Elizabeth steadied the front of the wheelchair while Ralph lifted from behind. The motorized chair barely taxed Ralph’s strength, and they managed to get Dr. Birnbaum step by step up onto the porch, then into the house. When Ralph saw the chair in action he broke out into a huge, sloppy grin.
“Can I drive your chair? I’ll be careful. I won’t crash into anything or nothing like that.”
“Ralph,” Elizabeth explained, “Dr. Birnbaum needs his chair to get around. It’s not a toy.”
Ralph looked disappointed, and stood staring at Dr. Birnbaum. Then, out of the blue, he asked, “Where’d your other leg go?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but Dr. Birnbaum responded evenly.
“I was hurt in an accident, and they had to amputate it.”
“Am-pu-tate. What’s that mean?”
“They had to cut my leg off.”
“Yuck. Did it hurt?”
“I was asleep when they did it.”
“You didn’t wake up? Did they cut your pajama leg off too?”
“Ralph, would you please leave him alone,” Wes said, embarrassed.
“No, I don’t mind the questions. It’s refreshing to have someone be so honest with what they’re thinking.” Then to Ralph he said, “Amputation is a special operation a doctor does. They use anesthetic so you go to sleep and don’t feel a thing. You’re naked when they do it so your pajamas aren’t cut.”
“That’s good. I’d hate to ruin a good pair of jamas.” Ralph switched his attention from the missing leg to the empty shirtsleeve. “Are you scratching your stomach?”
“What?”
“Wes has his arm in his shirt cause he’s scratching his stomach. Is that what you’re doing?”
“No. My arm is gone too.”
“You’re missing quite a few pieces. Kind of like that jigsaw puzzle Archie put together last week. Archie’s good at jigsaw puzzles.”
“So I’ve heard. Now, Ralph, I really need to talk with Ms. Fox-worth, if you don’t mind.”
“Go finish your breakfast, Ralph,” Elizabeth said gently.
“Well okeydokey then,” and he was off.
“Interesting man,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “Is he a savant?”
“No. He’s a stabilizing influence,” she explained. “I’ll tell you about him later. Right now there’s some things I have to tell you—something’s happened.”
Karon took Mrs. Birnbaum to get a cup of tea, while Elizabeth explained all that had happened. Dr. Birnbaum’s face darkened as he listened.
“Incredible! He’s telekinetic. But it’s PK at a level I’ve never heard of. There’s nothing like this recorded in the literature. Dr. Martin, do you have burn marks where the force hit you?”
“Burns? I don’t think so. My chest still hurts, but I think it’s bruised.”
“Please check for burns. Some researchers report an electrical charge associated with telekinesis. Of course it’s always been very low-level, but with his power it might create quite a charge.”
Wes asked Elizabeth to help him with his shirt. They didn’t take it off because of his arm, but they pushed it up, revealing a bright red circle on his chest. Elizabeth poked it with her finger.
“Is it tender?” Dr. Birnbaum asked.
“Feels like a mild sunburn.”
“Interesting. Most interesting. Your friend—Len? Was he burned?”
“There was so much blood . . .” Elizabeth said.
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive. It’s just that I’ve spent most of my professional life looking for real psi ability. This sounds real.”
“It is,” Wes said. “He turned and stared at me and knocked me down the stairs without a touch. Then he knocked Len half the length of the hall and still had enough force to nearly put him through the wall. As he escaped he knocked down two policemen and Elizabeth. It’s real all right, and he’s a killer.”
Dr. Birnbaum looked thoughtful, pulling at his lip with his one arm. “He crushed Len’s chest, didn’t you say? But he only knocked you down—it was the fall down the stairs that injured your arm, wasn’t it?”
“He rolled me along the floor a way, but yes, I hurt my arm when I hit bottom. What are you getting at?”
“I was just wondering why you weren’t hit as hard as your friend. You ended up with a sunburn, not a crushed chest.”
“I surprised him, and he had to turn pretty quickly.”
“Yes, but why would that make a difference? Psi power would operate at the speed of thought. It should be instantaneous.”
Wes didn’t know anything about psychic ability, but he knew the research on thought. “You would think so, but thought operates in real time. For example, if you have someone picture a map, and have them picture a line being drawn from one part of the map to another, the farther apart on the map the longer it takes for them to complete the line even though it’s just an imaginary map, and it’s all done at the speed of thought. I’ve seen the research on this.”
“Interesting. Still, once he decided to use the power on you the thought would have been completed?”
Wes found himself drawn into the problem. “It could be he hit me a glancing blow.”
“Yes, but he had more time with the policemen—correct?”
“The police said they stared at each other for a couple of seconds,” Elizabeth answered.
“So he had time to aim straight—if that’s the right way to put it. I believe you said the police were knocked down, but not tumbled along the walk. Elizabeth’s blow was weaker yet—correct?”
Wes could see that Dr. Birnbaum liked to be fed ideas to chew on, so he offered up another. “Perhaps the power diminishes with each use, and he must rest to recharge it.”
“A much better hypothesis. It fits with most of the facts. Your friend was nearly crushed with the force, but subsequent attacks were weaker.”
