“Does that seem like a good idea now?” she asked.
“No way.” I smiled, I couldn't help it.
Dad clapped his hands together, we all jumped. “This is all well and good but we need to discuss what happened, the possibilities.”
Tiffany and I looked at Dad with puzzled expressions. What were we supposed to think about? Gran was back, she helped out and I wasn't on my own with AFTD.
Dad turned to Tiffany. “Can you raise cadavers?”
“Zombies? No.” She looked at me for clarity.
She could do some other stuff, but not The Biggie.
“Sometimes I know where murdered people are. And,” she looked my way. “I can sense the dead.”
She must mean hear them, ya know, hear them. I told her so.
She shivered. “No, it's not like those loud voices you hear.” She looked at me with a grudging admiration, “that'd be bad.”
“It's like impressions of their feelings or thoughts, I don't know, it's hard to explain.”
We shared a moment of complete understanding.
“Jade told me about that bird thing outside of gym.”
Tiffany looked confused for a second then did an ah-huh. “Oh yeah! I almost forgot about that, LeClerc, right? Aren't you guys going out?”
“Yeah, that's the girl.”
Was there another Jade in our entire school? Totally rare name. Then a whisper wafted through my head: a girl with a “...name of stone.” That's right, Gran had said I needed to protect her. She must've been talking about Jade.
Tiffany was snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Hello, wake up!”
“Sorry,” I said. “Just thinking.” Geez, pushy thing.
I glanced at my parents. Mom said, “We have some things to talk about.”
“We do but I wanna,” I grabbed my pulse out of my back pocket, Tiffany did too, “add Tiffany to my pulse-contact before I forget.”
I thumbed my pulse and thought, add contact.
Tiffany walked over and laid her thumb on the pad and her contact info. appeared:
555.455.9830: Tiff Weller
“Tiff?” I asked.
“Yeah, I hate 'Tiffany'.”
“Why? Tiffany is a swell name,” Dad commented.
We both looked at him. I gave him the double-lame parent stare. Tiffany looked equally disgusted.
Dad said, “Alright... brother, chillax!”
“Dad, don't try okay?”
A ridiculous lack of coolness.
Tiffany recovered and looked around for the scraps of her hoodie. Seeing that the hood and armpits of her hoodie were beyond repair, I took mine off (the teenage uniform, hoodie, jeans and tennis shoes), handing it to her.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I'll get it back on Monday.”
“I don't know, we may not test in the same building.”
That was true. It was alphabetical. Hart, Weller; probably not.
“Tuesday then.”
“Okay.”
“So, I have a huge favor to ask,” I began.
“What?” she asked with barely contained skepticism.
“Can you guys keep this thing a secret?” I gave her time to think.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, you worried you're gonna have to go away, to that special school?”
I nodded. She knew what the deal was.
“Like Parker, right,” she expounded.
“Yeah, like that.”
She shuddered. “I'm so glad that I don't have the effed-up corpse-raising to deal with.”
We stood silently, thinking how much it sucked that I did.
“That was pretty cool that you raised your grandma.”
“Great-grandma.”
“Did ya know her?”
“No, she died the year I was born.”
“It was pretty tight how strong she was.” Bry rubbed his mouth.
“Yes, she showed remarkable strength,” Dad agreed.
“What grade are you in?” I asked Bry.
“Sophomore.”
I nodded.
“What did you do on your AP Test?” I was sorta curious to see what he had, being Tiff's brother and all.
“Math-Science,” Bry said.
“What focus?” Dad asked.
“Abstractions and Patterns.”
Dad palmed his chin thoughtfully, “Really... hmm.”
“Dad...”
“Right! Back on task,” Dad said.
Tiff had wandered over to the grave to get a closer look, shaking her head.
“I've seen this on the pulsevision, but to see it done in front of you, how we put her back and now it looks like it never happened.” She turned to Mia, silent all this time, “Come over here and check this out.”
