Then Charlie looked at Grace and Thomas, who squirmed and writhed in their chairs while Charlie continued to drink from them.
“Enough, kid! Enough! You’ve got to stop,” he heard Malcolm’s voice from somewhere in back of him, shaky and weak, but clear and earnest enough to be understood.
“Stop, Charlie! You’ll blow a fuse!”
Charlie turned his head to see Malcolm standing right behind him.
“Get away from me!” he yelled at the man. “You’re one of them!”
He was confused. The stream of power he continued to suck into himself splintered his thoughts. Competing voices yelled in his head.
Malcolm is one of them.
It wasn’t his fault. The witches had controlled his mind.
Witches can’t control people’s minds.
Don’t trust him. He betrayed you.
Malcolm is good. He’s one of the good guys!
In his heart of hearts he knew Malcolm wasn’t one of them, at least not anymore, but his mouth kept shouting accusations.
“You kidnapped me! You betrayed Beverly! You lied to us! After you told me I couldn’t lie about things.”
Invisible hands yanked Malcolm’s body into the air, flipping him upside down. Other than a small grunt, the man made no sound.
The desire to do the right thing was fading in him. He had known he had to stop Grace and Thomas, had to free the teenagers, but now…now his head swam. He couldn’t concentrate. Too much power sizzled and spat in every cell of his body. He was losing his ability to distinguish between right and wrong.
He brought Malcolm closer to him, raising his body in the air so that his face floated inches from his own, upside down. The man’s cheeks and forehead turned bright red from the pressure.
“It’s okay, kid. Really. You did the right thing. That’s good.”
He nodded at Charlie, but he looked funny upended, like he was trying to do a sit-up. The power flowing from Grace and Thomas into him was thick and sweet, heavy. It felt good. Really good.
“Charlie, listen to me. You’re going to have to stop now. You can’t keep taking from them. You’re going to explode.”
“You’re trying to trick me! You told me witches couldn’t read people’s minds. But I can. I know everything about them!” He shouted, gesturing with his chin to Thomas and Grace, who continued to wither beneath his palms.
“Kid, I didn’t know about that when I talked to you before. I didn’t know they could get to me this way. Honest,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were explaining the properties of algebra, not hovering, inverted, in Charlie’s clutches.
Charlie’s arms started to shake. The sheer might flowing through him felt incredible, but his legs were quivering and he thought he might fall to the floor.
“I’ll help you. All you have to do is…”
“No! I don’t believe you. You’ll just…” he said, his voice trembling, his words losing conviction.
“I’m right here, little man. I am not going to trick you.”
The words “little man” reached into Charlie and pulled on his heart, softening him. “I c-c-can’t! I don’t know how to stop!” he choked. His throat was raw and scratchy. “I just…I just want a glass of water!” he finished, surprising himself.
“Yes you do. You do know how. Just stop. You can do it,” Malcolm said. His expression of concern was clown-like and strange.
Charlie’s hands started to burn. He looked at them, and could see smoke rising from Grace and Thomas’s hair.
He was scared. He didn’t know if he could trust Malcolm. Or if he should. But he had to do something. He couldn’t hold on any longer.
So he did the only thing he could do. He let go.
Chapter 81
Several things happened at once. Malcolm fell to the ground, landed on his hands, and flipped himself right-side up, nimble as a gymnast. Grace howled and tried to stand from her chair, only to fall flat on the floor. She jerked and spasmed, unable to make her muscles cooperate. Flinging her fingers at Charlie’s face, her lips moved, trying to find Words. Nothing happened. Thomas fell off the side of his chair, flopping about like a fish thrown into the bottom of a boat.
Charlie stood bent over with his hands on his knees, frozen as he watched Malcolm kick Grace hard in the face, once, twice, then turn and kick Thomas in the back, the side, the head. The two witches wailed and writhed about, unable to summon the strength to protect themselves. Charlie wondered absently why Malcolm kicked them instead of using the craft to bind them.
