Catalyst: (Elevated Saga Book #2)

by Daniel Solomon Kaplan

  Elliott reenters the room and gives me a thumbs up. I pull out my scratchpad and write him a note:

  We’ve got to get Shelly out somehow.

  Elliott nods and takes the pad to write a response:

  Don’t have that option. We’ll just lock the door. Brad will tell the police your mom doesn’t want to be moved.

  I frown and take the pad back:

  Won’t they force her?

  Elliott responds:

  They don’t have the legal right.

  It’s a tricky plan. Eventually I imagine they will become suspicious of Mom staying inside for so long.

  We will have to say she’s sick or something. But how long can we keep this up?

  A chilling sensation floats through my body as I read Elliott’s response:

  I can’t imagine the Catalyst will take long.

  Elliott is probably right. If the Catalyst received word Mom was to be moved to a secure location, he will strike at the first opportunity. And we already know he has the ability to cheat the Unsound database. It’s hardly a stretch to think he might have access to police records as well.

  I sit at the edge of the bed and scan the darkness outside. A part of me wants him to try to attack tonight, to keep us from blowing our cover. But then I look over at Shelly, her eyes wide in terror, oblivious to the silent conversation we just had. I can’t ask her to lie in bed as bait.

  I walk over to the television and turn it up, hoping the Hearer doesn’t catch on to our strategy.

  I turn to Shelly. “You need to leave.”

  Shelly shakes her head. “I know what I’m doing. We need to find him. The Catalyst. You’ve risked your life for me before, now it’s my turn.”

  Her words cut through me. I hate the idea she thinks of me as some sort of hero. Me, the person who used her secret as leverage to save me and my Dad. I can’t allow this. I open my mouth to demand she leave when a sudden movement outside jolts me to attention.

  “What is it Rose?” Elliott asks.

  A figure is forming, a large man strolling the sidewalk across the street. I can’t be sure, but it looks a lot like Eric.

  “I think he’s outside,” I say. “Shelly, you need to go!”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she says.

  “Then I’m going to turn the TV off and blow your cover,” I say reaching towards the TV.

  “Stop!” Shelly yells. “Rose, this is my decision.”

  “I haven’t been good at letting people make their own decisions lately.”

  The figure outside moves closer and the familiar shape of Eric becomes clear.

  “It’s him,” Elliott says. “Isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “We’ve got to hide,” Elliott says. “In the closet or something. He’s not going to attack if there are other people in the room.”

  “We can tell the police,” I say, heading towards the door.

  Elliott grabs my arm. “No, we can’t risk scaring him off.”

  Trembling, I stare Elliott straight in the eye. “What is your plan?”

  “Wait until he gets close, then you scream while I jump him.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “Got any better ideas?”

  I scan outside again. He’s across the street now. When I check the living room, I see the Scanner distracted by something on the TV. Some protection. “They’re not going to be much help.”

  Elliott clenches his fist until it turns blue. “We’re ok.”

  “Don’t, you’ll give your powers away.”

  “It’s a last resort,” Elliott says.

  I turn off the TV and we sneak back into the closet. In the darkness, Elliott takes my trembling hand into his. Somehow, he seems calm.

  “Squeeze it when he’s here,” he whispers into my ear.

  He opens the closet door a crack and points a glowing blue finger towards the opening. Eric’s shadowy form creeps across the front lawn towards the bedroom window. The Scanner police officer shifts in his seat, and I can tell he’s beginning to track him. The officer stands up and heads towards the front door. A part of me wants him to reach Eric before he gets to the window, but that would scare him off. This may be our only chance to catch him. I move my gaze away from the officer and back to Eric, but he’s disappeared. Kicking myself for getting distracted, I frantically try to find him. But he’s nowhere around. My hand shakes in Elliott’s, and he holds me steady.

  I’m about to tell Elliott, when a form begins to materialize in the bedroom. I squeeze Elliott’s hand, and he bolts out of the closet.

