Sam and Drake escaped the clutches of Rent-A-Kid just over a month ago, and for the last two weeks, Drake had stood by and watched as Sam suffered. She'd grown gaunt and pale, and lost too much weight, especially with their baby growing inside of her. She shook all the time, and cried when she thought he wasn't looking. Drake had seen people come off meth... and that's what Sam looked like.
He hadn't taken her to the hospital. She was too scared they would keep her for drug use while pregnant, or something. Drake knew he could get her out, no problem, but she didn't want him using his powers that way.
If he couldn't use his gifts to protect his child and girlfriend, then what was the point of having powers at all? He didn't understand Sam's problem with using para-powers that were a part of them. How could it be wrong if it's how they were born?
He pushed the large, wooden carved doors in and stood for a moment, letting the silence and holiness of the place rest over him like a shawl.
As if psychic—and Drake had long suspected he was—Father Patrick shuffled down the aisle with arms wide open. "Drake, my boy, it's been too long. Too long. I've been worried for you."
The old man, a good foot shorter than Drake, wrapped his arm around the taller man and gave him an affectionate squeeze.
"I've sensed some darkness around you, boy. And I've been saying my prayers."
Drake followed him down the aisle and through a side door into the priest's office. "I could use your help, Father."
"It's not my help you need, but our Lord Father's help." He smiled and sat behind his desk. "Yes, I know, you don't believe in all this, but that doesn't mean He doesn't believe in you." He waved his hand dismissively. "Never mind all that. What can I help you with?"
A plump woman, dressed in an orange muumuu that matched her hair, opened the door and peeked her head in. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, Father, but I thought I heard...." Her voice trailed off as she made eye contact with Drake. "...and I did! Drake, look at you, such a big boy. Where have you been?" She pushed into the room and kissed Drake on the cheek, then lowered her voice to a conspirational whisper. “You know that young man who was injured a few months back? Thought you might like to know he’s doing very well, very well indeed. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Mrs. Maypol hugged him so hard a normal person might not have been able to breathe. He smiled big and hugged back, more gently so as not to crush her.
He looked to the priest and to Mrs. Maypol. These people had been his family growing up. Whenever he could sneak away from whatever foster home served as temporary residence, he came here. He’d come by a few months ago to help with the garden, but ended up exposing his powers when a three thousand pound angel sculpture pinned a man to the ground and nearly killed him. Shortly thereafter, the Rent-A-Kid organization had taken him and held him captive, but he knew that no one here had betrayed him.
"It's good to see you, Mrs. Maypol. I've been out of town for awhile, but I've missed you all too."
"Well, I'll leave you to your talk. I just had to say hi!" She bustled out as quickly as she'd bustled in.
The priest settled his eyes on Drake. "You're in some kind of trouble, I suspect?"
Drake debated how much to tell him about what he'd gone through. Trust wasn't the issue; he didn't want to put Father Patrick in danger if anyone should come looking for him. They might not find his connection to this church, but he couldn't risk it.
"I'm not even sure I should have come here. It could be dangerous, but I didn't know who else to talk to. Father, you know how I've always been... different?"
The priest chuckled. "Yes, different. That's one way of putting it. I seem to recall a young Bishop who will never return to this church because he believes it is haunted and that his soul became possessed one Sunday while doing a guest sermon."
Drake laughed. He hadn't thought about that day in many years.
***
At ten years old, Drake was just starting to test the limits and boundaries of his powers. When the Bishop yelled at one of the other kids for not kneeling properly during the Sacraments, he became the perfect target.
The man stood at the front of the church, full of pomp and arrogance, proclaiming God's intention that even the poor give of their last dime to further finance the Armies of God. It irritated Drake that this man, who knew nothing of the people here, would drain his foster family of what little they had out of misguided guilt.
Time to play a little prank.
As the Bishop droned on... "To any who hold back even the smallest penny of abundance, everlasting misery shall surely follow you for your lack of faith and lack of support...." Drake slipped into the Bishop's oily, weasely little mind. "And so we petition you as Christ petitioned His followers, to give until it hurts, for only then will you...." –and Drake was in— "...dance the hokey pokey in heaven."
A murmur of surprise started like a wave through the packed congregation. When the Bishop actually started doing the hokey pokey, bursts of guilty laughter hiccupped throughout the crowd.
Father Patrick, sitting on stage behind the Bishop, looked straight into Drake, and the ten-year-old understood in that instant... the Father knew.
***
"That was how we met." Drake closed the memory back up, putting it away carefully in his mind. He didn't have many happy memories, but those he did, he guarded fiercely.
"A day I shall forever cherish," Father Patrick said. "And between you and me, that pompous Bishop deserved a bit of humbling. But, back to the point of it all: yes, you are different."
"There are more of my kind. Not exactly like me, but with different abilities. All kinds of powers, things you wouldn't believe if you saw!"
The priest's eyebrow arched up in surprise. "How many?"
