Brett gave a spastic shake of his head, holding his chest with both hands, almost catching his breath now, looking at me with clear warning. There was no love lost between the two of us but he thought I was insane to take on his dad.
Me too.
The Dad turned to face me, Brett forgotten. He was tall like my dad. Clearly, when he was younger he may have been athletic, but it was submerged underneath the hundred pounds he had on me. His fists were loosely clenched but ready for action, his gut hanging over stained blue jeans with a matching T-shirt, equally disgusting.
A prize to be won.
I let that thing that was always curled tight inside me out. I didn't mean to, but like a caged animal let loose, it responded to my distress signal. I was in trouble with no plan whatsoever except that I didn't want to watch some kid my age, even a dickhead like Brett, get the shit beat out of him by his dad.
He stalked toward me, all shadow and menace. Then, all the little dirt mounds in the lawn exploding, dirt geysered like miniature volcanoes erupting; raining back down on all of us.
Brett's arms fell to his side and he sorta landed on his butt right where he was. The breath I was holding slid out of me in a long line of relief. The whispering had stopped and the lawn had blown up and... I was feeling... fine.
I heard a noise behind me and it was Jade.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” I asked, clearly vexed that she was in sight now! Double-duh!
“Look.” She pointed.
All around the lawn, moles (big ones) were standing at attention, there reflective eyes like small suns, staring at me. Brett's dad just got angrier.
“I killed all you,” he shrieked at them. “You're dead!”
Priceless, of course they were dead, you dolt. I could hear their thoughts, waiting for me to tell them something, a directive I intuited.
Before I had time to do anything, the dad switched his attention from the Army of Moles, to Jade.
“Aren't you that upstart LeClerc girl? The one that gave her daddy all the trouble with them cops?” He glared at her and she shrank away behind me.
The slug started making his way to where Jade and I were standing at the edge of the split and cracked sidewalk. Moles stood vigil, their collective eyes watching me.
He was almost on us and Brett gave one more effort to deflect what he saw as a Big Problem by shouting for us to run. My heart was a jack hammer in my chest. I wasn't gonna run from this guy.
Jade's hand clenched and bunched on the back of my hoodie, a lifeline.
“Sounds to me like you two are in my boy's class; losers,” he said with certainty. “And I know how to take care of that, yes indeedy I do, I'll clean that attitude right out of ya both.”
He moved forward as if to grab the two of us, and I let a little juice funnel through the moles, which looked exactly like big-ass rats with pointy faces. Wait a second, these weren't moles I thought: as they literally swam across the grass as one unit, their fur a slick and deep chocolate tipped with a smoke-gray against the vomit-lawn. These were... I searched for the name, gophers.
Jerked out of my reverie by a hand clenching my shirt together with my hoodie and my toes clearing the sidewalk, I didn't struggle but hung like a dead weight as Jade squealed and pulled me back. I appreciated her efforts but this guy had the manic strength that only the truly drunk have. I was betting he would be hella sore tomorrow, but for beating up teenagers, he was about inebriated enough to make a go of it.
A gopher sailed across the remaining two feet flying like a bat with wings, landing on the vulnerable back of the neck area, making a tight “C” shape with its body. He bit The Dad's neck as it made purchase.
Brett's dad dropped me like a box of rocks, trying to do a quick release by jerking the gopher off his neck with his hands. I could feel its mind, with solitary purpose: to protect me. All it knew was that I was master and it would be torn asunder rather than allow harm.
I turned. Like an invisible string my power slid down that line, finding eager recipients, the remaining gophers launching themselves at various parts of The Dad. He did a little dance, round and round he hopped trying to divest himself of the troublesome gophers. They were single-minded, biting, nipping and defleshing Mr. Mason.
I stood swaying, feeling like I held a great baseball in my hand with the absolute knowledge that the perfect pitch was within reach. Jade's hand was pressed against the small of my back, the gophers making satisfied mewling sounds as their teeth connected with flesh.
