by C. S Luis
He shook his head and put a hand on the counter to steady himself. 'Stronger than I thought…' his mind whispered. Though he had the ability, just like my father and I, it still wasn't going to bring us closer, if that was what he expected.
“My father and I could do that,” I said. “We used to have our own little conversations, just the two of us. It was the only time I was allowed to use it. He never wanted me to use it anywhere else. He said people would fear me, not understand.” I met his gaze. Why did I think he needed an explanation? Even when I told myself not to, I started to tear up. “And now he's gone. I don't ever want to use it again.”
“Claudia, you have a gift. A wonderful gift… your father did what he did to protect you.”
“Protect me from what? All I keep hearing is he wanted to protect me. From what?” I snapped. My grandfather was holding back again; he was afraid, and I wanted to know what he feared. He and Father seemed to have been terrified of the same thing. “Then he sends me away to live with you…” I lowered my head. “And the moment we're separated, he's dead.”
“Do you think this is all your fault?” Dr. Edwards asked, surprised by my words.
Who else's fault could it be? Father had a saying, 'Together we're stronger, united we're bonded, the source of my strength is you.' I always thought it was a silly phrase, but now it meant a lot. Now, I was beginning to wonder how much more of a meaning it could hold.
“If he hadn't sent me away, he would still be alive,” I declared.
“You can't possibly believe that you're to blame for this. Your father wouldn't have wanted you to believe such nonsense.” My grandfather turned suddenly to see he was burning the bacon. He took the pan off the burner, then tossed my finished eggs on a plate. “Sorry about that. I'll make some more.” He threw the burned bacon into the trash, then started over.
“Don't bother,” I said. I had lost my appetite.
“No, it's all right.” He grabbed more bacon from the fridge and again added a few more slices onto the pan. The bacon began to sizzle under the cooking oil once more. The hash browns had been done along with the eggs and he also threw those on the plate. From what I could see on the kitchen counter, he'd already made some pancakes. One of these he added to my plate with a fork, then stared at the plate with wide eyes, as if he realized it looked like too much food as he set the plate down in front of me.
I reluctantly took a seat again. I was hungry, and that was the only reason I sat back down.
Then someone knocked on the door. I glanced at my grandfather, who returned my surprised, questioning gaze. He obviously hadn't been expecting anyone.
Chapter 6:
Family History
I watched my grandfather make his way to the door. The food he had put in the pan was sizzling again. I stood up, went to the stove, and flipped the bacon with the fork he'd left out. It felt almost normal, though I was certain I would never feel normal again. Father was dead. Mother was dead. I was living with a stranger, although not an unkind one. I sighed, realizing I was being unfair to this man.
He returned with a large white envelope, which he sat on the edge of the breakfast table. I didn't turn around to look at him, but I could tell he was watching me. Maybe he was looking for a little bit of Father in me.
'I know.' I nearly spattered the bacon grease all over myself when I dropped the fork. I knew he could speak to me like Father could, but it made me uneasy every time. I leaned over to pick up the fork from the floor, muttering an apology.
“It's all right, Claudia. Here, I can finish that up.”
He took a few steps towards me, and I retreated back to the table. The clinking of silverware and glass plates filled the silence between us, and he brought me the little plate of bacon added to the already substantial amount he'd put in front of me. I picked at it, my body telling me I was hungry, but my brain despairing of ever eating again in a world without my parents.
Grandfather slid the envelope towards me. “These documents are from Mr. West. Information about the inheritance you'll receive on your twenty-first birthday.”
I stared at the white paper and all it entailed. This was blood money. I would rather have my parents. I frowned, realizing I was acting like a baby. I wasn't a baby, and then I felt it—grandfather reaching out to my mind, trying to figure out what I was thinking. I didn't know if he realized he was doing it, or even if he knew I would notice.
“Stop that,” I said. He looked confused. “You're trying to read my mind. It won't work.”
He blushed and looked away. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to poke around. Most people, you know, don't realize when another person touches their mind.”
I shrugged. I knew that perfectly well, and Father had told me not to do such things. It was dangerous; it would get us hurt. It had gotten him hurt. I gave myself a mental shake. I didn't know that for sure, I was just assuming. I picked up a piece of bacon and slowly chewed.
“There is a history in our family of this ability.”
“Father told me,” I lied. Of course he hadn't. He'd always refused to talk about it.
“I would expect that of him. He knew the dangers. That's why he sent you to me.” This again. Grandfather was not going to let it go. “There are… things that hunt us.” I tried to listen, thinking he might reveal something Father never had.
“Things?” I replied, sounding unbelieving even to myself.
“Yes,” he said. “There is more to this world than meets the eye. Our power is very old and special to this world. There are… well, I suppose they are people in their own way. They seek us out from across the solar systems. They are drawn to us.”
“Aliens?” I said. “Seriously?” Okay, now I didn't know what to believe, but I sensed he believed it.
“Yes and no.” The corner of his mouth turned down. “I'm not explaining this very well.”
I frowned at him. “No.” I refused to mention the word 'crazy'.
“Did your father never say anything?”
