Jason ignored the pleas of his little sister as he let the screen door slam behind him.
Hauling his bike from the front lawn, he draped the towel he’d grabbed from the bathroom over his neck. He ran a few steps and leapt onto his ten-speed, his feet finding the already rotating pedals. He pumped faster to escape her cries.
“Jas! Jason! Please take me with you!” Cally yelled, the last words lost in a sob of desperation.
Without turning to look at her, he called, “Finish the dishes before Mom gets home. I’ll take you later.”
He didn’t want to look back. She’d have that look on her face that she always had now if he left her alone. He cycled harder, this time to burn away the guilt in his gut. He needed to get out for a while without her. She’s thirteen, damn it, she can be alone for an hour or so. As long as I make it back before Mom gets home from work, or else she’ll freak.
Lately, when Mom got mad he didn’t feel bad, or upset, he felt angry. A “need to punch a wall” kind of angry that scared him later when he thought about it. After all, Mom was just as upset about losing Dad as he was.
“Look after your Mom, she needs you now,” his grandmother told him when she left to go back to Halifax. Those words echoed in his head every time he felt like losing it. God, he wished Nan hadn’t gone home. She’d stayed for over a month after the funeral. Those first few weeks, even though they were all so sad and lost, hadn’t been as horrible as the weeks since Nan left.
His speed picked up as the pavement angled down. Devoe’s Garage loomed ahead so he did all he could to increase his velocity. Careening around the corner, he leaned forward and low over the handlebars, hoping to slick silently past the garage.
“Hey, shithead, I see you!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Jason saw Arnie Devoe walking away from the opened hood of a vehicle, rubbing grease from his hands and onto his coveralls.
“Stop! I wanna talk to you.”
Lumper MacDonald lumbered behind Arnie.
“Talk, yeah right,” muttered Jason. Squeeze his skull under the hood of that car, more like it.
Jason took the turn-off onto Gouthro Mountain Road, but then hopped off his bike and walked it down the dirt lane. He didn’t want a cloud of dust to show where he’d gone. He’d made it to the middle of the wooden bridge that spanned the brook when he heard the roar of Arnie’s truck up above on the main road.
Jason groaned. Arnie on his ass, just what he needed. He started to jog. It would only take the next curve or so in the road for them to realize he must have turned off. They’d be back. The entrance to the ball field seemed a half mile away, but he finally reached it and ran over to the line of trees.
He hid his bike under the drooping branches of a willow tree and started down the path to the brook. The way was well-worn from all the local kids heading down for a dip, although nobody was down there yet. The grassy bank sloped to the water’s edge, the grass mashed into a mucky mess even this early in the summer. The converging of several smaller brooks at this swollen section created an awesome swimming hole.
Jason passed by the popular spot, swatting the ragged end of the thick rope they all used to swing out to the middle, before letting go to plunge into the swirling reddish-brown brook water that was always fresh-off-the-mountain cold, even in late summer. He glanced back at the rope, swinging invitingly, but shook his head and edged along a narrow embankment, holding tree branches for stability. He was going to his secret spot, which is why he couldn’t bring Cally.
Navigating around the bend in the brook, Jason examined the foliage carefully until he found the tree with the large, black knothole. It looked like a giant cigarette had been extinguished in the tree’s flesh. Knotting his shoelaces together, he hung his sneakers around his neck with his towel and waded into the knee-high section of water.
Choosing his footing with care, he made his way across the slick, rocky bottom to the other side where another small brook poured into the bigger channel. The hidden junction widened out after a few feet. It forked a few more times and each time Jason stood in panic that he’d forgotten the way. But then one way would seem more familiar and he’d keep moving.
Finally, he came to the most difficult point, the place where he almost turned around every time, even though he knew where he had to go. The left side of the fork was bright, with wide, grassy banks, easy for walking, while the other was dominated by a fierce-looking, massive, ancient tree. Its branches and thick exposed roots nearly choked off the passage of the water and there was no embankment for walking.
Jason talked himself into picking his way toward the imposing tree. The water filtered through the tree’s limbs; he could hear it gurgling heartily. He entered into the dark shade cast by the tree and climbed with difficulty between the branches and roots. On the other side, his anxiety dissipated, as usual, and he felt the familiar tug of the deeper water beyond, as though it told him this way.
