by Eros, Marata
He coasted along, his butt to the wall. He rounded the corner, his body blocking our line of sight, and the living room came into view.
We should have worried about intruders but the room was in such disarray we were stopped in our tracks.
My eyes roamed the mess, some things destroyed. All Mom's indoor plants drooped like sad streamers from a party, discarded.
Mom started to rush forward, but Dad blocked her with an arm.
“No Ali, it's not safe,” he said.
Mom's hands were wrapped around Dad's forearm, which was still barring her way. He looked into her eyes, big as fifty-cent pieces, and she straightened, silently letting go of his arm.
Dad's briefcase and papers were strewn about like confetti. His pulse-top was open, the blue screen of death staring blankly, a winking eye that never closed.
Dad's mouth tightened into a hard line.
“Wait here,” he said, walking off down the hallway.
Mom and I stood together while Dad cruised the house, searching for the A-holes that had violated us. What could I do to protect Mom? Five minutes later—the longest five minutes of my life—Dad came back, face grim.
“They're not here, but we're not staying here tonight.”
“We'll have to pulse the police.” Mom walked over to the Fam-pulse.
“Wait! What if Garcia comes?” I asked.
“Yes, most interesting,” Dad said, and Mom harrumphed at that. “What I mean is, we have done nothing wrong. We are the ones in danger, not the people hiding things or perpetuating crimes.”
“Smart,” Mom said.
Dad nodded at Mom, and she hit the touch pad.
I walked over and watched the screen over her shoulder.
911 Dispatch: 911, your emergency?
Alicia Hart: My house has been vandalized.
911 Dispatch: Your address is 26503 Kensington Heights. Is this accurate?
Alicia Hart: Yes.
911 Dispatch: Our sensors do not indicate bodily damage. Is there need for an ambulance at your dwelling?
Alicia Hart: No.
911 Dispatch: Police response will arrive momentarily.
Please stay on your pulse-phone in case intruders re-enter dwelling.
Mom rolled her eyes. She hated all the automation.
Alicia Hart: Connected.
That would allow her to move around.
Dad still held the bat. I mentioned that he should probably put it away. He looked down at it blankly, as if he’d forgotten about it, then nodded and put it back in the garage.
Then it struck me. My room.
Racing up my coffin step staircase I flung open the door, heaving a big sigh of relief. Everything looked exactly as it normally did.
Dad and Mom came up behind me, staring at my room.
Dad made a gasping noise, like a fish out of water. His eyes moved from one mess to the next, like a frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad, “Is this normal?”
I nodded vigorously, relieved. “Yeah, it doesn't look like they made it this far.”
Dad had a spacey, dazed expression. He looked at Mom. “He really... his room...”
Mom said, “Yes, honey. I told you he never listens about cleaning.”
“I thought you were just...”
I helpfully added, “Ranting?”
Mom squinted at me. “Watch it, pal.”
My pillowcase lay in a tightly wadded ball in the corner of the bed with the bare pillow bunched up next to it. Clothes covered the floor. My desk stood at the end of the room where the ceiling and eave junction met. A precariously balanced mess of candy wrappers, pizza boxes, and neatly crushed soda pop cans obscured the top. My dirty clothes hamper was a great holder for anything that was not actual trash or laundry.
Dad looked an unspoken question to Mom. “Yep, he's ours.”
He shook his head again, walking out of my room and downstairs without word.
“What's the matter with Dad?”
“He's had a shock, honey.”
“Yeah, the losers that wrecked our house.”
“Well, I think it's a toss-up between what happened in our house and him discovering that your room looks like it was ransacked.”
I didn't get it. “But my room wasn't messed with.”
“I think that may be the shock, that this is the normal state of your room.”
Huh. Parents.
I heard the pulse-chime. The cops had arrived.
Show time.
I went downstairs, and two new cops stood in our foyer. They had their guns out and pointed upward. That one thing made me more nervous than anything could.
When Mom and I appeared, they turned, guns at the ready.
Dad said, “Whoa, guys. It's just my family.”
The tiny woman cop looked reluctant to lower her weapon. In a husky voice that didn't match her body, she said, “Sir, we need to secure the house.”
“Of course, go ahead,” Dad replied.
She of the small build and tough attitude gave a curt nod. Her gaze lingered on me for a second, then she and her partner went down the hall, guns drawn.
We watched them as they disappeared and reappeared around corners, exploring every part of the house. A few minutes later, they returned to stand in front of us. An awkward silence ensued.
Dad nodded toward the male officer. “So Ali and Caleb, this is Officer Ward.”
“Chuck,” he corrected with a wink.
Dad gestured at the woman. “And Officer Roberta Gale.”
Officer Gale stepped toward me.
She smiled, but not like she meant it .
“What are you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Then she let me have it, but it was nothing like it had been with Tiff. With Gale, it was a soft breeze, a gentle thing, as if someone took my heart and squeezed it until it burst through her fingers. The breath left my body, and I sagged to my knees, sucker punched.
Mom screamed, “Caleb!”
She reached out to grab me.
I held out my hand, warding her off.
