by J. R. Brule
The room was silent.
Then the door to the classroom creaked opened. A man in a coat stood in the doorway—a man Rudy had never seen before. The coat was white, yes, but it was a vibrant white—not like the rest of the room. The man’s face was blotted out by a dark oval, like he was a living censor. And despite not seeing his features, Rudy somehow knew the man was grinning.
“Hello, Rudy” the man said. The voice was deep. Pleasing to the ear.
“H-h-hi, Mister.”
“Would you like to leave this school?”
Rudy glanced at the clock, hoping for the bell to ring. He noticed the second hand was frozen in place, between the two and the three. “I don’t think I can.”
“Haven’t you ever played hooky?”
“No.”
There was a pause and in that brief time, the room got colder, shrinking the skin on Rudy’s testicles.
“That’s too bad,” the man said. “You could be a part of something much more fantastic than what this place offers you.”
And before Rudy could respond, the colors, the laughing, the life flooded back into his senses, all at once, like water rushing into the Titanic. The bell rang, and it was the most piercing sound he’d ever heard.
The man was gone. The door was still shut.
Rudy was startled when a kid spoke to him, because he hadn’t seen the students pouring in. It was a boy he knew from class.
“Oh God,” Sam said. “Don’t tell me you started reading those books, too.”
“Yeah,” Rudy said, examining the cover perfunctorily. The man in the white coat lingered on his mind.
“Well, is it any good?”
Rudy didn’t hear the question.
“Rudy?” Sam asked. “Is it any good?”
It took Rudy a moment to realize what was happening—someone just talked to him. And, even better, they called him by name. Not buttwipe, not freak, not fingerman—none of the numerous nicknames he’d been assigned since that strange incident in the lunchroom. “What? Oh, yes, it’s great.”
“...books,” Sam said.
“What?” Rudy asked again, feeling like he missed a part of the sentence.
“My father always suggests I read books. You know, they have covers, pages, and words inside.”
12:
BILLY AND NORMAN WERE outside Rudy’s middle school, inside their idling car. Buses entered regularly, unloading kids and heading back to the garage, where the drivers played cards.
Billy thought a poker game sounded great.
“Why don’t we just go in now?” Norman asked, sucking from the straw of a Big Gulp. “Not like anyone knows who we are.”
Billy stared out his window. “It’s called research, Norm. Chad stakes out a place, learns all the nuances. It’s how he claimed Hubert Mortly back in ‘08.”
“It’s a school, Billy.” Slurrrrrrp. “Full of dumb kids. We’re wastin our time.”
Norman did have a point—they gave up more of their lead the longer they waited. Others were surely on their way, if not already here.
“Besides,” Norm said, “we got his mother away, didn’t we? The time is now.”
That tactic—use their own Gift against them—came from Chad’s book. All it took was a little pry, and POP!, Billy was inside, whispering false futures.
And to think, he got that book for free.
“You know what, Norm,” Billy said, “I think you’re right. We are wastin time. We’re ready for this.”
“There it is!” Norm said, slamming his cup into the holder. “How we gonna do it?”
“Without being seen, that’s how. Come on.”
The kids were all inside, along with all the chaperones. Billy used his Gift to cloud the windows—not with steam or condensation, but with an undetectable veil that would blend them with the pavement like human chameleons. Anyone looking outside would see a quiet scene—not two scheming men entering the building.
No more talking, Billy said without speaking.
Roger that. Shouldn’t we use a back door?
We won’t be seen either way.
Roger that.
When they were inside, Norman asked, Where’s he at?
Billy felt around. In class . . . upstairs.
How we gonna get him?
We’ll hide.
Where?
And as they passed an unmarked door, they both knew. It was an unlocked room full of janitorial supplies. They’d hang here and grab Rudy as he passed, stuff him in the car, drive for a long time, and lay him out for the claim.
Billy’s first claim.
---
Shit, Norman said, how much longer we gotta wait?
