Garcia was braced for some hostility, but my parents didn't automatically think someone was out to get them (well Mom did, some).
Garcia went over the whole story, beginning with how the dog had been in the road, and Baldy (Smith) had hit him. He ended with, “... and now you see, Mr. Hart, we are at an impasse.”
I deliberated... a standstill! Gotcha.
Dad's face had been thoughtful during this retelling, becoming somber at its end.
Finally, he nodded, “We thought that we could allow ourselves some time to devise a plan that would garner Caleb some options, to come to terms with his new skills. But his 'skill set' is accelerating on course with other puberty manifestations,” Dad finished, his expression expectant.
Jonesy was near drooling at a speech of complicated proportions, his eyes vacant and glassy, John looked mildly confused and Mom was irritated. Garcia was valiantly figuring it out.
“Dad... English!” I berated.
Dad smiled sheepishly. “Sorry folks, thinking aloud. His face fell into stern lines. “In other words, he is gaining abilities that I cannot predict and they are popping up at extremely inconvenient and public locations.”
Understatement of the year!
I did a mental face-palm when Jonesy piped in, “I still wanna know what happened to the dog.” This said mid-chew on a cookie.
John looked at Jonesy.
“What?” Gulp, slurp with the milk. Mom wrinkled her nose.
“I mean, this is good news because, my bro here,” brandishing his empty glass in my direction, “saved a dog and everyone is freaked over it,” he said, shrugging. For the Jones-man this was a simple affair of right and wrong. Jonesy didn't do shades of gray.
John spoke up, “Yeah, it's cool about the dog but not everyone is going to think it's cool Jonesy. In fact, I bet some may notice that we don't want noticing. The same ones that noticed Jeffrey Parker.”
John's speech struck everyone mute.
Mom spoke next, “I was cleaning out your room Caleb.”
Great, as I visualized all the crap strewn over the floor.
“And I found some papers that talked about the Parker boy. Once he was identified with AFTD and the government became involved and enacted an amendment against some of his rights as a person; his freedoms were stripped.”
Mom was gonna rage, I felt it coming as sure as I was sitting here.
Garcia must have been more astute than I gave him credit for because he gestured with his hand, wait a sec. Mom popped her mouth shut. Huh, she hadn't even Made-Her-Point.
“Mrs. Hart, let's not panic yet. That was a decade ago. Parker was the first, extreme case that had been seen. You remember the headlines.”
As I had only been five in 2015 when that first inoculation round had been given, I didn't remember.
“He was not typical.”
Garcia turned to Dad, seeking confirmation.
Dad, no intellectual slouch. “You're right. This wasn't a teen that just talked to the dead, divined ghosts, or gleaned how someone had died. He was a Cadaver-Manipulator.”
My parents and the Js all looked at me.
I opened my mouth to spill my guts when Garcia said, “Well, isn't it fortunate that Caleb doesn't have to worry about that. Controlling the dead is a whole other ball of wax.”
“Very fortunate,” Dad agreed, giving me his best, I-will-throw-lab-beakers-at-you-if-you-talk stare. I snapped my mouth shut. The Js were as silent as the tomb. I mercilessly repressed a wild urge to laugh.
Garcia braced his palms on his knees and stood, smoothing his uniform as he straightened. Dad stood too, running a nervous hand through his hair and making it messier than before.
Garcia fished something out of his perfectly ironed shirt pocket. I leaned forward to look.
He handed me a card that read: Sergeant Raul Garcia, Pulse: 206.968.8640.
I told him I'd never seen that area code.
“Yeah, it was my dad's, he was a cop too.” Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, “I got it when he retired.”
Dad did the humph sound. “I haven't seen one of those in thirty years.”
Garcia smiled, shaking my parents' hands and with his other hand resting on the oversized bronze handle, he gave me good eye contact.
“You call me if you need anything. Just thumb my number in your pulse,” he raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I've got a pulse.”
Brain Impulse phones were newer but who wanted to text the old way?
