Chronicles of Han Storm, Preserving Creata Part 1, 2, 3

Preserving Creata - Part 1 - Chapter 5 - Chronicles of Han Storm (Audio)

*** Five ***

    It was not.

I dreamt the whole night of procedures and paperwork, waking up drenched in sweat. After a shower I dressed straight into my uniform, figuring that it was a complete waste of time getting dressed at HQ.

I also did not want to spend more time in the locker room than necessary, having to face people who shun me because of what I was.

Driving one-handed, I finished my light breakfast on the way to the office, arriving at our cubicle at exactly 06h00, feeling pleased with myself for being on time.

Tucker was not there, neither were the case-files.

I waited, at a loss as to what to do. The place seemed deserted with the shift-change rush only starting at 07h00.

Hearing voices in the passage, I went to see who it was, stopping when I saw Tucker in earnest conversation with someone standing out of my view.

When Tucker noticed me watching them, he closed the door to the office.

A definite sign that I was not invited, I retreated back to our desk, sitting down, knowing that their heated discussing was about me.

I had woken up with a really uncomfortable feeling regarding today. Bordering on premonition, it was that same feeling you get at the pit of your stomach when you knew something was going down, and it was not going to be good for you.

I waited quite a while, trying to keep all thoughts at bay by visualizing a blank page. It was really hard not to let any thoughts enter that page. At least it kept me occupied and not speculating about 'what ifs'.

Tucker eventually joined me, sitting down with a sigh, staring at me for so long I started fiddling with my uniform buttons while he seemed to be making up his mind about something.

"I want to go show you something," he stated at long last, confirming my suspicions that he had indeed been wondering about 'something'.

"Come," he encouraged, standing up stiffly before heading out to the squad vehicle.

This time he did not hand me the keys, but drove us in pre-occupied silence to Dunn Cove.

Just before we reached the parking space at Dunn Cove, we turned east onto a dirt road with a huge 'Private - No Entry' sign.

The road was in acceptable condition, indicating that it was in regular use.

Soon the road became a lane with brush on both sides. Eventually the brush on our left was replaced by thorny brambles, growing as high as a man's head. The occasional spike showing between the brambles indicated a fence just beyond the thickets.

This scenery continued until Tucker stopped our vehicle in front of giant, wrought-iron gates, bolted and locked from the inside.

Beyond the gate and immaculate garden was a huge facility that could have been a prison, or maybe a hospital. I had not been aware that there were buildings down this road.

Glancing over at Tucker, I patiently waited for him to say something.

"I need you to understand the situation you find yourself in," Tucker stated, glaring at the facility with hatred. "This is a rehab for abused psychics. It is to places like these that the Government sends the ones that might be rehabilitated after cracking on the job. Post Traumatic Stress they call it.

The specific psychic skills that you presented yesterday are extremely rare and, unfortunately, like with all rare items, much sought after.

What makes your situation more difficult is that you are showing incredible healing skills too. And worse, all of this without any formal training. This makes you, at least in my eyes, unique."