Mind's Eye (Mind's Eye, #1)

MIND’S EYE

  Rebecca A. Rogers

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2014 Rebecca A. Rogers

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: January 1, 2014

  What is a television apparatus to man, who has only to shut his eyes to see the most inaccessible regions of the seen and the never seen, who has only to imagine in order to pierce through walls and cause all the planetary Baghdads of his dreams to rise from the dust?

  - Salvador Dali

  1

  The Dred clan’s army had marched into my kingdom overnight. These creatures were vile, showing no mercy for anyone who stood in their way. Their black tentacles spread out from their heads, like Medusa’s snakes, and their teeth were filed down to razor-sharp points. I hadn’t figured out why, exactly, they declared war on my people, but it made no difference; once the Dreds avowed warfare, they were going to battle one way or another.

  “My men are ready, Empress,” Borphan said with a quick bow. He was an obedient, right-hand being, who was always eager to serve me. Where he was from, there were only overly-muscular creatures willing to take up arms.

  “Perfect,” I responded. “Tell them to suit up with the rest of us. If the Dreds are going to bring chaos to my kingdom, I want my people prepared.”

  Borphan nodded and exited the armory.

  Through a slotted window in my stony castle, I peered out at the horizon. The land was covered in reddish-brown sand, and dunes formed hills all around the valley. How did it come to this? The Dred clan was never on my doorstep, waiting to start a war. In my mind, they were always far away, in some distant land, out of reach. I had to be extremely tired for my imagination to play this game.

  It didn’t matter. If war was what they wanted, then war was what they’d receive.

  I pulled my meteorite-infused breastplate over my head, sliding it into place. Borphan reentered the armory and helped me gear up in the rest of my body armor. I still hadn’t mastered the art of wearing a protective outfit. At least a hundred other men suited up around me, their heavy armor and swords clanging.

  Borphan paced up and down the length of the armory. “The men are prepared,” he said as he neared me. “Empress, it is time.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it just as quickly. From someplace nearby, a woman called my name.

  “Kearly! Kearly!”

  That almost sounded like…

  “Get out here right now!”

  …my mom.

  I looked at Borphan, who was oblivious to my mom’s voice. After all, this place, Borphan, my army—they were only figments of my imagination.

  “I have to go, but I promise I’ll be back.”

  “Did you hear me?” My mom’s gravelly voice from years of smoking was unique, and the pitch held a warning.

  Borphan frowned, perplexed by my sudden need to depart, especially when we were on the brink of battle. “Empress?”

  “Bye,” I whispered.

  “Kearly!” Her voice was louder this time.

  I closed my eyes and imagined being back in my room, curled up under my comforter. Tabitha burst through my bedroom door, and I faked still being asleep. Maybe she’d actually buy the act.

  “I know you aren’t deaf. Get out of that bed and get ready for school.”

  Opening one eyelid, I peeked up at her. “I don’t want to go to school.”

  She shook her head, annoyed. “No kid wants to go to school. Now, get up.” She slammed my door so hard, I winced. What was her deal? Was she short on hours at the bar this week?

  Regrettably, I slid out of bed and skimmed through the clothes in my closet, in hopes of finding something decent to wear. But I settled for dark denim, a graphic tee, and my black, lace-up, combat boots. My hair was always disorderly, and the irony of it looking like a nest didn’t escape me, since it was the color of a raven’s feather.

  I snatched my over-the-shoulder book bag on the way out. Tabitha, a.k.a. Mother Dearest, sat on our threadbare couch she bought at Goodwill, smoking another cig. The ashtray on the makeshift coffee table—which was actually the box our brand-new, flat-screen TV came in—overflowed with butts and ashes. As usual, she was watching the morning news on channel twelve.

  “You working today?” I asked.

  “Nah. They cut my hours.” She stabbed one of the not-so-full ashtrays with her cig, extinguishing the lit end. Her left leg swayed back and forth to no particular beat. Maybe that happened when a person didn’t have booze lying around.

  So, she was acting strangely because her hours were nonexistent. Fewer hours equaled more bitchiness in the Ashling household. If Tabitha wasn’t constantly working, she was in a foul mood, and she always took her anger and frustration out on me.

  “I want all of this cleaned up when you get home this afternoon,” she said, waving her hand over the disgusting array of empty beer bottles and used-up cigarette holders. That counted for the kitchen, too. When the coffee table wouldn’t hold anything else, she and her friends would take the trash to the kitchen…and leave it there. “Vic and David are coming over tonight, and I don’t want them thinkin’ we live like pigs.”

  “But we do live like pigs,” I reminded her.

  Tabitha’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, and without giving her the chance to correct me, I exited through the front door. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t hear her cussing me from inside the trailer. She was good at blaming me for her problems, and after years of living under the same roof, I was immune to her bullshit.

