DEAD AT SIXTEEN (THE KNOWERS Book 1)

by D. A. E. Jackson

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mike,” my dad said, leaning towards Mike, with real concern on his face. “What’s going on with her?”

  “My mom was great back when I had my Awakening. She helped me a lot. She shared with me her experiences as a teenager and that helped me to not feel like I was going crazy. She was pretty cool back then. We were really close.”

  He sat there thinking quietly for a moment or two, then he went on, “Since then, she’s been having trouble with her memory. She forgets when she is. She gets confused about which life she’s living now.” He was not looking at any of us, telling his story to the table instead. “She also forgets who I am. I was her father once, many lifetimes ago, so sometimes she acts like she’s my daughter. Sometimes my dad’s a complete stranger to her, which is really hard for him. He does his best with her, but it’s not easy.”

  I wanted to say something comforting, but this was all such a shock to me that I was basically struck dumb. Mike continued, “Dad understands all about the Knowers and he’s been trying to step up when he sees me struggle, but it’s not the same.” The room was quiet for a while when he stopped speaking.

  “I think I knew your mother,” my dad said, breaking the silence. “Wasn’t she the one involved in the tornado in downtown Lubbock about ten years ago?” Mike looked up, smiled at the memory, and nodded at Dad. “I thought so,” he replied “She did some newsworthy things after that didn't she? As I recall, she had a gift for weather events.”

  “Yes, she did,” Mike answered. “She specialized in calling the news stations with tornado sightings, a few minutes before the actual tornado would appear. She didn’t wait for anyone else to confirm her knowledge, which I know is what we’re supposed to do. She’d just get up off the couch suddenly and go make a phone call. The next day, there would be the inevitable news story of the tornado she’d predicted—in the paper or on TV, or both. Sometimes, they would even say that advance warning had saved lives. It was pretty cool. She made a big difference.”

  We all sat quietly while Mike gathered his thoughts. Then he shook his head and said, “But, that’s all over now and she’s getting worse. Dad and I are both worried about the time I’m sure is coming when she causes some kind of scene. She’s going to tell someone the year is 1842, or 1482. Who knows? The other day, she told me electricity must be from the devil.” He looked at Dad and said, “I don’t know how we are going to keep her from attracting too much attention if she keeps going the way she’s going.”

  “Have you and your father been dealing with this on your own?” Dad asked him sympathetically. “Why didn’t you tell someone? You poor boy. I’m so sorry.” He sat there thinking briefly, drumming his fingers on the table and then said, “You know, I’ve heard there’s a kind of network of Knowers who can possibly help you. I don’t know much about them. They’re secret, like everything else having to do with the Knowers, but I’ve heard they exist to help in situations like this. Let me make a few phone calls tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do.”

  That was my dad in a nutshell: willing to help out a total stranger after avoiding his own son for fifteen years. I know, that’s a cheap shot, but it’s the way I felt at the time.

  “Have you done anything like that, Dad?” I asked him. “Like, predict a tornado or something that saved a person’s life?” I was being an obnoxious teenager but I was unable to stop myself.

  “Well, not exactly,” he answered, “But I did force an assistant at work to change her vacation plans last year—without being obvious about it, of course. I told her someone else had already requested that week off. I knew she was going to get into some terrible trouble on her vacation, so I made sure she had to work that week instead.”

  “Uh-huh”, I said. I knew I would regret being such a little turd to my dad. That didn’t stop me from doing it, though.

  Out of the blue, Mom asked Mike, “Do you have a picture of your friend Roger?”

  “Um, yeah. Out in the car I have a snapshot of all of us from the night we took Phil out for pizza on his birthday. Why?”

  “I just got a flash is all. Could you go get it, please?” she replied.

  “Sure,” Mike said as he stood up and hurried out.

  “Lydia, what’s going on?” my dad asked.

  “I think we need to get over to Roger’s house tonight. But let me look at the photo first, then I think I’ll know more.”

