V Is for Villain

by Peter Moore

  She moved me over to one of the chairs and pushed down on my shoulders so I would sit. She pulled the other chair over and sat down. Our knees were touching. She wasn’t a girl I would usually have a chance to have any physical connection to at all, so this felt like something. I wondered if it meant anything to her.

  “You’re a telepath,” she said.

  I laughed.

  “That’s funny?” she asked.

  “It’s ridiculous. I am not a telepath.”

  “Yeah, you are. Trust me. You just don’t know it, because you haven’t learned how to use the power.”

  “Uh-huh.” I decided to humor her. “And you know this how?”

  “That one time I went into your mind in school? I saw it. I could tell it was dormant, or latent, or whatever. But it was definitely in there. I’m telling you: you’re a telepath, and a powerful one, too.”

  She was crazy. “Right. Okay, since you’re a telepath yourself, can you read what I’m thinking right now?”

  “That’s really funny. I’m not kidding, though.” She shook her head, thinking. “Look. Have you noticed that you sometimes can tell pretty much what a person is thinking? Has that ever happened?”

  “That’s called being observant, reading body language. Being intuitive. Everyone can do that.”

  “Brad, I know what I’m talking about. What you think is natural is more than just interpreting physical signs or simple deduction. That’s the very outer edge of your ability.”

  Two things I knew for sure: she wasn’t just kidding around, and she happened to be wrong. “Then why can’t I do serious reading and writing? The real telepathy stuff?”

  “Did you ever try?”

  “I never tried to fly, either. Because I know I can’t.”

  “Any idiot born with the power of aerotransvection can fly. Every bozo born with extra strength can lift or bend or punch holes in things. Great. Telepathy is totally different. It takes training and practice.” She squared her shoulders. “Let me ask you this: does it ever seem like you’re hearing voices?”

  That pretty much stopped me dead.

  “You have. I don’t have to read you to see I hit a nerve. Now, here’s the thing: I’m a level B telepath, at best. I can do basic stuff. Reading, a little writing. But you—I think you’re like a level H. And the scale only goes up to level I. If I’m right—”

  I laughed again. “Okay, sorry, but I think you’re just a little delusional here.”

  “No, you’re the one who’s delusional. But the voices have nothing to do with it. You’re not crazy. The voices you hear are highly emotional thoughts that float to you just because you have the ability to read. Unfocused telepathy. You just don’t know how to control it yet.”

  “Yeah? Okay, so who’s going to train me?”

  It was right there in her eyes. I didn’t need telepathy to know exactly what she was thinking.

  Going In

  Getting frustrated isn’t going to help, Layla thought to me.

  “I can’t help it,” I said out loud. “It’s been almost an hour and nothing’s happening.”

  You really have to be patient. When she thought to me (writing), it was not exactly in her voice, but it had the feeling of her voice. Very hard to articulate.

  “And to tell you the truth,” I said, “it would be less frustrating for me if you would talk out loud instead of writing.”

  She sighed. “Okay, that’s fine. I just thought that if I kept writing, it might activate or, like, jump-start your telepathy. It’s there. I saw it. Let’s try again.”

  “You know, it’s getting late. My mom’s going to murder me. I still have to take the train back.”

  Layla shook her head. “I’ll have Peanut give you a ride. Come on, let’s go. One more try.” She slapped the side of my thigh. “Wake up. Concentrate.”

  By that point, I knew better than to argue with Layla. I would make one last attempt, just to shut her down, and then I had to get home.

  “Make it count,” she said. “Focus.”

  I let out a long breath and closed my eyes. I put all my mental energy on Layla. I did the meditative breathing she taught me so I wouldn’t be distracted by other thoughts. I started to feel warm in the middle of my abdomen.

  “Are you in?” I asked.

  Shhh. Don’t talk out loud. It’ll distract you. Yeah, I’m in. Concentrate on where you feel my thoughts coming from. Stop! You were about to talk. Just focus.

  It was weird. The words she was writing to me—well, they weren’t even really words. They were more like abstract ideas that somehow became words in my mind.

  But I couldn’t answer them. I could think an answer, but that’s not writing. That’s thinking thoughts that go nowhere outside my head. And I sure couldn’t read her. All I saw in my mind’s eye was darkness. I didn’t even know where “she” was. It was starting to feel like a total waste of time.

  Don’t stop. Don’t answer me. Just hold on. I follow what you’re thinking, and you’re thinking too much. I can tell you feel that heat deep down. That’s good. I’m going to try something that might help you find me. Clear everything.

  I worked to keep other thoughts out of my head.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Good. Now you’re going to feel a light—don’t ask me—yes, I mean feel. It’s not like seeing, exactly. When you feel the light, follow it in your mind. Keep breathing just like you are. That’s good. Okay. Look out for that light.

  I had no idea what she was talking about, “feeling” a light, but I tried to concentrate on my breathing. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

  And there it was. There was no other way to explain it other than how Layla did. I felt a light. It felt pale green, whatever that means.

