The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  "Maybe." Chris paused, turning in his seat to determine if his mother had awoke from her nap in the rear bunk. "It’s just that, I’m getting so good at it, I don't know if there is anything I can't do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, over the last couple of days, when I have been sitting up here, I look out at a car ahead of us and picture it changing lanes. Then after a while - it does. But there was no reason for the driver to change lanes. It wasn't like they were passing a car or something, it was me. I thought about it and they did it."

  "Yeah...well that’s not so different than moving a can of Coke or the other things you apparently can do, a car is just bigger."

  "But Dad it is different. I could have wrenched the car over from lane to lane, but once I had done that, I think that the car would have been out of control. Usually when I do things it happens in an instant - a quick change. A car moving at sixty miles an hour would be out of control the moment I released it. I think it would be anyway. Or at least it would wobble as the person driving it fought for control. But that doesn't happen."

  "So...what does that mean?"

  "It means it’s not me actually moving the car. It’s the driver."

  "You mean to say that you can control what people think and do?"

  "Yeah, I think I can. Back at school I made a kid, or at least I think I made a kid, pour a plate of spaghetti on top of his head. It never made sense to me before. Because I thought all I could do was move things, not make other people move things."

  "And now you think you can?"

  "Yes."

  "But how can that be? You’d actually have to do something inside of their brain."

  "Maybe...but I don't think that is how it works. When Ben Able poured the spaghetti onto his head, I had to think about him doing it over and over again. At the time I didn't know what would happen, but he did exactly what I had pictured."

  "Did you get in trouble for making him spill his spaghetti."

  "Dad!" Chris turned towards his father and laughed. "He didn't just spill his spaghetti, he picked up his whole plate and poured it on his own head."

  "You’re kidding!"

  "It was great! You should have seen it!" Chris paused in momentary reflection of that wonderful moment. "Anyway, I didn't get in trouble and now, thinking about making the drivers change lanes, is just like picturing Ben pour the spaghetti on his head.

  "How do you do it?"

  "Well, when I make something move like adjusting the bracket under the TV..."

  "You better not be messing up my TV!" Bob exclaimed glancing sharply at his son.

  "Dad! I’m not hurting the TV by adjusting the bracket - it’s supposed to move." He stared at his father for a moment to emphasise his certainty on that point and then continued. "When I want to move the TV, I force my mind to picture what angle I want it to move to, but I also get all kinds of other options too. Removing it entirely from the bracket, turning it on, adjusting the volume...things like that. But, when I get the right picture I kind of lock it in and say - there, that one. And that’s what happens. With the cars it’s kind of different. I picture what I want to happen, but I do the same picture over and over again until all the pictures in my mind are the same and I never say - there. I just let them flow, on and on until it happens - the driver moves the car over to where I’m picturing."

  "Oh." Bob said, not knowing what more to say.

  "I guess somehow I’m telling the driver to do what I want him to do."

  "How can you communicate with them? I mean, how far away are they, when you try to make them change lanes?"

  "I don't know. A half mile maybe."

  "And you are convinced that the drivers changed lanes because you wanted them to?"

  "Yeah pretty much, I tried it a bunch of times." Chris reached forward to adjust the air-conditioning vent by his knee.

  "And every time the car moved to the lane you picked?"

  "Well, it takes me longer to make someone do something, than if I did it myself. It takes me maybe a second or a second and a half to get the right picture in my mind when I want to swivel the TV. But I have to think a lot longer to make a driver move his car."

  "So, sometimes it doesn't work?"

  "No...sometimes I just have to concentrate longer. Maybe it has something to do with distance. Usually when I make something move myself, it’s really close. Maybe because the cars are further away it takes me longer."

  "How do you know these cars didn't just move from one lane to another, because the driver just happened to want to change lanes?"

  Chris turned in his seat to face his father his ear pressed against the high, seat back as he tried to look out the driver's side window. "Any cars beside us?"

  Bob automatically looked in the big mirror mounted on the outside of the door beside him. "No, why?"

  "Nothing." Chris waved his hand in dismissal and returned his vision to the road in front. "I tried it eleven times."

  "Eleven times?"

  "Yeah."

  "And each time the car moved to a different lane?"

  "Yep."

  "And this is something you can do now, but you couldn’t do before?" Bob asked, as his hands pulled on the steering wheel.

  "I think I could do it before, but didn't know how to make it work."

  "Chris? Do you think it’s a good idea to be trying out new things, when you haven't totally learned to control your other abilities?"

  "I don't know, I never try to do things I don't think I can do. It’s like something in my brain says - you can do that - and I try it and it works."

  "So now you think you can move cars from lane to lane?"

  "Yes."

  Bob shook his head. "Well...eleven tries is a good number of tests. Was that eleven out of eleven? Or did you try fifteen times and it only happened eleven times?"

  "Eleven out of eleven and now it is twelve out of twelve."

  "Twelve...what do you mean?"

  Chris turned to his a father, his serious expression breaking into a wide grin. A grin that got wider and wider, his blue eyes watering as he broke into laughter. "Why are you in the left lane?"

