by Nic Tatano
We turn the corner and what I see makes me stop dead in my tracks.
I get a look at a line that must stretch for a half mile.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After a sleepless night I’m ready to talk to the angel.
Right friggin’ now.
We never made it to the movie after seeing the waiting line for my father’s phone. Ryan took me home, Mom fixed us some hot cocoa in an attempt to let my chocoholic chromosome take comfort in anything including my favorite food group. It didn’t work. Ryan stayed till about one, sitting on the couch while I leaned back against his chest with his arms wrapped around me like a blanket. I only wanted to be held, and thankfully he understood despite probably wanting to continue our escapades from last weekend. (Poor guy only got to kiss the top of my head for four hours and didn’t even cop a feel. Now I know what women mean when they say they’re not in the mood.) I realize his powers pale in comparison to my father’s, but his protective instincts make me feel safe as possible.
Which isn’t very safe.
I’m emotionally wrung out and tired as we’ve been waiting in the “interrogation room” for an hour for Sebastien’s return from The Council summit. However, I’ve got a new emotion which has manifested itself over the last twelve hours.
I’m seriously pissed off.
My wonderful new boyfriend not only comforted me last night, he reminded me that I’m a spunky girl who’s too smart to let a deadbeat dad push my buttons even though he might end up as supreme overlord of the planet. Ryan got me to focus on the fact that I’ve been charged with possibly saving the world, and that task wouldn’t be given to a girl who runs away from a fight. So now I’ve got a little bit of Roxanne’s take-no-prisoners attitude. My thinking is that my father is basically stealing my childhood, I’m not gonna stand for it and I want my normal high-school-mystic-seer-chick life back. A lot of good people have my back.
Including an angel. At least I hope so.
Sebastien arrives, interrupting the quiet conversation between my Mom, Roxanne, Ryan and myself. He looks worried, which is to be expected.
I sit up straight. “So, what’s the deal? Is my father going to turn teenagers into pod people?”
Sebastien furrows his brow. “Excuse me? Pod people?”
“Yeah, you know. Like that sci-fi movie, Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Aliens take over our bodies and we act like zombies because they’re controlling us.”
“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with that concept. I am not a fan of science fiction.”
“You’re kidding me,” says Roxanne. “You run an organization for people with paranormal powers and you don’t like sci-fi?”
Sebastien shakes his head. “I prefer science fact. Especially since paranormal powers are not fiction.”
“Figured you for an old fanboy,” I say. (Though the thought of Sebastien at Comic-Con wearing Spock ears does seem ridiculous.) Roxanne and Ryan laugh, while Mom and Sebastien don’t get the joke.
“Back to your original question,” says Sebastien. “Our technical people have been examining the phone you received and compared it to the ones currently being given away. Yours is different.”
Uh-oh. “How so?” I ask.
“We aren’t sure yet, but it’s not configured the same way. As if it was especially designed for you.”
“I’ll never use it anyway, so the point is moot.”
Sebastien looks at the floor for a moment. “Jillian… you may have to at some point.”
“No way!” says Ryan, suddenly standing up and putting his body between me and Sebastien. “You saw what her father did to me. You can’t possibly let him get inside her head.”
Sebastien puts up his hand. “I’m not saying we have plans to do it, but it remains an option as a last resort. First we must determine what he is attempting to do with the general public.”
“Maybe the angel can tell me,” I say. “Look, I’m tired of sitting around. Let’s rock.”
Sebastien nods. Roxanne, Ryan and I set up for what I hope will be another journey into the afterlife.
And this time, I’m going to tell the angel not to block my memories if he wants me to save the world.
***
Roxanne’s face dissolves and I instantly realize I’m not looking at the afterlife.
Unless the great beyond looks like a diner in New Jersey.
I recognize the old-fashioned stainless steel exterior that harkens back to the fifties. It’s become a regular stop halfway between home and the Jersey Shore since I discovered they serve killer bacon cheeseburgers and chocolate malts that are off the charts.
I’m standing next to our car in the parking lot, alone. The salt air fills my lungs as a cool breeze plays with my red tangles. I run my hand along the fender of the car, feeling the smooth, warm metal. Everything is so real, so detailed, it’s incredible.
But I must be here, in this place, for a reason. And somehow I don’t think the angel’s in the diner chowing down on a patty melt.
I walk across the half-filled parking lot towards the door of the diner as a jet zips overhead toward Newark Airport. I’m expecting Ryan to pop up at any moment. Hopefully he’s not being “distracted” by my other thoughts.
I hop up the steps and open the heavy glass door, which rings the little brass bell hanging above it. I breathe in the deep-fried air of the diner as I’m greeted by a cheerful middle-aged blonde waitress in a pink uniform that was probably once used in a dinner theater production of Grease.
“Table for one?” she asks.
“I’m not sure. I think I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
“You’re not sure if you’re meeting someone?”
I look to my left and don’t see anyone I recognize. When I turn to my right I see my father standing beside the last booth in the corner, waving at me, wearing a big smile.
