by Eros, Marata
“I think Garcia’s a good man,” Mom said. “But he may not be ready to know that last part. Cadaver manipulator might be a bit much . ”
Jonesy chanted, “Corpse raiser, corpse raiser, it rocks!” He air-pumped with his fist.
John smirked. “You didn't think it rocked when you sprinted out of the cemetery, or when Caleb and I had to do the little blood ritual.”
Mom's mouth unhinged itself from her jaw and Dad looked astounded.
“Blood ritual?” they asked in unison.
“You didn't tell us that detail,” Dad said.
“Is that how you think you did it?” Mom asked with a frown. Probably thinking about all the ways my safety could have been in jeopardy (it was), or some other thing that could have befallen me (it did).
“Well, kinda,” I said.
“Caleb, just barf it out,” Jonesy said.
I fought not to tap my fingers on a surface. “I felt like a tingling... an energy. As soon as I stepped through the gate of that cemetery, I knew there was one voice that was calling me above the others.” I sighed.
“When I got there, I felt like I was in the middle of a whirlpool, that something was just under the surface, waiting to rise. It was like all the energy in the world was waiting for me to take that next step.”
Jonesy interrupted with a loud thwack of his right fist smacking into the palm of his left hand. “And then I hit him a good one!”
Mom jumped, letting out a nervous laugh.
I glanced at Jonesy. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
He gave the what? expression.
John shook his head .
Dad asked, “Do you think after Jonesy hit you that the catalyst was the violence or the blood? Because blood is organic, but so is violence, if one thinks on that.”
That was interesting. I hadn't thought violence was any part of it. I'd assumed that the blood was somehow an integral part of why the corpse rose to begin with.
“That would explain the dog,” John said quietly. He shifted his weight, arms still locked over his chest. “I mean, the car hitting the dog was an act of violence, right? If Baldy—” John continued.
“Smith,” I corrected.
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “If Smith hit that dog, then he wasn't being careful. Cars give warnings about obstacles. It's standard.” John was kinda stiff, but he was making some good points. “Really, if you think about it, he shouldn't have hit the dog at all.”
Dad bobbed his head. “John's right , which makes me wonder why that wasn't the first thing Garcia questioned. Do you boys remember that witness, the young woman that Sergeant Garcia said was an aura reader?”
I shook my head. With all the action happening, the crowd was the last thing I would have noticed.
Jonesy brightened. “I saw that hot girl from PE in the crowd on the way here.”
Dad laughed. “That's okay. I think there's more than just professional interest. I'm thankful we didn't blindly tell him the extent of your abilities before I've had a chance to see them. And I want to finalize the use of the cerebral inhibitor.”
“Kyle, that worries me,” Mom said.
“This is the lesser of two evils, Ali. If Caleb shows his hand, they may do a Parker on him.”
“Even now?” Mom asked.
“Especially now.” Dad looked at me.
“Your mom and I have been reading up on Parker, how our government responded to him. It looks like Parker took the Aptitude Test and was the first student, nation-wide, to hit that high of a score on AFTD, five-points.” Dad said, holding up all five fingers.
The fam-pulse chimed, and Mom walked over to the wall pocket and pressed her thumb to the pad.
Dad asked, “Who is it?”
Mom held up her index finger then turned to Jonesy. “It's your mom. Apparently, you didn't tell her you'd be over today.”
Jonesy sighed and went to the Fam-pulse. After reading the screen, he turned back and said, “I gotta go. My mom's on a rage.”
Mom frowned. “Maybe knowing where you are is sort of important to her, Jonesy.” Mom's doing the, I'm-going-to-stick-up-for-the-other-parent thing.
“Yeah, Ali, I know.” He brightened. “Thanks for those cookies.”
Mom was already getting a little ecobag for the road, Jonesy grinned. Delayed gratification.
He gave me a finger salute. “See you dudes tomorrow. Let me know what's going on, Caleb.”