  That’s it. Focus on that light. Focus. And follow.

  I had no rational idea of what I was doing, but I just put all my thoughts and energy on that light.

  That’s it. Follow. Follow. Follow.

  And that’s when it happened.

  I fell

  Fell in to her

  electrified water hot cold alive

  And then I was out of it, ripped out, when I heard a shrieking sound.

  I was aware again, back in the room, and I could still hear the last reverberations of Layla’s shout. I opened my eyes and saw—first in slow motion, then speeding up to regular time—Layla falling backward in her chair, and she was twisting and putting her hands out to break her fall, and the chair hit the wood floor.

  I dropped to my knees and turned her head to face me. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  Her eyelids fluttered a few times before they opened. She looked at me. And she smiled.

  “We just did it,” she said.

  Powered

  The door slammed open, and the others rushed in.

  “What happened?” Boots said.

  Layla took a deep breath and blinked a few times. “Just some intense reading and writing, is all.”

  “Oh, is that what you call it?” Javier said.

  “Don’t be rude,” Boots said to him. Then, to Layla: “Are you okay?”

  Layla nodded and smiled. “Seriously. I’m fine. We have to drive him home in a few minutes. Peanut, can you get your truck ready? We’ll meet you downstairs in five.”

  After the others left, I helped Layla up and righted the chair. “What happened?”

  “What happened was you came through like a…a…I don’t know. It was like getting hit by a train.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea. Are you all right now?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It was just for a second. But you did it. What was it like for you?”

  “It was weird. I followed, I guess, the light, and then it just happened. I felt
—felt is the wrong word, but I just can’t do any better. My mind felt…like I was plunging into electrified water, icy water, but not icy in an uncomfortable way. I don’t know. It happened really fast, and then I was pulled out when you yelled.”

  “Yeah, well. We’re going to have to do a lot of work so you can control it. But I knew it. I knew that you have strong telepathy. You may have other psi32 powers we don’t even know about yet.”

  “It’s hard to believe.”

  “Well, believe it, because it’s true.”

  “I’m a telepath.”

  “Yup.”

  “By definition a criminal.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Layla stayed back while Peanut drove me home. I had a hard time coming up with anything to say.

  “Hey. You know you can’t talk about the Vitals and our lair and all that. It’s top secret,” Peanut said.

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t think your brother’ll figure it out, do you?”

  “Not too likely. He’s not what I’d call a genius.”

  “Yeah, mine neither.”

  Peanut wasn’t a brain trust himself. “Hey,” I said. “Look at that. We have something in common, then.”

  “What’s that?”

  Seriously? “We both have brothers who are dim bulbs.”

  “I don’t know what ‘dim bulb’ is, but mine doesn’t have that. He’s got autism.”

  Oh. Ugh. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk. Autism, huh? That’s…tough.”

  Peanut shrugged. “Well, you know. It’s what it is, right? Actually, he might be a genius. He doesn’t really talk, so who knows, right? The good thing is I can tell him stuff and he listens, and I know he won’t say nothing. Eddie likes when I hold him by the wrists and spin him around. Makes him laugh. We got a pretty good relationship.”

  I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the trip home.

  Blake was still up when I got in. His gaze moved up from the documentary about World War I he was watching to the clock on the mantel. “A little late, aren’t you?”

  “I guess, yeah. I ran into some kids from school, and we were hanging out, so I kind of lost track of time.”

  “Academy kids or A-program kids?”

  “Mostly Academy,” I said. I figured that answer was less likely to turn into some kind of confrontation.”

  “All right, well, it’s getting late. You should probably hit the sack.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” It was only when I got up to my room that I realized how totally wiped out I was. Completely drained.

  I was physically exhausted, but my mind was racing. I felt like I had discovered an awesome weapon in the basement—a combination grenade launcher/50-cal. machine gun/katana sword/nuclear bomb—that only I could control.

  Telepathy? Of all things, telepathy? Sure, it was an illegal power and I wouldn’t be able to brag about it. Anyone who found out was obliged to report it, like learning the whereabouts of a public enemy. But aside from the small issue of being against the law, telepathy was an incredibly powerful and valuable power to have. Having telepathy wasn’t going to get me back into the Academy. But then again, I wasn’t so sure I even wanted to go back to the Academy. I was just starting to feel as if I had found my people. I was feeling like a genuine A-hole.

  Practice

  During the week after Layla first showed me my telepathic powers, she and I agreed that we shouldn’t work on developing my telepathy skills on a deep level during Integrated Science class until I had enough control not to blast right into her mind, as I had done that first time. We would work on that at the lair.33

  “For now, during class,” she said, “you just sit next to me, close, and you concentrate. I mean, really focus, on sensing my mind.”

  “Sensing you.”

  “Try to locate my mind. Don’t try to connect with me. First just try to feel where I am.”

  I was glad she was concentrating on directing some software rather than maybe sneaking a quick look into what I was thinking.

