Like a Surge

by Olivette Devaux

  LIKE A SURGE

  Book 3 of DISORDERLY ELEMENTS

  OLIVETTE DEVAUX

  Published by

  MUGEN PRESS

  Pittsburgh, PA

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Like a Surge © 2018, Olivette Devaux

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All persons appearing in this book are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance they bear to real persons, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  The locations in this book are either fictional, or fictionalized and are adapted to serve the needs of the story in fictional ways, which do not reflect upon their actual existence.

  The copying of this Work, in part or in whole for the purpose of sharing (even if for “free,”) is strictly prohibited. Please be nice and do not pirate.

  Copying a brief paragraph for editorial or review purposes is not only allowed, but even encouraged.

  For inquires, contact:

  Mugen Press

  www.mugenpress.com

  CAUTION: walking underwater without breathing for extended period of time, or controling electricity with mind alone, will result in property damage, injury, or death. Please do not try these fictional techniques at home.

  CHAPTER 1

  Paul tiptoed out of the sparsely-decorated bedroom of their new Pittsburgh home, past his twin brother’s shut door, and made his way through the dusk of the early September morning. The air was almost crisp, and the newly restored wooden floors of the Victorian-era row house soothed his sleep-warm feet with their smooth coolness. The autumn encroached, and the Equinox would be upon them in only three days’ time despite the still-warm days and the balmy sunshine reflecting off the wavelets on the Allegheny River.

  A board creaked under him. He froze. If Mark had enticed Ellen to stay overnight again, he did not want to disturb them, no matter how horribly uncomfortable the notion of his twin brother in bed with a woman – or a man, or anyone, in fact – made him feel. So far, for all these years, Mark and Paul had lived an existence that was almost telepathic. Their parents kept reminding them that a time would come when even twins would have to go their separate ways. They’d managed to ignore this reality.

  Until now.

  Bitter bile rose in Paul’s throat, yellow and jealous and entirely lacking in any admirable qualities. He should be happy for Mark. Happy that he’d finally found someone, a girl who was nice and compatible, a close friend who knew him from way back when, and who shared in their uncommon gifts.

  A trustworthy person, a lovely being who spun energy and summoned wind with her exotic and graceful tai-chi gestures to either aid them in battle, or to cool them on the hottest of summer days.

  He should like her. Hell, he did like her back in the days when she had been a kid adopted from far away, who was homeschooled with the rest of them. Power control, meditation, reading, and all those common academic things, and... and computers.

  A computer was one thing Paul would never be allowed to touch.

  And now he was jealous of Ellen, their old friend, just because she threatened to usurp his place at Mark’s side – and because she could use a computer or a cell phone.

  He bit his lip. Just a few weeks ago, he’d have knocked on the door and burst through it and jumped on Mark to roust him out of bed. Just a few weeks ago, they probably would have been sharing the same bedroom, the way they had ever since they were born.

  He paused and let his hand hover over the brass door knob.

  But Ellen was behind that dark, wooden door. Ellen, who was just two years older, and who was often being lumped together with all the cousins by the uninitiated. Ash had been appalled at the pairing at first, because just like most people outside their small outpost of young elementalists from the north, he had assumed that they were all were related by blood. Ellen had laughed, hooting like an owl as she took unmitigated pleasure in the understandable confusion.

  She had always thought the inevitable mix-up was funny, even as she set the record straight.

  Neighbors, sure. Members of the same spiritual community? Certainly. But not cousins, because they shared no blood at all, even though it had been her gift that had convinced her birth parents to let a family with similar talents raise her.

  Just so she could be safe, so she could learn skilled control side by side with others of her kind. And she did, even as she visited her birth parents several times a year, and as she grew in her powers past anything her birth family could fathom.

  Her wind-whispering worked out great for Mark, because his ability to produce thunderous sounds seemed to have no practical application by itself. In tandem with Ellen, however, they worked on new effects, new ways of projecting power over distance. They combined their gifts, drawing on their scientific knowledge of sound wave propagation.

  Good for Mark.

  Bad for Paul, though, who pulled his hand back from their door knob. He resolutely turned his back on his brother’s shut door, and navigated the slick, lacquered wood of the newly stained staircase.

  He felt very alone.

  Just like always, Paul pushed the bathroom door open, grabbed a rubber oven mitt, and turned on the light. The soft glow came on, no issues there – at least not now that Paul had figured out that he had to insulate the delicate, 13 Watt LED light bulb – which shone as bright as the old incandescent 75 Watt would have – from the random surges of electricity which he so easily created.

  If Mark was the thunder, Paul had always been the lightning. Just like in the case of the atmospheric lightning, his power was unpredictable, devastating, and hard to control.

  Mark had been his ally, his protector. Their twin connection had made it possible for Paul to learn to ground, center, and laboriously bleed his discharge into the ground. Mark was now smitten with Ellen, however, and as much as Paul needed the support he had enjoyed for the last twenty-three years, he was loath to interfere in his brother’s first romantic relationship.