John lifted his chin in goodbye, then we heard Jonesy’s pounding footsteps and the front door slamming.
Dad got back on topic. “Being prepared is the most important defense.”
“True,” Mom said. “As long as we're on the same page with this cerebral depressant thing.”
“Inhibitor,” Dad corrected. He turned to me.
“Caleb, tell me what happened at the accident, especially about this mystery dog.”
I went through the whole thing. I ended with how I was sure the dog had been alive, at least a little, because I had felt that spark.
Dad nodded. “Okay, let's go over the cause and effect one more time, Caleb.”
I groaned.
“Dad—”
“No, Caleb. Let's look at this with some applied logic. The dog was hit and flew… you said ten or twelve feet in the air?”
I nodded.
“And it lay there for how long?”
John responded, “We went to the dog right away. I mean, Caleb went to it, and I followed.”
I shrugged. “Yeah. It was like he was calling me, but it was faint. I could feel its will or whatever. It wanted to be alive. He didn't want to die.”
Dad put his elbow on his knee and cupped his chin. “It hasn't been mentioned that Parker has this ability. As a point of fact, I haven't heard that this is a part of AFTD.”
Mom asked, “Would Caleb's ability to bring something back from the brink of death still be the same thing, categorized similarly?”
“Perhaps...” Dad rubbed his stubbled chin. “We'll have to put some things to the test and see exactly where his abilities reside.”
Fear shot through me. I wanted to use the AFTD. Using it made the whispering almost disappear. It felt good, right . So far, all AFTD had gotten me was two enemies at school and a dog's reclaimed life that brought notice from an observant cop.
“What are you thinking, Kyle?” Mom asked. “That we give him a pre-aptitude test?”
Dad nodded. “Exactly. If we can nail down his skill set, we’ll know how to defend him and help him decide his future.”
“Maybe Caleb doesn't want to be some government lackey,” John said.
That was exactly what I'd been thinking.
“It's a terrifying proposition, the loss of one's freedom,” Dad said.
“I think I want the dog,” I blurted.
My parents looked at me with identical expressions of shock.
“Why, Caleb?” Mom asked.
“Because I feel responsible for it now.”
“We can't just go and take in everything you… raise or save, son.”
John smirked.
I had to agree that the whole situation was kind of funny in a perverse way.
“I know, but when I think about him...”
“It's a he?” Mom asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, how do you know?” she asked.
“I just do, Mom. It's all part of it. Anyway, I can hear him if I listen, and he's lonely for me.”
John gave me a puzzled look.
I answered his unspoken question. “Yeah, and he doesn't like wherever he is.”
Dad held up his hand. “Let's just say, hypothetically, that we were to agree to letting this dog become your pet. What would that mean for you?”
More chores. Dogs had to have food and water, and he would make a mess in the yard. (Guess who'd clean that up... oh joy.)
I said, “Responsibility, I guess.”
“And?” His expression was unhelpfully neutral.
My mind went blank. I c
ouldn't think of a thing.
“You're fourteen now, Caleb—almost fifteen. You have four years left until graduation, and then the dog would have to become our pet.”
“We're not sure we want that, Caleb,” Mom said.
“Oh.” I hadn't really considered that. “Can you think about it at least?”
“I see that you're anxious, son, but we can't make a snap decision.”
“It's important to me, Dad.”
Dad stood up and clapped me on the shoulder.
Mom came to stand behind him, her gaze steady on mine. They'd think about it.
John said he had to go and told me to read the rest of the papers.
“Yeah, okay.” I'd been planning to do that, anyway.
***
Dad sat down heavily in his usual seat for supper, steepled his hands, and looked at me. I popped a large piece of lasagna into my mouth and did the tongue dance, realizing too late that the food was hot as hell.
“I know you've been through a lot today, Caleb,” Dad said, but I’m fascinated with how this connection with the dog unfolded.”
Mom rescued me. “Why don't you let him finish eating, and we can get the gory details afterward, hmm?”