Long as it takes, Billy said. You wanna get caught before we’re done? Shut up and sit tight.
The room was small, dark, and uncomfortable. Neither of them could find a good place to sit, and the floor was thin, hard and cold. They leaned on shelves, shifting every few moments, and they slid boxes away, trading off who had the mop bucket rammed against his shins.
Billy thought this closet would never be in any of Chad’s plans.
A bell rang, the fifth one they’d heard since being crammed in the supply room.
Is he comin? Norm asked.
Billy didn’t want Rudy to notice his Gift, so he just sort of poked at the mental sac of the school, working not to pop it, working to find that damned kid without him sensing the probe.
Oh fuck, Billy said, he’s in the hall!
Shit! How many other kids are out there? Billy? How many others?
Quiet! I’m lookin. Two others. Can you distract them?
No problem, I got it. They’ll be daydreamin about suckin on lollipops.
Billy’s heart revved up—Rudy was about to walk right past them. This was his moment—his first claim, his first Growth. If Norman didn’t fuck this up, they’d—
The door suddenly flew open and light as bright as the sun spilled in, outlining the shape of a man with long blond hair, wearing janitor’s garb.
“What the FUCK you two doin in here?” the man said. Billy had just one eye squinted open against the light. He couldn’t see the janitor’s face because the guy was a living silhouette.
We’re found! Norman screamed in his head. Shit! We’re done for!
I can’t send him away, Billy said.
Is he . . . one of us?
I don’t know. I’m in his head. But I can’t find the steering wheel.
The janitor moved quickly and, at first, Billy thought he was throwing a punch. But he had a mop turned upside down, and used the stick to beat them out of his closet. “Go on! Get outta here!”
Don’t let him see your face! Billy said.
They put their hands over their faces and scrambled out into the hall, past all the students, out the building, and to the car.
“Unreal,” Norm said in the passenger seat with bated breath. “What’re the odds of that? Was that guy Gifted like us?”
“It’s fine,” Billy said, and tapped the dashboard clock. “School’s nearly out. We can have Rudy walk home, take him like that.”
Norm grinned. “I like where your head’s at, bud. Really do.”
---
They’re going to make a move, Julia thought. They’re going to make Rudy walk home.
Decent plan, fellas, but I think it’s time for you to go.
Julia left the library and went into the women’s restroom. A teacher was at the mirror, looking like she’d just gotten done crying, and Julia hurried her out with a simple interjectory thought: Can’t be seen like this.
Julia locked the door to the restroom, took off her fiery wig, and let her brown hair fall. She planted her palms on the counter and leaned forward, staring intently into her own eyes.
You can do this, she said to herself, unblinking. If you don’t, they’ll get you instead.
---
Chad sat with crossed legs and an opened newspaper, not reading it, watching the flatland sweep past his wind
ow. He concentrated on those other Gifted. They were about to battle for Growth rights, and it was about time.
Now, his own plans could be put into motion.
Rudy’s father, Chad thought. What a perfect puppet. I can use him to my liking.
But something had Chad worried, something he couldn’t understand.
Something fended off his Gift—a momentary stopper to his encompassing vision. It’d happened once before, several years back, when he’d been in South Carolina during that boom of Gifted awakenings. It was like a gold rush—everyone went. There wasn’t much fighting because there were so many to choose from, like birds feasting during fly fish mating season. Just swoop in and take your pick—that was the motto then. No reason to push or shove.
But there was an incident with one of his prey—he’d locked in on him and was ready to strike. It was as easy as it could be. But just before Chad pounced, his Gift went fuzzy, severing his plans and disrupting his Growth. The kid he’d been following disappeared, quite literally—both from his eyes and mind.
Chad had brooded over it for weeks. What could have possibly stopped him from having what he wanted?
