THE SENTIENT: 2nd Edition

By Lucas G McIntire

Tabatha is a telepath whose abilities are little known outside of the government department that she's employed by. An error in judgement on an assignment results in her being thrust into the public eye where she is met with great apprehension. However, that's not the only eye she elicits. An evil entity

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucas Gorton McIntire
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218037109

Book preview

One

Night Terrors

Tabatha shot up from a deep sleep accompanied by a frightful induced scream. The sweat and heavy exhalation were reminiscent of one finishing a triathlon. A brown pouch lying on the coffee table across from her held a syringe and a bottle of fluid. She reached out and grabbed the pouch and quickly injected herself with the fluid. The medication was designed to stabilize her metabolism, which was faster than an average individual. More so during what she referred to as night terrors.

Though a relatively new phenomenon, the vivid dreams were assumed to be affiliated with her telepathic abilities. Since their inception, they’ve been traditionally quite rare. However, in recent months, their randomness has intensified in frequency. Along with the increase in occurrence, they have also, on occasion, occurred during the day as daydreams.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and ran her fingers through her matted hair, moistened by the condensation. Shortly after that, Naomi, Tabatha’s aunt and who was also her godmother, rushed from her bed to the living room.

Naomi had adopted Tabatha shortly after her birth following a set of bizarre circumstances. Tabatha’s biological mother, Martha, had died during childbirth due to highly irregular complications from having twins—of which Tabatha was the oldest. Her twin sister, Sarah, reportedly passed just hours after being taken to the N.I.C.U. Tabatha and Naomi still visit the gravesites of Martha and Sarah on occasions.

Tab! Naomi shouted as she entered the living room.

I just had a dream, Tabatha responded before Naomi had a chance to inquire about the hair-raising scream, all the while shoving M&M’s in her mouth to assist in replenishing her energy.

What happened?

I’m fine, mom, she again responded before Naomi asked.

Are you…ok? Naomi then stood next to the couch, staring critically at Tabatha. Tabatha, please stop using your telepathy on me. We can hardly ever have a conversation when you do that.

Tabatha put the bowl of m&m’s back on the coffee table and leaned back into the crux of the couch. She placed her hand on her forehead. Her flesh was still warm—another symptom of her hyper telepathic activity. A lite grin then appeared across Tabatha’s face in response to Naomi’s comment. I know, I’m sorry.

Naomi smiled back, so, another dream, huh. They’re becoming a little more frequent, aren’t they?

They’re becoming more vivid. Tabatha sat up, swung her legs off the couch, and rested her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands.

Oh sweetheart, tell me about it.

Tabatha took a breath. Well, it was pretty much the same, maybe a little clearer. I’m in the same dark room strapped down to something. A power cable of some kind plugged into the back of my head. It’s just, eeeee, Tabatha cringed after recounting the dream.

Oh-my-goodness! Tabatha! Naomi likewise cringed at the thought, then felt the back of her head for a plug outlet.

The craziest part of this one was that I could feel what they were doing. When the sensation of some sort of electrical power came over me, I woke up. Tabatha leaned back into the couch and gazed intensely at Naomi, standing in front of the fridge on the other side of the kitchen island—the only divider between the kitchen and living room.

Yes, please.

Would you like some tea—TABATHA! STOP IT! Naomi shouted. Tabatha chuckled under her breath while grinning from ear to ear.

Ok, ok, I’m sorry.

"Ever since you were a child, your gift has amazed me and drove me crazy. But I guess I can’t complain too much. You have at least disciplined yourself to use it without taking advantage of others."

"Gift? HA!" Tabatha joined Naomi in the kitchen, leaned against the island, and glanced up at the ceiling, contemplating. "I work in a department of mostly men; need I say more. I’d rather not be able to see or hear most of what the human psyche can produce. Naomi chuckled at the visual. And, admittedly, I can’t say I never took advantage of someone with it. If it weren’t for a particular numerically gifted chick in my college math class, I would never have passed calculus."

Well, if that’s the worst, I’ll accept you driving me crazy for thirty years and counting.

"Let’s just say I’m glad you can’t read my mind."

"Hmmm, you and me both, dear. Although, as far as the boys you work with—I believe you told me you could turn it off," Naomi reminded Tabatha.

"You always say that, but I never remember that conversation. But, it’s not as easy as you think—to turn it off as you put it. And it’s more like turning it down than turning it off."

