by C. S Luis
“I know you've been wanting to see her…” Father said. Dr. Edwards opened his mouth to speak, but Father silenced him with a cold glare. “And now, here is your chance. I want her to come live with you. I'll have my attorney make the necessary arrangements with yours Mr. West, correct?” Dr. Edwards nodded. “I need you to protect her,” Father continued. “I can no longer keep her safe…”
I was gently shoved away, releasing the memory. Dr. Edwards had wrestled himself free. I let go, feeling him squirm like a bass tangled on a line.
Mr. McClellan touched Dr. Edwards gently on the arm. He blinked at me, and I wondered if he knew what I'd just done. “You should take Claudia home to get settled in, Neil. I'm sure she's tired from her long trip.” The man's smile seemed a little forced.
“Yes, Michael. You're right.”
“Don't worry. I know the drill,” Michael added. “Besides, you two have a lot of catching up to do.”
Dr. Edwards gazed at him and nodded. Behind them, the two other men watched, still unintroduced. They gave me stupid grins instead, as if they were posing for a picture.
Dr. Edwards picked up my single suitcase. 'Claudia, come along. Let me take you home.'
I brushed past him and headed toward the cars in the parking lot. “Don't do that,” I uttered, loud enough so the other men could hear. Just because we'd connected didn't mean he could use that connection with me.
Dr. Edwards didn't say anything. When I approached his car, I knew he wasn't surprised that I knew which one was his. I stood by the passenger door to the Land Rover, and when he took out his keys, I unlocked the door myself. He only smiled—he knew how I'd done it—but I just climbed inside. I wasn't supposed to use my gift for anything, Father had said. But Father wasn't here anymore.
Chapter 3:
A New Home
The trip home was a quiet one. I tried not to start conversation with him if I didn't have to; I think he got the idea. Dr. Edwards lived in a modest, plain-looking, two-story house. It seemed too big for him, but it was well put-together.
The neighborhood felt hospitable and warm with the occasional white picket fence and colorful flowerbeds in the front yards. Kids rode their bikes and tossed a ball out into the street. There were joggers and people walking their dogs, and everyone seemed to know each other. It was the kind of neighborhood where children had grown up together and lived in the same houses for a long time.
Dr. Edwards looked out of place here—an old, white-haired man living alone. When we pulled up to his house, I felt the vibes of suspicion rolling off the couple next door as they got out of their car.
There's that crazy old man again.
Oh, my. Who's that young girl with him?
They waved at me but seemed to regret making eye contact when my grandfather looked in their direction. Dr. Edwards waved back, but his neighbors darted inside and didn't look at us again.
Just don't attract attention to yourself…
He's so strange…
Mr. Edwards carried my bag, and I stumbled behind him into the house. I stood in the foyer, gazing at my new surroundings. The house was quite large inside. A staircase greeted us by the entrance, leading to the second floor with three bedrooms and a bathroom. The living room was located just off the foyer, and the dining room was near the kitchen on the other side of the house. I'd pulled this map from his mind, just as I'd known which car he drove, as if I'd been here before.
I followed him upstairs into one of the bedrooms. He entered first, and I waited in the hallway while he set my bag near the full-sized bed. This was smaller than my old room, and that thought alone made me miss home. I tried to conceal my emotions, not wanting to cry in front of him.
The furniture seemed as old as the buildings of Milton High. In the corner sat an antique dresser with a mirror. The bed had a simple mahogany frame and a blue comforter, on either side of which sat two bedside tables with antique lamps. I felt like I'd arrived at an old motel and took a breath.
“I hope this room isn't too small,” Dr. Edwards said. “It's not much, but it's home.”
“It's fine, I guess,” I replied. Dr. Edwards glanced at me. He was trying hard to make me feel comfortable, I knew that. But I didn't want his understanding or his compassion. I wanted to be alone. My strange new life was beginning to sink in.