  Mike ran to his car two blocks away and returned with the small snapshot, which he handed to Mom. I’d forgotten we’d even taken it. We had all crammed into one side of the booth and asked the waitress to take our picture with a camera Mike had brought along. I couldn’t help but focus on Milton. He looked so happy being crushed by Roger on one side and by Jamie half sitting on him on the other side. Even Roger was smiling in the photo.

  “That’s Roger,” Mike said, pointing him out to Mom.

  “Oh, yeah. We need to go.” Her sense of urgency got us all on our feet quickly. “You do know where he lives, don’t you?” she asked of Mike, while gathering her purse.

  “Sure,” he answered, “I’ve dropped him off after school plenty of times.” He turned to Dad and asked, “Your car or mine?”

  “Mine, big shot,” he said to Mike. Turning to Mom, he asked, “And you’ll explain on the way over, right?”

  “Sure,” she replied while hurrying out the door. “Let’s just go! Now.”

  Mom got in the front seat with Dad and Mike and I sat in the back, leaning forward to hear everything they said.

  “Mike, in our last time,” she said, which I was learning was Knower-speak for “in our last life together,” “Luisa died having a baby girl, right?”

  “That’s right. We named the baby Trina—short for Katrina. She spent a few summers with us in D.C. when she was growing up. Do you remember her?” Mike asked me.

  “No,” I answered. “I haven’t seen any little girl.”

  “She was a great kid,” Mike continued. “She got married right before Ingmar died. Why do you ask?”

  “Did she marry a black man?” Mom asked, twisting around in the seat to look at Mike.

  “What? No. I don’t…wait. I never actually saw this fellow. I’m remembering more now.” He paused, deep in thought. “They eloped!” Mike recalled, “She wrote letters to the family telling us that she was married and happy and that she’d see us all soon. A month or two later, I think Ingmar was dead. Are you saying that Roger’s mother..?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Mom said. “Roger’s mother is grown-up Katrina. I can’t wait to meet her!”

  “Well, about that,” Mike said, with a pained look on his face.

  “What?” she responded nervously.

  Mike said, “About Roger. I mean we should warn him and let him know what happened, but I don’t think we can count on him to help us very much. That might be asking too much of him.”

  He paused again, looking from me, next to him in the back seat, to Mom, next to Dad in the front. He seemed to be considering his words carefully. Then, he continued, “There’s a lot you probably don’t know about Roger,” Mike said.

  I’d begun to think of Roger as the quiet one of the group when I thought of him at all, so Mike’s news took me by surprise. He went on, “Roger’s parents both died when he was only nine.” Mom’s eyes closed and a moan escaped her. “His father, who was also named Roger, was black, and his mother, who was white, were killed. Gunned down in their home... in Chicago.”

  “Oh my gosh! How terrible!” George interjected.

  “I know,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Even worse: Roger was home when it happened, hiding in a crawl space under the house. Apparently, he heard everything and knew what was happening. Afterward, the poor traumatized kid came here to live with his father’s relatives, who knew nothing of the Knowers. So, when his Awakening began a few years after the murders, they thought he was just suffering from continued trauma, from hearing his parents die only a few feet away from
him.”

  Mike stopped talking and a respectful silence filled the car as we processed this news. He went on, more quietly, “I can’t imagine what his life was like back then. Roger suffered through his Awakening for a few more years before he happened to share a class with Milton. Thankfully, Milton recognized him from a previous life and brought him to the rest of us. We all liked him, so we included him in the group. I think meeting Milton probably saved Roger’s life.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “Roger wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but he attempted suicide a couple of times before he met Milton. He was having memories that, in his perspective, couldn’t possibly have been real. I guess he thought he was truly losing his mind. Milton has been there for Roger ever since and I don’t know what Roger will do if he has to get along without him.” He stopped, looking seriously troubled. “I don’t know. Asking Roger to help us might be what pushes him over the edge. I think we have to count him out after we let him know what’s going on. First, though, let’s make sure he’s safe.”

