by PM Drummond
“What kind of abilities?” I asked.
“Telekinesis, telepathy, precognition. Telekinesis was the easiest for me. Precognition was pretty hit and miss. Telepathy is easy with some people, but impossible with others, and all sorts of things can block or interfere with it.”
“So what happened?” I rubbed the small hairs at the nape of my neck to stop them from standing on end.
“Well, after about a year or so, he had me try to train other people, but I couldn’t. It was like teaching deaf-mutes to speak French. You could give them theory until the cows came home, but if they couldn’t physically do it, they couldn’t do it. That’s when he changed.”
“Sarkis?”
“Yes. The war in Vietnam was just about over and government funding was drying up. He started running tests on me that were much more invasive than before. I couldn’t read him, I never could, but I sensed a desperation about him whenever we talked.”
She stared at a spot over my right shoulder, lost in her memories, and from the look on her face, they weren’t happy ones.
“Then it happened.”
“What happened?”
“He gave me a vitamin shot first thing one morning. There was nothing odd about that. I got them all the time. I burned more calories and nutrients than most people when I used my powers.”
I thought of my Gatorade habit and nodded.
“But this shot was different. I got really tired and fell asleep. I woke up in a recovery room with bandages on my head and one hell of a headache.”
“He’d operated on you?” I fought not to let my mouth gape and rubbed my arms again. They were tingling more by the minute. I scanned the cabin and checked the windows sure someone was watching me.
“He said I had a stroke and he had to operate to save my life. Like I said, I couldn’t read his thoughts. Most of the time, there was a strange static that blocked me. I suspect now it was because he was crazy. But I read from a few of his men that it was exploratory surgery. I never had a stroke, or at least I hadn’t before the surgery. I might have had one during or right after, because my powers were all wrong when I woke up.”
“But why did he do it?”
“I think he went in to see how my brain did what it did, and he broke the golden egg he was looking for. When I caught thoughts from the orderlies that Sarkis planned to operate again, I escaped. He knew my abilities were damaged and it gave him hope because he knew what part of my brain he’d damaged, so he figured that’s where the powers stemmed from.”
“How did you escape?” I shrugged my shoulders up to my neck to try to ease the tension and warmth radiating from the base of my skull.
“I pretended I hadn’t recovered. They had to push me around in a wheel chair. They sent a small woman to take me for my daily visit above ground outside. Most of the complex was underground. When we got outside, I knocked her out and ran. I didn’t even know where I was going. I just took off. I stole a truck and drove to a town and stole a car. Then I ditched that and hitchhiked. Daniel was waiting for me at a little truck stop about a hundred miles north of Vegas. He knew I was coming.”
“How did he know?” I rubbed the back of my neck. It felt like it was on fire.
“He knew because he’d called me there. He’d been in my mind the whole trip, guiding me. I just hadn’t realized it.”
She rubbed her neck, too, and looked around the room as if confused. Then her eyes snapped to mine wide with fear.
“Oh my God! You have the tingling, too. They’re coming.” She jumped from the chair and grabbed my arm. Her eyes locked on mine.
“Did you bring or lead anyone here?”
“What?”
She shook my arm. “Just tell me, yes or no. I’ll know if you’re lying. That I can still do.”
I looked around the cabin.
“No. I didn’t.”
The image of four men flashed in my mind. They were in a car traveling down a dirt road—Aunt Tibby’s dirt road. One of them was Mr. Smith.
I shot to my feet, toppling my chair.
“We need to run,” I said.
“No,” she said. “No time. I could never outrun them.”
She hobbled to the center of the floor and lifted the rug. She stomped on a board and a section of the wood flooring popped up. Her fingers pried under the lifted section of wood until it opened.
“Come on.” She waved me over.
I ran to her. She’d uncovered a small, dirt-lined space under the cabin floor.
“It’s not large enough for both of us,” I said.
“Get in, child.”
“No. I—”
She grabbed my arm and with surprising strength, yanked me into the hole.
“You’re my legacy, my blood. I won’t let them do to you what they did to me.”
Tires crunched gravel outside the cabin. She pushed my head down, forcing me into the tiny space.
“Lay back and don’t make a sound,” she said.
I laid down on the dirt, face up with my hands over my ribs like a mummy. She slammed the section of floor over me, and through the cracks in the boards, I saw the rug sweep back into place. My world constricted to darkness and sound and the smell of musty earth.
The back door opened but didn’t close. Seconds later, the front door splintered and heavy footsteps rushed in.
“Shit, where the hell are they?”
“The back—”
Footsteps pounded through the cabin, sending bits of dirt into my face. The footsteps continued out the back door. Seconds later, they returned through the back door, but there were fewer feet than before. A thump and my aunt’s cry of pain sounded directly above me.
“Bastards,” she yelled.
“Where is she?”
“Who? I’m the only one here. Ow!”
“Marlena Burns, your niece. Where is she?”
“You mean you didn’t come for me? I’m crushed.”
“I’ll crush ya.”
My aunt’s scream brought tears to my eyes, and I pressed my lips together to keep from echoing it.
