The Demon Conspiracy

by R. L. Gemmill

  ***

  Jon understood now. They had been in a wreck. His stomach hurt because the seatbelt had saved his life, but right now it was putting a major squeeze on him. He caught a pungent smell in the air. Gasoline. Something was smoldering too and smelled foul. The car could catch fire at any moment. They needed help fast. Somebody had to do something!

  But nobody else was there. He was the only one who could do anything at all.

  All at once Kelly cried out. “M-m-mommy! Daddy! Help me!”

  Jon released the buckle on his seatbelt and dropped to the passenger side window, which was now on the street. Slowly, he stood on wobbly legs and got his bearings. Kelly thrashed above him. She cried and kicked wildly. The toe of her shoe poked his forehead, nearly jabbing him in the eye.

  “Kelly, stop! I’ve got you!”

  She calmed enough for him to unlock her seatbelt and catch her. He reached overhead and manually opened the sliding door. “Are you okay?”

  Kelly trembled with relief. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I…I think so.”

  “Good. Get out. I’ll lift Travis up to you. Take him over to the sidewalk, okay?”

  Kelly climbed out the side door, which was now on top.

  “Here,” said Jon from below. “Don’t drop him.” He lifted Travis up through the door. Kelly took the little boy and set him beside her on the van. Jon frowned. His little brother was utterly still, arms and legs dangling listlessly. “Is he all right? Is he…you know…alive?”

  “He’s still asleep.”

  “He really can sleep through anything! Can you see what happened to us?” Jon looked up and watched his sister scan the area.

  “We were in a accident.” With a six-year-old’s vocabulary she went on to describe the scene around them. The bottom of the van was jammed against a telephone pole. Smoke rose from somewhere inside the engine compartment and fluids leaked all over the street. About thirty feet away a huge dump truck rested with its front partially smashed in. Steam rose from its engine, but she didn’t see anyone inside the truck.

  “Go,” said Jon solemnly. He climbed through the door and poked his head into the night air. From there he kept a cautious eye on Kelly as she did her best to climb down the luggage rack to the street without losing her hold on Travis. She made it and carried her brother to a safe spot. Satisfied, Jon dropped back into the van. Two down, two more to go.

  He stepped over and around the captain’s seats until he got to his mother. Mrs. Bishop lay curled up on the passenger door, still in her seatbelt. He released the seatbelt and bent to pick her up. Jon was strong and his mother was tiny, so he thought he could handle her weight. But her limpness made her heavy. It was everything he could do just to move her. Luckily, the windshield was completely gone, broken and scattered all over the street. He climbed through the opening and carefully took his mother by her arms. With all his strength he dragged her out of the vehicle.

  Kelly put Travis on a patch of damp ground and ran back to help. Broken glass crunched under their shoes as they dragged Mrs. Bishop to where Travis was curled up sucking his thumb.

  “Jon, you’re bleeding!” Kelly touched the edge of his forehead. A two-inch wound bled freely down the side of his face.

  It explained why his head hurt. He turned away from her. “Don’t. I gotta get dad.” He was about to go back to the van when he noticed Kelly staring oddly at their mother. Jon looked down. Something about her neck didn’t look right. It had an unnatural bend to it, as if snapped to one side.

  All at once flames rose from inside the engine. They both jumped back.

  “Jon!”

  Jon froze at the sight. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He wanted to act, but his feet wouldn’t move. The van could explode any second and all he could do was watch.

  Jon! Hurry!

  The words were shouted inside his head. He recognized Kelly’s voice, but somehow her mouth hadn’t moved when she said it. The urgency in her eyes made him jump. He raced to the van.

  “Dad! Dad, wake up!”

  Fire spread over the van like a hot flood. The front license plate read Bishop 5, but the letters curled and turned black in the intense heat. In the flickering light Jon saw his father more clearly than before. His head and face were bloodier than he’d realized. Jon fought off a wave of terrible thoughts that his dad might already be dead. No! Not dead! He has to be saved!

  Jon tried to crawl through the windshield. Scorching flames shot up and blocked the way. Fire was everywhere. How could he possibly save his father? He went toward the windshield opening again. The heat was intense. Flames licked at his face. He drew back in near panic. All at once he began to cry. He couldn’t help it.

  “DAD!” he screamed. “DAD! WAKE UP!” Jon had never felt so helpless. Frustration gave way to desperation.

  “DADDY! PLEASE, WAKE UP!”

  His father never moved. But the fire responded with the roar of a hungry beast. Desperation gave way to madness.

  Ignoring the danger, Jon broke through the wall of fire and got inside the minivan. Flames licked at him from every angle. It didn’t matter anymore. He’d rather die with his dad than live without trying to help him.

  Hot smoke filled the van. Jon tried to recall what he’d been taught about fire safety at school. But those lessons had only covered being in a burning house. This was completely different. The toxic smells of melting plastic and burning fuels were suffocating. It didn’t seem to matter whether he stood tall or kept low. Either way he inhaled scalding, poisonous gases. He groped around and found his dad.