He nodded. “... anytime, for whatever.”
His gaze traveled to the parents and I was sure he knew there was something more but he let it go. Stepping back into the threshold of the doorway, the twilight edged around him like a halo as he slipped out the door.
Mom leaned against the closed door, locking the dead bolt backwards as she stepped away.
“Wasn't that close!” she said.
“It's safe to say we're fast running out of time before there will be a contingent of people with a clearer understanding of just what Caleb is capable,” Dad said.
“I think he's a good man. But, he may not be ready to know that last part,” mom hesitated, “Cadaver-Manipulator might be a bit much.”
Jonesy burst in with, “Corpse-raiser, corpse-raiser, it rocks!” air-pumping with his fist.
John corrected, “You didn't think it 'rocked' when you sprinted out of the cemetery,” John paused for effect, “or when Caleb and I had to do the little blood ritual.”
Mom's mouth unhinged itself from her jaw and Dad looked astounded.
“Blood ritual?” they asked in unison.
I wiped my hands off on my jeans. Geez, this sucked.
“Well, I didn't know if it was gonna eat me or what, I knew you guys could handle it.” Jonesy grinned at us both, extolling his faith in our bravery... riggghhtt.
“You didn't tell us that detail,” Dad said, thoughtful.
Mom said, “Is that how you think you did it?” She was frowning now, thinking about all the ways my safety could have been in jeopardy (it was), or some other thing that could have befallen me (it did).
“Well, kinda,” I began.
Dad was measured. He waited for me to spit it out. Mom was biting her tongue on about nine different levels.
“Caleb, just barf it out,” Jonesy said.
Huh, so much for time to gather any thoughts.
I fought not to tap my fingers on a surface. “I felt like a tingling... an energy.”
Dad made the circle gesture with his hand to go on, “... as soon as I stepped through the gate of that cemetery I knew there was one voice above the others that was calling me.” I put my hands over my ears in reaction to the memory.
They all waited for me to continue, even Jonesy.
“When I got there I felt like I was in the middle of a whirlpool, that something was just under the surface, waiting to rise. It was like all the energy in the world was waiting for me to take that next step,” I said.
“And then I hit him a good one!” Jonesy interrupted with a loud thwack of his right fist smacking into the palm of his left.
Mom jumped, giving a nervous laugh.
I glanced at Jonesy. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
He gave the what? expression. John shook his head, hopeless.
“Do you think, after Jonesy hit you the catalyst was the violence or the blood? Because blood is organic, but so is violence, if one thinks on that,” Dad said.
Now that was interesting. I hadn't thought violence was any part of it. I'd assumed that the blood was somehow an integral part of why the corpse rose to begin with.
“That would explain the dog,” John said quietly.
We looked at him while he shifted his weight, arms still locked over his chest. “I mean, the car hitting the dog was an act of violence, right? If Baldy...” John continued.
“Smith,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” he shrugged. “If Smith,” he gave me The Look, “hit that dog, then he wasn't being
careful. There are protections about obstacles now in all cars, it's standard,” he stated. John was kinda stiff, but he was making some good points. “Really, if you think about it, he shouldn't have hit the dog at all.”
Dad was nodding.“John's right.”
John sat on a stool, speech finished.
“Which brings me to wonder: why that wasn't the first thing Garcia was after, not your possible ability,” the look he gave me spoke volumes. “Do you boys remember this witness? This young woman that Sergeant Garcia mentioned, the Aura Reader.”
I shook my head, with all the action happening, the crowd was the last thing I remembered.
Jonesy brightened. “I saw that hot girl from PE in the crowd on the way here.”
John just looked at him.
“What? He asked.”
Dad laughed. “That's okay. I think there's more than just professional interest. I'm thankful we didn't blindly tell him the extent of your abilities. Not before I've had a chance to see them. And finalize the use of the cerebral inhibitor.”
“Kyle, that worries me,” Mom said.
“This is the lesser of two evils, Ali. If he shows his hand, they may do a 'Parker' on him.”