“I'm sorry,” Dr. Edwards said.
I gazed up at him, moping in my own self-pity. I guess he could sense that—or was I that obvious? Most people said I had trouble showing my emotions but that I acted on them instead. “What did my father mean?” I rudely snapped. “What is he trying to protect me from?”
He knew what I meant but was still surprised by my question. The least he could do was be honest with me. “Today is not the right time to talk about that. You need time to mourn.” Then he closed his mind to me. I tugged, and he pushed; it took everything he had, but he pushed back hard.
Dr. Edwards took a deep breath. “Claudia, your father was trying to protect you from… he didn't want what happened to him to happen to you. That's why he brought you to me.”
“But we were supposed to go on a cruise… We were going to spend it as a family. Are you trying to say he lied, that he was planning to bring me here all along?”
“No, what I'm trying to say is that he only wanted to keep you safe…” It seem he didn't know how else to express this, as was obvious from his having said that too many times already. “There's so much you need to know,” he continued, “but I want you to understand that he was going to tell you when the time was right. He just didn't get that chance. None of this was supposed to happen. I was protecting him and you when I gave him up.” He exhaled. “If anyone failed, it's me—”
“So, he planned everything, just to get me to stay with you?” I asked.
“Yes. We arranged it together.” He frowned. “Your father merely wanted to prepare you for the worst. I never thought for one minute…” He paused, unable to push through his own mourning. “I never thought I would lose him all over again.”
That surprised me. I didn't want to talk about it anymore.
My grandfather took a deep breath. I moved to the window. Outside, the wind blew swiftly; the evening seemed alive with movement. The sound of the wind had never bothered me, but now it did. I was angry, and it sounded angry with me. When father was angry, the skies would thunder and darken. When I was sad, it would rain. I thought this was the norm. Sometimes, the lights flickered and bulbs would blow out or sometimes pop.
“I got an email from him a few days before you were to fly in,” my grandfather said. This surprised me. “He wanted to go on a cruise. All of us. That was what I had been waiting for. A chance to know your father. But I think he knew, deep down, that we would never get that chance…” A sigh escaped his pale mouth. “That's why he did all this… made arrangements in case the worst happened…”
I dropped onto the side of the bed. I didn't want to cry, so I forced the tears back. Outside, thunder roared.
'Don't cry. You're stronger than that, Claudia…' My father's voice broke through my thoughts. Was that what he'd really said?
'Stop it, Claudia! You have to learn to control your power. Haven't I made that clear to you? Do you want the bad people to take you away from us?'
“He talked about bad people coming to take me away…” I said. “I thought it was his way of getting me to eat my veggies when I was little.” I laughed. Dr. Edwards smiled. “But they're real, aren't they?” He bit his lip and lowered his head. He didn't have to say anything; I knew it.
My grandfather gazed at me. “I won't let anything happen to you. Your father made a lot of arrangements to keep you safe. To hide any record of your existence and what you can do.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “He knew people, I suppose…”
I held the tears back still, though now I was no one. I had no name, no real family. Not even on paper.
“You have a whole new identity. And you do have
a family.”
I didn't want to hear any more, and I think he knew that. I lowered my head, hands in my lap, and finally let the tears trace the sides of my cheeks. I wiped at them. Who was I?
'My granddaughter.'
I looked up at him, but Dr. Edwards didn't repeat it aloud. “You're not ready for school tomorrow,” he said instead. “You should stay home. In fact, I don't think you should go anywhere. You need time to grieve.”
“What difference does it make?” I whispered. I'd given up fighting. Lightning lit the sky, thunder followed like a growling hound, and it finally started to rain.
Unable to think of what to say, Dr. Edwards moved to the door. He looked back at me, took a deep breath, and slowly turned the knob. Before he walked out, he said, “I just want you to know that I'm very happy you're here. We will talk more… when you can. There is so much more you need to know about who we are…”
I glanced at him, perplexed by his words and unsure of what to say. I wanted to tell him something mean, but I didn't. He just left me in silence.
