Though I was supposed to wait for him at the fire station, I didn’t feel like sitting around all afternoon. It was a nice day. Summer was almost over. I didn’t know how long the weather would hold out in this part of the country. In Maine, it had already started to get frosty at night.
I decided to take advantage and go for a walk along the river that ran parallel to Main Street, behind the Finer Diner.
They called it a river, but to me, it was more like a creek. It didn’t matter; the babbling of the flowing water was soothing.
Though I still imagined heading out to California one day, I decided, if it came down to it, I could live here for a while.
The thunderous rumble of an explosion broke me out of my daydream.
When I looked around, I couldn’t see where it had come from. I noticed several people moving toward the north end of Main Street.
I looked in that direction and saw two columns of smoke. One was coming from The Trough, the barn-like building to the north. Smoke was also coming from a burning car out front.
In the parking lot, there was a woman standing with her arms raised above her head. Her hair was so red, it looked like it was on fire.
I heard someone yell at her, and to my surprise, I saw my father racing across the street from his service truck. Someone must have called him about the second fire.
He tackled her just as the car exploded, sending parts and glass flying in all directions.
Instinctively, I hit the ground, covering my head with my hands.
The wail of a police siren sounded from the other end of the street, and my breath stuck in my throat.
I looked up as the squad car skidded to a stop. A large man jumped up from the ground in the parking lot near the burning car and ran across to the police vehicle, diving behind it, cowering.
An old police officer—the town’s sheriff?—jumped out of the squad car, a rifle in his hand. He barked a command in the direction of the woman and my father, but I couldn’t make out the words. They were too far away.
To my surprise, my father stepped forward and yelled something back.
I’d seen enough television shows to know what was going to happen next. Jumping up from the ground, I screamed and launched into a run.
Like a slow-motion movie, I watched, completely helpless, as the sheriff pulled the trigger. My father flew back as if hit by a wrecking ball. The sharp crack of the shot echoed through my ears a split-second later.
“No!” I yelled. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
For no reason, the sheriff had shot my father.
I took two more running steps when I felt something like a sledgehammer smash into my guts. It knocked me backward onto the ground. I hit my head on something hard, and my eyes rolled around in their sockets.
The wind rushed out of my lungs. At the same time, it felt as if every ounce of blood in my body doubled in volume. I thought I was going to burst.
Had the sheriff shot me, too? What kind of madness was going on in this small town?
Then a series of explosions ripped through the area.
Windows from nearby buildings shattered, several cars close by blew up, including the sheriff’s.
One of the transformers on a telephone pole went off like fireworks and came unseated from its perch. The top of it hit the ground right beside me … and bounced.
Somehow, I managed to roll out of the way before it hit me. I couldn’t breathe, but I still had control of my muscles.
I pushed myself to my feet and slowly turned back toward where my father lay on the ground. The redheaded woman on her knees beside him let out a howl of misery. It looked like she was on fire.
Something happened then that was impossible.
A wide torrent of water rose out of the river, like a waterspout, and raced toward me too fast for me to react. It covered the dozen feet from the river’s edge in the span of a heartbeat.
Instead of slamming into me, it wrapped itself around me in a watery cocoon a moment before the world exploded.
Chapter Eight
I woke in a strange bed. Panicked, I shot straight up and cried out.
“There, now. You’ll be all right,” someone beside me said.
I looked over to see a woman in a nurse’s uniform.
“Are you thirsty? I brought some water for you.” She set a paper cup on a counter opposite the bed.
Blinking, I looked around. It took a moment before I realized I was in a medical clinic.
“What happened?” I asked the nurse.
“Someone said there was a gas explosion on Main Street, but I know it was that firebug. She wasn’t going to be happy until she’d burned us all to the ground.” The woman’s smile turned gleeful. “At least she managed to kill herself this time.” Then she made a hissing sound. “It’s too bad she had to take the sheriff and that nice young fireman with her. Bless their poor souls.”
I felt my heart twist in my chest.
My father.
He was dead.
I’d only had an hour with him. Now he was gone forever, shot by the sheriff. Why? Because of that woman? Who was she? Where had that explosion come from?
In the space of a week, I’d lost both my parents. Both had died in front of my eyes, violently.
An icy blanket of despair crept into my heart. It was all too much for me to handle.
I felt my stomach rebel. I leaned over the side of the cot and vomited.
“Oh, dear,” the nurse said. She turned and raised her voice. “Doctor, can we get some help over here?”
A man in a white coat appeared in the doorway, holding the stethoscope draped around his neck to keep it from sliding off. He knelt beside me.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
“No,” I said, holding my hand over my mouth in case I had to throw up again. “I need to go to the washroom.”
“Right over here,” he said, helping me to my feet and leading me out of the room and across the hall. “Do you want me to get the nurse to go in with you?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, hurrying inside and running to the toilet.
