by Roy Johansen
“By the time those sessions were conducted, he'd had time to refine his technique. If I could see earlier tapes of him, recorded right after he started doing this stuff, it might be helpful to me.”
She shook her head. “I'm sorry, I can't help you.”
“Just thought I'd check. How have you been doing?”
“How do you think she's doing?” Dunning snapped. “I think that will be all, Detective.”
“Don't be rude,” Latisha said in the same tone she used to scold her son. “I didn't call you to come over and insult him.”
Dunning's tight-lipped smile oozed condescension. “It's best that we limit our contact with Detective Bailey. Every minute a police officer is talking to you, that's one minute he could be out there trying to find Jesse.”
“I assure you, there are many, many people out there looking for your son,” Joe said.
“It's just that I'm so worried.”
“Of course you are.”
“I'm worried for another reason. Jesse has a respiratory condition, and he uses an inhaler twice a day. It helps him breathe.”
“Did he have it with him?”
“No, it was in my purse.”
Dunning soothingly patted her arm. “I'm sure he'll be fine.”
“Did you tell any of the other officers about this?”
“Of course.”
“Who?”
“One of the first officers I saw after I woke up. He was in a uniform.”
Joe pulled out his notebook. “He may not have passed it on to anybody. Is it a prescription?”
“Yes. It's called a Pulmicort Turbuhaler. It's corti-costeroid powder.”
“Can I have his doctor's name?”
“Why?” Dunning interjected.
“The investigating officers may wish to contact him. It'll give them a better idea what Jesse's up against.”
“Dr. Andrew Hearn,” she said. “His offices are in Midtown.”
Joe jotted down the name. “Is there anything else?”
“Like what?” Dunning said. “Be specific.”
Joe had had enough. “Anything that might help us find her son. Anything that might help me figure out how he does what he does. Anything that might help her get rid of the bloodsuckers on the sidewalk, and in here, Mr. Dunning, before she goes insane. Is that specific enough for you?”
Dunning stared at him for a moment. “May I speak to you outside, Detective?”
“Now?”
“Yes. I suggest the backyard rather than the front, unless you want to hear our conversation on the evening news.”
“This is my boy we're talking about,” Latisha said. “If you have anything to say to each other, you can say it right here.”
“I'm sorry,” Dunning said. “I need to talk to him outside. We'll be right back.”
“Don't bother,” she snapped. “You can let yourself out the back gate.” She turned on her heel and walked down the hallway.
“Ms. Randall …” Joe said.
She was gone.
Dunning and Joe stepped outside and walked along the flower garden that framed the backyard. “Emotional times,” Dunning said. “It's taking its toll on everyone.”
“You seem to be holding up all right.”
“I know you think I'm some kind of bloodsucker, but I really do want what's best for Jesse. I know what it's like to grow up without money. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been refusing all interview requests and keeping a low profile. This isn't a PR gambit for me.”
“Maybe I misjudged you.”
“You don't really think that, do you?”
“What do you want to talk to me about, Dunning?”
“I'd like this to be off the record.”
“In my business there's no such thing. What do you want?”
Dunning gazed at a bed of zinnias. “Do you have one solitary scrap of proof that Jesse Randall is not what he appears to be?”
“My investigation is ongoing.”
“I'll take that as a no.”
“Take it any way you like.”
“Detective, I've never believed in this stuff. Not at all.”
“That puts you in the minority. Most people have at least some belief in the paranormal.”
“I've read the accounts of his test sessions, but most of his tricks—the metal bending, the sealed-box card readings, reproducing drawings that others have made—are easily duplicated by magicians. But now …I'm sure he's still alive.”
“I hope so.”
“You don't understand. I'm sure.”
Dunning was trembling.
“How are you sure?”
His lower lip quivered. “In my house, during the last couple of days, there've been … occurrences. Objects moving by themselves. Strange noises. It began the night Jesse and I first met. I could tell he didn't care for me.”
Joe stepped closer. “Are you positive?” “Yes. I've seen some of these things with my own eyes. My television lifted off its stand and smashed against the wall of my bedroom. Every pen and pencil in my den is now sticking in the wall behind my desk. I think they were shadow storms.”
“Why didn't you say anything before?” “It didn't exactly bolster my client's case. It's been terrifying. I haven't slept in two days.” “Did your wife see any of these things?” “Yes, but after the first night she went to her sister's in Miami. She couldn't take it anymore.” “I'd like to see your house.” “I was hoping you'd say that.”
Joe followed Dunning back to his two-story brick home near the posh Atlanta Country Club Estates. Towering over the other neighborhood residences, Dunning's home was as showy and excessive as the man who owned it.
Joe grabbed his spirit kit and entered the house with Dunning. The place was, as he expected, spectacular. Water was a major motif throughout the house, with artificial streams, waterfalls, and indoor koi ponds in almost every room.
“Beautiful house,” Joe said.
“Thank you. I helped design it. I studied architecture before I went into law.”