“Caleb... stop it,” Jade said, voice raised above the crunching and gnashing of teeth, “you'll kill him.”
Instead of being filled with the expected horror of The Dad's death at the hands of my gophers, there was a distinct satisfaction. I knew that his life hung in the balance of my action and it wasn't worth it.
Brett was suddenly beside me. “Please,” he said, one hand still on his chest where his dad had hit him, “he's bad but he's still my dad.”
Brett the poet.
I felt the power leaking out into and through all the gophers and made the ginormous effort to rein it in. For a moment...nothing happened. I was suddenly scared that this thing I had was bigger than I could manage, unwieldy. Then something clicked into place and I was in control again. The gophers looked at me, some of their teeth glistening wetly black with The Dad's blood.
Rest, I thought, and gave a mental shove of “juice” that felt like turning off a big, humming battery.
The gophers, my gophers, swung their heads to consider me one last time before swarming back to their mounds, sinking into them, like water finding a cleft in a rock.
Jade, Brett and I walked over to where Brett's dad lay, groaning. Blood pooled around his body, pretty much everywhere. I stood, without sympathy, the lingering emotion of wanting to end his existence still there, still waiting.
I knew that I could call them back.
“Thanks,” Brett said in an hollow voice.
“What do you think, Caleb?” Jade asked.
“He'll live,” I said.
I looked at Brett, all out out of words. Jade and I walked off together.
I turned around just as we were almost out of sight and saw Brett standing there, over his dad's body, staring at me as if he'd seen a ghost.
CHAPTER 13
I woke up naturally, that means no-damn-alarm. Throwing my hands behind my head, a long sigh escaped me. Oh joy, the weekend was here and I didn't have a thing to do today. Okay, not true, I did have some ridiculously insignificant homework.
Last night came crashing down on me a minute later. Brett, his psycho dad and the gophers. I'd pulse the Js later, update them on the newest mess. Did this change things for tomorrow? Maybe that was the bigger thing.
I heard Mom-sounds coming from downstairs. I glanced at my suspended monitor, the glowing numbers read ten-forty. Huh, I didn't sleep in too late today. I stood up too fast and swayed, dizzy. Pancakes were the cure for that!
I stumbled over to my door, kicking the clothes out of the way so it would open.
Mom looked up from the griddle as I rounded the corner.
“Hey pal,” she greeted.
“Hey.”
Mom gave me a sideways glance. “Little rough today?”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
“So how did it go last night?” I knew she meant about walking Jade home.
Dad walked in, wearing pajama bottoms that looked a lot like mine.
He plopped down opposite me, resting his head in both hands. We looked at each other and he gave a chuckle. Family telepathy, I guess.
“Yes, how did things go?”
I threw out what happened. “Brett's dad was beating on him and I got in the middle by raising an Army of Gophers.”
Mom put the plate of pancakes in front of me without a word. I poured hot syrup over the top, then passed it to Dad.
The parents considered me, I stared back. They didn't look shocked anymore, maybe they had passed on to the numb s
tage. I bet they wished they had a kid that had low level psychokinesis. Ya know, somebody that could shut a door that was left open or some random thing. But they had me instead.
I told them everything, we'd have to deal with it. The obedience of the gophers intrigued Dad. Mom was a little shocked at my indifference about Brett's dad's life.
“Why should I care?” I asked, unruffled.
“You've been raised to think of others, Caleb.”
“Mom's right. We cannot condone willful sabotage of life Caleb.”
Here comes the but.
Dad looked at Mom for a long moment. She sat down at the kitchen table, resting her elbows on its beaten surface.
“I understand you intervened because your friend was in trouble.”
“He isn't my friend,” I clarified.
“Yes, true, but, he was someone that was in danger. I commend your,” Dad paused here,“...bravery in the face of danger.”
Mom rolled her eyes.
Dad gave her a quick look but she was unimpressed.
“It was a good thing, what you did, but, you could have killed him.” She spread her hands out, fingers splayed, right?
