Powers

by Deborah Lynn Jacobs

  “For standing up for me.”

  I looked up from my book to see tears in Melissa’s eyes.

  “I had a fight with Stone. Adrian stepped in.”

  “What a hero,” I said.

  “Gwen, what happened between you two? I mean, he was bringing you flowers and you guys spent every minute together and then it was suddenly over.”

  I stared at her. She really thought I’d confide in her?

  “I know you don’t like me,” Melissa went on, “but there’s something I need to say.”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  “Back in grade eight, when Stone stood you up for the graduation dance, it wasn’t because Joanne paid him.”

  “I know that.”

  “I paid him. But not to ask you out.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Stone asked you to the dance on his own. I paid him fifty bucks to not go.”

  “You expect me to believe that? Stone wouldn’t have asked me out. I was fat, with braces and glasses. And zits.”

  “We all had braces and zits,” Melissa said with a wry expression. “And no one wore contacts in grade eight.”

  “But I was fat.”

  “You were also funny and smart. Stone had a thing for you. Still does. Ever notice the way he looks at you?”

  “Look, I wouldn’t date Stone if he were the last man on the planet.”

  “That’s funny,” she said. “He’s all I ever wanted.”

  Her voice was so sad. Had I misjudged her? Did she actually have a heart?

  “Anyway, I wanted you to know.” Melissa paused, ripped up the tissue into even smaller pieces. “And to say I’m sorry. Better late than never, eh?”

  She sniffled, looked at her useless tissue, and then got up.

  “Melissa?”

  She turned back.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Um, I notice you’re sitting alone again, now that you broke up with Adrian.…”

  I was about to say we were never together, but I stopped myself.

  “Uh, anyway, like, would you like to sit with us?”

  Now was my chance. Put her down, humiliate her, say something scathingly sarcastic. But I remembered what it had been like to be on the receiving end of rejection.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Adrian

  I walk into the cafeteria and do a double take. Gwen, sitting with Melissa and her friends? I thought she hated Melissa.

  I buy two lunches, one for me, one for Gwen. I deliver hers. She pretends I’m not there, but she accepts the offering. As I walk away, I hear Melissa ask, “What’s with that, anyway?”

  “Long story,” says Gwen.

  I join Conrad and the guys.

  “What’s going on over there?” Conrad asks.

  “No idea. Not a mind reader,” I reply.

  He grins at me, says nothing.

  I tune out the conversation around me and concentrate on reading Gwen’s thoughts. She’s too busy talking to Melissa to block me.

  Melissa is saying to her, “Yeah, anything you want. You only have to go two or three times a week. Want to come with me next time?”

  She’s talking about kickboxing. Great. As if Gwen isn’t lethal enough already.

  “So, when are you going to patch it up?” Conrad asks me, looking over at Gwen.

  “She won’t listen,” I said.

  “Never figured you for a coward,” Conrad says.

  “You don’t know her.”

  “You’re going to lose her, man.”

  He’s right. She’s sitting there, talking to Melissa, laughing, her face animated. She looks incredible—long-sleeved green sweater, jeans, some kind of glossy stuff on her lips. She adjusts her glasses and tucks her hair behind her ears.

  “Wish me luck,” I say to Conrad.

  He gives me a two-thumbs-up gesture. “Go get her, Bambi.”

  And that’s supposed to boost my confidence?

  My throat goes dry as I walk over. When I get there, I take a sip of water from Gwen’s bottle. I figured I’m entitled. I bought it for her.

  “Gwen, could we talk?”

  “About what?”

  “Can I sit down?”

  “No.” She likes the way the word feels. She’s on top and she knows it.

  “Please?”

  “Are you begging?”

  That’s it. I’m leaving. Then I remember why I came.

  “Yes. I’m begging you. Want me down on my knees?”

  I’d love to see that, she thinks.

  So that’s what I do. I go down on one knee, right there in the cafeteria. Melissa’s mouth drops open. Her friends stare at me.

