Paranormals (Book 1)

by Christopher Andrews

  Philip looked down at his hands, then clenched them tight. By God, he felt as though he could pick up the man before him and toss him about like a rag doll ... or maybe the whole bed, with Mr. Wright right there on it.

  Smiling like a vampire over his victim, Philip considered the patient only briefly before diving back in for seconds.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Wright was dead. Philip struggled to contain himself. Only a close examination of the fit of his clothes convinced him that he hadn’t physically grown in size. How could this feeling of strength, of power, possibly be contained within the confines of his fragile body? He looked at Mr. Wright — no telltale sign there of what had really happened. Philip stepped out of the curtain.

  "Nurse!" he called to the woman who had first seen the man.

  "Yes, Doctor Seymour?" she said with barely hidden distaste.

  She’d better watch the way she speaks to me, he thought. They had all better watch it from now on. "This man was injured far worse than it first appeared," he told her. "He just died right in front of me."

  "Code Blue—!" the nurse started to call out.

  Philip seized her shoulder harshly. "It’s too late for that."

  "But Doctor—"

  "There are people here who need our attention," he rumbled, "and we can’t waste our time with a lost cause like this one — it’s called ‘triage.’ Are you questioning my medical judgement, nurse?"

  For a moment, he thought she might. Then she said, "No, Doctor Seymour, of course not."

  Something in her voice told him that she would be reporting this. He considered moving his hand from her shoulder to the exposed flesh of her neck, then thought better of it. He would deal with all else later — tonight, he needed to make sure that he was by the side of every seriously injured patient who came through the door.

  "Good," he said at last. "Take care of him, would you? I have other patients."

  It never occurred to Philip Seymour to question how he had suddenly gained this amazing ability. Instead, he decided that, if he could not have money, then maybe there were other kinds of power to be had in this world. And, not caring what the nurse might think, he allowed himself a heartfelt laugh.

  YESTERDAY

  To All Faculty and Staff:

  The following is a report presented to me by Jeffrey Lawrence, one of my 5th grade students. Jeffrey recently returned to class after missing two weeks, courtesy of the chicken pox, and had fallen considerably behind. Rather than force the young man to attempt two weeks’ worth of backed up homework, I offered him the option of instead completing an extra credit assignment. My suggestion had been a book report, but I left the proposition intentionally vague, hoping to see if he would come up with something on his own.

  He did.

  Upon reading his essay — an effort that took him a mere two days to complete and return to me — I felt that perhaps we would all benefit from reading it. It offers us an insight into how our youth perceives these frightening times in which we now live, times that we could not have imagined (or, perhaps, could only have imagined) at Jeffrey’s age, but that our children and grandchildren will now grow up without knowing anything else.

  It is my further suggestion that we consider setting aside a day as soon as possible to discuss the paranormals with our student body as a whole.

  Perhaps together we can find a light at the end of this increasingly dark tunnel.

  Barbara Wallis

  THE PARANORMALS

  BY JEFFREY LAWRENCE

  5TH GRADE - MISS WALLIS

  Almost 5 years ago, the Seven Stars appeared in the sky. The White Flash that followed their appearance scared a lot of people, but the White Flash did a lot more than people first realized.

  Scientists still have not figured out exactly what the White Flash was. Some say it was a kind of radiation that we have never seen before that caused mutations. Some people think that maybe God or the Devil did it, but the Scientists won’t listen to that explanation. They also can’t figure out if the Seven Stars just came into existence, or if they were always there and the Earth just could not see them until now. The people who work for S.E.T.I. (that’s for "Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence") have also started picking up strange sounds on their big radios, but so far no one can agree on what they are or what they mean.

  More important, though, is what has happened here on Earth. Some people were changed by the White Flash, something the Scientists call the "Paranormal Effect."

  Not very many people have been changed by the Paranormal Effect. According to a report on "60 Minutes" last week, the Scientists say that less than 1/10th of 1% of the people of Earth were changed, and less than 1% of those have changes that are any big deal (my Dad heard about a man at his company who could change the color of things; this is not something the Scientists would call a "Class 1," but I think the man got fired from his job, anyway, and that is sad).

  Some people were changed right away, and these people had mostly mind powers. Some people hid their changes, so it took a while before the Scientists could start studying them.

  After about a year or so went by, other people started changing, too, and some of the powers started getting more and more physical. Some people are really strong, others can run fast or fly or shoot laser beams and stuff from their eyes. After a couple of years, other people even got changed in the way they look (there was a sad story on the Internet about a man who grew bat wings and got burned by his church because they thought the Devil turned him into a gargoyle). The Scientists can’t figure out why some people change and others don’t. Old people, young people, black and white and Asian people, tall people or short people all change. Some babies even change before they are born. The only family members who sometimes change together are identical twins, and Scientists think this is because of something called "DNA," (that’s "DeoxyriboNucleic Acid") and that’s really close together in identical twins. We don’t know if Paranormal parents can give their powers to their kids yet, but the Scientists think it could happen.

