Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  And it was over. Gina went to look for Mrs. Stuart, who had promised her an in-depth experience with the instruments and technology in her music room. And Dr. Stuart took Mark to find some sports to watch on TV. They all left the study without a word or even a glance toward where they left me sitting on the couch.

  What had happened? I had to ponder on that for a minute. It was as if Dr. Stuart could read my mind, so completely was my unspoken wish list fulfilled. I was free! Free to see Will every day. Free to meet with him and his dad so I could finally get past this anxiety nonsense. Free to develop my abilities so they would work for me instead of being a burden to me. Free!

  And right now, nothing else mattered. Except, of course―

  Where was Will?

  "I'll teach you how to do this sometime, if you like," his voice said quietly by my head as his arms came around my shoulders from behind.

  "You mean, sneak up on people?"

  "Exactly."

  Just as Melinda had forewarned me. "Looks like I could use the help. I don't seem to do it very well at all."

  "You just need a little instruction and lots of practice," he assured me. "Don't move."

  "Alright." What was he up to now? I found out immediately as he sort of vaulted over the back of the sofa so he first landed sitting on the middle cushion of the three, then lied back with his head in my lap.

  "I've been missing you tremendously. I think I'm addicted," he said, faking a mildly troubled expression.

  "You, too, huh?" I responded, resting one hand on his chest and running the fingers of the other through his hair.

  "Yup. So what shall we do about it?" He took the hand on his chest and began kissing my fingertips one at a time.

  "Enjoy it," I suggested decidedly.

  "I think I can do that," he agreed, now kissing the palm of my hand and starting up my forearm. "But here is probably not the best place to do it at the moment. Walk?"

  "Yes. But first . . . ." I held the back of his head with one hand, took his chin with the other, and I kissed him―in a way that I had only ever thought about wanting to do to anyone in the last few days. I lightly touched my lips against his one at a time, then together, then more firmly, until well after he had begun kissing me back. When I moved to lift my face away from his, he put his hand behind my neck and gently pulled my head closer to kiss me again. When he let go and our eyes met, I read in his the same desire I felt in me―to do it again, and again . . . .

  "Walk now?" I asked.

  "We'd better."

  We got up from the sofa and left the house, as usual, hand in hand.

  I started to tell him about how it went with Mark and Gina, but he already knew. (He had been "listening" from the family room with Melinda, who had been requesting updates on the proceedings.) When they and his dad came in, Gina asking for his mom, Will directed her to the music room in the basement and came into the study to find me.

  "Dad's good, isn't he? He may not have a measurable ability in telepathy, per se, but he can still read people quite effectively," Will commented.

  I had to agree. And most gratefully. If it weren't for Dr. Stuart's skill, I probably wouldn't be sauntering along with Will at that moment. And I wouldn't be looking forward to finally getting a handle on the down side of my "abilities," let alone hoping to enjoy the up side.

  We came back in time for dinner, still with our hands clasped together. We didn't bother releasing our hands when we walked into the kitchen and found everyone else helping. They were laughing and talking, setting the table and filling water glasses, slicing meat and putting side dishes into serving bowls.

  Gina raised her eyebrows slightly when she noticed my hand in Will's, but said nothing―then or later. I read that she was still concerned, but she was also confident that Will's parents would monitor us appropriately. And I knew they would be okay with us. I thought "they" because if Gina was, Mark would be.

  We had a pleasant, relaxing, delicious meal ending with warm cherry pie à la mode. Which pie, I was surprised to learn, was Melinda's creation almost entirely. "Mom helped me," she demured. Would wonders never cease?

  I had to keep reminding myself not to speak silently to Will. It would have been too easy for Mark and Gina to pick up on something. I can’t say that Will was as careful, and I almost blew it a couple of times in response to his mental comments. It was nice that we sat next to each other. With Mark and Gina situated on the opposite side of the table, the fact that our knees, and occasionally our hands, were touching didn’t become an issue.

  Later, after we played some games and it was time for me to leave with Mark and Gina, Will reminded me, "Didn't you leave some clothes in the guest room?" (He must have been “listening” earlier in order to know that.)

  "You're right. I did." And we both headed up the stairs to get them. We realized we weren't fooling anyone, but still waited until we were in the guest room to present each other with a goodnight kiss.

  "Cassie," he said as our lips separated, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"

  "Not even in my dreams." I kissed him again. "Well, until a few days ago," I clarified.

  "Good," he declared, grinning. Then he kissed me again, "We are going to have to stop soon, or someone will come looking for us."

  "Let them. I need the practice." I took his head in my hands and brought it back to mine.

  "I would have to disagree with you on that," he responded, speaking the last words against my lips as I undertook to prove him right.

  Something very warm had begun to flow through me, and my fingers couldn't touch enough of Will as they went to his hair, around his ears, tracing lightly down his neck to his chest. His hands went to my waist, then around to my back until his arms almost lifted my feet from the floor in their effort to strain our bodies as close together as physically possible. Our lips moved against each other in delightfully passionate ways, our breaths becoming more and more labored as we endeavored to make each other feel what words could not, at that moment, adequately convey.

