Ex-Communication by Peter Clines (love story books to read .txt) 📕

monitor all broadcast communications within the Mount, and many beyond it. There have been no radio conversations that match up with the ones he is having. I have checked during sixteen separate incidents since then. He is not communicating with anyone.”

St. George stopped dicing. “What does that mean?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “It means he is talking to himself. Under normal circumstances, this would be seen as a sign of several possible personality disorders. Chronic anxiety. Dementia. Schizophrenia.”

His eyes fell to the cutting board and he was quiet for a moment. Then he looked at her again. “Under normal circumstances?”

Another plate slid onto the table from the stack in her hand. She framed it with silverware. “It is worth noting that Zzzap speaks to himself,” she said, setting down a spoon. “Barry does not.”

“Are you sure?”

“I cannot say conclusively. The majority of his time is spent as Zzzap, and most of his time in his human form is spent sleeping. However, in five months of observation I have never seen Barry speak to himself.”

“So it’s something about being Zzzap that’s doing this to him.”

“Perhaps. Or something he is only susceptible to in his energy form.”

St. George glanced at the door. He lifted the cutting board and used the knife to sweep the diced tomatoes into the pot. “So what do we do?”

She assembled the final place setting. “I do not know,” she admitted. “We have converted many buildings to solar power, but Zzzap still supplies half the electricity within the Big Wall. It would be a major setback if we decided he was unable to do this.”

“You think it’s that bad? We couldn’t even keep him in the chair?”

Stealth sighed and looked at him. “While Zzzap has often referred to himself as a small star, the truth is that his energy form is far closer to a nuclear bomb, one frozen in the instant after detonation. It is his conscious will that keeps the explosion from proceeding.”

St. George set an onion down on the cutting board and cut it in half.

“Consider the possibility of him seeing hallucinations as well as hearing them. If Zzzap were to fire one of his blasts at street level within the Mount, my best estimates have over sixty people killed or wounded, increased to one hundred fifty in the attempt to contain fires and damages.”

“If he’s insane.”

“Correct,” said Stealth, “although I have seen nothing yet that makes for a convincing diagnosis of any type. As I said, there is currently nothing we can do.”

“We can keep an eye on him. Let him know we’re here.” He finished chopping the onion and added it to the pot.

She came back to the kitchen. “I assumed that was a given.”

He set a handful of mushrooms on the cutting board. “I’m still not sure sometimes.”

“I care about his well-being,” she said. “Zzzap is a valuable asset to the Mount.”

St. George smiled. “That’s what you used to say about me.”

“It is still true. Any personal feelings I may have do not change that fact.” She gathered up the glasses. “I am no longer certain this is a wise course of action.”

“Not confronting him?”

“Dinner.”

“It’s going to be fine. You’ll be fine.”

She walked back to the table. “I feel very exposed.”

“It’s dinner,” he said. “Not reconnaissance.”

“Neither Barry nor Danielle is expecting to see me here, let alone in a casual situation.”

St. George finished slicing and added the mushrooms to the pot. “Look, they have to find out sometime, right? I’m surprised no one’s figured it out yet. So this is a fine way to do it.”

“I am not convinced of that.”

“Are you getting scared?”

She stiffened. “Of course not.”

“It’d be totally natural if you were a little nervous about this.”

She stared at him. “I am not scared and I am not nervous. You may stop your clumsy attempt at reverse psychology, George.”

“I thought it was clever and subtle.”

“It was not.”

“Cute and endearing?”

“On a childish level, perhaps.”

Someone knocked on the door, tapping out a rapid drum solo. St. George smiled at her. “Last chance to vanish into a shadow.”

“Do you wish to answer the door or shall I?”

He wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll get it. Don’t want to freak everyone out right off the bat.”

She dipped her head and set the glasses on the table.

Danielle and Barry waited in the hall. His wheelchair was aimed at the door, ready to enter. She stood behind him, one of her hands clutching the chair’s handle.

“Hey,” said St. George. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Free food, good friends, a night away from the chair,” Barry said. He tipped his bald head back and smiled. “You know I’m all over that.”

Stealth was right. Barry looked calm. His thin frame was relaxed, free of the odd jerks and tics the energy form had developed over the past few months. He looked … normal.

Danielle snorted. Her strawberry-blond hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, away from her freckled face. He could see a collar of black spandex under her shirt, the Cerberus contact suit. It served as her security blanket outside the armor.

Her knuckles were white on the wheelchair’s handles. She lifted her free hand to reveal a bottle. “I brought presents.”

It took him a minute to register what she was holding. “You actually have wine? Real wine?”

“I’ve been saving it,” she said with a shrug. It was a tight, contained movement. “You said tonight was something special, so …” She shrugged again.

Barry looked between them. “Special? What have you two been keeping from me?”

“Beats me.” She pushed the wheelchair into the apartment and her shoulders relaxed by a few degrees once they were inside. “Is it just us?”

“Not exactly,” said St. George.

“Please tell me it’s not Freedom,” said Barry. “I’m sorry, but that guy can be so upti— … oh.”

Stealth stood by the table. Her arms hung straight at her sides.

St. George stepped forward and took her hand. Her fingers wrapped around his. “Guys—Barry, Danielle—this is Karen.”

Danielle’s eyes went wide. Her shoulders tensed back up. Barry gaped.

Stealth shifted under their gazes. “Good evening,”