Fear Power

by C. C. Bolick

  “I’m not telling Dad anything. He’ll freak if he hears I left the base.”

  “I’m taking us inside.”

  I gripped his hand and closed my eyes. When I opened them, we stood inside of my bedroom. He steadied my arms to keep me from falling.

  “Get some sleep, Rena.” He eyed my lips before disappearing.

  * * * * *

  That night, I waited up for Dad. He never returned or bothered to call. Alfie insisted on staying with Samuel and I was in no mood to argue.

  I sat on the couch in his living room. If he came back, I wanted to know when. By eleven, I’d given up on finding a comfortable position to sleep and went to his bedroom.

  On the nightstand sat a bottle of liquor the color of burnt honey. Only a quarter of the liquid remained. Next to the bottle was a small glass that sparkled like fine crystal. I waved the glass under my nose. It smelled of liquor.

  Dad was drinking. I tried to process the words. My fingers trembled as hot tears filled my eyes.

  I sat down on his bed and cried. Everything in my world had gone to hell that day. I’d gotten a new assignment, was shot and healed, finally kissed Travis, and then found out he was keeping more secrets.

  Now Dad was drinking again. Why did Dad have to start back drinking? Before he had the excuse of Mama’s death. It wasn’t a good excuse but it was his. Alfie and I weren’t enough to keep him sober before, but now he had his old job back. He could be the tough agent who took out his frustrations on the bad guys.

  This was how he dealt with the pain of losing Mama. A drunk was the reason she died and then he started drinking as a way to cope. I cursed myself for not realizing we’d stumbled along the edge of that cliff again.

  I thought we’d moved past those days. I thought the darkness was over.

  I wiped the tears and leaned back on his bed. It smelled of Zest soap; I knew that scent from years of living in the tight space of our camper. Not really living after Mama died, existing. Now that our rooms were across the hall from each other, he felt a million miles away.

  In the glow of the lamp next to his bed, I stared at the bottle. Maybe there was something to his pain management. Until today, I’d never thought of finding a way to dull the throbbing in my head.

  I lifted the bottle and poured the dark liquid into the glass. With each drop, tears streamed down my face. A waterfall of tears to match the flow of liquid filling the glass.

  Maybe Dad was my real father. Maybe I’d inherited his need to dull the pain. I tipped up the glass and took a sip that burned my throat. The bitter taste made me feel like puking.

  How could he think this tasted good?

  I took another sip and then another. Warmth grew in my stomach—a soothing warmth that spread throughout my body. Again, I tipped up the glass, this time to the realization it was empty.

  Easy enough to fix. I poured another glass. Took another drink. This glass didn’t taste as bad as the first. It was easier to swallow. Less bitter. My stomach no longer felt sick.

  My head began to throb less and less until I felt like laughing. Again, my glass was empty. I sloshed the liquor around the bottle and took a deep breath of what now smelled sweet.

  The ceiling spun above me. I laid back and tried to take a drink. Liquor spilled down my cheeks and I wiped my face. No need to waste this magic liquid.

  Finally, I had my answer. I knew why Dad drank, understood the numbness that grew with each sip. I didn’t need to worry about him or Travis. I didn’t need to worry about anything.

  I filled another glass and looked at my palms. No blue, which meant I had no fear. No fear of Dad getting hurt on his top-secret mission. No fear of finding out Travis hid more lies.

  No fear of aliens making demands. At first, I didn’t want to know they existed. Now the thought of them eating at a Korean restaurant seemed like the funniest thing in the world.

  If they wanted to take Travis back, let them.

  * * * * *

  “Rena,” someone said. “Rena.”

  “The ducks,” I mumbled. “We need to feed the ducks.”

  Strong hands shook me and I rolled toward the nightstand. Was the bed rocking like a boat? I fought to remember the dream. The sky turned dark. Instead of an infinite sheet of glass, waves rose and fell in the lake as the ducks disappeared; the motion made me feel like puking. The woman from the warehouse watched from the bench with a blank expression.

  “Rena,” came Dad’s voice.

  I opened my eyes and immediately closed them. Had the lamp always been so bright? “My head hurts.”

  “It’s called a hangover. Get dressed and be ready in ten minutes. We’ll grab breakfast before the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “You’re meeting the new doctors today.”

  I tried to sit up on the bed but fell backward on the pillows. “I feel like crap.”

  He sat down next to me. “What did you eat last night?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s part of your problem. You killed what was left of this bottle on an empty stomach.”

  “What does that matter?”

  “Drinking on an empty stomach will make you sick. Next time eat first.”

  “Next time? Aren’t you supposed to be grounding me right now?”

  Dad sighed. He pulled me up and slid an arm around my waist. “I can’t watch you twenty-four seven. If you’re going to drink, you need to do it responsibly.”

  I put a hand over my eyes to block out the light. No matter how I moved, the throbbing in my head wouldn’t subside. “Shouldn’t you be trying to talk me out of drinking again?”

