Whispers From the Grave

by Leslie Rule

  Daydreaming of the possibilities, I gazed out my window. Sea gulls sliced through the gray morning sky, their shrieks like tortured souls as they dove for fish.

  I picked a bird and concentrated on it. Could I stop it in midflight—send it gliding in the opposite direction? I focused on it as it dipped and soared and finally landed on the beach, completely uninfluenced by my thoughts.

  I was about to give up when something red caught my eye. It was my neighbor, Ruby, in a bright red cap, out for a morning walk. She picked her way up the hill toward our house, her breath wispy tendrils evaporating around her wrinkled face.

  “Fall, Ruby!” I whispered, and sent my thoughts out to trip her. She huffed along, unaffected. I visualized my mind as a hand with an unending arm. Sharply focused, I reached out through my window, down the paved road, and wrapped my thoughts around her ankle and yanked her off her feet.

  I blinked in shock as Ruby’s small shape lay still, the shells she’d collected scattered around her. “Oh, no!” I gasped. “I didn’t mean it!”

  I bounded from my room on rubbery legs, down our swirling staircase and out the front door. She was sitting up, tears sliding down the creases in her cheeks.

  “Ruby!” I cried, dropping to my knees beside her. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s my ankle,” she moaned.

  “I’m so sorry! Can you stand?”

  “You’ll have to help me.”

  I put my arm around her bony back and hoisted her up. Her tiny, trembling body leaned against mine as I helped her toward her home. “Ruby, I feel awful!” I said.

  “It’s not your fault, dear.”

  But it was!

  I didn’t mean to do it! My PK abilities hadn’t seemed real to me. I was fooling around, testing my skills. I never would hurt someone on purpose.

  “I don’t know what I could have tripped on,” Ruby said.

  “Maybe a rock?” I asked hopefully.

  “I didn’t see one. I guess I just tripped on my third foot!” She laughed raspily. “That’s my invisible one that trips me up sometimes.”

  Good! She was making jokes. I hoped that meant she wasn’t seriously hurt. But she winced and gasped, her hazel eyes bright with pain, as we hobbled up her porch steps.

  Inside, I covered her with a puff-square as she lay splayed across her couch. “Better call my son,” she said.

  It was almost time for school by the time he arrived to take her to the doctor’s. Suki was strolling by as Ruby’s son and I helped her into his car. She stopped and stared, still wearing that awful orange sweater she’d had on the day before. “What happened?” Suki asked, her eyes boring into me—accusing me!

  “It’s nothing serious,” Ruby said, attempting a shaky smile. “I think I sprained my ankle. Jenna was watching from her window and raced outside to help. Lucky thing she was there!”

  “Lucky thing,” Suki mumbled.

  This day, Suki did not wait for me. She scurried away without a backward glance. Did she guess? Did she know I had made Ruby fall? Or was it just my conscience making me paranoid?

  Too distraught to deal with school, I went back to bed. I had not slept all night, and could not sleep now.

  My new ability frightened me. If I can hurt someone, I worried, what else am I capable of?

  Then it occurred to me that Ruby’s fall might not have had anything to do with me. Old people often take spills. It might be just another coincidence. The thought calmed me.

  My eyes settled on the sealed box of paper clips, still on the floor where it had landed after falling from the nightstand. Dr. Grady had said not to open it. But I needed to know. If I opened the box and found the paper clips untouched, I could absolve myself of my guilt over Ruby. And I’d forget this PK stuff once and for all!

  I ripped open the box, nearly bending my thumbnail off in my haste. I turned the box upside down and shook out the contents. The paper clips fell tinkling to the floor.

  Each one was twisted into a crazy tangle.

  9

  There was absolutely no one to talk to. Mom was still sleeping. Kyle was at school. Dad was at work—not that I would have talked to him anyway. We never had much to say to each other. It’s not that we argue. I kind of wished we would. At least that would be something. He and I were like a couple of disinterested acquaintances who happened to live in the same house.

