Dimensions

By Cy Bishop

Nicole Wilkerson is new to America. Technically, she’s also new to this dimensional plane. She had no choice but to flee her home, where she was hunted by the Pack for her ability to travel between dimensions. But the Pack has allies on Earth, a coalition known as DEC. And when DEC figures out where Nicole is hiding, trying to blend in as a normal fifteen-year-old girl, she’s forced to rely on her new human friends to evade capture.

Because if they catch her, they will unleash destruction across both dimensions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cy Bishop
• Release date: May 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311891945

Cy Bishop

I enjoy life in the Pacific Northwest with my family and a constantly excited, thick-headed black lab. I obtained a degree in Counseling Psychology from Northwest University in Kirkland, WA, which I use to create fully dimensional characters with unique personalities and quirks. When not writing, I can usually be found reading, watching movies, or wasting entirely too much time on the internet.

Book preview

Dimensions

by Cy Bishop

Copyright 2014 Cy Bishop

Smashwords Edition

With special thanks to:

God, my patient family, Google,

and Jessica Dodson for the fantastic cover

Chapter 1

The Man in the dark suit sat down with a smooth, precise motion, not a wrinkle, not a line out of place, flaws as unacceptable in his appearance as in his work.

Across a desk from him sat a man with a balding head made all the more shiny by his nervous state. An imposing nameplate on the desk identified the businessman as Sterling Warner, CEO of DEC. It, like everything else on the desk, was carefully designed to communicate opulence and importance.

The Man was unimpressed by such trappings. He returned his attention to the steadily growing quantity of sweat on Warner’s brow. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, nor was it unfamiliar. Most people naturally felt some degree of anxiety over a meeting of this nature.

The Man flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his slacks. A girl, you said?

They say she’s the last one. It won’t be easy to bring her in. Even harder to get her to cooperate. Warner shoved a folder across the desk. You’ll have every resource available to you. We have a whole contingent of trained men who will follow your every order, and—

I won’t require their assistance.

Warner’s nervousness diminished into a frown. Perhaps you don’t understand the vital nature of this job. We must have her. This will take precision. You can have as many on your team as you want, but this isn’t something you can handle alone. His frown deepened. I can’t begin to express how crucial—

The Man stood.

Warner’s nervousness returned with fresh drops of brine near his temples.

I understand well how crucial this is to you. I know what you need from her. And I do not require the assistance of your men in order to obtain it. The Man put his hand on the folder. You wouldn’t have called me if you did not feel confident in my ability to get the job done.

Yes, but—

Then there is no need for further concerns. He picked up the folder, gave the contents a cursory glance, then tucked it under his arm in preparation to leave.

Warner’s already thin lips tightened even thinner. Our men will continue to search, whether you want their assistance or not. If they’re the ones to bring her in and obtain her cooperation, you won’t get any compensation from us.

I find your terms acceptable. The Man strode to the door. You’ll get what you need. I guarantee it.

Chapter 2

Gray. Pulsing. Too bright, too glaring. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut in protest.

The ground felt jagged beneath her, clothes rough against her skin, and everything seemed too cold. A thundering roar pounded through her ears, slowly distinguishing itself into a cacophony of varied sounds. Engines zooming past. Horns honking. Distant voices jabbering. Her nose twitched in protest at a nauseating blend of refuse and cooking food.

She tried her eyes again. The glaring mass of gray cooled, morphing into an overcast sky with edges of buildings jutting into it. She lay on her back in a narrow alley between tall buildings, surrounded by dumpsters and black bags emitting the smell of garbage. Odd, foreign colors flashed and intruded from time to time, creating a dancing psychedelic effect.

Nicole. That was the name she’d settled on.

Details trickled back in as she worked on sitting up. It took some practice, figuring out which muscles to engage in which order. The sensation was so utterly foreign that she would have emptied her stomach if there’d been anything in there to empty. Her arms trembled as they pushed her upright. She found her balance and allowed them to rest in her lap for a moment.

Black streaks covered her hands, her shirt sleeves, her pants. Scorch marks from the transition. The thought made her feel sick again, though she wasn’t sure why. Broad holes gaped in her mind where she knew information should have been. She’d never made the transition before, but she’d known this could happen as a result.

She closed her eyes again, trying to get a handle on the world around her which insisted on being too much. Too bright, too loud, too smelly, too cold. It would take time for her to adjust, to adapt to this new sort of body. She flexed and bent her fingers, curling and uncurling them a few times, testing the movement. Practiced moving her arms again. Legs.

She opened her eyes again. It was already getting better, clearer. Still, some things had an odd shine to them, and as she looked at the walls around her, she could see faint images of orange and red moving around in vaguely human shapes. They’d theorized her vision would be different than the normal, seeing spectrums of light that humans couldn’t. It appeared the theory was correct.

Who were ‘they’?

She put her hands on the ground and felt each pebble, each uneven mote of pavement dig into her flesh. Clenched her teeth against the sensation and pushed herself up, engaging her legs in concert with her arms in an attempt to get upright.