"I don't know exactly, but an entire school's worth, and younger kids in another facility. They're using them, doing horrible genetic experiments, and... I've fallen in love with a girl. Sam is her name, and she's pregnant with my child. I'm going to be a dad, and... the kicker is... we've never even...." Drake hesitated. "We've never known each other in the Biblical sense," he finished.
The priest laughed full belly at that. "You can use the word, boy. Sex. I'm a priest, not dead. I'm familiar with the word. As to the rest, I need to give this some thought."
Drake fidgeted in his chair. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
"No, but this is a lot to take in. I'm not surprised that there are others with special gifts. History, and my own life experiences, prove that, whether through supernatural or genetic intervention, some people are blessed with incredible powers. But an organization that would exploit these children, use them and experiment on them? This is the highest level of unholy. They must be stopped."
"We're trying to work out a plan. Sam's friends are there. We need to rescue them."
Father Patrick reached over and patted Drake's hand. "I can't imagine what you're going through, Son, but you're not alone. We have resources that can help. I know the Church doesn't have quite the political reach it used to, but we still have some influence. Whatever I can do, I will."
"It's such a relief to finally talk to you about this. I've been so alone in it all, and now I'm about to be a father. I've never even known a real father in my own life. All this other stuff aside, how am I supposed to take care of a child?"
"That's an entirely different conversation, Son. It won't be easy, but it isn't for anyone. You're loyal and loving and your child will feel that, even when you make mistakes. And you have your church family to help, always."
Drake nodded. As usual, Father Patrick nailed it on the head. No one knew him like this man did, and no one Drake knew had more wisdom and insight. "There's more. Sam is really sick. I think this organization, in addition to impregnating her, also drugged her and all the kids there. She's going through major withdrawals. I'm worried about her, and about our baby, but she won't let me take her to the hospital. She's scared they'll take her away. But I can protect he
r. I can get her out. Only, she doesn't really approve of my 'special abilities.' At least one of them. I love her, but when I'm around her, I feel like something inside me is bad. Do you think what I can do is evil?"
The Father didn't answer for many, long, silent minutes. They ventured out of comfortable silence and into a twitching kind of quiet that forced Drake out of his chair so he could pace the room. When the priest finally did speak, the direction of the conversation surprised Drake.
"Do you remember the story of Joseph and his ability to decipher dreams into prophesy?"
"Yeah, his brothers were jealous of him and sold him to slavery, but he used his gifts to garner favor from the Pharaoh. He became very powerful."
"His gifts were often considered in the realm of sorcery. In fact, many gifted prophets in the Bible went against the norm of the day."
"But I'm not a prophet. I control people's minds. There's a big difference."
"You were born to be who you are, my boy. Every gift has a dark and light side. It's a tool. The morality or immorality isn't inherent in the tool, it's in how you choose to wield it."
"So what do I do? How do I help her? When we were escaping the center... something happened. A woman who was helping us died. Sam wouldn't leave her, but we had to get out of there. Sam had been shot and was in shock. I didn't have time to think, I just acted... and I controlled her to get her to the car. I don't think she's forgiven me, even though she says she has. Was it wrong to do that?"
"Only you know if what you did was right or wrong. As for Sam, it's a very hard thing to lose control like that. Try to see it from her perspective. Don't give up, Drake. And know that I'm always here if ever you need me."
The priest pulled a rosary out of his desk and handed it to Drake. "Take this. I know you don't use it in the way I might suggest to others, but let it be a symbol of the love I hold for you, the son I never had."
Tears filled Drake's eyes as he reached for the gift. Precious gems of emerald, ruby and sapphire alternated to create a beautiful pattern that led to a silver crucifix, with the anguished Jesus hanging from a cross. Drake always wondered why Catholics focused on the torture and pain of the crucifixion, while Protestants focused on the empty cross of the resurrection. Father Patrick had explained once. 'The crucifixion is a reminder to us of the Lord's sacrifice. For while others focus on the redemptive nature of humanity, we choose to focus on the redeemer Himself, so that His sacrifice is never in vain.'
The priest handed him a tissue. Drake wiped his eyes and put the rosary in his pocket. "Thank you, Father. It means more than you know."
"Come, I will walk you to your car, and you can tell me more about Sam."
They took the long way, walking around the pristine church grounds, strolling between rows of colorful flowers and lush trees sprinkled with angelic sculptures that looked as if they played hide 'n seek. Drake had said more than he intended. The old priest always did have a way of getting him to open up.
Father Patrick turned to him when they arrived at the car. "What do you plan to do now?"
"I don't know. Wait until Sam gets better, then figure out the next step. Her friends are still trapped there. We need to figure out a way to get them out."
"And what will you do with so many children and teens if you do free them? Where will they go? With whom will they live?"
"Honestly, we haven't thought that far ahead. We've kind of been reacting more than planning so far."
"Do you have a few more minutes? I'd like to show you something."
Drake nodded and followed Father Patrick back into his office.
He moved aside a picture of the crucifix and revealed a safe. "I had a sense, some time back, that we would need this, though I didn't know why or when." Father Patrick pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to Drake.
"What's this?"
"Open it and see."
Drake sifted through the papers: A deed to 100 acres of land in Washington, and the blueprints for what looked like a mansion.