Rounding the next bend, he stood wet, sweaty and grinning at “his spot”. It lay before him like an oasis, a mirage. The brook came to a stop in a cul-de-sac of swirling water, creating an impossibly deep, quiet pool with a peninsula of soft white sand, shaded by tall elms on one end and basking in sunshine on the other. The concave top of a pearly white rock pierced the pool of water within hopping distance of the end of the peninsula.
As Jason sank into the powdery sand, he again marveled at its consistency—such an unlikely find for his Cape Breton home. Everywhere else along the brooks of Frenchvale you would find sucking, clay-like mud, rough gravelly dirt, or rounded brook-washed stones. The sun-exposed sand was hot on the soles of his feet, but after the cold walk through the water, it felt wonderful.
The memory of the first time he’d found this place, a couple of weeks before, came back. He’d been so excited he’d thought, “I can’t wait to show Dad!” His heart had constricted with the now familiar squeeze of pain as he’d remembered that he could no longer tell his Dad anything. He dropped his towel and sneakers on the sand and looked into the depths of the pool. Then he dove in.
It was cool, not cold like the rest of the brooks. Bobbing to the surface, his memories and pain washed away as he floated on his back, eyes closed, so peaceful, so quiet. He sensed the looming presence of the huge white stone, and flutter-kicked away from it. He’d go to the stone soon, but not yet.
Later, after a long swimming and floating session, Jason sat on his towel on the strip of sand, letting the powdery grains flow through his fingers. He thought again of how much his Dad would love this spot and his eyes filled up. He didn’t actually cry. He hadn’t cried since after that first week or so when he’d thought he’d never stop.
He blinked the moisture away and dusted the sand from his fingers, contemplating the white stone. The first time he’d jumped on it and sat down in the oddly form-fitting depression on its surface, he’d had what he thought was a bizarre hallucination. When he came out of it, he’d tried to stand, stumbled forward, and fallen into the water.
The next couple of times he dared to get on top of it, he had come to understand that it was not a hallucination caused by too much sun, but that the unusual white stone was responsible.
He found himself at the edge of the peninsula, not even remembering standing up. He tensed for the slight hop that would take him out onto the stone. When he landed, he lay down in the slight depression in the rock, an almost-perfect mold for his body. He concentrated on the gentle lapping of the water on the stone until he felt the slight humming of vibrations, almost imperceptible, begin beneath him. The now-familiar numbing sensation filled him and he sighed. His essence eased lightly from his body, with only a gentle tug—as simple as shrugging off a jacket. He floated above himself, examining his relaxed, slightly smiling face but not lingering too long on his skinny, lanky body. His Mom called him a long, lean eating machine, but he always wished he’d fill out into a stockier, brawnier frame like his father.
That disappointment couldn’t touch him now as he circled
higher, looping around the pond, close to the treetops. The first couple of times he’d come out of his body he’d been scared and gone right back. But when he realized he could go back whenever he wanted, he began to enjoy the delicious feeling of freedom and flying. And he could fly. He could float or he could soar. Best of all, his usual dismal thoughts were replaced by other sensations—the breathless excitement of utter freedom, the giddy feeling of something else about to happen and a burning curiosity to explore.
The last bubbled up in him now and he found himself leaving the area where his body lay and exploring farther along the swaying treetops. It was so beautiful. Just when he began to worry about leaving his body so far behind, Jason saw the top of Devoe’s Garage, and the messy bits of mangled metal scraps, tires and car bodies splayed out around the surrounding lot.
Arnie and Lumper climbed out of the truck. Arnie slammed his door shut and, muttering, entered the garage through the open bay doors. Lumper shambled after him like a faithful hound.
Jason hovered in the shadows near the entrance of the garage, looking inside. He burned to follow them and hear what they had to say about his disappearing act. Maybe they would even reveal what he’d done to piss Arnie off. The known bully had never bothered him before the last few weeks.
The trouble was, he was afraid that he could be seen, maybe even recognized in this form. He’d never been able to see his reflection in the water back where he’d left his body, but the surface was hardly a perfect mirror.