I couldn't argue with her there. I had felt what it was to control the dead, I knew what they wanted, what I wanted of them.
“Is his dad going to be okay, do you think?” Mom asked and Dad nodded.
I shrugged. “He was the one beating on his kid and from what I heard Brett say, the mom too. If he goes to the cops, how will he explain it?”
“Yes,” Dad said in a relieved tone. “A conundrum to be sure.”
When I looked unsure, Dad explained, “A puzzler. You may have gotten that contextually.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to know for sure. Just the words around it aren't always enough.”
“I like that you ask, son.”
Once in awhile I was slick.
“So... it would stand to reason that we need some target practice, the sooner the better,” Dad said. “Especially in light of recent events.”
“What?” I asked.
“You know, we go out and practice, and you gain control”
Okay. “When? Today?” I asked.
“No better time than the present. I don't have anything on my schedule.” He gestured to his casual pajama attire.
Mom was wearing hers too. She'd wear them all the time if she could. I'd be hotter than hell if I wore mine all the time.
I took a bite of the still-steaming pancakes and Dad waited for my response. I just nodded, my cheek distended into a sideways hill with pancakes. I gulped a huge swallow of milk, the whole great ball o' food slid down to the cavern.
Mom got up and flipped Dad's pancakes.
I raised my eyebrows. “I'm going all out,” he said.
Dad didn't usually have pancakes, he didn't want the dreaded shelf. I looked at his gut and thought it was okay, for an old guy. I told him so.
“Thanks, Caleb, you know just what to say to make me feel better.” Mom and he smiled at each other.
What did I say?
****
The car ride to the cemetery didn't take long. Hell, the Js and I could walk it pretty fast. Dad had his pulse to document... whatever. I was nervous. I had never tried to make anything happen. It always just jumped out in the middle of some psychotic event. But after thinking about it, I do remember using the gophers to hurt The Dad, Brett's dad. I frowned. I had made them rise but that had not been on purpose. The rest I had kinda steered, trying not to crash.
Mom turned around in the front seat. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“I don't know if I can, ya know, make anything happen.”
Dad's eyes met mine in the rear view mirror, the brown eyes a mirror of my own. “Don't be nervous, Caleb.” His eyes traveled back to the road as he was driving, the trees rushed past us like a green highway in the sky.
“I just don't want you guys to go to all this trouble, and I can't...” I struggled with the word.
“Perform?” Dad asked.
“Yeah. That covers it.”
“Don't worry about us, Caleb, we're not the enemy,” Mom paused, glancing at Dad then looking back at me, “we just want you to gain control of this... quickly.”
I got that, but what if I couldn't do anything? It was broad daylight for God's sake! Dad laughed and told me he didn't think the setting needed to be creepy for things to happen. Mom smiled, I relaxed and looked out the window at the gray day.
Dad took a left into Scenic Hill Cemetery. The same scrolling gate from that first night framed the entrance; it was not so eerie in the daytime. As much as a mile away the whispering had grown louder. At the gate it was a dull roar. Like a washing machine you had to scream over.
Mom asked what was happening and I told her.
“So it's like 'whispering'?” she asked.
“Yes and no. I don't know, it's hard to describe. It's like that thing that you and Dad talk about... white noise?” Dad had the car parked, thumbing off the pulse ignition, powering the car down. “But you guys say that noise is like a good thing.”
“You're saying the quality is different?” Dad asked.
“If you mean type, then yeah. It's way different. Like something is going to happen, that something needs to escape.”
Dad looked at me with that somber expression, Word of the day baby, somber means gloomy, depressing, dismal). But I knew from experience that he was definitely just serious, not sad.
“This seems wrong on a lot of levels, Kyle,” Mom said.
“Yes, it probably is. But I can't have our son running around raising creatures for his personal killing army. There needs to be some control, some lessons learned. Better that he practices, with our supervision, than become truly threatened at some future point and not have the tools in which to effectively deter the problem. Or, an irrevocable consequence.”