  People were changed by the Paranormal Effect all over the world, but most seem to be in North and Central and South America. The Scientists think this is because it was nighttime here when the White Flash happened.

  After a bunch of bad guys started using their powers for crime, the United States started a group called the "P.C.A." (that’s for "Paranormal Control Agency;" their symbol looks like this: PCA). They took agents from the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. and the Secret Service and gave them the job of stopping the bad guys. They call the bad guys "Rogues." Later they started a P.C.A. Academy, and this is the first year people will work for the P.C.A. who graduated from the Academy.

  I think it is really sad that so many people changed by the Paranormal Effect want to be Rogues. My big brother has always read comic books and he read comic books to me when I was a little kid. I think it’s so sad that no Paranormals want to be super-heroes. Why don’t they want to be like Superman or Spider-Man or the X-Men? In the comic books the bad guys always lose, but how can they lose in the real world if there are no super-heroes to fight them? There are some Paranormals who work with the P.C.A. against the Rogues, and that’s a good thing, but it would be cool if somebody wanted to be a real, live super-hero. If I ever get changed by the Paranormal Effect, that’s what I’m going to do.

  A lot of people are scared by the Paranormals and hate them just because they got changed, and I think this is sad, too. In Miss Wallis’ class, we learn about stuff like Civil Rights and how prejudice is bad, so I think people should remember these things when they think about the Paranormals. The Paranormals are just people like you and me who got changed and they did not ask for it to happen to them. The Rogues are uncool and should be punished, but regular people who turn Paranormal should not be punished if they aren’t Rogue.

  Paranormals are just like you and me, only different, and if people with different colored skin and who have different religions should be treated equal, then a
man who can change the color of things should be treated equal, too.

  My name is Jeffrey Lawrence, and if another kid in my class turned Paranormal, I would still be his friend, and I hope that if I turned Paranormal, other kids would still be my friends, too.

  And if a Paranormal decided to be a super-hero, I think that would be really, really COOL!!!

  TODAY

  VORTEX

  I don’t have time for this, Joseph Davison thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose in futile defense against his on-setting headache. On top of everything else, I really do not have time for this.

  "You can’t do this to me, Joseph!" bellowed Richard McLane, the current pinnacle of a never-ending stream of sustenance for the headache monster that lurked behind Joseph’s eyes. The monster grew in perfect synchronization with the rising decibels in McLane’s voice.

  "I can, Richard," Joseph said flatly, "and I am."

  McLane glared at him with hate-filled eyes. His brow was fiercely knotted, seemingly all the way to the top of his mostly-bald pate. If looks could kill ...

  And thanks to the White Flash, Joseph noted inwardly, these days, they sometimes can.

  For a split-second, an irrational fear tightened Joseph’s chest, stifling his breath. What if McLane had gone paranormal? At any moment, heat waves or psychic bolts or God knew what else could surge forth from this seething man and end Joseph’s life in the blink of an eye.

  But no ... if the Paranormal Effect had touched McLane, its sole influence had been to loosen the man’s conscience. McLane was to be feared for what he did, not what he was.

  "Mister McLane," Joseph continued, slapping on his best authoritative tone, "the current purpose of this institute, as you well know, is to develop effective counter-measures for dealing with paranormal rogues. The President himself has commended us on our rapid advances." Joseph leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands together in front of him. "You have led your division in weapons development, and for that, I thank you." He drew a breath. "However ... the carelessness of your most recent tests — in which you showed no concern for the safety of your colleagues — cannot be overlooked, or tolerated. You blatantly disregarded safety protocols, and two members of your team are now in critical condition because of it. I would say I was sorry, Richard, but I would be lying, and we both know it. You are dismissed, Mister McLane, and that is final."

  Richard McLane stood silent for a moment, and Joseph could never have predicted what happened next in his wildest dreams: Barking an inarticulate curse, McLane literally sprang at him across his desk. McLane’s security escorts dragged him away quickly enough — the only part of McLane that actually touched his intended victim was his spittle — but the stunning display left Joseph trembling like a kitten in a dog kennel. He fumbled for composure as McLane strained to free himself from the guards’ hold.

  "Get him out of here," Joseph said, wincing at the feeble sound of his own voice.

  "You’ll regret this, Davison!" McLane growled as the guards dragged him from the room. "Do you hear me?! I promise you! I swear you’ll—!"

  The door closed. Joseph drew deep breaths in an effort to relax as he shook his head. Maybe more had been loosened in McLane than just his conscience ...

  PCA

  Joseph’s Lexus purred to life. He eased out of his private parking space, slipping into drive and exiting the executive lot. The security guards nodded at him cordially as he passed the checkpoint.

  Lord, give me the days when we didn’t need this kind of security.

  But those days were long gone, the days when the name "Davison Electronics" was more than just a cover ... the days before the paranormals.