  Beside him Mr. Bishop hung from his seatbelt, unconscious—or worse. His face and head were a bloody mess.

  “DAD!”

  Jon tried to undo the seatbelt. The buckle was hot. It burned his fingers just to touch it. A strip of molten plastic dripped off the door and landed across his left forearm. It seared the flesh instantly.

  Jon screamed in agony. But he never stopped fighting the seatbelt release. He pressed the release button with all his strength. It was locked tight.

  “I can’t get it open!”

  “Jon! Get out of there!” Kelly had moved closer to the fire.

  “I’m not leaving him! Get away!”

  Jon fought furiously with the seatbelt. His fingers burned every time he touched the hot buckle. He pulled and punched and even chewed on the belt. Nothing could open it. Any second now the van was going to blow up. If it did, he would die with his father.

  Fine! Then I’ll die, too!

  NO! cried Kelly inside his head. You can’t!

  Jon looked up, stunned. It sounded like she was in his mind again.

  “I can’t get it open!” He coughed, desperate for clean air. Tears poured out of his eyes. He needed to get away from the fire—but not without Dad.

  Suddenly, Jon got the feeling he wasn’t alone. He looked back.

  An older man in blue jeans and white running shoes also risked the flames. He stooped over the dashboard and reached out his hand. Resting in his palm was a Swiss Army knife, the longest blade pulled out.

  “Here, kid!” cried the man. “You’d better hurry!”

  Jon took the knife and quickly sawed through the seatbelt. His father landed hard on top of him. Luckily, the man caught some of the load. Together they dragged and tugged Mr. Bishop out of the van. By now several other people had arrived to help. Moments later the van exploded in a ball of fire.

  “I called the police and the rescue squad,” said an old woman who stood beside the man with the pocketknife. “An ambulance is on the way.”

  Jon coughed uncontrollably in long, deep heaves. The man patted him on the back to help loosen the nastiness in his lungs. His face, arms and hands were burned and bloody. The old woman started slapping his right leg just above the ankle.

  “Your pants are on fire!” She quickly put it out.

  “Kid, that’s the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” said the man with the knife.
“Or the stupidest. But I understand why you did it.” The man looked at the Swiss Army knife and shook his head. “It’s so strange. I didn’t own a pocketknife until a half hour ago. Some guy I didn’t know came up to me and put it in my hand. He told me it was a good knife and might come in handy some time.”

  Jon barely heard him. He looked down. Kelly sat between their mom and little brother. She leaned close to her mother’s face and whispered to her.

  “Mommy! Wake up, Mommy! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

  Their mother opened her eyes ever so slightly. She half smiled at her daughter. Then her fading gaze settled on Jon as she let out a long, last breath and lay still. Kelly jerked and cried out like she’d been electrocuted. She grabbed her own head with both hands and began to sob.

  “I love you, too, Mommy! Oh, Mommy, please don’t leave us!” Kelly looked up at Jon. “She said goodbye. She said she loves us all. It hurts my head so bad!”

  Jon stared at his mother in total shock and disbelief. “No! She’s not dead! I saved her! They’re just hurt!”

  “No…” Kelly wailed in spastic throbs. “They’re…dead!”

  Kelly flopped across her mother’s body and pressed her face into her breast. Jon looked down at his mom, then at his dad. Dad hadn’t stirred the entire time they moved him and he clearly wasn’t breathing now. It finally struck him like a bolt of lightning. Kelly was right. Their mommy and daddy really were dead. Jon collapsed from the shock. The man caught him and set him on the ground.

  The old woman checked Mrs. Bishop’s pulse. After a while she bit her lip and went to Mr. Bishop. She shook her head sadly. “Little girl’s right. I don’t know how she knew, but she’s right.”

  All at once Travis sat up, thumb in mouth, looking dazed. He smiled groggily at the woman. Then he curled up in the crook of his dead mother’s arm and went back to sleep.

  2

  THE BULLY—SEVEN YEARS LATER

  KELLY

  I hate Kelly Bishop. I just wanna kick her face in.

  The random thought snapped me out of a deep sleep. I wiped drool off my cheek and pulled a strand of curly brown hair from my mouth. I looked up, totally confused. Where was I? What day was it? What’s this puddle of saliva doing on my desk?

  Then it hit me. Monday morning, first hour, math class. Oh yeah, talk about your major letdown. As usual I’d dozed off listening to the teacher, Ms. Zach, drone on forever about the value of x or y or some other dumb letter. Ms. Zach was old, gray and still single after like a hundred years. That woman could put the Energizer Bunny to sleep. I rolled my eyes (something I’m really good at) and was about to plop my head back on the desk, but the hate thought was a definite wake up call. Why would somebody think like that? I mean we’re talking about Kelly Bishop here. That’s me!

  I’d been an eighth grader at Franklin Middle School in Chantilly, Virginia, for a whole month, so there were plenty of kids I didn’t know yet. But for someone to hate me already, well, that didn’t seem fair. I was sure if they knew me they’d realize I wasn’t the kind of person people hated. Maybe they were thinking about some other Kelly and got the last name wrong.

