Fragments

by James F. David

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since he helped get Dr. Birnbaum’s chair out of the house.”

  “Oh no! He didn’t go with them, did he?”

  “Shamita wouldn’t let him. She told him to get out of the car. The last time I saw him he was sitting on the porch pouting—you don’t think he followed them, do you?”

  Without replying, she told the others to proceed and then left to find Ralph.

  Wes shared her concern, finding he really cared for Ralph. “Let’s hurry,” he said to the others. “This may be the best chance to stop Gil.”

  Gil had demanded a windowless van and free passage but Roy had stalled, saying he didn’t have the authority to make the decision. Meanwhile he positioned snipers on the roofs surrounding the 7-Eleven. Gil and his hostages were in the back of the store out of sight of the sniper scopes. It kept him safe from a long-distance shot, but it also meant the police could sneak up to the front of the store undetected. That’s where two of Roy’s officers were now—one ready to fire tear gas, the other to throw smoke bombs. Birnbaum had approved of the plan, saying, “If he can’t see, he shouldn’t be able to use his power.” Neither Roy or the good doctor were entirely confident of their plan, but even if Gil had been an ordinary criminal they wouldn’t have given in to his demands. His power created a special revulsion in Roy, a revulsion magnified by the senseless deaths.

  His men gave him the thumbs-up sign and then waited, watching Roy. He checked the placement of his men one more time, pulled his pistol, and signaled go.

  The frump of the tear-gas gun announced the beginning of the action, the cylinder shattering the glass and then disappearing deep into the store. Then more windows were broken and the smoke canisters were thrown in—four, one toward each corner of the store. Another frump, and another tear-gas shell bounced off the ceiling and into the store.

  Roy counted to ten, letting the store fill with smoke and gas, and then gave the go signal to his waiting men, who rushed forward, guns in hand.

  Panic set in when the first shell burst in the next aisle, the gas quickly expanding. Gil screamed at his hostages to freeze, threatening to kill them if they moved. His eyes were already watering when the smoke came, and then another tear-gas shell. Then he knew how much they feared him—they were willing to sacrifice the hostages to make sure he didn’t get away. They had no intention of giving him a getaway car and knew he would carry out his threat to kill the hostages. So, they had devised this plan, somehow knowing—more likely guessing—that limiting his sight would limit his power.

  He’d anticipated this, and it made him feel even more superior, and that fueled his anger. How dare they think they could outsmart me! Now they’ll learn the truth. His anger welled up and he nursed it, feeling it reach the levels he needed.

  The room was filling with smoke—they would be coming soon. Shouting again at his hostages to hold them in place, he wiped his eyes and listened above their whimpering for the sounds of the police. The sound of more breaking of glass and the pounding of running men announced the attack. Now I’ll teach them! “Run! I said run, or I’ll kill you!”

  The hostages looked at him, confused, hopeful, but also fearful. Through tearful eyes he saw the blubbering woman on her knees, too afraid to stand. Pointing the gun at her face, he screamed, “Get up or I’ll blow your brains all over the wall!” She wet her pants, and then stood, crying, wiping her eyes, and stumbled through the smoke. Firing the gun into the air, he stampeded the hostages. At the sound of his gun the police ducked for cover. When the hostages had all disappeared into the smoke, he fired the rest of the rounds down the aisles. Now for more havoc!

  Picturing a wrecking ball, he looked at the ceiling, barely able to pick out the center beam in the gathering smoke. Then he pushed the image with all his might. The beam crumpled and a hole was punched in the ceiling above it, but the ceiling didn’t fall. He pushed again and this time the beam fell, bringing big chunks of ceiling with it. Then he turned toward a shelf of ketchup bottles, sending those hurtling into the fog. Somewhere in the gloom the bottles shattered and someone screamed. Jars and canned goods were fired too, randomly strafing the room. When he was sure the police were either hunkered down or rescuing hostages, he used his power to smash the shelves covering the wall. Then he pictured the wrecking ball and pulverized the concrete block. When the hole was big enough to crawl through, he turned and hammered another of the two remaining beams. The beam bent under the force, then pulled away from the far wall, falling to the floor below. With most of the support gone, the whole ceiling crumpled, slowly at first, then coming down in big chunks. That’s when he crawled through the wall into the video store.