All I heard was that you work with a lot of men.

Of course you did.

"You’re a gorgeous young lady Tabatha. Maybe you can drag one of them boys you work with down the aisle at least," Naomi suggested with a wink.

"Hahaha! Right. I’m thirty-six, mom. Not that young anymore. And most of them would have to be drug down the aisle. They’re just acquaintances, though. And, definitely not the ‘bring home to your auntie’ type either. Although there is one guy who works in decrypting digital threats—he has some fun thoughts." Tabatha admitted.

So, you’re lusting over another man’s lustful thoughts of you?

Mom!

That’s just….

…Weird? Tabatha finished her sentence again.

Well, yeah, it is, honestly.

The tea kettle then whistled. Naomi grabbed a cup from a cupboard, poured some tea, and handed it to Tabatha.

He’s married. Tabatha blew on her tea.

He’s married and thinking about kinky stuff with you? Naomi further inquired.

"Ha-Ha! First off, mom, it’s just weird hearing you use the word kinky. And, he thinks about his wife, not me." Tabatha took a sip of her tea.

Naomi placed a hand on her hip and responded, Well, first off, I’m sixty-five, not dead. And now you’re saying you’re spying over another man's thoughts for his wife? Naomi laughed, That’s even worse.

Tabatha stared at Naomi, with her cup of tea in hand, with a scolding look on her face which soon melted away to laughter. Yeah, it is worse, isn’t it. Gosh, I’m horrible.

You’re not horrible, sweetheart. I’m just giving you a hard time. You just need to find a nice handsome young man.

More like a middle-aged man, Tabatha corrected her aunt.

At my age, you’re all young.

"The first man I meet whose mind I can’t read will be the guy I drag down the aisle, ok, mom?"

Ha. Ok, Tabatha. Naomi then kissed her cheek. I need to go back to sleep. It’s three a.m., and we have church in about six hours. Naomi then left the kitchen.

I know, thanks, mom; good night, morning, or whatever. Tabatha leaned back on the island with her tea in front of her.

Oh! And he has to be at least six feet tall! Black hair! Clean-shaven! Athletic! And… Tabatha added to her list of qualities in her imaginary future spouse before Naomi interjected from down the hall, sure, sweetheart! I’ll make sure to sign you up for the single seniors’ bible study I go to on Tuesday evenings before my funeral.

Seriously, mom!?

Naomi closed her bedroom door.

Seriously, Tabatha, she then said to herself. I can sign myself up for the single seniors’ bible study. Tabatha then walked to the picture window in the kitchen, looking over the Washington D.C. area from her top floor condo, attempting to view the stars amidst the city’s light pollution. Or just become a hermit. Maybe buy a bunch of cats too. Tabatha continued the depressing rambling to herself. Yeah. That could work.

Two

Day Dreams

Concluding high school and followed by a criminal justice degree, her uncanny ability to solve criminal investigative cases for the F.B.I. caught the attention of an anonymous yet powerful influencer.  Soon she played a prominent role in a new and secret government entity.  This department, publically known as the Terrorist Interceptor Division, or T.I.D., was the final filtering mechanism for national security.  Any concerns from the F.B.I., D.H.S., or the C.I.A. were brought before T.I.D. and, by extension, Tabatha.

            Regulations surrounding the secret department were exorbitant.  Most of which were concerning the research regarding Tabatha’s physiology—which was entirely off-limits—specifically regarding her genetics.  These were to keep potentially unethical practices that could arise by manipulating her DNA or exposing her to inhumane treatment.  However, general blood work was acceptable for monitoring her general health.

            Only a few government officials had access to this classified division, and a handful of senators who resided on the T.I.D. oversight committee.  To the rest of the world, an individual with the ability to read minds did not exist and most definitely was not employed by the U.S. government—until the rumors began. . .

            Additionally, very few within Tabatha’s private social circle even knew about her gift, as small as it was.  And those who did took great strides to keep it secret.

*****

Good morning.

Good morning, Pastor.

Welcome, & good morning, Pastor Reed greeted the guests entering Prince Community Church in Bowie, Maryland.

A roaring engine then grabbed his attention, and he proceeded to meet the occupants of the beastly four-by-four truck.  It was metallic green with black trim, sporting the largest tires that could be driven, legally, on a U.S. road.  Plastered on the back window was a bumper sticker that read I know what you did last summer.  The engine rived up and then shut off as he approached the truck.

