Would it work, I wondered? Would the damaged skin that covered one side of my face respond to his touch, regenerating skin cells and making my face new? I longed for it to happen just that way. I yearned to be pretty, but if that was asking too much, I would settle for normal. I was sick of being the girl with the messed up face, the one with the disfigurement that scared small children and caused people to talk in hushed tones whenever I went out in public. I was ready to be transformed. It was time.
I fell asleep with the Lucky Man in my hand and the vision of a perfect, unscarred face. If only.
CHAPTER TWO
Russ
I kept glancing back behind us, but I was never able to catch Nadia's eye. Every time I turned around she was bent over looking at something by her feet or staring out the window. And then eventually, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. Meanwhile I was stuck listening to Mallory going on and on about the drama between the girls on her soccer team. When I'd had about all I could take, I told her I had something to do and I got up from my seat.
“You’re coming back though, right Russ?” Mallory said, her voice rising in concern.
I didn't answer. I wasn't sure how to answer, because I was consumed with thoughts of getting back to Nadia. When I got to her row, I lingered in the aisle for just a second. Sitting next to the window with her head tipped back and eyes closed, she looked like she didn't want to be disturbed. She held a pottery figure I’d never seen before—a mustached Peruvian man carrying a bunch of different stuff—a stack of money, a heart, a tiny bottle. Something she must have gotten at the Mercado. I'd seen a lot of those kinds of things, some were made into candle holders and stuff like that, but it all looked like junk to me. She obviously didn’t feel the same way because her hands were curled around this pottery man like she was afraid someone would take it away from her. I sat down in the empty seat next to her and looked at her face. There was an almost perfect delineation between the part that had been burned and the rest of her skin. Like a make-up artist had created a scarred mask from jars of colored putty. I knew from our long discussions driving through Peru that she would have loved it if that was all there was to it. If it were make-up, she would have washed it off in an instant. I couldn't remove the damage that way, but I might be able to restore her skin to the way it was before the crazy man on the bus threw the acid up in the air, ruining her face and her life.
I placed my hand over her cheek and eye, just barely making contact. My touch didn’t wake her. I'd done this before, but it felt more important this time. Personal, for me and for her. I concentrated hard, trying to direct energy and love from my hand into her skin. I wanted life to be better for her, and this was a good start. She was going to be so surprised when she woke up.
Mrs. Whitehouse leaned across the aisle. “What are you doing there, Russ?” She was such a pain, always poking her nose where it didn't belong. Now she sounded accusatory, like maybe I was molesting Nadia or something.
I couldn't allow myself to be distracted so I didn't turn away from what I was doing. But I did answer. “Keeping a promise,” I said. I kept at it, my hands hovering over her face in a stroking motion, expecting her to wake up but she was completely out of it. The plane must have hit an air pocket because it moved like a bus going over a bump. In front of me, Jameson said, “Whoa,” in an exaggerated way, and I saw the candy bar he’d bought at the airport jump up over the top of his seat, like it had been knocked out of his hand. Instead of falling back down, though, he used his telekinesis to make it hover over Mallory’s head in a slow circle. When she noticed it and made a grab, he had it move just out of her reach. “Hey!” she said, laughing.
I went back to Nadia, pouring everything I had into her face, especially the part around her eye, which she’d been told would be hard to fix even with plastic surgery. I heard Mrs. Whitehouse turning in her seat to see what I was doing, but my back blocked her view. Up front I noticed Jameson had switched seats so he was next to Mallory now. Good. She wouldn’t ask me to come back.
When I finished, I shook out my hands. It was an odd feeling, knowing I’d done all I could do. Like pouring water out of a pitcher and knowing it was empty without having to check. I was through, and I didn’t have any more to give. Now I was able to really look at Nadia’s face and I was disappointed at what I saw. Her scars looked better, much better in fact, but they weren’t completely gone. The color had faded and the ridge above her eye, the one she thought looked like a protruding earthworm, was flatter against her skin, but it was still there. The line between the damaged and unaffected skin was blurred.