“He told me to not show my ability, that there were people who would take me away from him…” And that was truth, ingrained in me from the young age of five. I recalled the scolding words of my handsome father yelling at me in front of my elementary school. I hid my memories from my grandfather, but he'd caught a glimpse of what I wanted to forget.
“Yes, there are those, too,” he said. “Scientists. Others who would use us for their own agendas… for not-so-good things.”
“This is crazy.” Stop. The whole thing sounded absurd. He reached out and touched my hand, willing me to listen. My eyes widened when his skin touched mine. Behind his shoulder, I saw a dark, hulking figure, its face obscured by a deep hood. A skeletal hand poked from one dark sleeve, and an impossibly large scythe filled the kitchen. The head turned its searing white eyes. I yanked my hand back. The vision was gone. The darkness I'd seen there…
Grandfather stared at me with wide eyes. “What did you see?” he asked. He tried to reach out and touch me again.
“I didn't see anything.” The words came out in a squeak. I definitely didn't want our contact to summon that horrible creature back into the otherwise normal kitchen. “I don't know anything!” I shouted, standing from the table. The vision hung in my mind. Father could sometimes sense such things as well; it must have been a vision of the future. I could do that sometimes, but only in slivers of moments that didn't make sense, like a puzzle I had to put together on my own.
Grandfather looked at me from the other end of the table, his brow furrowed in concern. He looked so frail, and around the edges, it was obvious he was my father's father. “Claudia, it'll be okay. I will keep you safe.”
Father used to say that to me too. “How?”
“Our abilities can give us warnings. Premonitions.” He made us sound like we were fortunetellers or crystal-ball gazers. It was absurd.
“I don't believe in fairy tales.”
“This isn't a fairy tale, Claudia. You know your ability is r
eal.” 'You know you can hear my thoughts, just as I can hear yours. When you let me.'
I turned away, not wanting him to see my face. My hands shook. I was responsible for my parents' deaths; I didn't doubt it. And now I would hurt this man who had just come into my life. My grandfather.
“You're scaring me.” He reached out to me again, but I moved farther out of his reach.
“Please, don't…” I whispered. “What if I hurt you too? I don't want to hurt you like I hurt them…”
He blinked at me, finally seeming to realize what I knew. “Claudia, this is none of your doing. You had nothing to do with this.”
I gazed at him. “How can you be sure?”
He paused as if he didn't know what to say. “What did you see? Please, Claudia, I just want to prepare you for what may come. I want to tell you the things I know.” He took a breath, considering his words, aware of my fear. “But I will wait until you are ready,” he finally said. “Your parents' deaths were not your fault. Just remember you have a gift. You must learn to control it. I will show you how. When you're ready.”
It was the second time he had said it, and I didn't believe it any more than the first time. If these premonitions he mentioned were real, I would have been warned. I would have been able to stop Father and Mother from sending me away. I wouldn't be sitting across this table from this crazy relation I didn't know I had.
I stood again. “I'm going to my room.” He let me go.
When I got to the top of the stairs, I glanced back at him. The shadow was there again, hanging over his head. I shivered and tried to think of something else.
Chapter 7:
The Balance
The car came to a stop in the teachers' parking lot under a sign that read Dr. N. Edwards. I sat in silence. I hadn't said a word all morning. I sensed my grandfather hoped that by the end of the day, we would be able to talk. There was more to discuss, more he wanted to share with me. I wanted to talk too, but I was afraid. He didn't believe I was responsible for what had happened to my parents, but I was sure it was my fault. Now, I feared I would hurt him in some strange way. I had seen something in that kitchen. And it had malice.
“Would you like to walk into the building together?” he suggested with a smile.
I wanted to, but I couldn't let myself get too close. “I want to… but I'm afraid,” I confessed, sitting very still and staring at my lap.
“Claudia, there's no reason to be afraid.”
“You don't understand.” I wanted to tell him, but the terrifying memory of that shadow froze me into silence. Telling made things worse. I looked back up at him, the tears pooling in my eyes. “When I see something,” I started, “when I see… these strange things… they become real.” I'd often suspected that happened because I'd been seeing the future. The week before my parents died, I'd dreamed about coming home and not being able to find them—stepping into nothing more than an empty house. I didn't think there was anything wrong with them being gone. I had never told my father that; I'd never wanted to, hoping that by saying nothing, it wouldn't happen. Then I could write it off as just another bad dream. I grabbed my bookbag from the car floor.
“What did you see?” he asked again.
“I don't want to say.”
He nodded, a surprising understanding in his eyes. Maybe the link between us was stronger then I wanted to admit. Did he really understand?
“Do you know where all your classes are?” he asked instead, turning off the car engine.
“I do…” Now, suddenly, I felt bad for what I'd told him when we'd first met. “I'm sorry about what I said… at the beginning.” I felt like such a brat now. None of this was his fault.
“I know your're just trying to be nice to me…” He smiled. I felt the peace in his heart, a warmth that had come from me. Maybe I could come to understand him. I wanted to. “I'll be here when you're ready to talk,” he added. “I can't imagine how hard it is being sent to live with someone you've never met.”
“Can we try after school? To talk, I mean.” I wanted to try to understand this man I knew carried nothing but kindness in his heart.