No sooner had I closed the door behind me and lifted the seat than I puked again. I thought it would never stop coming up.
Eventually, my hair soaking from sweat and splash back, I sat on the floor beside the toilet.
I have no idea how long I cried; the entire time in the bathroom, I couldn’t form a straight thought. Misery, grief, and desperation mingled together.
Life had tricked me. It had dangled hope in front of me, and just when I thought happiness was within reach, it was ripped away again.
I should never have traveled across America in the silly pursuit of a stupid dream; it had started as a nightmare, and now I knew that was all it had ever been.
The front of my shirt was splattered with droplets of my vomit, and the smell burned my nostrils. Though I felt helpless and drained, I pulled myself up and left the stall, heading toward the sink.
I put the stopper in the drain, ran both the hot and cold taps, grabbed a handful of paper towels, soaked them under the stream from the faucet, and then dabbed at my shirt.
The sound of the running water cut through the darkness of my thoughts.
I remembered the moments before that final explosion. The river had done something incredible. It had produced a funnel of water.
I’d seen waterspouts on the Atlantic before during severe thunderstorms. Never had one happened in good weather, and never from a river. That part was hard enough to accept, but what was truly unbelievable was that it had behaved as if it had a will of its own. It had come straight for me, and covered me in the instant before the explosion would have ripped me apart.
Was it some kind of miracle? Or, was it my imagination? Perhaps it was an effect of the exhaustion from my long trip, and the stress of seeing my father shot.
I cried out and jumped back when the water overflowed and fell onto my shoes. I hadn’t been paying attention.
Instead of reaching out to turn off the taps, I instinctively made a motion with my hands. To my astonishment, the water that had spilled out of the sink reversed direction and came up from the floor and back into the basin. The level rose above the rim as if held there by a wall of glass.
Was I doing that?
I reached over and turned the taps off. I extended a finger and touched the edge to see if there was some kind of barrier there. My finger sank into the liquid. Amazing.
I was about to reach my hand in to pull the stopper when a sudden cramp went through me and I lost concentration. All the water that had been contained by the invisible wall splashed over the rim of the sink to the tile in front of my feet, soaking my pants and shoes.
I had this sudden urge to escape out the bathroom window.
A loud knock on the door echoed through the room.
“Serena,” a familiar voice called out. “Serena Rogers. It’s me, Aaron Ulrich. Are you in there?”
My mind struggled to figure out how in the world he’d found me. Was I that wanted a fugitive that the warden would send him thousands of miles to bring me back?
I felt a needle of desperation pierce through me. If the Center were that serious about getting me back, they would probably find a way to keep me there until I was eighteen. I didn’t want to spend the next four years of my life in juvie.
Even if I didn’t get that long a sentence, I would either be sent to live with my grandparents or get pulled into the foster system; neither option was remotely appealing.
I’d managed to make it all the way to Arizona on my own. I didn’t need any adults in my life. I had to start learning to depend on myself.
Trying not to make any noise, I hurried to the other end of the bathroom and opened the latch on the frosted window.
There were bars attached to the outside pane—probably to prevent people from breaking in after hours to steal prescription drugs. Even if I’d had an hour or two, I wouldn’t have been able to break out and escape that way.
An unexpected sensation flowed through me. I had a new power. I could use it to blast my way out. No one could stop me. All I had to do was turn the tap back on and direct the water to hit Mr. Ulrich. On television, I’d seen police using water hoses to control large crowds. Why couldn’t I do the same thing?
I felt my heart skip a beat, and I got hold of myself. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t a fighter. I was a runner.
Unfortunately, I had no place to run.
I heard the bathroom door open a few inches with a creaking sound.
Mr. Ulrich’s words came through clearly. “Serena? Do you need some help?”
It was no use pretending I wasn’t there.
Flatly, I said, “No. I’m fine now, Mr. Ulrich.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said. “I’ll be waiting out here when you’re ready.” The door slid closed.
Reluctant to leave the safety of the washroom, I stepped over to the sink again, my shoes splashing the water that had spilled on the floor.
I looked into the mirror, saw that the black eye makeup had run down my cheeks, and my black lipstick was smeared around my mouth. I looked like some kind of Gothic clown. I quickly washed as much of the makeup from my face as I could.
Surrendering myself to my fate, I took a deep breath and left the bathroom to face Mr. Ulrich.
* * *
Back in the examination room, I sat on the bed, staring at my shoes.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
Sitting on a chair, Mr. Ulrich said, “Your grandfather told us his son—your father—was in Denver. I spoke to his chief there, and informed him you might show up. When you did, he called me and let me know where you were going. I just got into Phoenix this morning and drove up.” He gave me a long look. “I’m so sorry about your father. I got the story from Mr. Hrzinski.”
I didn’t want to think about my father’s death. It was too painful. “So, what now? You’re going to drag me back to the Center and lock me up until I’m eighteen?”