What a letdown. I’d healed bullet wounds and cured a baby who failed to thrive because of a digestive problem. I’d brought a woman back from near death. I’d been so sure I could fix Nadia’s face. I felt like I’d let her down. I’d done as much as I could, but it wasn’t enough.
Using my healing powers always took a lot out of me and I suddenly felt tired. I reclined the seat, and taking my cue from Nadia, put my head back and closed my eyes. After our time in Peru, worrying about being killed by the Associates, it felt good to relax. Unless something happened to the plane, we were safe for now.
CHAPTER THREE
Russ
Four days later, I was one of hundreds of people sitting in my high school auditorium paying tribute to my science teacher, Mr. Specter, who’d died while we were in Peru. He was well liked, so there was a good turnout of students, past and present, and a ton of people from the community too. I overheard people in the crowd talking about him before it started. Everyone seemed to know him and everyone had a story about something he’d taught them or done for them. “Nice guy,” was the phrase I kept hearing. I understood where they were coming from. I used to think Mr. Specter was a nice guy too.
On the other side of the auditorium I saw Mallory walk in with Jameson, but I didn’t see Nadia anywhere. I hadn’t talked to her since we’d been home. At the airport, her mother had come to pick her up. She didn’t make a scene but angrily yanked on Nadia’s arm and dragged her away from our group. Nadia hadn’t even protested. It was like she was being taken prisoner. After that, I waited to see if she’d astral project to me at night the way she used to, but so far, nothing. I didn’t think she’d be allowed to come to this memorial service, but I still looked for her. I hadn’t told her about what I’d done to her face when we were on the plane because I wanted it to be a surprise. Since I hadn’t heard back from her since, I could only imagine that she was disappointed it hadn’t been completely healed.
On the auditorium stage, Kevin Adams, Mrs. Whitehouse, Dr. Anton, and Rosie from Rosie’s Diner sat on chairs on one side of the podium. In the program they were listed as friends of Mr. Specter’s who would be speaking. All four of them were members of the secret organization, the Praetorian Guard. Of the four, two of them—Kevin and Mrs. Whitehouse—had been on the trip with us. It was a little surprising to see all of them lined up in public.
I sat with my parents, my sister Carly, and my nephew Frank. I was glad to be on the aisle next to Carly, where my mother couldn’t reach me. Mom had an awkward habit of giving people reassuring pats when she thought they needed emotional support. Earlier at home, when I was getting dressed and having some trouble with my tie, my mother had tried to get me to cry or have a breakdown or something. “It must have been terrible witnessing Mr. Specter’s heart attack like that,” she said.
“Um, yeah.” I looped the fabric back behind the tie and pushed it through the circle and down again just the way I’d been taught. In theory it should have worked, so why did it look so bulgy?
She leaned against the doorframe, watching my face in the mirror. “Sometimes these kinds of things hit you later, when you least expect it. You think you’re fine and then…”
There was a long awkward pause. I looked up. “It hits you later?”
She looked relieved. “Yes, exactly like that. Would you like to start seeing Dr. Anton again? You always lik
ed him.”
“We’ll probably see him at the funeral. Don’t you think?” I pulled the whole thing apart and started over. She meant well, but her talking was a huge distraction.
“Yes, probably.” She spoke in measured tones. “But I meant seeing him in a professional sense. For grief counseling.”
“Doesn’t he specialize in stress-related sleep disorders?” I said, even though I knew the answer. I’d gone to see him for that very problem. Chronic insomnia. It turned out not to be stress-related, but I hadn’t known that at the time.
“Well, it’s not like he couldn’t handle other problems too. And he knows you, which I thought would make things more comfortable.”
“I appreciate it, Mom, but I’m fine, really. People die. I get it.” From the shocked look on her face I knew that I’d taken it too far in the other direction. Now I looked heartless and cruel. She was probably going to Google the definition of ‘sociopath’ the next time she was online. “I mean, it’s a terrible loss, and I have my moments like anyone else.” I scrambled for just the right thing to say. “But it’s not like it would be if something happened to you or Dad. Then I’d be a complete wreck.”