“Deke, knock it off. We’re taking her back, too, and the doc won’t like it if she’s damaged.”
“Look, old lady, we know she’s here. Her car’s out front.”
“Those are both my cars. Ow.”
“Try again. The Ford’s her rental. It has her bag in it. One more time, lady, and then I tell the good doctor you were dead when we got here. Where is she?”
My aunt laughed.
“She’s gone and you filthy bastards won’t find her. She can twist your minds so you’ll look right through her.”
“Bullshit.”
Tibby laughed again. “Okay go look for her. Knock yourselves out.”
“Then we’ll just have to convince her to show. She’s a bleeding heart. She won’t want to see her loving aunt hurt.”
More movement from above and more dirt in my face, and my aunt’s grunts sounded slightly farther away. They’d stood her up.
“You’re not taking her,” my aunt said in a low, calm voice, “and you’re not taking me.”
More scuffling and now shouts.
“Deke, watch your gun!”
“Don’t—”
A shot exploded and I jumped. The sickening thud of a body hitting the floor rattled the boards above me.
“Shit, the crazy bitch shot herself.”
One of the voices neared the floor.
“She’s still breathing, but I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
Two other sets of footsteps pounded into the room.
“What the—”
“Did you find her?”
“No. It’s like she just disappeared. What happened? Doc’s gonna be pissed you shot her.”
“I didn’t. She shot herself, and Doc doesn’t have to know. We find the other bitch and say this one was already dead.”
“But we can’t see her.”
“What the hell’s he talking about?”
/> “She shields herself, but she can’t sustain it forever, and she can’t stay out there forever. Her car, tickets, backpack—everything is here.”
My stomach heaved, and I bit my lips together to keep from screaming or crying. My breath came in ragged gasps. I had to do something.
“She’s not coming back,” my aunt said in a weak voice directly above me. “She knows her way out of these woods. Her friends will pick her up.”
“Friends?”
Tibby laughed but it was weak. “You don’t think she came with no one to back her up, do you? She’s not stupid.”
My own physical condition crept into my awareness. At first, I’d been too wrapped up in what was happening in the cabin to pay attention, but now the small space and stress made themselves known.
The tiny enclosure seemed to constrict, squeezing my lungs. I tried to slow my breathing, which hissed in short, shallow gasps. Blackness enveloped me. It pressed against my face, pushed its way into my nose and mouth.
The men continued to talk, but the roar of blood from my pounding heart drowned them out.
Something hit my nose and slid down onto my check. Please don’t let it be a bug. Please don’t let it be a spider.
Something else landed on my forehead and slid into my hairline. I thanked God when I realized it was just a drop of liquid of some sort and not a spider.
Then the coppery tang of blood oozed its way up my nose.
My aunt lay bleeding to death on the floor six inches above me. Another drop hit my nose, another my lips. I pressed my mouth closed and squeezed my eyes shut. Short bursts of air shot in and out of my nose.
Power poured through the wood above me. A burning blossomed in my chest and stomach then seared fiery trails down my legs and arms.
The fire reached my neck. I concentrated on it. Willed it not to advance to my head. If it reached my head, something bad would happen.
Heat radiated from me into the tiny space, burning me alive. The nightmares I’d had after they cremated Grandma suffocated me, locked in the coffin, sliding into the oven, the flames licking around me.
Several more drops hit my face in rapid succession. The cremation image took root in my brain, the nightmare now real. The energy I’d held at bay surged up my neck and engulfed my head.
A piercing scream vibrated my dirt coffin. Blood dripped into my mouth. My scream amplified to a roar. In the back of my mind, I knew I’d lost it,” but try as I might, I couldn’t get “it” back.
A loud boom and brilliant light flooded my grave as my power blew the rug and wooden door off my hideaway.
Molten energy boiled like a geyser out of the opening, hitting the ceiling and shooting outward. Small dark objects hurtled through my rectangular field of vision—books flying through the air as if in a hurricane.
More screams joined my primal roar—men’s screams. A man’s bloody face appeared above me, looking down in horror, a gun in his hand. A fat book smashed into his temple and he shot sideways out of sight.
My wail continued until the burning in my chest ceased. Then it abruptly stopped. My mouth snapped shut.
I lay frozen, listening to the room above through the ringing in my ears. No sound of movement. Should I look out? Was someone waiting for me? After what seemed an eternity in the smothering confines of the hole, fear of leaving now cemented me in place.
This was stupid. I was far more vulnerable lying prone waiting for someone to poke their head into the opening again and shoot me.
Aunt Tibby moaned. “Marlee.”
That settled it. My concern for her outweighed my fear.
I wriggled onto my stomach and pushed my head up inch by inch until I could see over the floorboards.
A tornado could have ripped through the room with less damage. The couch hung diagonally, wedged though the front door. Chunks of wood that had once been furniture covered the floor like monster-size confetti.
One man lay facedown near the front window, another lay against the east wall. Neither of them had life static. A third man lay partially covered with debris where the kitchen table used to be. He was alive. I couldn’t see or feel the fourth man.