“A lot of my coworkers probably wish you had pursued that instead.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.” Dunning pointed to a large empty pond in the living room. “Look.”
“What about it?”
“When I went to bed the other night, it was full. About three A.M. I heard a strange noise. I came downstairs and realized that it was the sound of water splashing all over the room. It was coming from this pond.”
Joe knelt beside it. The pond was two feet deep, nine feet long, four feet wide, and bone dry. “Did you get a close look while it was happening?”
“Yes. At first I thought my dog might have fallen in, but when I turned on the light, I saw there was nothing in there. The water continued to splash over the side like waves crashing on a beach. It didn't stop until the pond was dry.”
“Were you here the whole time?”
“Yes. It took only a few minutes. I was in here mopping and getting my rugs off the floor. As soon as it was over, I climbed inside and looked around. There wasn't anything there. Thank God we didn't have any fish in this one. Those koi cost me a fortune.”
Joe rubbed his hands over the pond's inner wall. Smooth. “What else?”
“Come this way.” Dunning led him into his den, where about thirty pens and pencils were sticking into the hardwood paneling. “I was downstairs, looking over some briefs, when I heard what I thought was a knocking sound. I came in here and found this.”
Joe gripped one of the pencils and pulled it from the wall. “The lead isn't even broken.”
“I know. How could this have happened?”
Joe opened his spirit kit and pulled out a digital camera. He took photos from several angles, then put away the camera and picked up a tiny brass measuring pin. He inserted it into the hole and jotted down the measurement.
“What good does that do?” Dunning asked.
Joe pulled out three more pencils and measured the hole depths. �
�This will tell me what type of force we're dealing with. I should be able to calculate the pounds per square inch exerted on these pencils, which may narrow the field of possibilities.”
“I think the field is pretty narrow already,” he said dryly.
“Let me see the television.”
They climbed the stairs and walked into the master bedroom. It was a mess. Piles of broken plaques, picture frames, and ceramic objects littered the floor in front of a wall that was now entirely bare.
Joe pointed to the broken objects. “Were you in the room when this happened?”
“Yes, I was sleeping. I think everything came off the wall at once. Before I could turn on a light, I heard a huge crash next to me.”
Joe looked down next to the bed, where a television was in pieces.
Dunning pointed to the bare wall across the room. “It came from over there.”
Joe pulled a can of fingerprint powder from his kit and brushed the television.
“You think someone came in here and just threw it at me?”
“In cases such as this, the simplest solution is often the correct one.” Joe squinted at the broken casing.
“But even if there were prints, it would be tough to get them off this. How's your security system here?”
“About as good as it gets. In my line of work, I need it. Between outraged citizens and disgruntled clients, I can't be too careful.”
“Sensors on every door and window?” Joe asked.
“Upstairs and downstairs. Plus motion detectors covering every square inch of the house except this room. There's no way someone could have gotten in without my knowing about it.”
Joe looked up at the bedroom's vaulted ceiling. “No attic over this room, right?”
“Right.”
Joe took more pictures with his digital camera, then paced around the room. How in the hell could this have happened?
“I've been torn about whether or not to tell Latisha Randall about this. On one hand, it might give her hope that her son's still alive.”
“But if this gets out, it could also feed hysteria. We have no idea who has Jesse, or why. There's no telling what effect this news would have on them.”
“I see your point.”
“Keep this quiet for now, and please leave everything as it is. I may need to come back here.”
“Don't worry, my bags are already packed. I'm going to a hotel. I feel like I'm risking my life by staying one more minute.”
Joe half smiled. “If it's this stuff you're afraid of, you might want to stay away from the ritzy hotels you're used to.”
“Why?”
“They don't bolt their furniture down.”
* * *
Jesse stared at the Styrofoam maze that Charles had carried into the room in two sections. It had taken the man ten minutes and fourteen curse words to put it together, and when he was finished, he left without any explanation of why he'd brought it in. The maze was about the size of a doorframe, with a confusing array of two-inch-wide passageways. It rested on two cardboard sawhorses in the middle of the room.
Myrna strode through the entranceway. “Ready to have some fun, Jesse?”
“Fun?” He shook his head. “Not in here.”
“This is very important, Jesse. If you cooperate with them, it could make things easier for you.”
“Easier how? Will they let me go?”
“Maybe.”
“Please don't lie to me.”
“I'm not lying, Jesse. I don't have all the answers, but I do know that they can make things very unpleasant for both of us. Believe me.”
He nodded toward the maze. “What's this for?”
She held up a small plastic ball. “It's for a little game.”
“You mean a test.”
She placed the ball into the maze. “This will be easy for you, Jesse. Try to have fun with it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Do you see the blue line on top of some of those maze walls?”
“Yeah?”
“They want you to make the ball roll along that line and move through the maze. Do you think you can do that?”
“I need my music to concentrate.”
She smiled. “We're ready for that. We have some of your favorites here. What would you like to hear?”