  From across the cafeteria, someone yells, “Yay, Adrian!” Another person shouts, “Whoohoo, Gwen!”

  My face is on fire and my knee hurts. The moment stretches on forever.

  “Oh, get up already,” she says.

  I grab onto the edge of the table and pull myself up. Melissa and her friends clap. Three or four other tables join in.

  I’m dying, but Gwen is having a great time. Bring Adrian to his knees. Humiliate him in public. But that’s okay. If she wants me humble, I’ll be humble. Anything she wants.

  Gwen

  We got our coats and went outside. It was probably the coldest day of the winter.

  “Let’s sit in my car.” He led the way to his red Mustang. The front end was crumpled.

  Serves you right, I thought.

  By the sudden tightening of his jaw, I saw he caught my thoughts.

  He walked around and opened my door first. He was the same old Adrian, playing the role, being chivalrous.

  I slid into a contoured bucket seat. The leather felt soft and supple, as if he used leather conditioner. Well, duh. Of course he did.

  He turned over the engine and played with the stick shift, running it through the gears. A dark shadow of stubble was the only color on his face. The only sound was the car heater, hissing out warm air. The windshield defrosted before either of us spoke.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the blue sky outside. “Snow? There’s no clouds.”

  “Diamond dust,” I said. “The moisture in the upper atmosphere freezes as ice crystals. They’re fragile. Form only when conditions are just right, often melt before they hit the ground.”

  He nodded. The silence turned loud.

  “Listen,” he finally said, “Conrad told me what you told Joanne. About the night of the fire; about the deer. I’d appreciate the chance to explain.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “No one’s stopping you.”

  Adrian

  She’s got the upper hand. Again.

  My fingers itch for a cigarette. I play with the gearshift, enjoying the control I have over its movement. It’s about the only control I seem to have left.

  “The deer was an accident,” I tell her. “I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

  “So you finished it off?” she accuses.

  “Give me a chance, will you?”

  “I’m sorry. Please do continue,” she says with exaggerated politeness.

  Why does she keep pushing me to the edge? I slam my hand on the steering wheel, sounding the horn. She jumps.

  “Can’t you turn it off? Even for one second?” I say.

  “What about the night that woman died in the fire?” she asks, as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “That woman had a name. Celina. But, yeah. It happened again.”

  “And you can’t wait for your next fix,” she says.

  She sees right through me. She’s right. I’m addicted. I love the rush, whether it comes from Celina or a dying deer. Or Gwen.

  “This is pointless,” I say, yanking my keys out of the ignition.

  The motion draws her attention. She stares at my key ring.

  At the skull.

  Was he there? At the first fire? Is that some kind of souvenir?

  “No, it’s not like that—” I start to say
. Then I see the look in Gwen’s eyes. The same look as that night at my house. The same look at the fire. The same as the night I hit the deer.

  “Get out.” My voice shakes.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Get out. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

  “Is that another threat?” she sneers.

  “Get out!” I’m this close to losing it. I reach across her to open the door. A sizzle of energy enters me as my arm brushes against her.

  She stomps out, slams the door.

  I’ve had another vision, she sends them to me.

  A house. Purple house with yellow shutters. Same house we pass by every day on our way to school. Probably not another house like it in the world.

  It’s on fire.

  Two people stumble out the front door, each carrying a child. But a third child is trapped inside. I see myself, running into the burning house.

  I roll down my window. “No way. Find yourself another hero.”

  I don’t need you, she thinks at me.

  “What are you going to do?” I yell at her retreating back. “Take photos?”

  Without looking back, she gives me the finger.

  Another vision hits her.

  Camera in her hands, she sneaks up to the sliding glass doors at the back of the house. Through the glass, she takes shot after shot of the arsonist as he pours gasoline around the perimeter of the room and splashes it onto the walls. In the corner farthest from the doors, he places newspapers and rags, soaks them in gas.