“There he is,” I say, and head in his direction.
My father is casually dressed, jeans and a beige Oxford button down, loafers, no socks. He gestures toward the booth, wanting me to sit down on the side facing the front door. Probably because he’s famous and wants to keep his back to the rest of the customers. He’s still smiling at me even though I’m staring at him with a suspicious look.
“Good to see you again, Jillian. You’re right on time,” he says, as I slide onto the red vinyl seat. I put my purse next to me and see a glint of gold inside.
The phone.
“So are you.” I have no idea what else to say. Meanwhile, still no Ryan.
My father sits down opposite me as the waitress arrives and places two menus on the table. “Coffee?” she asks.
“Yes,” says my father. “Jillian? I don’t even know if you drink coffee.”
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
“Just me,” he says to the waitress. She heads back to the kitchen.
I turn toward the old-fashioned jukebox selector and flip through the selections, even though I know they’re all from the fifties and don’t recognize a single one.
“You wanna play something?” he asks, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve got change.”
“Nah.” I turn back to him. The smile is forced now, as he seems to be fidgeting in his seat, like someone uncomfortable in his own skin.
“I’m really glad you came, Jillian. I can assume you’re on board—”
And then everything goes black.
***
I wake up an instant later. “Dammit!”
“What?” asks Mom.
“He was just about to tell me something.”
“The angel?” asks Ryan.
I shake my head. “No, my father. I wasn’t in the afterlife this time. I was meeting my father for lunch. And it blacked out just as he was about to tell me something important.”
“Curious,” says Sebastien. “Tell me everything you can remember.”
I go over the meeting in painful detail, and thankfully my memories are crystal clear, unlike those of my encounters
with the angel. When I’m done I turn to Ryan, who is sitting in a chair off to the side, shoulders slumped, looking sad. “Where were you? I didn’t see you at all.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“Look, I understand if you didn’t want to deal with my father—”
“No, I mean I couldn’t read your mind. I can’t read anyone’s mind.”
Everyone turns to look at him.
“My power is gone.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After a long ride home (due to a detour since I was craving a bacon cheeseburger and chocolate malt from a certain diner… and no, it wasn’t an all-you-can-eat affair) I’m ready for part two of my weekend homework assignment.
Hopefully I won’t sleep for fifteen hours this time.
Fuzzball is here to coach me on projecting my alter ego, who (or is a dopplegänger a what?) now has a specific mission; try to heal Ryan’s mindreading abilities. He was thoroughly checked out by the experts at The Summit, who theorize that my father somehow “shorted out” his power. The detective has already explained how he astrally projects, and we all hope the same process works for me.
So I’m lying on the couch, on my back with a pillow under my head while the detective is perched on the edge facing me. Ryan is across the room in a wingback chair. Mom is in the kitchen, manning the video camera that sits on a tripod. We’re not sure if my other self will show up on tape, but we’ve got nothing to lose.
“You ready?” asks Fuzzball.
I look at Ryan who’s been desperately trying to smile all day though I know he’s horribly depressed. “Let’s rock.”
“And remember, the first time you did this you were upset, emotional. Try to keep your emotions in check. Ryan has a simple problem that you’re going to fix. He’s in no physical danger this time. Got it?”
I give him a salute. “Copy that, detective.”
Fuzzball shakes his head. “Great, a smartass times two. Okay, now close your eyes, take several deep breaths, and relax your entire body. Let yourself melt into the couch and think of nothing.” Fuzzball goes through each part of my body, telling my arms to relax, then my legs, then my neck, hands, feet. He sounds like a hypnotist.
His voice is incredibly soothing. I follow his directions and feel my body sink deeper into a relaxed state.
“Are you relaxed?”
“Yes, Sir.” I mutter, sounding half asleep.
“Good. Jillian, I want you to focus on only one thing; healing Ryan. Think of giving him your energy to bring his mindreading powers back, and remember that he is in no physical danger at all. You are in control of your emotions.”
“I am in control of my emotions.”
“Actually see yourself sitting next to Ryan… taking his hands…”
The image begins to coalesce in my mind.
“See every detail. See his face, the chair he’s sitting in. Feel the warmth of his hands—”
And all of a sudden I’m there, standing next to him.
“Oh my God!” says Mom.
I turn to look at her and see her mouth hanging open. “What?”
She points at the couch.
I turn and see myself lying there, looking fast asleep, peaceful expression on my face. “Sonofabitch, this actually works.”
“Wow,” says Ryan, looking up at me, then at the couch.
“Get back to the task at hand,” says Fuzzball. But he’s talking to me on the couch, not the me standing next to Ryan. “Take Ryan’s hands. Focus on healing him.”
I kneel down next to the chair and hold his hands. He’s warm, flesh and blood. He locks eyes with me.
“This is too cool,” he says.
I can’t help but smile.
“Focus!” says Fuzzball, yelling at my sleeping self. “Give Ryan your energy! Send it into his body! Now!”