            He opened the driver's side door.  Good morning Tabatha.  Then, glancing past Tabatha, good morning Ms. Naomi.

            Good morning, Kyle.  They replied.  Tabatha unbuckled her seat belt, swung her legs over the side of her seat, and jumped out of the truck. 

            You look nice today, Tabatha.

            Thanks, Kyle.  Tabatha tucked in her white dress shirt, straightened out her black skirt, and flipped her hair.

            Tabatha! Get me out of this thing! Naomi shouted, unable to get down from the truck's passenger side.

            Kyle ran over to Naomi with Tabatha walking behind, pressing down her skirt.  Let me help you out there, Naomi.  He then managed to get Naomi into his arms and carried her out of the truck.

            You can carry me into the church if you want, Pastor, Naomi, flirtatiously, thanked him with a grin and flashing eyes.

            I’m sure I could, he responded, laughing, then stood her up.

            Ok, mom, quit flirting with a man of God.  I’m sure you’ll call down lightning on yourself or something.  Tabatha opened the back passenger door and grabbed a crockpot of chili for the fellowship meal after the service.

            Well, that would be quicker than falling to my death from your truck.  Why do you have to have such a gigantic vehicle anyways?

            I thought you wanted to see the world.

            "Yes, see it, not look down at it from outer space."

            Hahaha! Kyle laughed at the two of them.  You two crack me up.  Let’s go inside, ladies."

            "If you think that’s funny, wait till you hear about what she listens to at work," Naomi divulged to the pastor.

            Seriously, mom? Tabatha responded as they walked into the church.

            The customary Worship aspect of the church service ended after the singing of Amazing Grace.  The pastor dismissed the choir and the few musicians that led the congregation through the worship service.  Pastor Reed then opened his Bible on top of the podium and said to the congregation, If you would stand with me out of respect for God’s Word.

            The congregation stood, many with their Bibles in hand.  Second Corinthians, chapter ten and verse five.  The ruffling of pages was audible as the congregants found the passage of scripture.

            We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.  Let's pray together, the pastor then led the congregation in prayer.

            Tabatha’s attention, however, was diverted to the pew next to hers.  She glanced over, and among the individuals standing with their heads lowered in prayer was a very well-dressed young black woman, and with her were three children—two boys and a girl.  The oldest, around ten years old, was standing with her mother, praying as well.  The other two, who were much younger, were sitting drawing on the blank side of the church bulletin.  All three children were very well dressed—the boys in black suits and ties and the girl in a little white dress with her hair in braids with white bows in them.

            Then a second individual caught her attention.  In the back pew sat a middle-aged unshaven black man, whose clothes appeared as if they were discovered in a dumpster or during an archeological dig.  Neither individual had been to the church before.

            Tabatha! Sit down! Sit down! Naomi whispered frantically, tugging on her skirt.  Then Tabatha observed herself as the only one standing, thus receiving curious gazes from the rest of the seated congregation.  Embarrassed, she quickly sat down.

            The service ended with a concluding prayer in Jesus’ name, and the pastor dismissed the congregation to the activity center, where a fellowship chili lunch awaited.  I’ll meet you in the activity center, Tabatha quickly said to Naomi.  I need to talk to the pastor about something real quick.

            Ok, see ya in a minute.

            Hey, Kyle, she said, attempting to jog in her high heels up to the podium.

            Tabatha, he responded, stepping down to meet her.  "A little lost in thought today, are we?  Pun included," he added, attempting to make light humor out of her embarrassing episode earlier in the service.

            "Ha, ha, funny.  I got something just a little important to tell you," Tabatha explained, using her fingers to illustrate ‘little.’ 

            What is it?

            Tabatha glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them, then in a soft voice, said, I just wanted to let you know that the man, who is still sitting in the back row, is waiting for everyone to leave so he can ask you for money.

            Tabatha.  You can’t just….

            Just listen.  He has two homes, a fifty thousand dollar truck, and bunches of kids from bunches of—girls.  He doesn’t need anything, and if you want to see for yourself, you can go for a quick pre-church lunch snack at the burger joint down the road.  Just make sure you sit by the window facing south.

            "Tabatha.  Our conversation about free will?"