Failed. Her hip struck the pavement hard, forcing her eyes shut as she focused on blocking the pain for a moment. If only the adjustment process could be instantaneous. But no. She’d have to grit her teeth and power through it. Because she had to…

Had to what?

The list came to mind. The important list.

1. My name is Nicole.

2. I have to blend in. I can’t do anything that will make me stand out.

3. I have to find a place to live where I will be safe and cared for.

4. I am a child in this place, a young person, and I must behave as one.

5. I must not let them find me.

She repeated the list to herself twice out of habit. With all the holes in her mind, it was a small miracle that the list had come through intact. But they’d made sure of that, repeating it time and again before she left. She vaguely remembered that part of number five was the importance of not calling for help unless it was absolutely necessary. If she called for help, it could help them find her faster.

Who was ‘them’?

A different group. Those who must not find her, no matter what.

She shivered and felt each muscle move through its contraction, though the sensation was decreasing. She was already adjusting to some aspects of this new form. She opened her eyes. Things still swirled oddly, but it wasn’t as bad now. She felt like she could see straight enough, at least.

Taking a deep breath, she made her second attempt at standing. By grabbing onto the wall beside her, she managed to work her way to unsteady legs. They didn’t want to hold her, but she focused hard, forcing the muscles there to remain engaged.

A window on the opposite building looked into a busy kitchen, people rushing about, calling to each other. A restaurant. The light filtering through the heavy clouds above turned the glass reflective, and Nicole caught a glimpse of herself in the sheen. The face looking back at her looked absurd, unfamiliar. Curiosity pushed her to get closer, to see what this new form looked like.

She nudged one leg forward, then the other. Both failed at once, sending her tumbling forward. She caught the edge of a dumpster and managed to avoid landing on the ground again, supporting most of her weight with her arms. The dumpster rattled loudly in her ears at the collision, and the painfully loud sensation battled with the reverberations through her body from striking the heavy object. She shuddered and closed her eyes again, taking slow breaths until her body calmed down.

Odd. Her arms were supporting her well enough, but her legs weren’t working right. A lance of fear spiked through her system. They’d said her eyes might work differently, but that the rest of her body should adapt. What if they’d been wrong?

She quieted the whispering fears. Her legs were probably just taking longer to adjust than the rest of her, that was all. She hoped.

She used the dumpster for support and worked her way closer to the window, letting the dim daylight reflect her face into the glass. Average, she saw with relief. Medium build and height. Lightly tan skin. Plain face, not particularly beautiful but not noticeably ugly, either. Straight, shoulder-length hair in a dark brown tone. Unkempt and dirty, but that could be fixed without too much trouble.

She leaned a bit closer to examine her eyes. To her relief, light-brown irises reflected back at her. Her vision was different than the humans around her, but it didn’t manifest as any sort of physical difference. Once she got herself cleaned up, her appearance shouldn’t attract unwanted attention. Good.

One of the reddish blobs on the other side of the wall came to a stop at the window. Nicole blinked and realized that a matronly woman with hair tied back in a bun stood on the other side of the glass, smiling out at her. She backed away, but the woman already crossed to a nearby door. It opened, bringing a new rush of smells to overwhelm Nicole’s senses.

Good morning, the woman said, her voice sweet but still clanging and harsh to Nicole’s new ears. A bright-colored apron covered her tidy clothes. My name’s Jeanie. Do you need something to eat?

Nicole managed to shuffle a few steps back, still using the dumpster for support. She couldn’t run in this state. No, running would call attention. What did a normal human do when offered food from a stranger? She wasn’t quite sure.

It’s okay, Jeanie pressed. She looked like she wanted to step closer, but was holding back. She put her hands out in a friendly, peaceful gesture. I own this place. I can give you something to eat if you want. You don’t have to pay for it, and I won’t call anyone unless you want me to. I saw you looking in the window. You must be hungry.

That’s right. The window looked into a restaurant kitchen. The woman had seen Nicole’s self-evaluation and had thought she was looking in at the food. Nicole glanced around, still uncertain how to respond.

The door on the other side of the alley banged open, making Nicole cringe in surprise and pain. A large, red-faced man stood in the doorway, glaring at the woman. Lady, I keep telling you, stop giving handouts back here! Your street brats keep stinking up this alley, and I had two break-ins last month. Two!

Jeanie’s friendly expression turned cool as she regarded the man. You know good and well that had nothing to do with my kids.

The man turned his glare on Nicole. If you don’t start running right now, you rotten little brat, I’m calling the cops.

The lance of fear returned. She couldn’t run, not with her legs the way they were. Cops? What were those? It sounded bad, whatever it was.

Don’t be ridiculous, Jeanie said. She took a step toward Nicole, offering a hand. I’m inviting a guest into my restaurant for some food. There’s nothing illegal about that.

The man’s face grew redder, and he kept glaring at Nicole.

Nicole glanced from the man to the woman. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but it was easy enough to see the difference between someone who wanted to help her and someone who didn’t. And like number three on the list said, she needed to find someone to care for her. She worked her way closer to Jeanie.

The man grunted a few unfamiliar but impolite-sounding words and disappeared back into his building with another bang of the door.

