reflection 01 - the reflective

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Mom hiccuped behind me. Oh great, she always got those when she was nervous—loud ones, too, from her gut.

  I rolled my eyes. Mom let out another one. Garcia's eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. Dad squeezed Mom's shoulder.

  The other cop joined Garcia. He was all business, with a military haircut. His hair was so blond that he looked bald. He was short, barely taller than I was, with deep set eyes that never stopped moving—restless. He gave me the creeps.

  Garcia introduced. “This is my partner, Officer McGraw.”

  This guy was big time Aryan nation, white bread in his pants, all blond and light compared to Garcia's tall darkness.

  And he was scarier.

  I could feel this guy's potential and it didn't feel good. What I wouldn't have done for a dose of Jade's Empath skills about now.

  “The department is pairing mundane officers with paranormal ones to better handle paranormal crime.”

  He said paranormal like a curse.

  That I-want-to-be-your-friend thing had been an act. I was really glad I hadn't said too much during the dog incident.

  McGraw let a cruel smile flash, then it was gone. I was guessing he was about Parker's age, one of the first group of kids that got the inoculation.

  They're not giving these guys good enough psych screenings.

  What was he anyway? That would prove pretty useful to know in say, the next ten minutes.

  I didn't have long to wait, this jerk was just dying to show off, who knew why? Because he could, like Carson.

  “McGraw's an elemental,” Garcia said. “If anything gets out of hand here, I have perfect confidence that McGraw can handle it to the letter of the law.”

  We were so screwed.

  Elementals could manipulate the four elements: fire, water, earth and air. McGraw obviously did not have all his dogs barking, so I wasn’t interested in show and tell.

  Dad frowned.

  “I don't think any of us will be unreasonable. There is no need for posturing.”

  Garcia flipped open his notebook (pulse it, moron) and got a pen out. Who wrote anymore?

  He turned to Tiffany’s friend. “Miss Cote, why don't you repeat what you told me at the police station.”

  She came forward awkwardly, eyes downcast. “It's cot-A. Ya know, a long 'A',” she corrected sullenly.

  Cops growing out of the ground and she's correcting their pronunciation.

  “Okay... Miss Cot-A,” Garcia said. “Please repeat what you told us at the police station for these folks.”

  Cote looked at Tiffany, who shook her head.

  So Tiffany wasn't feeling like being outed either.

  Cote bit her lower lip. Garcia moved closer until he was towering over her.

  She looked up at him, a shadow of doubt crossing her face.

  “I thought I saw something over there by his parents.” She pointed in the general direction of Gran's tombstone. “But it isn't here now.”

  “Now come on. You said a lot more than that,” McGraw prompted.

  Tiffany said, “Mia, no.”

  That was it! Mia. I hated forgetting peoples' names.

  Mia said, “We were just going to come out here and hang. And then we saw these guys”—she gestured at my parents and me—“and saw something else, too. It smelled.” She crinkled her nose.

  “What smelled?” McGraw asked.

  “The dead woman,” she said finally.

  Garcia smiled with triumph.

  He and McGraw began a tight search of the area, moving in between tombstones. Garcia stepped on Gran's grave without a downward glance. Not a blade of grass was out of place. It looked perfect.

  McGraw turned back to Mia. “Where did you see this dead woman?”

  “Right there,” she said, pointing.

  He looked at where she indicated—Gran's headstone. He brought his gaze up and studied me.

  Don't ask, Garcia.

  He asked, “One of your relatives, maybe? Doing a little visiting?”

  “No. Actually, we were conducting experiments, as I mentioned earlier,” Dad said.

  “Well, I did some looking.” Garcia tapped his pen on the side of his head. “I have the last five generations of both your families in my little notebook right here. And here you all are, right at the family plot.”

  He snapped the notebook closed with a tight grinding sound and I gave a little involuntary jump. “But from what Miss Cote tells us, you were doing more than experimenting.”

  Bry said, “Caleb and I got into a fight, that's all. His dad tried to break it up when it got out of control.”

  McGraw looked skeptical as he took in our little group. Dad's hair was a spike fest, and his pants had grass stains on them.

  Bry had blood all over his chin and the front of his shirt, and Tiffany had some dried blood under her nose. Mom shrank behind Dad. That clinched it for me. She didn't like him any better than I did.

  McGraw looked back at me.

  “But not a scratch on you.”