Chapter 4:
Presence
I heard the rain through my window and felt someone sitting beside my bed. It felt like my father's presence, but my heart felt too heavy…
'Claudia…' It sounded like my father.
“Hello?” I whispered at the shadow, blinking and trying to adjust to the darkness. I sat up and reached for the light to find a man with blond hair and pastel-blue eyes glaring at me. A wicked smile curved his mouth, and his eyes seemed to pierce through my soul. I didn't recognize him, but I felt connected to him in some ways even more than to my own parents. He frightened me.
'I found you at last. I found you… You are the source… you are the one I've been searching for. And I'm not letting you go…' He reached for me, and I screamed.
I awoke, realizing I was alone in my bed. When I sat up, someone knocked on the door. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, grateful it had only been a dream. Who was that stranger? Why did I know him? How? The feeling of somehow knowing him was too strong to ignore, but I wondered if it was even true. He'd worn a white suit—that much I recalled—with a blazing red tie and a black, silk shirt. I couldn't remember his face beyond the blond hair and blue eyes.
The knock came again, startling me.
“Claudia? Claudia, I'm going to work now.” My grandfather's voice sounded shaky and nervous. “I'm going to school—to Milton. I understand if you would rather just stay home. I'm fine with that. I'm fine with you staying at home today or for as long as you need.” Then he was quiet for a moment. I wasn't planning on answering. I figured he would get the hint. “I'm leaving my number, just in case,” he added. “Use the landline if you don't have your own cell phone.” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I'm leaving now. There's plenty of food in the fridge if you get hungry.” After more silence, I heard him walk down the stairs, open the door, and after a short pause, close it again. I was alone.
For the remainder of the week, every morning seemed to start the same way. Dr. Edwards left, and I stayed in my room. I never answered him when he knocked on my door, no matter what time day it was. When he left, I finally left my room to ransack the fridge, grab what I needed, and head back upstairs to eat. I only came out again to put the dirty dishes in the sink, but always when he wasn't around.
At dinner, he left a tray with supper outside the bedroom while he cleaned the kitchen. Every time I opened the door to grab the tray, he'd run back up the stairs wanting to talk. But I closed the door behind me and said nothing.
He came to the bedroom door again every night before bed. I didn't know what he intended to do, but I only sensed kindness in his heart. Still, I didn't want to talk, and I couldn't bring myself to say anything. He stood in the hall and thought of what he could possibly say to me. I did read his thoughts; maybe he wanted me to. It felt almost like an invitation he thought might comfort me. There was something he wanted to share with me, but I shut him out before he could start.
I moved away from the door and pushed his thoughts away. Only when I heard him stumble and realized I must have pushed hard did I feel bad.
It rained the entire week, too, and the darkness didn't completely go away. Clouds never cleared the beautiful sky, yet something about this day was different; a little ray of sunshine now fell through the blinds, lighting up the room that was not familiar to me—the room that was just another room.
I grabbed my backpack; I'd spent the day drawing light sketches of my parents, not wanting to forget their faces. I wanted to make sure I always remembered them. Fearing now, as I had before I started, that I'd forgotten small details of my father's face, I turned back to look at the picture on the bedside table. I had placed that there the day I'd arrived, and it was the only picture I had of both of them.
My father's large blue eyes stared back at me from the picture. He was the image of perfection, with boldly blond locks. I often wondered why I hadn't gotten any of his beauty. I was more like my mother, whose dark eyes greeted me from behind the same frame. She had long, waist-length brown hair and bronze skin like mine. My father seemed so pale beside her, but he was so handsome, it didn't matter. I never realized how perfect they looked together. And now they were gone forever. I kept thinking I would see my father, that he would come through that door any moment and tell me he was sorry for frightening me.