  We sat in silence for a while, taking it all in, while Mike gave directions to my dad about where to go and when to pull over.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It is a truth that Knowers do not receive Knowledge about their own destiny. The future of their own life and eventual death are hidden from them, but they can see the future of their spouses and children, often leading to domestic turmoil. Those who are wise tend to avoid seeking Knowledge of those close to them.

  It is a legend that families of Knowers are filled with dramatic discord. This theory comes from the scrambling of family roles from generations past. Even for children who have not yet experienced Awakening, they may sense the previous relationships played by their family members and react to that.

  Southampton Free Press 1975 (Excerpt)

  We arrived. Dad turned off the car and shut off the lights. The street was very dark. The only streetlight a few houses away was out and there were no porch lights on at any of the homes. The neighborhood was older and the trees were all tall, and mature. The houses were mostly two-story Victorians. Mike pointed to a white house, well maintained like the others, the first floor mostly hidden by bushes.

  We sat in the car for a minute before Dad asked, “So, what do we do now?”

  “We wait,” Mom replied. “Something is going to happen. I know it.”

  It didn’t take long. After about five minutes of waiting, we saw one of the large bushes in front of the house begin to move. It was a tall flowering bush full of early spring blossoms that appeared white in the moonlight. The branches started to move, and the petals began to slowly sprinkle down. No one in the car moved or spoke. We just watched the petals float in the air and land softly like snowflakes. It wasn’t until we saw a figure distinguish itself from the shadows under the trees that Lydia flung open her car door, lept out, and raced across the street. All three of the other car doors opened at the same time as we all tried to catch up with her. I had to run around the car, behind my dad, so I was the last one across the street. Mike had caught up to my mom by then and began to yell, “Stop!” I don’t know if he was yelling at Mom, or the figure in the shadow, which was now moving faster under the tree. Either way, no one stopped. Just then, we saw a flash come from the shadowed area and heard the sharp crack of a handgun.

  I came to a quick stop, dropping to my knees to make a smaller target. Mom and Mike just flinched and kept going straight toward the spot where we’d seen the flash. I yelled, “Mom! Duck!” and she instantly dropped to the ground there in some stranger’s front yard. At the same time, another flash and crack came from back in the middle of the flowering bush. I hadn’t thought. I’d just opened my mouth and the words had come out. Before my mom got up again, the bush shook violently and petals once again rained down over the lawn. Whoever had been there was gone.

  Just then, lights came on inside of the house and on the front porch, freezing us like statues in the yellow light bathing the yard.

  “What are you shooting up my house for?” demanded a large man, who appeared in the doorway holding a shotgun.

  “Sorry!” Mike said quickly. “That wasn’t us! I’m Roger’s friend. We saw someone hiding in your bushes and when I yelled at him, he shot at us! I think he’s gone now.”

  “Roger,” the man shouted over his shoulder, back into the house, “Do you know this kid?”

  A smaller face peeked out of the door below the barrel of the shotgun, “Mike?” asked a surprised Roger. “What are you doing here?” Mike raised his hand and gave a kind of small, embarrassed wave. Roger saw me and said, “Philip? Is that you, too?”

  “Hi, Roger,” I said sheepishly, standing in his front yard and suddenly feeling really foolish. “Yeah, it’s us. Um, we really need to talk.” Mike and I walked through the yard to the porch.

  “Now?” asked the big man with the shotgun. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “I know it’s late sir,” my dad said apologetically, walking up toward the porch to join the rest of us, “But we do need to talk to Roger. And you too, if we could. We’ve got to talk about the man who was just hiding in your bushes with a gun.”

  “Roger, do you vouch for these people?” When Roger nodded, the man said, “Okay, well, I guess you’d better come inside before whoever shot at you before decides to come back and try again. We don’t need the neighbors to call the cops about a bunch of white folks shooting up the street.”