  And it was quickly becoming too much. We both acknowledged that by stopping at the same time, leaning our foreheads together while our breathing slowed. I reached for the bag of clothes where I had tossed it on the bed.

  "Call me," I implored.

  "I will." He put his arm around my shoulders as I slipped one of mine around his waist, and we went downstairs.

  No one commented. No one even seemed to take particular notice. And that is exactly how I wanted it to be.

  If only I could have been as unremarkable to the rest of the world.

  . Chapter Thirteen

  Thus began what I found myself calling my “new life."

  At first, I couldn't seem to help wondering how much of this "new life" would have been my life all along if things had happened differently. What if I didn't have any special "abilities," or if I had handled them better so my birth parents hadn't felt compelled to get help? Or, what if they hadn't found Paladin? Or taken me there? But I didn't like those alternatives, because they precluded my relationship with Will.

  So, I reasoned further—

  What if Gary Barnett had never come to Paladin? That sounded excellent―at first. But, from what I had been told, he was just a pawn in a much larger organization's plan to recruit "talent" of the paranormal type. If he hadn't been the one, it seemed only logical to surmise that there would have been someone else. Was it therefore inevitable that someone would come, and threaten my family, and cause our separation? Was that conclusion so entirely inescapable that a change in players here or there wouldn't have made any difference?

  And what about the decisions my parents and Dr. Stuart and Ben had made? Could there have been an option they didn't see? One that wouldn't have resulted in my being left by myself in an emotional quagmire of ignorance and self-doubt for more than half my life? Did I really have to go through ten such trying years?

  At that point, the salient question surfaced: Did it really matter? Nothi
ng from the past could be changed. My memory was restored, as was my relationship with Will (and then some). Was it worth any more speculation?

  The obvious answer: No.

  So I did my best to put it all away and focus instead on the happy state of my current circumstances, which had improved so drastically in a little over a week’s time. I wasn't entirely successful because memories of my birth parents continued to surface within me, little by little, day after day. It seemed as if some part of my brain was reliving my life with them chronologically, and I was now maybe five years old or so in that process. Reliving my life with them made me miss them. And I wondered, and worried, about them.

  I noted all this in my journal and brought it to my meetings with Dr. Stuart and Will every week. We reviewed it, and we talked about it. But I knew it wouldn't be resolved for me until I was reunited with them. Ben may not have been able to locate them yet, but I was determined to maintain a positive outlook. It was easier to live with.

  But, then, what would happen when he did find them? How would I break that news to Mark and Gina? Dr. Stuart occasionally reminded me that it would be best to tell Mark and Gina as much as possible as soon as possible, and, ultimately, everything. I could see the wisdom in that―to a point. In other words, I just wasn’t ready to deal with the emotional fallout from that in addition to all the other turmoil I was attempting to resolve inside myself. And how would knowing about the first seven years of my life, and the Stuarts’ involvement in them, affect Mark and Gina’s attitude toward them, especially Will? I wasn’t going to cross that bridge until . . . well, later.

  When Mark and Gina took me home that first Sunday night―after obtaining their approval―I promptly called Sam to accept the standing job offer from her mother. Sure enough, Mrs. Miller got on the phone and spent several minutes expressing her excitement that I would finally be coming to work for her. And I should absolutely feel free to do my homework during lulls. She wished Sam would do the same. Maybe my good study habits would even rub off on her (Sam), she said. (I hoped―most likely in vain―that Sam didn't hear that last part.)

  She wanted me to start the next day, and work after school from four until closing at eight, Monday through Thursday. And, because she knew how smart and responsible I was (her words), she would even start me well above minimum wage. (Whatever that was. I didn't really know. As long as it got me started toward a ring for Will.) She would tell me exactly how much after she checked with her accountant on Monday. Was that alright with me?

  I told her that it was, and rejoiced in the fact that I would have almost an hour and a half between school and work that I might be able to spend with Will. Hey! No need to wait for him to call me. …

  "Will?"

  "Hi! You know, I was just thinking about you."

  "Really?"

  Would he say it? "Honest." Of course. "But, then, I'm always thinking about you."

  "Same here."

  "You're always thinking about you, too?"

  It took me a second. I would have to quit setting myself up like that. "No. Well, I guess that I do. I mean, everybody kind of does, in a way." What was I trying to say? "But that's not what I meant."

  "I know," he chuckled. "Do you realize how patient you are with me?"

  Huh? That was a total non sequitur. "Am I?"

  "Yes. You are. For example―now that I've entirely derailed your train of thought―was there something you wanted to talk to me about? Something specific, I mean?"

  Was there? "Yes. There was." Was I too patient with him? "But I'm not sure about it anymore." Two could play at this. Or do a passable imitation. Maybe . . . .

  "About what, Cassie?"

  "About what I was going to ask you."

  "Which was . . . ?"

  Should I answer right away, or not? Then, somehow, I could tell he was reaching for me―telepathically. (I wasn't quite sure that was exactly what to call it. It wasn't only my mind he was seeking. He was feeling for me in a more complete way.) I took it that he wanted to know for himself what was going on inside of me, instead of having to wait for me to answer. Was that cheating? Well, there was nothing I could do about it. Yet. I would make sure that this was at the top of my priority list of skills to master.

