Mom said, “I want to peruse those papers that John brought over. Your father has already done some independent research, uncovering some possibilities. But people are so unpredictably unique that there are always new abilities with each individual. We're wondering what will be in store for you.”
“Well, Dad and I have discussed the possibilities,” I said.
Mom's eyebrows shot up. “So what's the consensus, fellas?”
“We think,” Dad said, “that Caleb may be able to control hauntings as his skill set becomes more advanced.”
The minutes ticked by while Dad and I discussed the potential of my undead skills. Mom beat the taters into submission until they were smooth, white mountain peaks.
The discussion finally turned to Jade and I confessed she felt uncomfortable with my parents knowing her family situation.
Mom had it down. “She is a separate person and will be treated as such. No one chooses who they are born to.”
I plowed through the Mount Rainer of mashed potatoes mom put in front of me, eating suddenly becoming more important than the awkward girlfriend discussion.
After dinner, I jogged up to what the Js referred to as the Bat Cave. My room was tucked under the eaves of the half story of the upper floor in a bowling alley of space. I lay on my bed and started reading from where I’d left off.
We were unaware of the ramifications of this particular ability. Parker's abilities were the first five-point AFTD abilities we'd seen since the inception of the inoculations in 2015. Now, we have seen many AFTD children manifest one of the five commonly known characteristics or “points” for this category.
“Dr. Daniels, please explain to this readership exactly what Affinity for the Dead means? Is there more to it than just communication?”
“Yes, Tim. The five sub-categories for AFTD are: cadaver manipulation, hauntings, medium communication, murder victim location, and death impressions. The Parker child manifested all five categories. There has not been another case that encompassed all five.”
“Besides having all five categories, is there anything else that makes Parker special?” Anderson asked.
“Yes, Parker is an extraordinarily rare case. Since his assimilation into the military, we have not been able to study his abilities further, which is a national tragedy. He works in a capacity that has not been explained and is under a top-secret umbrella that even the scientific community cannot breach.”
“Why can't we all know what Parker is up to? Don't we have a right to know?”
“I am not at liberty to answer that. However, I can say that if another were to manifest like Parker, he or she would be a very interesting commodity for certain groups.”
“Which groups?”
“Any group who thinks raising cadavers would be politically advantageous.”
I put the papers down and rubbed my eyes. Reading that stuff had given me the creeps.
I got up and walked over to my desk. Plunking down on my chair, I pressed my thumb onto the pad.
Hello, Caleb Hart... accessing...
I thought: subject; murder, AFTD-related.
The display lit up with news and one article struck as soon as I saw it; although it was older:
Twenty-year old AFTD Policewoman Bobbi Gale “Discovers” Murder Victim Leading to the Arrest of Pierce Dickson
Bobbi Gale, a 20-year-old policewoman, solved a murder by locating the victim’s body.
After testing as a two-point in the AFTD category, Ms. Gale excelled in the special school she attended and upon graduation, she was given a position in the police department of her choice.
This trend of using people in important capacities such as law-enforcement cannot be a bad one, considering that paranormal ability is not just given to people driven to do the right thing. Ms. Gale stated, “There are criminals out there with abilities, too. They are now our most powerful criminals, using all their talents for evil.”
Wow! I hadn't considered what happened if someone bad—like Carson—had paranormal skills. I shuddered, thinking about the trouble that assclown could make.
When asked how she was able to find these criminals, Ms. Gale responded, “It’s a difficult ability to quantify, but I'd have to say it's the dead... they speak to me. It seems that when someone dies violently, he or she leaves a footprint, an impression. I follow that trail, and sometimes, I get lucky and can put it all together.”
When Gale was asked if she was satisfied with her work, she responded with an emphatic yes, but added that she was “glad that she didn't have all the categories of AFTD.”
When asked why, she said that would be “more than she wanted to deal with.”
I pressed my thumb on the pad and thought, writing.
A blank page appeared on my monitor, which hung above my desk. I drummed my fingers on the desk. My least favorite homework was writing. History was second period, and I needed to do a synopsis paragraph per day. Mr. Peterson was cool, but current event stuff sucked. Who cared what was happening, seriously? I wasn't into being informed.
I sat thinking about what to write in my paragraph, struggling with the spelling, as usual. My desk had a built in thumb pad so I just laid my thumb on it and thought: this sucks ass guffaws
The phrase lit up on the screen and I howled, slapping my knee, comic relief. I finally got a grip and thought: erase phrase. I tapped my fingers again and thought:
Copy and Paste header.
The article header lit up.
I amended, And include author.
Anderson's name glowed on the screen.
This past event is about a girl cop who has the paranormal ability AFTD (Affinity for the Dead). This ability usually means that somebody can communicate with the dead. She uses her ability to find murderers.
She says that she can hear impressions from people who've died, and that if they were murdered, she can feel a trail of their emotions. Sounds like this is damn handy.
I snickered. Cool. Erase profanity.
“Damn” disappeared.
Pulse to Mr. William “Billy” Peterson, history teacher at Kent Middle School.
I pressed my thumb on the pad very lightly—Mom would kill me if I put my thumb through another pad— and thought, Sleep.
