“Nuts. Lots of nuts,” Michio babbled.
I spotted my little brother sitting on the ground with a pile of nuts nearby. Not giving it much thought, I jogged up to the house to deliver TJ, figuring the nuts would keep Michio busy for a few minutes. When I got back, he was gone from under the tree. Panic set in for three awful seconds until giggles floated down from the oak tree.
“Michio, what are you doing?” I tried not to sound too annoyed.
“Getting nuts,” he answered like it ought to be obvious.
“What’s wrong with the ones on the ground?”
“Broken,” Michio responded.
Your head’s gonna get broken if you fall from there.
I kept the thought in ’cause it wouldn’t have meant much to Michio. I watched him scramble from one branch to the next, climbing as nimbly as a monkey. He’d spot a small cluster of nuts, seize it, and drop the nuts down, sometimes practically on my head.
“That’s enough nuts. Come on down,” I called after a while. “Momma’s gonna have breakfast for us soon.”
“Can’t,” Michio said, quite matter-of-factly.
“What do you mean you can’t?” I demanded.
“Don’t know how,” he replied. “You help.”
“You come down the same way you got up.”
“Scared,” Michio said, not sounding one bit of it.
“You just want me to climb up after you,” I accused my treed little brother.
“Jillian. Michio. Come on in and wash up for breakfast,” Momma called.
“Be right there!” I shouted loud enough so Momma could hear. To Michio, I said, “You heard Momma. We’ve got to go in and wash up.”
“Come get me,” Michio dared.
Figuring arguing would get me nowhere, I gave Michio my best Evil Eye before scrambling up the tree after him. He laughed at his victory but obediently climbed onto my back and let me carry him down the tree. I tried to set him down, but he insisted on riding until we reached the back deck.
Momma raised her eyebrows at the messy state of my clothes and hair.
“What in the world happened to you?”
“Michio and a tree,” I answered a tad grumpily, letting the troublemaker slide off my back.
Momma smiled and plucked a twig from my hair.
“Welcome to my life, baby.”
The biscuits with gravy were great, so I ate two of ’em figuring I might need the energy to chase Michio. He kept me running the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon until Momma took pity on me and made him lie down for a nap. I slept too, but it wasn’t a working nap. I was too tired to work.
When my New Daddy came home from the candy shop, I finally got a chance to rest. I helped Momma by peeling the potatoes and snapping the ends off a bunch of green beans. Danielle mighta called that an odd way to relax, but there’s a satisfying sound to fixing green beans. After dinner, I officially went off kid-duty ’cause my New Daddy was there to take over. I probably should have stayed for the family time, but I wanted to return to my search and still had some homework to finish.
The evening hours flew past in a blur of math problems and science questions. Momma checked in with me a few times, but she didn’t say much ’cause she didn’t want to interrupt my work. I sort of wished she would. I initially found the habit odd, but Dr. S. said it’s something Momma’s got to do until her heart heals from my two sudden disappearances. Momma ain’t aware of the most recent excitement, and I think that’s the way it ought to stay.
Soon as I fell asleep that night, I felt an invitation to Malia’s dreams. Pushing aside surprise at finding her asleep so early, I answered the invitation and found my avatar in the blank space between dreams. I imagined a wooden floor ’cause so much nothingness can get disorienting. A moment later two versions of Malia appeared holding hands, one at her current age and one about five years old.
“Hello, Jillian,” greeted the older Malia. “You asked about my memories and impressions of Dr. Carnasis and Cora. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you.” She tugged on the younger girl’s hand so the kid stepped forward. “This is Lia. She possesses the earliest of such memories. If you request it, she will share this knowledge with you.”
Looking back, I can see Malia’s careful wording as a flashing warning sign not to ask, but at the time, I blundered on. In my defense, Malia always speaks rather formal-like. Lia wore a pink knit cap over her long, flowing dark hair. Her jeans and light blue shirt fit well, making her appear like a normal kid, but her expression held way more seriousness than any child ought to possess.
