by Nic Tatano
“Not for a seer.”
“Even those whose futures you read have options. The future is fluid. But it would have ceased to exist had you not defeated your father.”
We get off the tram and head into The Futurama through doors that are propped open due to the nice weather. “Speaking of which, should I have healed him?”
“Your choice, Jillian. You are old enough to make your own decisions, and wise beyond your years.”
“You’re no help.”
“That’s the whole point of free will.”
We follow the crowd and are guided into chairs that are moving. “Welcome to the world of tomorrow!” says the usher. The chairs glide along into a theater, showing us what things will be like twenty years from now… or from 1964.
“Automated highways?” I say, as I look at something out of an old sci-fi movie. “People seriously believed that?”
“Sometimes people put too much faith in technology,” says Carrielle. “When they should be putting faith in one another.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I look out at the sun-drenched sea of blue robes and gold tassels as I prepare to wrap up my valedictorian speech. I’ve kept it light, gotten several laughs, and generally tried to stay away from the typical “you can change the world” garbage that celebrities say at college commencement ceremonies. But after recapping the highlights of the past four years, and one cheap shot I couldn’t resist at the cafeteria staff, it’s time for my message.
I pause after a clever line, waiting for the laughter to die down, and look around for my friends, who, thanks to the rules of diplomas being handed out alphabetically, are not sitting together. Roxanne shoots me a smile, Ryan nods with a thumbs-up, Jake twirls his tassel.
And for a moment I wonder if I’d even be here without them.
The laughter stops, and it’s time to wrap things up.
“We often hear that we have such incredible technology at our fingertips,” I say, “but in recent days we’ve all discovered what can happen when we put too much faith in it. And when your last name is plastered on millions of defective cell phones, it really hits home.” The crowd laughs and I get a smattering of applause. “So for a couple of days, I had to pick up the land line and actually call my friends. I had to speak with people face to face instead of sending a text message ten feet across a room. I found I really enjoyed this old fashioned thing called conversation. A text message or an email doesn’t carry the emotion you can hear in someone’s voice. It doesn’t let you see the joy or love in someone’s eyes.” I glance in the back and find my Mom. “It won’t let you feel the warmth and comfort you get from a hug.”
“So maybe it’s time to get personal. Write an actual letter and give it to someone instead of dashing off an email. That person might treasure it and keep it forever. Look someone you love in the eye instead of sending a text. It will make their heart leap and fill them with warmth. Hold the hand of someone who needs help instead of using a social network. There’s nothing social about a relationship that requires a machine. I’d rather have one real flesh-and-blood friend than a thousand so-called friends on Facebook.”
I look around the crowd and I actually have their attention. It’s sinking in.
“So when you say keep in touch to someone today, don’t use a computer to do it. The main concept of keeping in touch… is touch. No amount of ones and zeros and bandwidth and bluetooth will ever replace it. In order to touch the world… you have to literally touch the people in it. Thank you and best of luck to you all.”
I see my mother jump up, then Roxanne, Ryan, Jake and the entire senior class. I’m getting a standing ovation.
And then everyone starts hugging.
***
Roxanne puts an arm around my shoulder as we walk home wearing our caps with gowns thrown over our arms. “I cannot believe it’s over.”
“What? We’re not leaving town.”
“No, I meant the whole thing with your father. His effect on me, nearly killing Ryan twice, you saving the planet like a superhero, and keeping us alive with your powers. I mean, this wasn’t exactly your garden variety senior slump. It shows what can be accomplished when you combine forces.”
“Very true.” I look around, taking in the neighborhood, the look of which probably hasn’t changed all that much since the World’s Fair. “Speaking of combining forces… what’s next for you and Jake? I mean, now that your guilt is back I assume your cheap slut wannabe dominatrix alter ego has been locked away.”
Roxanne gets a devilish look in her eyes. “Well, despite the return of my basic morals, and the opening of the guilt floodgates, I’ve been wondering if I might get special dispensation for giving the guy who kept me from bleeding to death a very special thank you. I should’ve asked you to get permission from that angel. So in this case I’ll have to go with forgiveness versus permission.”
“Rox, I wish you could have seen Jake’s face that day. He thought he was losing you. Then again, so did I.”
“I didn’t have to see it that day. I see it every day whenever he looks at me.”
“You know what? You’re starting to look at him the same way.”
I hear quick footsteps behind us, turn, and see Ryan and Jake running after us.
“Hey, wait up,” yells Ryan. They pull up along side us, not even breathing heavily, still in their caps and gowns. “You guys sneaked out on us.”
“Needed some girl time,” says Roxanne. “Wanted to get all the sentimental crap out of the way before you guys pick us up for dinner.”
“Are you implying guys aren’t sentimental?” asks Jake.
“She’s not implying anything,” I say. “It’s a fact. Your idea of sentimentality is a giant flat screen, the NFL satellite package and us serving you nachos while dressed in hot pants, halter tops and go-go boots.”
Jake shrugs. “That’s really not too far off.”
Roxanne playfully slaps his shoulder.
“Fine,” says Ryan. “We’ll meet you at the restaurant and split the check.”
“Like hell you will,” I say.