            Yes, I know, but this is important, and I’m almost done.  The black woman who came in with three kids and appeared as if life was perfect for her—her husband died a few months ago, her house got foreclosed on, and all four of them are living in her car at a truck stop.  Tabatha then pulled two one-hundred-dollar bills out of her purse and put them in Kyle’s hand.  Give this to her anonymously, please.  She’s the one who could, ultimately, use the help, Tabatha concluded.

            Tabatha! Cindy, Kyle’s wife, who also happened to be Tabatha’s best friend from high school, exclaimed with a smile and opened arms as she approached her.

            Cindy! Tabatha responded in the same way.  Oh my goodness, you had to put your dog to sleep.  I’m so sorry.  Immediately, Tabatha flung her hand to her mouth, deducing that she wasn’t supposed to be aware of that fact.

            "Oh.  Yeah.  We did.  My husband wasn’t supposed to tell you that, Cindy responded with a slightly disappointing glance toward her husband, who made a similar look toward Tabatha.  It was sad, I miss her so much, but she was so sick,"

            I bet it was sad, Tabatha responded, glancing at Kyle with apologetic eyes.

            "Well, Cindy, the pastor has a quick meeting with someone, so why don’t we head to the activity center.  Tabatha locked her arm into Cindy’s arm and pulled her down the aisle while looking back at the pastor, mouthing, I’m sorry."

            As Tabatha and Cindy left the sanctuary, the poorly dressed, homeless-looking man then limped his way to meet the pastor. 

            Past’a… the man said in a soft, somber voice.

            Yes, sir, can I help you?  Kyle acknowledged the man.

            I hope so.  I have just been down on my luck the last few months and was wondering if there is anything you and your congregation can do to help me out at all.

            What do you need help with? Kyle further inquired.

            I just need some money for some food and to help pay for a place to stay.  You see, I – I’ve been sleep’n in parks and under overpasses.  I’m just tired, and my luck’s all run out.  I figured that a man of God like yourself would have compassion for someone in my current predicament, the rugged man explained.

            Well, if you’re hungry, I can pay for some food for you to eat.  There is also a homeless shelter not too far from here. I can take you there, Kyle responded, balancing Tabatha’s information with compassion.

            Well, I don’t want to trouble you by taking me to get some food. If you just had a few dolla’s, I can go and get somet’n.  And, plus, that shelt’a, well, it’s full.  They turned me away, the man continued.

            You mean the shelter on forty-seventh and Cleveland Street turned you away? The pastor asked, knowing full well that there was no shelter at that location.

            Yes, Sir Past’a.  That’s the one.

            Well, sir, I’m sorry I can’t help you right now.  But if you give me your name and contact info, if you have contact information, I can have our trustees get in touch with you to see how we can better assist you.

            Honestly, Past’a, my name’s not in the system anywhere, and I don’t have any way for anyone to getta hold of me.  I’m kind of a drift’a.  I’m on disability, for my back pain, from a job, so I can’t work….

            "Well, sir, I offered what I can now, and if you don’t like what I have to offer, you can attempt to rip off some other charity," the pastor firmly concluded.

            The man then straightened up, and his demeanor tensed.  In a completely different tone, he then said to the pastor, You all are nut’n but bunch hypocrites, stuck up rich snob folk.  Don’t care about anyone but themselves!!

            Kyle? Cindy walked into the sanctuary.  Is everything alright?

            Yes, Cindy, the pastor responded.  "This gentleman was just leaving.

            The man nodded lightly, yeah, I see how it is.  He then turned and strutted down the aisle, past Cindy, who backed up slightly in intimidation of the man.  He walked out of the sanctuary and out the church's front doors toward the street.

            Kyle followed him out of the sanctuary, stopping next to Cindy, and watched the man through the glass doors for a moment.

            Let’s go eat, babe, Cindy suggested after the moment had passed.

            Yeah, let’s do that.  They then started down the hall.  Cindy, I just remembered that I need to check something out down the street for a moment.  I’ll be back shortly, ok.

            Oh, well, ok.  See you in a minute.  Cindy then continued down the hall to the activity center.

            Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind letting the council members know, we might want to bump up security for a little while around here!

            Sure thing!.

            Thanks, Cindy! He concluded as he jogged out the front doors to his 1989 white Honda accord. 