  “I guess I got lucky,” I said with only a small tremor in my voice.

  “But the,” he opened his notebook, scanning with his index finger until he came up with the name, then tapped it once, “Weller boy, has what looks like a piece of his tongue missing. And the sister,” he looked down again, “Tiffany, has sustained trauma to her nose.” His eyes narrowed at me, barely more than slits.

  “It's not Caleb's fault,” Tiffany said. “I just got in the middle.”

  McGraw scowled. They couldn't do anything. They'd have to chalk the whole thing up to a hysterical girl thinking she saw things in a graveyard that she didn't. Two boys getting in a fight was not a police matter.

  Garcia turned to Mia. “Are you sure that you saw a dead woman? Or are you willing to recant your testimony?”

  “Recant?” Mia asked.

  “Take it back. What you said. All of it.”

  “Yeah... yes... I recant. I don't know what I saw.” She looked so helpless that I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  “I guess we'll have to be satisfied with that,” Garcia said.

  “But know this: I thought I smelled a skunk, so there must be one.”

  Weird, just like Morginstern. A strong breeze blew, whipping my hair and lashing my face.

  Garcia pointed his pen at me. “You have my full attention, Caleb, and for the record, I don't like being played. If I find out you're a cadaver manipulator, we are lawfully bound to report that to the proper authorities. Don't let me find out you've been holding out on us.”

  He rested his hand on the baton strapped to his utility belt.

  McGraw smiled toothily, then his face took on an odd look of concentration. Raising his hand, he said, “Be still.”

  The wind that had been so annoying stopped abruptly. Yet, about fifteen feet away, the low branches on the fir trees danced. We were in the eye of some kind of storm. McGraw was showing his juice was working as an air elemental.

  Terrific.

  McGraw gave us a tight smile, closed his hand into a fist, and drew it toward his body. With an audible pop, the wind rushed in to lash our faces again.

  CHAPTER 14

  Once the cops were gone, Tiffany turned to Mia. “You're such an ass-potato!”

  Mia looked around for support. Getting none, she said, “It looked bad to me. The old, dead woman and all. I didn't know what to do!”

  Bry walked up to Tiffany. “Leave it, Tiff. We all did the best we could. AFTD has been hard for you, too.”

  Tiffany eyed me. “I thought I was the only one.”

  “No. I just found out that I had it.” If I'd known sooner, we wouldn't have needed to be alone.

  “How?”

  I gestured at Gran’s grave. “It was an accident the first time. I told Carson and Brett that I could hear the dead. Actually, John did.”

  “Why would you guys tell them? They're dickheads.” She caught Mom's look and hastily amended, “They're jerks to everybody.”

/>   I nodded.

  “Because I found out in biology. The frogs...” I shuddered. “Anyway, I wanted to prove that I wasn't some kind of coward for passing out.”

  “Who the he—” She glanced at Mom. “Um… who the heck cares what they think?”

  I shrugged. “They were being jerks, and I was tired of it. Jonesy thought it would be a good idea to show them what I had, that I wasn't a poser.”

  “Does that seem like a good idea now?” she asked.

  “No way.” I smiled.

  Dad clapped his hands. “This is all well and good, but we need to discuss what happened, the possibilities.”

  Always with the science.

  Dad asked Tiffany, “Can you raise cadavers?”

  “Zombies? No. Sometimes I know where murdered people are. And I can sense the dead.”

  “Do you mean you can hear them like I do?” I asked.

  She shivered. “No, it's not like those loud voices you hear. It's like impressions of their feelings or thoughts. I don't know. It's hard to explain.”

  We shared a moment of complete understanding.

  “Jade told me about that bird thing outside of gym.”

  Tiffany looked confused for a second then said, “Oh yeah! I almost forgot about that. LeClerc, right? Aren't you guys going out?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mom said, “We need to go. We have some things to discuss.”

  “Okay, but I wanna add Tiffany to my contacts before I forget.” I grabbed my pulse out of my back pocket.

  I thumbed my pulse and thought, Add contact.

  Tiffany walked over and laid her thumb on the pad. Her contact information appeared:

  555.455.9830: Tiff Weller

  “Tiff?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I hate 'Tiffany'.”

  “Why? Tiffany is a swell name,” Dad commented.

  I gave him the lame-parent stare.

  Dad said, “All right, brother, chillax!”

  I shook my head. “Dad, don't try okay?”

