The police cruiser pulled up and a sad-eyed Sheriff Jack Coulter stepped out. He scratched under his hat as he surveyed the driveway, as if it didn't quite match his mental image. Then he sauntered up to them.
"You know I didn't want to do this, Jamie," he said. He handed her a final statement that authorized the eviction. "Have you removed all your personal items? Anything left behind will become the new owner's property, as I'm sure you know."
"Yes," Jamie sighed. "Do you happen to know if they are moving in anytime soon?"
"I heard this weekend." He removed his hat and smoothed back his hair. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. After all you've gone through, and now this." He replaced his hat, averting his eyes. "I'm just gonna look around a little and make sure everything's kosher. Don't let me hold you up if you need to leave."
Cal and Jamie watched the sheriff enter the house. Jamie shuddered as a deep sense of violation cut through her.
"Two days," said Cal. "We need to scrape up some money and convince the Jacobsons to sell back the place."
The Jacobsons. Bob Jacobson was a salesman at the Ford dealership in town. Dennis had worked with him. She'd met him and his wife once at an office party, but she doubted they remembered her. Mary was a stay-at-home mom with three young children. Jamie imagined they were overjoyed at getting the property under-market; not only under-market, but under the loan amount, which added a thirty-thousand "deficiency" fee that Jamie owed on top of losing her home.
The Jacobsons would occupy her and Dennis's place – home to his prized workshop and Kylee's swing set, which she'd never taken down. Kylee's room would belong to the Jacobsons' daughter. The other spare bedroom would host their son – the son Jamie and Dennis had hoped for. Bitterness rose like bile in her throat.
"Even if we came up with the cash," she said, "I don't believe they'd sell. They're not exactly desperate for money."
"Depends on how much money, don't you think? Everyone has their price. Or maybe they need something we can give them?" He gave her a sickly grin. "Like maybe a one-way trip into space?"
"Ha. Right."
Sheriff Coulter emerged from the house.
"Everything looks good," he said. "They'll appreciate that. You want to follow me out?"
"Right now?" Cal asked.
"Afraid I need to see you go." He hooked his thumbs on his equipment belt. "I have to confirm the property has been vacated per court order. Sorry, folks – it's a legal formality."
"Okay," Jamie grated. "I guess we're set."
Sheriff Coulter nodded and climbed into his car. Jamie and Cal hauled themselves into Cal's pickup. The sheriff's SUV pulled out ahead onto the dirt driveway. They waited until the dust plume abated before following.
"You okay?" Cal asked, glancing at her.
"No."
Jamie knew she should be grateful – grateful beyond words, really – for her healing and perhaps even for her strange new powers. But all she could think of was that she was leaving the place she and Dennis had made their home, the place where Kylee took her first steps and spoke her first words. The only true home she'd ever known. After her parents' divorce when she was three there had been merely a parade of forgettable rentals.
"This isn't right," Cal muttered. "This is the first true home you've had. We never gave you that growing up."
"Funny. I was thinking the same thing."
"This can't stand, Jamie." Cal looked at her. "Right now I'd wager you're the most powerful person on the planet. You don't have to accept this."
"No." And in that moment Jamie knew that was true. She wouldn't let it stand, even if she had to compromise her ethics a little. "I don't."
"WE SHOULD talk," said Karen Clarkson.
Kevin struggled not to scowl. He knew that tone of voice and he'd known this was coming. It was silly to think she wouldn't have noticed his pensiveness and secretive behavior. Before, secrets had been his mainstay. Now they were a painful burden.
"I know about the object," she said.
Shock reverberated through him. Who had told her? Certainly not Terry.
"No." Karen's dry smile had a guilty edge. "You did."
"What do you mean?" He rattled through the possibilities. Had she overheard him talking in his sleep?
"No, again."
Kevin stared at her in sudden horror. He shoved back from the dinner table, the chair smacking the floor as he jumped to his feet and stumbled backwards.
"You can read my thoughts?"
"I'm afraid so. Anyone's thoughts, it seems. I never knew how much some of my co-workers had such...shall we say...unpleasant and even unsavory notions about me."
Kevin kept backing away. His mom peering into his head had always been one of his pet peeves – and greatest fears. Now she could literally peer into his brain and see his every thought and feeling.
"It's not quite that all-encompassing," Karen assured him. "And your thoughts diminish in proportion to the distance. You're just starting to fade away. It's more impressions and murmurs now."
Kevin backed up until he stood in the kitchen entrance.
"That's good," said his mom.
But are you telling the truth? he thought. She showed no reaction. Having her in his head might be his nightmare but it was surely her heaven.
Karen cocked her head at him as if she'd caught a whiff of his thoughts. He backed off another step, taking close measure of his distance from her for future reference.
"How long have you had this ability?" Kevin asked.
"About two days. At first I thought I was imagining it. It's not as if people's thoughts are generally clear. They're a lot muddier than I'd imagined. I'm sure mine are as well. But emotions are clearer. But as time went on I was able to fine-tune the 'reception' – whether through learning or improved ability, I'm not sure."
