“Are you sure?” he persisted, mentally pushing for the confession.
“Well, maybe they did, once. Don’t tell.”
“I won’t.”
So it was true. He could read a mind, and project a thought. It had to be because of the hairball.
After several days he noticed something else: his hair was growing rapidly back, but not as it had been. It was there, but transparent so that it did not show. Except that he could focus and change its color so it did appear.
He had another realization: it was the hair that made him so hungry. Not only that, but it wanted him out in the sunlight a lot. He took to sneaking up to the flat tenement roof, just so he could stand in the sun and feel the pleasure of his satisfied hair.
But his luck with the garbage cans ran out. One day he tripped an automatic sensor and it got a picture of him eating garbage. He couldn’t mind-push that away. There was hell to pay. He had to stay inside the apartment except when accompanied by a parent or sibling, and neither type was pleased with the obligation. He wound up effectively locked in with Ilsa for hours at a time, as she was the one who disliked him least. She was satisfied to read a book, as they had no TV, as long as he didn’t bother her.
But his hunger never eased. He had to eat, somehow. That was when his new mind developed another trick. It reached out and found the minds of vermin. They were simpler than human minds, and easier to influence. He pushed at the mind of a mouse and gave it the urge to come to their room. When it did, he grabbed it and bit its head off before consuming the rest of it.
“I saw that!” Ilsa said. “You ate a live mouse. You really are disgusting!”
“Don’t tell,” he said, chagrined to have been observed. He had thought she was absorbed with her reading, but she was cannier than he thought. He pushed at her with his mind.
“Stop that,” she snapped, resisting him mentally. “I know you can read my mind; I’ve felt you before. Stay out of my head.”
This was mischief. She knew too much about him, and had found a way to mentally resist him. He couldn’t shut her up. He would have to make a deal. “What do you want?”
She smiled, victorious. “Two things. In return I’ll do two things for you. I won’t tell, and I’ll help cover for you. Deal?”
“What two things from me?” he asked warily.
“First, tell me everything. I know something weird happened that changed you. Second, use your mind to make Parnell like me.” She was in fifth grade; Parnell was a boy in seventh grade, handsome and articulate. She was as yet not developed, but boy-conscious, and working on a crush on him, though he didn’t notice her.
“Deal,” he agreed. Then he told her about the hairball, and his insatiable appetite. “So I’ve got to eat. Now I can’t get at the garbage, so I’m summoning mice and maybe rats to eat. I don’t care if they are alive; I just have to get that food into me. For the hair.”
“How about bugs?” she asked, not disgusted now that she knew the story. “Teacher says there’re more bugs in the world than anything else. That if you put all the elephants and things on a scale, and all the bugs on the other side of it, they would weigh more.”
“Great idea!” he agreed. Then he proceeded to summon a rat, which he killed and ate. Then a slew of roaches, mosquitoes, ants, spiders, and wasps from outside.
“The way you gobble them down, you almost make me want to taste them,” Ilsa said.
He laughed. “You can have any you want.”
She grimaced. “I said almost.”
Ilsa was true to her word. She kept watch when he was eating vermin and warned him when anybody was coming. When there was any suspicion of anything peculiar going on, she denied it. “We’re just reading in here.” The others thought maybe she was naughtily showing Tillo her panties or even her bare bottom, and sniggered, but had no inkling of the truth.
He in turn maneuvered to get close to Parnell, and engaged him briefly in mind-assisted dialogue. “You know my sister Ilsa’s really not bad looking, and she likes you,” he said, pushing belief. “She’d let you do a lot.”
That was all it took: easy prey. Parnell oriented on Ilsa, and they became an informal couple. How much she let him do, especially as she developed, she didn’t say, but she kept his attention. She knew what boys liked to see and touch. Tillo had completed his part of the deal.
Time passed. Tillo’s hair grew, and with it his powers. He concealed them from others, deflecting their curiosity, and kept exploring and extending them. He became quite strong, but carefully gave way to bullies so they would not suspect. Similarly he became phenomenally smart, but didn’t use it in his schoolwork. He had learned early the advantages of obscurity.
Until the day a year later. His hair was three feet long, and it protected him from any attack. But his interest was in whether it could enable him to fly. He really liked the idea of flying, though Ilsa cautioned him against it. “What you going to do, zoom through the air like Superman? They’d never leave you alone.”
She was right. But the idea of flying had hold on his imagination. He knew that if he jumped down a distance, the hair flared out and slowed his fall. How far would it go? If he only had room enough, could he take off and fly? So he experimented cautiously. He went to the roof, as he often did so the hair could bathe in sunlight. Ilsa guarded the stairs; she would whistle if anyone else mounted them. The center of it was out of sight of the street and alley, so was essentially private.
It was a windy day, but that didn’t stop him. He stood in the center, naked under the shroud of hair because clothing would only get in the way, spread the hair, and willed himself upward.
It worked! The hair formed a big cone that drew him up several feet, his own feet dangling.