  Exhilarated by his own power and pleased with his own cleverness, Gil was smiling when he crawled over the rubble into the clean air of the video store. But his smile evaporated when he stood to see Ralph waiting for him on the other side.

  With only three savants, they weren’t sure integration could take place. Gil had been the matrix, but they used Daphne as a substitute. Leaving as much of Gil’s section of the matrix free as they could, they hoped Frankie would fill it in with Gil.

  “This won’t work,” Shamita said. “We can’t integrate without intercepting Gil’s brain waves.”

  “Just finish it, Shamita,” Wes snapped. “Frankie has integrated without us before. It must be Gil’s psychic ability that links them without the integration program.”

  “It’s ready, run the integration,” Shamita said. “It’s sloppy.”

  “We’ll tweak it if it doesn’t work. Karon, everything within parameters?”

  Eyes red and puffy, Karon looked up from Len’s monitor and nodded.

  “Here we go. I’m running it now.” Piece by piece the Frankie brain took shape, and soon a unique wave pattern was established, but Wes’s practiced eye could see that it was different from Frankie’s wave.

  “There’s no Gil there,” Shamita pointed out. “And that subwave is missing. It’s not working.”

  “If only we had Luis . . .”

  “Wait . . . it is there . . . here it comes.”

  Wes watched his own monitor, picking up the peculiar wave, but realizing it was different in some ways. Without Luis they couldn’t expect it to be the exact same wave, or could they? More important, could they get Frankie? “Karon, find out if we have Frankie. Daphne has audition.”

  Karon walked to Daphne’s side. “Are you there, Frankie?”

  No answer.

  “Frankie can you hear me?”

  “Ask if Pat’s there,” Shamita suggested.

  “Are you there, Pat?”

  No answer. Frustrated, Wes stared at his screen, wondering what was happening at the 7-Eleven. Then he saw a subtle shift in the wave pattern. “Shamita, what’s happening?”

  “The integration is re-forming. This is better . . . more like Frankie . . . but not there yet.”

  Roy watched the debacle, fearing what the body count would be. Soon after his police rushed in the shooting had started—but who was getting shot? The smoke had worked for them and against them, and he couldn’t see what was happening. Then a big chunk of the ceiling was blasted into the sky, telling him the psychic was still alive. Screaming came from the store and then one of his officers led a crying woman out of the smoke. Short-lived relief spread through Roy. More screaming followed, and another hostage appeared, and another. Then, with a roar, the ceiling collapsed at one end of the building. Roy started forward with his other men to help, but then realized Gil had to be alive—he had dropped the ceiling for a reason. Roy studied the scene, trying to understand Gil’s intentions. The building had collapsed at one end, but the end by the video store was still standing, and that’s where Gil had taken refuge—now he understood.

  Looking for backup, Roy realized everyone was engaged in rescue, except Chris with her broken wrist.

  “Can you hold a gun?”

  She smiled and nodded, drawing her weapon.

  “Follow me.”<
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  Roy led her to the side of the video store, peeking around the corner. The store had been evacuated before they began the assault, but there were two people in it now. Gil was there, facing the big retarded kid, Ralph.

  “You’ve been hurting people again, haven’t you Gil?” Ralph said.

  “Get out of my way, retard, or I’ll hurt you too.”

  “It’s not nice to call people names, Gil. I don’t call you names.”

  Gil looked right and spotted an emergency exit. It was a way out but he’d have to get past Ralph first, and he wasn’t sure he could. He could smash up the video store as he had the 7-Eleven, but that might bring the police—if only he’d saved a couple of rounds from the gun he could put a bullet in the moron’s head. Clearly Ralph wouldn’t move out of his way, so he stepped sideways, and at the same time sent video cassettes flying. Instinctively, Ralph put up his arms, deflecting the tapes.

  “Ow! That hurts, Gil.”

