glanced in the mirror. She looked tired. Three months of intense training will do that , she thought. The rest of the team, with the exception of Jen Choi and Captain Harris, looked just as tired and beaten as she did. As the water dripped away from her eyelids, a wisp of motion caught her attention. The shower curtain behind her had moved ever so slightly, as though a gust of wind had swept through the room, but there were no windows open and her door was locked.
Or was it? Connelly couldn't remember.
Connelly turned to inspect the shower, but before she could even raise her hand to the curtain, it burst open and a figure, dressed in black, stood inside the shower stall.
Staring wide eyed, Connelly was confused and bewildered. Peterson, dressed like a Navy Seal, was standing inside her shower, gazing into her eyes and flashing his perfect smile.
"What the hell are you doing?" Connelly said.
"C'mon, Kath. Don't pretend you're not happy to see me." Peterson's voice had a tone to it that Connelly had never felt before. But Connelly was no longer noticing his voice, or his smile, it was his hands that held her attention. He was wearing tight, black gloves, the kind you see burglars or murderers wearing in made-for-TV movies. Connelly's eyes returned to Peterson's as he stepped out of the shower.
"Try not to fight it, Kath. I'll make it as painless as possible." With that, Peterson leapt forward and gripped Connelly's throat with both hands and squeezed down.
A wave of panic crashed over Connelly's body. Her chest tightened and hurt as though someone had reached through her ribcage and gripped her heart. Orbs of light spun in her vision. She looked up at Peterson's face, which was twisted with rage. His eyes were glazed over. He was drooling. "How's this for telekinesis, Kath?"
What ? How did he know ? Had he read her mind ?
No. That's impossible.
The reality hit her like a fist. Her mind spun madly and her back arched in pain.
Then the tightness was gone, from her chest and her throat. She opened her eyes and blinked in the brightness of the room's bright lights.
"Turn the lights down," a familiar voice said. Robert.
The lights dimmed and a sea of faces came into focus.
"Am I awake?" Connelly asked.
"Yes," someone replied.
She remembered everything now. She had been put into a deep REM sleep so that her psyche could be stress tested. People who passed the test could take a shower, sleep it off, and be back to work the next day. People who failed needed weeks of therapy. It isn't every day that your worst fears, which are secret even from yourself, are revealed to you. Connelly felt the sensors being taken from her forehead and body by unseen hands.
"How did I do?" she asked.
Robert's smiling face filled her vision as he leaned in close. "You, ah, you did great. But you must have had a doozy of a dream there at the end. Your heart rate skyrocketed just before you woke up."
"It was Michael…"
"I was in your dream?"
Connelly held her breath. She forgot that the entire crew watched the reactions of the sleeping subject, so they could see for themselves how the dreamer reacted physically to stress. She turned her head in the direction of Peterson's voice and saw him standing a few feet away. He wasn't angry or drooling, and black gloves were not on his hands.
"Hope I didn't hurt you," he said with a small smile that revealed he knew the dream was bad.
"Actually," Connelly said, "You killed me."
For a brief moment, Peterson looked sad, but a smile quickly replaced the frown. "Still," he said, "it's nice to know you're thinking of me."
* * * * *
For three months, Connelly and her crew had been subjected to personal interviews that delved into the deepest depths of their psychology, subjected to embarrassing medical exams, endured physical training and evaluation, and all that was before the technical lessons that everyone had to learn…just in case the worst case scenario
Or was it? Connelly couldn't remember.
Connelly turned to inspect the shower, but before she could even raise her hand to the curtain, it burst open and a figure, dressed in black, stood inside the shower stall.
Staring wide eyed, Connelly was confused and bewildered. Peterson, dressed like a Navy Seal, was standing inside her shower, gazing into her eyes and flashing his perfect smile.
"What the hell are you doing?" Connelly said.
"C'mon, Kath. Don't pretend you're not happy to see me." Peterson's voice had a tone to it that Connelly had never felt before. But Connelly was no longer noticing his voice, or his smile, it was his hands that held her attention. He was wearing tight, black gloves, the kind you see burglars or murderers wearing in made-for-TV movies. Connelly's eyes returned to Peterson's as he stepped out of the shower.
"Try not to fight it, Kath. I'll make it as painless as possible." With that, Peterson leapt forward and gripped Connelly's throat with both hands and squeezed down.
A wave of panic crashed over Connelly's body. Her chest tightened and hurt as though someone had reached through her ribcage and gripped her heart. Orbs of light spun in her vision. She looked up at Peterson's face, which was twisted with rage. His eyes were glazed over. He was drooling. "How's this for telekinesis, Kath?"
What ? How did he know ? Had he read her mind ?
No. That's impossible.
The reality hit her like a fist. Her mind spun madly and her back arched in pain.
Then the tightness was gone, from her chest and her throat. She opened her eyes and blinked in the brightness of the room's bright lights.
"Turn the lights down," a familiar voice said. Robert.
The lights dimmed and a sea of faces came into focus.
"Am I awake?" Connelly asked.
"Yes," someone replied.
She remembered everything now. She had been put into a deep REM sleep so that her psyche could be stress tested. People who passed the test could take a shower, sleep it off, and be back to work the next day. People who failed needed weeks of therapy. It isn't every day that your worst fears, which are secret even from yourself, are revealed to you. Connelly felt the sensors being taken from her forehead and body by unseen hands.
"How did I do?" she asked.
Robert's smiling face filled her vision as he leaned in close. "You, ah, you did great. But you must have had a doozy of a dream there at the end. Your heart rate skyrocketed just before you woke up."
"It was Michael…"
"I was in your dream?"
Connelly held her breath. She forgot that the entire crew watched the reactions of the sleeping subject, so they could see for themselves how the dreamer reacted physically to stress. She turned her head in the direction of Peterson's voice and saw him standing a few feet away. He wasn't angry or drooling, and black gloves were not on his hands.
"Hope I didn't hurt you," he said with a small smile that revealed he knew the dream was bad.
"Actually," Connelly said, "You killed me."
For a brief moment, Peterson looked sad, but a smile quickly replaced the frown. "Still," he said, "it's nice to know you're thinking of me."
* * * * *
For three months, Connelly and her crew had been subjected to personal interviews that delved into the deepest depths of their psychology, subjected to embarrassing medical exams, endured physical training and evaluation, and all that was before the technical lessons that everyone had to learn…just in case the worst case scenario
Similar Books