With Gale’s extra creepy still running through me, I reached down where that special power always lay and prayed for enough to deal with it.
The power rose to my call, a life force welling up and pouring out of my body like a vessel. I visualized a spear and aimed it at tough chick Gale. I’d never used my power like that, but she'd hurt me, and I was in defense mode.
She flew back as if shoved by an invisible hand and slammed against the wall. A high-pitched whistle escaped in a rush, leaving her mouth opening and closing seeking air that wouldn't come.
Chuck pulled his gun and aimed at me. Keeping his eyes on me, he said out of the side of his mouth, “Bobbi, what's this about? Tell me right now , so I don't have to hold my gun on a teenager. I hate this paranormal crap,” he muttered.
Officer Gale wasn't talking just then, thank you very much . But her eyes were on my face, her hands pressed to her chest, as if I had shot her. We kept serious eye contact and finally she spoke.
“He's AFTD,” she gasped out.
“Didn't I say I hate that paranormal crap?”
Dad's helped me to my feet. My parents stared at Officer Gale as if she were an alien.
“Put the gun away,” Gale told her partner. “It was a test.”
“Great,” Ward said as he holstered his weapon. “Think you could warn me next time?”
The tension eased down a notch.
“I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. It was what I was trained to do when I encounter another paranormal, an AFTD paranormal in particular.”
“What, suck the life out of me?” I asked with a touch more sarcasm than I intended.
She lowered her eyes. “I wasn't expecting it to be quite like this.”
“How’d you know about me?” I asked.
“It's hard to explain, but it's like when you know someone is American.”
I nodded, there were so many
foreigners living in the U.S. that it was getting harder to identify, but I knew what she meant. There was a look, an arrangement of features. I knew it when I saw it.
“Or it's similar to a scent in the air.” She bowed her head for a second. “Or a taste. But you … I haven't encountered that before.”
Dad asked, “We heard they’re now pairing all non-paranormal officers with paranormal ones.”
“Not yet,” Ward responded. “Soon it'll be a mandate. Informally, we're already pairing.”
Ward laughed and pushed away from the wall. I didn't see what was funny.
“Let's face it. People that can set fires with their minds, manipulate the elements, and raise the dead. If those people are on the wrong side of the law, things can be problematic.”
Problematic... ya think ? It was my turn to laugh. I was sure the cops were kept busy with the paranormals that were criminals. I bet the pharmaceutical tycoons didn’t consider that before they administered drugs that gave us the cool skills .
Gale regarded me with eyes that reflected nothing. Something about her name clicked. Bobbi Gale. She was the chick who used her AFTD to find murder victims.
“Aren't you the one that did that article about AFTD?” I asked.
She cocked her head.
“Oh yeah. Well, at that time, I was the only AFTD on the force.”
“There's more?”
She nodded, giving a small shrug of dismissal. “Not many.”
“Maybe that's natural selection,” I said.
Dad looked at me in surprise.
I grinned. “Sometimes I listen to you.”
He grinned back then turned to Gale. “Okay, now that you're done with the theatrics, can we figure out what this”—he swept his hand around—“violation means?”
Gale took out her pulse-pad. All ideas and notes transferred automatically as she thought them. Those were cool. I bet most cops had them. Except for Garcia.
She took her thumb off the pad. “Can we talk after we get your statements?” she asked me.
Mom replied, “No more testing.”
Gale shook her head. “No more, I promise. I followed protocol exactly. I apologize that it backfired. It's not an exact science.”
Dad cupped his hand over his mouth, hiding a smile.
“Sure, okay.” I was acting cool about it, but I did want to talk to her, as long as she didn't pull another whammy.
The cops asked my parents a series of questions. Was the house pulse-alarm activated? Had there been suspicious activity? Were there any known enemies? Boring.
Finally, they wrapped up, saying they'd make an official report, and we’d have police surveillance at our house.
“For how long?” I asked.
Gale looked up from her pulse-pad. “It'll be random, so the perpetrators can't anticipate our moves. Typically, we give about five days.”
“This area usually doesn't have this kind of criminal activity,” Ward admitted. “Are you sure there isn't someone who has an agenda, a motive?”
I thought the break-in was way too much of a coincidence what with my voodoo death stuff coming online. If I was thinking that, I was sure my parents were. But they shook their heads and didn’t say a word, the silence swelling like a balloon. They wouldn't have shared anyway, especially after Garcia had said he was legally bound to turn in corpse raisers.
“Okay.” She powered down her pulse-pad. “That'll be all for now.” Ward gave her a strange look but she was focused on us. He obviously expected more but she had deliberately shut the meeting down.
She turned to me. “Still up for talking?”
Cautious. “Yeah.”
“You can use the kitchen,” Mom said.
I followed Gale into the kitchen. She took Mom’s chair, and I sat in my usual one. I could hear Officer Ward and my parents speaking quietly out in the foyer, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Gale stared at me. “Spill it.”
“Um… spill what?”
“I know you're more than a two- or three-point AFTD. I’ve never felt anyone as powerful as you.” She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, but the kitchen was really warm. Apparently, she was creeped out.
