“You aren’t a teenager?”
“My not wanting to see you has nothing to do with me being a teenager and everything to do with me having forbidden you people from bothering me anymore. Go away. Call the Psychic Hotline if you want fruitless advice.”
“Look, we really need your help. Will you just give us a chance to explain, please?”
“No. I know how this story goes. I give you the chance to explain, and then I get caught up in some sort of mystery or conspiracy and have to run around town while the bodies pile up left and right. I’m sorry but I’m in the middle of finals and I really want to stay life-threatening experience free. Just for this week. Come back next Friday and we’ll talk.”
Looking at Samantha helplessly, Lane shrugged, out of ideas. Sam wasn’t. Type A personalities she knew. She tapped on the door again, “Hello again.”
“I said no!”
“I understand your trepidation, but we really did come a long way to see you. We just need a consultation. You won’t have to leave the apartment. And we’ll give you plenty of time to study.”
Silence.
“And if you don’t talk to us, we’ll sit outside of your window with a radio blasting hip hop until, oh, sometime after midnight.”
The door opened a crack, catching on the chain. Two hazel brown eyes peaked out through the chain, narrowed, “You wouldn’t dare. There are laws about that.”
Sam’s breath caught for a moment at that gaze. It was a little too vacant for comfort. She sidled to the right slightly and the eyes didn’t follow her. She let out her breath, “If the police show up, we’ll just leave and come back in fifteen minutes. And that’s if they even do show up. This is a big city with more important things going on. Wouldn’t you rather see us and get it over with? At least that way your curiosity won’t drive you crazy. It’s pretty weird stuff, you know.”
The door shut. They heard a rattle of the chain and the door reopened. “It better be damn weird. Please come in. I’m Audrey but I’m sure you knew that already.” The girl let the door swing wide, her voice filled with false cheer. Seeing that none of the men seemed too eager, Sam gave them a look and went in. For crying out loud, it was a teenage girl, not the bogeyman.
“And don’t move anything!” Audrey snapped, “I don’t enjoy ramming my kneecap into a misplaced chair when I get my Fruity Pebbles in the morning, thank you very much.”
The apartment, though finished with odds and ends, was surprisingly homey. Pillows and blankets covered the two worn couches, and mismatched area rugs crowded the beat-up wood floors.
Al looked at Sam and whispered, “Crabby.”
“I heard that,” Audrey said, “And you’d be crabby too if you hadn’t slept in a week and you have a chem test in two days you still hadn’t studied for. I hate chem, by the way.”
Samantha looked to the girl, who stood in the kitchen/dining room, her hand resting lightly on a chair. She was about seventeen or eighteen and two or three inches taller than Samantha. But where Sam was a bit gangly and coltish, this girl seemed to be all curves, poise, and grace. Well, almost grace. As much grace as a seventeen-year-old just exiting a growth spurt could have. But even her dark brown hair fell in pretty waves past her shoulders. Samantha had to stifle a pang of jealousy. She’s a teenager, Sam reminded herself, I wouldn’t trade being past that for anything. Not even to look like I stepped out of a Renaissance portrait.
“Take a seat, please, it makes me uncomfortable to have people standing around. I like to know where everything is.”
Confused by this statement, Sam took a second look and realized what she hadn’t noticed before—the hazel brown eyes, though piercing, still stared straight ahead. Then Samantha noticed the white cane leaning against the kitchen cabinets next to the door and really felt like an idiot.
“Everyone seated?” Audrey asked.
Sam wasted no more time and sat down at the small round table. Lane took the chair next to her. As the tiny kitchen was already crammed, Al and Harry took a seat on the edge of the couch.
“I might, I might help you with the chem, if you like,” Samantha stuttered, “I did OK in organic.”
Audrey shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. After affirming that they were all seated the girl went to the cupboard and started pulling down mismatched glasses: “I guess N.T.U. sent you. Unless you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses. Um, you aren’t, are you? Good. Everyone tell me your name and if you want wild cherry Kool-Aid or water.”
