I Am Number Four ll-1

by Pittacus Lore

  Henri walks back out of his room. He is carrying the Loric Chest that is our most prized possession.

  “Henri,” I say.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re not leaving.”

  “Yes we are.”

  “You can if you want, but I’ll go live with Sam. I’m not leaving.”

  “This is not your decision to make.”

  “It’s not? I thought I was the one being hunted. I thought I was the one in danger. You could walk away right now and the Mogadorians would never look for you. You could live a nice, long, normal life. You could do whatever you want. I can’t. They will always be after me. They will always be trying to find me and kill me. I’m fifteen years old. I’m not a kid anymore. It is my decision to make.”

  He stares at me for a minute. “That was a good speech, but it doesn’t change anything. Pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

  I raise my hand and point it at him and lift him off the ground. He’s so shocked that he doesn’t say anything. I stand and move him into the corner of the room, up near the ceiling.

  “We’re staying,” I say.

  “Put me down, John.”

  “I’ll put you down when you agree to stay.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “We don’t know that. They’re not in Paradise. They might not have any idea where we are.”

  “Put me down.”

  “Not until you agree to stay.”

  “PUT ME DOWN.”

  I don’t say anything back. I just hold him there. He struggles, tries to push off the wall and the ceiling, but he can’t move. My power holds him in place. And I feel strong doing it. Stronger than I’ve ever felt in my life. I am not leaving. I am not running. I love my life in Paradise. I love having a real friend, and I love my girlfriend. I’m ready to fight for what I love, be it with the Mogadorians, or be it with Henri.

  “You know you’re not coming down until I bring you down.”

  “You’re acting like a child.”

  “No, I’m acting like someone who is starting to realize who he is and what he can do.”

  “And you’re really going to keep me up here?”

  “Until I fall asleep or get tired, but I’ll just do it again once I get some rest.”

  “Fine. We can stay. With certain conditions.”

  “What?”

  “Put me down and we’ll talk about it.”

  I lower him, set him on the floor. He hugs me. I’m surprised; I expected him to be pissed. He lets go of me and we sit down on the couch.

  “I’m proud of how far you’ve come. I’ve spent many years waiting and preparing for these things to happen, for your Legacies to arrive. You know my entire life is devoted to keeping you safe, and making you strong. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. If you died on my watch, I’m not sure how I would go on. In time the Mogadorians will catch up with us. I want to be ready for them when they come. I don’t think you are yet, even though you do. You have a long way to go. We can stay here, for now, if you agree that training comes first. Before Sarah, before Sam, before everything. And at the first sign that they’re nearby, or are on our trail, we leave, no questions asked, no fighting about it, no levitating me up to the ceiling and holding me there.”

  “Deal,” I say, and smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WINTER COMES EARLY AND WITH FULL FORCE to Paradise, Ohio. First the wind, then the cold, then the snow. Light dustings to start, then a storm blows through and buries the land so that the scraping sound of snowplows is as consistently heard as the wind itself, leaving a coat of salt over everything. School is canceled for two days. The snow near the roads segues from white to dingy black and eventually melts to standing puddles of slush that refuse to drain. Henri and I spend my time off training, indoors, outdoors. I can now juggle three balls without touching them, which also means I can lift more than one thing at a time. The heavier and larger objects have come, the kitchen table, the snowblower Henri bought the week before, our new truck, which looks almost exactly like the old one and like millions of other pickup trucks in America. If I can lift it physically, with my body, then I can lift it with my mind. Henri believes that the strength of my mind will eventually transcend that of my body.

  In the backyard the trees stand sentinel around us, frozen branches like figurines of hollow glass, an inch of a fine white powder piled atop each one. The snow is up to our knees aside from the small patch Henri has cleared away. Bernie Kosar sits watching from the back porch. Even he wants nothing to do with the snow.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask.

  “You need to learn to embrace it,” Henri says. Over his shoulder, watching with morbid curiosity, stands Sam. It is his first time watching me train.

  “How long will this burn?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  I am wearing a highly combustible suit made mostly of natural fibers soaked in oils, some of which are slow burning, some of which are not. I want to set it on fire just to be rid of the smells that are making my eyes water. I take a deep breath.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Don’t breathe. You’re not immune to the smoke or fumes and your internal organs will burn.”

  “This seems foolish to me,” I say.

  “It’s part of your training. Grace under pressure. You need to learn to multitask while consumed in flames.”

  “But why?”

  “Because when the battle comes, we’re going to be greatly outnumbered. Fire will be one of your great allies in war. You need to learn to fight while burning.”

  “Ugh.”

  “If you get in trouble, jump into the snow and start rolling.”

  I look at Sam, who has a big grin spread across his face. He is holding a red fire extinguisher in his hand just in case it’s needed.

  “I know,” I say.

  Everyone is silent while Henri messes with the matches.

  “You look like Sasquatch wearing that suit,” Sam says.

