XGeneration (Book 4): Pressure Drop

by Brad Magnarella

  Jesse drew the closet door open the rest of the way and flipped the light switch. His gaze roamed the yellowing cards inset in the cabinet drawers, while his lips sounded out the words. He stopped at the one labeled “Family.” The drawer didn’t budge when he tugged the handle; instead, the entire cabinet tipped forward. He studied the drawer’s brass key chamber, the cogs of his brain turning.

  Gonna get hell for this, but…

  Bracing the cabinet, his next tug blew out the locking mechanism, the chamber bouncing off his chest.

  The drawer rumbled open.

  Jesse listened into the kitchen until he was satisfied his mother was still talking to the television. He mopped the sweat from his nose with his shirt and dried his fingers. Then he began pawing through the files. Copies of tax returns gave way to thick files with his father’s, mother’s, and finally his own name stenciled across the top.

  Jesse plucked his manila folder free and set it atop the cabinet.

  He leafed past D and F report cards, disciplinary statements, and court cases until he found the piece of paper he was looking for.

  STATE OF TEXAS

  CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH

  He mopped his face again and scanned the information. He looked it over a second time, feeling something like relief. It was all there: his name, his mother and father listed as his parents. There was no mention of adoption.

  Whoever had called him at the pool hall and left those business cards had obviously been screwing with him. Either that or they were some kind of private investigation firm, trying to scare up business. Jesse thought that if he ever caught one of them tucking another card beneath his windshield wiper, he’d give them some business all right. The head-smashing kind.

  “What in the goddamn hell you think you’re doing?”

  Jesse’s head jerked around. His father was standing in the entryway to the den, the unbuckled bib of his overalls sagging beneath a basketball-sized swell of stained undershirt.

  “Just looking for something.”

  “Yeah, you was just looking for something.” Jesse edged from the closet as his father stomped toward him, his face swollen with anger. “So you go and steal my key and—look what you done to the damned drawer!”

  “The door was already unlocked,” Jesse said in his defense. “But, yeah, I pulled the drawer too hard.”

  His father swung his stocky body around. “I’ll teach you to go through my…” He was rearing back like he was about to launch a roundhouse when his gaze fell to Jesse’s hand. “What’ve you got there?”

  It took Jesse a moment to realize he was still pinching his birth certificate. He glanced down at it before holding it out. But when his father tugged at the document, Jesse’s fingers locked down.

  “Would you let go of the damned thing before you tear it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jesse asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That I was adopted.” He pointed to what he’d just noticed. “The date filed says March,1970. That’s not my birthday. I was born in 1968, in April, which means I was signed over to you and mom when I was two.”

  His father accepted the offered document uncertainly and squinted over it. “Think you’re so smart,” he said after a minute. “Your mother and I were gonna tell you when you turned eighteen. If you’d waited a few damned months…” His words trailed of, as if the fight in him had gone on break.

  “Who are my parents?” Jesse asked.

  “Your parents are the ones who goddamned raised you.” He placed the certificate in its folder and the folder in the back of the cabinet drawer. Cussing, he inspected what remained of the locking mechanism and then began searching around for the missing pieces.

  “No, my biological parents,” Jesse said.

  “How should I know?” he barked. “They didn’t hand deliver you in a goddamned picnic basket. We got you from a state home. I was agreeable to your mother’s wishes, so long as you was a boy and built for work.” His sudden laughter surprised Jesse. “Barely two, and you were damned near as big as the five year olds. Course now that you’re old enough to be of use, the damned government wants you back. Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’ve gotta rest before training,” Jesse mumbled, as he lumbered off.

  And he had a lot to think about, too.

  12

  That evening

  7:08 p.m.

  Janis waved back to Margaret, who had kept the Prelude idling curbside. Her car pulled away, its headlights cutting through the steady rainfall. Janis turned back to Amy, then stepped over the threshold into the Pavonis’ large foyer. Overhead, water streaked down slanted skylights.

  “Is she here yet?” Janis whispered, setting her pack down and shedding her rain jacket.

