Free The Energy Room (The Elementum Trilogy) by Styna Lane Page A

cheerier.
    Lakin’s face found its way into my mind as I trotted toward the elevator. I imagined a growing look of despair in his clouded eyes, as he witnessed my encounter with Eric. ‘No,’ I thought, ‘I’m not going to deal with it yet.’ I cleared my mind with a sigh, as the lift opened to the intensely-lit eleventh floor. I passed sterile, white doors, all identical except for small, black numbers bolted below the peepholes. I came to a halt in front of number twenty-two and was about to knock, when the door opened in front of me.
    “ Help!” Al shouted at me, panic saturating every fiber of his being.
    “ What? Are you okay?! What is it?” I screamed in terror as he dragged me by the arm into the miniature apartment.
    My eyes shifted, expecting to find a fire, or maybe a giant spider. Al leaped to the small kitchen area, struggling with something he had smothered in a towel on the counter. A brownish, grimy-looking liquid had seeped down the cupboards onto the floor, inching its way toward my feet. I tip-toed around the fluid, until I was an arm hair’s length from the frantic therapist.
    “It won’t stop!” Al exclaimed.
    “ What is it?” I frowned.
    I imagined some sort of strange, dying creature lying helplessly under the damp fabric. I reached hesitantly for the towel, sweeping it to the floor in one swift motion.
    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scoffed.
    There, in the middle of Al’s countertop, was a mangled coffee-maker, spewing scalding, brown liquid from all the places it wasn’t meant to be spewing from. I looked at Al in amazement, before yanking the cord from the outlet behind it. The machine continued to percolate for a moment, then died out with a pitiful hiss.
    “That’s one way to do it,” Al said breathlessly.
    I was at a loss for words. The man who was supposed to be evaluating my mental health on a daily basis had just been attacked by a coffee maker. It wasn’t very reassuring.
    “Are you a child, posing as an adult?” I asked insultingly.
    “ I’m just not used to violent kitchen appliances,” Al explained, smirking as he scooted the towel around on the floor with his foot.
    “ Excuses, excuses,” I said.
    While I watched Al clean up the bloody remains of the Great Java War of 2012, my thoughts circled in on one, tiny detail I most likely would have missed, had I been any sort of useful in helping to tidy up the mess.
    “Hey, how did you know I was outside?” I questioned.
    “ What? I heard you knock,” Al said innocently from the floor.
    “ You opened the door before I knocked.” My eyes narrowed in suspicion.
    “ Oh. I thought I heard it,” Al said pensively, pausing his floor-scrubbing duties for a brief moment.
    “ No, I definitely did not knock,” I stated adamantly.
    “ Hmm...” Al shrugged, returning his attention to the floor.
    Al reminded me of myself, in that instant; he was a very convincing liar. I, however, was not fooled. My eyes flickered up to the small camera in the corner of the room, then back to the man on the floor. I wondered if he was a psychic of some sort, if he had sensed me approaching the door. I knew Lakin would laugh at me later for the idea. He would call me paranoid and obsessed with the unlikely.
    Just as the thought of Lakin’s probable response crossed my mind, I noticed Al suppress a chuckle. I had been watching him intently while my mind wandered. Was he actually psychic? Had he been able to see or hear my thoughts about Lakin? Was he still listening?
    The glittering, blue eyes connected with mine, showing the same oceans of knowledge I thought I had seen the night before when he wished me sweet dreams. My heart felt as though it was about to migrate up through my throat and land on the newly-polished linoleum. I held my breath, waiting eagerly for Al to give me some hint that I was on the right track.
    “How about that tour, then?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet.
    A sigh of disappointment escaped me,