DEAD AT SIXTEEN (THE KNOWERS Book 1)

by D. A. E. Jackson

  I just sat there listening quietly, letting him get it all off his chest.

  “Every time I remember that loss, it’s as fresh and painful as it was in 1875. I was still very young when I died—just twenty-one—and I’d lived a very sheltered life. So, the birth of my baby boys was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” He paused again and his eyes had closed. “Then,” he added, opening his eyes and coming back from his memories, “I was gone. Just gone.”

  We sat there in silence for a few minutes. I still hadn’t said anything. I could hardly imagine what that kind of loss would feel like. Ada was only five years older than me when she died, yet she had been married, given birth, and known an all-consuming love before she died. “You don’t need to tell me exactly what you saw," he assured me. “Just know that I love you more than I ever knew how to show. I’ve loved you so much I was paralyzed with fear of losing what I had. Up until a few weeks ago I guess I hadn’t realized how much I was hurting you. I thought I was protecting you but instead I was pushing you away. I was afraid of losing you… and then I nearly did.” He shook his head. “It’s sort of crazy, I know, but I’m changing. I’m changing right now.”

  I’d always known that my dad cared about me, but what I didn’t know was how very much he loved me. I could see on his face the truth in all that he said. I’d never questioned the emotional distance between us, I just took it for granted. After hearing his story and seeing the love and loss on his face, I could almost forgive the years of pain I’d felt.

  I was quiet still, not knowing what to say, so he changed the subject, asking, “Had you known that you and Mike were once brothers before now?”

  “Yeah, I saw some of that life,” I answered. “We spent our entire lives living in that house where you were our mother—when you were Ada. We grew up to become these strange brothers with great, big, matching beards. People would travel crazy long distances to have us tell their fortunes in that old, run-down house.” I decided to brag a little. “Private detectives would sometimes hire us to help them solve cases. That’s how we became involved in finding Typhoid Mary. She was going to be hired as a cook by the Roosevelt family and probably would have killed F.D.R. if we hadn't been brought in on the case. I haven’t seen all their story yet, but it seems like they were pretty cool.” Dad smiled.

  “I saw the brothers once," he said. “After I was Ada, I was Anselmo, a farmer in Nebraska. Oh! Anselmo was Ansel’s grandfather—just in case you didn’t put that together yet. Ansel was clearly named after Anselmo... makes me wonder if Ansel’s parents knew about our connection somehow. Anyway, I took a trip back east one winter hoping to see the grown-up twins. It was 1903, and I was twenty-seven. My old house was about to fall down by then. It was still the same pea-green color my father had painted it before he died—where you could see any paint left on it, that is. You and your brother were sitting on the porch, wrapped in old buffalo hides to keep warm. I decided to holler out to you and said something like, ‘It’s awfully cold to be sitting outside, isn’t it?’ One of you—you looked exactly alike—answered, ‘We thought we’d sit out here and wait for someone to pass by. Do you have anything to ask us?’ I said, ‘No. No, I don’t,’ and then I hurried off down the street. I always assumed you were powerful Knowers who had seen I was coming by that day. Looking back, I think maybe you were just drumming up business on a slow day.” At that, we both smiled. If anyone had told me before my Awakening that I’d be sitting at the table with my father having a heart to heart about his most painful memories, I would have laughed in their face.

  “Aren’t there rules or something about visiting your old life after you’ve come back as someone else?” I asked him.

  “The Knowers aren’t so big on actual rules but, yes, it’s frowned upon. We’re supposed to take our memories with us and leave the rest behind but, because of the way things had gone, and feeling like I’d missed so much, I just had to know what had become of my two boys.”

  He stopped talking then, but I’d been thinking about Dad’s most recent previous life, when he’d been an older brother in both Mike and my mom’s previous lives. He’d walked out on them and never saw anyone in their family again, killed in battle the first year of World War II. It seemed like a good time to ask him the question I’d been wanting to ask for a while: “So, Dad,” I said, “Why did Harold leave Ingmar and Luisa just to go off and die in the war? Weren’t you a Knower? Couldn’t you tell that you were going to be killed” He closed his eyes. I wasn’t sure if I’d gone too far and then he answered me, with his eyes still closed.