The older Malia faded, and Lia closed her stormy eyes and held out both hands toward me with her palms face down. Sensing a solemn moment, I knelt and lifted my palms to meet Lia’s. As our hands touched, we got sucked into the memory. In most people, the dream would exist as a memory-storm, but Malia’s one of the few souls kind enough to assemble the memories herself.
I appeared in the center aisle of an airplane. Rows of blue leather seats surrounded me. Lia should have appeared with me, but instead, she occupied the seat to my left. Her attention remained fixed out the window. She wore the same cute hat and outfit as she had in the place between dreams. Before I could question Lia, two women’s hushed voices reached from behind me. I spun to see the speakers.
“I’m not sure why you left all this,” stated Dr. Carnasis. Though the memory was probably only seven or eight years old, my Second Momma appeared decades younger than the version I’d recently seen in that basement prison.
“The more money you have, the more you realize its limitations,” replied Cora.
I moved my avatar to a better position to listen, but they fell quiet for several minutes.
“Should we try to prepare the child?” asked Cora.
Dr. Carnasis considered the question, but eventually shook her head.
“We should probably see how she reacts first.”
“Is that you or Dean speaking?” Cora kept a neutral expression, but her eyes re-fired the question.
“That’s hardly fair, Cora,” Dr. Carnasis protested. “We only want her to succeed.”
The traces of accusation leaked out of Cora’s expression.
“You’re right, Evie. I’m sorry.” She forced a smile. “I guess I’m having a Jessie moment.”
Dr. Carnasis touched Cora’s right arm.
“Hey. There’s nothing wrong with compassion. This mission is mainly about compassion. We want to know if the child can calm people in the midst of a crisis.”
“Who calms her?” Cora wondered.
As they grew silent again, I felt drawn back to Lia. The plane lurched and the pilot announced that they were beginning the descent. I found Lia quietly weeping, still staring out the window. Curious to know what captivated her, I peered out the tiny window. Below, I saw neat rows of houses and other buildings stretching almost as far as one could see. Right through the middle of that order slashed a jagged brown scar where a tornado had made its presence known.
I placed a hand on Lia’s shoulder to comfort her. The sensation flowing from her to me was like a thousand separate voices crying out in pain. I wanted to shape the dream and make Lia feel better, but that woulda been useless as this was a memory.
Suddenly, Dr. Carnasis was kneeling next to Lia. She placed her hands over the child’s fragile fingers.
“Malia. Listen to me. You have a Gift. You know exactly what they’re feeling down there. Change it. Fight the despair, the loss, the pain. Replace it with hope. Remember your training. Can you do that for me?”
Lia’s bottom lip trembled, but she nodded.
“Good girl. Isolate the negative feelings,” instructed Dr. Carnasis. “Don’t flip them to an opposite extreme. Be subtle. Be gentle. We’ll stay near you, but you might not always see us.”
The plane landed, and the stairs folded down.
The pilot helped Dr. Carnasis, Cora, and Malia disembark. The man tipped his cap at them.
&n
bsp; “Not sure why you folks want to be here right now. It’s chaos out there, but good luck.”
I followed the group like a friendly ghost, sometimes sticking real close and sometimes soaring higher to take in the big picture. They made their way from one makeshift shelter to another, wandering around like the rest of the dazed folks. From time to time, Cora or Dr. Carnasis would break off to hold conversations with specific people.
Lia wove her way through the crowds like she knew where she was headed. She’d usually wander over to a crying or quiet lady and sit down next to her. Sometimes, she would gently touch the hurting person, but mostly, she’d sink down and tuck her knees real close to her body, holding ’em in place with her arms. A minute or an hour or more could go by before she’d get up and move to a new place.
I typically can’t gauge everybody’s emotions within a dream unless I have a special connection to the people, but since that’s Malia’s Gift, this memory let me access each shelter’s emotional state as a whole. As she worked her way through each room, Lia tugged the emotions from a deep black, despairing state up to a lighter, more hopeful one.