  It happens so quickly. In a blur of scuffling bodies, Elliott wrestles Eric to the carpet. Eric’s body flails on the ground, trying to regain his balance and overtake Elliott. Finally, Shelly grabs a lamp from the corner desk and throws it at Eric’s head, knocking him out. Gasping for breath, Elliott collapses on top of Eric’s body. A moment later, the Hearer enters the room.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  I can barely speak through my panting. “That—that is your Catalyst.”

  He cocks his head in disbelief, and he turns towards Shelly. “Who are you?”

  “S-s-shelly,” she says. “Maddock’s daughter.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asks. “Where is Mrs. Williams?”

  “She’s safe,” I say.

  He stares down at me. “Where?”

  “She’s not telling you,” Elliott says, picking himself off the floor. “She doesn’t have to.”

  “I demand an explanation of what is going on,” he says.

  “We caught the Catalyst,” I say.

  “He attacked you?” he asks.

  “He nearly killed me,” Shelly says.

  “I just don’t know how to react to this,” the officer says.

  “How about a thank you,” Elliott says.

  “I don’t usually advocate civilians taking the law into their hands.”

  “So we should have let him kill her?” Elliott asks.

  “You should have told us,” the officer says. “Clearly you had some plan with moving Mrs. Williams.”

  “My mom had a right to leave,” I say.

  “This is great,” I say. “Here we stop a serial murderer, and we are the ones getting the third degree.”

  “We’ll see if he’s the Catalyst,” the officer says. “Have to take him down to the station first.”

  “He is,” I say.

  “Right,” the officer says. “Look, if everyone is ok, I’m going to have to ask you all to come down to the station and answer some questions.”

  “Great,” I say. “More interrogations.”

  ***

  It’s a long night of questions in the police station. We are interviewed one by one and I quickly tire of the roundabout questions as they attempt to fish an explanation out of me. I can’t tell them how I knew he would be able to evade them, so I just have to sound like an untrusting vigilante. Eventually, after explaining for what felt like the hundredth time, I’m released. As I walk down the hallway, I glance through the window at Elliott, still being questioned. His face is flushed red and I worry the veins on his neck will burst.

  When I return to Shelly in the reception room, Brad stands there waiting for me.

  “What were you thinking?” he asks. “Trying to capture him yourself?”

  “I was thinking it was our only shot,” I say. “They wouldn’t have gotten him otherwise.”

  “I’m not sure if your dad is lucky to have you, or should be grateful you haven’t died yet.”

  “Probably the latter.”

  Brad flashes a smile, then his face turns serious. “The whole thing has caused an uproar, as I’m sure you’d expect. No one knows what to think.”

  “Once the tests come through,” I say, “we’ll be fine. There has to be something connecting Eric to the crime scenes.”

  “Right. One thing I’ve been wondering though, is how did Eric get into the room?”

  I’ve been aske
d that question lots of times throughout the night and I couldn’t give the answer. I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “He’s a Squeezer.”

  “Really?”

  I double-check the room to make sure no one is listening before I continue, “He disappeared from my scanning, and I saw him materialize in the room. When I talked to Elliott later, he said he saw him materialize in the room. It’s how he was able to overtake him.”

  Brad stares off into space and then stomps his foot.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Don’t you see, he can’t be the Catalyst, not if he’s a Squeezer.”

  “Unless,” I say, “what Theo said was true. Maybe you can cultivate extra powers.”

  Brad sighed. “You know I only brought Theo in as a witness because it helped my case. The man’s nuts.”

  “You have a better explanation?” I ask.

  “Let’s just hope they find some Catalyst powers in Eric,” he says.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “They will.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After the whirlwind of activity, it’s nice to have a break for a while. Elliott and I enjoy camping on the couch and commenting on reality TV with Mrs. Ford. Occasionally the fun is broEric up with another breaking news report documenting the Catalyst saga. Now that Eric has been arrested, some talking heads have gone on to defending Dad, which is nice to see. Most of the time is spent on speculation, since the police are still keeping the details of the case under wraps. When it becomes clear the news will preempt all evening programming, Mrs. Ford suggests we go to Fowler’s Grove. It takes a bit of convincing, but Elliott agrees to come along with us.