Roxanne reaches out and takes Jake’s hand. “I dunno… I might have a little sentimentality still left. C’mon, little one, Roxanne wants to thank you in private before dinner.”
Jake beams, turns to us and says, “Catch you later,” as Rox yanks him along and crosses the street, leaving Ryan and me a few steps from my front porch.
“I never woulda put those two together,” says Ryan. “But it’s obvious they’re a great couple.”
“Yeah, I’m happy for her. And him.”
“I think he’s happy enough for the whole neighborhood right now.”
I laugh as we stop in front of my porch, then turn to face each other as I take his hands. “Okay, give me a couple of hours to put on my war paint and frou-frou my hair. I want to look gorgeous for you.”
“Sparks, you’ve never been more smokin’ hot than you were giving that speech today.” I blush as his words set off fireworks in my heart. “Don’t touch a thing.” He gives me a quick kiss. “See you at six.”
He takes off and I head up the stairs, noting the door is open. Mom has beaten me home.
I walk inside and see her suitcase at the foot of the stairs as she comes out of the kitchen. “Oh, glad you’re home,” she says. “Wanted to hit the road and beat the traffic.”
My heart sinks. We cannot be going out of town. Not now. Not tonight. “Where are we going?”
“We’re not going anywhere. I am.”
“Okayyyyy…”
“Thought I’d go visit my sister for the weekend. Haven’t been to the Cape for a couple of years.”
“You’re going to Massachusetts? Alone?”
“I won’t be alone, I’ll be with my sister.”
I drape my gown over a chair and fold my arms. “Let me get this straight. You’re going away for the weekend?”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t have to go?”
“That
is correct. You’re not especially fond of your aunt anyway.”
“So…. you’re leaving me alone?”
She gently pats me on the cheek. “I can certainly see why you were the valedictorian. You’ve really got that deductive reasoning thing down cold.”
“Mom, I have a date with Ryan tonight.”
“Yeah, I know.” She wheels her suitcase close to the door. “You kids have a good time.”
“And after dinner and a movie we always come back here. And make out on the couch.”
“Your point being?”
I’m trying to process all this when Mom locks eyes with me and smiles.
“So, Jillian, you like your graduation present?”
“The cameo? I told you it was too much. That’s yours. It’s very special to you.”
She shakes her head. “For the smartest girl in the class you certainly miss the obvious.”
“You mean… the fact that you’re leaving me and Ryan alone in the house for the weekend? That’s my other gift?”
She nods. “And that would mean… wait for it…”
At last, the light bulb over my head turns on. “You trust me.”
“Completely.” A smile slowly grows as she reaches up, grabs the tassel on my cap and moves it to the other side. “So, you like your other present? Beats the hell out of a cameo, huh?”
I reach out and pull her toward me, looking into her soul. “More than anything, Mom.”
EPILOGUE
I know you want the answer to two questions, so I won’t waste any more time.
Roxanne and Jake.
Ryan and me.
We all decided to wait.
BONUS MATERIAL
A sneak peek inside
Book II of The Jillian Spectre Adventures
CHAPTER ONE
When you graduate from high school, you're often told you can change the world.
In my case, well … been there, done that.
But, you know, when you're an eighteen year old mystic seer who can physically be in two places at once, and, oh yeah, you have what might be considered supernatural healing powers and an actual angel from Heaven on speed dial, saving the world and society as we know it is sort of an obligation. When you're blessed with powers like that, it would be a sin not to use them.
So instead of simply being Jillian Spectre, college freshman majoring in the ever popular undecided, I'm moonlighting as a comic book character. Boring classes that require regurgitation by day, redhead superheroine by night. No mask, no costume, no secret underground lair, just a freckled hundred and fifteen pound girl for whom saving the planet is not above my pay grade.
So when my cellular version of the bat phone rings, and I see who's calling--
"Jillian, my partner's been shot! I need you right now!" says Detective Spencer Ball, NYPD's astral projection investigator and my occasional partner.
By now, I know the routine. "Mom, I'll be right back!" I yell in the direction of the kitchen, as I quickly stretch out on our living room couch, put the phone on speaker and close my eyes. The detective affectionately known as Fuzzball quickly recites his hypnotic relaxation technique, making me relax and focus on his location as he describes the scene and the person in need of help.
And that person will die in minutes without me. I can hear the fear and concern in the detective's voice.
I create the scene in my mind, and in a blink, I'm there. In a moonlit dark alley somewhere in Manhattan.
The massive amount of blood on the ground and the twitching man make me jump back. It's one thing to have the detective tell you about it, another to actually see it.
"Jillian, hurry!" says Fuzzball, who is kneeling down next to his partner, pressing his hand over the guy's chest as blood oozes out.
I crouch down on the cool pavement next to his partner, a lean, dark haired man in his thirties whose dark eyes are flickering. "What's his name?"
"Jim." He turns to his partner. "Jimbo, she's here to help. Hang in there, buddy."
I take the dying man's trembling hand as he is gasping for air like a fish yanked out of the water. "Jim, look at me."
The man turns his head and locks eyes with me. His are deep pools of fear. I hear gurgling coming from his throat as he tries to talk and see blood trickle out of his mouth.