  Gwen puts down her camera, reaches for her cell phone.

  Her attention on dialing, she doesn’t see the arsonist cross the room, yank open the door.

  He grabs her, drags her inside.

  Gwen stops walking. Turns to look back at me.

  Midnight. Tomorrow. Don’t be late, she sends to me.

  “How do you know?” I say.

  I checked the weather. It’s going to snow tonight. Tomorrow is clear. Moonset is at midnight.

  That’s how she knows. The moon was setting in her vision. Then I realize something. If she’s that sure about the time and place, we can call the police.

  “I’m calling the police!” I yell.

  I thought of that. It won’t work. They’ll scare him off. He’ll just strike later.

  “They’ll put the house under surveillance, Gwen. He won’t have a chance to strike.”

  Will they keep the house under surveillance forever, Adrian? For years? Sooner or later, he’ll burn it down. What must happen will happen.

  “I’m not going!” I shout.

  Only, we both know I will.

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 7

  Adrian

  I leave an hour early. Here’s my plan. Be there when the arsonist arrives. Use the voice to subdue him. Make an anonymous call to the police. Go home.

  I won’t get hurt and Gwen won’t get her story. Works for me.

  I park a few hundred yards down the highway, on the shoulder. I should be able to see the arsonist drive by. He’ll park in the lane, fifty feet from the house. Gwen’s vision showed that.

  I open my thermos and pour some coffee. I light up a cigarette and wait. A moment later, I butt it out frantically. A car is coming. I hunch down in the seat, hoping he didn’t see the glow of my cigarette.

  I touch his mind. I’m safe.

  My boots squeak in the snow as I walk down the highway. I hope he can’t hear me. I tap into his thoughts.

  The last one on my list. Foster parents. They pretend to care, but the first thing you do wrong and whammo you’re out of there. Payback time!

  So that’s his motive. Revenge. Sick reasoning. If I can’t have a home, why should they? But I guess you have to be sick to torch a house, especially if there might be people inside.

  The lane leading to the house is lined with evergreens. I slip between the shadows, welcoming their protection. I pass the guy’s car and memorize the license plate.

  As I get closer, I see him. He walks around to the back of the house, checking windows as he goes. He’s carrying a gas can and a shopping bag. I see newspapers and a few chunks of wood sticking up from it. Kindling. He reaches the back door, puts his hand on the handle.

  I step out of the darkness into a pale wash of moonlight.

  “Back off from that door,” I order, using the voice.

  He whirls around, startled, to face me.

  “What the—?”

  “Put down the gasoline,” I say.

  He gives a half-laugh. “Hey, man, can you believe it? Locked out of my own house. Stupid, eh?”

  “You can’t lie to me,” I say, walking toward him. “Back off.”

  “You aren’t a part of this,” he says, not laughing this time. “Go away and forget what you saw, okay?”

  “How many others?” I demand.

  He wavers, then says, “Two here. Two last winter, up in Blue Lake. I’m done now. So don’t complicate things.”

  I’m surprised he tells me that. But I remember what Gwen wrote in her article about arson. When caught, the arsonist usually confesses readily. He may even be proud of his track record.

  I put all the authority of The Power into my voice. “I’m ordering you to stand down. Now.”

  “Whatever you say, man.” He walks toward me, sets down the gasoline, sets down the bag.

  I grab my phone and start to dial the police. The voice never fails.

  But then I catch his thoughts. He’s grabbing a piece of wood from the bag.

  And I am too slow to stop him.

  Gwen

  All day, the visions shifted around me in a kaleidoscope of possibilities. What was real? I couldn’t tell.

  I planned to leave at eleven thirty, to give myself time to meet Adrian at midnight. But at eleven, a vision hit me with hurricane force.

  Adrian confronts a man who is carrying a gas can and a bag of kindling. He uses his voice of command, but it doesn’t work. The arsonist swings a piece of wood at Adrian, catching him in the head.