With the connection broken and the surge of power dissipating, Charlie’s mind began to clear. He was breathing hard, and had to blink away the sweat that dripped into his eyes.
“Charlie! Get these kids out of here!” Malcolm yelled. “They need your help!”
The loud words startled him.
He looked at Malcolm, unsure if the man had returned to normal, or if this was just another trick.
Impatience, authority, and a boot-quaking glare emanated from the man’s face. Charlie decided his mentor was back.
“But what about them? Her?” he asked, pointing to Grace.
“She’s weak for now. I’ll hold them off while you get the kids upstairs.”
Charlie pitched forward as his legs gave out. He wasn’t sure if he righted himself with witchcraft or pure will, but he regained his balance, then wobbled over to one of the walls and tried to open a side door.
“No!” Malcolm shouted. “Over there!”
Charlie stumbled to where the man pointed and yanked open another door, revealing a well-lit staircase leading to the floor above.
When he looked back at the teens, he saw that they all stood or sat, stock still, unsure what to do, eyes squinting as if waking from a long sleep.
“Hey kid,” Malcolm whispered to him. “Can you…?” he said, then waved his hand in front of his own face. Immediately his features blurred, looking fuzzy and hard to follow.
“So they don’t know…” Malcolm added, tilting his head in the direction of the teenagers.
Charlie nodded, slowly understanding that it would be better if these kids couldn’t recognize him in the future. He stepped out of sight into the stairwell. A few simple Words, and he knew that his features became unclear and difficult to remember.
“Hurry!” Charlie gestured to them as he stepped back into the basement. “You’ve got to get out of here. Come upstairs.”
A few of the older-looking kids stood up and began to help the others. They stumbled toward the lit doorway, clutching onto each other, some of them crying.
“Kid! There are people upstairs. Be careful!” Malcolm warned.
His balance and strength coming back to him, Charlie bolted up the stairs in front of the group of teens. He breathed in fresh air, relieved to be away from the funk of stinky bodies and moldy lumber. When he reached the upper floor, he saw several women, holding cleaning supplies, standing in a large white living room, staring at him.
“Get out of here!” Charlie yelled. They fled from the room, buckets and spray bottles dropping from their hands.
Two large, armed men, one wearing a sport coat and tie, the other a track suit, entered through a side door and aimed their weapons at Charlie.
“Stop right there!” one of the men yelled at him. “Where’s Grace?”
Even though he wasn’t tapped into the full force of power that he felt earlier, Charlie still had more than enough of it flowing through him. He held his hands up. Both men shouted as their guns flew from their fingers. Their bodies were thrown through the air, landing on top of lavish white couches.
“Stay,” he said, then strengthened his command with the force of his new Words. The men struggled against the invisible pressure that held them in place. One more final Word, and the couch began to blur. It was enough to camouflage it from the children.
Charlie watched to make sure they couldn’t get up, then hurried to help the rest of the kids up the staircase.
/> “What’s your name?” Charlie asked an older girl with black hair and tattoos on her bird-thin arms, after he had brought the last kid up from the basement. She seemed more alert than the others.
“Laura.”
“Okay, Laura, get everybody together and wait here.”
The girl nodded, and began to corral everyone into a tight-knit circle while Charlie ran back downstairs.
He looked around. Grace lay unmoving on the floor near Todd Laramie’s lifeless body. Tony seemed to be unconscious. Claudia, the Scissors Lady, was still bound and gagged in the corner, struggling weakly against the cloth that held her.
Malcolm stood over Thomas, who sat on a chair with a look of dazed defeat on his face. Malcolm held his hands out in front of him, obviously doing what was necessary to keep the man seated and subdued.
Charlie took one look at Thomas and forgot what he was supposed to be doing.
“You! Dog Man!” Charlie yelled, pointing his index finger at the man. Thomas and Malcolm’s head jerked in his direction.
“You raped my mother!” he screamed.
“Charlie!” Malcolm’s voice was sharp. “I have it under control. You need to get out of here!”
Charlie ignored him.