  Amy had changed from her school outfit into jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt, securing her hair in a ponytail, like Janis’s. But as she shook her head and closed the door, the same foreboding from earlier haunted her eyes.

  “My parents said she’d be coming around seven thirty.”

  By Janis’s watch, that gave them twenty minutes.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Janis asked, realizing she was still whispering.

  “Basically, to tell her she’s not welcome here. To tell her to leave and never come back.” As Amy talked, Janis followed her through the living room and into a kitchen that had been remodeled since Janis’s last visit. It looked bright and modern. Amy hiked herself onto one of the high stools at the kitchen counter.

  “And you want me here for moral support?” Janis asked, taking the stool beside her. “Or do you think she’ll do something?”

  “When I started thinking about confronting her, I thought about how you might do it. What you’d say. How you’d act. How you’d stand, even. Then I thought, ‘Why not just ask Janis to be here?’ After that, I started feeling better. I wasn’t sure you’d agree, though. I mean, after…”

  Janis’s gaze fell to where her own fingers were tracing the counter’s tiles. The kitchen’s dull browns and mustards had been replaced by blinding shades of white, like the “after” shot in a Polident commercial. It hardly seemed like the same room she and Amy had once used as a skating rink.

  “I’m glad to help,” Janis said.

  “I’m really sorry for all the crap I pulled on you. I was really messed up.”

  Janis sensed that, unlike last year, Amy’s contrition was honest. “No, no, I understand,” she said. “I should never have gone after you at Dress-up Night. I was out of control.”

  “I probably deserved it.”

  “And the night of the spring dance,” Janis added. “I shouldn’t have been so direct about what I’d picked up on your aunt. Not there. Not like that.” Janis recalled Amy hobbling off in her high heels and short dress, mascara staining the skin under her eyes.

  “At first I was terrified that someone knew—that you knew,” Amy admitted. “But it was the slap I needed. It forced me to face something I’d spent years running from. This summer was rough, but I feel like I’m through the worst of … of the memories. And after tonight…”

  The rain began washing over the skylights in great waves. It blew against the back windows like spindrift. Janis nodded and rubbed Amy’s arm, which had turned as lean as the rest of her.

  “I don’t know if we’ll ever be close friends again,” Amy said, “I mean, after everything that’s happened and how much we’ve changed. But I’m really glad we’re having this talk.” She wrapped her arms around Janis and pulled her into a tight, nearly desperate, embrace.

  Janis patted Amy’s back until it stiffened. In the garage, a car door had slammed shut.

  A presentiment, similar to what Janis had felt prior to her and Scott’s operation at the Leonards’ house, shuddered through her. When she inhaled, she tasted fetid meat. She considered pulling Amy from the house, getting them both to safety, before reminding herself that she was stronger than she’d been in December, more powerf
ul. She could face whatever came through that door.

  Janis took her friend by the shoulders and held her at arms’ length. “You can do this,” she said into Amy’s face, which had gone a pale shade of gray. “You can. But if anything happens, get behind me, okay?”

  Amy nodded quickly. Together, they stood and faced the door to the garage.

  Lightening landed outside and a bright-white explosion rattled the house. Amy screamed. The lights buzzed and went dark. Heart clapping, Janis gripped Amy’s hand and reached toward the garage in her mind. She sensed movement but couldn’t draw a bead on the mover.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” she whispered.

  Amy left Janis’s side and began pulling open drawers. Seconds later, a pale light shone, throwing shadows around the kitchen. It trembled over the door to the garage. A damp hand crawled back inside of Janis’s.

  Janis squeezed as the door chuffed open.

  The figure who stepped into the kitchen had gained weight since Janis had last seen her, but Janis recognized the brawny movements: Aunt Patricia. Pat, to them. Narrow eyeglass lenses threw back the flashlight’s beam. Fleshy lips receded from large teeth. She dropped her shoulder bag and raised the back of a hand to her eyes.

  “Amy?” she asked in an irritated voice. “Is that you?”