“Before I left Portland, I handed in my resignation. I’m not here on their authority,” he said.
I looked up sharply. “Then what are you doing here?”
Remembering the sudden pain in my gut moments before Mr. Ulrich knocked on the bathroom door, I wondered if that had been my instincts telling me something was wrong. Was Mr. Ulrich one of those stalkers? Was he going to kidnap me, take me out to some abandoned farmhouse in the country and murder me? Maybe he was a perv, after all. There had to be a reason he’d been kicked out of the priesthood.
“Your grandparents have declined to petition for guardianship of you.”
“What?” I felt the word catch in my throat. It was true. No one in the world wanted me now. I was truly alone.
“Do you remember that offer to go to Anak Acres?”
My mind must still have been rattled from the explosion. I had no idea why Mr. Ulrich was bringing it up.
“There are others there who’ve been through similar tragedies. They’re very much like you. I’m sure they can help you.”
“What are you talking about? I thought you resigned.”
“I still work for the organization that sponsors Anak Acres. They’ve been aware of you for a few months. Their offer still stands. The Maine Department of Corrections doesn’t know where you are, and they don’t ever have to know.”
I drew back. “Uh, I think I’d like to talk to the doctor now. Maybe you should just go.”
“Serena,” he said with a nonthreatening smile, “please don’t be alarmed. We only want what’s best for you. Hear me out; if you don’t like what I have to say, then you’re free to go wherever you like.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I said, “You’d just let me walk away? That sounds fishy.”
He nodded and gave a little laugh. “I understand your reservations.” Raising both hands, he asked, “Just two minutes…?”
“Fine, but if you try anything, I’ll scream.” I was already planning how to get to California.
“When you first went to the Center, you were given a blood test as part of your normal medical screening.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, there is an uncommon genetic trait in your DNA. Our organization became aware of your results, and they arranged for me to get a job there and observe you. I was tasked with trying to get you out and bring you to Anak Acres.”
“Observe me? What, do I have some kind of disease or something?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s more of a gift, or the promise of a gift. Those with the trait have a potential for certain qualities most people can never possess.”
“What are you talking about?”
He said, “According to Chief Hrzinski, you were close enough to the explosion that you should have been killed along with the others. Yet you don’t have a scratch on you. I think something happened. Am I right?”
My initial reaction was that he was out of his mind, and I should bolt before he could go full-out crazy on me. Then I thought about the protective blanket of water from the river, and the invisible barrier in the sink.
There was no way Mr. Ulrich could be talking about that … could he?
“I struck a chord, didn’t I?” he asked. “Something miraculous happened to you? Something you can’t explain?”
“What do you know about it?”
“The people at Anak Acres know all about it. They’re equipped to help you understand it.”
“Do you have one of these traits?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not me; I just work for them. There are at least a few dozen others there—some your age—all with the same genetic trait as you. They’ve all been through it. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.”
He stood up and took a step toward the door. Pausing before he opened it, he said, “The choice is yours, Serena. I’ll be outside in the car if you want to come with me to Utah and meet the others like you. It’s a long drive, and I’d like to
get there tonight.
“If you’re not interested,” he said a moment later, “we won’t bother you again.”
With that, he left me alone in the room.
A storm raged in my head. Too much had happened over the last week for me to handle. I just wanted to run as fast and as hard as I could until I’d gone so far that no one could ever catch up.
But, then I’d be completely alone. My parents were dead. My grandparents wanted nothing to do with me. I had nowhere to go.
I couldn’t deny that I was going through something strange. That blanket of river water, the sink—was it all my imagination? Had I suffered some kind of concussion? Was I hallucinating it all?
Scanning the counter, I spied the paper cup with water the nurse had brought in. Jumping off the bed, I stepped over and looked down at the cup.
Gift?
Deep down, I knew he meant ‘supernatural ability’. If it was true, then I was the one who pulled the water from the river toward me; I was the one who stopped the water from spilling out over the edge of the sink. I should be able to do it again, if I did have this kind of ability.
Reaching down, I upended the cup, pouring the water all over the top of the counter.
Then I put the cup down in the middle of the puddle.
Not knowing how to go about it, I just thought as hard as could…
…and the water on the counter did something completely unnatural. It began to flow toward the cup, up the sides, and back inside.
Gingerly, I touched the surface of the counter around the cup; it was dry.
I had the gift.
I had the genetic trait.
Genetic trait? That meant it was something passed down from my parents. Certainly, not my mother. She’d never done anything incredible in her life.
My father? I didn’t know enough about him, but as a fire fighter, he was in a perfect position to use his gift. He could make water do whatever he wanted. Had he chosen to use that ability to fight fires?
According to Mr. Ulrich, the people at Anak Acres knew a lot more about this gift—this trait—than I did.
I decided I would go along with him … at least until I learned what I could.
Chapter Nine
The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels Page 65