Watching Lia’s training was humbling ’cause I remember what a fuss I kicked up over my own training. The shelters themselves would have been hard enough to witness, but the next memory covered work with the people sifting through the devastation. Some streets had houses that had been reduced to wooden chips the size of playing cards. My heart hurt for Lia, but she bravely went on with her work, reaching out to individual souls and restoring a spark of hope to ’em.
Chapter 8:
It’s Official, Sort of
ITEM 191: Danielle’s fifty-fourth letter
Item Source: Danielle Matheson
Dear Dr. S.,
I cleared the air with Calvin. Actually, he sort of dumped me, which I know should bother me, but I’m too relieved to even be annoyed. It sure saved me another “we should be free to see other people” speech. I was getting tired of rewording those and delivering them to deaf ears. Reading between the lines, I think I have an unknown Rutgers girl to thank.
The first exams and paper due dates landed this week. I’m actually looking forward to spending some time with Dylan and Katy. Their chatter should help chase away the gloomy sense that I live and breathe and drink coffee only to go to lectures and write papers. I like to think I’m a halfway decent writer, but research papers are their own brand of evil. I wish these papers would come out as easily as my emails to you. Not really sure I even count these as writing, more like sharing my thoughts.
Malia’s little wonder program makes it even easier to turn thoughts into emails to you. The kid could make some serious money by patenting that program. I wonder what the range is for my thoughts reaching the iPad. Guess I’ll have to check it out someday.
By the way, thank you for the faithful correspondence over the last year and a half. I’m not sure where I would be without your steady assurances and consistent support. Even when life got too crazy to even write, I always knew you were a quick email away. I know I don’t do “quick” emails anymore, but you know what I mean.
Varick left last night for his Anastasia welfare check. Don’t tell him, but I kind of miss having a morning running buddy. I try to keep a reputation as someone who hates morning exercise. Oddly, that motivates others to seek me out and force me to do healthy things early in the morning.
Karen would have filled in for Varick, but she went home to celebrate her dad’s half-birthday. I insensitively inquired about that, and she was kind enough to explain. Life expectancy for people with Down syndrome is almost twenty years lower than the general US population, so her family celebrates half and full birthdays.
Being the Google addict that I am, I did some research after Karen’s family came and swept her off to celebrate. Having the disease causes cognitive delays and a higher risk for a slew of treatable medical conditions. As little as thirty years ago, the life expectancy for a person with Down syndrome stood in the mid-twenties.
I sort of wonder what would happen if one set a person like Devya up against the problem. There’s a twist for you. Never thought I’d ever think of the man without the urge to slug him let alone consider asking him for scientific advice.
I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in until 11:01 today. I’m up now, obviously, but it was a real treat to see that time on the clock instead of something depressing, like 5 or 6. Had to set an alarm because Mom would yell if she knew I wasted the entire morning sleeping. Mom and Dad should be by soon to pick me up. The original plan involved Katy and Dylan hanging out with me on campus, but I like the new plan better.
We’re going to D’Angelo’s in Princeton for a leisurely lunch and random window shopping. Then, Dylan, Katy, and I will get dropped back on campus where I’ll entertain them—probably with a dvd and my laptop—until dinner time. Mom and Dad are going to see a movie or walk the Quakerbridge mall and reminisce or something. I’m not too clear on that point. I think Mom was giddy with the prospect of being without kids for the afternoon.
I sense your disapproval through time and space. Okay, so even I’m getting a guilty conscience over the thought of sticking my siblings in front of a screen for the afternoon. I think there’s a swim meet or a football game or something else outdoorsy I can convince them to join me at. If worse comes to worse, I can always show them the library. The library Starbucks should be good for at least a half-hour of entertainment. The weather looks like it’ll cooperate, so maybe I’ll even get away with giving them another walking tour of the campus. It would be the cheaper option. Mom and Dad have generously given me an entertainment budget, but I’m not exactly looking to blow through the whole thing this weekend.
