Fragments

by James F. David

  Turning, he saw Len step out of Karon’s bedroom followed by Karon’s head. They’ve been screwing again! Gil’s anger reached a new height. Gil focused this time, picturing a battering ram aimed at Len’s chest, then pushed with all his power. Len was lifted from his feet, an invisible force pushing him through the air. He flew the length of the hall, ending his flight when he smashed into the wall. Len crumpled to the floor, limp, a red stain spreading across his chest. Then Gil turned his anger toward Karon, who stood screaming in the doorway.

  Gil watched her, waiting for her to look his way. He wanted her to see it coming when he crushed her skull against the doorframe. Karon was fixated, though, on Len’s crumpled form—frozen in fear and shock. Then her head began to turn, her face a mixture of fear and disbelief. Gil waited, wanting full eye contact before he struck. As she turned he worked up his anger, wanting to smash her skull as easily as stepping on an egg—he was sure now he had that much power.

  Karon’s eyes met his and he pictured a sledgehammer, and then pictured it aimed at her head. Her eyes went wide—she knew it was coming, and that gave him pleasure, but not enough to weaken his power. It was time. Gil sucked in a deep breath, ready to send the invisible sledge flying, but then a door opened.

  “Oh, hi, Gil,” Ralph said. “We thought you was gone. You missed dinner you know. Course it was just TV dinners. Everyone was kind of upset about Luis. You too, huh?”

  Instantly Gil switched to Ralph, ready to kill him as he’d longed to do for so long. Stupidly, Ralph stood there in his pajamas, not understanding the danger.

  “Ralph, get inside, quick!” Karon yelled.

  Gil’s anger flared and he lashed out at Karon, but the power wasn’t well focused and he only managed to shove her against the frame, her head hitting with a loud thump. Karon squealed, then grabbed her head and staggered inside, closing the door.

  Turning back, he saw that Ralph had gone into his concerned mode—lips puckered—and was staring at Karon’s door. Then he turned to Gil. “Did you do that? You did, didn’t you? It’s like that ventrilkist thing you do?” Then, looking around, he spotted Len’s body. “Len! You OK? Hey bud, are you hurt?” Hearing no answer, Ralph swung back around, stepping toward Gil, a new look on his face—one Gil had never seen. “You did that too didn’t you? You shouldn’t ought have. Len’s funny. He makes me laugh. He makes everyone laugh. You can’t be hurting people, Gil!”

  Gil’s wall of anger cracked as Ralph came toward him. Ralph was stupid, and harmless—at least he always had been—but he was also big. Gil pictured a bowling ball and pushed it at Ralph’s stomach, waiting for him to crumple in pain. Nothing happened. Ralph came on unaffected, lecturing him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Gil. But I can’t let you hurt people. Maybe when you’re calmed down you’ll feel better.”

  Gil pictured a battering ram and pushed again and still Ralph came on unaffected. Then Gil’s anger crumbled under the onslaught of his fear and he bolted to the stairs, racing down two at a time. At the bottom he could see Wes’s legs disappearing into the living room. Someone was pulling him out of the way and that meant he was still alive. Disappointed, Gil knew there wasn’t time to kill him, so he raced straight to the front door, fumbling with the lock and then crashing through the screen door onto the porch, where he froze. The flashing blue lights of a police car lit up the yard, and coming up the walk were two officers. Surprised, he and they stood staring, and then the police drew their weapons.

  “Stay where you are, and drop the knife.”

  Gil lifted his arm, looking at the knife still held in his locked fingers.

  “I said put the knife down,” the officer repeated

  Panicky now, Gil struck with what was left of his anger, knocking the policemen to the ground. Then he turned back into the house, jumping over Wes’s body and running for the kitchen. Suddenly he found himself crashing to the floor—someone had tripped him. When he lifted his head a lamp shattered over his skull, showering him with ceramic shards. Lights flashed in his head and sharp pain stabbed his brain. Quickly, before another blow could come, Gil lashed out with the knife, slicing the air wildly, rolling over as he did.