  Tiffany started picking up the scraps of her hoodie. Seeing that it was beyond repair, I took off mine and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I'll get it back on Monday.”

  “I don't know,” she said. “We may not test in the same building.”

  That was true. It was alphabetical. Hart, Weller—probably not.

  “Tuesday then?”

  She shrugged.

  “So I have a huge favor to ask....”

  “What?” she asked with barely contained skepticism.

  “Can you guys keep this thing a secret?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yeah. You worried you're gonna have to go away to that special school, like Parker?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  She shuddered. “I'm so glad that I don't have the effed-up corpse raising to deal with. But that was pretty cool that you raised your grandma.”

  “Great-grandma.”

  Tiff smirked at my correction. “Did ya know her?”

  Bry rubbed his mouth. “It was pretty tight how strong she was.”

  “What grade are you in?” I asked Bry.

  “Sophomore.”

  “What did you do on your AP Test?”

  “Math science,” Bry said. “Abstractions and patterns.”

  Tiff looked down at Gran’s grave.

  “I've seen a raising on pulsevision, but to see it done in front of you, how we put her back and now it looks like it never happened? Weird.” She waved at Mia. “Come over here and check this out.”

  “I'm not going over there.” Mia folded her arms across her chest.

  Tiff sighed, “Okay, I am sorry I called you an ass-potato. You just pissed me off, bailing like that.”

  She gave one of those top-shelf eye rolls. I struggled not to laugh. She was funny, tomboyish, and smart. The story Jade had told me didn't match up with the Tiff in front of me.

  “What had you all emo about the bird?” I asked.

  She lowered her head. “It was the first time I heard them. And the whispering… it's nothin' like what you hear, but it’s still pretty creepy.”

  I nodded. I was freaked out the first time too.

  The day had blown itself out and the wind was gone, leaving behind a pregnant stillness.

  We said our goodbyes with assurances of secrecy then left the cemetery. Mom glanced back at Gran's grave. Her grandma was truly lost, not just to death, but with a different memory superimposed over the old.

  CHAPTER 15

  In the car on the way home, Dad said, “I suppose it isn't too redundant I mention the timing was less than ideal when Officers Garcia and McGraw made an appearance.”

  Mom answered, “Yes, that was the worst of luck.”

  “What intrigued me was they didn't ask any questions regarding what experiments I was conducting.”

  “It terrifies me to think that those two are hanging around like sharks, scenting blood, waiting for any confirmation that Caleb exhibits AFTD. I mean, corpse raising.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Mom, is that the politically correct word?”

  She blushed. “Cadaver manipulator.”

  Dad turned to her, surprised. I wasn't, she came up with the most obscure crap on the planet.

  She shrugged. “I’ve been doing some reading on the subject, what little I could find. There isn't much more written than what John gave Caleb.”

  Dad pulled the car into the garage, and the door folded down behind us. He turned off the engine, and our harnesses automatically unlocked and retracted.

  Dad turned in his seat. “What you have here, Caleb, is too big to go untrained. I don't know who to trust, but we need someone to help you hone your skills.”

  I barked out some laughter. The Parents startled.

  “No offense, Dad, but who even knows anything? I mean, who can we trust? I know they'll send me to Kent Paranormal High, but what good will that do if I’m hiding my power? You heard Garcia.” I clenched my hands. “He said that he had to turn me in, that it’s the law.”

  Dad said, “I’ve read the percentage of the student population for the paranormals in the high school you'll be attending. There will be others like you, and they have a trained AFTD teacher to help you gain a measure of control. They have detailed literature—”

  I broke in. “How does that help me? I mean, if I can't tell anyone what I can do?”

  “Knowledge is power, Caleb. Just learning some practical application can speed the process of discipline and control.” He sighed. “The officers… is another matter entirely.”

  Dad parked the car in the garage and we got out.

  Walking into the house I was struck by how odd it seemed. The parents stood completely still, the fine hairs on my body rising like static electricity gone berserk.

  Dad turned his face to mine, his eyes too wide in their sockets, wild, and shook his head, no noise.

  I nodded my understanding.

  Stepping into the living room, I noticed everything was overturned and messy. I froze, and so did Mom.

  Dad grabbed the baseball bat to the left of the door and held it tightly in his left hand, his knuckles showing white in a bloodless grip, keeping it close and slightly behind his body.

  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 co
nfetti. 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...”