That seemed to do it. “Okay,” she said, seemingly relieved. “Well if you change your mind, let me know. It’s an open offer.”
I nodded. Downstairs I heard the unmistakable sound of Frank and Carly arriving. My sister was fairly quiet, but Frank was a presence. He had this nervous energy that kept him from crossing the room like a normal person. He bounded, he stomped, he jumped. For a ten-year-old kid he consumed a lot of everything: air, space, quiet. When he was around, it was exhausting. But then, after he left, everything seemed dull and boring. No one was like Frank. Now I heard him calling out, “Grandma, Grandma, where are you?”
“I better go see what he wants,” Mom said, reluctantly pulling away. “Don’t take too long. We need to leave in ten minutes.” And then thankfully, she was gone. I heard her pass Carly on the stairs; Carly’s steps energetic and light, my mother trudging downward, their voices exchanging greetings. Carly was telling Mom she wanted to give me money she owed me.
I went back to my tie, wanting to strangle whoever came up with the concept of knotting fabric around your neck for serious social events. “Hey Russell.” Carly leaned in the doorway the same as my mother had. They were more alike than either of them knew. “How’s it going?”
I raised an eyebrow in her direction. “You owe me money?”
“Yeah, you wish.” She laughed. “That was just my excuse for coming up to talk to you alone.”
“Okay.” We’d already talked since I’d returned from South America. I’d given her the lowdown on almost every detail except one: I’d honored my promise to David Hofstetter, her former high school boyfriend and love of her life, and hadn’t revealed that he did not, as commonly believed, die in a car crash sixteen years before. That, in fact, he’d faked his death to shake the Associates and join the Praetorian Guard doing work that would ultimately make the world a better place.
We’d found him in Peru working in a lab, doing what he called valuable scientific research. Valuable and top secret. Carly would have been overjoyed to know he was still alive, but I couldn’t tell her. It killed me to have to lie to her, but David made it sound like it was a matter of life and death. Oh wait, there was another detail I hadn’t told her, something that she should have known, but apparently didn’t, that David, long presumed dead, was actually Frank’s father.
She watched me fighting with the tie and waited, as if I’d say more. When I didn’t, she said, “I just want to get this straight. Two weeks ago you went on a trip to Peru sponsored by the Praetorian Guard thinking you had proof that David was still alive.”
I nodded, not taking my eyes off the mirror.
“It was you, Nadia, Mallory, and Jameson, all pretending to be students going to an academic decathlon in Miami, chaperoned by Kevin Adams, Mrs. Whitehouse, and Mr. Specter.” Carly ticked off on her fingers as she said the names. “You went, you checked it out, you had a good time. Somewhere in there, Nadia became your girlfriend. And then, to top it all off, Mr. Specter dropped dead from a heart attack, and you brought him back in a body bag.”
“Actually, an urn. His body was cremated there.”
Her fingers tapped against the doorframe. “How convenient. So you didn’t see David or learn anything about him while you were there?”
“I think we covered this already, Carly. Why won’t you believe me?” I avoided looking at her. She’d been a huge troublemaker in high school, putting my parents through hell with one thing after another—flunking classes, sneaking out at night, getting drunk, smoking pot, wrecking the car. Out of necessity she’d become good at covering her tracks, while I was just a beginner in this area. She’d see right through me if I wasn’t careful.
She stepped in front of me. "Let me do that." Taking hold of the tie she expertly looped it around and tucked it in, then adjusted the knot and smoothed the front. I tried not to look into her eyes, which was nearly impossible to do. She stood so close that I could smell the gum on her breath. "It’s not that hard, Russ. Keep practicing, you'll get it."
I took a step back. "Yeah, I don't know if I really need to practice. I don't wear a tie that often."
"I'm not talking about the tie. I'm talking about lying. You need some practice." She put one hand on her hip. "You are one terrible liar. Your body shifts awkwardly, your eyes move back and forth. There are kindergartners caught stealing candy bars who tell more convincing stories."
