The Talent Diary

by Chris McFarland

  Chapter 16: The Simple Truth

  Samantha slowly came back to herself, wondering why her head hurt so badly and why it was so dark. She thought she must have gotten sick in the night, which was too bad because she didn’t want to stay home again. She tried to rub her eyes but her hands wouldn’t move, which was the strangest thing. Samantha opened her eyes and wondered why she couldn’t see anything except a dull, feeble light.

  Then she remembered what happened and adrenaline flooded back into her veins, causing her to stand up and yank with her arms. They were fastened tightly and pulling made her shoulders flare in intense pain. Her eyes cleared and she realized a thick cloth bag was over her head. She tried to shake it off. The attempt proved futile as it was pulled too far down over her neck to be dislodged. She kicked half-heartedly with her feet, but they proved to be fastened as tightly as her arms.

  Movement outside the cloth bag, both seen and heard, caused her to freeze. The feeling saturating her at that moment dwarfed any other fear she had felt in her life. She was trapped, completely helpless, probably by the same person who kidnapped Mark. It was like staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, understanding completely that the end of her life could be moments away. Samantha’s lungs filled with air as her terror tried to find an outlet in screaming, but before she could start a thin, raspy voice cut her off.

  “A scream right now and you’ll die with that bag over your head.”

  “Who are you,” Samantha asked.

  There was a low chuckle and the footsteps got closer. She could see a small shape moving through the bag.

  “I thought you would’ve known already, Samantha.”

  And Samantha realized she did, that she had known ever since he claimed his television caused the sound of a person crying for help. She had known he lied to the police but she didn’t take that seriously enough. He probably did have a television in the basement of his house but they were not at his house now. Samantha was sure of that.

  “Henson.”

  The bag was ripped off her head and even the dim light from a meager lamp in the corner of the room was bright enough to make her squint. Sanford Henson stood in front of her, the cloth bag raised over his head like a trophy. He stared at her, and then backed away and gestured to his left.

  Samantha looked the direction he pointed and felt something jump in her chest. Mark was lying on a table against the wall, wearing all black. His hands were folded on his chest and his face was still and pale. His eyes were closed and Samantha could not tell if he was breathing. He was so still he could be made of wax.

  “Mark,” she said, breathlessly.

  “Oh yes. Your friend Mark is certainly here,” Mr. Henson said, walking towards him. He stopped by a small medical case sitting on the edge of the table. He reached in and pulled out a syringe, holding it up for Samantha to see.

  “He’s still alive, in a sense. I’m sure you’re glad, but don’t be too glad Samantha. As soon as I knew you were on your way I injected him with a poison. He’ll be dead in ten minutes unless I give him a shot of this.”

  Samantha stared at the syringe as if she had never seen one before.

  “Inject him.”

  “Not quite yet,” Mr. Henson said. “We have to talk first. You see, you went and did something that disturbs me very greatly and I have to make sure it doesn’t cause a problem. You wrote a note to your parents saying you were going into the tunnel. If they find you missing the police will search the tunnel for you and would certainly hear any sounds you might make. So, we have a simple situation. You make any loud sounds, and your good friend Mark doesn’t get an injection and you will watch him die.”

  “No,” Samantha said, struggling again against the chains.

  “Yes. You make any loud sounds and you will kill your friend. If you stay quiet then I inject him in…” Mr. Henson paused and looked at his watch. “Five minutes.”

  “Inject him now. I won’t make a sound.”

  “You think I would trust you? You, with a grandfather like yours? I have no idea what types of tricks he’s tried to teach you. That bastard has been around you like a coat for the last two weeks and made my job extremely difficult.Samantha had stopped struggling because it was making her arms hurt. Instead, she looked around the room and saw the ladder was inside and the trapdoor was sealed. She then wondered if she could break the chains by using her talent. She had never tried to do something so difficult, but thought she probably could. Mr. Henson was watching her carefully and laughed.

  “Thinking of trying to break out of the chains, eh Samantha? Well, good luck, but I can think of at least two reasons you shouldn’t try.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Samantha said.

  “Sure you do. A girl your age, I can read you like a book. I’ve placed your hands tightly above your head, where they are very weak. Nobody, even someone with your strength, could break those chains. Second, this is when your grandfather did something rather unpleasant about fifty years ago. If you try to use your strength, not only will it not work because your grandfather has nothing to give you, but you could also end up destroying your entire history.”