  “First of all, no. Knowers can’t see their own deaths. It’s a blessing, really.” He paused a moment. “But, why did I leave? I was a coward,” he whispered. “I loved them both so much. I knew that Ingmar was one of Ada’s boys and I could see he would grow up to be with a man and never marry. I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to watch that happen. Then, one day, when Luisa was ten, she ran up to me to tell me a story about her day at school. I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t, but I was young and not always in control of things. I was listening to her tell her story when suddenly, I looked a little too deep. Her destiny was laid out for me. I saw her grow up, get married and then I saw that Luisa would die in childbirth. She was my precious little sister, the jewel of our family. I saw only one way that I might alter her future. That was to shake it up as much as I could.

  “I left the next day.

  “My memories of Ada and her loss were just too much for me—for Harold. The people I loved the most were headed for lives of tragedy and I wasn’t strong enough to be there for them. Of course, I hoped that my leaving might be enough disruption to change Luisa’s destiny. The great irony is that I didn’t know I would die practically the minute my boots hit the ground in Europe. I didn’t even live long enough to see any of those other tragedies occur. Anyway, the point is, I want it to be different this time. I’m sticking around and I’m fighting for my family.” At the end of that statement, he took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, looking back up at me with a new determined attitude.

  “So! Here’s what I propose: let’s take it to the Hunter this time and bring him down for good. Then we can get back to saving the world, alright?” He looked eagerly at me but I was speechless and, to be honest, feeling pretty emotionally wrecked. So, I just nodded my head, wiped at my eyes, and stood up from the table. I’m pretty sure Dad saw how I was feeling ‘cause he came around the dining table and gave me the biggest hug. At that moment—finally—I felt loved and cared for and cherished by him in a way I never had before.

  ◆◆◆

  I felt so good the next morning I went for my first run since I’d been shot. I took it easy and walked about half the time, though. It was a beautiful, early summer morning and it felt great to get outside and just go. My parents were at work and my friends were at school. The only problem with this perfect morning was that I kept looking back. Every fifty steps or so I would turn to look over my shoulder. That’s when I knew Mike was right: I couldn’t spend the rest of my life looking back to see if I was being watched. I couldn’t live in fear like this. I needed to take action and be an active part of whatever we all decided to do.

  That evening, when everyone started gathering for our meeting, I was ready. Milton, who was the first to arrive after school let out, surprised us all, though, by giving us some important, new information. “I have news,” he told me as I opened the door. “Big news!” He walked inside and I shut the door behind him. “We should wait until everyone’s here,” he added.

  “You can’t just say that and then not tell me what it is!” I cried. “And, hello, Milton,” I said, annoyed.

  “Oh, sorry! Hi, Phil!” he replied. “Big, big news, I think! Well, I’m pretty sure. No, this is big!” Then, he looked around and asked, “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starved.”

  “Sure, there are cookies in the kitchen. If I feed you will you tell me your news?”

  He ate the cooki
es but he wouldn’t tell me what he knew. “Where’s the sport in that, Phil? Let’s at least wait until your mom comes home, okay?” I agreed even though I didn’t really have a choice.

  Once Mike, Roger, Jamie, and Mom finally arrived, my mom said, “I really want to hear your big news, Milton, but we should wait for George. He’d want us to wait for him. Is it good news at least?”

  “Oh, Mom,” I groaned, “You’re killing me.” Milton just laughed, enjoying my frustration it seemed.

  Finally, finally, Dad came home—to a houseful of people waiting impatiently to hear what Milton had to say. I knew he was almost home at least a minute before his car pulled into the drive. I’d noticed recently that I was getting better and better at that and I’d meant to bring it up with Mike but I kept forgetting. I opened the door before my dad could even get his key in the door. “Thank God you’re home, Dad!” I greeted him in a rush. “We have news! I don’t know what it is yet, but Milton swears it’s important. Could you please sit down so we can finally hear what it is?” I paused and shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I’ve been waiting for like an hour and a half and I’m about ready to explode! Thanks!”