  Elizabeth was there, holding the remnants of the lamp. He wasn’t afraid of her, and he felt his anger deep inside him. Nurturing it, he felt the power coming back, and he stared at Elizabeth. Then Ralph came down the stairs. Frustrated, he pushed with what power he had, knocking Elizabeth to the ground. Then he ran to the kitchen and out the back door.

  An invisible punch had knocked the wind out of Elizabeth and she lay gasping on the floor. A policeman appeared, asking if she was all right.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Please . . . help . . . Wes.”

  “My partner’s with him. Where did the man with the knife go?”

  “Out . . . the . . . back.”

  “Take a deep breath. Something hit us coming up the walk, do you know what it was?”

  Breathing better now, Elizabeth sat up, her stomach aching from the blow. “He has a power. He’s telekinetic.”

  “What? Psychic power? That’s not possible!”

  Elizabeth didn’t bother to argue, she just struggled to her feet. “Aren’t you going after him?”

  Looking uncomfortable, he said, “Not without my partner.”

  Elizabeth stood, holding her stomach. The policeman helped her walk over to Wes, who was sitting up, leaning against the couch. He was holding his left arm across his stomach.

  “Are you all right?” She asked.

  “I’ll be OK, but you better check on Len. Gil hit him pretty hard.”

  The look on Wes’s face sent Elizabeth hurrying up the stairs. Ralph and Karon were at the end of the hall, kneeling by Len, while the other savants stood behind, staring. She could hear Karon crying and Ralph trying to comfort her.

  “I’m sure he’s just sleeping, Karon. It’s nighttime, you know. He’s just sleeping—not like Luis. Nope, not like Luis. No sirree, not like Luis.”

  Elizabeth pushed between them but paused when she reached for Len. His chest was soaked in blood and she suddenly flashed back to Luis. She couldn’t bring herself to touch him, so she remained kneeling, emotionally drained—so much pain in so little time.

  A policeman came up behind, whistling softly. Then he leaned over and touched Len’s neck.

  “Unbelievable. This guy’s still alive.” Then, using the microphone pinned to his chest, he called for an ambulance.

  Elizabeth and Karon cried in relief, hugging each other. But when Elizabeth looked again at the blood, she realized she shouldn’t get her hopes up.

  More police arrived, and after listening to what happened in the house they went in search of Gil. To Elizabeth they seemed reluctant. Elizabeth remained with Karon, quickly coming to understand from her grief how deeply she felt about Len.

  The owner of the house had dumped leaves and grass clippings on top of the lumber, and Gil was frantically throwing it to the side by huge handfuls. Finally he reached the boards, but couldn’t lift them. Again he threw and kicked grass aside frantically, fearful the police could arrive at any time. When half of the grass had been moved, he grabbed the board and lifted. This time it moved and he dug underneath for the gun. It was there, but when he had it in his hand he didn’t find the confidence he expected. If he had to shoot it out with the police he knew he would lose. To escape he needed stealth, or if backed into a corner, his power. He wanted the gun only for Ralph, who was somehow immune to his power.

  Gun in hand, he crossed the alley and hopped a fence, cutting between houses to emerge on the opposite side of the block. The street was empty, and he crossed, again cutting between houses and over two fences to the far side of the next block. This time he set off a yapping terrier in the yard next door and an upstairs light came on. Hurrying on, he heard the neighbor yelling at his dog to shut up.

  Again the street was empty, and he turned toward town, wanting to lose himself. But it was hours until dawn
and no crowd to mingle with. Gil fingered the gun in his pocket, trying to form a plan. The streets were too empty—he was too obvious. When the morning rush started he could mix in and lose himself, but for now he needed to hide. As if to underscore his plan, a police car with lights flashing crossed two blocks away. Reflexively pulling the gun, Gil ducked into a yard, hiding behind a hedge. When he was sure the police car wasn’t returning, he hurried down the block, looking for a place to hide.

  The EMTs shook their heads when Elizabeth asked about Len’s chances. Then they carried him down the stairs to the ambulance. Karon went with them, riding in the back with Len. Daphne was playing piano when she came back in, Wes talking to a policewoman.

