Sleight

by Tom Twitchel

  “Yeah, but it’s different. She’s just figured it out. It’s why I was kidnapped by Sonja, and why she’s interested in us. Sonja didn’t figure out that Justine had a knack until after she’d grabbed us,” I said.

  “So we have a runaway that can’t seem to stay put, who also has some of these magical abilities. There’s some flying ninjas abducting people. A kid who can shoot electricity from his hands and...a giant freak that took a couple of rounds and just vanished. Do I have all of that right?” Danton made a show of counting his fingers.

  “Yes, detective I realize it’s a lot to take in. It’s the burden I was referring to, or at least one of them. There are things you will see, have seen, that will change the way you look at the world. And there will be many questions along the way. Some that won’t have simple answers,” said Mr. Goodturn, his eyelids drooping.

  “Where’s the giant? I assume you know where he is. He’ll need medical attention if he isn’t already dead. He might hurt someone.”

  Mr. G shook his head slightly. “He will not need any assistance that we can’t provide. He is in hiding, likely close by. You needn’t worry about him.”

  “I need a drink,” Danton said, his face looking ashen and haggard. I could imagine how overwhelmed he felt.

  Mr. Goodturn offered him a wan smile. “Ordinarily I’d offer to join you detective. But I think I need some rest. Very taxing day, all considered.” He stifled a yawn with his hand.

  Danton got up from his seat on the bed and I pushed away from the wall where I’d been leaning.

  “Do you need anything Mis...grandpa?” I asked, kicking myself for almost referring to him as Mr. Goodturn in front of Danton. I really didn’t want to divulge all of my secrets in one day.

  “No Benjamin, thank you. I’ll be fine. Do ask Constance to come see me in the morning if you would.” He slid down under the covers, lying on his back. His short form and round belly looked child-like under the blankets.

  We left the room, closing the door behind us.

  I walked Danton all the way to the street so that I could lock up behind him. My leg, which hadn’t been bothering me much, ached from all of the running around. I stifled a groan when it occurred to me that with all of the excitement I hadn’t cracked a book and even started my homework. It seemed ridiculous to be worried about school. There were more serious things to stress about.

  Yeah, I’d use that excuse in class. I was sure it would go over well.

  We stood at the door, Danton on the sidewalk hunching his shoulders against the cold, me leaning on the door frame. I wasn’t trying to look cool. I was beat.

  “Well Benny, I’m not sure how I feel about tonight. We’re gonna need to talk again at some point. But for now I have to let this marinate. Figure out how to make sense of it.”

  I didn’t hold out any hope for him being able to do that. I had knacks and swimming in revelations over the last several days had left me dazed.

  “I’ll be ready to talk whenever you want,” I said.

  He paused, standing there in the freezing winter wind, looking more like a homeless person than a SPD detective. “How do you handle all this? How does your mother cope?”

  Not so hard to answer the first question, totally impossible to answer the second.

  “I’m learning as I go. I’ve only known about my knacks for a couple of years. But now that I’m getting schooled it helps.”

  “From Mr. Goodturn?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Good thing he’s willing to pretend to be your grandpa,” he smirked.

  A chill ran down my back. I didn’t say a word but I’m sure he could see how uncomfortable his comment had made me.

  Danton clapped me on the shoulder, giving me a tired smile. “We’ll talk about that later. I’m sure there’s another great story behind that.”

  He walked off to his car. I watched him get in, fire it up and drive away.

  FORTY-SEVEN: WHAT BIG TEETH YOU HAVE

  AS I SHUT the door to the pawnshop I heard a sound behind me.

  Twisting away from the doorway, I faced the dark interior of the pawnshop. Another sound, like something scraping along the floor, came from the small office at the back of the shop.

  My nerves, completely shot from all of the drama, sent tremors through my body. How much was too much? Taking a deep breath I reached under my jacket and scrounged around for my stunner. The holster was empty. During all the excitement I’d dropped it somewhere.

  Moving quietly I crept toward the office. The security light that remained on twenty-four seven, cast a weak yellow glow through the doorway. I got to within a couple of feet and something moved in front of the light, causing a shadow to flicker across the floor.

  I’d had enough. Baffle at school, all the crap that had gone down in the last few hours, I wasn’t going to let fear get the better of me. Steeling my nerves and preparing my telekinetic knack focus I took one long stride to the doorway and whirled into the office.

  And found Kenwoode sprawled in a corner.

  His giant body dominated the interior of the tiny office. He was crammed into a corner, flanked by shelving containing hundreds of gizmos and doodads. The smell of sweat and damp hair was overpowering, like a wet dog. Not that I was going to say that to him. His monstrous aspect hadn’t changed much, and I wondered why he hadn’t morphed back to his normal smaller form. The bulging muscles, the heavier beard and thick shock of hair still created a menacing appearance despite the fact that he was huddled on the floor. His broadened facial features and skin still had an ash-colored pallor.

  I hesitated to approach him. His ferocity when he had attacked us in the library left me wondering how much humanity remained behind those blue eyes.