“I'm not going over there.” Mia folded her arms across her chest, fuming.
Tiff sighed, “Okay, I am sorry I called you an ass...”
“... potato...” Mia supplied.
“... right... you pissed me off, bailing like that.”
She turned to me with that top shelf eye rolling routine she did. I struggled not to laugh. She was kinda funny, tomboyish... smart too. The story that Jade told me didn't agree with this Tiff that I had met.
“What had you all emo about the bird?”
She looked my way, then off into space for a second. “It was the first time I heard them. And the whispering,” she looked back at me, “it's nothin' like what you hear, but it was pretty creepy.”
I nodded, that made more sense, I was freaked out the first time too. Can anyone say, Biology? Über-disgusting class. I suppressed a shudder. I knew I wouldn't be getting a good grade out of that.
We looked a little longer at Gran's perfect grave. Mia stayed away. The day had blown itself out and the wind was gone, leaving behind a pregnant stillness.
We said our goodbyes with assurances of not telling anyone about my issue. The parents didn't have to tell me that the more people that knew I had all five points of AFTD, the sooner I would get attention from the wrong people.
We left the cemetery, Mom giving a final glance at Gran's grave. Her Gran was truly lost, not just to death, but with a different memory superimposed over the old.
CHAPTER 15
Riding in the car seemed longer because Dad wanted to discuss everything to death.
“I suppose it isn't too redundant I mention the timing was less than ideal when Officers Garcia and McGraw made an appearance.”
Mom answered, “Yes, that was the worst of luck.”
A puzzled expression dominated Dad's face. “What intrigued me was they didn't ask any pertinent questions regarding what experiments I may be conducting.” He drove on, thoughtful and silent.
“It terrifies me to think that those two are hanging around like sharks, scenting blood, waiting for any confirmation that Caleb exhibits AFTD. I mean, corpse-raising.”
I had her there. “Mom...” I raised my eyebrows, “... is that the politically correct word?”
Mom blushed. “Cadaver-Manipulator.”
Those words had the ring of finality.
Dad turned to her, surprised. I wasn't, she came up with the most obscure crap on the planet.
“I have been doing some reading on the subject. What little I could find, doesn't seem to be much available. There isn't that much more written than what John gave Caleb,” she said.
Dad gave me eye contact in the rear view mirror then his eyes fell away as he turned on the left hand turn signal. I'd pulse Jade when we got home, the Js needed to know too. Another complication... they just keep on coming. Questions pinged around in my head speeding up, unanswered: could I put something back I raised? I'd done it before and it hadn't been this huge-ass problem. For the first time I thought that it would have been awesome to be able to talk to Jeffrey Parker. He would definitely have answers.
The car glided smoothly into the stall as the door folded down behind us. The engine purred to a stop and Dad turned around in his se
at, all of our harnesses automatically unlocking and retracting simultaneously.
His face was oh so serious. “What you have here, Caleb, is too big to go untrained. I don't know who to trust but we need someone to help you hone your skills.”
I barked out some laughter. The Parents started.
“No offense, Dad, but who even knows anything? I mean, who can we trust? I know they'll send me to the Kent Paranormal High but what good will that do if I am hiding what I can fully do? You heard Garcia.” I looked down at my hands, clenched and tightly folded. I loosened them purposely, the tension tightly coiled. “He said that he had to, by law, turn me in.”
Mom and Dad felt the weight of my words, their message reflected on their faces.
Dad said, “I have read the percentage of the student population for the paranormals in the high school you'll be attending. I assume you'll be attending,” he flung a hand out, of course I would be there, “and the AFTDs are the smallest in number.”
I looked at Dad and? so?
“The point is, there will be others like you and they have a trained AFTD teacher that can help you gain a measure of control. They have detailed literature...”
I broke in, “... how does that help me? I mean, if I can't tell anyone what I can do?”
