Anomaly

by Tonya Kuper

  “Hey.”

  I closed my eyes.

  Reid grabbed my hand, threaded our fingers. “I’m real, Josie.”

  I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t meet his gaze, so I focused on our hands instead. I felt the calluses along his palms, the thickness of his knuckles between my fingers, the soft pads of his fingers moving over the top of my hand. His steady heartbeat thrummed from his wrist to mine.

  We stayed that way for moments—minutes?—until his hand retreated, until only our fingertips connected. We were barely touching and yet the contact was intense, magnified. I gasped a breath.

  Reid shook his head. He released me and stuffed his hands in his pockets, flexing his triceps, and said, “I should teach you a few things. Ready for lesson one?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  He stepped to my magnetic chalkboard. My whole life was there. Pictures of my family and me. Photos of my friends. Undergrad Physics Achievement Award certificates. Homework assignments. Brochures on summer programs from all of the top universities blowing up my mailbox with “Come join our state-of-the-art physics program” letters. Usually the wall made me smile—it was proof I had a life, unlike all those years we were homeschooled. Tonight it seemed like a reminder of how much of our world may not be real.

  A second later, the wall and everything were gone, replaced with a whiteboard. Reid tapped the board with his marker. “The three rules of the Resistance.” Reid scribbled, his back toward me. And I tried not to watch the muscles in his shoulder twitch under his shirt as he wrote. I was relieved when he finally finished and faced me. “One, cause no harm. Two, never reveal Oculi abilities. Three, don’t play God.”

  6.

  Reid

  D

  oubt shadowed Josie’s face. She wasn’t a rule breaker by nature, and she knew she’d already broken rules. Good. It would help keep her safe.

  I scribbled the word Oculi across the board. “There are three types of Oculi.” Josie’s eyebrows arched. Was she surprised or overwhelmed? I couldn’t worry that much. I had to treat her like any other Resistance member. The marker squeaked as I wrote Pushers, then Retractors.

  Josie sat cross-legged on the end of her bed, resting one elbow on her knee. “Retractors?”

  I dragged in a long breath, readying myself for the explanation and her possible breakdown. “Pushers Push reality, make the possible real. Retractors Retract reality. Basically, they make shit disappear. They’re pretty rare, but they exist. If the Pusher was a pen and created, then a Retractor would be the eraser. But Retractors can only Retract what’s been Pushed. They can’t erase what a pen hasn’t created. Get it?”

  Josie straightened her posture. “Yeah.”

  I spelled out the word. A-N-O-M-A-L-Y. “And then there’s—”

  “Some people can do both.” She shot off the bed.

  It was a little spooky how she could figure out what I’d say next. “How’d you—”

  “You continued. It was the most logical step in the sequence.”

  “Okay, Spock. Yes. We call those who can do both Anomalies. They can Retract anything whether it was Pushed or not, just nothing with a soul. They’re rarer yet.”

  Josie crossed her arms. “That doesn’t make sense. By definition, an anomaly is something different from the norm. Pushers and Retractors are so not normal.”

  “Actually,” I said, popping the cap back onto the marker, “in our reality, it is the norm.”

  “Do the abilities come on at once? Like, I tried to make the rock disappear earlier but I…Well, it’s still there.” She gestured to the boulder.

  “Oculi abilities start around age seventeen. An Anomaly can usually Push first, and the Retracting comes soon after, usually within days.”

  Hitching her hands on her hips and cocking her head, she said, “I’m assuming a lot of the unexplainable phenomenon in the world can be explained by Pushers, Retractors, and Anomalies?”

  “Not all, but yeah. A lot.” I scooted past Josie to her bedside table. I picked through her stack of books, some novels, some nonfiction physics and theory textbooks. Jackpot. I held up a book titled The Physics of Star Trek. “Are you a VIP card holder to Club Nerd?”

  Josie stomped over and snagged the book out of my hand, her cheeks pink. “Nerds don’t know they’re nerds. I know I’m a…well, I prefer to be called a dork, thank you.”