  He stared at me unblinking. The pain he was in was palpable. My sensing ability registered it at such a high level that I staggered for a second. Unlike the times I had tried to use that ability on him in the past, I could now pick up a strong current of emotion. He was hurt and angry.

  “Are you alright?” I asked out of reflex. I knew he wasn’t. I hung back in the doorway.

  His eyes closed, and he shifted his body. I could see holes in the material of the jumpsuit he was wearing but there wasn’t any blood.

  He shook his head. “I can’t stand.” His voice sounded like wet rocks tumbling in a bucket.

  “Are you bleeding?”

  “No.”

  “If I lift you, with my knack helping me, will I hurt you?”

  “No.”

  His short answers were reminiscent of the limited conversations he and I had shared in the past.

  Bending down I offered him a hand and focused my knack influence under him. He grasped my outstretched arm, engulfing it in a huge powerful hand. I let out an involuntary gasp at the crushing power of his grip.

  “Easy,” I said. “If you break my arm this isn’t going to work.”

  He grunted in acknowledgement, and the pressure lightened. Putting more effort into my knack I used it to lift him off the floor, using my shoulder and arms to guide our combined mass through the office doorway.

  The trip up the elevator went smoothly enough. He kept his eyes on me the whole time and their intensity framed in that gray face made me more than a little uncomfortable. Keeping him upright was surprisingly easy. Despite his increased size he didn’t seem that heavy. When we were inside the apartment I asked him where he wanted to go and he pointed to the living room, located in the same hall that led to the library. There were no windows that looked out onto the street, so the interior was dark. Maneuvering him to a huge sofa I eased him onto it. I wondered if it would buckle under his weight, but it held without any protest.

  “Do you want me to get Constance?” I asked, knowing that my simple question carried a ton of complexity in it.

  “No,” he said.

  “Well what do you need? What kind of shape will you be in when you change back?”

  Wincing he squeezed his eyes shut and bared h
is teeth. Definitely scary. “It will take hours to revert. Broken ribs I think. I’ll need a balm for the tissue damage, possibly an IV. I’ll attend to it in the morning.”

  Hours to change back? “Don’t you need ice, a hot pad or something?” I asked.

  His eyes cracked opened. There was blood in them, obscuring most of the whites. “You’ve done enough. Leave me,” he muttered and closed his eyes.

  Oh. Okay and you’re welcome? It was clear that I wasn’t going to get any more out of him, but I couldn’t tell if his refusal of help was bravado or his knowledge from previous experience. I decided to leave him and find Constance.

  It was late. There had been plenty of excitement and I was a little reluctant to wake her if she was sleeping. When I got to her door I knocked softly.

  The door opened within a few seconds and her familiar face looked out at me. She hadn’t changed out of her clothes yet, still wearing the dress slacks and sweater she’d been wearing earlier. Although she looked like my mother’s twin her choice in what she wore was completely different. More formal, reserved.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Um, I found Kenwoode.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth drew into a thin line. “How is he?”

  “I can’t tell. I had to help him get back upstairs but he doesn’t want anything else until morning. And he didn’t want me to bother you.”

  Her face softened. “Is he bleeding?”

  “No.”

  The momentary softness receded. Her jaw set, and she lifted her chin. “Then he knows what he needs. Is there something I can do for you Benny?”

  “No, well maybe but I don’t want to keep you from getting some sleep,” I said.

  Stepping back she opened the door wider and motioned me in. The room was bigger than the one I used when I slept at Mr. G’s. Just beyond a short entry hall was a room that contained a couch and a chair. She took a seat on the couch, sitting on the edge and patted the cushion next to her.

  “Have a seat.”

  I sat down leaving a little space between us and faced her.

  “I talked with Mr. Goodturn last night,” I said. Had it really been the night before? So much had happened that it seemed that days had passed instead of hours.

  “And?” she asked.

  “He told me a lot about my history. And hinted at his,” I said.

  “I see,” she said.

  Wow, there’s nothing like talking to people who carried on a conversation like it would kill them to string together more than two or three words at a time. I thought maybe I understood a little better how she and Kenwoode had been close.

  “Do you know what we talked about? About my family’s background?” I asked.

  She smiled and scooted deeper into the couch. “Yes, I suppose I do. Is that what you want to talk about?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but I was curious about Kenwoode’s condition too. Since I’ve seen his knack I figured you could tell me more about it.”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she turned to look at me. “Yes. I can do that.”

  “So, he said that it would take him hours to turn back, he called it reverting. Why does it take so long and what exactly is it?” I asked.

  Her hand went to her chin and she tapped it with her index finger. “That is a question that I can’t answer with complete accuracy. I can tell you what I’ve guessed at and pieced together. His ability, his influence, causes his tissue to expand. Capillaries and veins increase in size, the heart pumps greater amounts of blood to his muscles and skin. The epidermal layers harden. Similar to the muscle expansion that weightlifters experience after a strenuous workout, but much more dramatic and stabilized while he’s manifesting. His hair thickens and gets longer. It makes his skin turn a dark gray. It also makes him incredibly strong but doesn’t increase his total mass. Because his weight remains relatively light he’s faster and can do things that look impossible.”