My zombies killing the populace at large.
Mom didn't have a rebuttal for Dad. He was the logic-man.
Dad circled to the back, pulsing open the trunk. He grabbed his pulse and turned to me. His pulse was a specialty version. A tri-pulse that could record, interact and take stills, I bet it could wipe your butt if you asked it to.
“I thought we'd start with the familiar and see if you could raise someone we knew.”
Okay... surreal, but okay.
Mom's hand flew to her heart. “Oh God, Kyle, are you kidding?”
He didn't look like he was.
“I just hadn't really thought about using a relative.”
I watched her gulp like it hurt.
I did a rare thing, putting a hand on her shoulder, our eyes so close. “It's me having to do it Mom, not you. Better that it's somebody we knew, right?”
Her hand cupped the side of my face, a smile breaking through like sun sliding out from behind clouds. “You're being the brave one and me being anxious isn't helpful.”
“But your fear is not his fear, right Caleb?” Dad said.
“No, I'm not afraid of using it. It feels good... that's scary.” I wiped off my sweating palms on my jeans, glancing around I saw that we were all wearing the same thing, uniforms for dead people raising! A cackle of laughter escaped me and the parents gave me an odd look.
“Sorry, the whole thing seems a little...” I trailed off and Mom finished, “surreal?”
I nodded. “Yeah... that.”
Dad smiled and with the tri-pulse in hand we headed over the path of stones and winding road that led to our family plot.
We arrived at a slight knoll. I had visited before when I was little but it'd been awhile and it felt fuzzy in my mind. Like a dandelion seed that once chased and captured, blows away, leaving not a trace behind.
I looked at the granite markers in front of me. My hair tumbled into my eyes and I flipped it back, where it instantly settled back into position. Mom frowned. I broke the stare, looking at the headstones again.
Mom sank down to her knees and ran her right hand over the
engraved lettering:
Margaret “Maggie” Doyle, Beloved Wife-Mother-Grandmother, RIP; born 1935, died 2015, aged 80 years.
Huh, she died the year I was born.
A tear escaped and she withdrew her hand. “Gran was a good woman.”
Dad agreed, “Yes she was.”
The power swelled, one whisper above all the rest.
“She wants to be free of the ground,” I said.
“What?” Mom's head whipped around, hair falling in her eyes. “She's speaking to you?”
I hated explaining the weird stuff to people that didn't have it, but it was her gran and all. “No... yes, not exactly.” I sighed. “I guess it's more of an impression of needs or wants or feelings, I don't know.”
“Well, I guess the dead make choices too,” Dad said.
That was the first smart thing I'd heard anyone say. Actually, that was exactly it. I was the thing allowing them that need, or whatever it was, release, expression.
“Yeah, it's not just me, they want to be free, and say things and have one more chance or something. I'm somebody that can help them help themselves.”
“You're a facilitator. Fascinating,” Dad murmured, hand on chin.
“Kyle,” Mom hissed, “this is no time to ruminate about the schematics. This is Gran we're disturbing.”
Mom stood up, looking up at Dad, who was quite a bit taller. But Mom never looks short, she always looks vital.
“Listen buster,” she pointed a finger at Dad, oh-no the dreaded tone, “this is NOT one of your science experiments, this is Caleb and Gran.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, all intense eyes and huffy body stance.
“I don't know another way to be Alicia.”
Huh, Dad used mom's real name, he meant business.
“Well, tone it down, would you?”
He slowly grinned. “I'll make a supreme effort.”
Mom looked like that would be the last thing he did.
The whisper from Gran was a steady thing, it had a vibration all its own. I was starting to get a signature from different people. Everyone was different and now I could sense those differences. Gran's had a familiar quality about it, I didn't know exactly what or why. I honed in on that and let a tendril of my power uncoil. It felt a little like the gophers but different, more complex. Their minds had been one mind to me, simple. Hers felt like it had a complicated series of thoughts and distractions. A dead brain... but somehow alive.
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