“Take a damn breath, Player. You got shot in the head and shouldn’t be on your feet this long. Steele said the injury was bad and you should be dead. Worse, he said he probably would have lost you. He told me the injury is healed but the migraines are worse than ever. Somehow, this woman has helped you with them, but he isn’t certain what she’s doing. I’m guessing a good part of this is wrapped up in Zyah. You need to give it to me one step at a time. Just sit in a fucking chair before you fall down, and start at the beginning. Start with the fucked-up mess.”
Czar sounded the same. Calm. Reasonable. In command. Player took the required breath and dropped into the chair opposite his president, suddenly grateful to be off his feet. He hadn’t realized how weak he felt.
He pressed a hand to his pounding head. “When we were kids, I recognized that all of you had psychic gifts. You had everyone practicing so they could contribute to our survival. I didn’t think I had one. It felt like I was the lone screwup, the person that everyone else had to carry.” He made the confession in a low voice.
Czar didn’t say anything. He never did. He wasn’t the type of man to interrupt unless it was for a good reason. He waited, giving Player the time to tell things his own way.
“Eventually, I realized I could create illusions. Small ones. It felt like a useless little parlor trick to me, and it was, in comparison to what everyone else could do. I’ve always hated casting illusions. What real good is it?”
Czar’s eyebrow shot up. “Are you asking that question for real? You remember things a little differently than I do, Player,” Czar said at his nod. “I remember you were nine years old and everything had gone to hell. Sorbacov was about to catch us red-handed. You threw a false image of a wall and door up, a perfect replica of the room, making it empty so we all could escape out the real door. You had to do that often. More than once. He never saw us. Never suspected. You were only nine and you held that illusion long enough for all of us to make it out. It wasn’t easy. I remember waiting to be last. Sweat was beaded on your forehead, running down your face. I signaled to you to get through the door and let the illusion collapse.”
Player nodded, his breath coming too fast. His chest hurt. He rubbed over his pounding heart. “But you didn’t see the aftermath.” His voice was very low. Ashamed. Guilt-ridden. I never told you what happens after.”
Czar’s gaze instantly locked onto his face. “What happens after, Player?”
Player swallowed down bile. He wanted to look away from those piercing eyes. Czar could always see people for who they were. He could see into souls. Why hadn’t he seen all the blood on Player’s soul?
“If I hold the illusion too long, past the point where my brain can manage, reality begins to intrude. An alternate reality. In that case, I saw Sorbacov turn his head and look at us just before we went through the door. My head was pounding. We made it down to the dungeon. All of you were celebrating, but I was still locked into that place and I couldn’t get out of it. It had happened to me before, more than once, and I knew it could be dangerous. I didn’t want to bring him down there, to see everyone, even if it would be under slightly different circumstances.”
Czar hitched forward, steepling his fingers, clearly trying to understand. “Keep going.”
Player searched for the right words, trying to make Czar see the very real dangers. “Whatever is happening in the illusion is just an illusion, like the wall. But in the reality, that shit is the real deal. If Sorbacov is present, if someone has a gun, those things are real. That night, Sorbacov was angry that he didn’t catch us in the act, and he was certain we were the ones who had killed that bloated pig of an instructor.”
“He came down to the dungeon to check on us,” Czar said. “We knew he would. We had everything in place. Code had the cameras working, appearing as if nothing had interrupted them. I remember looking at you, and you were definitely stressed. Covered in sweat. Very unusual for you.”
“Because the reality was something I could barely control.”
Czar shook his head. “We knew he would come down to check on us.”
“Think back, Czar. That’s not true. Sorbacov wasn’t supposed to be there that night. That’s the reason you put the green light on killing Matrix.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Matrix had a huge fight with the math teacher that morning. Every one of the other teachers knew about it. No one was going to blame a bunch of kids who were so torn up we could barely move. That’s what you’d said to us.”