  I thought back to the incredible leap he had executed in the library.

  She went on. “I don’t think the change affects his skeletal structure at all and that is one of the reasons he is in so much pain. He suffers from acute rheumatoid arthritis. Very painful. His joints, tendons and ligaments bear an incredible amount of stress during and after the transformation. All of that power literally tears the connective tissues between bone and muscle. The metamorphosis takes little time to manifest which also creates huge stress on his body. The reversal takes hours as he told you. I don’t know why, but my theory is that the blood engorged tissue can’t shed the extra volume quickly. That process is also very painful. He can’t use traditional methods, ice or heat, for easing the pain because it retards the regression, and creates other problems. Blood clots, severe shin splints, spasms.”

  As impressive as the knack was it seemed like there was a heavy price to pay for invoking it. I wondered again whether my own collection of knacks carried a cost that would reveal itself in the future.

  “And that’s why he doesn’t use it very often.”

  “Yes,” she said, “And without a healer providing some relief the pain he carries away from each use of it is permanent.”

  I sat there thinking about that for a minute, taking it all in.

  “But that isn’t the main reason you wished to speak with me is it?” she asked.

  “No. Mr. Goodturn told me some things about my past. He hinted that there was another person in my mother’s background. But he said it was that person’s decision whether or not to talk about it. I wondered if the two of you talked about it. If he was referring to you.”

  Her hands fussed with the material of her pants.

  “Yes, we did. We talked about my past as well, and I told him about the conversation you and I had on the day we met. What he told me was not a total surprise,” she said, her eyes glistening.

  I sat quietly, feeling hot, almost feverish.

  “I’m your aunt, Benny. And your mother is indeed my sister. My twin.”

  Emotion swelled up inside me, making my throat tight and my cheeks burn. “So, you’re my aunt. Mr. Goodturn was keeping track of you and my mom for years.”

  She nodded, her eyes close to brimming over.

  “And that makes you and me family,” I said.

  One tear slipped down her cheek. She smiled and placed a hand over mine.

  “Why would this all be kept secret?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  “He rescued both your mother and me when we were newborns. He arranged to have me placed with a family in Kentucky, and your mother with a couple who were unable to have children of their own. Your grandparents.”

  “Then they weren’t my grandparents. Not really,” I said. My head hurt.

  “Those people were your grandparents. They raised your mother and always looked at you as their grandson. They were family. And so am I.”

  I nodded, looking at our hands laying one on top of the other. My eyes burned and my throat was tight.

  FORTY-EIGHT: UNDER A THUMB

  THE NEXT MORNING I woke up with a massive headache and swollen eyes. Family. I had a flesh and blood relative right next door. I’d wanted to know about my past, and I’d gotten more than I had bargained for, the answers blowing in during a brutal evening of revelations.

  I numbly went through my morning routine and got ready for school. It seemed like a joke that I had to deal with that after what I’d learned. I’d been so overcome when I’d left Mr. Goodturn’s home that I didn’t even remember walking back to my own apartment.

  I knew how my mother’s life had been scripted from her birth, and that I had been tracked from the day I arrived screaming and kicking into the world. My family lineage had been manipulated by Mr. Goodturn. Regardless of the circumstances and his motivation, almost everything about me was because of him. Mr. Goodturn had known who I was, and where I was my whole life. He’d orchestrated my renting an apartment in his building too.

  But there were things I o
wed to him. He’d shown up when I was recovering at the hospital. He’d come on the fly when Sonja had drugged me in an alley. When I’d needed someone to step in as a family member he’d been there. And isn’t that what you want from family? To show up?

  I didn’t want to see anyone. I felt naked and exposed. People I’d hardly known a few years ago knew more about my life than I had. And I’d misread a lot of stuff lately too. Sawyer, a kid I’d thought was going to be my first close knack-friend had turned out to be a traitor. And another traitor, Baffle, was hiding in the shadows, waiting to get even.

  Yeah, I was in a mood.

  Skipping breakfast was more about feeling too pressured to slow down than a conscious choice. I traipsed down the stairs and through the lobby as quickly as I dared, wearing several layers with a hood pulled over my head. It was freezing cold and a couple of random snowflakes swirled in front of me when I stepped outside. When I cruised past the pawnshop I didn’t even glance at it.

  The cold temperatures and the relative warmth in the bus created a beautiful frost pattern on the windows, but at the moment I was feeling too confused to appreciate it. I couldn’t bring myself to take any pleasure form the streets around me with their Christmas ornaments, lights and random Santas ringing their bells.

  Plus I was going to show up in class totally unprepared. So not like me. And I was nervous about any fallout I might have to deal with because of Baffle. So when I got off the bus and trudged the last few steps to the school entrance I was not at my best. Stomach growling and my head full of too many variables outside of my control I pulled open the door. When I walked in I was immediately met by Mr. Conroy.

  “Good morning Benny,” he said, serious but cordial.

  “’Morning sir,” I responded. I knew this meeting was no coincidence. His normal friendly manner was muted by some tension or pressure he was feeling.

  “Please come with me,” he said.

  “I don’t want to be late for class.”