But that was only wishful thinking; I would never see them again. And the sooner I could come to terms with that, the sooner I could start to live.
I spent a few more minutes drawing, then rose from the bed and went to the window of the bedroom I had been so lucky to now call mine. There, I pulled open the blinds and looked outside. The day was bright and sunny; kids played across the street, others rode their bikes. It looked like a pleasant, normal day. The neighborhood was beautiful, heightened by the large, expensive luxury homes lining the street and the metal access gates requiring entry codes to open.
I stepped away from the window, feeling like a prisoner. But that was mainly my fault. Maybe it was time to get out of this prison and get to know my grandfather. I dreaded the idea of it, but I had no choice.
I took a breath, glanced at the picture of my parents, and opened the door into the hallway.
Chapter 5:
The Gift
He was in the kitchen, having what it seemed like a late breakfast, when I came down stairs. I stepped into the doorway dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a flowery top and sweater, my long hair cascading down my back.
Dr. Edwards rose and smiled, and I thought of what to say to him. I must have looked like some kind of spoiled teenage girl. But I was embarrassed and uncomfortable for having acted the way I did. Maybe I should hear what he had to say. Maybe I should give him a chance to tell me what was boiling in his mind to reveal.
“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked. A dark cotton sweater covered his white shirt. The air conditioning seemed to be working really well, as both of us had needed extra layers. I pulled at the blue sweater over my own flowery blouse.
I gazed up at him and nodded slowly. Immediately, he grabbed eggs, bacon, and hash browns from the fridge.
“Would you like some eggs and bacon?” he asked politely, turning back with the egg carton already in hand.
“Bacon?” I had stopped eating any kind of red meat; my mom thought it was cute, and my father thought I was going through a phase.
“Turkey bacon okay?” he asked. Had he read me? I nodded. He put the bacon aside on the counter, then grabbed a bowl to whip two eggs and continue making me breakfast.
I took a seat almost immediately on the opposite side of the table, and he took out the orange juice to pour me a glass before suddenly seeming to realize he hadn't asked if I wanted any.
When he did ask, I nodded, and he grabbed a glass from the upper cabinet. He poured it and placed it near my hand with such care that I tried to read him and found his mind wondering, searching discarded thoughts, lost threats. I was dazed and di
stracted by them, trying to dissect them as I pulled each thought from his mind. I lost myself in the moment, trying to connect without being noticed; I had tried that with my father, too. But he was far better in control of it.
I sensed my grandfather could easily lose himself in his own mind, but for some reason, he seemed to be in great control today. He thought the same, and that puzzled him. Then he gazed at me, and for a moment, we connected. Was I the reason we both thought? He knew I was reading him, which caught me off guard; I knew of no one else but my father and I who could do this. And now here was this man—my grandfather—trying to connect in the same way.
There was something different about entering this with him, and I knew he also sensed it. Was it because he was my grandfather? It felt just like the blond-haired man in my dream, though with Dr. Edwards, it felt even stronger. I couldn't quite explain it to myself, but that thought made me both happy and frightened.
He turned the bacon over, grabbed a plate off the shelf, and added the eggs to the second pan. I sensed him wondering what he could say to break the unusual silence gnawing at the both of us.
'Claudia,' I heard whispered in my mind. At first, I tried to ignore it. But I knew it was him trying to communicate. How many times had father scolded me and warned me? Don't ever use your abilities in front of them. If they call out to you in thought, don't answer them.
'I used to talk to your grandmother this way.'
I blinked up at Dr. Edwards; he wasn't going to let it be.
“Did you say something?” I asked instead.
He gazed right at me. 'Claudia…'
I rose, pulling away from the table. “I'm not doing this with you.”
“You don't have to be afraid,” he said, regretting his attempt to invite conversation between us.
“I'm not afraid,” I said, turning back to him. It was more than fear, but something had been drilled into me by my father never to disobey. I pushed against him, and the vibration of it moved him back.