  If I could just find out who it was, I’d talk to them, maybe even be friends. Of course to do that I’d have to tune in to their thoughts. I decided to start with three of the more popular and pretty girls in the next row.

  Brandy Barnette: Anthony’s so cute. I wish he’d go out with me.

  Heather Hoskins: If Anthony looks at me I’ll die! How come he won’t look at me?

  Ann Bockman. Should I invite Anthony to my pool party? He’d probably say no.

  Okay, the only person those girls cared about was Anthony Mall, the tallest and cutest boy in the eighth grade. Since Anthony was in such big demand I got curious about which girl he might like. I peeked into his thoughts from across the room.

  I bet I failed that science quiz. I’m gonna play pro football some day. I really like cheese pizza.

  I fought off a major chuckle. I shouldn’t have been surprised though, after all he was a boy. I wiped the drool off the desk with a tissue and spent the rest of the period trying to track down the thinker who despised me. Minutes before the bell I still had no idea who it was.

  I first knew I could read minds when my younger brother, Travis, was just a toddler. Whenever he got upset I could enter his thoughts like a light breeze and sing him to sleep, or just speak to him inside his head. He talked back to me that way, too, but he’s not telepathic. As far as I knew, I could read the thoughts of just about anybody, except crazy people and my older brother Jon. Crazy people were on a different wavelength so I couldn’t tune into them. And Jon, well, I could read his thoughts just fine until he sensed something was going on, then he’d completely block me out. Travis and I kept my ability a secret. Jon must have known, too, since he blocked me all the time, but we never talked about it.

  Travis wasn’t telepathic but he had a special skill, too. He could feel emotion in other people like it was his own. Usually it was a good thing, but it took him a few years to get it under control. There was this time when he was seven and we were standing on a sidewalk waiting to cross the street. A whole line of cars went by with headlights on. It was a funeral. All the sadness of the people in that funeral procession literally knocked Travis to the ground. He started bawling uncontrollably and couldn’t stop until the cars were way down the road. I just stood there, all embarrassed, and looked at him like he was crazy. Good thing I could read his mind and figure out what the problem was.

  My brothers and I had been orphans ever since the accident. I shivered every time I thought about it. A judge made us live in separate state homes or with different foster families for seven years, which kind of sucked. The foster families I stayed with were nice enough and I made plenty of friends at the children’s home. But I hardly ever got to see Jon or Travis, usually only at Christmas or on our birthdays. It was the loneliest time of my life until last month when Angie and Chris McCormick took in all three of us. They’re two of the nicest people I’ve ever known.

  The school bell rang and I gathered my things. I pulled on my backpack and followed the rest of the class out the door. Along the way somebody shoved me into the doorjamb. I lost my balance and nearly tasted floor wax. Without looking back I figured it must have been my fault.

  “Sorry,” I said. But abruptly I sensed something was terribly wrong. I turned.

  Donnivee Fox glared back at me with fierce green eyes and a sneer on her face that would have scared a pit-bull. I didn’t have to scan her thoughts to know she wanted to start a fight right there.

  “What’re you lookin’ at?” Donnivee clenched her fists.

  “Nothing,” I said, trying to walk away from her. Though we were nearly the same height, Donnivee was heavier than I was and probably stronger, too. She’d been in fights before and whether she’d won or not didn’t matter. I didn’t want to fight her. Ever.

  “That’s bull crap!” Donnivee pushed me into the wall. Students gathered around us to watch. I realized I might have to fight just to stay alive. That would get me a black eye, maybe a broken nose and a three-day suspension. What would Angie say about that?

  Suddenly, a smallish, pale girl dressed entirely in black stepped between us. I’d seen the girl before in science class, but we’d never spoken to each other. The girl stood before Donnivee with a tilted head and bulging eyes. Her lower jaw hung slack. She looked positively psycho. Was she going to start drooling next? I don’t read emotions like Travis, but it was clear as crystal that Donnivee was afraid of that girl.

  Luckily, Mrs. Cecere, my last-hour teacher, happened to walk by.

  “Donnivee Fox!” said Mrs. Cecere sternly. “Go to your next class. Now!”

  Donnivee never looked at the teacher. She tried to glare at me, but her gaze kept darting over to the girl in black. “Yes, Mrs. Cecere.” She shot me one of those I’ll-get-you-later looks, then stomped down the hall.

  “Are you okay, Ke
lly?” asked Mrs. Cecere.

  The fear must have shown in my eyes or maybe she saw my hands shaking. It’s kind of hard to explain, but whenever I almost get the crap beat of me I get pretty scared. I can’t lock away my fear the way Jon does.

  “I’m fine.” Thank God my voice was steadier than the rest of me.

  “If you have a problem with her you’ll let me know, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The girl in black looked normal again and winked at me. She went down the hall as if nothing had happened. I thought about winking back, but I couldn’t close just one eye. I don’t wink, I blink. It’s kind of embarrassing, like having dust in both eyes.

  I shook badly well into my next class and my stomach felt like it was tied up in squishy knots. From that day on I tried to keep mentally tuned in to Donnivee whenever she was within range.