  Bob gasped, wrenching himself fully upright in his seat, his knuckles whitening as his hands locked on the wheel. "Christ Almighty!" His head moved from side to side as he looked carefully into both mirrors. "Chris, don't you ever..." He looked into the mirrors again.

  "I asked you if there was anyone beside us." The big grin was still on Chris' face, in spite of his father’s panicky outburst.

  Bob flicked on the right turn signal and began to move the big rig back into the proper lane, his face serious. "Chris don't you ever do that again! I could have crushed someone by turning into that lane."

  "I asked you if anyone was there." Chris repeated.

  "That’s not the point. Don't mess around with my driving."

  Chris looked carefully into his Dad's face and realizing there was no humour there, apologised. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to show you I could do it."

  "I don't think that you should be doing any more of this stuff - you’re not supposed to be finding new things to do. You’re supposed to be learning how to manage the problems you already got."

  Chris nodded, staring out the side window at the gravel rushing by below him.

  "And I don't want you ever..." Bob paused for emphasis, ...ever, to mess about with this truck while we are in it. You have risked the lives of your Mother and me as well as yourself."

  Chris nodded again, saying nothing.

  "Chris, do you understand me?" Bob reached over and grasped Chris' shoulder again, much firmer than before. "I don't want you doing anything while we are on the road. I don’t want you messing around with the TV in the back or moving stuff around in the cooler. It's not safe."

  Chris turned towards his father, his eyes lowered. "Okay, I won’t do anything anymore.”

  Bob removed his hand, his eyes focussed on the road ahead. For a few moments neither said anything
and over the gentle rumble of the truck's wheels, Chris heard his Mother turn over in the bunk behind them. "Chris..." Bob began, "it’s just that you scared the shit out of me. I had no recollection of changing lanes. Since this is my job, I just can't have that sort of thing happening. I didn't mean to jump on you so hard."

  "That’s okay." Chris muttered. "I won't do it again."

  "Yes, and I don't think you should do it to anyone else either. They probably feel the same way as I do after it has happened to them."

  Chris nodded and stated solemnly. "I promise I will not make any more drivers change lanes."

  Sharon spoke from behind them. "It’s not quite as much fun as catching Coke cans...is it Bob?."

  EIGHT – TWO

  The next few days passed quickly for the McCarter’s. They arrived in Albuquerque on Thursday night and Bob parked the rig in the parking lot of the large food wholesaler, who had ordered the dried cereal he had picked up in Greensboro. A few blocks away was the tire distributor with the load of tires he had to deliver to Seattle. The cereal came off with a fork-lift, but it took the rest of the day to load the tires, as they had to be loaded on the trailer by hand. Bob unhooked the tractor from the trailer and they drove into town to do laundry, pick up some supplies and re-stock the refrigerator. The tires didn't have to be delivered in Seattle until sometime next week, the shipper had said. So, after leaving Albuquerque, they decided to take a leisurely journey west through Arizona, then north up through California and Oregon to Seattle, Washington. Chris spent most of his time in the back watching his father's collection of Star Trek videos until Sharon could no longer stand the sound of the Captain's voice and she bought him some Sci Fi novels. Chris read all four of them in less than an hour - recited portions of them to his mother, to convince her he had read all of the parts - then continued to work on his Dad's seemingly endless supply of video cassettes.

  Sharon sat up front watching the scenery change from the scrub grasslands of Arizona to the rolling mountains of Southern California. This was like it had been years ago, when they had been younger and more carefree. The three of them ensconced in one or another of Bob's rigs with the highway rolling beneath them. Back then Chris had been not much more than a baby and they had wanted another. The nights, when the truck had been parked and Chris asleep above, had been a carnal orgy. The rumble of the idling diesel adding to the ecstasy of their lovemaking. But the years had moved on and Chris had got older and more difficult to entertain on the long trips. She had got, first part-time, then full time work at a local bookstore. Chris had started school by then and long-distance trips had been impossible except during the school breaks. But it seemed her vacations hardly ever coincided with Chris', and then she had started in the fitness business. Bob had continued trucking, of course, returning home for one weekend in every two. Their passion for each other hadn't abated. It had just been different, more planned: Another child now? No. It would probably be best if we waited until the fall. Wait! I missed taking a pill last week. Where are the condoms? In the dresser. Where? The bottom drawer. Don't forget we have to drive Chris to hockey practice in the morning. Oh God! When is the game? It's at 6:00. What time is it now? 12:30. Damn!

  But, now the three of them were back travelling together, their own need for each other stronger than ever been before. On Sunday night, when they had been sure Chris was sound asleep above them, she and Bob had recaptured that desperate infatuation. Every pore of her body screaming to be enveloped, to be touched to be stroked. Bob above her, his tongue alive within her mouth, his hands like wild things upon her body. Holding, pulling her tight to his chest as if he wanted his whole body to enter her and they to become one. Sharon smiled, they had both needed showers that morning.

  She heard the door of the fridge open and close in the bunk behind her. Turning in her seat, she watched Chris return to his sitting position on the bed. "Don't be drinking too much Coke. Your father doesn't want to stop for another hour or so."