  He stayed busy with his work, making only occasional polite conversation with me.

  Feeling alone, I picked up Rita’s diary.

  Dear Diary,

  Ben hasn’t called. He hasn’t been at school. Even Shane doesn’t know where he is.

  It was a long, boring day. After school I had to stop in at the T.S. Factory. As usual, Twin-Star had me jumping through more hoops.

  I felt like I’d been socked in the belly! Twin-Star? Did Rita mean Twin-Star Labs? Is that what she’d meant when she’d referred to the T.S. Factory? What in the world did she have to do with them? It was too much of a coincidence!

  Diary, I haven’t written much about this, because I’ve filled your pages with my favorite subject—BEN! But since the rat hasn’t given me any new material lately, I guess I’ll catch you up on some of the less interesting parts of my life. Like my work at T.S. I’m really tired of those guys messing with my mind. Today I faked it. I knew I could control those dice but pretended I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t believe it. Rita had PK power! And she was working for the same laboratory as I was. My stomach churned. I felt dizzy. It was like I’d finally found the missing piece of the puzzle but didn’t know how it fit. As I continued reading, it became clear. Excruciatingly clear!

  Mom and Dad have totally bought into the B.S. of those dudes in the white coats. It figures. They’re all from the same generation. Personally, I don’t like being treated like a laboratory animal. I know I have a gift, but what business is it of theirs?

  If Mom and Dad want to “share their talents” then FINE! But why should I? My parents have been into this psychic stuff since before it was cool to be into it. They met at a psychic fair when they were in college. They were attracted to each other partly because they both have telekinetic ability. They married, they mated, and—wouldn’t you know it?—their darling daughter has twice the ability of either of them! My brother (the lucky duck) inherited Dad’s freckles and Mom’s artistic ability, but he didn’t get any of the PK genes.

  I have the gift, so I’m the guinea pig. The scientists keep talking about the future and what “unique abilities” like mine could mean for all mankind. Why are they so hung up on progress? Why can’t they mellow out and sit back and watch the grass grow? Why does it all have to be about BIGGER and BETTER?

  If you ask me, they’re all a bunch of greedy pigs who will never be satisfied with what they have. I want to tell them to “Look around! Dig what’s going on!” Of course, they’d never understand.

  I think the thing that gets me the most P.O.’d is that they take life so lightly. My parents think it’s really cool that a part of them will live after they’re dead and gone and “contribute to society.” But I think what they did was totally uncool. It just doesn’t seem natural!

  Let me back up a little, Diary. I get so wound up about this I don’t tell it in order. The scientists have some major invention or something that is supposed to come together in the future. They need someone with abilities like mine to help them with it. But I could grow old and die before they get the kinks worked out of the thing. So they asked my parents to put a kid in the freezer! In a cold, clinical laboratory they implanted my mother’s egg with my father’s seed and made an embryo. A test-tube baby! Then they froze it, to be thawed out at a later date and implanted in some stranger. Can you imagine? My brother or sister could be born after I’m dead!

  The diary slipped from my lap and plopped to the floor. I sat paralyzed, too stunned to pick it up. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my thoughts tumbled clumsily over each other as I tried to make sense of w
hat I’d just read.

  It cannot be possible! But I knew it was true. Rita was my sister. And I had come from an embryo that was frozen a century ago.

  “Wake up, Mom!” I cried. I yanked the pillow off her head, and she peered up at me, blinking in the sudden light.

  “What’s the matter?” she mumbled. “Are you sick?”

  “We need to talk.”

  She glanced at the clock. “Jenna, you’re late for school!”

  “I’m late for a lot of things!” I spat “About a hundred years late!”

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice came out strangled, and her face was as pale as a summer moon at dusk.

  “You know what I’m talking about. Please stop lying to me!”

  “Okay,” she said simply. “Get me a cup of coffee and let me gather my thoughts.”

  “No more lies?”

  “I was only trying to protect you!”

  “Mom! The truth?”