  “You’re not welcome here,” Amy said quietly.

  “What?” Pat asked, sidestepping toward her.

  “I said, you’re not welcome here.”

  Pat continued forward.

  Janis could feel how badly her friend wanted to back away. “I want you to leave and never come back,” Amy said, her voice beginning to rattle. “Leave or I’ll tell my father what you did.”

  Pat hesitated, her hand still guarding her eyes. “I don’t know what you think I did, but you had a lot of funny ideas as a kid. I often went along with them, probably against my better judgment.”

  “That’s a lie!” Amy shrieked.

  “And now you’re a spoiled brat.” Pat’s lips snarled around the word. “A daddy’s girl.”

  Amy tried to speak but began sobbing. Janis relieved Amy of the chrome flashlight and steadied the beam on Pat’s looming face. Vibrations coursed through her. The taste of the sea filled the back of her nose. But for the restrictions on using her powers, she would have blasted Pat through the wall.

  “Get the hell back,” Janis said.

  Pat tried to crane her neck around the beam of light. “Who’s that? Janis?” Her voice brightened suddenly, as though a switch had been flipped inside her. Her peeled-back lips fashioned a smile, but a rotten smell continued to seep from her head, her thoughts. “Well, golly. I don’t think I’ve seen you in five years. My glove hand’s still smarting from those softballs you used to wing.” She blew on her palm for emphasis. “Think you’ll play this year?”

  “Amy told you to leave and never come back,” Janis said. “You need to listen to her.”

  “She’s so full of stories, isn’t she?”

  “No,” Janis said. “She’s telling the truth. And you all but confessed a minute ago. I heard you.”

  Janis dipped her head to check on Amy, who was pressing her face against her shoulder. That’s when Pat struck. The flashlight flew from Janis’s grip. Shadows jagged as it clattered to the floor.

  Pat’s next punch caught Janis high on the temple.

  Janis stumbled backward, more stunned than hurt. Calming her breaths, she focused on the dark figure in the center of the kitchen. Horrid mental images mingled with the rotten smell.

  “You want trouble?” Pat asked, the cheer gone from her voice. “Huh?”

  “You preyed on an innocent girl,” Janis said.

  Pat huffed into a charge. Janis had already seen the attack as a ghost image. Slipping to one side, she pistoned her knee up. Age had softened Pat’s gut, and she folded over the blow.

  “You took her childhood.” Janis drove an elbow down on her neck.

  Pat collapsed to her hands and knees. Janis watched her try to crawl away, dark pleasure stirring inside her. She reared her right leg back. But instead of delivering the coup de grace, she set her sneaker against Pat’s rump and shoved. Pat went sprawling toward the garage door.

  “Now get out of here,” Janis said.

  Pat’s breaths grunted in and out as she worked the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

  “Don’t forget your glasses,” Janis said, kicking them.

  As the specs skittered across the floor, the lights flickered back on. The kitchen shone preternaturally white. A sad, doughy creature squinted back at her. When Pat pushed her glasses onto her face, the frames seemed to sit crookedly until Janis saw that it was her nose that was bent.

  Pat sniffled back a bubble of blood. “You crossed a line,” she said, aiming a finger at Janis. “I’m going to find you.” She drew a ragged breath. “And I’m going to hurt you. Do you hear me?”

  “You’re not going to touch her.”

  Janis turned to find Amy entering from the living room. Janis recognized the large revolver in her hands. Years before, she and Amy had burst into her father’s study while he was cleaning it, only to be lectured on the importance of knocking. Amy later told her that he kept it in a safe under his desk. Freed from the safe now, the gun appeared to be drawing Amy forward.

  “Put that away,” Pat said.

  “I should shoot you,” Amy told her.

  “Amy, don’t,” Janis pleaded. “She’s leaving.”

  But Amy seemed not to hear her. “I should kill you.”

  Pat’s lips drew back as she stared Amy down. “I’d like to see you try, you lying slut.”