  He turned on the shower and got on with his morning hygiene. Warm water drummed on his shoulders and pooled in the cast-iron tub around his feet, and as his electric charge trickled down the drain along with a swirl of bubbles, Paul inhaled the scent of the aromatic tea tree shampoo which jolted him into alertness better than coffee in the morning.

  Dumping his extra power felt good. It had taken him several days to figure out the right way to do it without Mark’s assistance. In the end, making use of the conductive cast-iron tub and copper piping was a fabulous accomplishment.

  As much as he missed Mark, he had done it without him – and Mark had, for the first time in Paul’s recent memory, shed the shadow of concern from his brow. He looked, for the first time in his life, truly happy.

  He couldn’t take this away from him. He would find his own way through life. If he was very diligent, and extremely lucky, he’d manage not to fry the whole block’s power grid in the process.

  “WHAT ARE YOU worried about?”

  Cooper glanced at Ash, following his voice as he accepted a thermos of coffee. He took a careful sip and set it between them on the weathered concrete of the old river dock.

  “Thanks.” Now that Ash had named his emotion, Cooper realized that concern had been twisting his stomach, and most likely etching telltale lines into his brow. He was worried, yet he didn’t know why.

  “Is it about the node?” Ash persisted, sitting cross-legged within arm’s reach. He had propped up his rear with one of their two meditation pillows, which they had lugged down from their rowhouse. The five-minute walk had taken them past the plot of land where their team had pacified a rogue node barely two months ago, yet he had not felt the draw of wild energies that had tried to ensnare him. In his mind’s eye, he h
ad seen the subterranean structures of bedrock and tunnels, of basements and storm drains. Seeing underground was something of a specialty of his. Even after reaching out, however, he had not felt any more of those wild energies with which they had grappled not so long ago.

  This morning, he and Ash had sauntered to this secluded place to enjoy the dawn break over the river, and to meditate. Instead of working on their power flow exercises and channeling their energies, they had ended up sitting quietly as the day dawned, watching the pallid sun swing up from behind the hills and spill its golden glow over the river.

  It wasn’t about the node, and Cooper shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It could be just the seasons changing. It could be the energies shifting in a way we can’t detect.”

  The mention of undetectable energies made Cooper think of his cousin Jared, who had sacrificed himself in their struggle to keep the node from blowing up, and from taking a good chunk of Pittsburgh with it.

  “I miss him too,” Ash said gently, as though reading his thoughts. “He was your favorite cousin and your closest friend.”

  Cooper reached out. They wove their fingers together the way they always did when thinking of Jared, and as the morning breeze picked up off the river and caressed Cooper’s face, he almost felt Jared’s presence.

  Almost. But not quite... and, he reminded himself once again, Jared’s dematerialization was as unexpected as it was unexplained.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered toward Ash. The sky above the river began to blush pink and orange, lending the color of heaven to the waters by their feet. Even the Pittsburgh skyline reflected the optimistic blush of sunrise.

  Life was good, despite all he had lost.

  He was blessed, and grateful, and his love for Ash was, all of a sudden, everything.

  It was his lodestone. His only certitude, his...

  “I love you too,” Ash said, interrupting his thoughts with a warm, heart-felt whisper and a light squeeze of his fingertips.

  And Ash did love him. The emotion between them warmed his heart. It grounded his spirit despite his unexplainable feeling of portent. Cooper knew he had everything going for him, everything – except he still could not force himself to feel at ease. The irrational phantom of Jared’s presence persisted, as though Jared was somewhere nearby, ready to share a sip of their bittersweet morning coffee and make an off-color joke. Cooper had no idea where those pervasive images and thoughts kept coming from, nor what did they portend.

  CHAPTER 2

  The 40th Street Bridge rumbled under the wheels of Paul’s vintage Harley. Since it was Monday, and well past the rush hour at ten in the morning, the traffic was mercifully light. When he sailed through the green at the end of the bridge to make a right onto Route 28 north, he took his ease of passage as an omen of good things to come.

  This could be good.

  He might be able to build a future after all.

  He would... he’d manage, somehow, even if Mark was suitably preoccupied with Ellen. He could do this thing, and he could do it all by himself.

  Alone.

  The word still scared him. As he raced down the sparsely traveled highway, the Allegheny River snaked to his right, now disguised behind a strip of tall trees. They formed a barrier between him and the world, accentuating his sense of isolation.

  For the first time ever, he wished for a bit of traffic. Any sign of life would be welcome just about now, be it a sight of other people to remind him that, even though loneliness twisted his guts and threatened to turn him inside out, he was not the only person in the world. Even a police cruiser pulling him over would have made his lack of human contact less desolate. Yet nobody showed up, and Paul gritted his teeth and opened the throttle just a bit more.

  Half an hour and few twists and turns later, he rumbled into a spacious parking lot in Warrendale. The buildings, which comprised the PittTech Institute campus, sprawled around him in an untidy conglomeration which attested to numerous growth spurts.

  Once he’d parked, Paul unzipped his oppressively hot leather jacket and extricated his little black notebook.