“You got some Grandmaster Flash?”
She looked up at the mirrored window. In a few seconds, the throbbing beat of “Showdown” echoed in the room.
“Is that okay?” she shouted above the music.
He nodded, took off his glasses, and leaned over the maze. He stared at the ball for a long while.
It was still.
He looked away, took a deep breath, then turned back.
The ball began to rock.
Jesse tilted his head, and the ball finally began to roll through the maze.
Myrna smiled. She said something, but Jesse couldn't hear her over the thunderous music.
The ball slowed as it reached an intersection, then turned right, following the blue line. Jesse stepped around the maze.
The ball turned again, then rolled almost the entire length of the maze. Jesse followed along, keeping his eyes glued to the ball.
It turned again.
Halfway there.
Jesse rolled his shoulders to the beat. He could do this….
The ball turned three more times, then picked up speed as it neared the end. It finally dropped to the floor just as Grandmaster Flash's chorus kicked in.
He saw Myrna's lips form one word: “Incredible.”
He felt a rush of excitement. He'd shown them.
The music faded out.
“That was amazing, Jesse. You did that so well.”
“Thank you.”
“We have one more thing we'd like you to try for us.”
“I'm kind of tired.”
“Just give it a try. This will be something new for you. Have you ever tried to use your talents to affect living things?”
“What do you mean?”
“You're amazing at moving small objects around, but can you influence the movements of actual living beings?”
He wrinkled his forehead. “I never tried that. I never wanted to try that.”
Charles reentered the room with a small box.
Myrna took Jesse's hands in her own. “I want you to try something for me, honey. Please keep an open mind.”
Charles opened the box and picked up a small brown mouse by the tail. He dropped it into the maze.
Jesse looked at the mouse. “What do you want me to do?”
“Don't you know already?”
“You want me to steer the mouse?”
“Just try, Jesse. Concentrate.”
“I can't make the mouse go where he doesn't want to go.”
“See?” Charles said. “We're wasting our time with this little prick.”
“Quiet, Charles.” Myrna squeezed Jesse's hand. “Please, honey. Try.”
He walked back to the maze. “You want this mouse to walk the blue line?”
“That would be fine.”
“I need my music.”
“Can you try it without?”
“No. I've never done this before. I need it.”
Before she could reply, Grandmaster Flash came back over the P.A. system.
Jesse leaned over the maze and stared at the mouse. “Does he have a name?”
Charles snickered. “Whatever you want it to be, kid.”
Jesse faced the mouse head-on as it meandered down a passageway. Suddenly it stopped.
The smile left Charles's face.
The mouse hesitated, took another step, then turned around and walked toward a blue passageway.
Jesse stepped around to the other side, his eyes never leaving the mouse. It was coming to the blue passageway.
Jesse opened his eyes wider.
The mouse stopped, then turned down the narrow blue passage.
It was working.
&n
bsp; The mouse passed the next blue turn but suddenly recoiled as if it had been struck in the head. It turned back and found its way to the blue passage.
“That didn't happen,” Charles said in amazement.
Myrna smiled. “Keep it up, Jesse.”
Jesse stepped around the maze as the mouse neared the end of its journey. Every time it missed a blue turn, it suddenly froze, then retreated to the appropriate passageway.
“What exactly are you doing?” Myrna asked.
“Persuading him.”
“But how?”
Jesse paused while the mouse approached yet another intersection. It turned on its own. “I'm making it unpleasant for him if he doesn't do what I want him to do.”
“Unpleasant?” Charles asked. “You're actually hurting him?”
Jesse didn't answer. One turn to go. The mouse passed it, then stopped, once again reacting as if it had received a blow to the head.
This time it didn't turn back.
Jesse leaned closer and opened his eyes wider. The rodent winced once, twice, then three times, as if struggling against some unseen force. Charles and Myrna shot nervous glances at the observation window.
“What the hell are you doing to it?” Charles said.
Jesse almost smiled. Charles sounded good and scared. “I'm telling him where he needs to go.”
“And if he doesn't listen, what will happen to him?” Myrna asked.
“You don't want to know,” Jesse said, glancing up to catch their reactions.
Nervous. Maybe even panicky. Good.
He was tired of being the scared one. Let them see how it felt.
The mouse finally turned. Jesse followed him around the maze until he chose the correct passageway.
“He had no choice,” Jesse said.
The mouse finished the maze, and Charles grabbed it and held it at eye level. “He looks okay.”
“He's fine,” Jesse said.
“I'll get this stuff out right away,” Charles said, nodding toward the maze and sawhorses. He spoke to Myrna. “Will you be okay while I take the mouse away?”
She hesitated.
They were afraid of him.
“I—I'll be fine,” she stammered.
Jesse glanced around at the padded floor and walls, suddenly realizing why the room was set up this way.
They were afraid he would use his powers to hurt them.
That also explained the paper uniforms and Styro-foam maze. They didn't want anything around that could be used as a weapon.