  More tapes pelted Ralph, and he yelped and complained. Gil worked his way down the aisle, bombarding Ralph with tape after tape, but still Ralph kept abreast in the next aisle—the damn tapes were too light. Ralph was being hurt, but he was too dumb to know how bad. Gil bent low and ran, hidden by the rack of videos, but when he reached a crossing aisle Ralph was there.

  “I don’t want to play games now, Gil.”

  Gil turned back, pretending to sprint in the other direction. When he heard Ralph moving he used his power to push, shoving the whole rack back, toppling it onto Ralph and pinning him against the next rack. Then he hammered the rack, over and over, splintering the wood.

  “Freeze, or I’ll shoot!”

  Gil spun, throwing a broadside at the officers entering the store, but one of their guns fired, hitting him in the shoulder. His broadside knocked the cops back out the door, but pain flooded his mind, pushing out the anger. Blood flowed from his shoulder and he pressed on the wound, then turned and staggered toward the back door.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Gil turned a corner, squatting at the end of the rack; focused his fading power; then pictured a boulder, leaned out, and pushed. The policewoman took it in the chest, flung backward as if jerked by an invisible string. When he tried to stand and run, lights flashed in his head and he nearly fainted. Blood soaked the front of his shirt now. He pictured another boulder, leaned out, and pushed down the other aisle. A gun fired when his head appeared, the bullet whizzing past his ear. He jerked back, seeing Officer Winston knocked down by his power.

  Gil stood, feeling weak, and turned to run, but Ralph was there, his massive arms wrapping around him, picking him up off his feet. Gil found himself staring into Ralph’s injured face—dozens of nicks from the video barrage bled down his cheeks.

  “Are you hurt bad, Gil?” he asked inches from his face. “Don’t you think you should go to the hospital? I could carry you if you want. You wouldn’t have to buy me an ice cream or nothing.”

  “Ralph, let him go. He could hurt you,” Officer Winston shouted.

  “Naw. He’s my friend. He did some bad things, but I think he won’t anymore. Isn’t that right Gil?”

  Gil’s hatred of Ralph burned through the pain and he felt the power coming. He pictured a bowling ball, stared at Ralph’s face and pushed with all his remaining strength. A hole was blasted through the video rack behind him, and two more beyond, but Ralph stared back, his thick lips in a pucker.

  “What was that, Gil? Did something fall?”

  Then Ralph turned to look, and Gil found himself looking over Ralph’s shoulder at Officer Winston. Searching through his pain he found he could hate the man who had shot him—foiled his bright future—and he searched for his power. He could blast the policeman right through Ralph.

  He was weak and barely conscious, but he dug deep, nursing his anger. He pictured a softball-sized rock with jagged edges—edges that would tear and rip human flesh. Then he stared over Ralph’s shoulder at the chest of the advancing policeman and summoned his power—but there was something else in his mind; a black hole had opened, its irresistible power sucking everything in. Vainly, he tried to hold on to his anger, but it was sucked into the oblivion and then his pain followed. Finally, his very sense of self was pulled down. As if sinking in quicksand Gil reached out in his mind, clawing at the sides of the black hole, but finding nothing to grasp, and sinking deeper and deeper, until he was gone.

  33

  HOSPITAL

  The policeman who picked Elizabeth out of the crowd said only that she was needed at the hospital. She feared Len was dead, but also worried about Ralph. She never did find him in the chaos around the wrecked 7-Eleven—it had been a war.

  The emergency room was a buzz of activity, injured people coming in as fast as the ambulances could bring them. In one corner she found Officer Winston sitting next to a policewoman with her arm in a cast. A nurse was taping his chest.

  “Is it Len?”

  “No. As far as I know he’s still hanging on.”

  “What about Ralph? We can’t find him!”

  “Slow down, Elizabeth. Would you let me tell you? Ralph’s over there.”

  Elizabeth turned to see Ralph sitting in a chair, a nurse dabbing at his face.

  “He’s all right, just some cuts and bruises. He was a big help actually. He grabbed Gil and held him.” Nodding to the officer next to him, he said, “Chris and I—and all the others of course—got knocked all over the place, but not Ralph. He just walked up and grabbed him. How do you think he did that?”