A mirror! That was a great idea. He floated toward Arnie’s truck. He’d use the side mirror to test his visibility.
“I’m going, I’m going,” yelled Lumper.
Jason had time to swirl around to face Lumper about one second before the large teen walked right through him.
Dissipating and then reforming left Jason slithery with disgust. He swirled around once more to watch Lumper reach into the back of Arnie’s pickup truck to pull out a large metal toolbox.
He appeared unaffected by the experience of scattering Jason.
So they can't see me. Jason followed Lumper back into the darkness of the garage, hanging back a little to avoid a repeat of the unpleasant sensation of being dispersed into foggy bits.
“Where in the hell did you fuck off to?” growled an approaching voice. Arnie’s grizzled father, Hector, walked over to the teenagers.
“Got a call for some roadside assistance, but they cancelled,” Arnie lied smoothly, looking right at his father.
Hector’s eyes narrowed. He pointed at the car raised on a hoist nearby. “I finished rotating those tires. I’m getting cleaned up and heading home. Take it down and leave it outside for Mr. Collier to pick up. Then stay till close and lock up.”
Arnie crunched his eyebrows together. “I told you I felt a shimmy in the front end when I drove it. I don’t think Mr. Collier was having problems because the tires were wearing down unevenly, I want to take a look underneath—“
Hector jabbed his grease covered finger into his son’s chest. “Don’t fucking question me, you little shit. Move that car outside.”
Arnie looked down at his father’s finger before meeting the older man’s eyes.
Swatting his father’s hand away from his chest, he walked over to the table by the wall and grabbed a set of keys, his face tight.
Hector’s eyes widened and his body trembled. He turned away and stepped into the back storage room.
Jason, curious, drifted after him. Inside the room, Hector kicked at a column of tires repeatedly. He walked over to a cupboard and put his hand on the knob. He pulled it partly opened and then closed it. Pulled it partly open and closed it again. His face contorted with emotions.
What’s he doing? Jason wondered, drifting closer. He studied Hector’s twisting features. What’s he thinking?
And then, the slight sucking sensation he felt when he departed or entered his body pulled at his insubstantial form. Before he could even gasp, he was suctioned into Hector Devoe.
He stared at his grease-covered hand, splayed on the cupboard in front of him. He wanted so badly to reach inside for the bottle he kept hidden there. But he couldn’t. The doctor...he’d scared him. A wave of rage pulsed up from the dark pit in his gut. Fuck that doctor! And fuck that brat!
Hector stared at the door back to the garage. He couldn’t control that punk anymore. He thought he was so smart. The rage swept up from the pit once again. He narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t heard the sound of the hoist coming down yet. He’d told him to take that car down.
Hector strode over to the door and pushed it open a couple of inches.
That meathead Lumper was out having a smoke.
Arnie was under Mr. Collier’s car with the trouble light, working.
The little bastard. The little bastard is defying me again. Thinks he knows better.
Rage steamed up from the pit, heating his chest and numbing his brain.
Thinks he’s smarter than me.
There was nothing but the rage now, hot and white, his vision focused like a narrow tunnel on the lower half of his son’s body.
It was the coolness of the metal spanner against his warm skin that made him aware of it, not its substantial weight. He looked down at it, clutched in his meaty fist. He didn’t remember picking it up. He stared in surprise at the object he clutched.
What are you doing, a faraway voice called out in his head. What the hell are you going to do with that?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know why he held the spanner. He backed away from his working son. When his back met the door, he fumbled with the knob and stumbled back inside the musty- smelling back room.
Once inside he threw the spanner inside the column of tires and it clattered to the floor inside the tubes of rubber, out of his sight.
Were you going to hurt your own son?
Was I? Was I going to hurt my own son? It was the rage, it was the things inside his gut, he tried to rationalize with the voice in his head. Oh God. He gripped his forehead with one hand. Now I'm hearing voices.
He stumbled over to the cupboard and ripped it open, pushing aside boxes of rags and groping until his hand felt the smooth glass of the bottle. Pulling it out, he tore off the cap, and raised it to his lips with only a brief flash of the warnings of his doctor. Liver damage, permanent, biopsy—the words fled through his brain, but they didn’t hold as much fear in them as the thought of hurting his son and arguing with voices in his head.