  Dad seemed amused as he took a seat at the table and I sat down next to him. “Milton,” he announced, “The floor is yours!”

  “Okay,” Milton said, clearing his throat a little dramatically, “So, here’s the news: I think I know where the Hunter lives.” He looked around at all of us expectantly as we all began talking at once.

  “Well? Where does he live?”

  “How did you figure it out?”

  “Have you been using the computer again?”

  “Milton, you’ve got to be more careful!”

  “Okay! Okay! Let me continue,” he said, raising his voice to shut us all up. “I originally contacted him on CB Simulator. That’s a new chat room program on CompuServe where you can actually talk to people from all over the United States and Canada. It’s gonna be huge. Anyway, I was asking general questions about unsolved murders and kidnappings in different parts of the country. I started talking to this guy whose handle was ‘Phoenix 27.’ That’s the word ‘phoenix’ followed by the number ‘27’—no spaces,” said the overly detail-oriented Milton and we all rolled our eyes. He went on and you could tell he was enjoying keeping us in suspense. “So, Pheonix27 started talking to me and asking me questions about myself and why I’m digging into unsolved cases. I didn’t know who this guy was and I didn’t think he knew who I was either. And… I may have given him more information about myself than I intended. Then, the next day, he’s gone—no longer in the chat room. I didn’t think anything of it until I realized that when I was kidnapped, I was grabbed from in front of my house three days after Pheonix27 disappeared from the chat room. I think he hit the road, left his computer at home and came here for us.” Everyone started talking at the same time again.

  “Please don’t ever do that again!” Mike said to him.

  “I think you might have something there,” Dad added.

  “Interesting, Milton, but correlation is not causation,” Jamie pointed out.

  “What’s CompuServe again?” asked Mom.

  I waited for an opening and then asked, “Where does he live, Milton?”

  “Excellent question, Phil! As luck would have it, I took a snapshot of one of our conversations. I wanted to remember what we were talking about. On CB Simulator, once your conversation scrolls up off the screen, it’s gone forever. But, I could see his i.d. number in the photo,” he said triumphantly. “I did a little research and found out that the area code he calls from is 212. That’s a New York City area code.” Everyone groaned. How would we ever find anyone in New York City? Milton wasn’t finished, though. He went on, “The computer he uses is located in a neighborhood called Greenpoint, which is in Brooklyn. It’s an old Polish neighborhood. You see Jamie, I did my research. And, um,” he paused for dramatic effect, “I have an address.”

  Everyone erupted with questions and suggestions. Milton couldn’t answer anyone’s question without being interrupted by another question. It was crazy! Dad tried to put a stop to it, “Quiet, everyone!” he demanded but no one listened. “Everyone! Shut! Up!” he shouted. We finally shut up.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said once everyone was quiet. “First off, you, young man, will stay off of CompuServe!” he said to Milton. “Actually, that goes for everyone. No more computers for anyone here. It’s too dangerous. We are returning to our normal lives until school is out. Let’s give him some time to think he’s gotten away from us. School is out in two more weeks, right? Can you get a few days off work then?” he asked Mom.

  “I’m sure I can. They owe me,” she replied.

  “Great. We’ll leave in two weeks for New York City. We’re going to track down the Hunter and we’re going to stop him once and for all.” He paused, thinking, then said, “Wait, Milton, do you know his name?”

  “Actually, I think I do,” Milton replied. “We should check at the library to make sure it’s legit, but from what I could find out, he registered on CompuServe as ‘Alfred Kominsky’. The man we’ve been calling the Hunter all this time lives in Brooklyn and is actually named ‘Alfred Kominsky.’”