“You raped her! How could you?” he was yelling and crying, and an upswell of power surged through his feet, rising up through his legs and chest, into his scalp, as his outstretched finger continued to point at Thomas’s face.
“Charlie, no! Stop, you can’t…” Malcolm shouted, but Charlie wasn’t listening. He couldn’t erase from his mind the images of Thomas forcing his mother.
A few simple Words shaped his mouth, and he watched as Thomas’ weakened body flew off the chair and rushed toward him, much like Malcolm’s had done only a few moments before. He stopped a foot from Charlie, hovering in the air, right-side up.
The man was now fully aware of what Charlie was doing and saying. He began to plead with Charlie, to beg, to whimper.
“I didn’t plan to! Sh-sh-she was in the way, I had to…”
“Shut up!” Charlie screamed. The floor beneath him shuddered, then made a loud cracking sound. He slapped the man once across the face. Hard. Then he backhanded him. Then slapped him again. Each slap elicited a cry from Thomas.
Red rage filled Charlie’s head, driving his anguish away. He wanted to tear the man apart, to rip his head from his neck, to unleash the storm of violence coursing through his veins.
“Charlie, don’t do this. Don’t, son,” he heard Malcolm say.
“But he did that to her! And he killed people. I’m gonna destroy him!” he yelled. More cracking, and then a long groaning sound filled the room, as if the joists in the walls and floor were about to snap. The pressure was building in him, and he felt it sparking out of his eyes and ears, spitting off of his fingertips, making hissing sounds.
“You’re right. And it would probably feel really good,” Malcolm continued, now standing next to him, his voice close and warm in his ear.
“But it’s a long-term solution for a short-term problem.”
“Malcolm!” he yelled. “Don’t give me any of your psycho-babble. I am going to kill him!”
Malcolm stepped in front of Charlie, blocking his view of Thomas.
“Get out of the way!”
“No Charlie. Don’t do this. It’s a choice you’d have to live with for the rest of your life.”
“But…” he grunted, afraid that he couldn’t hold the rage inside anymore, afraid that it would hit Malcolm in the process. The air shimmered and crackled around his own head.
“I know you, son. You’d only feel temporary relief. Then you’d feel guilty for the rest of your life. Don’t do it.”
“But…”
“Don’t.”
“Malcolm,” Charlie cried in agony. “Puh-puh-puh-lease leave me alone!”
Charlie felt like he was being torn from the inside, ripped in half by his desire to destroy Thomas. Only a small part of his mind could grasp what Malcolm was saying. The rest of him wanted to unleash everything on Thomas.
But the small part of his mind heeded Malcolm’s warning. It knew that Malcolm spoke the truth. Without knowing what else to do, unable to extinguish the rage in him, he turned to the side and released the full force of everything inside of him at the far wall.
A funnel of molten red light, crackling through with silver streaks, shot from his outstretched arms and pounded into the wall, blasting a huge hole in it and sending flames up to the ceiling.
A tormented bellow exploded from Charlie’s mouth while a second blast, this time thick, waxy, and yellow-colored, exploded from his fingertips, destroying the rest of the wall.
The noise of the crash and the sight of the flames licking at the ceiling above their heads frightened him. He was out of control and didn’t think he could stop if he tried.
“M-m-m-Malcolm! Help! I…I can’t stop!” he yelled.
“Let it go son, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Charlie heard the man say from somewhere through the gray, acid-smelling smoke that was now filling the basement.
With a last anguished cry, Charlie slumped to the floor, while a brilliant flash of blue snapped off of his body in a wave and shot outward. He heard human grunts and the sounds of furniture and other things crashing into each other.
Climbing to his hands and knees, Charlie looked up to see Malcolm crawling to his feet, pulling a weakened, but alive, Thomas up with him.
“Ohmigodohmigodohmigod,” Charlie whispered, turning his head and taking in the destroyed wall, the floor torn wide open in places, fire racing across the floorboards and the ceiling, the bodies of the witches strewn about like neglected backyard tools.