  She nodded and swung her thick bare legs from the bed and nervously smoothed down her cotton nightgown. I rushed to make coffee, and we were soon huddled in the breakfast nook.

  Mom’s stubby fingers wrapped around her coffee cup and she stared into the muddy liquid, avoiding my gaze. “Who told you, honey?”

  “I found an old diary in the attic. It belonged to Rita Mills. She wrote about the frozen embryo, and I knew it was me.”

  “Dear God!”

  “I know now Rita was my sister. My real mother put me on ice a century ago.”

  “I’m your real mother! I did everything a mother does. I carried you for nine months. I had morning sickness, swollen ankles, stretch marks. I was in labor with you for twelve hours—”

  “Can we skip the speech!” I cut her off nastily. She winced, and I knew I had hurt her. But I didn’t care.

  “Okay, Jenna,” she said slowly. “I admit I am not your biological mother. But I love you more than my own life. I understand you’re hurt and confused. For seventeen years I’ve dreaded this conversation. I tried to put it off as long as possible.”

  “You lied to me. My whole life is a lie! I don’t even know who I am!”

  “You are Jenna Jean Jacobsen, my daughter. You are a beautiful, talented girl.”

  “I’m a freak.”

  “Don’t say that, Jenna.”

  “Just tell me how this happened!”

  “Over a century ago, in the 1950s, Bonnie Booth, a relative of an ancestor of mine, married Steven Mills,” she began. “This couple both had an extraordinary talent that was of great interest to scientists.”

  “Yes, I know! They had PK abilities. They were Rita’s parents, right?” I said. “Do you mean to tell me that Rita’s mom was an ancestor of yours?”

  “Yes. She was my great-great-grandmother’s sister.”

  “So you and I are related?”

  Mom’s dewy eyes sought mine. “I’m your mother! Of course, we’re related.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “What am I to you? A distant cousin?”

  “Jenna, please!”

  “Go on then,” I said, barely containing my outrage. “Finish the story.”

  “In the early 1950s, several Twin-Star Lab scientists secretly explored the idea of freezing embryos— though it wasn’t until years later that the procedure was independently discovered and publicized by another group. The Twin-Star scientists knew that when Steve’s and Bonnie’s genes were combined, there was a high likelihood they would produce a child with PK ability stronger than both of them put together. Of course, it wasn’t a sure thing. You never can tell what you’re going to get when you have children. It’s kind of a grab bag of genes. Sometimes kids get their parents’ brains or musical talent and sometimes they inherit their great-uncle Harry’s temper. Bonnie and Steve’s daughter, Rita—“

  “My sister!”

  “Yes. Your biological sister seemed to have inherited the ability. But they didn’t know this at the time they froze the embryo. Rita was still an infant, and they were struggling financially. They didn’t think they could afford to raise more children. But a few years later they had a son. He showed no sign of psychic ability at all.”

  “How did they know I’d have the ability?”

  “No one really knew. They hoped you would. Another woman with PK ability also donated an embryo. The scientists hoped one of the embryos would have the talent they were looking for.”

  “How can someone donate their child to science?” I asked, as salty tears stung my eyes.

  “I don’t know, honey, but I’m sure they never meant to hurt you.”

  “How did I end up with you?”

  “Bonnie Mills wanted to make sure you had a family member looking after you. She had papers drawn up that said when and if the embryo was implanted, a descendant of her family would be appointed as guardian. I inherited the guardianship to the embryo. No one could touch the embryo without my approval. Actually, I didn’t know you existed until I met your father.”

  “You mean your husband! He’s never been a father to me.”

  “He tries. He’s not sentimental. His brain doesn’t work that way. But I know he cares for you in his own way. Your dad was working for Twin-Star and they were progressing on a top secret experiment. They were ready to implant the embryo but needed me to sign a release.”

  “That’s how you met Dad?” I asked, incredulous.

  A faint smile touched her lips. “He came to my apartment with the documents. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something about him. We ended up going out for dinner.”