Mom knew about The Hunger. I would often say, “I Hunger , ” which loosely translated meant “What is there to eat in this house in the next five seconds?” My friends also had The Hunger, and we'd fall upon the kitchen table like locusts, and The Hunger would be abated, temporarily.
“So, Caleb, what's going on beside dead stuff?” Mom turned, one hand on her hip, and carefully set a glass in front of Dad. She just missed jingling one of the tiny bells of her skirt. I was fascinated by my mom's fashion sense. I didn't truly think she had one, but she was a believer.
“Nothing much besides Carson and Brett still being jerks . ”
Mom sat next to me, her skirt bells tinkling slightly as she adjusted her position.
I really had their attention because I wasn't just blurting stuff out like usual. I wasn't in Jonesy's league, but I wasn't super-quiet like John.
“I like this girl named Jade, Jade LeClerc,” I said. Just saying her name made my heart beat faster.
“LeClerc?” Dad tilted his head. Mom looked stumped, too.
“Ya know, her dad is a mechanic for the car shop in the valley.”
Dad tried to hide a scowl, but I saw it.
Mom didn't bother. “Terrible news, that.”
I tensed. I wasn't going to let Jade get lumped in with her crap family.
“Wasn't she—” Mom began.
I cut her off. “Yeah, she was, and it's not her fault.”
“Removed from a domestic situation,” Dad said then added, “Of course it wasn't.”
A contemplative silence fell over the table. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, dust motes circling lazily in the air.
“I'm acquainted with the father, and he is not welcome in my home, but Jade is. After all, with a family like that...” He trailed off.
Mom finished for him. “She could use some positive affirmation.” She gave me a sly look.
“Is she a cute girl?”
I wasn't falling for that! “She's cute to me.”
Mom huffed and crossed her arms. “Caleb Sebastian Hart!” she said teasingly. I didn't know if talking about a girl I liked was easier.
Raising the dead, or girls... let me think.
Dad joined in. “Now we have to know what your lady-love looks like just in case we pass her on the street and rudely not give salutations.” He winked.
“Lady-love, Dad? So retarded!”
“Caleb!” Mom cried.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. But it was retarded. Who said that? They couldn't help it, being old and all. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that Mom was Gramp’s daughter.
“You have to be more sensitive with your language,” Mom said.
“But lady-love?” I raised my eyebrows.
“I guess that was a little out of date,” Dad said.
“So tell us more about Jade,” Mom said.
“Well, she’s really interesting.”
“That's not what I thought about your mother when I first saw her,” Dad said with a smile aimed at Mom.
Over share much? “I mean, she’s different than the other girls. She doesn't do that stuff girls do that's super-annoying.”
Mom crossed her arms again. Uh-oh, I'd stepped in it.
“What do girls do that's so annoying?” she asked in a fake innocent tone. (Translation: I will eviscerate you).
I looked at Dad for help but he looked back, clearly, you couldn't have just said that.
I was on my own.
“She treats me the same all the time, not just when she's in the mood. She pays attention to what I'm saying. She actually listens.”
A slow smile spread across Dad's face.
Mom sat speechless—a rare occurrence—then said, “She sounds great. I like a woman that is self-possessed.”
“And she's cute too, right?” Dad winked.
“Yeah, there is that. ” I grinned.
“Oh, you two. Annoying guys.” Mom smiled.
Dad said, “Tomorrow, we flesh out your abilities. What are you doing tonight?”
Mom looked up from wiping the kitchen table.
“Ah... John brought over some papers about the Parker kid.”
“Don't you have a textbook from school that addresses these abilities?” Dad asked.
“Yes, he does,” Mom said. “First semester in eighth grade they're required to have one-quarter health and one-quarter paranormal development.” She nodded at me. “They're linked, you know.”
Yeah, they were linked all right. That health class had been the dumbest on the planet. I could never get the lame-ass music out of my head. Body changes. Everyone goes through... body changes.