And now, with sudden clarity, he thought he knew what had happened all those years ago, the same thing that was happening now: there was someone else like him, someone more powerful than the rest—even powerful enough to blind him. Whoever it was also used their abilities to transfer Julia, Billy, and Norm into a new domain, without them even knowing. Even while already inside, they hadn’t a clue.
Chad would enter as well, but not unknowingly. He knew exactly how the system worked, and planned to use that to his advantage.
The passing landscape looked so calm. Such an antithesis to how tumultuous the future seemed. This trip wasn’t just a simple Growth anymore . . . oh no, this was about finding that other man. That fuck that printed his books, that fuck that distributed them, that fuck with powers equal to his own.
Chad sensed a throne to be won . . . the ultimate war of the two most Gifted individuals: him versus his mystery man, the fuck man.
And screw the train. Screw savoring the taste.
On the wind, that mental air that sweeps untended tidbits from other Gifted across the West, the States, the mountains, Easter Island, Christmas Island, whatever island or intersection of latitudes and longitudes, Chad Stevenson caught the first slip of his man, the fuck man, and it sounded something like KLOOM.
13:
RUDY TOOK THE BUS home after school, despite the feeling he’d have to walk.
Must have just been another one of those random thou . . .
---
. . . ghts.
“Now,” Mr. Kloom said, and brought out a different bottle of pills. He shook it, putting it to his ear, and it rattled. Out his window, Rudy could tell they were no longer in Michigan—the climate was different. “The next house we’re going to is spread real full of gummies.” Mr. Kloom dumped a mouthful and swallowed. “You need to be on your game. Do you think you could do that for me? Hmm?”
“Hold on,” Rudy said. “I’ve got some questions.”
“Aren’t you listening? Haven’t you been listening?”
“Of course I’ve been listening, bu—”
“Then no, you shouldn’t have any questions. What’s the most important rule of sales?”
“I . . . Uh . . .”
“You see? You wander, you forget, you’re unfocused.”
“Look!” Rudy shouted. “I just want some goddamn things answered!”
Mr. Kloom slammed on his brakes. Rudy wasn’t wearing his seatbelt and flew forward into the dashboard, cracking his nose. The smell of burnt rubber instantly filtered in through the air vents, and Rudy worked his thumb in his nostril to stop the bleeding.
Rudy felt Mr. Kloom’s eyes on him, and he felt like a scolded puppy.
And right when Rudy expected some sort of outburst, Mr. Kloom started whistling a melody, something he’d heard somewhere before.
“I just don’t understand . . .” Rudy sobbed, blood dripping onto his pants.
“That’s good,” Mr. Kloom said, though his whistling never lost a beat. “Not understanding something can lead to two outcomes: one, motivation to understand it, or two, an impassable wall. The trick is to always choose the former. Otherwise you’ll end up dead.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“Maybe it’s because I want to drill it into your FUCKING head. Ever think of that? Close the glove box.”
“Yes, Mr. Kloom,” Rudy said, and did as he was told.
Mr. Kloom offered an unlabeled pill bottle. “Don’t read the label, it’s not right. But you should have some. It really helps take off the edge.” Rudy could smell his breath after that last word, and it smelled like moldy cheese. “Do you know what I mean by the edge?”
“The roughness, sir.”
“No, god damn it!” He paused then wiped his forehead. “I mean, yes, that’s right, but god DAMN IT! You need to help me when I need help, got it? I like you, Rudy, I really do, but you have to help me sell. If we don’t sell, we’re dead. Do you understand dead?”
“Yes, Mr. Kloom.”
Mr. Kloom drove up to the curb and turned the engine off. He looked into the rearview mirror and slicked back his greasy hair. “How do I look, kid?”
Like an addict. “Like a salesman.”
“Most addicts don’t know a good presentation,” Mr. Kloom said. He continued to palm back his hair, making it into a ponytail and snapping a black hairband into place. And he was presentable—he wore a suit.
“Right-o,” Mr. Kloom said, and reached down to pull the trunk lever with a crooked smile.