The screen went dark except for the green clock numbers glowing in the lower right corner.
My pulse was stuffed in my back pocket and digging into my ass. I whipped it out and pressed the pad. The pads for the pulse-cells were a lot tougher to wreck. I thought, John Terran.
Green letters appeared: Initializing.
John Terran: Hey, butt-wipe! Finally got around to pulsing. Busy with Jade?
Caleb: No, numb-nuts. If you must know, I just finished my PE.
John Terran: Past Event? Yeah, I figured you'd finally get your butt kicked and do homework.
Caleb: Are you ever gonna edit your name to just your first like everybody else so I don't have to see your whole name every line?
John Terran: I like it this way. It irritates everyone.
Caleb: Nice.
Caleb: I was talking with Jade, and we may do better to lasso Jonesy with doing the cemetery thing with the douche duo.
John Terran: Why?
Caleb: She knows Brett, or did, and she thinks he'd never let it go, be bent on big-time payback, baby.
John Terran: How does she know Brett? Besides, ya know Jonesy. He's got this thing buzzing around in his head like a hornet with a bull's eye.
Caleb: Yeah, I was afraid you'd say that. She and Brett were actually friends a couple of years ago. I guess his dick-headed-ness is a more recent development.
John Terran: Huh... really?
Caleb: Yeah, I guess his dad makes her dad look normal.
John Terran: No,
Caleb: Yeah, no
Caleb: Well, I guess, we'll just have to ratchet Jonesy down as much as possible just in case he gets outta cont
rol.
John Terran: Okay. Good luck with that.
Caleb: Yeah. Hey, where is Jonesy? I haven't heard from him.
John Terran: He got his
Caleb: How do you know?
John Terran: Because I pulsed him and his mom answered.
Caleb: Ouch. Well that blows goats
John Terran:
Caleb: Okay, see ya tomorrow.
John Terran: K, see ya.
Before I could even hibernate my pulse, Mom hollered up the stairs, “Caleb! Bed!”
“K!” I yelled back.
I tore off my clothes, making a tight ball and went for the three point shot into the hamper. I flopped on my bed and grabbed my book. I liked to read before I fell asleep—not the chump stuff the school assigned but cool authors, like Stephen King.
CHAPTER 12
I lifted my face off the pillow, which contained the Lake Erie of drool. Gross! I did an abbreviated push-up and hopped out of bed, swaying a little as the blood rushed to my head.
I glanced at the alarm and smacked it just before it blared. I couldn't believe I had gotten up before the alarm. I leaned over the laundry hamper and looked in at last night's clothes. I grunted. Jade would certainly notice if I wore the same thing two days in a row. Girl fashion radar.
Dejected, I stalked out of the room, wearing nothing but boxers. I thudded down the stairs. Mom was leaning against the counter and holding a steaming cup of java.
“Hey now, you look a little rough.” She smiled.
That was rich coming from her, Miss Queen-o'-Beauty in the mornings. I threw her a sullen look and made my unsteady way to the laundry room.
Mom followed.
“Caleb, don't go back there and start foraging for clean clothes. If you'd actually wash some, this would not be an issue.”
I ignored that and plowed forward. There, in a dim little corner, were all the mismatched clothes. I rifled through the pile and pulled out a vintage AC/DC T-shirt littered with holes along the bottom—a theme with my shirts—and yanked it over my head.
Mom put out her hand. “Maybe a shower would liven you up.”
I scowled, then a vision of Jade popped into my head. She always smelled like a vanilla bean, and I smelled like I woke up in a pool of drool. I grabbed some mismatched socks and the last pair of boxer briefs then took off for the bathroom.
I took an extra-long time in the shower and even cleaned my feet. Feeling super spiffy and primed, I stood in front of the mirror. The glass was fogged, so I swiped it with my arm. I searched carefully for signs of my impending manhood. Seeing nothing—I think I had, like, three armpit hairs—I left the sauna of a bathroom.
After getting dressed, I went down to the kitchen.
I sat down in front of a fried egg sandwich. “Huh, what gives?” I asked Mom.
“I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”
For today she was absolved of her sins.
Dad strolled in. “Hey, pal. You showered!”
I scowled. A national event.
Parents.
Dad winked at me. “Caleb, I was thinking that we try some experimentation in a controlled atmosphere, one in which there isn't a charged, emotional dynamic. The cemetery would be good for that.”
Mom put her hands on hips, which were encased in pajamas, her favorite outfit. “I want to be included, too.”
“I read most of the papers that John gave me,” I said. “The main scientist, Daniels something...”
“Byron, Byron Daniels,” Dad interjected.
“Yeah. He said that if there were another Parker, that the kid would be limited to what certain groups wanted.”
Mom sent Dad the oh shit look, and he gave a minute shake of his head.
“You know this Dr. Daniels?” I asked Dad.
“I know of him. He works in related fields.”
I looked at the clock and stood up, Mom gave me a hug.
“I haven't died, Mom,” I said, pulling away.
“I understand,” she said, “but sometimes moms just want to squeeze their boys.”
