“Or they’re aliens,” I said, joking.
Mallory stood up and wiped her hands together to brush off the dirt. “No, we pretty much ruled out aliens, remember?”
“Maybe you did, but I’m still mulling it over,” I said. “You know what they say—the truth is out there.”
We wandered around a bit, pacing our way around the field, but nothing indicated that a big event had happened there just two days earlier. The unused train tracks were built on wood ties that were now crumbling, weeds growing in between the rails. The building, off in the distance, was the same. Just an old boarded-up structure with peeling paint and a cracked slab of concrete on either side of it. It was hard to believe I’d been afraid to come back here.
“Hey, Russ, want to see something cool?” Jameson asked after we’d inspected nearly every inch of the ground. Without waiting for a reply, he took his phone out of his pocket and held it loosely in his palm. As I watched, it levitated and zoomed around my head and zipped back to Jameson, who let it hover for a moment before he reached out to snatch it in midair.
“That is cool.” I wasn’t quite as flabbergasted as I’d been with the jelly packet, but I had to admit that Jameson could do something incredible. I was still doubtful that I would ever be able to heal people. (And even if I had healed myself before, could I do it again? Maybe Mallory was right and the circumstances had to be just right.)
“Show-off.” Mallory poked Jameson’s arm.
“That’s nothing,” he said. “I’ve been practicing with weights every day. I can move things farther and heavier than I ever could before, and my powers seem to get stronger with practice.”
“A renewable energy,” Mallory said thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that with me, too. I haven’t really been practicing though. It seems immoral somehow to make people do things without their consent.”
“I could get past that,” Jameson said.
I had a sudden thought. “So if you can move things with your mind, what makes you think you can’t do other things too? Maybe you can also do mind control like Mallory and read people like Nadia. Have you even tried to do other things? Hey, maybe you can fly or turn invisible.”
Jameson scowled. “It’s been a year. If we had other abilities, they would have manifested themselves by now.” He was back to the old Jameson, the one who knew better than me. Apparently our truce had been short-lived.
Heading back to the car, I held my hand out for Mallory as we approached the incline. It wasn’t much of a drop, but she still took my hand for support, and I felt a surge of victory over poor Jameson, who, walking ahead of us, didn’t even notice. “At my house yesterday we were interrupted right when you were going to tell me why we can’t talk to the authorities,” I said.
She squeezed my hand as we made our way over the last small bump and then let go when the ground leveled off. “Other kids before us have had this happen, and when they tried to tell, they disappeared or were killed.”
I stopped. “You know this for a fact?”
Her face turned grave. “Fairly certain. Over the past thirty-five years a disproportionate number of teenagers from this area have suddenly died or disappeared, many of them after reporting seeing strange things in the sky. Some of their families also disappeared—just moved out of the area without a forwarding address. Like they were…relocated or something.”
“How do you know this?”
“I spent hundreds of hours at the library looking at old copies of the local newspaper and the high school newspaper.” She gave me a smile. “They actually used to print up little newspapers and sell them at the school. Isn’t that cute?”
I was still stuck on the idea of missing teenagers. “Like how many are we talking about who died or disappeared?”
“Over the last thirty-five years there were maybe a dozen? I can show you a list if you want.”
“Yeah, I think I’d like to see that,” I said. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her, because I did, but sometimes seeing something on a page helps my mind to make sense of things. And I needed to make sense of this.
“And here’s another strange thing,” Mallory said. “No one else seems to have observed the lights except for teenagers. Instead, on the dates the kids see the events, there are next-day reports of adults having had trouble staying awake that night—falling asleep at the wheel, dozing on the job, that kind of thing—which leads me to believe the light particles energize and draw some people, notably some teenagers, while having the opposite effect on adults. Some of the teenagers mentioned feeling compelled to go outside at night long before the lights appeared.”
“Just like us.”
Mallory nodded. “Exactly.”
“Why would that be?”
She shrugged. “It would be hard to say without more information. I can only make conclusions based on the information at hand.”
Because we’d paused to talk, Jameson had reached the car ahead of us, and now I saw that he appeared to be leaning over someone who was actually inside the car. Jameson’s back was to us, and he was blocking our view, but I could see that the back door was open and he was hovering over a man who was slumped in the back seat in what had been my spot.
Jameson turned around and gestured frantically. “You guys, come quick! Hurry!” Mallory broke into a run, and I was right behind her. Judging from Jameson’s wide eyes and the way he bellowed, I knew it was something major. Still, when Mallory pushed Jameson aside, it took me a moment to register that it was Gordy, the old guy from the diner, who was lying across the back seat of the car.
“What happened?” I asked.
Mallory said, “Where’d he come from?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” For once Jameson didn’t look smug and sure. “I got to the car and there he was, just laying there. I think he’s dead.”
“Not dead yet.” Gordy’s voice came out soft and raspy. His whole body shuddered.