  Adrian drops to the snow. He’s not moving.

  My Mom was in bed. I wondered if I should leave a note. No, I decided. With a bit of luck, she’d never know I was gone.

  I found Adrian’s car parked on the highway. How long had he been here? Five minutes? An hour? The moon was setting, throwing dark shadows between the trees.

  I ran up the middle of the lane, not worried about meeting the arsonist. If my vision was correct, he was already gone. I reached the house. Black smoke billowed out of the upper story. Red flames shot out of a window.

  By the fiery glow, I saw Adrian push himself to a sitting position.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, dropping to my knees beside him. I took a closer look at him. No blood, not that I could see.

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the side of his head. “I’ll live.”

  Two people, a man and a woman, burst out of the back door of the house, each carrying a child. They sank to the snowy ground, coughing.

  “There’s one left,” said Adrian, standing up. He wavered, as if he hadn’t quite got his balance back.

  He ran into the house.

  Adrian

  I must be crazy. I’m running into a burning building. I have no idea why.

  Yeah, I do. To prove to Gwen I’m one of the good guys.

  My head pounds with every step. I’m dizzy from the blow to my head. Heat and smoke batter me, nearly force me back. The family room is engulfed in flame—the couch, the bookcase, the walls.

  Gwen’s mental voice reaches me. Stairs on the left. Bedrooms upstairs.

  I rush up the stairs. Flames lick up the wall. The carpet smolders beneath my boots.

  I crawl along the hallway, staying low. I can feel a child in the second bedroom. I find her huddled on the floor, grab her, head for the stairs.

  No! Gwen sees me carrying a child, the stairs collapsing and a wall falling on top of us. The window. Go out the window.

  The window? I can’t see any win
dow. The smoke is too thick. I crawl along the floor, coughing, choking. I find a wall. Reach up. Find the window. I push it open, burning my hands. The fire roars toward me, flaming out into the night. I fumble with the screen, find the release, and send it toppling to the ground below.

  The child clings to my neck in a stranglehold. I loosen her grip, and drop her through the open window. Gwen is waiting below.

  Gwen catches her, gets knocked over, rolls in the snow. But she’s okay. They’re both okay.

  I climb out backwards, hang for a second, and let go.

  * * *

  It gets a bit confused after that. My hands hurt. My lungs hurt. I hear sirens.

  “Let’s go,” I say to Gwen.

  “You go. Get to the hospital. You could have a concussion,” she says. “I’m staying. There’s a story here.”

  “And how will you explain to the police that you just happened to be here?” I ask.

  “I’ll make something up,” she says.

  “Go home, Gwen. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”

  I feel the hurt in her mind, but I’m past caring. I’m sick of being her puppet.

  The parents reach us. The father takes the child from Gwen’s arms. He coughs to clear his lungs, says, “Thank you. Who are you?”

  “No one was here,” I say, using the voice.

  “But,” Gwen says.

  “No buts. No heroes. No story,” I say.

  She glares at me as if she wants to hurl an energy ball at me. “Okay, fine, have it your way,” she huffs at me.

  “It’s about time,” I mutter.

  I turn to the couple and use the voice. This time I feel Gwen’s energy join mine, magnifying my power.

  “You saved all your children,” I say, slowly and distinctly. “You and your wife. She’s a brave woman.”

  “A brave woman, my wife,” says the man, with considerable feeling.

  “Hope you’re happy,” Gwen says, as we walk back to our cars.

  “Ecstatic,” I assure her.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8

  Gwen

  Last night, I had a dream.

  Adrian loads the trunk of his car with boxes, throws a duffle bag into the backseat. I stand in the driveway, watching.

  A glowing silver cord connects us. The Power flows through it, from him to me and back to him. His aura flames blue.

  He gets into the car, drives away. The cord stretches, growing faint, turns pencil thin. Finally, it breaks.