by J. R. Brule
Billy’s mind was grotesque—she felt like she might catch retardation if she stuck around too long. The dendrites looked wired by a blind man, the retention center programmed by a drunkard.
“What the shit are you doin, man?” Norman yelled to his listless partner. Then she heard, Get the bitch! Move your boot! I’m on your team!
The plea was music to her (his) ears—Norman forgot to fight. He’d turned helpless, paralyzed, useless. He’d forgotten how the game was played. She spoke to Norm using Billy’s Gift, widening his eyes with a sudden grasp of the situation.
With his guard down, Julia split her Gift into halves, to control the both of them at once.
It worked: she was now inside two minds.
Norm’s place was even more disquieting than his partner’s—it was almost no different than being inside an UnGifted mind.
She withdrew Billy’s boot from Norman’s hand, and she had Norman pull the lever to pop the trunk. She went around to have a look inside, and saw they had a bunch of sadist’s equipment: red rubber ball gag, bandanas for blindfolds, thick white rope all coiled up to the side, and even one of those frilled black whips, none of which she needed.
They were hers, and would be hers, and then they’d die.
She closed the trunk and led them both into the forest, where she had them strip naked and lay on their backs. She extracted their Gifts the only way possible, with each one pumping her full of his power, causing shudders greater than orgasm, pulsing the veins in her neck.
When she was through, and their powers were hers, the world was in greater focus, higher than 20/20. She felt able to lift off from the forest floor and fly, and she relished it through the day. The sun went down without her realizing it, and before she knew, it was already a new day before she withdrew from their minds.
They blinked their exhausted recognition, staring paralyzed at the sky, cognizant of what had been done to them. What came next was only for protection. People always wanted vengeance—it was best to avoid that whole business, take what you could and cut the loose ends.
Nothing personal, fellas, she said into their heads. But you know how it goes.
She allowed them to get one last look at her smiling face before she used their powers against them. She scrambled their brains akin to an electric chair, watching their scalps smoke, their bodies convulse, and their feet thump against the ground. And when it was all over, when they were dead and still, she concluded the primal ceremony by taking their car back to Rudy’s school, where she felt him sitting helplessly in class.
---
Billy thought he was dead until he felt something pinch his mind like it was nothing more than a braided nerve. The pain was excruciating, though he had no mouth to yell with, no limbs to flail. He didn’t expect death to hurt this bad.
When he heard a man’s voice inside his head, he conceded his struggle.
Give me your permission.
Billy tried to nod—anything to make the pain stop.
15:
RUDY SAT BORED IN class, barely hearing what Mrs. Anderson was teaching. She stood at the whiteboard, scribbling equations and explaining how to work out a problem.
Rudy’s senses were emboldened; the squeak of the felt tip marker was like a squeegee being dragged across a windshield. Mrs. Anderson’s lips were somehow huge, taking up his whole vision, smacking together, and drawing strings of otherwise unnoticeable saliva with every opening. The rest of the classroom was empty, maybe disintegrated, as far as he could tell.
And then he started to realize that the rest of the room was empty . . . in fact, the place was black and white. Only Mrs. Anderson was in full color, especially her vivid red lips, and he knew something was about to happen—it always looked like this right before something happened. His eyes could do anything he wanted—blink, roll, turn, wink—but his feet were stuck to the floor.
Time crept forward, slowly enough for him to clearly see the growing flash of light between the cracks shooting up the wall. Chunks of plaster loosened and then dislodged, sliding out but never dropping to the floor. Mrs. Anderson had no time to react of course, because for her this was happening in real-time.
White fire mushroomed out from between the cracks, licking Mrs. Anderson’s fingers with tongues forged from the sun, the whole wall a blinding photograph. The skin behind her fingernails crisped and shriveled, and her red lips ceased smacking, freezing into a permanent O position. The flesh on her hands peeled back to reveal the skeletal metacarpals beneath. Her hair drifted upward, as if in zero G. Her cheeks flared hot red before the skin split into branching black lines. Her eyes popped like a couple of squashed grapes. The surging force swept her off her Nike’d balance, and she hung in midair as if suspended by a movie wire. Fire engulfed her until only her skeleton was left, whooshing over him in one hot wave . . .