After pouring the drinks and finishing introductions, Audrey had each person come get their cup and then sat at the table across from Samantha.
“So, what do you wanna talk about?” Audrey finally asked, settling back in her chair and resolutely looking down. As though she thought her sightless eyes might bother her company.
A pause followed until Samantha realized the boys were all staring at her expectantly. She cleared her throat, “Uh. They know more than me. But, bad guys are after me, the Corp, specifically. And we don’t know why.”
“Mmmhmm.” Audrey pursed her lips, “Lane, can you tell me more?”
“Samantha is a late bloomer, so to speak. She’s only going through transition now, at twenty-two. She caught our attention after a rather nasty car accident.”
“Did you cause the car accident?” Audrey asked sharply.
“No. I stopped it, I think.”
“Apparently, Sam saved a bus full of people, though she blacked out soon after, and apparently can’t remember.”
Apparently, Samantha thought, what’s that supposed to mean, apparently? Of course I can’t remember. Sensing her annoyance, Lane spared her a glance but continued, “Sam can’t remember what happened but now the Corp is after her, in a big way. We’re trying to get her to headquarters, but they’re throwing a lot of firepower our way. And to be honest, we don’t know why.”
“What do you mean you don’t know why? She’s in late transition. Transition later, power greater, isn’t that how the saying goes? And she saved a bus. I’m not totally familiar with you people’s abilities, but even I know that’s pretty tough. They want her on their side or they want to kill her so N.T.U. doesn’t get her. There. Problem solved.”
“But, that’s the thing. Transition aside, Sam doesn’t seem to have any regular power. Nothing she can use.”
“Isn’t that the definition of transition? Not knowing how to use your power?” Audrey asked dryly. She loved playing the skeptic, Sam realized, even more than Sam herself did.
“It’s more than transition.” Lane’s voice was firm. “She’s had massive outbursts of energy, but so far hasn’t been able to do anything with it. It’s not a matter of skill, because she can shield. Which is the only thing that doesn’t require any actual...” He petered off.
“Talent,” Audrey filled in. She wasn’t as concerned with preserving people’s feelings.
Sam sat back. It was the truth. Still, it was like when she did ballet as a small child and a teacher had told her just how rhythmless she was. It may have been the truth, but it still stung.
Audrey steepled her fingers, deep in thought, “This is interesting. What would the Corporation want with a skilled, but talentless, Talent? A person who, irregularly, has tons of power but no way to channel it?” She said nothing for a moment, humming softly and tunelessly, “It’s time to go digging. Samantha, tell me a little about yourself, please.”
Sam felt like she was under a microscope—how could Audrey DO that? She cleared her throat and tried her best to sound normal. It was like taking a polygraph test. “Oh, there’s not much to tell. I go to college. I study economics and finance—I’m a double major. I’m about to graduate and I’ve been interviewing for jobs with a few major firms—”
“No, no. Deeper, please. What were you doing on the day of the bus crash?”
“Visiting the Getty.”
“Do that a lot?”
“Yes, of course. I like art. I like to read.” This time, Audrey’s was the fa
ce that showed a pang of jealousy.
“Where’d you go to high school?”
“Washington. Eastern Washington.”
“Do you ever get homesick?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?” Samantha snapped. These questions were getting pretty nosy. What did any of this have to do with her problem?
Audrey raised an eyebrow. “I miss my hometown a lot. Mostly I miss my friends, my family.”
“Oh, I get it. This is an oblique way to find out about my family history, right? As though that has anything to do with anything. You know, you may be some hot-shot detective for a teenager, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“You know,” Audrey snapped, imitating Samantha’s voice exactly, “anyone with a normal home life would have just answered the question. But you decided to get defensive. People don’t get defensive unless they have something to hide. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Audrey went back to her normal dulcet, if somewhat sarcastic, tone, “Why don’t you want to answer the question? Or should I fill the blanks in myself?”
“I’m not upset,” Samantha said, “I think you’re pursuing an irrelevant path.”