Mallory leaned in, giving me a view of her backside. “What happened, Gordy? Did someone do something to you?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer, she whispered reassurances to him, telling him everything would be okay from now on. When she straightened up she went into take-charge mode—first handing Jameson the keys and telling him to get a blanket out of the trunk. I was next. “Help me move him,” she ordered, and just like that I was pressed into service, following her instructions to pull Gordy further into the car so that his dangling legs were inside and we could close the car door. When Jameson came back with a green plaid blanket she folded it up and handed it to me. “Lift him up and cushion his head with it.” She took the keys from Jameson and got into the front seat, barking orders as she went.
“Let’s move.”
“Hang in there, Gordy. We’re going for help.”
“Jameson, call the hospital and tell them we’re on our way to the ER.”
“Shouldn’t we call 911?” Jameson asked.
“No!” Mallory yelled. “Just do what I tell you to do.”
I was on the side of the car opposite the curb, trying to lift Gordy’s head onto the folded-up blanket. The length of his body took up the entire back seat, begging the question: “Where am I going to sit?”
Mallory turned around and frowned. “Put his head on your lap, of course. Come on, Russ, get serious. We have an emergency here.”
As if I weren’t being serious. I sat on the edge of the seat and cautiously lifted his head as I slid in. When I shut the back door, his eyes fluttered. For the split second they were open, they locked on mine and he smiled briefly. “Hold tight, sir, we’re going to the hospital,” I said. He nodded slightly.
Jameson called Mercy Hospital to let them know we would be arriving to the ER soon. Listening to his end of the conversation, it was clear that not having all the answers rattled him. He couldn’t tell the hospital Gordy’s last name, his age, or even what was wrong with him. At one point they must have questioned the validity of the call because he said, “No, I’m not joki
ng.”
Mercy Hospital was in the city, a half hour away, but Mallory managed to get there in twenty minutes. She paused at red lights, looked both ways, and went through; she passed people in no-passing zones; she went eighty-five on the highway. Jameson said, “Jeez!” when she passed a semi on the two-lane highway and we found ourselves heading straight toward another car. Luckily, she was able to maneuver back into our lane with split-second timing. “If there’s a cop around we’re in trouble,” Jameson added.
“I hope there is a cop around,” she said. “We’ve got a dying man in the back seat who needs medical attention.”
“Well, if we had called 911…” Jameson said.
Mallory gave him a sharp look and frowned. “And bring attention to us being at the field? Are you out of your mind?”
I sat in the back, not making stupid comments like some people, just taking it all in. I held my breath during the most harrowing turns, but otherwise, I didn’t let myself get rattled at all. For the most part, I kept my gaze on Gordy. It would have been hard not to, considering he was right there, his head on the blanket on my lap. His wrinkled, dirty hands were pulled up to his whiskered chin. His mouth was slack, revealing two missing teeth. The teeth he still had were ragged and yellowed, probably from cigarettes. An acrid stink of smoke wafted off of him, reminding me of the overflowing ashtray in my great-aunt Trudy’s car. I also got a whiff of the smell of burning rubber.
Gordy grunted occasionally like he was in pain, and I uttered things like, “Hang in there, sir,” and “We’ll be there soon.” I’m not sure it helped, but it was the best I could do.
When we finally arrived at the entrance of the emergency room, I cracked open a window to air out the car. That burning odor was really getting to me.
Mallory threw the car into park, and she and Jameson ran inside to get help.
“We’re here now, at the hospital,” I said to Gordy, running a hand over his arm in a tentative show of compassion. I’d been wary of touching him, because I was afraid of hurting him and also because it’s weird to be in such close contact with a complete stranger. Uncomfortably intimate. I was glad trained medical professionals would take over from here. I looked out the car window for signs that help was coming.
“Son?”
Startled, I looked down. “Yes?”
The old man’s eyes were wide open now and he looked alert. I watched as he swallowed; his tongue flicked out over his cracked lips, as if to wet them, but it didn’t seem to help. “I tried so hard to get you back. So, so hard…”
“Are you talking to me?”
“I’m sorry I failed. So sorry.”
“Mr. Gordy? Sir…I’m afraid I don’t understand. What are you sorry for?”
Now his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to focus. “No, not you.” Gordy exhaled and turned his head, mumbling. “I got confused. I meant the other one.”
“What other one?”
“You look like him.”
“Who?”
“My son.”
His son? He was clearly delusional. Any son he had would have been at least fifty. I wouldn’t be arriving at that age for a long, long time. “Do you want me to call your son?” I asked. “And let him know you’re at the hospital?”
Gordy’s forehead furrowed in thought. “No, not my son. My grandson. I’m so confused…” His eyes rolled as if he had no control over them. “But you can’t call him. He’s locked up—a prisoner. They have him.” His hand flapped over the side of his pants. “Take it out of my pocket. You’ll need it.”
I wasn’t following him at all. “Maybe if you tell me where he’s a prisoner, I could contact him for you?”
“There’s no time.” His fingers trembled as he motioned to his pocket. “Get it out of my pocket.”
I looked at the hospital, wondering what was taking them so long. Why did they have to leave me here with this mixed-up old man? “Maybe you should just hang on to it for now,” I said. “When you’re better, you’ll need it.” I patted his arm in what I hoped was a comforting way, but he shook off my touch.
“Take it,” he said, this time his voice louder. “It will help you.” His breathing was labored now. “He’s still out there.”