“The why is very important. Knowledge is power, Caleb. Just learning some practical application can speed the process of discipline and control.”
Logical as always.
He continued, “The officers, well that is another matter entirely. An unrelated matter.”
Mom opened the door and we followed.
Walking into the house I was struck by how odd it seemed. The parents stood completely still, the fine hairs on my body rising.
Dad turned his face to mine, his eyes too wide in their sockets, wild, and shook his head, no noise.
I nodded.
That's when I noticed, everything was overturned and messy. What the Sam Hill was this?
Dad grabbed the baseball bat to the left of the door that leads from the garage to the inside of the house. He held it tightly in his left hand, his knuckles showing white in a bloodless grip, keeping it close and slightly behind his body.
Mom and I stayed behind Dad. He coasted along, his butt to the wall, just turning the corner his body stopped blocking our line of sight, and the living room came into view.
We should have worried about intruders but the room was in such disarray we were stopped in our tracks.
My eyes roamed the mess, some things destroyed. All Mom's indoor plants drooped like sad streamers from a party, discarded.
Mom started to rush forward and Dad clotheslined her and the breath fell out of her in a whoosh. “No Ali, it's not safe,” he said, apologetic but firm.
Mom's hands were wrapped around Dad's forearm where it was still barring her way. He looked into her eyes, big as fifty cent pieces, and she straightened up, his arm falling away.
Dad's briefcase and pulse-top were apart and papers were strewn about like confetti. His pulse-top lay open, the blue screen-of-death staring blankly back, a winking eye that never closed. Dad's mouth tightened into a hard line.
“Wait here,” he said, walking off down the hallway.
It was the longest five minutes of my life.
Mom and I stood together while Dad cruised the house, searching for the A-holes that had violated our house. What could I do to protect Mom?
Finally, Dad came back, face grim.
“They're not here, but we're not staying here tonight.”
“We'll have to pulse the police.” Mom walked over to the Fam-pulse.
“Wait!” Mom's thumb wavered above the touch pad, one eyeball hidden by a stray clump of hair.
“What if Garcia comes?” I asked.
“Yes, most interesting,” Dad said and Mom humphed at that. “What I mean is, we have done nothing wrong. It chronicles that we may be the ones in danger, not the people hiding things or perpetuating crimes.”
“Smart,” Mom agreed, her noodle no longer in a twist.
“Sometimes,” Dad agreed.
“What about,” and I gestured to the house being torn apart, “our house?”
Dad nodded to Mom and she hit the touch pad.
I walked over and stood behind her shoulder watching the words assert themselves on the screen.
911, your emergency? 911 Dispatch
My house has been vandalized. Alicia Hart
Your house number is 26503, Kensington Heights, is this accurate? 911 Dispatch
Yes. Alicia Hart.
Our sensors do not indicate bodily damage. Is there need for an ambulance at your dwelling? 911 Dispatch.
No. Alicia Hart.
Police response will arrive momentarily. 911 Dispatch.
Please stay on your pulse-phone in case intruders re-enter dwelling. 911 Dispatch.
Mom rolled her eyes. She hated all the automation.
She thought again, Connected- Alicia Hart. This would allow mom to move around.
“Mom, it's a pulse conversation.”
“I'm just that old-fashioned,” she said.
Made no sense to me. Who cared, as long as the information was being conveyed.
Dad was hanging on to the bat loosely. I mentioned the bat could go away. He looked down at it blankly, forgetting he'd ever had it. Nodding, he put it back in the garage. That's all we needed, Garcia and the goon squad showing up and getting a load of dad with bat in hand.
Then it struck me; my room.
Racing up my coffin step staircase I flung open the door, heaving a big sigh of relief. Everything looked exactly as it normally did.
Dad and Mom came up behind me, staring at my room, as if for the first time. Dad made a gasping noise, like a fish out of water. “Is this,” his eyes landed on one mess to the next, a frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad, “normal?”