“I’m the expert here. Let me decide what’s relevant.”
Sighing, Sam leaned back, trying her best to adopt a pose of nonchalance. But she knew it wasn’t fooling Lane. Heck, it wasn’t fooling Audrey, and she was blind.
“I didn’t have a home life, really,” Sam said, “I was in different foster homes from the time I was twelve. It wasn’t terrible, but I never particularly bonded with anyone. So when I left for college, there was no looking back.”
There. Nice. Concise. Non-emotional. Perfect. She waited for that look to come over Audrey’s face, the look people always got, the “Oh, I’m so sorry I asked” look. It never came. Samantha couldn’t even look at Lane. She didn’t want to know what she would see there.
“Why were you in foster care? What happened to your parents?”
Samantha shrugged, “I lived with my mom until I was eleven. When she died, custody transferred to my dad. But he had health issues, so I was relinquished to the State.”
“How’d your mom die?”
Now came the part she’d dreaded. Sam’s gaze sidled to Lane, whose face held that aforementioned look of sympathy. He would know, soon, what she’d been hiding from him. This was horrible. She didn’t want to talk about these things. She’d invested a lot of time and energy making sure she wouldn’t have to talk about these things. And if anyone else had had the gall to ask, she would have told them to mind their own beeswax.
“Sam, did you hear?”
Sam took a deep breath. “It was a car accident.”
“What happened? Hit a tree, another car?”
“The brakes failed.”
Lane straightened, looking at her with that surprised expression of dismay that she’d known would come. Al coughed, choking on his Kool-Aid, and Harry—who had been dozing—sat up, wide-awake. Now they knew, really, why she had freaked out in the diner.
“Were you in the car at the time?”
“Yes.”
Though she was clearly aware of the implications, Audrey had the good sense not to push the issue. She decided to pursue another avenue instead: “And your dad’s health issues. They aren’t related to his mental health, are they?”
“Yes.” OK, that was creepy that she’d guessed that. And Audrey seemed so unsurprised. She pursed her lips, nodding to herself. Samantha wondered if the girl fancied herself a modern Sherlock. Or if this was why the Talents held her in so much fear—because in meeting her, they risked having their secrets forcefully exposed?
Audrey stood up, “I have to study. Do you guys have a hotel? If you don’t, you can chill out here. Watch TV with the volume low, play cards, sleep on the couch, and get me some pizza and Popsicles—that’s not a request, that’s part of the price of your consultation. I’m also going to want a good breakfast. I’ll have some advice for you tomorrow.”
“That’s it? You ask a few nosy questions and then go off on your way?”
“Give me a break,” Audrey said, “You can’t rush destiny. You have to wait until it comes to you. And appreciate the fact that I have a history test tomorrow and I’m going to have to have another night of cruddy sleep, so there.”
The night progressed pretty much as Audrey had described. It almost felt surreal to Samantha, the way people could be so normal in the midst of what was, to her, a major crisis. The four friends played cards and watched a movie, ordering pizza for dinner. Al and Harry left to get Popsicles, a welcome addition to the muggy night. After dinner, everyone took some much needed alone time. Harry worked on his laptop, Al watched TV, Sam read, and Lane wrote in his journal until bedtime. The pull-out couch bed was big enough for two of the guys to share. Lane lost the rock-paper-scissors playoffs and wound up in the recliner. And Samantha, it was decided, would share a bed with Audrey.
Exhausted as she was, Sam was past the point of caring where she slept, and she suspected Audrey was as well. The two girls changed into PJs and climbed into the bed.
“I might kick,” Audrey warned Sam. Sam shrugged. Once, she’d had to share a bed with a ten-year-old girl who was a chronic bedwetter and had night terrors. Nothing could be worse than that. Clutching her pillow, Samantha drifted off.
#
“YOU FUCKING BITCH,” the man yelled. The acrid smell of sweat and his dirty, vomit-stained T-shirt was so prevalent that Samantha had to choke back her own bile. She watched, paralyzed, as he swept forward, swinging something—was that a chair leg? With a smack and a cry, a woman went down, weeping and clutching her head. Blood poured from her ears, red and ugly.