He was screaming when the vision was over. The whole class stared, even Mrs. Anderson. But his heartbeat did not slow—the wall could blow at any moment! It was only when he looked at her feet that he could relax—she had on Reeboks.
Rudy went to lunch, expecting to take his usual seat, when he noticed Sam waving at him from the corner of the cafeteria. When he sat down, all the guys stared—Jud, Kevin, Jake, and Sam—appraising their new member.
Jake commanded everyone’s attention again. “All right, all right, he can stay.” They all had cards, none of which were normal playing cards. “I’m looking for a rare white card called Corpse Digger.”
The table went silent as everyone searched their decks. Kevin ate a forkful of macaroni before looking through his.
“Got it,” Jud said.
“How bout this for it?” Jake said, presenting a card.
“Do you play?” Sam asked Rudy.
“I . . . I don’t actually know what this is.”
“Magic: the Gathering.”
“Just tell your dad you need money for a field trip,” Zach told him. “Save up what he gives you and spend it all on cards. That’s what we do.”
Rudy’s dad worked at Ace Hardware as a floor manager. Every dollar went toward things they needed—food, books for class, and, okay, sometimes candy from the Whacky Tongue candy store downtown. But cards? That seemed ludicrous. Rudy smiled anyway—he needed some acceptance. “Yeah, good idea.”
“Don’t worry,” Jake said. “I’ll make a mock deck. It’s really easy. Just print a template and pencil in the rest.”
“That’s not fair,” Sam said. “You could make whatever deck you wanted, with all the best cards.”
“Like you can talk,” Kevin said. “Your deck’s worth more than my brother’s car.”
“At least I don’t check out my sister naked,” Sam said.
“I didn’t!” Kevin flushed.
Jake said, “Let’s play some Magic, hmm?”
As they played, Rudy spotted a grinning John Handley, with his combed back blond hair, coming over with his two goonies Doug and Downie. John smacked Jud’s shoulder, and Jud looked up, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cards in hand.
“What are you gentleman playing?” John asked.
“It’s called Magic: the Gathering,” Sam said, oblivious to the mockery, speaking like he was recruiting a potential player. “It’s a card game.”
John’s smile widened. “A card game, huh? Gee, thanks Sammy, I’ll be sure to let my doctor know my sight’s okay.”
Doug and Downie both snickered.
“How’s it work?” John said, reaching forward and shoving his armpit into Jud’s face. He mixed all the cards together like he was preparing for a game of Go Fish. Rudy’s friends passively moaned their discontent. Gandhi would have been proud.
“Hey!” Sam finally said. He stood, trying to swipe away John’s hand. “You’re mixing them all up!”
“Siddown!” John pushed Sam back into his chair. “This game’s for nerds. You’re all nerds, do you know that? I might even send in a letter to whatever shithole company created this game,
asking for a rename. ‘Magic: the Gathering of Nerds,’ ” he said, boxing each word with his hands. And then his face went sordid when he saw Rudy. “Hey, what’s he doing here?”
“Having lunch.” Jake said. “What’s it look like?”
“Kid’s a freak,” Doug said.
“You’ve got that in common,” Jake said.
“Come on,” John Handley said. “This table sucks.”
As Downie turned to leave, he accidentally dragged his backpack up the side of Jud’s face. The zipper caught some hair and yanked it out. Jud yelped and bowed his head, rubbing where it hurt.
“Goddamm assholes,” Sam said. “I wish I could tie their shoelaces together and have them sprint a line.”
“He’ll die a bully,” Zach said.
Jud sighed. “Yeah, in a
(playground)
grave full of beautiful women.”