“Even now?” Mom asked.
“Especially now.”
“Your mom and I have been reading up on Parker, how our government responded to him. It looks like Parker took the Aptitude Test and was the first student, nation-wide, to hit that high of a score on AFTD, five-points.” Dad said, holding up all five fingers. I knew this part, “There hasn't been another.”
Until me, was the unspoken ending.
The Fam-pulse chimed, as Mom walked over to the wall pocket and pressed her thumb to the pad.
Dad asked, “Who is it?”
Mom held up her index finger.
She turned to Jonesy. “It's your mom, apparently you didn't tell her you'd be over today.”
Jonesy sighed and went to the Fam-pulse, thumbing the pad. He sat there silently for a minute, then lifted and read the screen. He depressed one more time then turned...
“I gotta go, mom's on a rage.”
Mom frowned. “Maybe knowing where you are is sort of important Jonesy.” Doing the I'm-going-to-stick-up-for-the-other-parent thing.
“Yeah Ali, I know.” He brightened. “Thanks for those cookies...” Mom was already getting a little ecobag for the road, Jonesy grinned. Delayed gratification.
He gave me a finger salute, turning for the door. “See you dudes tomorrow. Let me know what's going on Caleb.”
John lifted his chin in goodbye, then we heard his pounding footsteps and the front door slamming.
Dad got back on topic. “Being prepared is the most important defense.”
“True, as long as we're on the same page with this cerebral,” Mom searched for the word, “depressant.”
Dad corrected her, “Inhibitor.”
Dad continued, “Caleb, tell me what happened at the accident, especially about this mystery dog.”
I started with how we had been walking home like usual and ended with how I was sure the dog had been alive, at least a little, because I had felt that “spark.” Dad latched on to the word.
“Okay, let's go over the cause and effect one more time, Caleb.”
John and I groaned out loud. I actually face-palmed.
“Dad...” I started.
“No Caleb, let's look at this with some applied logic. The dog was hit and flew,” Dad paused, “you said ten or twelve feet in the air?” I nodded acquiescence. He pressed on, “... and it lay there for how long?”
John interceded, “We went to the dog right away. I mean, Caleb went to it and I followed.”
“Yeah. It was like he was calling back to me, it was faint. I could feel its will, or whatever. It wanted to be alive, he didn't want to die.”
Dad put his elbow on his knee and cupped his chin. “It hasn't been mentioned that Parker has this ability. As a point of fact, I hadn't heard that this was a part of AFTD.”
Mom asked, “Would Caleb's ability to bring something back from the brink of death still be the same thing, categorized similarly?”
“Perhaps...” I heard Dad's whiskers as he rubbed his chin. “We'll have to put some things to the test and see exactly where his abilities reside.”
A thrill of fear shot through me. I wanted to use the AFTD, it made the whispering almost disappear. It felt good, right. So far, all AFTD got me was two enemies at school and a dog's reclaimed life that brought me notice from an observant cop.
“What are you thinking, Kyle? That we give him what, a pre-aptitude test?” Mom asked.
He nodded. “Exactly. If we can nail down his skill set, know how to defend ourselves, defend him, and decide his future.”
“Maybe Caleb doesn't want to be some government puppet.” John said.
Exactly what I'd been thinking.
“It's a terrifying proposition, the loss of one's freedom,” Dad said and Mom nodded.
“I think I want the dog,” I said suddenly.
My parents looked at me with identical expressions of shock.
“Why, Caleb?” Mom asked.
“Because I feel responsible for it now.”
“We can't just go and take in everything you,” Dad stumbled over this next turn-o'-phrase, “raise or save son.”
John smirked, this was kinda funny in a perverse way.
“I know, but when I think about him...”
“It's a he?” Mom asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, how do you know?” she asked.
“I just do mom, it's all part of it.” Unimportant random details!
Dad said, “Go on.”
“Anyway, I can hear him if I listen and he's lonely for me.”