“This may be the kind of thing Roy Winston needs to know,” Elizabeth said. “He’s the officer in charge of the case. He asked if there was some way to stop Gil. I suppose we can suggest that they force him to use his power over and over, until they can subdue him.”
Dr. Birnbaum stared at her, a strange amused look on his face. “My dear Ms. Foxworth, they won’t subdue him, they will kill him—if they can.”
Wes watched Elizabeth’s face, but she showed no emotion.
“If you must share our hypotheses, then do so with proper caution,” Birnbaum continued. “The police could bet their lives on our speculation and I don’t want that responsibility. Besides, there is another possibility. What Wes said about him being surprised by Wes’s attack suggests that his powers are narrow. I believe he can project his thoughts to others, and we know he is telekinetic, but he’s not a telepath, nor capable of remote viewing. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to sneak up behind him, and he certainly would have been aware of the police outside. It suggests to me that he needs to look at the person he is trying to influence. The limitation your police friend is looking for may be line-of-sight.”
It was an intriguing idea, but Wes couldn’t see how it would help. If the police could see Gil, then he could see them.
The doorbell announced Roy’s return.
“I need a piece of Gil’s clothing,” the policeman said. “We’re going to track him with a dog.”
Elizabeth retrieved a shirt, which they took outside and offered to a pair of hounds tugging hyperactively at leashes held by a man in work boots and wearing a flannel shirt. When the dogs had a noseful the man led them to the backyard and the search began, the dogs quickly leading them past the garage and down the alley.
Wes watched them go, and then Elizabeth took his good arm and led him back into the house.
“It’s time to go to the hospital,” she said.
The dogs led them down the alley to a garage where they yelped and barked while they dug at a pile of leaves. Roy had his men probe the pile and then search the garage, finding nothing.
“Kelly, you sure your
dogs have the scent?”
“Absolutely, Roy. You can tell by the way they bark. He was here all right, and left a pretty good scent. Get your men out of the alley and let me circle the dogs.”
Roy ordered his men to line up along the fence, and then Kelly Johnston circled with his dogs. On the second pass one of the dogs jerked toward the far fence, and soon both were yelping, and trying to climb over. Kelly gave them enough lead and they jumped it, nearly pulling him into it.
“It’s a hot trail again, Roy. Let’s get after him.”
The police followed him over the fence and through the yard. Kelly’s dogs set the neighborhood animals to barking out turf warnings, and soon neighbors were appearing, watching the police climb over fences and cut through yards. They crossed the next block, but then the dogs turned down the sidewalk, yelping and straining on the leash.
“I think we’re close, Roy. You want me to turn them loose?”
“No! Just find him.”
“You’re the boss, but King and Bud would love to soften him up for you.”
The dogs strained harder, and Kelly stumbled along behind, barely able to contain them. They reached the corner, and then the dogs veered right and into a yard, straining toward the porch. As they reached the porch, their yapping changed, and Kelly suddenly pulled them up short.
“They got him treed. I think he’s under the porch.”
Quickly, Roy surveyed the porch. Ordering Kelly and the dogs back, Roy drew his revolver and motioned his officers to pull back, taking cover behind cars and trees. Rifle bolts working cartridges into place, and shotguns being cocked, were the only sounds on the quiet street. He called for the cars to be brought around and soon the front yard was ringed with police cars. When everyone was ready he sent a man to the back to evacuate the house and the houses on either side. When they were secure, he shouted out an order.
“This is the police. We have you surrounded. Come out from under the porch!”
Neighbors came out of the houses behind them and Roy’s men were distracted while they evacuated the newcomers. Once again secure, he repeated his order. Still, nothing happened.
“Want me to send in the dogs, Roy? King and Bud are eager as hell. They mostly track down dead people. This would be a real treat for the boys.”
Roy hesitated, not wanting to hurt the dogs but unwilling to risk one of his men either. “He’s dangerous, Kelly.”
Kelly smiled excitedly. “He’s the one’s going to get hurt. You just watch King and Bud in action.” Then, bending to the dogs, he snapped off their leashes, releasing one and then the other.
The first dog bolted toward the porch with the other close behind. The dog leapt a bush and burrowed down and under the porch, snapping and snarling as he crawled underneath. The second dog jammed its head in the hole, trying to climb over the first. Then the end of the porch exploded.
Splintering wood and the squeals of the dogs were the only sounds, as they were blasted into the air and across the yard. Fragments of the wood that made up the porch whistled through the air like shrapnel, showering the police hidden behind a car. The dogs cleared the car, only to land in the driveway. Both dogs bounced, and tumbled, but only one could get up when they came to rest. It limped down the street, whining pitifully.
“King? Bud? Oh, no! King, come on back, boy.”
Kelly chased after the injured dog, which was whining in a human way.
Quickly checking his police, Roy made sure none had been injured. They all turned to him for an explanation. Signaling, he pulled three of them off the line and had them join him for a briefing. Whispering so that the hidden Gil couldn’t hear him, he explained the situation.
“I told you those people were experimenting with psychic stuff. That guy under the porch has the ability to knock people around. Campbell here and Lee felt it when he knocked them down.”