He took a long, grateful swallow of the liquid that would cool the heat in his chest and push it back down into the roiling pit in his gut. It would quiet all fears, silence all voices, and keep him from hurting his boy.
Memories of some other times when he’d not stopped himself from punching, kicking, slapping his boy, his estranged wife, his old man—once he’d been big enough to give some back—all were drowned by the next swallow. He sighed in relief.
The alcohol loosened Jason from Hector’s consciousness and he pulled from the man’s body with a sigh of relief that echoed the alcoholic’s as he took another slug of the bottle.
Jason stared at the man as he slid down the filthy wall to slump against the base, cradling the bottle between his hands like a baby.
The soul-shaking horror of what he’d experienced inside the man’s body melted into pity. How could he not drink? With that festering pit in his gut, what else could he do? How else could he stop that impenetrable cloud of rage from smothering all reason? Thankfully he had heard Jason screaming to him and stopped.
Jason drifted away and paused at the door, which was now open a few inches.
Arnie peered in at the crumpled form of his father with anything but pity on his face.
Jason slipped through the partly open door, grazing against Arnie’s stiff form, and recoiling slightly from the look of pure disgust etched on the younger Devoe’s face.
He watched as Arnie closed the door quietly and then stared at the knob for a few seconds.
What was he think
ing, Jason wondered, did he know what his father had almost done? Had he seen something?
The suctioning sensation began again, and Jason fought it for a moment, but curiosity got the better of his trepidation.
“Arnie?” Lumper’s voice pulled Arnie from his thoughts about his father’s pathetic weakness.
“What?”
“You need me anymore, or can I go down for a swim? Betcha some of the girls are down there by now.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll be down in a few hours, after we close.”
“Man, you were supposed to be off this afternoon. Your old man was supposed to close.”
“Nope, it’ll be me. Again.”
Lumper shrugged. “Okay, see you later.”
Arnie watched him walk away, resentment simmering. Lumper wouldn’t offer to stay. Not because he didn’t give a shit, but just because the kid was too stupid to give it a second thought. Not for the first time Arnie wondered if he was friends with Lumper in spite of that or because of it. Sometimes, lots of times, it was convenient.
He lowered the car with the hoist mechanism. He’d been right about it, looked like the sway bar was gone. He’d give Mr. Collier the bad news later. But at least he wouldn’t have to pay for a tire rotation he didn’t need, only to come back with more problems. Or worse, end up in an accident. Not that he really liked Mr. Collier—he was a sniveling wimp who sucked up to the old man. They shared a few bottles together, laughing and cursing and going on a few nights, keeping Arnie up, making him tired for school the next day. Of course, he was tired most days at school since his Dad made him work so much. Paid him less than minimum wage too, cheap bastard. Arnie felt the roiling in his gut of raw anger, but he smothered it. He went over to the speed bag he’d hung up in the corner of the office part of the garage and drummed on it, bare knuckled. He should tape his hands…he slipped into the rhythm of the bag and felt the anger simmer down.
One way to cool down, thought Jason.
Arnie grabbed the leather bag with two hands and froze.
What the hell?
“Fuck,” growled Arnie, striding back into the garage portion of the building and the cracked mirror hanging above the deep wash basin.
Arnie gripped the plastic tub and leaned in toward his reflection with a snarl. “I thought you were dead, old man. How’re you back in my head again? Get the fuck out!”
Jason began to recoil from Arnie’s mind. How the hell does he know I’m in here? Why’s he calling me an old man?
As Jason detached himself with a violent yank and floated backward, Arnie staggered. His broad frame moved closer to the glass and Jason floated toward the bright light of the outdoors. He was zipping out of the bay doors when he heard Arnie ask the mirror with a strained tone, “Jason?”
Terror pulsed through Jason as he fled over the treetops back toward his haven. Spotting his prone body he darted down but then paused to calm himself before re-entering. If you didn’t do it gently, it hurt. After a few moments of calming his fluttering nerves, he eased his insubstantial form back into his long skinny frame. As always it was several minutes before he regained control of his physical form. He thought about what just happened while he waited for full mobility.