  Roger and Samuel—that was the large man’s name—were alone in the house. Samuel’s wife, Roger’s aunt, was out of town on business. Mike told them what we knew about what had happened at Milton’s house earlier. It wasn’t much.

  Roger looked shocked. “I asked him today if he wanted to hang out after school and he said he couldn’t. He said he had to get home and do something on his computer. Remember, Philip? You were there.”

  “I remember,” I answered. Mike and I shared a look.

  Roger noticed and rushed to say, “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Should I have?”

  “We don’t know,” I said, “We got to talking with my mom and dad here after the show tonight. Mike directed, and I’m performing in a production of “The Crucible” at the High school,” I said to Samuel. “Only one performance left!” I suddenly realized I was acting like a cheerleader for the show. Knowing that Milton had been kidnapped and we’d just been shot at, the show seemed so unimportant. “Anyway, we agreed that whatever Milton gets up to, he usually likes to have Roger around. So, we thought it would be a good idea to check on Roger—to make sure he was alright.” I thought it best not to mention that we’d sat outside for five minutes. “When we arrived, we saw that large bush outside moving. When we realized somebody was in there, Mike yelled at them, and whoever it was started shooting at us!” I paused and then added, “I guess you know the rest—”

  “You should have called me first,” Roger said. “Samuel might have shot you himself if you’d rang the bell at this time of night.”

  “The boy may be right,” Samuel said. “I’m just glad no one did get shot here tonight. What do you think happened to the boys’ friend?” he asked Dad.

  “To be honest, I think he may have been kidnapped. And if he was, that may have been the kidnapper outside tonight.”

  “So, you’re saying that the boy's friend was kidnapped, and the kidnapper came here tonight to get Roger?” Samuel asked Dad. Dad nodded yes. “And he might come back at any time.” He turned to Roger. “You’re not going out of this house without me by your side. I’m driving you to school tomorrow.”

  “You know what?” Mom said, “We should go. We’ve checked on Roger and he’s fine. The guy with the gun is gone and there’s a guy inside with a bigger gun now.” She paused, suddenly sounding very tired. “We’ve done all we can tonight and I need some sleep. Roger can we meet tomorrow and talk things over?” Roger looked at Samuel, who raised his eyebrows.

  “Well,” Roger said.
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  “I understand your concern, Samuel” Mom continued. “How about if we all meet before the show tomorrow night. I’m sure we’ll be safe in a crowd. The ticket will be our treat. Can you get there early so we can talk?” Roger waited for Samuel’s approval.

  “Sure,” Roger said once Samuel nodded.

  “Be careful going to your car. We don’t know for sure that it’s safe. And thank you for thinking of Roger,” Samuel said as we left his house. “This may have ended very differently if you hadn’t been here tonight.”

  “G’night Roger,” I said sleepily out the door.

  ◆◆◆

  “Hey,” I said from the back seat once we were in the car, “How come, when I’ve seen things from the past, so far I’ve only seen Mike. And I’ve only seen Mom once. I haven’t seen you at all, Dad, or the other kids from the group at school.”

  “I think that’s because I’ve been practicing,” Mike said, sort of embarrassed. “Didn’t you notice all the times I’ve stared you down at school? I’ve been trying to make a connection since the first day. I also think you and I share more of a history than you might with your folks.”

  “That’s right,” Dad said while pulling out into the street. “I never even met you last time. Harold died in the first year of the war. I knew Mike, though. In fact, I was his older brother. Heck, I practically raised him.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, “Uh, that’s not the way I remember it. Not at all. George—well, actually, Harold—who was ten years older than me, left when I was 15. As far as I know, no one in our family ever heard a word about him again till we got the telegram from the government telling us that you’d died in the war.” He shook his head, then went on, “You know, after you ran off, our mama prayed for you every night, included you in every single mealtime prayer as well. Our little sister here: she idolized you.”

  By “little sister” I figured he meant my mom, Lydia. My brain was struggling to keep up.