  “Eat it, Sam,” I say.

  “Here we go,” says Henri.

  I take a deep breath just before he touches a match to the suit. Fire sweeps across my body. It feels unnatural for me to keep my eyes open, but I do. I look up. The fire rises eight feet above me. The whole world is shrouded in shades of orange, red, yellow that dance in my line of sight. I can feel the heat, but only slightly as one feels the sun’s rays on a summer day. Nothing more than that.

  “Go!” Henri yells.

  I hold my arms out to my sides, eyes wide-open, breath held. I feel as though I’m hovering. I enter the deep snow and it begins to sizzle and melt underfoot, a slight steam rising while I walk. I reach my right hand forward and lift a cinder block, which feels heavier than normal. Is it because I’m not breathing? Is it the stress of the fire?

  “Don’t waste time!” Henri yells.

  I hurl the block as hard as I can against a dead tree fifty feet away. The force causes it to smash into a million little pieces, leaving an indentation in the wood. Then I raise three tennis balls soaked in gasoline. I juggle them in midair, one over the other. I bring them in towards my body. They catch fire, and still I juggle them—and while doing so I lift a long, thin broomstick. I close my eyes. My body is warm. I wonder if I’m sweating. If I am, the sweat must be evaporating the second it reaches the skin’s surface.

  I grit my teeth, open my eyes, thrust my body forward and direct all of my powers into the stick’s very core. It explodes, splintering into small bits. I don’t let any of them fall to the ground; instead I keep them suspended, collectively looking like a cloud of dust hovering in midair. I pull them to me and let them burn. The wood pops through the flicker and hum of the flames. I force them back together into a tightly compacted spear of fire that looks as though it has sprung straight from the depths of hell.

  “Perfect!” Henri yells.

  One minute has
passed. My lungs begin to burn from the fire, from my breath still held. I put everything that I am into the spear and I hurl it so hard that it speeds through the air like a bullet and hits the tree, and hundreds of tiny fires spread throughout the vicinity and extinguish almost immediately. I had hoped the dead wood would catch fire but it does not. I have also dropped the tennis balls. They sizzle in the snow five feet away from me.

  “Forget the balls,” Henri yells. “The tree. Get the tree.”

  The dead wood looks ghastly with its arthritic limbs silhouetted against the world of white beyond it. I close my eyes. I can’t hold my breath much longer. Frustration and anger begin to form, fueled by the fire and the discomfort of the suit and the tasks that are left undone. I focus on the large branch coming off the tree’s trunk and I try to break that branch away but it won’t come. I grit my teeth and furrow my brows and finally a loud snap rings through the air like a shotgun blast and the branch comes sailing towards me. I catch it in my hands and hold it straight above me. Let it burn, I think. It must be twenty feet long. It finally catches fire and I lift it into the air forty or fifty feet above me and, without touching it, I drive it straight into the ground as though I’m staking my claim like some old-world swordsman standing atop the hill after winning the war. The stick totters back and forth smoking, flames dancing along the upper half of it. I open my mouth and instinctively take a breath, and the flames come rushing in; an instant burning spreads throughout my body. I’m so shocked and it hurts so much that I don’t know what to do.

  “The snow! The snow!” Henri yells.

  I dive in headfirst and begin rolling. The fire goes out almost immediately but I keep rolling and the sizzle of snow touching the tattered suit is all I hear while wisps of steam and smoke rise off of me. And then Sam finally pulls the clip from the extinguisher and unloads with a thick powder that makes it even harder to breathe.

  “No,” I yell.

  He stops. I lie there trying to catch my breath, but each inhalation brings about a pain in my lungs that reverberates throughout my body.

  “Damn, John. You weren’t supposed to breathe,” Henri says, standing over me.

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Are you okay?” Sam asks.

  “My lungs are burning.”

  Everything is blurry but slowly the world comes into focus. I lie there looking up into the low gray sky at the flakes of snow sifting sullenly down upon us.

  “How’d I do?”

  “Not bad for your first try.”

  “We’re going to do it again, aren’t we?”

  “In time, yes.”

  “That was wicked cool,” Sam says.

  I sigh, then take a deep, labored breath. “That sucked.”

  “You did well for your first time,” Henri says. “You can’t expect everything to come easily.”

  I nod from the ground. I lie there a good minute or two, and then Henri extends a hand and helps me up, bringing about the end of training for the day.

  I wake in the middle of the night two days later, 2:57 on the clock. I can hear Henri working at the kitchen table. I crawl out of bed and walk out of the room. He is hunched over a document, wearing bifocals and holding some sort of stamp with a pair of tweezers. He looks up at me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Creating forms for you.”

  “For what?”

  “I got to thinking about you and Sam driving down to get me. I think it’s foolish of us to keep using your real age when we can just as easily change it according to our needs.”

