CHAPTER 5 — STIRRINGS
There were four inches of snow on the ground by the time Jane got out of bed late on Saturday. She looked at the college information package that lay on her dresser, then raised an eyebrow dismissively and glanced off to her left, stepping out of bed. She wanted to go to college—she wanted to study English and Art History—but she had a feeling this would not be the course her life would take. Sometimes it seemed as though she were standing on a platform above the river of her life, and she could, with a push from her mind, illuminate the distance a bit better and see the direction the course was taking.
Her mother was out running errands and had told Jane that she wouldn’t be back until later in the evening. Jane relished this time to herself. It was beautiful outside. She stood on the back porch looking at the snow and pondered her strange life. After a while, she went back inside and prepared lunch. The house was warm; she finished her sandwich and lay back on the sofa. The intuition she had about not returning to school wouldn’t leave her.
Why wouldn’t I be going back to school? What is going to happen that will change my life that dramatically? she wondered. The answer did not come easily. It was inside a myriad of things that were scant and difficult to define, but she gradually pulled the pieces together into a pattern.
The problem that was of primary concern was that the situation around the world regarding people like herself was intensifying. The rumours and accusations regarding the existence of the facilities were growing. Mainstream news outlets had commented on the subject in a tentative fashion, but most people were sceptical. After all, if such places existed, wouldn’t they be public knowledge? How—and more importantly, why—would the governments of the world keep such facilities a secret?
It wasn’t just that. Something had already changed in her. She was moving things again. Just small things—books, coffee cups, glasses—and she was changing channels on the television with just her thoughts. She found that focussing the power in these small ways did not tire her, but her ability waned quickly.
Still, she had not done this since she was a child, when it was something that was very much unconscious and out of her control. Now she was wielding the ability consciously, as one would take a drink from a glass of water. There was a feeling of guilt—like a faded bruise—whenever she used it, but she pushed past it as best she could.
She had the deep sense that she had opened a floodgate. The more she did it, the more she wanted to. One afternoon, with her mother in bed, Jane had gotten into her car, focussed on the engine and held her outstretched palm over it, electrifying it. She didn’t know how a car worked at all, but she found that if she focussed hard enough, she could figure out where the parts fit and then electrify the right components to get the engine going.
She was reaching out with her mind to take control of the wheel when something stopped her. She was about to cross a barrier. Until that moment, she had done nothing but levitate a few glasses and books, really just to prove to herself that the faculty was still there. She had almost scared herself into believing that it could be gone, and so she had found those engines buried in her mind, uncovered them and brought them back to life.
She didn’t know what the threshold was for detection, but she knew she must be nearing it. A few books here and there would fade into the background, but a hundred books probably would not. Taking control of a car was definitely asking for trouble. An instinctive voice spoke up from within her. Do you want them to find you? it asked. She unhooked her mind from the wheel and released her control of the engine. The car fell from her grasp and the engine switched off. She exhaled and stepped out.
There’ll be another day for things like this, she thought. Another time. Then she had come crashing back to reality: to the silver, wintery light as it glinted off the snow, to her mother who worked hard to support her and their odd life, and their only real friend, Jack, whom she loved dearly.
She was an Ethereal (an expression she had initially derided but grown to accept). She had an unusual faculty that she could not use, could not truly explore for fear of men showing up at her house and taking her. Is that a realistic fear? she asked herself, and the answer came back: yes. They had come before. They did exist. The single man whose name she remembered was Lucas, and she had been warned about his coming by Max.
Max was good, but as far as she knew, he was gone. So it was just her and her mother—and the ethereal abilities she had not really explored—against what could be an army of faceless, suited men with extremely sophisticated tracking equipment and information. One slip and they would come for her. Her father could not—or would not—help her now. He lived in Bordeaux, France, and she rarely spoke to him.
She had returned to her room now and was gathering laundry. Then, as she headed back down the stairs, she heard his voice, just barely. The light from the sun was almost gone and the staircase was dark. It was lined with framed photographs of her family
at a time when there were still three of them. Suddenly, for just a moment, it seemed as though great shafts of warm summer light were sweeping in from the windows overhead. She glanced at the photographs and saw her reflection as she heard him whisper.
Jane.
“What?” she said out loud, gasping and turning. She froze on the staircase, breathing deeply and loudly, adrenaline flooding her body. She lost her patience. “WHAT?! WHO IS IT?” she barked into the empty space around her.
But there was no answer, and nothing else came from the voice. It was gone. It was as though a radio station had managed to get its equipment functioning for one brief second before losing the signal again. She composed herself and continued down the stairs. She didn’t really need any further confirmation, for she knew who it was—the distantly remembered vision from her childhood: Max.
Max appeared to Jane in a more tangible form soon after she heard him whispering in her mind on the staircase. It was a day that would alter the course of her life. She was sure she had experienced more dreams of him as a child (although she could remember only one clearly). They had been vivid, but she couldn’t remember the details except for him; she remembered him quite well. He was a tall man who appeared to her in a park that looked like it was located on another world.
She thought about this and tried her best to remember the palette of the dreams and the colour of the leaves. They had been brown, like autumn, but not really brown. They were like another colour entirely, one she could not remember once she re-entered normal consciousness and spatial awareness. Had those dreams been dreams of another world? Somehow, she suspected they had.
Okay Jane, what else do you know about him? she wondered. She closed her eyes and imagined the park as best she could. The first thing that came to mind was safety. She felt safe with this man. Max could—would—protect her, she knew this the moment she had seen him. The second thing that came to mind when she thought about Max was that he was wise. She could tell from the way he moved, the way he talked and the way he carried himself. She could not remember everything they had talked about and perhaps she never would. But she had the impression they had taken part in long, deep conversations about…something. She struggled again, trying to remember. The universe? The words echoed in her mind as she considered them. Seems right, she thought, answering her own question.
He warned her about the men who were coming, and he showed her how to focus so that she could minimize the brainwave patterns associated with psychokinesis. He also told her about the picture game they would play with her and warned her not to answer the questions so that she got all of them wrong; that would give her away. The trick was to answer them so that approximately half of them were right. This, again, had been good advice.
She was lying on the sofa now as a gentle drowsiness overcame her. The house was silent. Her mother had gone to meet Jack and they wouldn’t be home until later.
She recalled being in the room with Lucas. She had relished the look on his face as she let the coffee cup fall to the floor a
nd break. He had looked like a fool when his face came back up to meet hers.
Max had been right about that, too: he’ll try to trick you. The echoes of his voice as he had said this particular thing entered her mind as she drifted into a light sleep. Then the floodgate opened, and she could see the dream as clearly as if it had occurred yesterday.
The Ethereal Vision Page 8