"I don’t know what you mean." I kept my voice steady, but my protest sounded lame even to me. "It all happened just the way I said."
"Just the way they said you should say it happened." Carly practically spat out the word. She had nothing but contempt for the Praetorian Guard. “Don’t listen to them, Russ. They’ve got you brainwashed.”
"I guess I'm not going to convince you," I said, my arms hanging loosely by my side. "We'll have to agree to disagree." I'd gotten that line from my dad. He used it often when arguing with Mom.
Carly jabbed a finger into the center of the tie she'd just so neatly arranged. "I'm going to be watching you, Russ. I know there's more going on than what you’re telling me.”
“If that were true,” I said, considering my words. “I mean, if there’s something I’m not being straight about, it would only be because I’m looking out for you. You know that, right?”
She sighed. “I can look out for myself, Russ. I’ve been doing it since before you were born.”
“Yeah, I know, but…” I hated it when I couldn’t come up with a quick answer. “If there’s something else, I promise I will tell you eventually. Just not now. But as soon as I can. Okay?” I hoped it was okay. I’d already said more than I should have.
“I am going to get it out of you,” Carly said, arms crossed. “I know all your weaknesses, Russ. I’m not giving up on this. By the time I’m done you’re going to crack like an egg.”
From the bottom of the stairs my mom called out, "Come on, you two! We're going to be late."
Carly muttered, "We're not going to be late. She always leaves too early."
She was right, our mother always did leave way too early, but I didn’t mind this time because I was glad for the interruption. I just said, "We'd better get going."
Now all five of us sat in a row in the auditorium, watching the memorial service as a family. Around me came the sounds of sniffling, mostly girls and some of the moms. I heard someone say, "He was so young." Forty-eight-years-old wasn't all that young, but I guess it was young to be dead.
The principal and vice principal both spoke of Mr. Specter's record as a teacher. Behind them, a slide show silently flashed images from the school yearbook: a giant shot of Mr. Specter’s head, like he was Oz the great and powerful, and then photos of him doing science experiments, taking kids on field trips, things like that. In every one he had on his trademark sweater vest and wire-rimme
d glasses. His receding hairline made his forehead look extra large. I hadn’t noticed that in real life, but in the photos it was prominent.
No personal pictures and no mention of his family, which was odd. I knew he wasn't married and I assumed there were no kids, but still, you'd think there would be other family members. As if to answer my question, Vice Principal Ehlers solemnly said, "He always said this school was his family." Ms. Ehlers was trim with blond hair and a friendly smile, which fooled the parents, but not the kids who’d had the experience of being called into her office. If you crossed her she could make your life miserable. "And that his students were his kids." She wiped away a tear. "Samuel Specter went over and above in his teaching career. He loved science and he loved getting kids excited about science. No one will be able to replace him."
Next to me Carly made a derisive snort and then quickly coughed to cover it up. My mom fumbled in her purse and handed her a tissue, then patted her arm reassuringly.
When the principal and vice principal were done speaking, Ms. Ehlers said, "I'd like to turn the floor over to some of Mr. Specter's friends, every one of them prominent members of the community. All of them first met here more than thirty years ago as students in this very high school. Each of them has a few words they’d like to share about their good friend and former classmate, Sam Specter.”
She gestured to Kevin Adams, who lumbered up to the podium, hands in his pockets. His jet-black hair was slicked back as usual, but he wore a button-down shirt rather than his usual T-shirt. He cleared his throat nervously before starting. "Most of you know me as the owner of Power House Comics. Over the years Sam helped me out when I needed an extra hand at the store, so you probably already know that we were friends. He was a true friend, the best kind of friend. I met him when I was fifteen, younger than most of you, and at the time I had no idea the impact he'd have on my life. It was an honor to be with him at the end. His death is a loss for me and a loss for the world." He paused and looked around the room. "Don't let people tell you that the friends you make in high school aren't important. In my experience they're the only ones who count." He shuffled a little bit, and started to walk away, then returned and lowered his mouth to the microphone. "Thank you very much."
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 56