Sebastian’s stomach, but the acidic burn barely registered when compared to the agony of his conscience. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Cyrus asked. “Do we really need one?” The three Psychs sitting next to him laughed. “Here’s the plan. Break into the vault, get the money, and kill as many people as we can in the process.” Cyrus didn’t bother to lower his voice. Luckily, no one around was paying any attention.

This isn’t good. Why is H.Q letting this happen? Why won’t my wife answer my damn phone calls!

Sebastian prayed the unfortunate patrons of the bank would cooperate. If not, bodies would pile up. It only took one look at Cyrus’s scarred-yet-playful face for Sebastian to know he’d done right by restraining Requiem.

I don’t care what she’s seen, he thought. I’m not letting her be a part of this.

It was a medium-sized bank, with ten tellers placed behind a thick glass with small openings on the bottom where patrons could exchange money and bank slips. The vault off to the left was constructed from solid reinforced-steel. The place was squeaky-clean, well-kept, and tended to. Flowerpots and water jugs were on each end of the bank, and Sebastian spotted an office filled with loan and mortgage experts who were prattling away with clients behind a solid wall of glass.

Cyrus got off the bench and ambled his way to the middle of the bank; Sebastian and the three Psychs followed behind. It was amazing he wasn’t already drawing attention, what with the hideous tattoo of the raven and the dark-red scars forming circles around his eyes. The seven Psychs, who were blending in around the bank, watched Cyrus from the corners of their eyes. “Sebastian,” he said. “Break them.”

Sebastian waved a hand, and one by one, the twenty security cameras around the room fell to the ground, cracking against the shiny floor and startling the nearby customers. Then Cyrus removed a pistol from his coat and fired three rounds into the air, and everything that followed happened at once.

The screams began instantly. As if trained, both the bank’s patrons and employees threw themselves to the floor and took cover. Five of the seven mingling Psychs positioned around the room were Kinetics, and they were next to add to the chaos. The glass windows in front of the tellers’ booths exploded, and all eight of the tellers were kinetically pulled forward, crying out in pain and confusion as they scraped along the glass and soared through the air, until finally landing on the floor near Cyrus.

The glass wall to the mortgage and loan section was next to shatter. It exploded in a shower of tiny shards. Cries of terror filled the bank as the three Psychs nearest Sebastian and Cyrus dashed inside and forced the men and women out to join the rest of the hostages. The Kinetics forced the few people still standing to fall on their faces.

The shouting continued until Cyrus again fired three rounds into the ceiling. “Quiet!” he commanded.

The bank went silent, save for the soft crying and whimpering from the panicked hostages huddled together on the floor. These poor people had no idea what, how, or why any of this was happening. One elderly woman stood up on her shaking feet, struggling to keep balanced while her hands trembled along the hilt of her cane. She tried to make a run for the exit.

“Hey!” Cyrus called. “Old woman, get the hell back here! If you don’t, I’ll—wait a minute, what am I saying? It isn’t even worth the energy. Ems, take her out.”

“Gladly,” Ems, a young, Telepath woman said. She pointed her rifle at the slowly fleeing woman and fired off a single round, causing people to twitch at the loud crackle of gunfire. The elderly woman’s head snapped back as the bullet ripped through her right eye and then exited from the rear of her skull. Blood leaked over the previously clean floors, and people screamed hysterically.

“Shuddup! Or I’ll kill all of you!”

Sebastian looked at the frightened face of the deceased woman, and felt guilt pound at his heart.

Damn you, Alana. Why are you allowing this?

“Sebastian,” Cyrus said. “Show me what you’re made of. Give these people a show.”

Sebastian nodded at Cyrus and turned in the direction of the vault. This wouldn’t be easy. He drew out every last bit of power he possessed—every drop of strength earned from a lifetime of dedication to his affinity. With one grunting wave of the hand, there was a bang. Gasps came from around the room as the vault door ripped free and crashed down against the bank’s tiled floor, knocking over a nearby jug of water. Plastic cups rolled along the floor on the heels of a stream of liquid.

Cyrus clapped; he was clearly impressed. It was one thing Sebastian would always have over his “master”. Cyrus might be the most powerful living Psych, and yes, the Unrestricted would easily be able to kill Sebastian if he wished, but one thing Cyrus would never be was a more powerful Telekinetic than Sebastian was. Not he or anyone else.

“Franklin, Ems, get Sebastian his money,” Cyrus said. “Now it’s my turn.”

Sebastian tensed. “Cyrus, what do you mean by that? Why did you say, ‘Get Sebastian his money?’ Don’t you mean, ‘Get us our money’?”

Cyrus came over to Sebastian and gave him a pat on the back. “Nah, you can have it, buddy. You told me you’re only here for the money, right? So here it is. It's all yours.”