  I turned away from her, trying not to laugh at her adorable nerdiness. “All the random or freak stuff, like a boat in the middle of the desert? Pushers who were new, or lazy, or careless. Something is there one minute but not the next? You think your eyes are playing tricks on you. A Retractor could’ve done that.”

  “Okay then…” Josie’s voice was directly behind me. I spun, trapped between her and the bed. “What about people walking away from an accident unscathed when they should’ve died from the impact or whatever?” Josie asked, her face tilted up toward mine and her brows furrowed. I could almost hear her neurons firing.

  Being so close to her in her room next to her bed made me think of things I shouldn’t be thinking about. I stepped to the side. “That’s usually chance, fate, a greater plan, or whatever you want to call it. We can’t move vehicles with humans inside. That would make them aware of us, or of something. And that’s rule number three—don’t play God.”

  Josie followed two steps behind me around her room. “What about wishing for someone to do something, say something, making a decision on something or—”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “We Push and Retract reality, but people still have free will. We can’t control their minds.”

  “Got it. No bending will.”

  I stood by her dresser where a picture of her, Nick, and Eli sat in a frame. My chest hurt. I hadn’t seen a picture of Nick in a long time.

  “What about that?” Josie asked, pointing behind me.

  A pile of money. The top bills were hundreds, which meant Josie had Pushed at least a million bucks. She started toward the heap of cash, but I blocked her way. “You want to draw that attention to yourself? You want to tell them exactly where you are? Go ahead. But the quickest way to pop on the radar, Consortium or not, is to Push a million.”

  The green of her irises darkened and the whites of her eyes expanded.

  “I told you, the Consortium has infiltrated all branches and levels of government and society. There aren’t many of them, but they are strategically placed.” Josie’s mouth opened to say something, but I put my hand up to stop her. “Why do you think the IRS has rules for deposits over ten thousand dollars? Red flag.” Her mouth closed. “Every action has a consequence, and some of these consequences can be seen—monitored.” I didn’t want to sound mean, but I needed her to understand.

  “Oculi can live quite comfortably, but we have to be smart about it. You Push as you go. The more extravagant, the more attention you’ll draw. And we don’t want attention.” Josie nibbled on her bottom lip. “But, by all means, if you want to live it up, Push a few mill, just know you’ll be dead sooner rather than later.”

  Josie shifted to see around me. The money was gone; I’d already Retracted it. “You didn’t have to be a dick about it.” She flopped back on her bed and rubbed her temples.

  I crossed my arms. “I’m saving your ass.” She was hurting from all the Pushing she’d done. “Speaking of consequences, that headache is from using your abilities so much today. You can probably already tell that the bigger or more intricate a Push or Retraction, the more severe the pain. The pain and nausea will lessen. You’ll be able to see a difference in the next day or two. But from here on out, you have to remember that Pushing and Retracting take energy and that energy comes at a price.”

  “What’s the price?”

  Taking a seat on the boulder, I leaned forward in an attempt to make this part more conversational. “We observe through the use of our eyes, and the information travels through the optic nerve to our brain. I’m sure you know that’s
oversimplified. Anyway, the amount of energy we use with our abilities fries our nerves, which leads to degradation of the parietal lobe, cerebrum, and cortex.” And the occipital and frontal lobes, and, oh yeah, it causes blindness, neurological degeneration, and a boatload of pain. But I didn’t say all that. Still, she had to know the risks. “The energy for our Pushing or Retracting is stored, almost like a savings account. Over time and usage, that supply of energy slowly dwindles. The more we use our abilities, the more energy we use, the faster we’ll physically deteriorate, go mad, or…die.”

  The color drained from Josie’s cheeks. “Die.” She said it a fraction of a second after me. She understood.

  Most Oculi simply lost their powers at some point. They reached the finite expanse of their abilities and then one day, they ceased to be able to call on them. They lived the rest of their lives as Plancks, no one any wiser. It was the peaceful end to a rare gift. Others…for others, the end was anything but peaceful.

