The Skylar Experiment : Dead Ending (second draft)

98. Carnival Mirror Hall

RILEY

SINCE THAT DAY, Raymond and Lauren became total workaholics, stopping only to eat, sleep and for mandatory breaks which they used to argue over the work space. Sometimes, Lauren broke away to practice the freaky brain-scrambling trick with Luc.

Overall, I was witnessing two computer cracks in their full glory.

Raymond liked to work with music. Supposedly the rock songs were so loud at times that it blared through his headphones, and she didn't appreciate it.

They had a routine and habits. Bringing energy drinks and snacks to their desks, mindlessly munching. Dressing down in sweats and light shirts. Bed head and low buns. The work consumed them.

While one of them was listening into the tapped rooms, the other was making progress with the inhibitor's code. When the rooms went quiet, they regrouped on one task.

Yesterday, they'd left the house to use programs available at the university. I bided my time by training my light beams and moving stuff. Tame goals and no fighting. I carried the shame of almost burning the house down which didn't encourage me to try bold stuff.

Ever since that fever, most things felt easier—more natural.

Commands flowed to my mind like a current of water, and with the flick of a hand, I could now produce an array of reactions. 

When Luc wasn't practicing with me or his sister, he vanished to patrol the neighborhood, falling back into old habits. This time, not for Wanderers or hunters. His concern was suspect presence in the streets, plainclothed officers searching the area or coming too close to the residence. Often, I woke before sunrise to find his side of the bed cold.

Oh, he thought he could dodge and keep me inside? 

I used the excuse of errands to join him on patrols. That required me to wake up earlier to catch him. He grew antsy in my company, fueled by the inaction of slow days. Much like the good old days of monitoring my house, he prowled most of the neighborhood in quiet, on foot. 

I saw the seclusive appeal of this ritual, more than ever amid the disorder in our lives. This reminded me of the night hours spent in the amusement park, though Luc was relaxed only in appearance. Whenever the first traces of dawn began to uncloak the sleepy community, he guided me up on a rooftop, interrupting his watch to sit through my favorite part of it. 

Once, he'd been hovering around Raymond and Lauren in the living room, checking in if they needed a takeover for the conversations so that both could rally around the coding part. 

"Everything's fine and taken care of," his sister had said with her back to him. "You can go make me a sandwich."

He'd pivoted around so fast it was cartoonish. "I can sure as hell give you a knuckle sandwich if that's what you're—"

"Great. As long as there's tomato, cheese, and ham," she'd waved off with her eyes glued to a screen, unimpressed.

I'd gone to help him make a plate full of sandwiches that would last until tomorrow as snacks. But with every menial task we did, we were wary about the tapped rooms.

So far, nothing interesting about eventual deliveries and how they played out. I knew who was in charge of listening in when they switched roles and one of them was grumbling. 

On top of this humdrum rhythm, there was an unrest that we couldn't fend off, and it roamed in the back of our minds. It had a name. Michael. There was no way that, as Raymond's former employer and friend, he didn't know where he lived. When I'd asked Luc about that before bed, I grasped that he had no real answer prepared.