I concentrate and suddenly feel some sort of life force radiating down my arms, into my hands, then moving into his him. Ryan sits bolt upright, eyes wide, as if jolted awake.
And then I pass out.
***
When I wake up from what feels like an incredibly deep sleep, it’s Ryan on the edge of the couch holding my hand, not Fuzzball.
He’s smiling. “Hey, Sparks. Welcome back.”
I stretch my eyes open. “How long was I out?”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“So it’s still Sunday. Great.”
He’s wearing a silly smirk. “You can go ahead.”
“Go ahead with what?”
“You want to kiss me but you’re worried your Mom and Fuzzball will see us. They’re talking in the kitchen.”
My jaw drops as I realize he can read minds again. “It worked!”
“Well, you were thinking you wanted to kiss me, right? Otherwise, I’m picking up signals from your Mom and, no offense, but that would be kinda creepy.”
I lean up, wrap my arms around him, and give him a big kiss. “It’s good to see you smile again.”
“Are you kidding? This is every guy’s dream.”
I furrow my brow. “Reading minds is every guy’s dream?”
“Hell no. Twins.”
I feel myself blush and know my freckles are catching fire. “Shhhh! Ry-an!”
He has his hands around my waist. “We gotta figure out how to keep you both awake at once.”
I playfully slap his shoulder. “I had no idea you had such a dirty mind.”
He lowers his voice. “One of you is hot enough, but two? It was like supermodel bookends.”
“Ryan!” I can’t help but enjoy the twinkle in his eyes as my face must now resemble a beet.
“Oh, she’s up!” We quickly break our embrace as Mom walks into the living room followed by Fuzzball. She shoots a look of concern at me. “Honey, your face is all red, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You did great,” says the detective. “And your recovery time is impressive. I wasn’t expecting you back for a while. The second time I projected it took me three hours to wake up. So how do you feel?”
“Incredibly well rested, like I’ve been in a deep sleep.”
“Good,” says Fuzzball. “What about your energy level?”
I shrug. “I feel normal. And very happy that I re-wired Ryan’s head.”
The detective nods. “Yes, his recovery was instantaneous. As soon as you let go of his hands, he was cured. So this confirms everything. You can be in two places at once, and you’re a healer.”
“So, where do we go from here?” I ask.
“Well,” says Fuzzball, “I’ve got an idea that I need to run by Sebastien.”
***
The cafeteria is as quiet as I’ve ever seen it.
That’s because people are sending text messages with their minds.
I’m looking at some incredibly strange facial expressions from people who are sitting alone, but acting as if they’re having a conversation without saying anything. Nodding, smiling, frowning.
The faculty is going crazy, and this morning a story came out from the Department of Education that schools will have to install cell phone jammers since they’ll have no idea who has a phone turned on. They’re not so much worried about “conversations” students will have, but the ability to send test answers with your mind can play serious havoc with the educational system. Frankly, and this may surprise you, I’m on the side of the administration on this one, and it has nothing to do with my father being behind the product. Hey, I’ve worked hard to keep my perfect grade point average, and I don’t want some slacker with a magical cell phone to start challenging me for valedictorian or taking my spot at the college of my choice.
Meanwhile, I’m in day seven of cell phone celibacy, like some sort of high-tech electronic nun. Between that and Ryan I’m about to burst.
Roxanne pushes the slop du jour around her plate, which consists of elbow macaroni, brown sauce and God knows what else. “What do you think is in this stuff?”
“C
ould be anything. Beets, chocolate pudding, aerosol cheese. Why do you think we call it potpourri stroganoff?”
“Sure don’t smell like potpourri.”
“I still don’t know how you can eat cafeteria food being Italian.”
“First, I’m too lazy to get up and make my own lunch, and second, I don’t like cold Italian food. If there was a microwave to heat things up, it’d be a different story. But even a great meatball sub will get soggy after four hours.” She takes a bite, wrinkles her nose, tosses the fork on the plate, reaches into her purse and pulls out a protein bar. “So, did’ja see the story about how many phones your father sold this weekend?”
“Unfortunately. All you have to do is look around here to know half the students already have one.”
“Isn’t your father going to get suspicious when you don’t activate the one you sent?”
“Probably. But in that vision of the future I had it with me.”
“Doesn’t mean you activated it. And the future is somewhat fluid, remember?”
“I know. But I’m glad I didn’t tell Sebastien about it. He might have insisted I turn the thing on.”
“So what’s Fuzzball’s other idea?”
“Don’t know. I’ll find out when I get home today.”
Our discussion is interrupted by a folded slip of paper that floats down the length of our table and does the patented loop de loop which tells me it’s from Jake.
I start to reach for it but it lands in front of Roxanne.
I look across the cafeteria and see him sitting with his new geek squad friends. (Jake’s a computer genius, and he’s been exiled from the bad boy table.) I point to Roxanne, raise one eyebrow like a question mark and he nods.
“It’s for you, Rox.”
She furrows her brow, shoots Jake a look, then turns back and picks up the paper. She opens it and both eyes go wide. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“What?”