Death Whispers (Death Series, Book 1)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  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 seat, 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 downst
airs 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.

  Officer Gale wasn't talking just then, thank you very much. But her eyes were on my face, her hands pressed to her chest, as if I had shot her. We kept serious eye contact and finally she spoke.

  “He's AFTD,” she gasped out.

  “Didn't I say I hate that paranormal crap?”

  If she was like me, why'd she do that? I used my knees as leverage and got to my feet, Dad's hand on my elbow. My parents were looking at Officer Gale like an alien had landed and told us I was their new pet.

  The good news was that AFTD, for me, was a rechargeable battery, I was good as new an hour after the cemetery, good to know.

  I gave her wary eyes, so did my parents.

  “Put the gun away, it was a test,” she said.

  “Great, think you could warn me next time,” Ward said as he holstered his weapon, giving her a nice glare with hard eyes, cop eyes.

  The tension eased down a notch.

  “I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. It was what I was trained to do when I encounter another paranormal, an AFTD paranormal in particular.”

  “What, suck the life out of me?” I asked with a touch more sarcasm than I intended.

  She lowered her eyes, staring at the ground. “I wasn't expecting it to be quite like this.” I asked her how she'd known.

  “It's hard to explain but it's like when you know someone is American?” I nodded, there were so many foreigners living in the U.S. that it was getting harder, but I knew what she meant. There was a look, an arrangement of features. I knew it when I saw it.

  “Or, it's similar to a scent in the air,” she bowed her head for a second, “or a taste.”

  “But you,” she emphasized, her eyes meeting mine, “I haven't encountered that before.”

  Dad interjected, “Isn't it standard procedure to pair a non-paranormal with a paranormal?”

  “Not yet,” Ward responded. “Soon it'll be a mandate. It's difficult for us to protect the public, when part of the public are paranormals. Informally, we're already pairing.”

  Ward laughed and pushed away from the wall. I didn't see what was funny.

  “Let's face it, people that can set fires by mind control alone, manipulate air, earth, water, raise the dead,” Gale looked at me and I kept my face blank, “can, if on the wrong side of the law, be problematic.” he shrugged.

  Problematic... ya think? It was my turn to laugh. I'm sure the cops were busy with the paranormals that were into a life-o'-crime. Did the pharmaceutical tycoons consider that before they released the drugs that gave us the cool skills? No way.

  Gale regarded me with eyes that reflected nothing. Something about her name clicked. Roberta Gale... ah-huh! She was the chick that used her AFTD to find murder victims and help the police.

  Bobbi Gale.

  “Aren't you the one that did that article about AFTD?” I asked.

  She cocked her head, birdlike, an expression of realization overcame her face. The first true emotion I'd seen so far.

  “Oh yeah, that. Well, at that time I was the only AFTD on the force.”

  “There's more?”

  She nodded. “Not many, we're so rare.”

  “Maybe that's natural selection,” I said, more to myself than anyone.

  Dad looked at me in surprise.

  I grinned. “Sometimes I listen to you.”

  He grinned back, turning to Gale. “Okay, now that you're done with the theatrics, can we figure out what this,” he swept his hand around, “violation means?”

  Gale, by this time recovered, took out her pulse-pad. All thoughts and notes transferred as she automatically thought them. Those were cool, gimme, gimme, gimme. I bet most cops had them. Except for Garcia.

  She took her thumb off the pad. “Can we talk after we get your statements?”

  Mom replied for me, “No more 'testing'.”

  “Yeah, I promise. I followed protocol exactly. I apologize that it backfired.” shaking her head.

  “Sure, okay.” I was acting cool but I wanted to talk to her if she didn't pull another whammy.

  Officer Ward broke in, “Okay, let's go over what happened.”

  The cops asked my parents a series of questions. Was the house pulse-alarm activated? Had there been suspicious activity? Were there any known enemies? Boring. Like who would remotely care about our family?

  Finally, they wrapped up the whole thing, saying they'd make an official report. Automatic police surveillance would be given.

  “For how long?” I asked.

  Gale looked up from her pulse-pad. “It'll be random, so the perpetrators can't anticipate our moves. Typically, we give about five days.”

  “This area usually doesn't have this kind of crime,” Ward paused, “you sure there isn't someone who has an agenda, a motive?”

  He looked at us.

  It felt like it was way too much of a coincidence for this to happen as all my voodoo death stuff was coming online. It felt like connected trouble. If I was thinking that, my parents sure were.

  Mom and Dad shook their heads the silence swelling like a balloon. They wouldn't have shared anyway, especially after Garcia had said he was law bound to turn in corpse-raisers.

  “Okay.” She powered down her pulse-pad. “That'll be all for now.” Ward gave her a strange look but she was focused on us. He obviously expected more but she had deliberately shut the meeting d
own.

  She turned to me. “Still up for talking?”

  Cautious. “Yeah.”

  “You can use the kitchen table,” Mom said.

  We walked out of the foyer, through the kitchen, making our way around the breakfast bar, sitting down on the long bench. Gale kept walking, past me, then sat in the queen's chair. I could hear the parents and Officer Ward speaking quietly out in the foyer. It was weird to see her in Mom's chair.

  Gale stared at me “Spill it.”

  I lowered my voice, “ 'Spill' what?”

  “I know you're more than a two or three-point, AFTD. I have never felt anyone as powerful as you.” She rubbed her arms up and down as a person will when they're cold; but she wasn't cold. Mom always had the heat cranked to I'm-going-to-die-in-this-oven temperature. Gale was that creeped out.

  I was having that effect on a lot of people lately.

  I shrugged. Like I'd admit anything to a cop, look what happened with Garcia?

  “I've felt plenty of AFTDs...” she waved her hand at me, “..you're something unique.”

  I wasn't ready to answer. I decided to ask her some questions.

  “How do you know when someone is paranormal?”

  She sighed. “It's like I told you before, it's a feeling, a difference. It feels like a low level, electrical buzz.”

  Like sticking your finger in an pulse socket?

  I'm friends with Jonesy.

  “Is that what they taught you at the school? How to identify paranormals?”

  “Yes, some of it. You'll go to the same school I did. I'm a local girl, ya know.” she grinned.

  I dug local, they knew the deal, the people, all that jazz.

  “What was it like, the school?”

  “It's like regular high school, but you're with people that can do amazing things. We're the most rare, but fire-starters are running a close second.”

  “You mean like the book?”

  “The what?”

  “The book by Stephen King.”

  “Who's he?”

  “Only the greatest writer globally!”

  “Well, I'm not much of a reader but the name rings a bell. What's his story about? Pyrokenetics?”