Relief tamped down Kevin's burgeoning anxiety. The secret had been eating away at him, particularly after Jamie's – Mrs. Shepherd's – pyrotechnic flight. A cure for autism was big enough, but his former teacher's abilities were off the charts in terms of importance to human society. The G-forces of her takeoff were nearly unimaginable. She'd gone from zero to a minimum of fifteen thousand miles per hour, judging from where she ended up in the atmosphere and how long it took to get there. From the ground, the only glimpse they got of her was the brief flare when her clothes had burned off.
She was a real-life superwoman. Superwoman with telekinetic powers.
"How much do you know?" Kevin asked him mother.
"Most of it. I know about your teacher's flight into space from a standing jump. And of course I heard about Terry's miracle remission – from his parents and you."
Kevin said nothing. Of course, if he moved closer to her, speaking would be unnecessary. That idea kept him where he was.
"It's time to notify the authorities," said Karen. "Past time. You've thought that yourself."
Kevin gritted his teeth. He had a feeling he'd be spending a lot of time ten feet or more from his mother from now on.
"I know the object healed your teacher and Terry and probably your autism" – she spoke in a rush – "but we don't know why it's here or what it's truly capable of. It's obviously doing more than just healing. If that was its purpose, it would've stopped after eliminating Mrs. Shepherd's cancer. It didn't have to make her super-powerful. Giving someone that much power is dangerous."
"She's a good person, not a threat to humanity."
"I didn't say she was. But what if someone else had that kind of power? And you know what they say about absolute power corrupting absolutely. Even someone who's basically good might be swayed by too much."
"What about the 'authorities'? Wouldn't it corrupt them, too?"
Annoyance flashed in her eyes, but then she smiled and shook her head. "You and your logic. Yes, government officials can be corrupted. But are you going to argue that they don't perform a necessary service? That an unknown, possibly alien device should be in the hands of private individuals in
stead of an organization answerable to the public?"
No, he didn't want to argue that. But he shared Cal and Jamie's reluctance to turn it over to the government, mainly because that would be the last they'd ever see and maybe even hear of it. They'd probably classify it as above top secret. Still, what other option was there if they wanted to perform a thorough analysis of it? The moment they brought in scientists capable of that, the government would get wind of it.
"I made a promise," said Kevin.
"I know." Her mom smiled tolerantly. "But I didn't."
"YOU READY?" Thomas asked.
Tyler rolled his shoulders and wiped his large forehead. He was Thomas's closest friend inside – and now probably outside, too – but with two years left on his sentence, he wasn't all that gung-ho about breaking out. Thomas had five, and there was no way he'd be celebrating his thirty-fourth birthday behind bars – not when he had an easy out.
"Ready to go where exactly?" Tyler asked.
"Already discussed that, my brother. Anywhere and doing anything we fucking please. I got me the power of the word!" He imitated his preacher grandfather, drawing looks from nearby tables. He grinned and lowered his voice. "Ain't no one gonna stand in our way, Ty. You've seen what I can do. Instead of worrying your nappy head about it, you should be singing 'Hallelujah!' you got me looking out for you."
Tyler stared at him, a cold light entering his eyes at the last sentence. Tyler was not a man accustomed to being talked down to. Being six-six made that an impossibility for most people, but his massive musculature, martial arts, and menacing pit bull face provided other obstacles. He was the most feared and respected man in the prison, with Thomas a close second. But much of Thomas's respect came from his association with the huge man, who'd already served seven years from a series of armed robberies and had achieved a solid standing atop the prisoner pyramid, despite the paucity of blacks inside.
But that was the old order, Thomas thought with a self-satisfied smile. Now there be a new sheriff in town – a fact amply demonstrated by his compelling Tyler, various inmates, and a couple of guards to perform acts against their will several times over the last couple of days. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to convince his friend that his command power was real. He wasn't sold on the freedom highway yet, but that would come in time. Tyler might be brutal, physically, but he was also a thinking man who'd converted to Islam under his tutelage. Thomas saw Ty as his right hand man in his new regime.
"If it doesn't work, it doesn't work," Thomas addressed his worried friend. "No skin off you or me. All I did was ask."
"All I'm sayin' is we don't know how long your orders last or what their limits are," said Tyler. "They could come after us guns blazin' two minutes after we step outside the gate."
"Then I either take control of them or say it was all a misunderstanding. They let us go, after all. They can't accuse us of escaping."
Tyler stared past him and a cluster of inmates to the far wall of the yard, his broad face a study in skepticism.
"I got a family waitin' for me," he said. "A good woman and my boy. I do this, I'd be a fugitive."
"You do this, my brother, and the law won't have nothin' to say about you. Worse case, they'll say it was a bureaucratic mistake to let you go and they'll take you back. But if it works the way I think it will, it ain't nothin' but clear sailing ahead."
Tyler's face didn't change. Thomas began revising his plans, imagining a future without his convict friend, which still looked bright as hell.
"You do what you gotta do, Ty," he said. "No hard feelings. Me, I'm walking out of this place after lunch." He grinned. "Figured I might as well leave on a full stomach."
Tyler sat as still and expressionless as a block of black granite. Thomas reached over and patted one of his bulging shoulders.