Malcolm walked toward him, one arm dragging a stumbling Thomas behind him, one arm raised up to the ceiling. His mouth was moving, and Charlie watched as the flames above their heads shrank, diminishing to smoldering red lines. He moved his hand downward, and the flames running havoc across the floorboards dwindled down to nothing but smoke.
“You did the right thing, son.”
“But I…I almost…” he said, his throat dry and burning.
“You didn’t. That’s what counts.”
“Are the others…the other witches…?” he croaked out, looking around the room.
“They’re okay. None the worse for wear.”
“I, I uh, I don’t…thank you, Malcolm, I…” he coughed.
“Listen to me!” Malcolm yelled, pulling Charlie to his feet with his free hand. “Those kids upstairs need you. You’ve got to get them out of here. The police will be here any minute. There will be time to think about this later, okay, kid? Now, you have a job to do.”
“But…”
“Look at me, Charlie. Look at me. Get upstairs and help those kids. Get them out of the house. Nod if you understand me.”
Eyes locked on his face, Charlie nodded.
Behind Malcolm, Thomas moaned. Malcolm gave the man’s shirt collar a hard shake, then ignored him.
“Good. That’s good, kid. Put that face glamour back on so they can’t remember what you look like. Take them out the back way, all the way to the lake. Once you hit the lake, go right, and you’ll come to a big park. Luther Burbank Park. Get the kids there, and you’ll be okay. Follow?”
He nodded again.
Malcolm reached into his pocket and handed Charlie something small and silver.
“Take my phone and call Beverly once you’re there. Tell her you’re at the park. She’ll be able to find you. What’s the name of the park?”
“Luther Burbank,” he said, trying to keep his focus on Malcolm’s instructions.
“Good job. Which way will you turn once you hit the lake?”
“Right.”
“Good. You were very brave. You did the right thing, little man,” Malcolm said, a grim, but true, smile on his face.
Charlie nodded, feeling woozy on his feet. He wasn’t sure if he had enough strength to climb the stairs again, l
et alone walk the kids to the park.
“Now go!” Malcolm said, turning Charlie by the shoulders and pushing him toward the door.
Charlie felt himself once again moving up the staircase. He had to pull on the handrail to make the final few steps. He rubbed at his face and let the glamour hide his features. When he stepped onto the second floor he saw that the kids stood huddled together, whispering and looking terrified. Some still seemed dazed, while others appeared to have recovered from their stupor.
“W-w-who are you?” one of the boys nearest him stammered. He clearly didn’t recognize him from before. “What happened down there? What’s all that noise? W-w-what’s going on?”
“I’m, uh, I’m a friend,” Charlie replied, glad that his glamour was holding up. “We need to get out of here. We’ll go out the back. By the lake. Turn right. To Luther Burbank Park,” he said in a rush so that he wouldn’t forget Malcolm’s instructions.
“I know where that is!” a girl yelled from the circle of kids.
“Good. Now stay close together,” said Laura, the girl with the dark hair and the arm tattoos, who herded the group toward the back of the house. Charlie followed, relieved to know that she and some of the others were there to help.
They walked through a large kitchen with shiny steel appliances. The first door they tried opened onto a giant pantry filled with dried goods and cleaning supplies. The second door led to a four-car garage.
“We’ll never get out of here!” cried a young boy.
“Shh, sweetie, shh,” said Laura, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
Someone turned the knob of the third door and early morning sunlight spilled onto them, blinding their eyes. Charlie was shocked to see that it was daytime already. He wondered how long he’d been in the basement.
The kids stumbled out onto a large cedar deck, trying to both hold hands and block the sunlight from their eyes at the same time. They rushed down a wooden staircase, through a well-landscaped backyard, over a green lawn and down to the edge of the lake, before turning right.
“There’s the park!” someone yelled.
Charlie saw a series of slender docks, like fingers, floating out into the lake, and a cluster of giant pine trees rising up from the shore.
The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight (The Broom Closet Stories) Page 48