I was having that effect on a lot of people lately.
“I've felt plenty of AFTDs...” she waved her hand at me, “... but you're something unique.”
I wasn't ready to answer. I decided to ask her some questions.
“How do you know when someone is paranormal?”
She sighed. “It's like I told you before—it's a feeling, a difference. It feels like a low electrical vibration.”
“Is that what they taught you at the school? How to identify paranormals?”
“Yes, some of it. You'll go to the same school I did. I'm a local girl, ya know.” She grinned.
I dug local, they knew the deal, the people, all that jazz.
“What was it like, the school?”
“It's like regular high school, but you're with people who can do amazing things. AFTDs are the rarest, but fire-starters are running a close second.”
“You mean like the book?”
“The what?”
“The book by Stephen King.”
“Who's he?”
“Only the greatest writer globally!”
“Well, I'm not much of a reader, but the name rings a bell. What's his story about? Pyrokenetics?”
“Yeah, but it's more. Back then, it was just an idea, fiction. No one ever thought it'd be like this.”
I leaned forward. “What do they make you do?”
“Math and English.”
Well, that sucked.
She saw my expression and laughed. “It's not all dead stuff and fun! You still have to do core.“But you get to study animation of the dead. That's an actual class—Animation of the Dead in Theory.”
“Wait a second. Who's in that class? I thought all the corpse, I mean, cadaver manipulator's were so rare.”
She looked down at her hands. “Have you heard of Jeffrey Parker?”
I nodded.
“We were some of the first. He was ahead of me, a senior when I was a freshman.” She frowned. “He wasn't treated that well. You can understand there would be some prejudice toward him.”
I bobbed my head again.
“Well, they didn't know what to do with us, with him . He was more than they were prepared for. Before him, I don't think anyone knew cadaver renewal was possible. It was just theory. When Jeffrey Parker started to raise things accidentally—”
“What? Accidentally? Really?”
“Yeah, accidentally. In fact, one of the teachers was killed in a car accident, but he shuffled to his job the next day.”
“But how did they know it was Jeffrey? For sure, I mean. It could have been any of you guys.”
“Because the teacher… the dead teacher went straight to Jeff and said, 'I am here to serve you.’ Not exactly what he would have done in life. Jeff could control him.”
A fantasy come true . I took a second to daydream about that.
“Snap out of it. You weren't there. It's not remotely cool.” She rolled her eyes. I decided girls must take eye-rolling classes in kindergarten.
“Well, there's a short list of teachers that I want to do my bidding.” I laughed. The Js would be getting a full report.
She frowned at me.
“Anyway, the AFTD teacher knew that we had ourselves a real, live, cadaver manipulator. No one had ever manifested all five points before. They had a heck of a time figuring out how to put the teacher back.”
I bet they did, remembering the fun of getting granny back-in-box. Back-in-coffin? I did a mental shrug.
“What did they do?”
“It was a big deal. The principal came to our class with the empath professor. Of course, we had our AFTD professor as well. He was one of the first to theorize about the potential for cadaver renewal. It had never been well received. Then Jeff proved it could be done. And he hadn'
t even tried.”
Gale pulled a business card out of her pocket. A coffee stain obscured a good half of it.
“Ah, the heck with it. Do you have your pulse?”
I nodded and pulled it out. I put my thumb on the pad and thought, New contact .
When I lifted my thumb, Gale replaced it with hers. The green characters appeared on the screen.
Gale, Bobbi 206.631.6312.
“ That’s my direct line,” she said, “not the department's general one.”
“How'd you get that area code? Is it Kent?”
She smiled. “Yeah, it was my grandmother's number. When she passed, I inherited it. Later, I transferred it to my pulse.”
Officer Ward and my parents walked in, and Gale stood. She shook my hand. When we touched, I felt a low voltage-type zing. I didn't let it show on my face, but her eyes widened. Too weird.
On the way to the foyer, Gale said she'd be available if I needed anything, day or night. They left, and Mom closed the door behind them.
“Major strange,” Mom said.
“I wasn't real pleased with the 'testing' of Caleb. It seemed odd,” Dad replied.
“I don't trust Garcia much. I liked her better,” I said. We stood in silence thinking about it all.
Then Mom got the broom and dustpan and started cleaning up the shattered pots.
“Caleb, go fetch some of the picnic glasses, and we'll get my babies in some water.”
I started to argue, but when I took in her sad face, I just turned and went into the pantry. I dug through it and found the recycled plastic goblets.
“These ones?”
“Yes, those ones.”
I walked to the kitchen sink, opened the tap, and set it to gray water . I filled each glass about three quarters, arranging them on the windowsill. Low-slanting sunlight streamed through the window, hitting the glasses and creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the floor behind me.
Shaking off the dirt in the compost can under the sink, I placed the four plants that would be saved in their respective glasses. Then, I cruised the living room, throwing afghans on the back of couches, closing drawers, and straightening pillows.
Mom came out of her bedroom. “Nothing has been stolen. Mom's necklace and my diamond bracelet are still there.”