  “I don’t understand,” Elizabeth said. “Gil didn’t try to kill him?”

  “He tried, all right. Isn’t that right, Chris? But he couldn’t touch him—not directly anyway. He threw things at him, but nothing heavy enough to hurt him bad.”

  Puzzled, Elizabeth couldn’t understand why Ralph would be immune to Gil’s power—but she also remembered he had heard Gil’s telepathic messages.

  “Thanks for taking care of him,” Elizabeth said.

  “He took care of us, actually. But that’s not why I wanted to see you. Something’s wrong with Gil. The doctors think he’s catatonic, but I’m not so sure. You’ve been messing with his mind in your experiments, maybe you know what’s wrong with him.”

  Elizabeth’s temper flared. She felt a part of the project now and was defensive.

  “I thought one of you should check him out,” the policeman said.

  Still angry, Elizabeth agreed, following the two officers to the second floor, where a policeman stood guard outside a locked door. Inside, Gil lay on a hospital bed, both arms handcuffed to the rails. His eyes were covered in gauze.

  “We had a heck of a time convincing a doctor to tape his eyes. He didn’t believe in psychic powers. Hell, I didn’t either until I saw him use it.”

  “His shoulder is bandaged.”

  “Gunshot wound. The bullet didn’t penetrate far. He couldn’t stop it with his power, but maybe he slowed it down. He bled a lot, but he’s gonna live, but what the hell are we supposed to do with him? What jail cell will hold him? He’ll just use that psychic power of his and blast a hole in the wall.”

  Elizabeth understood the magnitude of the problem. If Gil needed to see to use his power, then they could keep him blindfolded, but for how long? Would the state treat him like a modern-day Samson, blinding him and then putting him on display? It was an impossible dilemma, and secretly she was glad she wouldn’t have to resolve it.

  “You can see he just lies there. He doesn’t respond at all. The doctors want to take off the bandages to check his pupillary responses but I won’t let them.”

  “Gil? Gil, can you hear me?” Elizabeth asked. There was no response—no motion, no sound. “Frankie, is that you?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth.”

  The two policemen looked at each other in surprise.

  “Frankie, why didn’t you talk to the policemen?”

  “I was afraid. I don’t know where I am. Am I under arrest?”<
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  “You’re in a hospital. You’ve been hurt, but you’ll be better soon.”

  “I was shot.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did someone shoot me?”

  “It wasn’t because of anything you did.”

  Elizabeth hushed Roy when he started to protest.

  “Was I raped?”

  The officers again looked mystified.

  “No. Your shoulder is hurt, that’s all.”

  “Thank Ralph for me. He carried me.”

  “I’ll tell him. We’re going to step outside now. Go to sleep for a while.”

  “I don’t sleep, Elizabeth. If I sleep I’ll die.”

  Now Elizabeth was surprised but led the officers out of the room.

  “What’s going on?” Roy demanded.

  “When we heard about the trouble with Gil, we hooked up the other savants to our equipment, hoping to pull Frankie together. We thought Gil might disappear if we did. It was probably Frankie that brought him back after he killed Luis.”

  Roy looked confused but put it together. “So he just blanks out, then thinks he’s someone else? A schizophrenic?”

  “You’re thinking of multiple personality disorder, but this is different. She actually is Frankie.”

  Roy and the other police looked at her as if she weren’t making any sense. Ironically, she found herself defending an experiment she once hadn’t believed in.

  “I’ll try to explain more later, but there’s another problem.” The police looked at her suspiciously. “You were talking in front of Frankie, and told her she had psychic power.”

  “So? He—she—whatever, already knew.”

  “Gil knew. Frankie didn’t. Wasn’t Frankie easy to handle? I mean, not like Gil?”

  “Ralph was holding him when he was still using his power, then he just went limp. Nothing after that until he—or she—talked to you. But what does it matter? As long as Gil is blindfolded, and chained to this bed, he can’t do anything.”

  “But Frankie isn’t just Gil, she’s parts of several of the savants, and somehow, even without Wes’s equipment, Frankie has been integrating.”