“So … so we can take it and leave?”

Cyrus tilted his head and sourly puckered his lips. “Now, now, Sebastian, don’t be selfish. It’s not nice to think only about yourself. You came here for the money, and I came here to have some fun.”

“Somehow I get the feeling you’re not going to let these people leave here alive.”

Cyrus laughed, and it was a powerful guffaw. He put one hand on his stomach and another on Sebastian’s shoulder to steady himself. The other ten Psychs joined in. “Th-this guy’s a comedian,” Cyrus cried out laughing. Of all things, tears of joy formed in his eyes. “H-he said, ‘You’re not going to let these people leave.’ I love him! That’s good old Sebastian, for ya. What a loveable rascal he is.”

Cyrus gave him one final affectionate nudge on the shoulder then turned to greet his whimpering captives. “Everybody up. Now!” When no one moved, he added, “I’m killing the last one of you to get up.”

That got them moving. Forty-five people bolted to their feet, and every one of them had tears in their eyes. Cyrus jabbed a middle-aged Manipulator playfully in the ribs. “Yo, Sammy, who was the last one up?”

Her voice was melodic. “Not sure,” she hummed. “I think it was that orange-haired man. Or was it the freckle-faced fat kid?”

“I say we kill them both,” Ems added.

Cyrus held out a fatherly finger, shaking it in mock-discipline. “Come now, I said only the slowest would die. You know what? Let’s go by a show of hands. Everyone who thinks it was the fat kid raise your hand. Okay”—he began counting—“all right. One, two, three, four... okay, so four of you. Now everyone who thinks it was the orange-haired dude. All right, one, two, three—h-hey! Ems, you voted already, get your damn hand down. Crap, now I gotta start over because I lost count. Okay, one, two, three, four, five, six. Orange-haired man it is. You want this one, Sammy?”

A wicked smile crossed her face. “I’m already on it.” The man with orange hair looked left then right, a wordless cry for help mixed in with a desperate confusion. He began to moan, the moan turning soon into a full-on wail. Even through the man’s shouting, the sizzling was still audible as his skin turned to jelly. Terrified men and women backed away from him as his screaming lips detached themselves from his face and landed on the floor, the corpse falling down soon after.

Sebastian kept a straight face—he had to. How could he stand there and watch these atrocities take place? Perhaps if he surprised Cyrus, he could—

No, he reminded himself. I’m no match for him. God help me, but all I can do is watch.

Once again, the hostages broke into uncontrollable bouts of sobbing and whimpering. Cyrus cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, would any of you like to walk out of here alive?”

There were murmurs and more sobs. One young woman, who looked to be no older than twenty, pushed herself off the floor and stepped forward, her face drenched in tears. Her eyes were red, and her nose leaked mucus. “P-please,” she said, shaking. “I’ll do anything.”

Cyrus nodded. “Good, good, well today’s your lucky day. Because good old Cyrus here is gonna let you walk out of here! That’s right, yes, you heard me—he’s gonna let you just walk right on outta’ here! All you need to do is play a little game. How’s that sound?”

During Cyrus’ speech, Ems had departed and returned carrying sacks filled with money. Sebastian looked down on the bags with disgust. “Thanks, Ems,” Sebastian said, forcing the revulsion out of his voice.

“No problem, Sebastian. I’d do anything for a friend.” She tipped the baseball cap she wore and smiled.

Cyrus paced back and forth between the trembling hostages. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. Everyone line up in a neat and organized line. We’re playing a game called ‘Red Light Green Light.’ It’s a very simple game. When I turn around, I call out green light. As long as I’m not looking in your direction, any one of you is free to run for your lives. I promise you ya won’t be harmed. BUT! When I call out red light, you all need to remain completely still. If anyone moves so much as a muscle, you’re out. Though, in this case I think we know what ‘out’ means, don’t we ladies and gentlemen?”

The Psychs laughed, but Cyrus frowned when none of the hostages did. “Oh, come on, people, that was a hilarious joke. Whatever. Does anyone not understand the rules of the game?”

A middle-aged man raised his hand. His voice was surprisingly calm given the situation. “Sir, I don’t understand the rules. Please, I beg you, can you repeat them?”

Cyrus cocked his head sideways and smirked. “Ems, you got this?”

Ems laughed. “Yeah, boss, I got this.” Her rifle rang out twice, and then man fell dead to the floor. Blood splattered two nearby women, who shrieked at the red fluid dripping down their faces.

“Does anyone else not know how to play the game? No one? Good. All right, here we go.” Cyrus’ entire mouth contorted, twisting into a maddened smile that was in some ways just as enraged as it was amused. “Red light!”