How had Arnie known it was him? And who did he think it was at first, this—old man? Did he mean Hector? He did call his father his “old man”. His mind raced as he realized all that he’d learned while “occupying” the father and son. He understood both of them better than he wanted to, not only that pit of rage in their guts that made his own flashes of temper seem measly by comparison, but also things they knew. A lot of things they knew!
Jason sat up in surprise. A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him. He held his head. That had never happened before. The excitement he’d just felt dissipated with the nausea, but as the icky feeling faded the excitement built back up. In his mind he could now see how to disassemble, clean and reassemble a rifle. He could clearly visualize the internal workings of a basic car engine. He understood that there was no money in the gas pump part of the garage business but that it was a necessary inconvenience…and so much more.
Some from Hector’s knowledge, some from Arnie’s—wow, Arnie knew a lot more about cars than his dad. Jason crouched in his effort to stand as a flush of dizziness struck. Arnie knew a lot more about running the business too. He had some really good ideas…
Jason once again felt the wash of fear that had coursed through him when Arnie felt his presence. He had to get home before Arnie caught up with him. He jumped back to the peninsula of sand, almost falling into the water as his legs shook unsteadily beneath him. God, how was he going to get past the garage without being seen? Pulses of terror raced through his body as he gathered his things and began the journey out of the brush.
When he emerged from the trees and headed over to the willow tree for his bike, he stopped. His bike was gone.
“It’s in the back of my truck,” said Arnie from somewhere behind him.
Jason felt like he was going to puke. He rotated slowly to see Arnie standing there, arms crossed over his chest. Arnie’s hands, forearms and face were latticed with scratches, some of them deep.
Jason’s heart thumped. After Arnie finished with him, he’d look much worse. He was too concerned about that to ask Arnie what had happened, but he was curious. He realized in that moment that his curiosity had gotten him here, staring at Arnie with no place to run.
“Come on, get in the truck, kid. You look like you’re gonna fall down.” Arnie started toward the truck which was sitting on the gravel road, one wheel of Jason’s bike visible in the back.
When Jason didn’t move to follow, Arnie stopped and turned around. “I’m not gonna pound you, if that’s what you think.”
Jason still couldn’t get his legs to move.
Arnie put his hands on his hips and glared at Jason. “Of course, if you piss me off…” he raised his eyebrows.
Jason walked stiff-legged to the truck. It was weird how Arnie called him “kid”. He was only a year older. Jason had always thought before that it was because Arnie was as big as a man, but now that he’d seen inside his mind, and Hector’s, he understood. Arnie was older.
Once they were both inside the truck, Arnie made no move to start it. He just sat with his hands on the steering wheel. “Look under the seat. I grabbed something out of my locker for you. I thought if I brought it, maybe I’d be allowed in there.” He looked down at the scratches on his arms. “But I guess not.”
Fingers trembling, and not knowing what the hell Arnie was talking about, Jason groped under the seat until he found a book. He pulled it out. “This?” he asked.
Arnie nodded.
Opening it, Jason found drawings of the white stone in his secret place. They were detailed schematics that had boxes of information pointing to various pressure points in the indentations in the stone. There were pages of information too, with titles like, “Astral travel” and “Preventing Host from sensing traveler”.
“You might want to read that one.” Arnie was leaning over his shoulder, reading. “That’s how I knew who you were. You…leaked some of your thoughts when you were freaked out.”
“Leaked?” Jason asked weakly.
“Yeah. The old man wasn’t very good at ‘occupying’ when he tried his shit with me. That’s how I figured out he was there. I saw—like a picture in my head—his cabin in the woods, the crazy white stone, a bunch of stuff before he screwed off out of me. I thought I was going nuts.” Arnie shook his head. “I went around for months thinking I was cracking up. You know, not enough sleep or something, waiting for some other crazy shit to happen.”
“Finally, I couldn’t stand worrying about it anymore, so I went into the woods looking for the cabin or the stone. If I looked for the stone, I got lost and the trees seemed to work against me.” Arnie held up his scratched arm. “I’ve hunted in these woods my whole life, but looking for the stone, I’d get turned around. Then, when I tried to find t
he cabin, there it was. And him, the old man, and his book.”
Jason realized he wasn’t afraid of Arnie at the moment, he was so caught up in the story.