  “I’m OK, Elizabeth,” Wes assured her. “Put them back to bed.”

  She left Daphne playing, while Ralph helped her get Yu and Archie in bed again. Neither of them spoke, but they both looked scared. Ralph was helpful, but neither of his moods was showing—not happy or concerned. He was cold now, showing no emotion and talking little.

  When Yu and Archie were settled in, Ralph talked Daphne into going to bed, but she sat upright, her arms twitching as if she wanted to play the invisible piano but something was holding her arms down. When Elizabeth tried to reassure her, Daphne interrupted, tearfully.

  “It’s my fault!”

  “It’s not your fault, Daphne. It’s Gil. He’s a bad man. No one’s to blame except him.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Daphne, you can’t blame yourself for this. You didn’t do it, and you couldn’t prevent it.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I know what you’re feeling. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I knew Gil was dangerous. I should have insisted the police arrest him.”

  “I should be arrested.”

  “Daphne, please don’t blame yourself. You’ve never hurt anyone.”

  Then Daphne burst into tears, and Elizabeth sat holding her. This time Daphne hugged her back and they sat rocking, taking solace in each other’s presence. When she had control again, Daphne let go, rolled over, and pulled the covers over her head. Even through her own pain Elizabeth could see that the break-through Daphne had made was continuing—she was coming out, sharing her pain. Unfortunately, Elizabeth wasn’t in emotional shape to take pleasure in it.

  Officer Roy Winston was with Wes, asking him questions about what happened, and writing in his notebook.

  “We were trying to wait for the police,” Wes explained, “but when I saw him start into Daphne’s room with that knife I didn’t think I could. So I charged him. That’s when he knocked me down the stairs.”

  “He did this without touching you? And that’s what he did to my officers?”

  “He’s got the power, all right. I can hardly believe it, even after he hit me.” Then, seeing Elizabeth, he asked, “How’s Len?”

  “Alive, but barely.”

  Roy gave them a few seconds of silence to think of their friend. Then he motioned for Elizabeth to sit next to Wes on the couch. When she did, Wes winced, holding his arm tighter across his chest.

  “He used that power on your friend upstairs?”

  “That’s what Ralph and Karon said,” Elizabeth explained. “Gil sent him flying through the air.”

  Concerned, Roy looked thoughtful. “Could he stop a bullet with this power?”

  Elizabeth and Wes exchanged glances, then shrugged—they didn’t know.

  “Does a power like this have limited range? I mean, if we can’t get close to him can we nail him with a sniper scope and a rifle?”

  “We don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve never studied this.”

  “No one has,” Wes said. “There’s never been a documented case like this. Many people have claimed to be able to do what he does, but no one could ever demonstrate under controlled conditions.”

  “Well, if you don’t know what you were dealing with, then why in hell were you experimenting with it?”

  “My experiment had nothing to do with this! You never understood that.”

  “I understand there’s twenty years’ worth of bodies in this town, and somehow you and your experiment are at the center of things. Now, if you know of anything that would help me stop this freak I’d like to hear it.”

  Wes sat in silent depression; only Elizabeth spoke.

  “Maybe Dr. Birnbaum will be able to help. He’s studied the paranormal. He said he’d try to be here in a few days.”

  “Fine, but I need help tonight. There’s a psychic killer on the loose in my town and I’ve got to stop him.”

  Another officer came in.

  “They found two more bodies, Chief. One of them is another of those fraternity boys—stabbed to death.”

  The policeman turned to Wes and Elizabeth, a dark look on his face. “What kind of evil did you bring to this town?”

  31

  CORNERED

  Wes fell asleep on the couch, and woke only when Archie parked in front of the TV, turning it up loud. He used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position, his other arm throbbing with each move. His elbow was purple and swollen.

  “It’s broken.”

  Wes looked up to see Elizabeth staring down at him.

  “I’m sure it’s not.”

  “Then stretch your arm out.”

  “It’s a little sore.”

  “It’s broken. We’ll get it X-rayed when we go visit Len. He just got out of surgery. He’s alive, but he’s critical.”