  Outside, my little blue Bug—the classic version, not the newest version—sat in the driveway, next to Tabitha’s Monte Carlo. The sun hung low in the sky, its rays filtering through the tree limbs surrounding the trailer park. The air was crisp and clean, a complete one-eighty from what I breathed inside.

  Sliding into my front seat, I started my car and headed over to Central Falls High School, where Liz and Deandra were probably waiting. It was my morning ritual with those two—we’d smoke a quick cig before first period, catch up on any stupid gossip, and then make our way class. This had been going on since our freshman year.

  I parked in my school-assigned parking space. After stepping out and shutting my door, I immediately began searching for Liz and Dee. Since parking was around the backside of the school, that usually meant they were standing off to the side, hiding from faculty while they smoked, or off grabbing a biscuit from the local café before the day began.

  I was wrong on both accounts; they were on the front lawn, underneath one of the large trees.

  “What took you so long?” Liz asked, smacking her gum. It always amazed me that her blonde tresses were perfectly curled this early in the morning. And Dee’s hair? She was always sporting a trendy style, with random streaks of color—blue, green, red, pink. Basically, her hair was a mood ring. I was a little jealous, since my hair wouldn’t cooperate for any reason whatsoever.

  “Had to survey the damage Tabitha caused last night,” I replied. “And I was running late.”

  Liz and Dee rolled their eyes, and Liz handed me a lighter.

  “You don’t have time to smoke half of one, you know,” Liz reminded me, referring to the first bell ringing at any second. She relinquished a menthol cigarette, anyway.

  “So? We can share,” I said, lighting up. The cool mint breeze tickled the back of my throat, giving me a brief hi
gh.

  “Dee and I have already smoked ours. We weren’t sure if you’d show up or not.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Liz shrugged, then nodded toward the cigarette. “Tabitha still doesn’t know?”

  “Nope,” I said, white smoke trailing my words. “She’s not going to, either. Not if I play it cool. Besides, she’s too drunk to know where she’s at ninety percent of the time.” I flicked the cig and ashes fell off.

  “That’s for damn sure,” Dee chimed in.

  The annoying first bell blared from the speakers outside. I dropped the cigarette and stomped out the cherry. None of us said anything as we passed through the large wooden doors and split into different directions. We were so used to our routine. We never had classes together, but everyone shared the same lunchtime. That was the only perk about this place.

  With my book bag weighing me down, I ran with my body angled, hoping I’d make it before the second bell rang. My first class was on the backside of the building, a good three to five minutes from the front entrance. Seriously, this place was huge.

  Mrs. Bryson’s English class was first on my roster this year. As I neared her door, it was like someone reached inside my stomach and hugged my intestines, squeezing them as tightly as possible. Great. Mrs. Bryson already hated me for being tardy most of the time, and the one day I thought I’d slip into her classroom without a hitch was the one day I didn’t. Just my luck.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and strolled inside. Mrs. Bryson stood at the front of the class, her clipboard and red-ink pen in hand. Eyeing me over the rim of her glasses, she said, “Late again, Miss Ashling? If there was a hall of fame for tardy students, your name and picture would be at the very top. Have a seat.”

  Nobody made a sound. They knew I showed up late ninety-five percent of the time. They just didn’t care; I was old news.

  I sat down in one of the empty desks near the window. In the next row over, Ryan Carter—the local panty-collector and heartbreaker, who was not that attractive, in my opinion—stared at me. What did he want? I narrowed my eyes at him, hoping he’d get the message loud and clear. But he didn’t.

  He leaned over and whispered, “I know why you’re late.”

  For the briefest of seconds, my heart thrummed so hard against my chest, I thought I was having a mini heart attack. My mind scrambled to come up with a reply, but all I could think was, “He knows about me! He knows my secret!” But there’d be no way, right? Nobody knew about me, about my secret ability. How I could travel anywhere my imagination created.

  But I played it off like he was an idiot, who didn’t know his elbow from his asshole. “Oh, really? I highly doubt that, considering you can barely keep up with where the football is during a Friday-night game.”

  “Jeez, I was kidding,” he said. “I was gonna say you were smoking again.” One of his shaggy-blond locks hung over his right eye. “I can smell it from here. You should consider quitting, you know, for health reasons.”

  “Oh, my God. Thank you so much for reminding me,” I said, faking astonishment. “I’ll be sure to invest what little college fund I have on body spray.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Whatever, it’s your funeral,” then turned to face the front of the classroom, where Mrs. Bryson wrote Shakespeare’s name in capital letters across the dry-erase board.

  This was not how I envisioned my day. I had pictured meeting Liz and Dee before class, breezing through the first two periods, sitting with Liz and Dee at lunch, breezing through yet another two periods, heading over to Liz’s house after school, like we did every single day, and then going home, where I’d retreat to my room and finish the battle in my kingdom, on the planet Cyeor, with Borphan at my side. Was that too much to ask for?

  Apparently, it was.