A sudden gust of wind caught him and blew him to the edge of the roof, and over. He didn’t fall, because he was still floating, but now he was several stories over the ground, instead of several feet. He tried to go back to the roof, but didn’t know how to do a direction; he had not expected to move sideways. All he could do was descend under control, so as to reach the ground and walk back into the house.
But this was broad day, and there were people in the street. Dozens of them. They quickly spied him and stared up, amazed. He realized sickly that not only was he revealing his floating ability, they were looking up under the cone to see his bare legs and body. His privates. He couldn’t close up the cone, because then he would plummet to the street, breaking bones if not killing himself.
Worse, some nut started shooting at him, as if he were a big bird to be hunted. This was a rough neighborhood; guns abounded, and were often enough used. The bullets bounced off the hair, but if that kept up, one would eventually come in under that cone and score on him.
There was a scuffle, and someone put the shooter out of commission. But someone must also have called 911, because there was a police siren approaching. Was he going to get arrested for disturbing the peace or something?
Finally he landed, and closed up the hair around him. But it was too late. The police were upon him. They caught him in a net so he couldn’t fly away, and drew it tight so the hair could not flare into the cone. They tossed him into a van and hauled him away like some interesting trophy.
Now he was locked in a cell in the cellar of the hospital for the criminally insane. He read the closest minds to pick up on that. The reports that had been made of a naked flying boy were obviously crazy, and his exposure was obscene, so obviously this was where he belonged. It was a variant of the baseball frame-up, with him the fall guy again. He knew there would be no justice. He was doomed. All because of a stupid gust of wind!
The bars were tight, the gate locked. They knew how to keep a prisoner confined, in a place like this. He would never get out. His folks would disown him, rather than suffer another embarrassment. Even though there had been no direct, obvious examples, they knew there was something dangerously weird about him.
What could he do? Nothing but relax and wait
for whatever was to come.
There will be help.
Tillo snapped alert. That was a telepathic voice!
Suddenly Tillo knew that things would work out. He relaxed.
Chapter 9:
Hallelujah
Quiti entered the hospital, nodding sociably as she passed the various guards and personnel. She reassured each that her presence was routine, that they knew her and trusted her, and she was legitimate. No one needed to see her papers or orders. She was just a visiting nurse who had come to see to the arrangements for the crazy wild child. That was just as well, because none of the regular personnel knew how to handle a naked boy who it seemed could fly. Not that they believed it for a moment. Still, it was awkward.
She was ushered down to the key cell. There was the boy huddled in the corner, not even using the bed.
Tillo, she thought. Make no response to my thoughts, only to my spoken words. Trust me; I am your kind. The hospital personnel must not be allowed to know. I have come to take you away from all this, but you must cooperate with me.
The boy did not move.
“Tillo,” she said aloud.
Now he responded. “Who are you?”
“I am a nurse, come to see to your comfort. Look at me.”
He looked. She flashed him with her body, showing the floor-length hair covering her nudity. This was not to impress him sexually, but to impress on him that she truly was his kind: telepathic with special hair.
You are! he thought gladly.
I am. My name is Quiti, and I will be your guide out of hell.
Aloud, she said “Come here, Tillo.”
He came to the bars and stood, shivering with expectation. His kind!
Quiti turned to the accompanying guard and smiled, letting her beauty manifest. “Open the gate.” When he hesitated, she applied some mental force. It’s the right thing to do.
Obediently he brought out his key and unlocked it. He was a not completely unwilling slave to her will.
Quiti ushered Tillo out of the cell and the guard in. “You will remember none of this,” she told him, touching his mind appropriately. “But you suspect that the prisoner mesmerized you. He’s got weird powers.”
She guided the boy up the stairs. Keep mum. We’re not out yet.
They encountered a nurse in the hallway. “You see nothing,” Quiti told her, verbally and mentally. The nurse walked on by, oblivious.
You’re good, Tillo thought to her.
I’ve had almost two years with hair. They came in sight of the main entrance, but did not go there; there were too many people to handle cleanly. Instead they went up another flight.
But someone had caught on, at least to an extent; an alarm sounded. “Oh, hell!” Quiti swore. “I’ll have to use the arsenal. Stay close.”
Guards appeared, blocking off the upper hall at either end. Quiti could not cloud the minds of both contingents simultaneously, and didn’t try. She focused on the man ahead. She caught his eye, then projected her holographic nude, which she had perfected in the last year. The apparition fairly scintillated, turning in place and smiling at the guard.
Tillo, checking the guard’s mind, picked up on the nude. I’d sure like to have HER in my bed, when I’m grown, he thought.
Quiti smiled. He was ten, but was a boy ever too young for a wicked peek?
The guard stood there, fascinated in more than one sense, as they walked right by him. They turned a corner, entering a new hall.
Another guard rounded the corner in pursuit. Quiti caught his eye and projected the alligator. The guard skidded to a halt, not about to tangle with such an ornery beast.
You’re doing tricks I never thought of, Tillo though admiringly.
I told you I’d get you safely out.
The hall ended in a meeting room with a big picture window. Beyond it, outside the building, Roque hovered, tracking them.
“Wow!” Tillo breathed. “He can do it!”
