Like a Surge

by Olivette Devaux

  He stood up, arched his long back until it cracked, then rotated his head and cracked his finger knuckles. The sound effects satisfied him with the knowledge that he was now properly aligned, both physically and mentally, to tackle his first post-doctoral paper again.

  It took him a good ten minutes to reread his prior paragraphs and formulate the right words, but after this initial period of what his former advisor used to call “mentation and ideation,” he finally buckled down and started writing. Words flowed like rivulets, forming sentences, which then gathered into strong paragraphs – two already, wow! – that almost completed the second big item on his extensive outline.

  The white office door with its wire-reinforced, frosted glass window flew open hard enough to crash against the steel book shelves.

  Russ kept writing. Jack Ripple was an asshole who always tried to make a big entrance, and never for a good reason.

  “Russ! Hey, Russ, didya see the fire hydrants blowing up?”

  It wasn’t the intensity that made Russ stop typing and lift his eyes over the edge of his screen. No, Jack was dramatic all the time, an attention-seeking idiot savant whose brilliance in mathematics was more than outweighed by his unfortunate lack of filter, and his social awkwardness. It had been the “blowing up” part that snagged Russ’s hesitant attention.

  “What?”

  “Look out the window! It was some kind of a blast, they said. And a guy got hurt. An ambulance is coming to get him right now.”

  A sense of dread chilled Russ as he rushed to the window. Down there, sprawled on the unappealing, drought-stricken grass, lay a body of a man. “Is he dead?”

  “Just knocked out, they say. But shit, dude! How could all eight fire hydrants on campus blow at the same time?”

  Russ spun, staring Jack straight in the face. “What? All of them?”

  Jack only nodded. “I’ll go get some coffee. It’s not like I can calculate his way out of this. You want any?”

  Coffee? A man lay injured, soaked to the bone by the spewing hydrant, and all this idiot could think of was coffee? Russ shook his head. “I’m going down there. Maybe I can help. I sure as hell won’t be able to concentrate on writing this paper with all this going on!”

  He ran out of his lair, along the doors to offices and laboratories which lined the long hallway, then down two flights of stairs and out of the building.

  The water was still gushing from a source that seemed eternal. People were milling around as though they didn’t quite know what to do, and didn’t want to get too wet, but the injured guy was beginning to sit up.

  Maybe this was his appointment, Russ thought. He dismissed the notion immediately. Such a coincidence would be highly unlikely. No way. Still, though, he wove his among janitors and fellow teachers.

  He didn’t ask what had happened. The hydrant cap sat right next to its victim, who had a bleeding gash above his right eye. His hair was plastered to his face and his leather jacket glistened with water.

  A jacket like that, in weather like this?

  Russ glanced to the parking lot. The hot, noontime sun glinted off the chrome of an unfamiliar motorcycle, as though the bike was at some exotic show. Connecting the dots, Russ realized that the odds of this poor fellow being his late appointment had increased severalfold.

  He approached him and lowered himself to one knee. Water seeped through his good slacks, and a new spurt soaked his whole shirt like in a fun park. It was cold, but not entirely unpleasant. His focus was on the man who appeared to be his visitor. “Hi there.” His voice almost hitched. “What’s your name?”

  The guy straightened up, then looked at him. “Paul,” he said stupidly. And no wonder. Maybe he was concussed.

  “Are you here to see someone?” Russ didn’t want to feed Paul his own name. He knew the medics would ask him just to see whether he had amnesia. Likewise, he didn’t offer to drag him to a dry place. Suppose the fire hydrant cap had caused a spinal injury? This was a job for the professionals. Like his colleagues, he didn’t feel at ease with the notion of moving the man away from the water. Unlike them, however, he didn’t want to leave his side because that would have been mean.

  “Yeah, this guy.” Paul said loud enough over the splashing of the water, and the chatter of hapless bystanders. “A teacher,” he amended. “Dr. Yantar. Why, do you know him?”