***
The school commons was a humongous room with circular tables. Lockers flanked the entire room and bled down into the halls leading to our classes. Eighth graders had the commons lockers, but the sixth and seventh graders had to deal with lockers in the crowded hallways. We all hung out in the commons and stalked each other's activities.
I had time before Morginstern's class and could hang with the Js before and, if I got really lucky, Jade.
I spotted Jonesy right away, but I didn't see John or Jade.
I walked over to where Jonesy stood.
“I heard you got nailed for skipping homework.”
“Yeah, I had to make up, like, ten CE's.”
My mouth hung open. “My parents would've executed me for that many missing current events.”
Jonesy looked down and shuffled his feet. “Yeah, no pulse for now.”
“No pulse?”
Incredible.
“Yeah, but my mom knows I am going to hang with you all day Sunday so I either didn't do that,” NOT an option for The Instigator to be absent, “or no pulse for a week.” Spreading his hands out, sacrifices must be made for the greater good.
I clapped him on the back. “Well, thanks for that.”
“No problem.”
Carson and Brett came over to us.
Carson said, “Hey, queers, how's it hangin'?”
Brett said, “Dumb question, Carson. That's all they know, how each other is hangin'.”
They laughed manically at our expense.
But Jonesy gave me that knowing smile. I was tired of them. I hoped Jonesy got them good. Jade appeared, making a wide berth around the chumps. She put her hand in mine and turned a contemptuous expression on Carson and Brett.
I was distracted. Jade did actually smell like a vanilla bean. Then Brett interrupted my sniffing.
“Not exciting enough for ya? Gotta use Jade as a cover?”
“A cover for what?” she asked.
“Their fagness, obviously,” Carson said.
Jade rolled her eyes.
Girls were uniquely talented in the rolling-eyes department.
“I'm not a cover for anything. By the way, dumb asses, haven't you figured out that you guys aren't important enough to worry about covering for?”
Brett moved forward until he was two inches from Jade's nose. She stepped back.
“Hey!” I yelled, shoving Jade behind me.
Brett got in my face, poking his finger in my chest. “Keep your slut in line there, pal, or I will.”
We stood eye to eye, that small growth spurt putting me right where I needed to be.
I grabbed his finger and twisted it. “She isn't a slut, mouth-breather.” I gave him a hard shove.
“What's going on here?” Morginstern said from behind me.
Brett and Carson gave him sullen expressions, which didn't faze Morginstern one bit.
The teacher moved to stand between our two groups. “John told me you were having an issue out here and may be late to class. You know that I frown on the first-period slouch.”
Huh, clever John had been cookin' up a way to get us out of this little disaster. Nice.
“I wasn't trying to be late, honest. I got distracted by Carson and Brett's interesting dialogue.” I threw a glance their way, digging their identical expressions of confused dumbness.
Morginstern folded his arms across his chest and stared at us.
Pointing a finger at Jade then Carson and Brett, he ordered, “You go now to your respective classes.” He watched them walk away.
Jade looked back at me over her shoulder. I smiled at her.
Morginstern gave his attention to Jonesy and me. “I think I caught sight of a skunk, and I smelled a skunk, so there must be a skunk.”
I had heard that before from Gramps. It was time to purposely misunderstand th
e expression. In other words: The Dumb.
“What do you mean, Mr. Morginstern?”
Jonesy was busy giving me the wide-eyed, figure this out.
Morginstern's eyes narrowed. “I think you know exactly what I mean. I have to go teach class now, but”—he stabbed a finger in my direction—“I know there is discord between you and Carson Hamilton and Brett Mason. I know.”
The laser eye fell on Jonesy. “And you... you're always around when these situations erupt.”
Jonesy made some vague effort to look innocent, but he almost always looked guilty.
“Come to class, boys, and no more loitering. I'll be watching.” Morginstern stalked off to the classroom.
When we went through the door, the last bell already rung, and every kids' eyes were on us. John made strangling motions around his neck. I gave him the slashing index finger across the neck gesture.
Jonesy and I sat at our table and Morginstern went to the front of the room. He explained to the class that he was unexpectedly delayed due to an incident out in the commons.
All eyes swiveled to us. Love that.
Jonesy caught my grumpiness like a cold and gave it to John. All three of us grumped together in silence, sanding our boxes.
John whispered, “Listen... I know it wasn't cool for Morginstern to break that up, but would it have gone to plan if you guys had let it fall apart before the cemetery?”
No, it would have so not been cool. It would have ruined the Aqua Net Payback.
Jonesy looked abashed. “I want to do this on Sunday.”
“I knew that. That's why I made an executive decision,” John said.
“A what?” Jonesy asked.
I explained, “He means that he decided, on his own, what was best for our group.”
“You guys have to learn idioms.”
Jonesy was utterly confused. I was gonna show off.
“It's not really an idiom, ya know.”
“Yeah, it is,” John shot back.
I shook my head. “No, an idiom is an expression that is not literal to its meaning.” Mom was a word-freakazoid and had drilled that stuff into me.
John's brow crimped. “Okay... so what you're saying is that I really am the executive of the group, and my decision was allowable.”
Uh-oh. I hadn't thought about the consequences of taking on John's Undeniable Logic.
reflection 01 - the reflective Page 42