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my mind was the source. One thought rang through my head. Seemingly on its own.
                   No.
                   I stopped. My finger lifted off of the trigger. I said it again in my mind.
                  No.
                  I dropped the gun. Time seemed to go slowly as I heard it hit the floor.
                  I sank to my knees. Put my head in my hands. I felt compelled to cry. I did not understand, though. It came from more than just the situation. I felt like I'd been in this position before. But not on myself. I found myself putting more words to my feelings. Regret. Guilt. Had I killed someone in my life? I pictured it.
                  It seemed all too easy to imagine. Which I hated. Abruptly, surprising even myself, I sobbed. I didn't know what I was experiencing. But it was all from feeling that gun. Something had happened. Something I didn't know yet.
                  “You’ll have to hold up better than that.”
                  I turned and saw Brian standing in an open doorway. He entered and closed the door. “That is, if you want to pass.”
                  “You,” I growled. The emotions turned to anger. Anger towards Brian. But it felt weird.
                  “Emotions are funny things.” Brian casually walked over to the body. “They can make even the smartest people,” he nudged the body with his foot, “irrational.”
                  “You,” I said again, breathing out heavily. “Do you even have a soul?”
                  “I guess not.” He looked at me, smiled, and spread his arms out. “But isn’t that why we’re here?”
                  The lights started going out again. “Brian, I-"
     
     
     
     
     
    five
     
                  I dreamed. It was the first that I really remembered. I was sitting in some chair with a table attached to it. A desk. I was looking at a paper filled with printed words, numbers, and blanks. My hand, gripping a pencil, ran across the page as I wrote numbers, completed equations, and drew graphs. I finished the paper and slammed the pencil on the desk. “Done.” My voice seemed lighter. I looked up to see a group of three people. Two stood tall and proudly in front of me, and one stood slumped over, mouth wide open.
                  One of the two smiling people said “Good job, son.” The other standing next to him, a woman, smiled sweetly at me and nodded.
                  The shocked man had closed his mouth at this point and was walking toward me. “There’s no way,” he said.
                  The man snatched up the paper, put on a pair of glasses, and stared the paper down while the other man and the woman stood next to each other. The man had his arm around the woman’s shoulder. I noticed a ring on his hand and thought of the wor d coupl e . Then I thought o f Mom and Da d . It took me a second to remember what those things meant. Even in a dream I was struggling to remember what seemed to be the simplest of things. And in the dream, I felt like I was only half-living it. I wasn’t in control of what the person was doing or saying, but I felt what he felt. I wasn’t exactly living it, but I was experiencing it.
                  The man checking my paper took off his glasses. “This . . . ” He looked at the couple. “This is incredible.” He fixed his gaze back onto the paper, then jerked his head up at me. “How old are you?”
                  “Fourteen, sir. ” I’m fourteen?
                   The man looked wide-eyed at the couple, then back at me. “Jack, your math comprehension is at the college-level.”
                  He called m e Jac k . He called m e Jac k in the dream. Was my real name actually Jack? Was it more than just a nickname Brian had given