#
This one slept curled up in a doorway in an alley, snoring softly, wearing a heavy trench coat, curled up on top of a large, overstuffed duffel bag. A shadow clung to the wall and approached. The shadow moved forward and brought a two-by-four down with a crack. The snoring stopped, and the shadow went to work, quickly removing the trench coat and opening up the duffel. Inside he found some rags of clothes, an old pair of boots, some dog tags, a bottle of gin with a finger of liquor left, and an old transistor radio. The shadow took the coat, shoes, and radio and disappeared into the night.
#
A scream pierced the night and Samantha woke gasping. It was dark, but the air was hot, oppressively heavy. The open window did little to help, with either the heat or the darkness. Sweat dripped down her front, into her bra, and her heart pounded. Sam wondered for a moment if the scream she’d heard was hers. Then she looked over and saw Audrey sitting up straight, panting, looking as distressed as Sam felt. The door flew open with a bang and Lane stood silhouetted in the hall, Harry and Al close behind him.
“Samantha! Are you all right?”
Samantha nodded, then felt stupid realizing Lane couldn’t see her in the dark. “It wasn’t me.”
“Sorry.” Audrey’s voice sounded hollow in the darkness, “I should have warned you guys.”
Lane flipped on the lights and now Sam could see Audrey’s sheepish expression, “I scream sometimes, during the nightmares.”
“If your dreams were anything like the ones I just had, I don’t blame you.”
Audrey’s brow furrowed at that comment.
“Excuse me.” The voice belonged to a newcomer: a man standing behind Lane in the doorway, dressed and holding a glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie. With the same hair and eye color as Audrey, he was obviously related. Judging by his age, Sam guessed older brother. He gave Lane and company a curious glance, but said nothing. He placed the cookies on a nightstand and handed the milk to his sister, who smiled, “Thanks, Rob.”
Rob nodded, yawning. He turned to them, “All right, everyone, I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but the show’s over. You can have your answers tomorrow. Right now my sister needs to get some sleep for her test.”
Audrey tu
rned to Sam, “On second thought, I think it might be a crazy night. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable in the living room.”
Inclined to agree, Sam grabbed her pillow and climbed out of the bed. Gently herding everyone out of the room, Rob turned off the light and shut the door to Audrey’s room. He caught Samantha’s eye and smiled warmly, “You have enough blankets and pillows, right?”
Samantha nodded. Now she had more to be envious of. What would it have been like to have a protective older brother like Rob looking after her? She padded into the living area, surreptitiously watching Lane help Al and Harry fix the hide-a-bed. Those three were almost like brothers, she thought, except they were more doing this out of a sense of decency and obligation than fraternal attachment towards her.
“You want the recliner, Sam?”
Sam nodded, climbing into the nest Lane had already made. It was comfy, but, tired as she was, she couldn’t think of sleeping. Not after the scenes she’d just witnessed. It was one thing to know people were bad, to be mistrustful and suspicious. It was another to watch, helpless, as someone bashed a man’s head in for a coat and a crappy radio. Even after all she’d been through, it made Sam sick to her stomach, knowing she lived in a world like that. She wondered if those were the kinds of dreams Audrey had been alluding to earlier. If so, it explained a lot. Sam guessed she didn’t hold the monopoly on crappy childhoods.
“Awake, Samantha?” Lane whispered. It wasn’t really a question. Of course he knew she was awake.
“What do you want?”
Lane got up and came over to the recliner, sitting next to it and talking softly so he wouldn’t wake up his friends: “You OK? You look kind of sick yourself, you know.”
Sam nodded, “I guess nightmares are contagious.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder. The gesture should have been awkward. She didn’t normally like this kind of touching—any kind of touching, actually. But something inside her responded to his touch, the warmth and reassurance that came with it. Something she very quickly squelched.
“Don’t worry,” he went on, “We’re here to protect you.”
Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) Page 11