16:
“THAT WAS A MASTER sale,” Mr. Kloom said, “so I hope you took notes.”
Oh God, Rudy thought. I don’t remember any sales.
Is this insanity?
“This is not insanity,” Mr. Kloom said, sucking from his cigarette. “Though there is insanity. Now, you’re going to take a taxi to Tobermory. It shouldn’t be more than a two-hour ride. I’m going by boat, so I’ll be a bit behind. You’re in charge of getting us re-stocked.” He clamped his cigarette in his lips as he reached into his pants pocket. He brought out his wallet and slipped out a yellow business card. “The guy you’ll meet is named Finch. Ugliest fucker you’ll ever meet, too. He owns the market up there, but keeps our goods off the floor. Give him this and he’ll know you work for me.”
Rudy took the card.
“If you don’t fuck this up, I might even reimburse your taxi fare.”
“Yes, Mr. Kloom.”
“Do I have to send you an invitation? Get the HELL on outta here!”
Rudy left the car and Mr. Kloom spent no time waiting. He took off down the road, trailed by the snaking music of accordions.
Rudy went into town and found a payphone, which felt oddly dated. It had a list of numbers taped-up on the mounted box, one for taxi services. He picked up the phone and heard its dial tone, suggesting someone already paid for the service. He punched the number in and was answered by a man with a foreign accent.
“Taxi Yellow, where to pick up?”
“Kincardine, at Main Street and Oxley.”
“See you in ten minute.”
Click.
Rudy hooked the phone and walked next door, to a store selling touristy gifts. There were magnets, cups, postcards, t-shirts, and a whole selection of Canadian candy he didn’t recognize.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked a smiling blonde girl, who looked around his age.
“Oh, just browsing.”
“Okay, well let me know if there’s something you need.”
Rudy had time to kill. “Actually, there is something. I’m headed to Tobermory. Anything I should know? Do I need to take a boat or something?”
She laughed, like she thought he was being cute. “Oh, Tobermory? You just drive North. It’s beautiful there! Very touristy. Keep your eye out for the Chi-Cheemaun! You can’t miss it.”
“The Chi-Chi-whatty?”
“The Chi-Cheemaun! Oh, gosh, how can I describe it? It’s just the Chi-Cheemaun! And watch out for bears!”
“Bears?”
“Yes, black ones. They normally stay away, but every now and then . . . well, I guess sometimes they just get surly.”
“Are they aggressive?”
“Oh, sure. If they stand up on their hindquarters you should probably start running. Don’t you watch Animal Planet?”
“I thought you were supposed to play dead.”
She giggled and touched his arm. The contact made him
(recall)
recoil, though he didn’t think she noticed. “You’re funny. Anything else I can help you with today?”
“Nope, that’s all.”
After looking around a bit, he saw his cab waiting outside. He left the shop and got in the back seat. The driver tapped the fare counter and the numbers dialed on by. They took Highway 6, and from there it was a straight shot.
“How long?” Rudy asked.
“Three hour.”
Rudy leaned back, looked out his window, and watched the passing trees. The driver swapped to a CD. Accordion music played.
What the hell’s up with this music?
The driver stayed silent. More than anything, Rudy wanted a book to help pass the time. But he had no book. All he had was the shitty music paired with the beat of the driver’s thumb against the steering wheel.
He must have nodded off somewhere, because next thing he knew, he saw the sign:
TOBERMORY WELCOMES YOU
Scuba Capital of Canada
Home of Two National Parks
He checked his pockets and froze in panic—he had no money. He must have left his wallet with Mr. Kloom.
He avoided eye contact with the driver.
Listen.
Cabbies had a sixth sense for sniffing out the ditchers. Rudy couldn’t let on. The driver was stout enough—a large belly hung over his belt—not very good for a chase.
“Pull over here,” Rudy said, and the driver turned the wheel.
They stopped on the side of Highway 6, in front of a fair trade store called Lola’s. Tie-dyed shirts and skirts blew sideways in the breeze. A car zoomed by.