He nodded. “Sure. I really would like that.”
We got out of the car and walked together up the steps and into the school's front entrance. We stopped right inside at the end of the hall, which was crowded with students. I swallowed hard, panic sinking in, and hoped this wouldn't provoke the gift, to use my grandfather's words.
A hand rested on my shoulder, and the chaos settled inside me, safety and calm easing over my anxiety. 'We have the power to ease other's fears. We connect… The strong help the young, the wise help the less knowledgeable, but sometimes it works the other way around. Just like you help me. This source balances all others and gives strength to the gifts of ours…
'Your strength, Claudia, gives me control over my power. And in return, our link provides you with guidance and helps you ease your own fears.'
So we were feeding off one another.
'In a way,' he replied. 'Do you understand?'
'I think so,' I said.
He let me go to walk off alone; he knew the routine. I turned to him. 'We'll talk more later…'
'I'd like that.' He turned back toward me and smiled. “I'll see you at lunch?”
I nodded and walked into the crowded hall, leaving him by the door.
Chapter 8:
The Shadow in the Hall
I hurried through the hall. I was beginning to understand Dr. Edwards far more than I'd expected. I was afraid to tell him what I had seen in his kitchen; I was afraid saying it would make it come to pass. He knew now, without a doubt, I had seen something, but he obviously didn't know what.
Now, I found myself wanting to learn from him, especially the things my father had neglected to reveal to me. The idea of it terrified me, but at the same time, I was ready to learn who I was—what I could do. Reading minds and moving objects was a big part of it, as well as feeling emotions—sensing another's pain. I tried not to, but the connection was there, drawing me to the energy in other beings. Gifted people like my father and grandfather had an even stronger connection, a link to me and to each other, just like my grandfather had explained it.
Father was a little less complicated. He could read minds and move objects, and that was the extent of his gift. My father had a word for it—mindsifter. I often thought of the Star Wars movies when I heard that word, and he'd at first been irritated with me and the fact that I didn't take things seriously.
As I walked through the high school, eyes turned to watch the new kid, even when I stepped through the side doors and passed the cafeteria entrance. They'd known who I was long before I stepped inside. One would think I was somewhat of a celebrity.
Was that a good thing? I was the principal's granddaughter. How strange—one minute, I was eating cereal at my family's breakfast table, and the next, I was riding to school on a busy day with a grandfather I'd only just met. Life was strange. I was alone. I'd always felt that way, alone even with my family. There had always been something missing in my life. I didn't know what, but a big piece of me felt lost. Though I still missed my parents fiercely, I couldn't decide if my life had ended with their deaths or if it had only just begun.
The hallway stretched ahead, crowds of students spreading to make a path for me, staring at me long after I passed them. I longed for solitude, a place to hide from all this—before I lost control. I couldn't stop it when I was angry or sad. I didn't feel like I'd be able to stop it now. But I didn't know this place; I had no idea where to go. It wasn't fair.
Then once again, my father's voice found its way into my mind, his image burned in my thoughts forever. He stood outside my bedroom door, telling me we were going to be moving.
“But I really like Trent, Father,” I'd told him. “Why do we have to go?”
“Because you're my daughter, and I'm not giving them my only child. I've given everything already, and this is far too much. It ends here.”
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I didn't understand most of it, but I didn't have to, because I'd been so certain my father knew what was best for me.
“It's not fair,” I'd protested, and he came to sit beside me on my bed.
“Life isn't fair, but you make the best of what you're given, sweetheart.”
I knew the words by memory.
I raced up the stairwell, hoping to find somewhere private. I stumbled upon the girl's restroom around the corner on the second floor, where I ducked into the last empty stall and collapsed. I couldn't do anything but cry. Above me, the pipes rattled and groaned at the sound of my sobbing, and I thought they would burst.
“Stop!” I yelled, and the pipes settled instantly. Amidst the silence, the bell rang, penetrating my thoughts. I heard student voices in the halls, racing from one end to the other, doors and lockers slamming, tennis shoes sliding across waxy floors, and then finally, silence—save the sound of my own breath.
For a brief second, it remained that way. But then the bathroom door slowly crept open, and I heard an eerie whistling—a catchy and still creepy melody. Footsteps followed, echoing on the tiles of the bathroom floor. The whistling rose in tone, slowly fading, then started over again. Was that the theme song to Sesame Street?
I sat still, quietly listening and hoping whoever it was would leave quickly. The whistling continued near the sinks until I heard the faucet turning on and water splashing into the basin.
I peered through the cracks of the stall but couldn't see either who it was or where they stood. I heard a few more footsteps, then a figure came into clear view. A tall, slender, blond-haired man dressed in a black suit and red tie stood facing the sinks and mirrors. It seemed normal enough except for the simple fact that he was in the girl's restroom at a high school.
My palms grew sweaty, and I had to remind myself not to hold my breath.
In an incredibly robotic fashion, he tilted his head slightly and stared at his own reflection, as if he were looking at himself for the first time. His large, dark, dull eyes nearly flashed, and he curved slim lips into a crooked grimace. I could see the define cheekbone sink into the long and inner sides of his pale face.