Roque pointed to the side. There was a smaller access window, which he had opened.
Take my hand. Quiti took Tillo’s hand. We’re going invisible, and flying away from here.
But I can’t fly, really, just float. And I can’t do invisible.
Then float. We’ll do the rest.
They climbed out the window. They spread their cones and hovered outside the building. Quiti steadied Tillo, and turned her hair invisible. Follow my lead.
And, tracking her mind, Tillo joined her in invisibility. This was not illusion; it was the hair concealing them both. “Wow!” he repeated appreciatively.
Pull up your legs; they’re showing.
Oh. He hastily did so, and his exposed legs disappeared under his hair.
Roque took them both in tow, guiding them down to the street until they touched the pavement. There were people and vehicles, but though the flight stopped, the invisibility remained. Quiti and Roque walked closely on either side of Tillo, their hair spreading out to enclose his legs as well as their own. No one saw them.
They came to their hastily rented car. Roque drove while Quiti and Tillo rode beside him in the front seat, letting visibility return. “Contact Ilsa,” she told Tillo. “Tell her you’re safe with your own kind, and won’t be returning. That she can have your stuff.”
Tillo did so. His sister Ilsa was the only one he cared about. He was satisfied to leave his family behind.
“You’ll have a new family,” Quiti told him. “We’ll be adopting you.”
“Adopting?”
“I’m only twelve years older than you, but we’re your kind. We hair suits have to stick together. You know that.”
“I—I guess so.” His mind was roiling.
“Anything else you need?” Quiti inquired.
“I’m hungry.”
She reached into the back seat and hauled forth a quart container of high-protein nutritional drink. “We’ve got plenty more.” She passed it to him, then got others for herself and Roque. “We know about hunger.”
Tillo, overwhelmed by this understanding support, broke down and cried. Quiti put her arm around his shoulders, comforting him. He was a literal genius with a phenomenal body and phenomenal powers, but he was after all a child.
They drove home to Desiree, arriving the next day. She welcomed Tillo, recognizing the type, treating him like a little brother, and he was grateful for the non-judgmental association. This was a new role for her, too, but she clearly liked it. The three of them settled into her apartment, arranging to take up no more space than before, since they could sleep in a closet or in the air. Tillo got used to his new situation, and Quiti taught him new tricks with the hair. He learned rapidly, of course; he was hair smart, as were they, really beyond genius level, but there was much to master.
Roque and Quiti also continued to practice special effects, such as casting illusions and spot-controlling minds, knowing that they were likely to need them at some point in the future. They sang together, many popular tunes, enjoying the togetherness. It was a happy time.
One special project they worked on was what they called the Statue of Liberty ploy, wherein they sang “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” They were perfecting it for a very special occasion, before a remarkable audience.
Two weeks later Desiree got bad news: the government drug study program she was in was being eliminated, a victim of budget cuts. She would have about two more months on the treatment; then it would end along with her job. She would be on her own. “This is senseless!” she railed, distraught. “The drug is working. It’s almost a cure for AIDS. It’ll do the world one huge favor when it is confirmed. How can they drop it now?”
“That is the nature of government programs,” Roque said. “They come and go without reason, heedless of the real cost.”
They got on it, three extremely intelligent folk with remarkable access to information. They ran down the source of the drug and got its specifications, then worked to craft an inexpensive source. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
Desiree would remain in remission, and she was no longer anchored to this area. None of them were.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Desiree said. “You know I’m just a spent whore.”
“Were,” Quiti and Roque said almost together. “We won’t be using that term in the future,” Quiti concluded.
“You’re with us now,” Roque said. “We’ll take care of you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“We don’t know our own destinies,” Quiti said. “Until the hairballs get back in touch and tell us what they want, we’re on standby. At least we can help you with your situation. We know you and like you; that’s enough.”
Now it was Desiree’s turn to weep. She had been reprieved from horror a second time.
“They’re good people,” Tillo said.
“And so are you,” Desiree said, chastely hugging him.
They discussed options, and traveled, taking a flight to Gena’s home where Desiree might have an adult companion who wouldn’t judge her. They didn’t even need to influence any minds; they simply earned enough money to cover the tickets for four.
Gena wasn’t there, as Quiti had known from checking with her mentally. She would return the next day. They were welcome to use her house. Instead they found her daughter Idola, now 10, her prettiness verging on early beauty. She was minding the house, collecting the mail, sweeping the floors, and watering the plants. She was a responsible girl whose adoptive family gave her the leeway she deserved.
Idola welcomed Quiti like the friend she was. Then Quiti introduced Roque as her husband. “You’re another hair suit!” the girl exclaimed. She picked up on that instantly; she had become attuned with Quiti.
“It seemed we were meant for each other,” Roque said, glancing fondly at Quiti.
“That’s so sweet.”
Then the boy. “This is Tillo, whom we have adopted.”
“You’re a hair suit too!” Idola exclaimed. “Can you teach me telepathy?”
Tillo was at a loss for words, hating to disappoint this lovely girl his own age, but knowing that she lacked the capacity for telepathy despite her ability to sense it.
Hair Power Page 10