  ◆◆◆

  The next two weeks were a bit of a blur. My teachers stopped sending me homework but Mike kept coming over after school anyway, which was nice. I spent a lot of the day at the library trying to find any information I could about Alfred Kominsky of Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It turns out there were two Alfred Kominskys in the Brooklyn phone book—and two more A. Kominskys. None of the addresses matched the one Milton had, but after finding a map of Brooklyn with street addresses, I was able to determine that one of the A. Kominskys was living in Greenpoint. Score! I knew that research was supposed to be Jamie’s department, but I sort of liked being a detective: running down leads and digging up clues. In the library, anyway.

  Meanwhile, Dad had decided that he ought to use the WATS line at work to call the numbers and pretend he was selling magazine subscriptions to anyone who actually picked up. I’d seen what a great actor he was when he was lying to the cops, so I thought it was a good plan too. He filled me and Mom in after work that day. “Maybe I should go into telephone sales,” he joked. “I sold a magazine subscription to an Anna Kominsky today. I hung up on her after she started giving me her checking account number!” he laughed.

  “What about Alfred?” I asked.

  “Not a peep. One of the Alfreds never answered and the other number was disconnected. The ‘A. Kominsky’ you told us was in Greenpoint? She—or he—also never answered. So, I didn’t learn a lot. I did learn about Anna Kominsky, though. She loves birds—used to have one until it died twelve years ago. Anna doesn’t think she’ll get a new one. She sounded older—had a great New York accent—and she really likes to talk on the phone to total strangers. Now, what’s been going on here?”

  “Mike’s graduation is tonight,” I told him. “Do you wanna go?” I could see him weighing the decision.

  “Yes!” he said decisively. “Let’s all go! Is he having a party afterward? Should we get him a gift?”

  “Yeah, his father is throwing a graduation party after the ceremony. Milton and Roger are also graduating so they’re all having a group party. If you go with me, you’ll finally get to meet Mike’s mom and dad,” I told him.

  My father was a man of his word. Remember when he told Mike the night before he and Mom were kidnapped—which seemed like a lifetime ago—that he would make some phone calls to see if there was a way to help his mom with her psychological problems? Well, he did. Mike said someone had called his dad and given him a number of someone local, a psychiatrist, who had experience working with Knowers. After a few appointments, Mike thought his mom seemed better, so he and his dad thought they could risk a party. I was relieved that she was doing better and grateful to my dad for stepping in to help.

  Graduation that night was predictab
ly boring but the party at Mike’s house after was anything but—

  “George! Lydia!” Mike greeted us excitedly at the door of his family's split-level ranch home. “I’m so glad you all could make it! Come! Meet my parents.” He turned and led us through the clusters of people gathered in the slightly over-decorated house. I’d met Mike’s mom a few times before. She had never seemed crazy, exactly, but she had been a bit distant—or vague. She always seemed like she was busy thinking of something else even though she was making an effort to talk to me.

  “Mom and Dad,” he said, to his parents, who were standing in the kitchen, his dad, a large man in a sport shirt, was preparing a cheese platter, his mom, petite, in a print smock dress, was looking out the window. They turned to him when he spoke, both smiling. “I want you to meet Phil’s parents, George and Lydia.”

  “George,” the husky man said. “I’m so glad to meet you! I’m Rocky and this is Rose. George,” he paused, catching my dad’s eye, “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us. It was a true kindness. Thank you.”

  “Glad to help,” Dad replied.

  “You have a lovely home,” Mom complimented Rose.

  Rose looked up through her cotton candy blond hair, her eyes darted around and finally settled on Mom’s face. “Thank you,” she told her. “This is my home, isn’t it? I’ve been cleaning in here all day. It had better be my home!” she laughed a little manically. We all smiled politely at the awkward joke. Even though that was a little weird, I did feel like she was doing better than before. My mom, who was always trying to smooth things over, reached out and took Rose’s hand and they started to walk away. Mom was talking quietly with her but I did hear her say, “Now, how can I help you out here?” and off they went.