"Look me up when you get out, my brother." He laughed. "I can always use some muscle."
"I got a special power, too."
Thomas's grin locked in place. He hadn't even considered the possibility that what his brother had given him could be given to someone else, though that made perfect fucking sense.
"Oh, yeah? What power's that?"
"I can see patterns of things in pretty colors."
"Say again?"
"It's like when my mom tried to teach crochet, seeing all the colored yarn fit together." He added with a defensive scowl, "I can see by colors how things fit, is what I'm sayin' – not that I've started up knitting or nothin'."
Thomas regarded him for a disbelieving moment before he doubled over with chest-heaving laughter. Nearby inmates paused to stare at them.
"Man," said Thomas, wiping his eyes, straightening up, "if I ever need a good interior decorator, I'll be sure to look you up."
He pushed to his feet and patted his glowering friend on the shoulder.
"I'm gonna go pack, get ready. If you change your mind, let me know."
At his bunk he stuffed his family photos and few books in a plastic garbage bag and changed into the civilian clothes he'd smuggled in – designer jeans and a polo shirt. Might as well go out in style. He'd also collected a small fortune in cash donations from the wealthiest of his fellow prisoners. He smiled. All I had to do was ask. What better test could there be of his power?
He rolled up the fives, tens, twenties, and a few fifties and jammed the wad in his front pocket. Probably wouldn't hurt for money on the outside, but you never knew. He strolled out his cell and down the block hallway. Earl Parker, one of the better-liked guards, approached with a wagging finger and an incredulous smile.
"You must be going to a wedding," he said. "Come on, Thomas, you know better than this. Stow that shit in your cell and put on your regulars."
"I'm being released, my man. The orders just came in."
"They did?"
"Yep. Take me out of here now."
The guard was quizzical but willing. He about-faced and motioned Thomas along with him. "Don't know how it happened, but congratulations."
They reached the first check station. The guard behind the window activated the wall microphone.
"Hey, Earl, what's happening?"
"Thomas here is being released."
"Funny."
"I'm being released." Thomas raised his voice, unsure if his power-voice would work through the speaker. "Open the door."
The door opened.
They entered the hallway leading to the front greeting area. Thomas was grinning, his swagger growing with every step. At the final checkpoint, the guard's statement that he could find no records of his release was met by Thomas's declaration that "the paperwork's been done and is in order and I am to be released immediately."
The door buzzed open and Thomas stepped through to freedom.
"THANKS FOR MEETING WITH me," said Jamie.
"It's something my husband and I debated," said Vicky Jacobson, stirring her coffee and frowning, with one eye through the kitchen window on her five year old daughter and seven year old son playing in the front yard. "Under your tragic circumstances, we believed we owed you that much. Though in all honesty, I don't see any chance of us changing our mind about your house."
A car roared past the house at twenty or thirty miles over the speed limit. Some young guy texting – Jamie could see him clearly with her upgraded vision. Vicky Jacobson bolted upright, but then sagged back into her seat with a sigh.
"You can see one reason we want to move," she said. "Not having to watch our kids every time they step out of the house. This neighborhood is full of teenagers racing around as if they all have medical emergencies."
Jamie gave her a small smile. "Their hormones can qualify as medical emergencies."
"I suppose so." Vicky's attempt at a smile faltered. "Your place is a dream come true, Mrs. Shepherd. We've been looking for five years for a place in the country that we could afford."
"You can only afford it because I got sick and couldn't make the payments." Jamie winced before she reached the end of the sentence. S
he hadn't wanted to go there – to make this a bitter, pity parade. She wanted to keep this civil and focused on practical solutions.
"I'm truly sorry for what happened to you and your family," said Vicky. "But if we didn't purchase your property, someone else would. You know that."
Jamie lowered her eyes and made herself nod. "What would it take to change your mind? What if I bought my property back from you with an added, say, ten thousand dollar bonus?"
"Mrs. Shepherd, where would you get that kind of money?" Vicky shook her head. "But even if you could, there's no other country property within our range that I know of."
"What if there were?"
"I don't know. But what's the point in talking about things that are impossible?"
"But they aren't impossible."
Vicky Jacobson lowered her coffee slowly to the table. "What do you mean?"
Jamie gazed through the kitchen window at the children, playing safely near the front of the house. Another fast car – this one a pickup – snarled past, and she had a flash of it careening over the curb toward the kids. If something happened to them, the Jacobsons would surely lose interest in her place –
Jamie stomped that thought out of her head. She couldn't even let herself daydream things like that. For all she knew, her thoughts might cause them to happen.
"Are you okay?" Vicky was cocking her head. "I heard you'd had a remission, but I wasn't sure of the details."
"As far as I know, I'm fine. More than fine." Jamie noted her puzzled frown. "I'm just thinking. Would you mind going online for a minute and checking out local country properties?" Vicky was hesitant. "Just for a minute, I promise."
The housewife departed with an expression that left no doubt she regretted agreeing to their meeting. She returned with a laptop. A quick search of a local realty site produced three country properties roughly equivalent to her own. All three were more expensive, ranging from twenty-thousand to sixty-thousand more. Jamie suppressed a groan. What did I expect?
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