Divided by Madeline Dyer

Author:Madeline Dyer [Dyer, Madeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ineja Press

“Your powers are still blocked.” Raleigh shakes his head, his earlier kindness gone. Now, there’s something dark and dangerous in his voice, his face, his manner. “This isn’t right, Shania. No, no, no. Your conscious mind is…” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “It’s your grief. Has to be. But you’re not even trying to get over it. And with all I’ve done for you as well, getting your dog back and the fun days—and you’ve looked so peaceful in your sleep! No—this is just selfish, holding onto your grief, using it as a shield.”

I twist around as much as the chair with the wires will allow—at least the needles are no longer in my head. I’m still in my room. The new room. But the chair’s here—that machine.

The dog? Where is he?

How has this… Raleigh. Oh Gods.

“You’re being selfish.” Raleigh steps closer, stoops a little, until his face is directly in front of mine. “You shouldn’t be able to hold onto grief this long, this strongly.” He shakes his head. “Get over it now and get your powers back. I know you can do it.”

I force my neck to turn, manage to look to my left. See a shape on the floor, see—

It’s the terrier. My terrier. Just lying there.

My heart jolts.

“What have you done to him?” My voice is high, and my words tumble out.

I flinch, try to move, but the chair holds me in place.

“Raleigh—what have you done?”

“He’s just sleeping.”

“He’s not sleeping!” Somehow, I get an arm free and point at my dog. “He doesn’t sleep through anything!” I yell.

And especially not Raleigh doing this to me. The terrier should be barking and growling and attacking Raleigh—he hates him, hates the Enhanced.

“You drugged him?” The realization dawns on me, and I think hard. How? The food—the last meal?

And I didn’t wake up either—not when Raleigh came in, brought the chair in here, moved me out of the bed and into the chair….

“You drugged me too?”

“Easier that way,” he says. “And I wanted to be sure that it really is grief. And not you actively blocking me.”

How are you doing it? The words echo through me, but they’re in his voice…spoken earlier, when I was dreaming…they invaded my dream.

I swallow awkwardly, though I don’t know why—because my lack of powers isn’t anything I’m doing.

“And you’re satisfied that it’s not me? That I haven’t got control of it?” I ask. Because he has to be, if he probed and is still blaming my grief. Didn’t find what he was looking for?

“Your mind was the same unconscious.” He cracks his knuckles—it’s the same thing Three did before, and my stomach hardens. “It would appear you’re not in control of it. But you’re letting the darkness win, Shania. You’re not fighting the grief. You’re letting it take hold.”

I look at my dog, limp on the floor. I remember how safe I felt, curled up with him before I went to sleep. How, for the last few days,

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