John looked at me with a puzzled look, he is?
I answered his unspoken question, “Yeah and he doesn't like wherever he is.”
Dad held up his hand. “Let's just say, hypothetically, that we were to agree to letting this dog become your pet. What would that mean for you?” he finished.
Okay, more chores, dogs have to have food and water, and they gotta make a mess in the yard (and guess who'd clean that up... oh joy).
Out loud I said, “Responsibility, I guess.”
“And?” his expression unhelpfully neutral.
My mind went blank, I couldn't think of a thing.
“You're fourteen now Caleb. You have four years left until graduation and then the dog would have to become our pet.”
“We're not sure we want that, Caleb,” Mom said.
“Oh.” I hadn't really thought about them. “Can you think about it at least?”
“I see that you're anxious son, but we can't make a snap decision.”
“It's important to me, Dad.”
Dad stood up and clapped me on the shoulder, squeezing it. He nodded once. He understood.
Mom came to stand behind him, her gaze steady on mine. They'd think about it.
John had to go and told me to read the rest of the papers.
“Yeah, okay.” I'd been planning to anyway.
Dad sat down heavily in his usual seat for supper, steepled his hands, looking at me. I popped a large piece of lasagna into my mouth and did the tongue dance, realizing too late that it was hot-as-hell.
“I know you've been through a lot today Caleb,” Dad began.
Ah-duh.
“But, I am fascinated with how this connection with the dog unfolded.” he waited expectantly.
Mom rescued me. “Why don't you let him finish eating and we can get the gory details afterward, hmm?”
Mom knew about The Hunger. In fact, I would use the phrase, I Hunger. Which loosely translated meant something like: what is there to eat in this house in the next five seconds? My friends also had The Hunger and we'd fall upon the kitchen table like locusts and The Hunger would be abated, temporarily.
“So Caleb, what's going on beside dead stuff?”
She turned, c
arefully setting a glass in front of Dad, hand on hip. She just missed putting her hand on one of the tiny bells of her skirt. I was fascinated by my mom's fashion sense. I don't truly think she had one, but she was a believer.
“Nothing much besides Carson and Brett still being jerks.” I hesitated over the next thing; it was hard to keep this kind of news to yourself.
Mom sat next to me, skirt bells tinkling slightly as she adjusted her position.
I really had their attention because I wasn't just blurting stuff out like usual. I wasn't in Jonesy's league, but I wasn't super-quiet like John.
“I like this girl named Jade, Jade LeClerc.” I said. Just saying her name made my heart beat faster.
“LeClerc,” Dad tilted his head, thinking. Mom looked stumped too.
“Ya know, her dad is a mechanic for the car shop in the valley.”
He did his best not to scowl when he realized who Jade's dad was.
Mom didn't bother to hide her expression. “Terrible news, that.”
My body tensed, I wasn't going to let Jade get lumped in with her crap family.
“Wasn't she...” Mom began.
I finished for her, “... yeah, she was and it's not her fault.”
“Removed from a domestic situation,” Dad said, adding, “of course it wasn't.”
A contemplative silence fell on the table. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, dust motes circling lazily in the air.
“I know the father, and he is not welcome but Jade is. After all, with a family like that...” Dad trailed off.
Mom finished for him, “... she could use some positive affirmation.”
“Is she a cute girl?” Mom asked slyly.
I wasn't falling for that! “She's cute to me.”
Mom mock-huffed and crossed her arms, “Caleb Sebastian Hart!” she said, teasing. I didn't know if talking about a girl I liked was easier.
Raising the dead, or girls... let me think.
Dad joined in, “Now we have to know what your lady-love looks like just in case we pass her on the street and rudely not give salutations,” he winked.
“Lady-love, Dad? So retarded!”
“Caleb!” Mom said, mouth unhinged. A theme today.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. But it was retarded, who said that? They couldn't help it, being old and all. Hard to believe that mom was Gramps' daughter.
The Death Series, Books 1-3 Page 6