  Elliott and I sit back and watch as Mrs. Ford stretches her wings out to catch the breeze. She flaps them gently, letting herself float elegantly over the glowlilies.

  “It’s a beautiful gift you gave her,” I say, holding his hand.

  Elliott just sits there, gazing out at the field.

  “It really is,” I say. “Look at how happy she is.”

  Mrs. Ford gleams with a huge smile as she floats across the lake, dipping her toes into the water, leaving small ripples behind. I turn towards Elliott, who continues to stare blankly.

  I punch him in the arm. “Stop that.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever you’re doing,” I say. “Worrying about what you did, what you’re going to do or—”

  “What’s going to happen when they convict Eric?” he asks. “People are going to know for sure about us. And their first meeting with a Catalyst wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

  I sit back into the bench. I’d hoped catching Eric would be the answer. That it would ensure my Dad’s innocence. But it was just a dream. Surely society wouldn’t let Dad co-exist with them, not knowing his capability for destruction.

  “So what now?” I ask.

  “There’s always the Naturals,” Elliott says.

  “I don’t know—”

  “I meant for me,” Elliott says. “I could talk to Peter. Maybe they’d take me in as long as I promised—”

  His face falls. Elliott knows as well as I do that if anyone would be terrified of a person who could create Elevateds at will, it would be the Naturals. Now the cover is blown, and there’s nowhere for him to hide.

  I put my arm around his shoulder. “We’ll think of something.”

  Elliott picks my arm off his shoulder and places it back by my side. “I’ll think of something.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You’ve lost your father, Rose, you’d better prepare yourself to lose me too.”

  I stand up. “I haven’t lost anyone yet. I’m not giving up, so don’t you dare!”

  I storm away from the bench, leaving Elliott alone as I kick pebbles into the grass. After all my efforts, he had no right to tell me what to do. Or who to love.

  Mrs. Ford swoops down next to me. “Is he still being a bonehead?”

  I smirk and nod.

  “He loves you, Rose,” Mrs. Ford says. “He wouldn’t want to protect you otherwise.”

  “I just wish he could be there. To give me what I need right now.”

  “And what is that?”

  Her question cuts into me. I’m not sure what I need right now. A friend? A boyfriend? The situation with the Catalyst has created such confusion in my head, I don’t even know which way is up anymore.

  “Maybe he’s just as confused as you are,” Mrs. Ford says. “Confused in life. Confused in love.”

  I nod.

  Mrs. Ford eyes light up. “Now watch this! I just learned it.”

  Mrs. Ford takes off, floating high above me in the night sky. Her feathers glisten in the soft moonlight as she leans backwards into several flips. She rotates like an elegant gymnast and unfurls her wings in a dramatic pose. I break into applause as she sails gently to the ground.

  “Not bad, huh?” she says.

  “Not at all,” I say. “Where did you learn that?”

  “Online,” she says. “Who said you can’t teach an old bat new tricks?”

  I laugh and turn to try to find Elliott, hoping he saw the amazing show. He stands behind us, and I think I catch him rubbing a tear out of his eye.

  “That was beautiful,” he says.

  Mrs. Ford runs over to him and gives him a hug, covering him in her wings. “Thank you so much.”

  Elliott just beams.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text from Zach.

  Coming to the test game?

  I show the phone to Elliott. “Think we should go?”

  “Why not?” Elliott says. “It might provide a good distraction.”

  “Volare is what, an eight hour car ride?” I ask.

  “Sounds nice,” Mrs. Ford says. “A nice scenic trip, just the two of you.”

  “And Shelly,” Elliott says. “She’d want to go too.”