  “I see him every day,” Russ said, unable to stop the wiseass grin on his face. “In the mirror!”

  Paul blinked more water out of his eyes. Far way, the wail of emergency vehicles announced the arrival of first responders. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I made such a mess.”

  Russ clasped his hand on his shoulder, getting closer to the geyser and not caring. “No, you didn’t. It was just a freak accident.”

  To his surprise, Paul stuck his hand out. “Hi, I’m Paul Sorensen. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Yantar.” The greeting sounded rehearsed, as though the guy had cared whether or not he made a good impression.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sorensen.” A bit of formality could only help, especially since the contact between their palms became heated... almost charged. Almost electric, and this feeling was further enhanced by Paul’s wry grin.

  Russ could fall for a guy like that – except, of course, one didn’t hit on potential students, or real students, or, most especially, on straight students. Either way, Russ was pretty screwed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Paul settled into Cooper’s comfortable reading chair, eyeing his cousin as he fussed, bringing an ice pack and a cold beer. He watched Ash watch Cooper with warm and fuzzy fondness as he settled in their living room, here in the last of the six rowhouses the two of them had restored from ruin to glory.

  He would never have a relationship like this.

  Not this love, not this closeness.

  How could he? His gift was so out of control, he couldn’t even shake a regular person’s hand without gloves on – or without pissing onto a fire hydrant and making the whole fire suppression system blow up. He’d be forever untouched, forever alone. Lightning was not a gift, it was a burden. Moreover, wearing a ground-stone to help him control it was a losing proposition. Two burned-out ground-stones had attested to the power of his gift, as well as to its destructive potential.

  “Here. You said the doctor said some beer was okay, right?” Cooper shoved a glass of some fancy microbrew into his hand.

  “No concussion, no damage. Just the stitches, and ibuprofen,” Paul said as he gratefully accepted an ice pack with his other hand and pressed it against his forehead. He then eyed the deep amber liquid with appreciation and smelled it. “An IPA? Nice. I love me a good IPA.”

  The first sip was always the best – the effervescent bubbles bursting on his tongue, letting the high notes of the citrusy hops tickle his nose. So good, and so cold. He sipped again, and set the glass on the sandstone coaster, which Ash had set out for him to protect the mid-century teak end table. “Thank you, guys. Thank you for picking me up from the ER, and for going all the way to Warrendale to get my bike.” He exhaled deeply, trying to let go of his worry and disappointment. “I can’t believe I did that. It sounded like such a good idea at the time!”

  Ash gave a low chuckle. “I think our kind has a looser opinion of public nudity, you know. It’s not as big a deal for us, with people meeting in the woods and generating power together. You may want to try a more private place next time. Why hadn’t you found a restroom inside the building? Pissing into water should do the same thing, right?”

  Paul shook his head. “No, no. I needed the metal. Porcelain and the PVC plumbing people use nowadays is insulating, and there isn’t enough water to carry the charge properly.” He gave a sheepish grin. “I mean, can I get away with dumping my built-up charge in the morning only because you reused the original copper plumbing at our house. Had it been PVC, I think I would’ve melted it.”

  As he waited for Ash and Cooper to process the fact that he was a hazardous te
nant, he sipped more of his beer, and looked around. The warm earth-tones on the walls complemented the restored hardwood floors, and the comfortable furniture all looked like the guys had salvaged it from an antique store – which they probably had. It wasn’t fussy, just sparse and streamlined in that IKEA sort of way, except it was all wood and dovetail joints without even a bit of veneered particle board in sight.

  Not that he had anything against IKEA. He even liked it, and the assembly process was a lot more fun than just dragging a piece of old furniture home and cleaning it up. But to each his own. As though to make up for his different taste, he acknowledged the effort the two had obviously put into their living room. “This place is shaping up great, guys.”

  “Really?” Ash shot him a bemused smile. “I didn’t think you’d like old stuff.”