  I pick up a birth certificate that he has already finished. The name written is James Hughes. The date of birth would make me a year older. I’d be sixteen and able to drive. Then I bend over and look at the one he is in the process of creating. The name listed is Jobie Frey, age eighteen, a legal adult.

  “Why didn’t we ever think to do this before?” I ask.

  “We never had reason to.”

  Papers of different shapes and sizes and densities are scattered across the table, a large printer off to the side. Bottles of ink, rubber stamps, notary stamps, metal plate-looking things, various tools that look as though they belong in a dentist’s office. The process of document creation has always remained foreign to me.

  “Are we going to change my age now?”

  Henri shakes his head. “It’s too late to change your age in Paradise. These are mostly for the future. Who knows what will happen that will give you reason to use them.”

  The thought of moving in the future makes me nauseous. I would rather stay fifteen and unable to drive forever than move someplace new.

  Sarah returns from Colorado a week before Christmas. I haven’t seen her in eight days. It feels as though it’s been a month. The van drops all the girls off at the school and one of her friends drives her straight to my house without first taking her home. When I hear the tires come up the drive I meet her with a hug and a kiss and I lift her off the ground and twirl her in the air. She has just been in a plane and a car for ten hours and she is wearing sweatpants and no makeup with her hair pulled into a ponytail and yet she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and I don’t want to let go of her. We stare into each other’s eyes beneath the moonlight and all either of us can do is smile.

  “Did you miss me?” she asks.

  “Every second of every day.”

  She kisses the tip of my nose.

  “I missed you, too.”

  “So do the animals have a shelter again?” I ask.

  “Oh, John, it was amazing! I wish you could have been there. There were probably thirty people helping out at all times, around the clock. The building went up so fast and it’s so much nicer than it was before. We built this cat tree in one of the corners, and I swear the whole time we were there, there were cats playing on it.”

  I smile. “It sounds great. I wish I could have been there, too.”

  I take her bag and we walk into the house together.

  “Where’s Henri?” she asks.

  “Grocery shopping. He left about ten minutes ago.”

  She walks through the living room and drops her coat onto the back of a chair on her way into my bedroom. She sits on the edge of my bed and kicks her shoes off.

  “What should we do?” she asks.

  I stand there watching her. She is wearing a red hooded sweatshirt with a zipper down the front. It is only halfway zipped. She smiles and looks at me through the tops of her eyes.

  “Come here,” she says, and holds her hand out to me.

  I walk to her and she takes my hand in hers. She looks up at me and squints her eyes from the light shining overhead. I snap my fingers with my free hand and the light turns off.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Magic,” I say.

  I sit beside her. She tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, then leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Then she cups my chin and pulls my head to hers and kisses me again, softly, delicately. My whole body tingles in response. She pulls away, her hand still on my cheek. She traces my brow with her thumb.

  “I really did miss you,” she says.

  “Me, too.”

  A silence passes between us. Sarah bites her lower lip.

  “I couldn’t wait to get here,” she says. “The whole time I was in Colorado, you were all I could think of. Even when playing with the animals, I was wishing you were there with me playing with them, too. And then when we finally left this morning, the entire trip was hell even though every mile we traveled was another mile I was closer to you.”

  She smiles, mostly with her eyes, her lips a thin upturned crescent that keeps her teeth hidden. She kisses me again, a kiss that starts as slow and lingering and goes from there. Both of us are sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand on the side of my face, mine on the small of her back. I can feel the tight contours beneath the tips of my fingers, can taste the berry gloss on her lips. I pull her to me. I feel as though I c
an’t get close enough to her despite our bodies being pressed tightly together. My hand running up her back, the smooth porcelain feel of her skin. Her hands through my hair, both of us breathing heavily. We fall back on the bed, on our sides. Our eyes are closed. I keep opening mine to see her. The room is dark aside from the moonlight entering through the windows. She catches me watching her and we stop kissing. She puts her forehead to mine and stares at me.

  She places her hand on the back of my neck and pulls me to her and all at once we’re kissing again. Entangled. Meshed. Our arms tightly around the other. My mind clear of every plague that normally visits and every thought of other planets, my mind free of the hunt and pursuit by the Mogadorians. Sarah and I on the bed kissing each other, falling into each other. Nothing else in the world matters.

  And then the door opens in the living room. We both jump up.

  “Henri’s home,” I say.

  We stand and quickly brush the wrinkles from our clothes, smiling, a secret shared between us that makes us giggle as we walk out of the bedroom holding hands. Henri is setting a bag of groceries on the kitchen table.

  “Hi, Henri,” Sarah says.

  He smiles at her. She lets go of my hand and walks over and hugs him and they start talking about her trip to Colorado. I walk outside to get the rest of the groceries. I breathe in the cold air, try to shake my limbs free of the tension of what just happened, and the disappointment of Henri coming home when he did. I’m still breathing heavily as I grab the rest of the groceries and carry them into the house. Sarah is telling Henri about some of the cats that were at the shelter.