  Mrs. Ford rolls her eyes. “You sure know how to cool things down in a hurry.”

  I laugh, but a part of me is glad to have Shelly along for the ride. With all the excitement going on, things between me and Elliott have come to the point that an eight hour ride alone sounds awkward.

  Of course, it only takes a few minutes before Shelly makes things awkward. Between complaining five times about the temperature of the car, arguing over what to put on the radio, and demanding we stop at a boutique store having “an unmissable sale,” I’m ready to throw her out of the car.

  “Ugh, it’s sooo hot!” Shelly moans from the backseat of the car.

  “It’s 74 degrees, same as before,” Elliott says.

  “Someone must have moved one of the fans,” Shelly says, fanning her face dramatically.

  I sigh. “You’re just hot because the air is stale from sitting in the parking lot for thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes, barely enough time to try on anything,” she says.

  “We have a schedule to keep, can’t be late for the game,” Elliott says.

  “At least I found this.”

  She holds up a bright pink dress with an emerald band. It glows obnoxiously under the afternoon sun, practically blinding me.

  “Faux lumosilk?” I ask.

  “I know, right? It looks almost real! Much better than that crap they sell at Spectrum. Anyway, I’m sure Zach will love it.”

  Elliott rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, “He won’t be able to miss you, that’s for certain.”

  Thankfully, the dress provides enough distraction for Shelly to quit complaining, although she shifts gears to endless prattle on accessories that would go with the dress.

  It’s getting dark by the time we reach the campus. As we pull into the stadium parking lot, I notice a lot of vans from different TV stations.

  “Volare tryouts have become a bit of a thing,” Elliott says. “Lots of people watch them to determine how they bet on games later. All illegal, of course.”

  “I should start putting money on Zach,” Shelly says.

  I shake my
head, but I can’t say the thought didn’t occur to me either.

  The colossal Volare stadium towers over the comparatively simple university buildings. The ornate white columns and walls resemble some grand piece of architecture from ancient Rome. In the front stands a bronze statue with a giant Flier, Runner, Jumper, and Climber, each in a dramatic stance. As I step inside, there’s a hard pounding in my chest. Everything about this place is imposing; I can only imagine how Zach must feel about to take center stage inside.

  Shelly wipes a tear from her eye. “Imagine Zach. Here.”

  “It’s pretty amazing,” Elliott says.

  “He was born for this. For greatness,” she says.

  It seems odd to argue with Shelly’s comment, but I have to wonder if Zach was born for this. Shy Zach, who barely spoke to anyone, now thrust into the spotlight.

  The stone floors echo with the cacophony of the crowds scurrying around. Soon, I’m swept up in the high energy, making me even more anxious to see Zach’s performance. Elliott checks our tickets, and leads us to our section, down a wide hallway and into the stadium.

  As we emerge into the light, I’m astounded at the scope of the field. I’m tempted to say it’s twice as big as the spikeball field at home, when I remind myself that spikeball demands a regulation sized field. The blockpiles on the ends of the stadium are glossy semi-transparent cubes that light up in different colors, a far cry from the rusted steel blocks from home.

  I turn to Elliott to find him open-mouthed in awe.

  “I heard this place was awesome, but—wow,” he says.

  We take our seats, still in shock from the view. Screens around the stadium flash with bright words announcing, “Volare Spikeball Team Trials,” before transitioning to montages of famous Volare players through the years.

  “That’s Drake Dawson,” Elliott says, pointing out a Runner on the screen. “He played for the Jumpsharks.”

  Drake dashes so quickly, he’s nothing but a blur. Then he jumps high in the air and spikes the ball to make a goal.

  “That was his special move,” Elliott says. “He could jump nearly as high as a Jumper.”

  “Maybe he honed in on another ability.”

  “Rose, that’s impossible.”

  “As far as we know.”

  The screen flashes another scene of Drake running before jumping again. His jump height seems well beyond normal human ability. I smile at Elliott, who grimaces back.