Oh, jeez. How could I not do what he asked, even if it didn’t make sense? It was obviously important to him. Too bad it involved sticking my hand in his pants. There’s sort of an unspoken rule that a guy never puts his hand in another guy’s pocket. It’s bad enough when I spot a dude making suspicious motions in his own pocket, much less me maneuvering in someone else’s. I did a quick check out the window to make sure no one would see and think I was either robbing Gordy or making some perv move, and then I stuck my fingers in his pocket but felt nothing. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing in your pocket.”
“Not that one.” He grunted and grabbed my hand, forcing it to the seam alongside his thigh. “It’s hidden, so they wouldn’t find it.”
I patted where he indicated and felt something below the surface of the cloth. I could see the stitching where the fabric came together. I couldn’t see a pocket, and yet… I leaned over to inspect it, and then pulled at the seam. It came apart with the ripping sound of Velcro. The old man was right; he did have a hidden pocket.
I pulled out a folded piece of paper and held it in front of his face. “Is this what you want me to have?” It was thick, like it was wrapped around something. The whole wad was held together with a rubber band.
Gordy nodded and closed his eyes. A thin string of spittle formed on his lower lip, grossing me out a little bit. I wasn’t cut out for dealing with sick people. He croaked out a few words. “Always carry it with you.”
“Sure, I will,” I said, patting his arm. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Don’t tell anybody,” he said. “You must keep it a secret.” This last line came out in a wheeze. He was having trouble getting the words out. “You must find him.”
“I promise.”
I had started to unfold the paper when I noticed movement outside the car—Mallory and Jameson (finally!) rushing through the opening of the glass doors. Behind them, two men in scrubs pushed a gurney as big as a twin bed. “Here we go,” I said to no one in particular. I slid out from under Gordy, making sure not to jolt his head as I left the car, then stuck the folded up wad of paper into my jeans pocket. The hospital attendants quickly went to work, wheeling him through the double doors with the three of us trailing behind.
The woman at the reception desk stopped Mallory by holding up a clipboard and saying they needed information about the patient. Jameson stayed glued to her side, but I kept going right behind Gordy and the two men. Someone buzzed us through a set of doors, and they picked up the pace until we were nearly running. Other people joined us as we moved down a corridor, a man and a woman, both wearing white jackets, their collars looped by stethoscopes. Doctors, I assumed.
After they wheeled the bed into a room shaped like a large curtained cubicle, the men in scrubs stepped away. The woman, who seemed to be a doctor, leaned over Gordy and clasped his arm. “Sir, you’re at Mercy Hospital. Can you tell me if you’re in any pain?” Gordy moaned, but didn’t answer. She looked at me. “What’s his name?”
“Gordy.”
“Gordy,” she said, this time more loudly. “We want to help you, but first we need some information.” Other people had gathered behind us, and she rattled off commands for an EKG and blood to be drawn. “Have you taken any medication today, sir?”
“No.” Forcing the word out clearly took great effort.
She put the buds of her stethoscope in her ears and leaned over to listen to his heart. “Erratic heartbeat. Let’s get moving with that EKG!”
Like a well-designed machine, the team sprang to action, one woman attaching a blood pressure cuff, another clipping what looked like a clothespin to his finger. A third unbuttoned Gordy’s shirt, then unpeeled adhesive backings off electrodes and fastened them to his chest. I walked around to t
he foot of the bed to get out of their way.
“Did he fall?”
I was studying the bottom of Gordy’s shoes and didn’t realize the doctor was talking to me until she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Was he injured? Did he fall? Did he complain of pain?”
“He was shocked.” I pointed to the soles of his feet. Each one had a quarter-sized hole rimmed in charred black. Electricity had surged through his body and out his feet, melting a hole in his shoes. “With electricity. Shocked.”
She came over to look where I was pointing. “Are you sure?”
I gulped and nodded.
“How did it happen?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and it was the truth. I didn’t know how it happened, but I knew in my heart that he’d been shocked and I sensed it was on purpose. Even in the car I had somehow known this, but it took the scorched holes in his shoes to confirm it. Someone had done this to him.
But why?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
They hustled me out of the room so quickly I couldn’t even look back. A heavyset young woman escorted me to a waiting area, which wasn’t much more than a few padded chairs in a corner. “Someone will come and let you know how your grandfather is doing,” she said. I didn’t contradict her on the grandfather thing; it was easier that way. I sat down, unsure what to do next now that I was apart from the others. After seeing the blackened holes in the soles of Gordy’s shoes, I wasn’t about to look at what he’d given me out in public. I decided to wait a few minutes before I texted Mallory to see what she thought we should do next.
The TV suspended in the corner was on mute, which was just as well. They never had the right channels on in waiting rooms. Down the hall, I heard the sounds of controlled chaos: the squeaky wheels of carts being moved quickly, voices volleying back and forth, the electric beeps of machines monitoring vitals and keeping people alive. The ER had a slightly antiseptic odor, but above it I still smelled the smoke that had emanated from Gordy. It was in my nostrils now; I couldn’t get away from it.
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 10