My aunt lay four feet from me by the west wall in a pool of her long, white, angelic hair and blood. I eased out of the hole and crawled toward her, checking over my shoulders every few seconds.
I reached her and brushed the hair from her paper-white face.
“Aunt Tibby?” I whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and her mouth twisted into a cross between a smile and a grimace.
Blood covered her ruined chest. My hands hovered over her, not knowing what to do. Should I compress the wound or elevate her legs or . . . ?
Aunt Tibby’s hand waved weakly.
“Too late, dear,” she whispered. “Always was a lousy shot.”
She coughed and frothy blood drooled from her mouth.
“Lousy shot?”
“Aiming for my heart.” A short chuckle turned into another cough. “Wanted to die right away.”
“No,” I said. “We can get you in the car. Where’s the nearest hospital?”
My throat constricted, and my tears flowed freely onto the wooden planked floor.
“No time,” she said.
“Aunt Tibby, no.”
She grabbed my hand with surprising strength.
“Listen to me,” she said. “You get out of here. Don’t go the police. Sarkis has government ties. He’ll have them looking for you. Don’t let that bastard get you. But if he does—”
She looked straight into my eyes and a link clicked into place between us. Her lips didn’t move, but her voice rang out in my head.
Kill him.
Her eyes closed and the connection broke, but her grip remained firm.
I held her hand.
“Aunt Tibby, I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes opened but her gaze was on something over my shoulder. I darted a look expecting to see the fourth man with a gun, but no one was there. A bone-chilling cold filled the room.
“Daniel?” she said. Still looking past me, she paused as if listening to something. I looked behind me and then to her. The cold intensified, and I gasped frost into the air.
Her eyes were clear, her face relaxed when her attention returned to me.
“I’m going home,” she said. “Daniel says for you to go to the dark-haired man that isn’t—” A racking cough turned into a wheeze.
“Your destiny is tied to his. He will help you, but beware or he will take everything that you are. His love can kill you.”
She coughed once more, and reached out with her free hand. It closed around something. The white impression of someone’s thumb pressed into her skin across her knuckles.
Serenity and joy masked her face. With one last exhale, she closed her eyes. Her energy left her body and joined another energy source that flared behind me. The two entities expanded when they joined. The new combined entity moved forward, and soothing, viscous power flowed into me. My aunt stood before me with a dark-skinned man.
Daniel.
The serenity on my aunt’s face filled me. My heart broke over her death, but my soul shared in the rejoicing and freedom emanating from her now.
Their bodies dissolved into a golden mist. It moved away, leaving what they’d shared within me. They glided up and passed smoothly through the tin roof and were gone.
Tears flowed down my face. I sat gazing at the ceiling, cherishing the warmth inside me, until something crashed by the back door.
I spun and got back on all fours, ready to jump to my feet and flee.
The debris by the back door that covered all but the third man’s feet moved. A moan drifted from beneath the rubble. I stood and turned to run out the front door, but was stopped short by the sofa on its end wedged into it. I’d have to pass the trapped man to get out the back door. And where was the fourth man?
I needed to get over the debris without killing myself, watch the downed man, and look for
the fourth man all at the same time. I took a deep breath and inched toward the back door, glancing from the man on the floor to the open back door to the floor in front of me. I stopped after a few feet and turned back to Aunt Tibby’s body. It lay on the floor on what looked like a small, red vinyl sheet. At least that’s what I told myself. I’d never been very good around blood, especially not pools of it.
Should I leave her there?
Another moan drifted from the debris, and a splintered chair fell away to reveal the man’s bloody face. I’d have to leave her. It helped that I’d felt her depart. I could look at what lay on the floor as an empty shell, a container she’d used while here.
A large piece of wood shifted off the man on the floor. I approached the back door at a slight angle, scanning the outside area for the fourth man. I reached the doorway and popped my head out and back in like I’d seen police on Real Cop Stories do on TV.
I did this a few more times until I’d scanned everything I could, then I crouched and crept out the door and down the rough, wooden steps.
I continued this way on shaking legs around the cabin, trying to step silently through twigs and leaves that seemed to explode with sound when my shoes hit them. I rounded the side of the cabin and reached the corner where the side connected to the front. Still no sign of the fourth man. The faces of the three men still in the cabin flashed through my brain. I remembered the flash I’d seen of the men driving down the road. My stomach lurched. The fourth man was Mr. Smith.
My hand clamped over my mouth to stifle a scream. Why did it have to be him? It was his appearance that had started this nightmare.
Something scrapped on the front porch. I hugged the wall of the cabin, used my police head-popping maneuver around the corner, and ducked back to go over what I’d seen. I put my other hand over my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut, and pressed myself against the rough logs.
Mr. Smith lay facedown under the sofa that protruded through the broken door. I peeked back around. His ankles were pinned between the sofa and the broken bottom half of the door. A small pool of blood widened under his head.
I reached my hand out toward him and opened my senses. A strong energy signal emanated from him. He was alive and not critically hurt.