  “It’s streamlined. And it’s comfortable.”

  “Like IKEA,” Cooper added with a mischievous smile, making Paul groan.

  “So, seriously...” Ash fixed him with an intent stare. “Tell us about the guy again. I know only what you told Cooper, and I want to know everything.”

  Paul shrugged, expressing frustration rather than disinterest. “I don’t know. He’s really nice, a bit older than I am, and he has a great smile, y’know? Like, serious and stuff, but you can tell there’s a great sense of humor lurking right behind that teacherly front.” He drifted off when he noticed the guys looking at him funny. “What? You wanted to know everything.”

  “Ash doesn’t want to hear how hot he is,” Cooper clarified. “He wants to know about his power signature.”

  “I’m not saying he’s hot!” Instantly, Paul was on the defensive. “I was just, well. He was nice, and he’s the only person who treated me like a regular guy, instead of like an accident.” And it was true. Dr. Yantar had accompanied him to the ER. “The weird part? I didn’t fry any of the hospital equipment.” He wasn’t going to tell them that Dr.Yantar held his hand through the ordeal, since he got enough grief over his fear of needles as it was.

  “You probably drained your reserves,” Ash noted. “Do you feel any backlash headache?”

  “No. None. I’m fine.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Cooper said with a laugh. “If the grid ever goes down, we’ll want you to power up our batteries! And you’ll be grateful for dumping all that extra energy, too.”

  Now that was an interesting idea. “I’ve never even tried that,” Paul said. “And that’s why I need to learn more about regular electricity, see? That’s why I had made that appointment to begin with. If I manage to learn about the technology out there, and how it works, and why, I’ll be able to drain my power in a way that doesn’t blow shit up. Hell, I don’t even know why the fire hydrants exploded!”

  Cooper cleared his throat. “About that – I scanned the area with my earth-sense. It seems there are valves that control the water pressure. They’re made of steel.” He arched his eyebrows, giving a hint.

  “Wait,” Paul mumbled, thinking. “I fried the valves?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cooper said slowly. “I think the valves were connected to pressure sensors and some digital controls, and since they are using regular copper wires to connect all the parts, you blew the control system, letting all the water out.”

  “Because the campus is in the valley, right under a dam with a water intake,” Ash added. “I had a look too, and I asked the water where it came from. That makes the water pressure naturally high.”

  “Oh.” An unpleasant notion occurred to Paul. “So you think all these infrastructure technologies are now connected to something digital? Because if that’s so, that limits my charge draining options. I can’t expose basic infrastructure to a power surge like that!”

  “You’re pretty much on point,” Cooper said, and Cooper would know, being an architect.

  “What I want to know is why that professor of yours didn’t get shocked when he touched you,” Ash said thoughtfully, spinning the still-full beer glass in his fingers. “Did you really feel a power signature from him?”

  The implications of those two questions together were interesting. They had been holding hands for a full half hour, yet Dr. Yantar had not said a word.

  And Paul wasn’t ready to talk about that part. It was too personal. Instead, he only nodded.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, Paul was sitting at the dinner table in his and Mark’s house. It had been Mark’s turn to cook, which meant “frozen ravioli in a jar sauce and a salad from the bag” night. Normally, he would have said something disparaging about people who can’t even put up a chili, but today wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination.

  Mark seethed with anger, setting the pot on a folded kitchen towel with exaggerated control.

  Ellen, who normally would have kept pestering Mark about using the proper cork trivets she had purchased last week, also sat in still expectation.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about it!” Mark’s words broke the silence as he sat in one of their mismatched chairs. He turned toward him. “How could you, Paul?”

  The unfairness of the situation got adrenaline coursing through Paul’s veins. He straightened up and met his brother’s gaze with determination. “It’s my life. You have yours, and you’re busy with Ellen. You didn’t see fit to inform me that I was on my own now.” He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

  Ellen whimpered next to him, probably as she bit off her own commentary and had decided, at the last moment, not to interfere in a fraternal argument.