  Maxwell Hall, second floor, two doors on the right – that’s what it said, along with an untidy scrawl with the instructor’s name and telephone number.

  Paul drew a deep breath, then let it out in a smooth, meditative exhale.

  The exercise did nothing to relieve his stress level. Not when he knew he would have to shake the man’s hand, and to do that, he’d have to strip out of his leather, rubber-coated gloves. Taking the gloves off before shaking hands was polite. Keeping the gloves on was rude, and the “Excuse my glove” phrase while greeting someone new worked best in the depth of winter, when bitter wind threatened to inflict frostbite upon exposed skin.

  The ploy would not go unnoticed on a balmy September day such as this one.

  Paul frowned. Had there only been a shower nearby, he could drain his excess charge, and sting the man at least a little less. Maybe his handshake would transfer a charge low enough that Dr. Yantar would never even notice.

  There was no shower, however, nor did he see a handy creek, nor a water feature. A fish pond would’ve worked, maybe.

  A flash of red by the low building to his right caught his eye. Suddenly inspired, he strode toward the fire hydrant which beamed its decorative cheer at the demarcation line between the cracked asphalt parking lot and the lawn of short, brown grass.

  The fire hydrant had water in it. Of course it did – that was its purpose. It was made of metal, connected to a steel pipe which was buried underground.

  A fire hydrant was a fabulously conductive, and grounding, device.

  It was a long shot, but he’d try it. He was five minutes early, and what better way to get on the right foot with Dr. Yantar than provide a safe and accident-free handshake?

  In no time, Paul was kneeling in the dry grass with the palms of his bare hands pressed against the fire hydrant’s sun-warmed surface.

  He imagined the surge of excess bioelectricity leaving his body. He was giving it up voluntarily, letting it go, setting it free, and allowing it to do good in the world.

  Focus on the positive.

  Wasn’t that what Grandma Olga always said about power manipulations? Always focus on doing the right thing, on having the right intent. He frowned and focused harder.

  He felt... something happening. It wasn’t the same as taking his morning shower and dumping as much excess charge as he could before he started his day. Whatever he was accomplishing, it wasn’t fast enough.

  There was no running water! That was it. If there was just a bit of fluid to get the energy transfer started – but he had sucked his water bottle dry. No time to ride out and buy more water, except... what if...

  All that water, and the morning coffee, began to announce its presence below his waist. And urine was a liquid. An aqueous liquid. A conductive liquid, full of electrolytic ions.

  A perfect complement to a superbly conductive fire hydrant, one that ground his charge so much better than a toilet with PVC plumbing.

  Paul grinned. The idea was as brilliant as it was crazy.

  The campus around him was quiet. No cars were moving in the half-empty parking lot, no people walked in and out of the institute’s doors.

  He glanced at the windows, seeing only the reflection of a blue sky and wispy clouds. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to see whether anyone was observing him, he also decided that with classes going on, both students and professors had better things to do than spy on his little experiment.

  One more look around to make sure he was alone.

  Paul popped the button of his jeans open, slid the down the zipper, and fished his dick out of his boxers.

  As quickly and discreetly as he could, he aimed a stream of urine at the fire hydrant.

  He focused.

  Pushing power. Letting it go, giving it up, grounding it out –

  The surge ripped through his body so hard, it almo
st buckled his knees. He held on to his balance with all his might, whizzing away and draining all that destructive juice to where it would do no harm at all. Into the earth, channeling it through the fire hydrant and the water in it.

  Aaah. Releasing all that power zinged through his body with the force of an orgasm, except its flavor was a lot different and less fun, and he felt... empty. Normal.

  As he tucked himself in, he reflected that now, finally, he would be able to shake Dr. Yantar’s hand like a regular guy. No gloves would be necessary.

  The fire hydrant exploded.

  A geyser rose into the air, soaking the brown grass, as well as Paul, with spurts and sheets of freezing water.

  Behind him, something popped and whooshed.

  Paul whirled, only to see the fire hydrant few hundred feet away blow.

  Farther beyond it, another geyser erupted into the air.

  Then something hit his head, and the world went as black as the asphalt parking lot.

  DR. RUSS YANTAR glanced at the time display at the top of his screen with an impatient frown. Non-traditional students were usually more responsible than this. He peered around his small, one-window office as though he expected Paul Sorensen to appear out of thin air.

  Mr. Sorensen, who had worked construction and landscaping, who had never made it to college, and who was twenty-three years old, had seemed eager enough to meet with Russ when they spoke over the phone. Here was a guy who was, all of a sudden, just dying to become an electrician.

  And now he was late.

  Well, his loss. He should’ve called if he got caught up in traffic. Life was too short to wait for late appointments who just might provide the institute a bit of extra tuition money. This Paul Sorensen seemed to be a no-show. Two years ago, Russ would’ve been falling over himself to track Paul down and help him realize his professional dreams. Since then, enough hopefuls had crossed the threshold of his office only to drop out in just a few weeks that Russ didn’t even bother to tidy up his office before their arrival for the sake of appearances.