“He’d been dead probably a week by the look and smell of him. This book was on the floor under his open hand, like he’d dropped it there. I just closed the bedroom door and left him in his bed. He was really old, I guess.”
“Did you try to find the stone again?” Jason asked.
“No point. The book says you only find it if it wants you to find it. The old guy figures it was his brain chemistry or something, some kind of match for the stone. But I don’t know, now that the stone picked you, I think it might be something else.”
“Like what?”
Arnie shrugged. “From what I could see in this guy’s cabin, Frank Talbot, was his name, he was a quiet, keep-to-himself, real smart kind of guy. Like you.”
Jason flushed. He had only a small circle of friends and was known as a “brainiac” by the other kids.
“Arnie,” Jason swallowed before bringing it up again, “when I, well you know, was in your head.”
Arnie flashed him a dirty look before staring back out the windshield.
“Well, you’re smart, really smart. You know it too. You know you’d do better in school if you didn’t miss so much time and if you weren’t so tired. And your old man—“
Arnie’s head whipped toward him again.
“Yeah, I ‘occupied’ him just before you. Anyway, he knows you’re smart too. It’s one of the things that scares him.”
“Nothing scares that bastard.”
“No. He’s scared. He’s scared you’ll graduate and leave him to run the garage alone. He’s scared of the alcohol because he’s…sick. He’s scared not to drink the alcohol, because it gets rid of the anger…” Jason trailed off because Arnie’s eyes were huge.
“He’s sick?”
“Yeah.”
Arnie stared out the window a while then started the truck. They were almost to the garage before he spoke again. “I know about the anger. It’s bad. I have it too, just like my old man.”
“No,” Jason dared to say. “Not like him at all.”
Arnie drove past the garage.
“Where’re you—”
“I’m driving you home. The book says the ‘Astral’ shit makes you real tired.”
Jason was emboldened by this kind gesture. “You’re not like him, Arnie. You can control it—he can’t.”
Arnie shrugged. “I control it most of the time. I’ve been losing it a bit with you lately.”
Jason noticed he didn’t apologize.
They pulled in to Jason’s driveway. His Mom’s car was there.
“Why? Why’d you get pissed at me?”
Arnie nodded at his mom’s car. “At first I felt bad about your dad dying, so I thought I’d talk to you about it. Your mom’s always so nice to me when she comes in to the garage.” Arnie rubbed his eyes. “I was going down to geek alley, uh sorry, to the end where you guys hang out. I overheard you whining to your friends about how your mom makes you do all these extra chores now, and look after your sister and shit. And I snapped, man. I just snapped. You may have lost your dad, but you still had a mother. An awesome mother. I wanted to smash your face in ever since.”
Still no apology.
Jason had felt a flash of anger when Arnie was talking, but thinking back to being in Hector’s head, he felt it evaporate. No wonder Arnie wanted to smash him. Hell, sometimes lately he wanted to smash himself.
“Thanks for the lift,” Jason reached for the door handle, but Arnie grabbed his arm.
“Listen. You’re okay, kid, but don’t ever try to get in my fucking head again.” Arnie applied pressure to his arm. “Got it?”
“Got it.” Jason climbed out, clenching his jaw.
Arnie chuckled.
Jason stared at him.
“You’re funny-looking when you’re pissed off.”
Jason flushed.
Arnie sighed. “This thing picked you, man. That’s beyond fucking cool. Do something worthwhile with it, why don’t ya? And…why don’t you drop by the garage in a couple of days with your mom’s car? It needs a lot of work.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Uh, okay. I mean, I’ll have to talk to Mom.”
Arnie waved his hand at him. “We’ll work out some kind of deal for the work.” He looked thoughtful. “There’s stuff I’d like to do besides work at the garage, you know.” This time Arnie turned red.
Jason knew exactly what he meant but he just smiled and said. “Okay.”
As he walked down his driveway, Jason thought about Arnie’s dreams of working on airplanes. He’d have to graduate for that.
§
Jason watched the girl clutching her books as she walked toward him, head down. Despite the warm spring day, she wore a long-sleeved t-shirt and dark jeans. She was trying to be invisible. He heard her think that when he was in her head.