The driver tapped the fare counter again, stopping the dial, and read the amount out loud. But Rudy was busy removing his seatbelt and working to unlock the door without the driver hearing. The door lock was shaped like an antenna, and when he pulled it up, all the locks followed, and the driver’s eyes flicked up into the rearview mirror.
Rudy threw open the door and bolted, running up the shop hill, feeling his legs carry him away, the muscles numb with ecstasy, like they weren’t really his legs at all. The cabbie cursed after him in his native tongue, but Rudy was fast, so damn fast, and the man’s voice became an infantile shout from the other side of the world.
And without Mr. Kloom around, for the first time, Rudy found himself leaving his own body, his every cell shivering with delight, the last sound a twig snapp . . .
17:
. . . ING.
Back at the lunch table, every one of the boys watched him.
Rudy tried not to panic.
Mr. Kloom said to listen.
Listen.
Voices—a swirl of intermixed voices—entered his head. Not that usual baseless overflow . . . but something a little bit more . . . controlled.
(what’s he waiting f)
(wonder what he’s)
(where’s your book?)
“My book?” Rudy asked, tentatively. “You want to know where my book is?”
Sam and Jake exchanged looks. “That is what we asked, yes.”
Rudy smiled real big.
“Don’t smile like that,” Sam said. “It makes you look creepy.”
But Rudy couldn’t help it—forget books—he’d just read someone’s mind!
“Rudy gets it,” Jake said.
“Gets what?” Sam said.
Listen.
(chick-lit)
Jake looked at Sam funny. “You realize it’s a chick’s book, right? That’s how this all started. The girls carry them around and us guys have to read it.”
“The main character’s a guy,” Kevin said. “A wizard. That doesn’t sound like chick-lit to me.”
Holy shit, Rudy thought. I’m hearing things before they happen.
(gifted with brains)
“Open your eyes, numb head,” Jake said. “It’s a love story. Look past the magic and the brooms and you’ll see what I mean. You all may as well be reading The Notebook.”
“You can’t read a movie,” Kevin said.
Jake rolled his eyes. “Oh boy.”
“You’re gifted with brains, aren’t you?” Sam lampooned.
/>
Rudy marveled at this new ability.
---
“Hef’s the name,” a kid said, in the school gymnasium. Dribbled basketballs echoed throughout the giant hollow. “Are you Rudy?”
When did I get here?
“Yeah, I’m Rudy,” he said, and his mind raced.
“You’re in my math class. Come on,” Hef said. “I’ll introduce you.”
To who?
“The guy with the whistle is Chuck Loore,” Hef said, pointing ahead. “The other two are Pat and Ben. I don’t have to tell you what we’re doing here, do I?”
Rudy shook his head. These guys were racing.
“You gonna run?” Chuck asked when Hef pushed Rudy forward, the whistle bobbing on his sticky lips. “Or do I have to call home for a permission slip?”
“Don’t call,” Hef said, and Rudy blinked. He thought he’d said that. But it came from Hef’s mouth.
Rudy lined up with Pat and Ben. He poised on his fingers, straightened one leg out behind him, and tucked his head into his chest.
“On your marks,” Chuck said, his words coming out only half of his mouth (the whistle took up the other half). “Get set . . .”
Waiting for that whistle made everything in the gym seem insignificant. The laughter droned, the basketballs slowed, and Rudy focused only on those two orange cones marking the finish line.
The whistle sounded and Rudy pushed hard from the floor, hanging in midair for one half moment before catching ground. His hands sliced through the air in alternating cuts and the gym bounced in his vision. He didn’t care to know where Ben or Pat was; all he cared about was getting to that finish line. His peripheral vision told him a group of girls watched him pass—or maybe they didn’t.
“Geeze!” Pat said after they’d finished, sweat dripping from his forehead. “How come you’re not on the track team?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, panting. “What’s your name again?”