Don’t worry about him. Jeanie smiled and stepped back for Nicole to pass through the door. He’s always grouchy.

Nicole nodded, not fully paying attention. She was focused on her legs. She was going to have to let go of the dumpster to get into the restaurant. She funneled all of her attention to her leg muscles, coaxing them to remain firm, upright. Let go of the dumpster.

Her legs dropped, and she staggered against the wall, catching herself.

Jeanie caught her arm, helping steady her. Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?

Alarms flared in Nicole’s mind. It wasn’t normal for legs to behave like this. She was calling attention to herself. No. Her voice came out rough, grating against her throat. The sound was oddly high to her ears. I mean, I’m okay. Thank you.

Jeanie looked skeptical, but didn’t say anything further. She helped Nicole to a chair at a small table just inside the door. Sit here. I’ll get you something to eat. You like soup? We’ve got a fantastic minestrone today.

Nicole didn’t have the first idea what she liked, but she nodded.

Great. I’ll be right back. Jeanie disappeared in a swirl of her apron.

Nicole took the time to regroup. It was hard to focus with all the new sensations. Warmth that sank into her skin and chased away the cold that had permeated her being moments before. Food smells, the droning hum of conversation, clanging utensils against cookware, the cooks giving occasional shouts at each other. The smooth plastic of the chair she sat on. The squeak of shoes on linoleum.

She closed her eyes. Why did words like ‘plastic’ and ‘linoleum’ come so easily to her mind while ‘cops’ still drew a big blank? She’d studied this world so closely before coming, but the transition had left those holes behind. She could only hope the holes would close up on their own, and fast.

Jeanie had retorted to the man that nothing illegal was happening. The legal system. A tiny smile of triumph pulled Nicole’s lips upward. That’s right, ‘cop’ was the slang term for their law enforcement officers. It was only a small hole, but it felt good to see it close.

Now if she could just convince her legs to work right.

Smells great, huh? Jeanie’s voice returned. She beamed at Nicole as she set a steaming bowl on the table. She placed a napkin neatly beside the bowl and a spoon on top of the napkin. What would you like to drink? Coffee? Tea?

Caffeine. They’d drilled into her the need to avoid any potentially altering substances, at least until she fully adapted. Water?

Jeanie paused. You don’t want something hot to drink? It’s awful cold out today.

I… Nicole looked down at the soup. Would it be too abnormal for her to turn down the hot drinks? I can’t have caffeine.

Oh, that’s no problem. How about a nice chamomile tea? No caffeine in that.

Nicole hesitated, then nodded. Yes, thank you.

Jeanie beamed. Aren’t you just polite and sweet? I’ll have that for you in just a moment, honey. Dig in.

While Jeanie retrieved the drink, Nicole tested the soup. The heat burst through her mouth in a potent flame mixed with the competing flavors and odors that danced across her taste buds and filled her nostrils. She swallowed and felt the heat race all the way down to her belly. It was almost too much, but wonderful all at the same time.

Isn’t it fantastic? Vincent makes the best Italian food this side of the Atlantic. Not that knock-off stuff you find at Olive Garden. This is the real deal. Jeanie set a mug of steaming liquid in front of Nicole, then sat down in a chair on the other side of the table. Mind if I sit with you for a minute?

Nicole nodded, then connected the wording. No, I mean. Go ahead.

Thanks. This job keeps me going full speed all day long, I swear. It’s nice to get an excuse to just sit. She glanced over. How’s the soup?

Delicious. Nicole took a few more bites.

Mind if I ask your name?

That one was an easy answer. Nicole. Number one on the list. My name is Nicole.

Nicole, have you been on the streets for long?

No, not long. Ten minutes, perhaps. Nicole sipped the tea and found the delicate flavor intriguing, almost distracting her from the need to think up a good answer. On the streets. Jeanie thought she lived on the streets. That’s what she and the man had been arguing about, kids who live on the streets.

A while, she finally said, setting her mug down and returning to the soup.

Thankfully, Jeanie didn’t press for details. Do you have somewhere to stay?

Nicole filled her mouth with soup so she didn’t have to give an immediate answer. Jeanie seemed genuinely concerned. Maybe this was the answer to number three on the list. Find somewhere to live where she’d be safe and cared for.

I’m not going to pressure you into anything, Jeanie said quickly, misunderstanding Nicole’s silence. I know a lot of people your age who’ve had trouble and don’t want to put themselves into that sort of situation again. Like I said, I’m not going to call anyone unless you want me to. It’s just that it’s not much longer before winter gets here, and these streets get awful cold. I know some safe places you can keep warm if you need.

Nicole met Jeanie’s warm, caring gaze. This woman wanted to help. But well-meaning people might accidentally offer the wrong kind of help, the kind that could end up giving her more exposure than she could afford. They’d said she’d end up with her name in some systems. She was a youth, and she’d have to go to school. But she had to avoid the law enforcement systems, the nationwide databases that could make it easier for them to track her down.

It’s okay if you want to think it over, Jeanie said softly. I know how hard it is. I was on the streets myself for most of my teen years. How old are you, fifteen?