  “Get out—”

  Pat lunged forward. Grabbing Amy’s wrists, she managed to pull her into a stumbling parody of a dance. Amy grunted. The gun, which had been wavering between them, discharged.

  Bang!

  Amy staggered backward. She was no longer holding the gun, but squeezing her thigh. Blackness blotted through the fabric of her jeans. She turned toward Janis, eyes huge, her mouth a bead of white flesh.

  Janis reached toward her. “Amy…”

  Pat swung the revolver around.

  Without thinking, Janis pushed.

  Pat screamed as the force knocked her into a staggering series of pirouettes. The gun went off twice more—bang! bang!—before Pat slammed face first into the pantry door. With a thought, Janis pried the revolver from her squirming fingers and set it atop a cabinet, out of reach.

  “What’s happening?” Pat cried, her words smushing together.

  Holding Pat to the door with her telekinetic power, Janis hurried to Amy, who had fallen with her back to the counter. “I … I think it passed clean through,” Amy said in a quavering voice. From beneath her leg, blood ran along a line of grout and began to branch.

  Must’ve hit a major vessel, Janis thought. “Jus-just stay calm,” she said.

  “What in the hell did you do to me?” Pat demanded.

  With a hand gesture, Janis rapped Pat’s head against the door. As the woman dropped in a heap, Janis turned and released Amy’s belt buckle. Slipping the woven belt free, she looped it around Amy’s upper leg, pulling until the muscles of her thigh began to hourglass.

  “Amy, listen to me. I need you to hold this end as tight as you can while I call for help. Do you understand?”

  Amy nodded vaguely. She wrapped her trembling fingers around the belt’s end and held it aloft. At the wall-mounted phone beside the refrigerator, Janis lifted the receiver and listened into a dead line.

  Storm knocked it out. Phones are probably dead for blocks and blocks.

  Fortunately, she had other forms of communication. She twisted her watch around on her wrist and punched out a message. Marking it Urgent, she hit send.

  Back at Amy’s side, she found her friend’s grip faltering on the belt.

  “Here,” Janis said, taking it from her and drawing it snug. “This will slow the bleeding until help comes.”

  �
�Thanks.” A faint smile creased Amy’s lips. “Hey … do you remember the time we played roller derby in here?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about that earlier.” She studied Amy’s glassy eyes with concern.

  “My mom got so mad, grounded me for a week. But it was worth it, wasn’t it? I think that was my last really good memory. The two of us laughing, going around and around the island that used to sit in the middle … We didn’t even know the rules of roller derby, did we? We just made them up as we went.”

  Janis let Amy recount the experience while she listened for their help.

  Five minutes after Amy’s voice had begun to stumble, the front door opened and slammed shut.

  “In here!” Janis called.

  Wet soles squeaked over the tiles at a run. Tyler appeared around the corner. He must have been dressing for training when she called because his yellow jumpsuit peeked above the neck of a blue flannel shirt. He glanced around, then knelt at Amy’s side, opposite Janis.

  “She’s lost a lot of blood,” Janis said. “Can you do what you did in Tallahassee?”

  Tyler was already nodding his rain-soaked head. He dug both forefingers into the hole of her jeans and ripped it open to reveal a dark red entry wound. His intense blue eyes found Janis’s.

  “Scoot back a little?” he asked gently.

  She did, watching Tyler touch a crackling finger to the wound. Amy murmured as blood bubbled up. A single wisp of smoke rose past her face and broke apart. Tyler removed his finger and studied the caked-black hole in her pale flesh. He felt the underside of her thigh.

  “I think I got it,” he said.

  Janis’s and Tyler’s eyes cut toward the distant wail of sirens.

  “Guess that’s my cue.” He rose to his feet. “I parked the truck one street over. I’ll wait for them to pass, then make my run back to Oakwood. You gonna be all right?”

  Janis nodded, but no, she wasn’t all right. The feeling she’d been getting around Tyler, the pleasant magnetism, was growing stronger, not weaker. She couldn’t explain it. She’d never thought of Tyler in that way, and she wasn’t now, but the magnetic feeling persisted.