  Joseph knew that his was far from the only company converted — he just happened to love his. He built Davison Electronics from the ground up years before he ever heard the term "paranormal," but the P C Agents who approached him three years before had a way of framing their promises of large sums and patriotic duty into an offer he could not refuse. And so, Davison Electronics shifted from developing new and improved microchips and DVD-ROMS to developing new and improved tazers, containment facilities, neural scramblers, etc, etc, ad infinitum.

  Still, he supposed it wasn’t all bad. Working with those neural countermeasures had opened up incredible possibilities in the field of cybernetics — while they were trying to find ways to fight, say, rogues with mind-control, they’d achieved new levels of linking mechanical devices to the synaptic pathways of the brain. In exchange for his overall cooperation, the government had given him the green light to pursue these areas on the side ... so long as he remained on the cutting-edge of anti-paranormal devices, of course.

  The political trading had been worth it. Joseph’s aunt had been legally blind since he was a small boy, and these days she could barely perceive light from dark. Under Joseph’s close guidance, Alan Russell, his right-hand man, spearheaded a project to develop artificial eyes. The final tests were expected to be complete by year’s end, and Joseph planned to give his aunt a Christmas gift she would never forget! For a long stretch there, they had trouble finding the perfect synthetic retinas, but, ironically, the problem had finally been solved by simply borrowing from the weapons division ...

  With a startled blink, Joseph realized that he was home. He experienced that unsettling I-don’t-remember-the-last-few-miles feeling as he pulled into his garage. He nearly drove into the motorcycle propped up to one side and he shook his head. To top off his day, his wife’s sister and her family were visiting for the weekend. Given a choice, Joseph would have rather submitted to a root canal than entertain Carol and her annoying husband and son, but he didn’t want to fight with Katherine over it.

  "Hi, honey," his wife said when he walked through the back door into the kitchen. She glanced up from the salad she was making. "You look like hell. Bad day?"

  Joseph grunted an affirmative. He kissed her on top of the head as she went back to her work. "I fired McLane today."

  Katherine nodded but did not reply. She knew enough from her husband’s history of remarks that the arrogant bastard deserved it. She’d met Richard McLane once at an office party, shortly before the company converted from private industry to that wastebasket category known to the layperson as classified. She had never liked the man — he’d had a sort of I-know-things-that-you-don’t tone in his voice and a ferret-like gleam in his eye that had rubbed her the wrong way.

  "The in-laws?" Joseph asked as he fished a beer from the refrigerator.

  "Carol and Mitchell aren’t here yet. Dan arrived early on his motorcycle. He, John, and Steve are out somewhere."

  Joseph nodded and took a long swallow of his Miller Genuine Draft as he sat at the kitchen table.

  Joseph and Katherine’s two sons, John and Steve, were something of an enigma to their parents. Katherine had been an English professor before retiring to raise her family, and Joseph balanced his hardware talents with his business management skills — both of which he still used daily, regardless of the alterations to his company — but neither of their sons had yet to find what Joseph would call direction.

  John was in his Junior year at the University, supposedly studying Literature, but all Joseph ever heard him talk about were things like the occult and magic and the practical potentials thereof. He insisted that magic was the answer to the mysteries of the White Flash, the Seven Stars, and the Paranormal Effect. Regardless of the changes the world had seen over the past five years, Joseph still wasn’t quite prepared to swallow that.

  Steve, on the other hand, had thus far put off going to college, and still lived at home. It hadn’t bothered Joseph at first — he himself had taken a year off between high school and college and later again before pursuing his Masters — but one year had turned into two, and so far as Joseph knew, Steve wasn’t taking any steps to prevent there being a third. And Steve might not have spent his time studying old, arcane texts of necromancy, but he lived and breathed Judo, gymnastics, and kick-boxing. J
oseph had absolutely no problem with his son’s athletic pursuits — Steve’s gymnastics coach once said that Steve could have been an Olympic contender if he had set his heart to it — but how long could a career last in any of these fields? And Steve hadn’t even talked about an actual career in them, anyway.

  It all boiled down to this: Joseph was a self-made business man whose drive and ambition had sparked and shined long before he was even able to shave, and John and Steve ... were not.

  As if in response to his silent musings, Joseph heard John’s car pull into the driveway. The three boys were laughing heartily about something — judging from the sound of their snickers, it was probably a dirty joke — as they advanced upon the house. They stormed through the front door with a flurry of noise that Joseph’s headache monster gobbled like a rare delicacy.

  "Hey, Dad, Mom," Steve said as he strode into the kitchen. He was a fine looking young man with light brown hair that hung past his collar and lively hazel-brown eyes. His years of physical training gave him an impressive physique, solid and graceful without seeming too massive. Steve was also one of those people who was even stronger than he looked ... meaning, of course, that he had been able to beat his old man at arm wrestling by age twelve. "When’s dinner?"