No shit, Sherlock.
“Were you listening, Caleb?” Mom asked.
I stared blankly at Dad.
Dad said, “I asked if you still had the textbook here in the house from last semester.”
I shrugged.
Mom said, “Try under your bed. That would be my first guess.”
I turned back to Dad. “I don't know. I'll take a look.”
“Okay, good. Now that these events are coming to pass, a refresher would be an excellent pursuit of your time. The sooner the better.”
I hopped up the stairs taking them two at a time. Tearing open my door, I launched myself on my bed, scooping up papers as I fell.
I bent my head over them and began to read.
CHAPTER 7
Chocolate-brown eyes stared through the mist, luminous and shining. I blinked, and they were gone. My eyes flicked to my bare feet—boxers my only clothing. I took in my surroundings and realized with dawning horror that I was in the cemetery.
I glanced at where I had seen the eyes, and the dog stepped forward, an inky silhouette in the midst of an ethereal fog. The mist was wet, swirling around my face and drenching my hair.
The dog whisper-thought, Rescue me .
His eyes bored into mine with an eerie intensity, that connection I'd felt since the accident still tying us together.
Images flooded my brain, like a movie running frame by frame:
A boy, close to my age, throwing a ball. The dog's pure joy at the chase, the return, and the reward of the boy's laughing acknowledgment of him.
Then, a stranger coaxing me/us with food and a terrible trip in a thing of metal that moves. Alarming smells wafting in through a hole mostly covered with glass, too many to identify. Terrible loneliness from missing the boy.
Suddenly, an opportunity to escape the confines of the frightening and noisy box that moves. The dog leaps through the hole that is sometimes glass and runs until he finds a road where he scents two boys. He knows they are close to his boy, and he will find his boy again. He pursues them.
A metal machine hits him, and his life is ebbing away. Then one of the boys is there
, calling to him. He struggles, deciding he wants to play ball again and be a dog for this boy. He lives.
I snap out of the reverie of the dog's emotions. Our eyes lock, his imploring. I know that I am somehow responsible for his life . The midnight-black tail wags like a friendly exclamation mark, moving the mist slightly.
Beep, beep, beep, beep!
I opened one blurry eye, slammed my palm down on the alarm, then flopped over on my back and lay there for a minute.
Finally, I sighed, sat up and swung my feet around to slap the floor. The warmth of my bed clung like fingers, begging me to stay.
Ignoring that, I walked over to the window and noticed the field shrouded in mist. Tall, western red cedar and Douglas fir trees were scattered like soldiers in battle, leading down to Clark Lake.
I turned back, feeling uneasy from the dream, and went for the bathroom. A shower would chase the lethargy away. Thinking of Jade, I decided I would definitely find some clean clothes.
But my thoughts strayed back to the dog. He had become a part of my life, whether I wanted him to be or not.
After showering, great smells made their way upstairs; fried egg sandwiches. Yup, that was it.
Sailing down the stairs, I plopped down in my seat.
Dad looked up from his paper. “How did that reading go last night?”
“Kinda scary.”
Dad raised an eyebrow.
“That Parker kid was a lot like me.”
Mom set a plate in front of me with a perfectly centered, two-egg, cheese-laden breakfast. Steam rose from the eggs, the cheese melting at the edges. Ah... bliss.
I waded into the food without preamble. “He also 'heard' things from animals. He was off the charts on his aptitude for the AFTD.”
Dad said, “We know that.”
He seemed annoyed. That I didn't need. I just found out I had this ability. Get the dog, get the girl; no pressure!
Mom shot Dad a look. “What Dad means, is we'd like to hear anything that you felt could help you with this.” She gave me an encouraging look.
I used my fork to shear off another corner of the egg sandwich and popped a satisfying hunk in my mouth.
“Looks like he could see ghosts, also.” Dad shrugged. That was a typical aspect of AFTD.
I looked up. “He could control them, too.”