Campbell nodded, but added, “It wasn’t so much.”
“Yeah, but you saw what it did to that poor guy with the crushed chest. Now, we can handle him, but we’ve just got to be careful. Don’t take any chances. If he doesn’t come out soon we’ll fire on his hiding place—it’ll give him something to think about.”
The officers smiled in anticipation, confident their guns would solve the problem.
The dogs had been too stupid to hold his suggestions, so Gil had no choice but to push them away. He only hoped it would give him time to get away. Crawling back toward the house, he passed through an opening in the foundation and into the crawlspace. Then, belly-crawling, he worked his way under the floor until he found the trapdoor into the house. It came up easily, and he found himself in a closet. Gun in hand, he opened the door quietly, alert for police.
The closet emptied into a hall, and he followed it to a kitchen—empty. The back door was unlocked, but he paused, scanning the yard. No police in sight—they were sure he was still under the porch. Brushing the dirt from his clothes, he then let himself out and trotted across the backyard, climbed the fence, and crossed the next yard out to the street. There were people to his left on the corner trying to see the police action. He joined them, acting curious. He wanted to run but was afraid of suspicion if he went too quickly. Working along the line of people, he found a spot where he could see the police hiding behind their cars. Then he got an idea. Staring hard at two officers he made a suggestion, and then pushed.
The warning not to take chances, and the promise that they would shoot rather than rush the hiding place, reassured the officers, and they smiled, nodded, and moved back to share the briefing with the others. When the word had spread, Roy used a bullhorn to shout out another command to come out from under the porch—again, no reply. While he was waiting for a response, he saw something peculiar. Two of his officers were leaning over a car, shotguns trained on the porch. Suddenly their faces went blank, and they turned toward each other, swinging their shotguns as they did. Roy screamed a warning, but it was too late. Once face-to-face, shotguns at stomach level, they both fired.
He started forward in a futile attempt to help but then realized the danger—they could all shoot each other. “Open fire. Everyone fire at the porch.”
Gunfire erupted, and the porch was peppered with bullet holes. Roy reached the officers, but the wounds were too great and their blood flooded the street, red rivulets running under the car they had hidden behind. Angry at himself, he stood, emptying his pistol at the porch. Then he squatted, reloading. He emptied it again, and reloaded before calling a cease-fire. The porch was riddled with holes and more covered the front wall of the house. The front windows were gone.
“Give yourself up. Come out if you still can.”
They waited, but no sound came from the porch. Roy knew his situation was worse now. He had no idea if the man under the porch was still alive, and he had limited choices. He could send someone to look under the porch, but if the psychic was still alive whoever he sent would likely be killed. He could wait, hoping the man would finally give up, but he had no idea how long it would take.
He studied the porch, noticing that it ran the full width of the house. The base seemed to be an extension of the foundation, and there was ample concrete to hide behind below the wood that made up the bulk of the porch. He decided that waiting was the best option, then radioed to have tear gas delivered. Now, looking down at the two downed officers next to him, he vowed this killer would never get away—no matter what power he had.
Gil could hear the gunfire behind him as he walked into town. There were people here now and all he needed was the right opportunity. Casually ducking in and out of doorways, he found a stretch of empty parking spaces and then waited for someone to pull up in their car. All he had to do was suggest they leave their keys behind and he would use the car to get out of the city. Normally he wouldn’t risk driving a stolen car, but this was an emergency. It would get him away and he would abandon it within an hour.
A car pulled into one of the spaces and Gil pretended to be looking in the store
window. Just as the driver turned off the engine he suggested she already had the keys in her purse and pushed. The woman’s hand dropped to her purse and she got out of the car, leaving the keys behind, but then she pushed down on the door lock and slammed the door. Frustrated, Gil nearly slammed her with his power.
The sound of distant shooting had stopped now, and Gil worried that the hunt would be on again soon. He might have to hijack a car with the gun if another car didn’t turn up soon. Acting casual, he leaned against the side of the building, checking his watch occasionally as if he were waiting for someone. Then he noticed someone watching him from across the street—it was an old lady. He had seen her somewhere before—she was from the neighborhood. She finished staring and then turned into a grocery store across the street. Gil could feel danger as if he were prescient, and hurried away. It was time for desperate measures.
Roy Winston ran his hands through his graying hair, watching one of his men work his way closer with the tear-gas gun. It would be a tricky shot, since the opening was behind the shrubs. The best shot would be if they stood on top of a car, but no one would risk standing out in the open like that. He had ordered his officers to watch each other and if they pointed their guns anywhere but toward the porch to punch each other. No one questioned the strange order.
The officer with the tear gas was nearly in place when a policewoman leaned out of a car shouting to him.
“Do you know a Mrs. Clayton? She just called the station and said she saw this Gil guy in town by the pharmacy.”
Briefly frozen, he then turned and sprinted toward the porch, ignoring the shouts of his men. Jumping the shrubs, he ducked down and peeked into the hole. “Damn!” he shouted. “There’s a hole into the foundation. He’s in town.”
Fragments Page 33