If Christy were here, she’d conjure a party to attend, but since I’m not looking to give the parental unit reasons to kill me, it’s a moot point. Christy would be better at finding something fun to do. She’s got a sense for such things. Goodness, I haven’t talked to her in about a month. I wonder how she’s doing. Have you heard anything from her? Hope her mom’s healing up steadily. I feel like a lousy friend for not checking in with Christy. Maybe I’ll have enough time to dash off an email to her before my family makes an appearance. I’d call her, but if we get to talking, it could be hours before I can hang up.
Oh, before I forget, it’s official with Varick, sort of. By that, I mean he’s “officially” asked me to join him on a date and I’ve “officially” accepted. Congratulations, you’re the first to know. I’m not sure how to break the news to the parents. They like Varick well enough, but his family situation makes the word complicated the world’s fattest understatement.
Perhaps I can find some way to corner my mother this afternoon. Normally, I turn to Dad and have him help me with Mom, but I think this is a rare case where I’ll have to reverse that order. Mom’s definitely the more open-minded when it comes to boyfriend matters. I’m pretty sure Dad’s got it in his head that nobody’s good enough for me. I get it, but I don’t have to like it.
Since my phone’s yelling at me that my “mama is calling” I take it they’re almost here. I’ll have to make Dylan change that ringtone when he gets his annoying behind up here. I haven’t thought of it because Mom usually calls from the house phone which has a nice, soothing classical ringtone. She only uses her cell phone when she’s out.
The Broke One (who is not ashamed to hang out with her family),
Danielle Matheson.
Chapter 9:
Miracles vs. Weapons
ITEM 192: Jillian’s 94th post-kidnapping journal entry
Item Source: Jillian Blairington
Despite his words, Darren didn’t call Dr. Devya right away like he’d planned. I considered trying to get into his dreams to learn more about his plans, but his nervous energy provided a good shield for his dreams. However, as the days wore on, he got more careless about making and taking phone calls in front of Dr. Carnasis. He got a lot of calls from his contacts interested in buying Nadia.
As he hung up with ’em one day, Dr. Carnasis made an observation.
“They don’t trust you.”
Darren’s shoulders had been slumping, indicating that he’d not liked where the conversation had gone. As Dr. Carnasis’s words reached him though, Darren’s shoulders shot upward and back like he was preparing for a physical fight. He whirled to face her.
“What makes you say that?” His dark tone said she’d hit a raw nerve.
“It’s hard to trust traitors.” My Second Momma had been leaning back against the pathetic excuse for a pillow her captors had provided, but now, she sat up and locked her arms around her bent knees to keep her balance. Surprisingly, her voice didn’t contain much anger. “Why did you turn on us, Darren? Is this really about money?” She rushed on with more questions before he could answer the first few. “Who are you in contact with? Do you even realize how much trouble you could cause? How many people could get killed?”
“You’re breaking my heart, Doc,” Darren said, bringing his phone up to his chest like he needed to hold in the hurt. Letting his arm flop back down so he could tuck the phone away, he continued. “I’m surprised you even care. You’re not exactly a shining moral paragon. I want to exploit the little freak. You helped create her.”
My Second Momma climbed to her feet ’cause there are some things you need to be upright to say properly. She crossed to stand in front of Darren with only the cage door between ’em.
“You’re right about me, but that ‘little freak’ could change the world. By the time she was four, she could discuss theoretical physics with the top researchers from two dozen countries in eight languages.”
“Impressive,” Darren mocked. “I’ll have to tell my buyers. I think my price just went up a few million.”
Dr. Carnasis leveled a solid glare at Darren.
“You don’t understand—”
“No, Dr. C., you don’t understand. It really is about the money,” Darren said, speaking extra slow. “The little freak can pull off her miracles just as well from another country as she can from here. The only difference is the size of my personal payday.”
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