  He leaned his head against mine. “I think we both agree I’m not the best person to make that pitch.”

  * * * * *

  After I struggled to eat a bowl of grits, Dad walked me to an office on the med-level. The doctors had reviewed the capabilities of the agency’s medical staff by the time we arrived. Since I was running late, they were granted extra time to examine the cutting-edge technology.

  I laughed when I thought of how they wouldn’t remember the technology after their memories were erased. My headache pounded harder with the movement and I groaned.

  Dad left me in a room that looked like the exam room from a doctor’s office. Soft blue walls, a bed covered by paper, a counter with a sink, and a container of hand sanitizer on the wall next to the door. There were even instruments to check my eyes and ears.

  Instead of sitting on the bed, I dropped into the only chair in the room. When a doctor arrived, he noticed the lack of chairs and spoke to an agent outside the door. The agent returned with a chair. The doctor laid his tablet on the counter and moved the chair to face me.

  I thought back to the pictures. This was the first candidate—the one Skip referred to as Dr. House. Maybe they’d send the doctors in order so I wouldn’t have to think so hard about who I was interviewing. Or who was interviewing me, I wasn’t sure.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked in an upbeat voice.

  “Sick,” I said.

  Dr. House wasted no time. He used the stethoscope around his neck to check my heart. He insisted I take deep breaths and he felt the lymph nodes in my neck.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.” He reached for the tablet. “I was told you are a genetic anomaly. My job is to diagnose your anomaly and determine how to help you.”

  They considered my power a genetic anomaly? “You believe I’m sick?”

  “I’ve learned to go with my gut and you look sick.”

  “But they gave you no additional information?”

  “The doctor who conducted our orientation said we’d be put through several rigorous tests and scored in areas from speed of completion to bedside manner. The doctor who scores the highest overall will be offered the job.” He leaned closer. “Your help with winning will be greatly appreciated.”

  “You seem like you enjoy a challenge.”

  �
�Winning is a frame of mind. I always apply myself one hundred percent and I never lose.”

  “Never?”

  “My name will be on that office.” He gave a smile that made my stomach churn more.

  “I think—”

  “They gave us ten minutes. Start giving me symptoms.”

  I spent the next few minutes rattling off symptoms for the flu.

  “I can think of several causes for your symptoms with relation to genetics.” He looked over the tablet. “I’ll do some research and compile a list of possibilities. I’ll also find a doctor to get a blood sample.”

  “Aren’t you a doctor?”

  He laughed and left the room.

  The next doctor told me about his previous jobs in great detail. His grandchildren were older than me. Four were doctors. His proudest achievement was winning the Nobel Prize.

  I counted the seconds until his ten minutes were up.

  Dr. Nuke brought a notebook with yellow pages to take notes. “They told me there’s something special about you.”

  Could he be more subtle? “I have a special power. I can blow stuff up. Would you like to see?”

  His voice shook, from fear or disbelief I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was holding back a laugh. “Let’s keep this at the consultation step until we get to know each other better.”

  “What should we talk about?”

  “If you’re interested in bombs, I’m an expert in the field of nuclear fusion.”

  “I once wrote a paper about the difference between nuclear fusion and nuclear fission.”

  He gave me a strange look. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Dr. Nuke chuckled. “Most people can’t appreciate the dynamics of a nuclear explosion. The power, the speed…” He sighed. “I wish I could describe the beauty in a way you could understand.”

  Well, I wasn’t about to describe it for him. At least not until my headache was gone.

  The Author asked more questions than her predecessors, but cut me off each time I tried to answer. Each question related to a book she’d written. Once she even stopped mid-sentence to take notes on a sudden thought she had for a new book.

  When I started asking questions about her books, she began to let me finish sentences.

  “How many books are you working on?” I asked.

  “Usually I have anywhere from three to nine works in progress.”

  “You write about genetics?”

  “I’m an expert in my field.” Before I could ask another question, her time was up.

  I was completely wiped out by the time doctor number five walked through the door. All I could think about was how my bed would feel when this meeting was over.

  She shook my hand and then sat in the chair. Unlike the other doctors who dressed in suits, she wore a black lab coat. On her lips was black lipstick. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun like Sylvia always wore.

  “Dr. O—”

  “Could you please call me by a different name?” She pulled a spiral notebook from her pocket and flipped to a new page.

  I sat back and watched her face. Her voice held anxiety. Annoyance, as if she wanted out of this meeting faster than me. “What would you like to be called?”

  She paused and looked up. “No one else has asked.”

  “I’m asking.”

  “Any letter of the alphabet would be better than O.”

  “Skip—”

  “Who?”

  “Agent Greene said the O stands for oncology. He chose that name because you’re a cancer doctor. At least they’re not calling you Dr. Nuke or The Author.”