Drake sat, stunned. "What is this?"
"It's for the children you rescue, a place for new beginnings. It can be anything you want, including a live-in school for your paranormal friends."
"This is incredible. How did you—?" Drake looked at the man who had practically raised him. "You seem awfully prepared for something you knew nothing about until a few minutes ago."
The priest's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "What can I say? I was a Boy Scout."
"Right... and it has nothing to do with how you always seem to know things you shouldn't?"
"My boy, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I should introduce you to Sam. She's good at reading people."
The priest laughed and hugged him. "I'd love to meet her. I have nothing to hide from your mind-reading girlfriend."
"Thank you, Father. You've given me hope when I was ready to give up."
"Never give up, Son. There is always reason to hope."
Goodbyes were hard, but Drake needed to go someplace and think. He needed to process all this new information and figure out what it would mean for him and Sam.
He was pulling into a parking spot at the beach before it occurred to him that he'd never told the old priest what para-power Sam had. So how'd he know she could read minds?
Chapter 28 – Drake
Drake inhaled the cool, salty beach air and sank his toes into the warm sand. The crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean always calmed his mind, but not this time. He dropped his shoes onto the sand and rolled his cargo pants up past his calves, so he could feel the sharp bite of the cold water over his feet.
The sun hovered over the ocean, ushering in another day. Surfers dotted the watery landscape; Drake longed to be one of them, lost in the Zen of the wave, no other care or concern but that one moment of bliss.
His life had changed too much for surfing to bring him any peace. That day so many months ago changed everything. He'd been primed to win the regional Venice Beach Surfing Competition—next stop, Hawaii. Brad had warned him to keep a low profile, but surfing was too important to him, so Drake competed.
And he'd paid.
***
In a perfect moment of synchronicity and connection, the wave broke and wrapped around him in a watery cocoon from which he would emerge reborn. In that state of bliss he didn't notice Max cutting him off, didn't feel the pull of the current until his board threatened to spill him into the depths of the ocean.
With paranormal strength he steadied himself and kept his feet under him. A look of surprise flashed across Max's face before he directed his attention to the wave that also threatened to engulf him.
The men rode their boards to shore and were greeted by hundreds of voices cheering their success.
To anyone watching, they had both just scored a serious victory. Even the judges wouldn't be able to tell that Max had cheated and tried to sabotage Drake.
Words mattered little to him, but Max had just declared war.
Drake shoved Max to the sand using a touch more than normal strength, just enough to sting. "What the hell, man? Are you so desperate to win, and so afraid of me, that you would cheat?"
Max's eyes turned cold, but he pushed himself up and stared at Drake. "I don't know what you're talking about, but do that again and I'll make sure you're disqualified from the final round."
A group had formed, drawn into the drama. Drake passed his board to Brad and stormed off toward the showers to cool down before he blew it for good.
The warm sand squished under his feet, and the hot sun blazed down on his head.
He stripped off his wetsuit and stood under the showers, letting the warm water wash away the sand, salt and anger. Today could change his life forever; he just needed to keep his cool and ignore Max.
He'd been so absorbed in his rage, he hadn't noticed the buzz of warning under his skin that someone was watching him.
By the time he felt it, it was too late.
Somet
hing stung his shoulder.
He reached around and pulled out a dart. His thoughts swirled around in his head and his recent clarity gave way to a jumble of incoherent ramblings.
"Dude, are you all right?"
A voice spoke to him, but male or female, he couldn't tell. His vision blurred and he slumped onto the wet cement, the now cold water spraying over him until it ran out of time and stopped.
"Drake, you'll be okay. Come on, boy."
Another voice he didn't recognize. He reached out with his mind to stop whoever was touching him, but nothing happened. His power didn't work. Then he felt it, the compulsion to obey directed at him as someone siphoned his powers from him.
When hands pulled him away from the familiar noises, he tried to fight with his muscle.
"Damn it, he's still too strong. Get him to the van, quick."
"Don't worry," one voice said to the other. "Drake, you will relax and walk quietly to the van with us. You will not put up a fight or make any noise."
He nodded, stood and walked forward.
Before Drake could process anything more, a painful whack to his head sent him tumbling into darkness.
The leader yelled at whoever had hit him, and then Drake lost consciousness.
***
That day had been life-changing, just not they way he'd hoped or imagined.
Drake wondered if his blood still stained the block of cement his attackers had used to bash in his head that day, after hitting him with a tranquilizer gun from afar. Overkill, much? They hadn't underestimated his strength, at least.
Still, not all was lost. The priest's words gave him hope. They could form a plan. They had help. They were not alone.
But how did the priest know so much? Was he really psychic?
A shout from behind pulled him out of his thoughts. "Drake!"
Kylie the Beach Bunny, as she liked to be called, hadn't changed a bit. Bits of a silver string bikini hugged her curvaceous form as if it were painted on. Her bleach blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in artificial curls. Pretty much everything about Kylie was artificial, actually. Drake could not for the life of him remember why he'd ever hooked up with such a shallow creature.
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