  At lunch, Liz and Dee saved me a seat. Immediately, I began explaining the strange conversation I had with Ryan, in detail. Dee picked the pepperonis off her pizza while I talked, and Liz gave me her full attention. She and Ryan were, after all, a thing last summer.

  “Did he…say anything else?” Liz asked.

  I knew she’d be curious whether her name was mentioned or not.

  “Nope, that was it,” I responded. “Sorry.”

  Liz shrugged. “That’s cool. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

  “Liz,” I began, but wasn’t sure how to finish. I wasn’t all that great at comforting people when they felt down. “You two—”

  She shook her head. “Stop. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Dee frowned, then glanced at Liz and asked, “Does he still have a pair of your underwear?”

  “Yes,” Liz retorted through clenched teeth.

  Dee sighed so loudly I was surprised the entire cafeteria didn’t hear. “What I want to know is how someone that stupid becomes so popular.”

  I nearly choked on my water.

  “He’s not that stupid,” Liz said, making a sorry attempt to stick up for the guy who screwed her over. “I mean, he didn’t seem that way when we were together.”

  Dee dropped her slice of pizza onto her tray and glared at Liz. “Say what? Girl, there’s no man on this planet who’d keep my underwear as a damn souvenir. I’m not some ride at Six Flags or Disneyworld.”

  Liz’s chin quivered. “You guys suck.” She stood from the table, grabbed her tray, and carried it to the trash area, where she emptied the half-eaten contents into a large trashcan and left her tray on the counter for the lunch ladies to pick up.

  “Damn,” Dee stated. “I didn’t know she’d get so pissy.”

  “She’ll get over it. Liz is a bit overdramatic about things, anyway. You still want to meet up at her house after school?”

  “Yeah. Don’t we always?”

  A few tables over, Ryan sat with his posse. They were, by far, the loudest table in the cafeteria. Every word they said could be heard a mile away, and their nearly-consistent laughter bounced off the cafeteria’s walls. Sitting next to Ryan was Jessica Lyons, the queen bitch of Central Falls High. She and her giggling groupies ran the place, like a scene straight out of Mean Girls. Her fingers trailed underneath his shirt, a little too close to the edge of his jeans. Ryan grinned, a flush of red climbing from his neck to his face, and he planted a kiss on Jessica’s lips.

  That was the moment she noticed me watching. She whispered in Ryan’s ear, and he turned around on his seat, eyeing me up and down.

  “Yo, let me tell you guys about this crazy chick in my English Lit class,” Ryan started, swiveling back toward his little crowd. “She smells like she rolls around in an ash tray instead of taking a shower.”

  A couple of the groupies laughed.

  “I told her she stinks and needs to do something about it,” he continued.

  “Who is she?” someone asked.

  “Kearly Ashling.” Ryan jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, aiming it in my direction. Every person at the table stared at me.

  One of Jessica’s friends giggled. “Oh, her? Her mom’s a drunk, and she lives in a trailer park.”

  “What a freak.” Mack, one of Ryan’s best buds, felt the need to weigh in.

  That was it. That was all I needed to hear. I was going to tear that group apart.

  “Hey, Carter!” I yelled from across the room. Everyone at that table gradually stopped their annoying laughter and faced me.

  “Oh, here we go,” Dee mumbled.

  “Next time you want to talk shit,” I shouted, “you should make sure the person you’re talking about isn’t listening.” Ryan opened his mouth to say something unintelligent, I was sure, but I cut him off. “And if you’re going to tell a story, you better remember the details exactly as they happened.” I moved closer to him and the rest of that table.

  Ryan snorted. “What the hell are you talking about, Ashling?” He pinched the end of his nose and added, “Just don’t bring your stinky ass over here and we’ll be all right.”

  They all laughed.

  My ey
es constricted. “Maybe I should make up stories, like you, and let everyone guess if they’re real or not. Like, I bet Jessica here would love to learn that you’ve been sleeping with Amanda Summers every afternoon in the locker room after the basketball team begins practice. And what about Brittney?” I couldn’t believe I was saying this stuff, but it just flowed off my tongue. Brittney was one of Jessica’s best friends, and she sat three feet from me, next to Jessica. “Did you tell Jessica that you two have been meeting at Valley Falls Park at midnight for the past month?”

  Brittney’s expression was priceless. I’d never seen someone turn such a dark shade of red. She tried to utter a few words, but they just came out as moronic sputtering.

  Ryan closed his hands over Jessica’s wrists, trying to direct her attention at him. “She’s making this shit up, babe. I’ve never—”

  “Save it,” Jessica snapped, jerking out of his grasp and turning on her heel, but not before glaring at me. Was that distress? Embarrassment? Wait—did Jessica Lyons actually have feelings?

  “Way to fucking go, Ashling,” Ryan said as he breezed past me and marched after Jessica. Like that was going to change anything. He brought this on himself.

  There was one thing I’d learned while attending this hell hole: fake was always the trend. And the power couple known as Ryan Carter and Jessica Lyons? They were the trendsetters.

  2