I nodded vigorously. “Yeah, doesn't look like they made it this far.”
Dad kinda had a spacey, buzzed look.
“What?”
Dad looked at Mom. “He really... his room...” Dad paused, uncertain how to continue.
Mom saved him. “Yes honey, I have told you he never listens about cleaning.”
“I thought you were just...” he trailed off.
I helpfully supplied the word, “ranting?”
Mom squinted her eyes at me. “Watch it, pal.”
I surveyed my room, the pillowcase for my bed in a tightly wadded ball at the corner with the bare pillow bunched up next to it. I had a fake wood floor but my clothes were all over it so no décor to worry about. My desk was at the end of the room, like a dark exclamation point, where the ceiling and eave junction met. A precariously balanced mess of candy wrappers, pizza boxes and different varieties of soda pop cans all neatly crushed and waiting to run out of space so I would then be forced to throw them away. I frowned, thinking that may have to be addressed soon. My dirty clothes hamper was empty of clothes but was a great holder for anything that was not actual trash or laundry. Last months' completed homework, that was never turned in, resided in the graveyard of my hamper.
Dad looked an unspoken question to Mom. “Yep, he's ours.”
Dad shook his head again, walking out of my room and downstairs without word.
“What's the matter with Dad?”
“He's had a shock honey.”
“Yeah, the losers that wrecked our house.”
“Well I think it's a toss up between what happened in our house and him discovering that your room looks like it was ransacked.”
“But my room wasn't messed with.” I didn't get it.
“I think that may be the shock. That this is the normal state of your room.”
Huh. Parents.
Suddenly, I heard the pulse-chime, the cops.
Show time.
I came downstairs and two new cops were in our foyer, guns standing naked in their hands. That one thing made me more nervous than anything could.
When Mom and I appeared, they turned, their guns at the ready.
Dad said, “... Whoa guys, it's just the family.”
The woman cop, who was tiny, looked reluctant to re-holster her weapon. She turned to Dad with a husky voice that didn't match her, “Sir, we need to secure the house.”
“Of course, go ahead,” Dad replied.
She of the small build and tough attitude gave a curt nod to her partner. Her gaze lingered on me for a second, then they went down the hall, guns drawn.
We watched them as they reappeared around corners, magically disappearing again, exploring every part of the house, finally coming to stand in front of us. An awkward silence ensued.
Dad filled it, “So Ali and Caleb, this is,” Dad nodded toward the male police officer, “Officer Ward.”
“Chuck,” he corrected in an automatic way, winking. I gave a slight smile, duly noted, turned to the woman, struck again by how young she looked, “and Officer Roberta Gale.”
She didn't correct us.
Officer Gale stepped forward, toward me. I stepped back. Dad turned a puzzled expression her way.
She smiled, but not like she meant it.
“What are you?” she asked.
Huh? “What do you mean?”
Then she let me have it, which wasn't anything like it had been with Tiff. With her it was a soft breeze, a gentle thing. This was like someone took my heart and squeezed it until it burst through their fingers, the breath left my body, I sagged to my knees, sucker punched.
Mom screamed, “Caleb!”
She reached out to grab me, I held out my palm, warding her off... damn.
With her extra creepy running through me I reached down where that special power always lay and prayed for enough to deal with this.
The power rose to my call, a life force welling up inside, pouring out of my body like a vessel. I Visualized a spear and aimed it at tough chick Gale. It left me and I let it. I’d never used it as a weapon, but she'd hurt me and I was going to defend myself.
She flew bodily from the floor as if shoved by an invisible hand, landed flat against the wall. A high-pitched whistle escaping in a rush, leaving her mouth opening and closing like a trout out of water.
Officer Ward's gun cleared the holster, again, pointing it at me. He said out of the side of his mouth, eyes never leaving my face, “Bobbi, what's this about? Tell me right now, so I don't have to hold my gun on a teenager. I hate this paranormal crap,” he muttered.
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