  Paul turn to her. “Not your fault, Ellen. I’m glad you two are happy, okay? This is the first time I’ve seen Mark cheerful in, like, years. Having you here is like a perpetual Christmas for him, and I won’t stand in the way of that.”

  “You should’ve told me you were having trouble!” The hurt in Mark’s voice was palpable now as it crashed into Paul with every sound wave.

  “I... I tried. I really did, but you were busy, and we both work, and Ellen works, and, shit. I’m a grownup, Mark! I’m twenty-fucking-three years old, and the least I can do for myself is go find out more about a career path that would survive my power surges and wouldn’t involve shoveling dirt!”

  “Nothing wrong with shoveling dirt.” Mark ladled a serving of red tomato sauce with white squares into Ellen’s bowl.

  “Except it doesn’t do shit to help me with controlling this thing! All it does is keep me away from using the tools most of you take for granted. And I have to pretend I’m too dumb to use a tablet instead of old-fashioned paperwork, just so I don’t fry it. It’s... humiliating.”

  “I would’ve gone with you.” Mark’s anger was back.

  “There’s stuff you have to do alone.”

  “You are not alone!” The words snapped forth with sharp impact.

  Their three water glasses broke with a pained twang.

  Spilled water soaked the tablecloth and the shards of glass glistened wetly in the light of the lone, incandescent light bulb.

  “Don’t thunder at me,” Paul said with a glower.

  The bulb above their heads flickered.

  “Fuck!” The word came out of Paul’s hiss as he fought for control.

  He was alone. His brother meant well, but goddamit, Mark could be a self-centered dork with not a practical bone in his body.

  His fingers began to tingle.

  Alone. Scared. Misunderstood.

  And, worst of all, jealous of Ellen’s company, and Ellen was absolutely blameless.

  Power rose from his toes up his legs.

  The light bulb grew brighter, and so did Ellen’s frightened expression.

  “Be right back,” Paul snapped, jumped out of his chair so fast he sent it clattering to the floor, and burst out of the house.

  The door yawned open behind him as he jumped down the two little steps and dashed across the street to buy himself more distance between the houses and the destructive power surge, which threatened to tear its way out of his body.

 
More distance away from the fragile occupants inside, from the breakable windows and friable circuits.

  More distance from civilization.

  The cobblestones met the rubber soles of his electrician’s shoes as he ran.

  Downhill, sliding on loose grit, with gravel skittering away from his angry feet.

  Downhill and toward the river. The heavy, ancient waterway who was now his friend, his one chance at draining the destructive potential he feared he might unleash at his brother and his girlfriend.

  Down to the dock, where he could fall apart in peace.

  CHAPTER 4

  After a light dinner of fragrant, sweet cantaloupes, smoked meats, and the crispy and chewy focaccia from the Driftwood Oven, Cooper sagged under the comforting weight of Ash’s arms around his shoulders. “How about a bit of sword practice tonight?” Ash asked, obviously trying not to push.

  Yet he was pushing – and he was right to do so.

  On that foggy, confusing day few weeks ago, when their team had pacified the rogue node, Jared had grasped Cooper’s shoulder to feed him his personal energy. On that fateful day, Jared had kept giving until there was no more to give.

  Jared had dematerialized. Disappeared. One moment he had been there, a split-second later he was gone like a whisper on the wind.

  Dematerialized. Cooper had learned a new word that day. Even though disappearing through excessive power donation was an unusual phenomenon, it was real enough to have its own name. There had been nothing to bury, nothing that would remind them of Jared’s bright laughter and his brilliant talent of seeing all types of elementalist energies, even though he was unable to manipulate any of them.

  Except for that one time with the node.

  “Do you think Jared disappeared because he pushed his abilities from seeing to doing?” Cooper said, aware that he had not answered Ash’s question.