  Josie’s gaze shifted to something behind me. Over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a photo of her and her family. “How am I an Oculi, Reid? Where do we come from?”

  I’d let her draw her own conclusions, and she had. “It’s an inherited trait.”

  Her whole body seemed to tense, and she pulled her trembling hands into her lap. A deep crease formed between her eyes before she dropped her head. Yeah, learning your parents were in on the “lie,” that was a bitter pill to swallow. Kinda right up there with the whole red pill/blue pill scenario from The Matrix. Swear to God, if given a choice, I would’ve gone the blue-pill route and not known about any of this. Plancks didn’t know how good they had it.

  I stepped forward, not sure how to comfort her. Josie lifted her head, and her lower lip gave a little shiver. It really shot a hole in my stoic, I-don’t-give-a-shit trainer facade I was trying to maintain. And if her eyes welled up again…forget it, I was a goner.

  She bit her lip, squeezed her eyes shut, and let out a long sigh. When she opened her eyes, her usual unshaken, calculating face was in place. Either she was as tough as nails or she was a damn good actress. “I’ll talk to my mom. Should I do that now?”

  It was after four in the morning. “Why don’t you try to grab a couple hours of sleep? I have a feeling tomorrow will be a long day. I’ll keep watch. You’ll be safe. Santos is on call close by, too. Do you want me to stay inside?”

  She nodded quickly. “Please.”

  Of course I’d stay. I needed to talk to Josie’s mom after she did—I needed to convince them both that it was in our best interests to go off the grid…if they wanted to live.

  7.

  Josie

  S

  leep didn’t come, and I wasn’t sure if it’d ever come again. After an hour of tossing and turning and exchanging long, awkward looks with Reid from my bed—he sat across from me with his back to the wall, watching me, and, really, how was I supposed to catch any shut-eye like that?—I shoved up to a seated position. I’d been thinking about how my parents knew about all this and the lies I’d been told. My chest hurt, like the Hulk had my torso in a death squeeze. It was probably psychosomatic. I also thought about the “cost” of using our abilities. Seems I was just a tad premature in thinking myself delusional—my mental problems would inevitably come, just not right away.

  Reid watched me, and I finally asked the question I’d pondered for at least five minutes. “How did you Retract all those trees in the park? If a Retractor can only Retract what has been Pushed?”

  “I’m an Anomaly, Josie.”

  Right. And Anomalies seemed to be able to do just about anything. At a cost… “If all the Pushing and Retracting subtract from our so-called savings accounts, then why did you Retract all those trees in the park? That was pretty massive.”

  Reid, sitting on the boulder he hadn’t Retracted yet, shrugged, then leaned onto his forearms. “I needed to make sure you were safe.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. My tongue felt like a cotton ball in my mouth. The entire night, every time he’d Pushed or Retracted, it had been for me. He’d tapped into his own energy bank, inching his way closer to a physical or mental breakdown, draining his brain of power—for me. Overwhelming gratitude bubbled in my stomach and moved into my chest. I needed to convey how much that meant, but I’d just sound ridiculous or I’d muck up the words, so I settled for simplicity. “Thank you.”

  A lazy smile pulled at his lips. My thank-you wasn’t enough for his personal sacrifice, but he acted like it was.

  “I can’t sleep and I need to talk to my mom.” It was easy for me to connect the dots. Reid talked about neurological issues, something my mother specialized in, then said this whole phenomenon was inherited. Which meant my mom knew. “Does she know about you?”

  “Yeah.” One of his hands combed through his dark waves. “I’ll give you some time alone with her, and then I’ll need to talk to you both.”

  Part of me wanted to stay in bed, dreading what I’d learn from my mom, but part of me wanted to march into her room and demand answers. That seemed to be my MO for the last two years since Nick died—stuck in a constant limbo with my mother, never getting anywhere with her. The two parts of me usually warred with each other and I never initiated anything, didn’t ask the questions I needed answered. Not this time, though.

  I pinwheeled my feet to the floor and beelined for the door. Glancing over my shoulder to Reid, I saw there was something in his eyes, an understanding maybe, that reassured me.