  “O stands for many words other than oncology.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  She waved a finger in my direction. “This is a test, isn’t it? I’m not allowed to divulge any personal information. Automatic disqualification.”

  “Sylvia’s rule?”

  “She said this process would be fair and equal to all participants.”

  “Pick a new name. I’ll call you by it even if no one else does.”

  The sound of approval crept into her voice. “I like Dr. X better. Makes me sound like a mad scientist.”

  I laughed. “I’m good with mad scientist. Maybe they won’t look at me as if I’m the crazy one.”

  She checked her watch. “We’ve got four more minutes. Tell me what makes you different.”

  “I can diffuse a nuclear bomb.”

  She considered my words. “That’s useful.”

  “Do you want to see my power?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “No.”

  I lifted my hand and thought of my fear of not being able to save the people I cared about. Blue sparkled along my palm. I felt shock when she reached for my hand.

  “Amazing.”

  The blue faded. I grimaced and reached for my head.

  “Is the pain a side-effect of your power?”

  “Side-effect?”

  “Powers have side-effects, right? The pain could be yours.”

  “Pain? No.” I leaned back in the chair. “My power doesn’t give me headaches.”

  “A hangover?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “I went to med school. I know what a hangover looks like.”

  “I had a few drinks last night.”

  “Can I take a sample of your blood? That way next time we’ll have something other than my name to discuss.”

  “No problem.” Her time was up before I was ready to leave.

  * * * * *

  Travis showed up after the meetings and offered to take me to lunch. I was too tired to argue. He chose a restaurant with foods like pot roast and collard greens.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when we sat down.

  “The light is killing my head.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were suffering from a hangover.”

  “What if I am?”

  He watched my face, maybe trying to decide if I was serious. Travis left the table and returned with a thick white drink.

  “What’s this?”

  “A smoothie,” he said. “It’s got oatmeal and other things too healthy to mention. It helps me get over the sick feeling.”

  I took a sip of the drink. “This isn’t bad. Thanks.”

  “I’ve been thinking about your powers.”

  “You’re not going to ask about the hangover?”

  “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  Another long drink and my stomach began to calm. “What about my powers?”

  “We’ve been focused on controlling the nuclear part, but don’t forget you have two powers.”

  “I don’t like to think about the second one.”

  “Have you tried to fly yet?”

  “What’s so important about me flying?”

  “From what Hannah said, you need to fly.”

  “You’re talking to her now?”

  “She might have mentioned Rosanna’s ability to control her power was strongest after she flew. It was her way of relieving stress to harness her power.”

  “Stress relief from flying? That sounds ridiculous. If anything, flying would make me more stressed.”

  “But the idea doesn’t scare you?”

  “No,” I said. “Let’s assume for a moment it was her stress relief. That doesn’t mean it’s mine, and how does Hannah know this?”

  “She said she helped your mother control her power. Hannah has information from when they met off the record. I haven’t been able to find proof in any files, but I don’t see why Hannah would lie in this case.”

  “I can’t believe you talked to her.”

  “She came to me before Sylvia locked her on the isolation floor. I had no intention of talking to her, but Hannah insisted she could help you.”

  I took another drink, nearly finishing the glass. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Practice flying.”
<
br />   “While I’m underground?”

  “I could take you to Niagara Falls. The safest place for you to practice is over water.”

  I imagined looking down at water rushing over the edge. “What if I can’t fly? I could drown.”

  “I could always teleport you out of there. People used to go over the falls in barrels.”

  “How many survived?”

  He shrugged. “Point noted.”

  “What if someone sees me? I think we should go somewhere with less people and less water.”

  “Give me a few days. I’ll find that place.”

  Travis wanted me to fly. As if I needed more problems.

  * * * * *

  Travis walked me to the door of my room. Instead of opening the door, he stared down at my face. His green eyes filled with a hunger that I recognized even with the headache.

  He lowered his face close enough I felt his breath on my cheek. I thought of my searing skin after touching his arm. My lips would probably hurt worse.

  That didn’t stop me from wanting him to close the gap.

  His voice deepened. “I think—”

  “Travis,” Angel called. She reached us and wrapped her cold hand around my arm, easily pulling me away.

  I opened my mouth but caught sight of her glowing eyes. “Are you okay? Your eyes are purple.”

  Angel nodded. “They glow when I’m angry, but it’s nothing to do with you. Skip found something you both need to see.”

  Travis glanced down the hall in both directions. One agent walked to our left and disappeared around a corner. “Lead the way.”

  She took us to the elevator and up three floors. The memory of her cold skin made me shiver. No one should have skin that cold.

  When she waved us into a room with desks along two of the walls and closed the door, I released a breath. Skip sat at one of the desks. His fingers sped across a keyboard despite the fact our only light was from gaps in the blinds on the windows and door.

  “Are you really alive?” I asked Angel.

  Her eyebrows drew together and she reached for my hand. Angel placed my fingers against the side of her neck. “Do you feel a pulse?”