He was high off his ass.
“Ready or not, here we go.”
The trunk popp . . .
14:
. . . ED.
Julia paused before leaving the women’s bathroom, thinking she heard a popping fart from one of the two empty stalls. But her Gift told her no one was in the bathroom, or the stalls, so she shrugged and left her discarded disguise behind.
She had to focus now . . . locate Billy and Norm’s amorphous fields of power, the magnetic dome that encircled every Gifted. If all went to plan, they wouldn’t feel her presence at all—she’d be the blind spot to their Gift, a mirror reflecting a false world back to them.
She exited out the back of the building—she could feel them out front, in that shitty car. She trekked through the empty playground, creeping through the vacant lot, projecting her Gift like a shield, and creating a glassy surface that would blur her from their eyes.
Even more skillfully, she monitored her own field of power, her own malleable dome. Usually, it required no tempering—just let that sucker stand firm like a bomb shelter. But, with other Gifted nearby, it was important to keep it loose. If either probed, she’d retract—not jerk back, but create a pocket and let them slip between, effectively rendering her invisible. If their Gifts were to touch, they’d know someone was near, and the battle would begin.
Fighting risked defeat.
It was mostly a battle of stamina, a test of endurance.
She saw them inside their car, and felt them using their powers to influence Rudy’s way home. It was a good time to strike; they were preoccupied, not paying as close attention to their surroundings as they oug—
Billy and Norman turned in their seats and looked right at her. She froze. She bent her Gift like a bowing servant, allowing theirs to pass seamlessly by as they searched for something foreign, something not a part of them, the fingers of their powers wriggling like dual insect antennae. She heard them speaking without their mouths, speculating
(something’s out there)
(i felt it too)
they might not be alone today.
Billy threw the car into reverse and peeled out from their parking spot, the tires screeching against the pavement.
Julia pounced and got a hold of the silver spoiler attached to the top of the trunk. She clung to
it like a monkey on its momma’s back, still adamantly focused on keeping her own dome pliable. The car shot forward and turned left at a red light, almost throwing her off the side.
She held tight against the spoiler’s frame, warding them from her presence, gathering info onto whether or not they
(did we lose her?)
(don’t know, just go)
knew she was still around.
This was what the game was all about.
Julia wrapped her legs around one end of the spoiler, now hanging on horizontally, her hair coming dangerously close to a roaring, spinning tire. One inch closer and her scalp would rip off her head in one Velcro sounding second.
The car slowed in a local park until it was completely stopped. Her every muscle pulsed, especially her arms, as she slunk quietly off the back and crawled on all fours to the driver’s door. She waited there a moment, expecting the door to open. When it didn’t, she got impatient and examined their minds with her Gift.
And that was a mistake she’d never make again.
She felt them waiting for her. As soon as she touched their heads, their Gifts exploded forward. Like sentient jungle vines, their Gifts snatched hers up, attempting to strangle her Gift and wring it out of existence.
And then the driver’s door opened. It smacked her in the head, and knocked her down. She saw Billy’s black Timberland boot touch pavement, and from under the car, saw Norman had on the same pair. For five whole seconds she let them believe she was theirs to claim, that the battle was over. It was a trick she’d learned from her first Growth . . . sometimes playing dead fooled even a mind reader.
“Would you look at that?” Billy said. “We caught ourselves a snoop.”
“Sneaky little bitch,” Norman said. “Good hit with the door. You knocked her cold.”
“Best get it done before she wakes. The gag’s in the trunk.”
Norman reached for the lever near the brake pedal, and Julia sprung to her feet, throwing forth a tidal wave of power.
Billy’s guard was down; she was inside, past his walls, past the stoppers, inside a spongy environment full of mental switches now hers for the flipping, one for every motor function. She used his body to stamp down on Norman’s outreached hand. Bones snapped, crunching under the heavy boot, and she twisted his heel down further, pinning his screaming partner there.