  Mom’s bedroom door was open, revealing a dark, empty room, but my brother’s door was closed. This was my mom’s usual—going to bed late and getting up early. The smell of coffee hung in the air and I followed the scent downstairs. She had to have heard Reid and me talking in my room.

  I rounded the corner. Mom rested a basket of clothes on her hip as she hobbled from the laundry room into the kitchen. Paused in the middle of the floor, she stared at me, the creases in her face seeming deeper and her eyes tired. “What do you know?” She set the clothesbasket on the counter and sat at the island.

  I rehashed almost everything since meeting Reid at school yesterday, but I left out the way he made my insides do funny things. I didn’t share that kind of stuff with my mom, or anyone, really.

  She let me talk without interruption, and I ended my summary of recent events with Reid’s whiteboard lesson. I thought maybe she’d say something about Reid being in my room, but that didn’t seem to faze her. She cleared her throat and said, “I never wanted to have this conversation with you. I hope you understand, or will someday, that this was not our wish for you. We didn’t want you to experience or know any of this. That’s why we didn’t tell you anything—in the hope that you wouldn’t be affected.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not, but, besides the birthday cake she’d attempted to make, this was one of the most affectionate things she’d said to me in a long time.

  Mom inhaled slowly as she stood and limped over to pour a cup of coffee. She made her way into the living room and waited for me expectantly before she settled on the couch. The size of the couch seemed out of proportion for just the two of us. I remembered when Nick, Eli, and I would all pile on this couch with Mom and Dad on Saturday mornings. I wanted that back. At least that feeling of security and predictability, anyway.

  I sat, and Mom’s green eyes found mine. “Twenty years ago, your dad and I both worked for Science Industries, he as a physicist, me as a neurologist, both of us Anomalies. We were individually recruited to work for SI. At the time, we didn’t know the goal of the Consortium was to control Oculi, specifically Anomalies. No one really did. Your dad and I were under the impression, as was everyone who worked at SI, that we were doing research that would benefit Oculi and, in turn, aid humanity. We didn’t know the Consortium wanted to keep Anomalies in check until I was asked to experiment with ways to strengthen and weaken Anomalies.”

  I shoved a pillow in my lap. I wanted to know more…y
et I didn’t.

  Mom sipped her coffee casually and continued. “I worked on a vaccination for Anomalies, basically to strengthen their characteristics. It worked on a cellular level, affecting the DNA of the Anomaly recipient. After months of experimenting and testing, I determined the inoculation would enable an Anomaly to do more, Push more, Retract more, make reality exactly what they wanted it to be. Move beyond the limitations Anomalies had, which really weren’t many. That’s when I realized we needed to dig deeper to figure out what was really going on at SI, because this vaccination would make an Anomaly Godlike. Nearly invincible.

  “We discovered that the Consortium, though it was a small organization, was integrated into all aspects of life—law enforcement, government, banking—and their purpose was to keep Plancks safe through policing Oculi. As this was all happening, your dad and I fell in love. We didn’t like the direction things were moving within SI, within the Consortium. No one should have the power I’d created, nor should they have their power weakened. Who were we to play God?”

  Anxiety simmered in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like the direction this story was headed, either. I prepared for what was coming next.

  “I wanted to quit my job, but a place like SI is not easy to leave. Your dad and I planned on exiting the company, but we couldn’t do it simultaneously. We kept our relationship a secret and planned on my leaving first.

  “On my last day, your dad was in my lab when security raided it. They wanted the enhancer. They approached, armed with loaded weapons, and I was holding the syringe with the enhancer. I gave your dad half the syringe, then stuck myself, knowing if the enhancer worked, your dad and I wouldn’t abuse our abilities. We were moral people who’d never use it in the wrong way. We Pushed and Retracted our way to the window and jumped two stories, me taking a gunshot to the thigh.” She patted her leg.

  “A gunshot—after what Reid had told me, I assumed…”

  “You thought it was the debilitating aftereffects of over-usage of my Oculi abilities.”