He backed out of the driveway and raced down the street to the fast-food burger joint.  He ran inside and found a seat by a window facing south.  The customers and order-takers watched him momentarily as he made a b-line to his seat.  Slightly embarrassed at making a scene, the pastor politely nodded to those watching and smiled, then turned his attention toward the restaurant's parking lot.  There were two trucks and a compact car parked right outside the window. 

            After a few minutes, Kyle observed a man walking into the parking lot toward the vehicles in front of the window.  He quickly drew out his cell phone from his pocket.  Sure enough, it was the rugged man from the church.  He approached the red truck that appeared to have recently been driven off of a dealership lot.  The man unlocked it and hopped in.  After shutting the door and starting the engine, he glanced out the windshield to see the pastor waving and taking a picture of him in the truck.  Alarmed, he peeled out in reverse and hit a police car that just happened to be passing behind him, heading for the drive-through lane. 

            Shocked at the unforeseen incident, the pastor ran outside to see if everyone was ok.  As he ran to the police car, the rugged man jumped out of the truck and dashed down the street.  The cop on the passenger side called for help over his two-way radio and then checked on his partner, whose side of the vehicle had been struck.  He was dazed but ok, so the passenger cop hopped out to chase the man. However, by then, he couldn’t see him.  Kyle, however, approached the officers and showed him the picture of the man, and explained the events that transpired that morning.  The cop instructed Kyle to send the images to an email address.  After their conversation, an ambulance drove up and two more police cars.  Kyle then returned to his vehicle and headed back toward the church before deciding to take a detour that just so happened to pass by a truck stop.

            Meanwhile, back at the church, while Kyle was having an adventure verifying Tabatha’s claims, much of the congregation stayed for the fellowship luncheon.  The young black woman, Molly, and her three children were invited to stay and eat.  However, she declined for personal reasons. 

            The activity center had several tables with four to six individuals at each.  The room was alive with conversations.  The dialogue varied from table to table.  Some, politics were the topic, another was family or family matters, for the youth it was a more diverse array of subjects from the latest and greatest gadgets, to movies, and of course boys/girls.  Yet other tables found themselves critiquing the morning’s sermon.

            Tabatha sat with Cindy and a few other women.  They were hysterical with laughter.  Tabatha had a sarcastic sense of humor and a talent for making any situation into a comedy.  Most of her one-liners revolved around her singleness or imaginary romance.  Occasionally she targeted her married friends with her sarcasm. 

            In the middle of their hyperventilating laughter, Tabatha noticed an unusual man simply standing in the center of the room, staring back at her.  He was large in stature, and his face was slightly unclear.

            Who’s that? Tabatha asked.

            The other women looked to see who she was talking about but saw no one.

            Who’s who, Tab? Cindy inquired.

            That man, standing there in the middle of the room.  Tabatha attempted to deduce the answer telepathically from his mind.  However, she could not derive anything from the individual. 

            The ladies around her table joined her, staring at the middle of the room, though in confusion.  However, Naomi, sitting at a table with some older ladies, glanced at Tabatha’s table.  Observing Tabatha, seemingly zoned out on the center of the room—and the rest of the young women looking around in confusion—she immediately sprung from her chair.

            Excuse me. I’ll be right back, Naomi excused herself in a rush.

            Is everything alright, one of the ladies asked, sensing an anxiousness in Naomi.

            I’m not sure.  Naomi left the room quickly, confident that she knew exactly what was happening at Tabatha’s table.

            It was probably the chili, one of the older ladies said, theorizing Naomi’s sudden departure.

            Tabatha, there’s no one over there, her friends reassured her.

            Tabatha then witnessed the congregation disappearing like smoke along with all the tables.  The walls began closing in all around her.  Then the individual, whose face was unclear, approached her.  A rectangular opening began cutting out of the wall behind the figure, and a dark piece of glass formed in its place.  Tabatha then knew what she was experiencing—a daydream.

            Cindy! Are you there? 

            Tabatha, I’m right here.  What’s going on? Cindy responded, looking directly into Tabatha’s face.  However, Tabatha could not see her.

            Go find Naomi, please!  I’m, uhhh, having an episode, Tabatha explained in a way to not expose herself.

            Yeah, ok, Cindy then shot up and quickly left to find Naomi.  The ladies at Naomi’s table directed her to the bathroom, thinking that’s where she had gone.

Twenty-Four.  The man spoke.  Nod, if you can hear me.  Tabatha responded with a nod.

Good.  He then