  Because one thing was for sure, and it was always on my mind: I was falling hard for her.

  And that was something I knew for sure wouldn’t sit too well with Blake, who had been home for a couple of weeks. There had been some stories in the press wondering where he was. I didn’t know what exactly he told the leaders of the Justice Force, Flatliner and Miss Mistral, but their official comment was that Blake was taking a long-overdue and well-deserved vacation. So I guess to avoid any questions about why he was still hanging around at his childhood home, doing a whole lot of nothing, he went on a Hawaiian vacation with his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Janet “Radarette” Jeffries from the Justice Force. But he couldn’t leave without giving me some (completely unsolicited) advice.

  “So I’m heading out in the morning,” he told me at night. He always seemed to want to have heavy conversations when I was going to sleep. “But there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “I don’t want to switch back to the Academy.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s something else you’re doing that’s a big problem.”

  I still didn’t have quite enough control of my telepathy to get into someone’s head without their knowing it.34 Layla was just about to start teaching me that skill. And the last thing I needed was for Blake to know about my developing powers. So I decided just to stay out of his head, at least until I learned stealth.

  “What am I doing that’s so bad?”

  “It’s nauseating that you got dumped out of the Academy. I mean, even if you don’t have any powers, they could’ve let you stay in as a courtesy. Family legacy, after all. But there isn’t too much we can do about that now. So, yeah. You don’t get to pick your classmates. But you do get to pick your friends, and the ones you picked are no good.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “You know who. That Keating kid and the lowlifes she hangs around with.”

  “Wait, have you been spying on me?”

  “I don’t need to. There are still people working at the school who I talk to. They keep me appraised35 and tell me what’s what.”

  Getting mad at Blake wouldn’t do me a bit of good. Yes, I was pissed off. And yes, he was overstepping into my life. But I was pretty sure he couldn’t stop me from hanging around with whomever I wanted. And anyway, if he really wanted to push me on it, well, I knew his little secret, which I figured would give me more than enough leverage to get him to back off.

  Sure, he could kill me with one punch.

  But I could destroy him with one sentence.

  Easy

  Ifollowed Layla up the flight of stairs that led to the lair. As we walked down the decoy corridor, I hoped that maybe none of the others were at the lair. I had been alone with Layla in the small side room, but that was all about working on my telepathy skills. And with Javier, Boots, and Peanut just outside the door, well, it didn’t feel too private.

  Not that I had the nerve to make a move. But I was looking forward to the time—which I hoped would be soon—when I could read Layla and maybe find out how she actually felt about me. I wouldn’t lie and pretend I wasn’t interested in a physical relationship, but the truth was that being in her mind was probably way more intimate than sex could ever be. Being inside her, in her mind, was pretty thrilling. It was hard not to think about it, and I did practically all the time.

  Anyway, as for my hopes of us being alone in the lair, no such luck. Boots was on the couch, watching a rerun of an old sitcom on TV. Javier, wearing a white tank top, was hunched over his worktable. A curlicue of blue smoke rose in front of him. He was using a soldering iron for something, probably to attach an impossibly small microprocessor to a ridiculously tiny device. Peanut was perched on a stool next to Javier. There w
as a computer monitor in front of them with some kind of nature show on, a stalker-and-prey scenario.

  “We’re going in to work on his telepathy,” Layla said.

  Javier turned to look over his shoulder at us. “You are teaching him lots of skills, are you?”

  She looked at him for a moment or two, hard, before saying, “He’s a fast learner. He’s got a lot of talent.”

  “Oh, yah? Super.”36

  He turned back to his itty-bitty construction project. I turned to Layla. She just shook her head and nodded toward the side room. Just before we got to the door, Javier called out, “Hey, has any of you ever seen a video of a wild boar eating a cat? Anyone?”

  “I can pass on that,” Boots said, not looking away from her TV show.

  “I thought you guys were working on making contact with some big players,” Layla said.

  “We are,” Peanut said. “We’re, like, this close to one of them.”

  “You know how they say: all work and no play, yes?” Javier said.

  “And this is just so cool,” Peanut said.

  “What about you, Mr. Telepathy?” Javier said to me. “Want to see it? It’s quite impressive. Have you ever seen a wild boar just take apart a scared little pussy, eat it all up, bones and all?”

  Javier thought he was pretty slick. I wasn’t going to be intimidated by his crap. “I don’t know how I missed it, but it sounds just great. Maybe a little later.”

  I could feel him glaring at me while I walked into the room behind Layla.

  “What’s his deal? I don’t think you need telepathy to read the aggression coming from that guy.”

  “He’s pretty aggressive, yeah. Territorial, too. And he’s…a little possessive about me.”

  Ugh. That was what I was afraid of. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly what she’d meant by that, but if I didn’t ask, it was going to bother me all night. “Possessive. Why?”

  “Because in his mind, we’re going to get together one day. All fantasy, trust me. Anyway, don’t worry about him. We have work to do now.”