He thought back to floating into her room last night. He’d been drawn to her house, to her room. He hovered inside watching as she used a razor blade to make little tiny cuts on her arms and legs. Shivering, he’d entered her body.
Lisa trembled with delight as the pain slid deliciously through her. It felt so good to cut. Nobody at school would talk to her again tomorrow, except to mock her and push her and pull her hair.
She paused, blade over her skin, as a thought coalesced in her mind. What if I make a friend? A real friend. I wouldn’t need to hurt myself anymore.
“That’s stupid,” Lisa muttered out loud. “I suck at making friends.”
I’m going to make a deal with myself. If I make a friend, one friend, I’ll stop hurting myself.
She stared at the blade longingly, but the idea appealed to her more than the pain. She laid it on the table. “Okay,” she said, “if one person talks to me tomorrow I won’t cut myself tomorrow night.” Smiling, she started to get ready for bed.
Jason surreptitiously watched Lisa walk toward his locker. He waited until she was flush with him and then whipped around, colliding with her.
Books and papers flew everywhere, his and hers.
Lisa froze, waiting for the inevitable attack or laughter that happened anytime anyone else knocked her stuff out of her arms.
Jason smiled as he started sorting out their things. “Sorry about that.”
She just stood there.
“Aren’t you going to help me?” Jason looked up at her, eyebrows arched.
Trembling, she knelt and began grabbing her things, eyeing him warily.
“Oops, I think this is yours. Hey, aren’t you in my Biology class. Is your name…Lisa?”
Her eyes widened and she nodded. “Yeah.”
“Cool. Listen, can I walk there with you? We’re supposed to pick lab partners for the next assignment. Do you have a partner yet?”
Lisa shook her head no. Her cheeks flushed pink and a small smile pulled at her mouth.
Jason grinned, pleased with himself.
Since he’d been back to school, he’d helped a few kids. It felt good.
After school he was supposed to meet Arnie at the garage. He was catching Arnie up on school stuff and in exchange, Arnie was working on his mom’s car. Arnie was picking stuff up fast and his marks had already started to improve.
One night during the week and for four hours on the weekend, Jason worked at the garage, covering for Arnie and making the same crappy wages. But it meant some pocket money for Jason, which was nice, and some extra sleep for Arnie, which was cool. His mom was thrilled with how well the car was running.
Sometimes, after his shift, Jason would walk into the woods behind the garage and go right to his spot. He could approach from anywhere now and a footpath would open up for him and lead him right to the stone. He didn’t have to wade through water anymore. The stone was making it easier for him. Maybe it approved of his work. Or maybe it just looked forward to the Astral Travel more and more now.
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br /> Frank had written something about it in his journal. The stone seemed to respond to him more and more—as if they were bonding. Jason had his own theories. The fact that the stone had responded to more than one person made him think that he could find others who could use it too. He planned to try to take his sister to the stone in case it was genetic—if the stone let him, of course. He could tell her he was taking her fishing again. He’d taken her last weekend and she had loved it. His mom had given him a watery smile. Dad used to take them fishing all the time.
He told Arnie about it later at the garage when they were working on some math questions.
Arnie’s eyebrows knitted for a minute. “Why do you want to take other people there? You gonna form some kind of super-kid club?” He said it with a tone of bitterness.
Jason shrugged and dropped it, returning to the math question. He felt bad. Arnie was no doubt still stinging over the fact that the stone wouldn’t let him near it.
Later he visited the stone, standing a few feet away as it glowed invitingly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bring others there anyway. It made him feel a little…jealous thinking about it. But he was trying to get over it.
He had an important theory about the stone. He thought about the fact that every time he entered someone’s mind he could not only leak information or thoughts to them, but when he left their mind he maintained all of their knowledge about whatever they had learned or observed during their life. He barely had to study at all anymore.
A society of people who could do that would learn faster, accomplish more, accelerating all progress in all disciplines. What he, and others like him, could do with the stone was limitless. There was only one thing that bothered him about these theories.
Were they really his?
Staring at the stone’s pearly sheen he decided it didn’t worry him all that much. Kicking off his sneakers he leapt across to land on it in a crouch.
It pulsed in response and he smiled.
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