  "Ah," was all he said at first. After a quiet sigh, "I'm sorry, Cassie. I'll try not to do that. Quite so often, anyway. In spite of how much fun it is." So, he had picked up on my budding irritation. But how much more was he capable of reading, I wondered?

  "You wanted to ask something about do I want to . . . keep you?"

  I was speechless, even inside my own head. I had to learn to do that. And very soon. In the meantime . . . .

  "Keep me?" That had an archaic, whorish ring to it somehow.

  "Only in the sense that I get to be with you, Love." He paused. "No lascivious meaning intended. You know I don't think of you that way, don't you?"

  "Yes." Okay. That part was answered. Hmm. What about . . . ?

  Why aren't you talking to me telepathically?

  I waited.

  "Cassie, did you just ask me a question?"

  "Yes. You couldn't hear me?"

  "Not clearly. I've been working on tuning in to you at distances. But so far I've only refined it enough to know it's you, and to get a general sense of how you're feeling. Sometimes―like just now―I can pick up some specifics. But it's much harder than when we're together. I wish it weren't. I wish we could always be together even when we're not."

  "I do, too." That sounded wonderful: Always being connected with Will. Not having to rely on physical closeness―as desirable as that was―or even cell phones. "Can anybody learn to do that?"

  "The research at Paladin showed that if you are born with the equipment, so to speak, for a given ability, it can be developed. But it doesn't work to just decide you want a certain ability―no matter what others you might already have―and try to acquire it.

  "In other words, you get what you're born with."

  This was fascinating. This I had wanted to understand . . . forever. Though, until now, I hadn't managed to frame it in words.

  "What were you born with?" Besides the obvious. Oh. Did he pick up on that?

  "Whatever that was, thank you. I think."

  "You're welcome. I think. But don't ask."

  He chuckled. "Okay." Continuing, "In terms of the so-called paranormal, I can read people like you can. That's pretty easy to establish. And, as far as we can tell, I can put words inside people, too. With everyone that's been willing to let me try, that is. Can I do it with everyone? It's probable, but I can't be completely sure. It's not something you just go up to someone and ask: 'Would you please confirm that you hear my voice in your head?'

  "Yeah." I could understand that. "Anything else?"

  "Do you know what telekinesis is?"

  "Isn't it moving things with your mind?"

  "Basically. But it can be more broad than that―controlling physical objects. And it's more than just the mind. There seems to be an emotional component to it, as well."

  "So you can do that, too?"

  "Some. It was identified early on at Paladin. But the prescribed process was for each student to develop their most prominent ability first, along with all the coping skills they needed so they could live a regular, happy life. Working on other skills came after. And I've been rather preoccupied with perfecting my long distance communication skills for the last few years. I was able to pick up on where you were, but getting something through to you never seemed to work. It was probably for the best, though. You wouldn't have known what to do with my voice inside you, would you?"

  I had already been doubting my sanity all those years. He was probably right. "No, I wouldn't." I was beginning to feel insignificant next to him. "Anything else?"

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  And that left it open for more. He was so accomplished. And competent. And sane. My one ability didn't seem like very much after all, and I couldn't even handle that well. H
ow could I ever develop it to the point he had? And he hadn't even discovered his full potential yet.

  He was still tuned in. "What are you thinking, Cassie?" he asked. "It feels . . . wrong."

  Oh, dear. "I was thinking how insignificant my abilities are next to yours, and how poorly I handle them." Well, I got it out.

  "That's not true, Cassie," he promptly responded. "The reason you have more trouble dealing with them is because you have so much potential. You had already developed your skill to such an extent, the researchers were projecting that, with time and practice, you would be able to single out any person on the earth and know what was going on inside of them. There would be virtually no limit to who, or where, you could reach. That's why Barnett was so interested in you. You could provide them with limitless surveillance. And they would never get caught.

  "You used to tell me about trips you would take in your head. You would see things miles away, even describe places hundreds of miles away, where you had never been. And the distances seemed to keep growing. You said it was like flying, and you loved how it felt, Cassie.

  “I always wished I could go with you."

  As he spoke, I remembered how it felt. And I realized that this was the experience I was trying to recapture when I would swing as high as I could, then jump. And, now, I could recall doing that very thing with Will. I described to him what was coming back to me.

  "That's right," he confirmed. "You told me that was the best you could do to share it with me. We would use the swings at your house. We could get higher on them than the ones in my yard. We’d jump out over the railroad ties that bordered the play area, and land on the grass. Our parents didn't really like it, but we were careful and never got hurt. So, they gave up and let us go ahead."

  I could almost feel him smiling reminiscently. "It seemed so right that you stopped at the park to swing when I followed you from Sam's. I wasn't sure I would actually approach you, but the swings made it seem . . . I hoped it meant that somehow you remembered something of me. Even just deep inside. And I couldn't stand it any longer―the distance between us, I mean.