  Chris looked up as his Mother spoke. "That's okay, I won't need to use the can until then and if I do, I don't mind using the toilet under the bunk."

  Sharon nodded and turned back to face the road, "Bob when we stop, I was thinking I should try Beth again. I haven't spoken with her since last Wednesday. It’s been almost a week."

  "I suppose you should..." Bob answered, his eyes on the rear of a tanker-truck, in front of him. "But, you know what she is going to ask you about."

  "Yes. She’s going to want to know what we’re planning to do with Chris."

  "Right, and what are you going to tell her about that?"

  "I don't know. I guess I’ll tell her we haven't made our minds up."

  "And that's the truth." Bob glanced over at Sharon. "But I’m sure Beth won't like that for an answer."

  "I want to talk with her anyway. I'd like to find out more about this new doctor she spoke about."

  "The one back in Detroit?"

  "Yeah, that one. I know Chris doesn't want to go back to Detroit, but Beth did say the doctor was willing to travel to wherever we felt comfortable."

  Bob flipped on his turn signal and pulled into the left lane in preparation to pass the tanker. "And where do you think that should be. I mean, we have been travelling now for a week and we still haven't decided what we should do."

  "I know. I was thinking we should call my parents in Seattle. I was going to call them anyway, when we got closer. Possibly we could stay with them for a while."

  "Yeah, I suppose. But didn't they move into a Condo last year?"

  "Yes, but Mom tells me it is a good-sized unit with three bedrooms."

  Bob paused, his hands tight on the wheel as they moved up beside the tanker. "What do you figure they would think of the idea?"

  "I expect, under the circumstances, they would do whatever I ask of them. After all it’s not like we would be moving in there for months."

  "I suppose..." Bob reached across the dash and turned up the fan on the air conditioner. "...I suppose it would be easier to investigate options if you were living in a house with a phone, an address and all that. But, what we really need to decide, Sharon, is what we want to do for Chris. I mean, do you want to get him some help in order to exorcise the thing, like some sort of demon or train him to hide it and pretend he can't do the things he does?"

  "Is it that simple?"

  "Yeah, I think it is. Lots of kids have handicaps which they overcome. Others have emotional problems and they learn to cope. Chris could do the same."

  "Not many twelve-year-old kids are suddenly able to do what Chris can do. I’m not sure he could just shut it down. Unfortunately, I also believe there is something else involved and sooner or later we will have to deal with that too."

  Chris swung his feet off the bunk and leaned forward between the two seats. "There is. The machine Uncle Charlie brought back to Detroit."

  "That’s what I was referring to." Sharon paused, watching the scenery pass before her, then quietly she asked. "Do you have any ideas of what it is? And why Uncle Charlie would have brought it down from Canada?"

  Chris nodded slowly. "Some... mostly from my reading back in Detroit and the feelings I have. But, I don't know anything for sure."

  "What do you think it is? You probably know more about it than anyone else."

  Chris started slowly. "Well, it’s alien. With medical skills beyond our time. Dr. Murance knew that too, although he didn’t actually say it...”

  Sharon interrupted. “Actually, he did. When you were waiting out in the secretary’s office, he said what had been done to you was beyond any current medical technique.”

  Chris nodded. “Well, I don't know anything for sure, but I’m pretty certain what it did to me, it did on purpose. For a reason only it is aware of. However, I think I’m only one part of a carefully planned strategy. An approach that was planned a long time ago and that has worked before. I think that machine was placed inside the building, thousands and thousands of years ago, but it was
never found."

  "Placed? What do you mean placed?

  "I think it was put there to be discovered at a later date and I also believe there have been others before it."

  "You mean, you think there are other people like you?"

  "No. Not now. But a long time ago, there might have been. I believe others, just like the one Todd and I found, have been discovered before, but thousands of years ago. Possibly, because of the fluctuating water levels that occurred in Northern Ontario as the last glaciers retreated, the one Todd and I found was buried and that wasn’t planned for. Anyway..." Chris paused, his gaze fixated on the road ahead of them. "I think there have been three of these things discovered before and they were instrumental in the development of our civilization. They would have created very powerful, absolutely dominant rulers. Ones that could manipulate the people and other leaders of their time and direct the course of history. This one should have been found earlier, but it wasn't. Now that is has been activated, it is doing exactly what it has been programmed for. It has recruited me and some other people to complete a series of tasks. Things it can't do itself, but are steps towards a goal. A final goal I can only guess at from all the history I have read. A result that will involve a lot of deaths and a great change within our society as we know it."

  "Chris that’s crazy. Where did you come up with that idea?"

  "Mom, do you know how many books I’ve read? Hundreds and hundreds and probably I will read tens of thousands more. That doesn't make me a scholar - yet. But, there are two differences between me and other scholars. First, I remember everything, totally - no exceptions. Second, I read all types of material. History, mathematics, medicine, economics, astronomy, psychology, politics and lots of other topics as well. I’m programmed to search out information in almost all academic fields. How many intellectuals are learned in more than two or three fields?