  Len’s name brought back dark images of the night before, and sad feelings. “Did they find Gil?”

  “No. But he won’t come back here.”

  “You don’t know that. He came back last night—you know why, don’t you?”

  “He was part of Frankie. But we didn’t run the experiment, so how? What triggered the integration?”

  Wes shook his head. Luis was dead, Len near death, and he was blaming himself. He couldn’t think clearly.

  Elizabeth left to help get the savants breakfast and insisted Wes stay on the couch. He protested, but when he tried to stand he found he was hurting in more places than just his arm. Instead, he lay back down on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain.

  “You asleep, Wes?” Ralph asked loudly. “You look asleep on account you got your eyes closed.”

  “I’m not asleep.”

  “I didn’t think you was. You’d go up to your room if you wanted to sleep, wouldn’t you? I would. Course I still got my PJs on. That means pajamas.”

  “Ralph, I don’t feel too well. Why don’t you watch TV until breakfast is ready.”

  “Well okeydokey then.” Ralph turned away, then stopped, thumping himself on the head. “How could I be so stupid? That’s why you’re laying down. You don’t feel so good. Want me to get you an aspirin or an Ex-Lax or something?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Want some of that yucky orange medicine Elizabeth makes us take when we got a cold or allergy or something?”

  “I just need to lie here quietly.”

  “Well okeydokey then.”

  This time Ralph joined Archie in front of the TV, watching a cartoon. Wes was relieved, but also saddened. Ralph had shown concern last night, and even bravery in the way he had gone after Gil. But none of those noble characteristics were with him now—he was just plain retarded Ralph again.

  Settling his head deep into the pillow, he relaxed, forgetting about Ralph and trying to split off his guilt and worry to give himself a few minutes of peace—a time for healing and renewal. Then the piano playing started.

  Wes gave up and worked himself up into a sitting position. Between the noises from the kitchen, the sound of the TV, and Daphne’s piano playing, you would have thought it was a normal day. But the sounds were different, and the atmosphere thick with sadness. Daphne’s playing was ragged, and Wes could see her eyes were puffy from crying. He wondered if she had slept at all.

  After Elizabeth called them to breakfas
t, she took time to sit with Daphne, reassuring her that what had happened wasn’t her fault. But Daphne wouldn’t be soothed and came to the table crying.

  Elizabeth had Ralph help Wes to his feet, Wes amazed at the strength in someone who never carried anything heavier than a box full of Slurpees. Once at the table he found it hurt to let his arm hang, so he unbuttoned one shirt button and slipped his arm in, using his shirt as a sling. Ralph watched curiously and then asked, “Are you scratching your stomach?”

  The doorbell rang and Ralph bolted, talking to someone at the door. He was back in a minute. “There’s a woman and a man in a wheelchair. His name is Dr. Bin-bam.”

  It was light, but not late enough yet. Gil wanted people around when he emerged. He could suggest his way into a car or use them as hostages if he needed to. With people around he could push them into traffic, creating snarls that would prevent pursuit. If he created enough havoc he knew he could escape. So he waited in his hiding place, startled whenever a police siren sounded in the distance.

  Gil fingered the gun again. He thought about leaving it behind, but then he thought of Ralph. Why didn’t his power work on that retard? Could there be others like Ralph? If so, he needed to find a way to handle them with his power. Gil leaned out to see the sky. Soon it would be time.

  He settled back, practicing his anger meditation. He’d discovered he could get angry and maintain it if he focused on the injustice of what was happening. They were hunting him, yet they were inferior. They didn’t have his power, which he considered more than just a genetic fluke. It was a gift—a sign—and he was the one chosen to receive it, and if it was given it was meant to be used. He had only killed when absolutely necessary, and then only in self-defense. If they knew about him—as they did now—they would be jealous. They would lock him up and study him; it would be like the bug studying the humans. No, he decided, they weren’t his equal, and hunting him was unjust. Convinced of his personal righteousness, he used it to fuel his sense of persecution. Out of that came his anger. Red-hot, but slow-burning anger. An anger that energized his power.