He knows he's going to die.
I tighten my grip on his hand and focus on him. "You're going to be all right," I say.
He bites his lower lip as a single tear rolls down the side of his face.
He doesn't believe me and turns back to his partner. "Spence, tell my wife--" His voice is a whisper, barely audible.
"Hang in there!" says Fuzzball, grabbing the man's face with his free hand and turning it so that he's facing me. "Now, Jillian!"
I close my eyes, see the dying man in my mind, and send as much of my life force as I can into him in one incredible rush. I see the blood flow stopping, the bullet working its way out, the wound beginning to heal, his breathing returning to normal, calm returning to his eyes--
And then I black out.
***
I'm holding a different hand and my hair is gently being stroked when I wake up. I already know the touch before I open my eyes.
I look up and see my mind reader boyfriend Ryan. I'm back on the couch with my head and shoulders on his lap. "Welcome back, Sparks." He leans down and kisses me on the forehead.
"Did I save him?"
Ryan flashes a big smile. "Yeah. Fuzzball called. Doctors at the hospital say they can't explain it but he's going to make a full recovery. Guess they don't study redheaded guardian angels with healing powers in med school."
I start to sit up but a throbbing headache pushes me back down and I grab my forehead. "Whoa. How long was I out?"
"Three hours."
"Wow. It's been awhile since healing knocked me out. I thought I was past that. Damn, I'm fried."
"You should be. The guy was as close to death as anyone you ever saved."
"Yeah, no kidding. I've never seen anything like that. It was like a scene out of a gory movie. Good thing tomorrow's a Saturday so I can rest up." I reach up and run my fingers through his thick dark hair and let myself get lost in his green eyes.
"Well, hate to tell you this, but we don't have the day off."
"What do you mean?"
My mom walks into the living room and smiles at me. "Good, you're up. You feelin' okay, sweetie?"
"My head feels like there's a man inside banging a Chinese gong, but I'll live. What's this about not having tomorrow off?"
Her smile disappears. She turns to Ryan. "You didn't tell her?"
"She just woke up, Mrs. Spectre. Didn't have a chance."
"Tell me what?"
She turns back to me with a familiar look that tells me something is very wrong. She bites her lower lip, then exhales. "We need to go to The Summit. Sebastian called."
Uh-oh. An emergency trip to the home office for those with paranormal powers. This can't be good. "Yeah? And?"
"There's been a change with your father."
***
So it turns out my father, the deadbeat dad who abandoned me and mom when I was a year old, the guy who tried to turn society into a bunch of pod people with a mind controlling cell phone and now has a day job as a comatose villain, has taken a turn.
For better or worse, we don't know. Although worse wouldn't break my heart considering he nearly killed my boyfriend and best friend. But something tells me if that were the case, we wouldn't have been summoned to western New Jersey by Sebastien, head of The Council. The old guy in charge of monitoring everyone with paranormal powers doesn't mess around.
Sebastien leads me, Ryan and Mom into the antiseptic secure chamber. It's become my father's permanent home since we basically fried his brain and his ability to meld with technology by using a powerful computer virus provided by your tax dollars and Fuzzball's Man in Black buddy who works for the feds. He's still in a coma, face drawn, skin lacking
in color, oblivious to the rest of the world. Nothing's changed since that day in May, the last time I saw him.
Well, nothing had changed until yesterday, according to Sebastien.
"So what happened?" I ask, looking at him through the glass or what resembles an iron lung. "He looks the same."
"His brain waves changed slightly," says Sebastien, as he stares at my father's body. "We monitor the activity constantly and last night something happened that we simply cannot explain."
"Is he waking up?" asks Mom, staring at the man who was once the love of her life before turning into an evil maniac. Her tightened face tells me she's still conflicted, wondering if we shorted out the evil part of his brain and the good man might be inside.
Sebastien shakes his head. "No. But we detected a change in his Delta waves. Jillian, you know the implications of that."
I nod. "Yeah. The brain waves of the subconscious. How he was going to control me with the phone. So, could he simply be dreaming?"
"Our experts don't think so. There was no rapid eye movement detected, and dreams would produce a different kind of brain wave pattern that we've seen before from him. The change in his pattern is not unlike what we saw when you combined yours with Ryan and Roxanne. Our theory is that … well, the simplest way to put it is that we think he's been contacted."
Ryan furrows his brow. "How is that even possible?"
Sebastien shakes his head. "We don't know," he says, then turns to Ryan. "Which is why I asked you to come along. We were hoping … "
"You want me to read his mind?" asks Ryan.
"No!" I yell, throwing out one arm in front of Ryan before Sebastien has the chance to answer. "My father almost killed him twice, and you want to risk his life over some brain wave change? Find another way."
"There is no danger," says Sebastien.
My blood pressure spikes. "How the hell can you be sure of that?"
Mom grabs my arm. "Young lady, watch your tone. Don't yell at Sebastien."
"I'll yell if he's going to risk my boyfriend's life."
"We know there's no danger because we already tried using other mind readers. None of them had any after effects," says Sebastien. "But they also got no results."