  He laughed, glancing at his watch as he did so. Samantha, who had been working to build a tingle in her arms, lost focus and the beginnings of the feeling faded away.

  “It wouldn’t change that much,” she said, feeling angry despite her efforts to remain calm.

  “Sure it would. That one cowardly act of your grandfather’s defined his whole pathetic life. It affected much more than he has told you, I’m sure. And, most unfortunately, we don’t have time for all the details but I will say this. Your family is rich for a reason and it isn’t a nice one.”

  Samantha said nothing to this, thinking he was trying to distract her. She remembered Neil saying that when the talent skipped a generation it could become stronger. Maybe she could break these chains after all. She was worried about what Mr. Stillson had told her, though. The talent could work, or not, when it was used at the same time as the source. There was no way to predict the outcome. Even if she used her talent and it worked, she could also change the past, just like Mr. Henson had said. And she had no idea if the changes would be big or small. Things could change so much that her whole past might be different. She could even, Samantha thought nervously, change things so much that she was never born. But was that possible? How could it be when she was here, right now? How could one event in a person’s life change so much that followed?

  Samantha had a feeling she really could change history so that she was never born. Her grandfather’s attack of Mr. Henson was a huge event in his life. Mr. Henson was still looking at her. Then at his watch. He was grinning widely.

  “What’re you going to do to me,” Samantha asked.

  “Well, that’s a good question. You’re quite a valuable piece of property. I was approached by a certain group of people over forty years ago who wished for my services. I had no choice but to agree to what they asked or else I would’ve had the same fate as those I found for them.”

  “You’re an operator,” Samantha said. It was not a question.

  “Well no,” Mr. Henson said. “Not quite in the same way the Nurse was.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Like I said, I had no choice. If I’d refused I would end up like you.”

  Samantha looked over at Mark again, lying so still it was impossible to believe he was not already dead. Sickening, deep despair was creeping over her, trying to poison her thoughts, feeling like the beat of a drum, impossible to ignore. With each beat the mantra came closer to the fore and she couldn’t think past the basic fact that she was trapped. She tried to pull herself away from that feeling by looking back at Mr. Henson, who was standing away from table slightly, almost seeming disappointed in her response.

  “Can you please give the shot to him now,” Samantha asked. “Whatever you want from me doesn’t include Mark.”

  “Of
course it does! I couldn’t figure out how to get to you, or how to verify you had the talent, because Neil was surrounding you constantly. Then you proved it yourself by hitting poor Nurse Wishon. See, I always suspected Neil had the talent but I didn’t know for sure. I thought the coincidence of two of us being neighbors was too great and I couldn’t believe it. It’s still hard to believe because talents are so rare. Not that I liked your grandfather all those years. Far from it! But it never made sense to risk exposing myself for the sake of a hunch. But when you kicked the nurse I knew. The folks I’m involved with will be very excited when I tell them, because it means two talents for the price of one.”

  Samantha listened to this with only half an ear, instead watching Mark carefully. He had moved. She was sure of it. His right hand had twitched, and then his left.

  “What’s the matter girl,” Mr. Henson asked, “no questions for me?”

  “Are you a talent?”

  Mr. Henson flashed her an ugly look.

  “No.”

  “But…”

  “My family had the gift but my generation was skipped.”

  “Then why did they want you? I don’t understand how you’re like me at all.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t understand Samantha. And you will never understand it because you have no need. Soon you won’t care about school, or friends, your parents, or your life. Do you believe me?”

  Mark twitched again.

  “Why aren’t you giving him the shot? I’ve been quiet.”

  “Because I’ve never had any intention of giving him the shot. Did you see him twitch yet? He’s doing that because he’s in pain. Of course, the poison keeps his muscles almost completely paralyzed and he won’t be able to yell out, but he’s awake in there, and he’s hurting.”

  Samantha started to throw herself against the chains again, causing them to thrash and clang against the cement wall.

  “Give him the shot,” she yelled.

  “Quiet,” Mr. Henson said harshly, and Samantha did because she heard a crackling scream from the far side of the room. Mr. Henson ran over to another table and picked up what looked like a walkie-talkie. The thin buzz poured out in a continuous stream, but Samantha also heard the sounds of shuffling feet, and then her father’s voice, amplified across the two blocks between this basement and her bedroom.

  “She went into the tunnel to find Mark! Call the police! Hurry!”

  “Where are you going,” Sandra wailed.

  “Call the police. I’m going to get her!”