  “That’s when you signed the papers?”

  “No, I wouldn’t do it. They wanted to implant you in a surrogate mother who had no interest in raising you. They ended up doing that with the other baby. That child was raised by scientists in a clinical environment. She’s a complete misfit. Your father and I fell in love. I wanted a child desperately! My first marriage ended in divorce after I was unable to conceive a child. I’d actually considered in vitro fertilization during my first marriage. But Roy and I split up.”

  “Roy?” I squeaked. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married before?”

  “I was afraid it would lead to more questions,” she said quietly. “Jenna, I was afraid for you to learn about the things I’m telling you. I didn’t know how you’d react.”

  My head throbbed. It was as if I was suddenly viewing my world through an old time fun house mirror. Everything was twisted and distorted and completely unreal. “So when did you decide to have me?” I asked.

  “As soon as your dad and I got engaged. It seemed like the right thing to do. I wanted a baby, and you needed to be born. I worried, though, because I knew if you developed PK abilities I’d have to allow you to help Twin-Star with their experiments. Bonnie Mills had signed the contract agreeing to that stipulation. Of course I didn’t like it. Living with your father, I’ve seen how overzealous scientists can get. I worried they’d get you involved in something dangerous. I secretly hoped you wouldn’t inherit any PK skills.”

  “What right did she have to make decisions for me?”

  “Who?”

  “My real mother!” I screamed, as a hot wave of hysteria shot through me. “How could she?”

  “Honey, please,” Mom pleaded as I leapt up from the table. “I know this is upsetting. Take a deep breath and listen to me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “This is exactly what I was afraid of! See, this is why I kept this a secret. I knew you’d be upset.”

  “If you knew, then why did you do it?” I yelled at her. “Why did you let me be born a hundred years after my time?”

  “The alternative,” she said slowly, “was to let you never be born at all.”

  10

  I found the family pictures in our computer files. All I had to do was trace Mom’s family tree back a few generations and there they were. Bonnie. Steven. Rita. Jim.

  My family.

  They stared at me from my com
puter screen, frozen in the typical poses of their era. Bonnie and Steve at their wedding, arms entwined as they fed each other bites of white cake. She had my gray eyes and button nose. He had my thin lips and lopsided smile.

  After the wedding pictures came the baby photos. Even in the blurry old photographs, the adoration showed on their faces as they took turns holding the baby in the dozens and dozens of photographs. They loved her as they would never love me.

  They didn’t even give me a chance to know them!

  Rita’s toddler and kindergarten pictures were followed by photos of my brother Jim. He was a mischievous-looking little boy with fire-red hair in looping curls. Rita had written in her diary that he was a brat who drove her crazy. I’d have given anything to have been there with her, having our little brother drive us crazy together.

  In a matter of moments I watched Rita’s life unfold as the computer scrolled through the photos. She was a gap-toothed kindergartner smiling cheerfully at the camera, then a gangly nine-year-old hanging upside down in a tree. In the seventh grade her hair was styled in a puffy bouffant as she posed primly. But as she traveled into her teen years, her hair flowed unrestrained down her shoulders, sometimes falling messily into her sullen eyes.

  I could see now we weren’t identical. All the photos with so many different angles revealed new sides to Rita. Her forehead was higher than mine, her eyes a little wider spaced. I had a widow’s peak, while her hairline was flat. My chin was slightly sharper, and my mouth rose higher on the left when I smiled. But the differences were subtle, and the resemblance was still strong. We looked as much alike as you could expect two sisters to look.

  The family portraits made me saddest. The last one of all four of them together was a formally posed portrait against a studio backdrop of a sunny ocean scene. Seventeen-year-old Rita sat beside Jim. Our parents stood behind them, arms around each other. Jim’s face was chubby and his curls were cropped short. The photographer must have told a good joke, because everyone was grinning broadly.

  I should have been there, filling the empty space between my brother and sister—laughing with them! I squinted at the photo, imagining myself in the space between them.