  Samantha could hear her mother crying as loud footsteps started again and the door slammed. She could picture her room, full of light, but empty. The walls of mountains and the two eagles were there, but she was not. Sitting on her desk were two diaries, one old, full, and crumbling, the other new and empty.

  Mr. Henson started towards her, holding the syringe that Samantha now realized had been meant for her all along. Behind him was Mark, twitching regularly now, his legs drumming against the table top.

  “But why me,” she said quietly, and Mr. Henson stopped.

  “Because you are the result of a skipped generation,” Mr. Henson said, “as one of my children would have been, had any survived. And no one knows what you might be able to do. They never want a talent walking around free I’ve taken extra care to make sure you get captured alive, something your grandfather never would have allowed if he had been around. That is why I kidnapped Mark. And waited patiently, playing the helpful fool. Now the police will be looking for a serial kidnapper but I will remain right next door, unsuspected.”

  Mark jerked again, this time down the whole length of his body. He bounced and his back arched like a cat, over a full foot off the table. Another tremendous lunging spasm shook his body and he rolled sideways. Horrified, Samantha watched as he fell off the table and, unable to put his arms out for protection, hit his head on the floor with a deep, sickening thud. His body was still. There was a moment of complete silence. Then Samantha started to cry, low and helpless, beyond where simple despair could propel her. Mark was dead. There was no doubt of that and, worst of all, she knew she was the catalyst and the cause. Mr. Henson had also turned and was watching Mark on the ground, face down with his legs twisted in a grotesque arc. Then he looked back at Samantha.

  “Don’t worry Samantha. You won’t remember him soon enough.”

  Instead of going straight to her with the syringe, Mr. Henson walked back to the walkie-talkie, flipped a switch, and the buzz was replaced by a quieter channel. Samantha could hear nothing.

  “Soon,” Mr. Henson said, “The tunnel will be filled with the shouts of your father, but do you think he will receive an answer?”

  Samantha shook her head, realizing she was never going to see her family or her place again. Unbidden and fleeting, her mind fixated on an image of a day she was in the oak tree, looking to the side of the eucalyptus grove and seeing Mark run across his backyard. He had looked up and seen her standing there, silhouetted against the blue sky, and stared. Then he waved, but first there had been the lingering stare. She could remember how that thrilled her.

  Then she was back and Mr. Henson was walking towards her again. These were the last few moments and she knew it. He would stand next to her, fearlessly because of the chains, and stick the needle into her leg. She would watch the contents pour into her and feel a wave of black descend over her thoughts and that would be the end.

  There was one option left. Her life was already over, but trying to use her talent might break the chains and she would be able to fight. It might change history but she found it didn’t matter. The only person who would care if things changed would be her. If it could bring Mark back, so they had never even been in this situation, then it was worth it.

  Mr. Henson had paused again, almost as if he couldn’t remember if he had everything. Samantha closed her eyes and concentrated. Despite everything, the tingle was present immediately, as if it had been there all along and she just didn’t know. Mr. Henson looked back at her, his eyes widening, like he had smelled something bad. Samantha tensed her muscles and pulled with all the strength she could use.

  But the chains held limp and Samantha felt the small remaining normal strength in her limbs seep away completely. She had tried to steal from her grandfather, but he was still using his strength and she had been shut out. Just like Mr. Stillson had said. She had failed.

  Mr. Henson had started forward, meaning to run, but when he saw her muscles relax back to nothing he stopped and smiled.

  “You tried to escape anyway,” Mr. Henson said, grinning. “I guess you didn’t hear me earlier. I told you this would happen. Well, it makes no difference now. Goodbye Samantha.”

  Mr. Henson stepped forward and placed the syringe against her leg, then through her sweats and into her thigh. Samantha could barely feel it. Instead, what she felt was an overwhelming nausea, so thick she thought she would go insane. The world seemed to ripple, to stretch, and thin around the edges. The concrete walls were only taffy, after all, and the chains around her wrists were kite string. She felt her own legs grow impossibly long, towering over the world. Then the heaviness of the change swept over her completely and she knew she would black out, that she couldn’t possibly hold it off on her own. But she did, for a second, time for a fleeting thought.

  I did it. I changed the past. I don’t know if I will be there to see the change or not, but please let Mark be ok. Please let him see his family again. again. again…

  The blackness, like in the tunnel without a light, destroyed her thoughts and it was just as it was before, except that this time she was not in it.