Which just left the fire in the garbage can that had already been explained by Mrs. Miles. Senior students and flammable chemicals improperly disposed of that had happened to ignite after he had thrown away his assignment. Again, just a coincidence.
But a really close one.
All you’d need to do is try to light the slip of paper, he thought as he grabbed another brick, the rough grain slipping against his skin as he pushed it into place. Then you’d know for sure. If the paper lights, and it’s not flash paper or something like that, and you did it, well … Then you’re an Unusual.
Then what?
The answer to the alternative was fairly simple. If he couldn’t light the paper, then he was just suffering from stress and a slightly eerie number of coincidences. He could go back to his day to day life, worry about getting his stress levels down and surviving school.
But if I was … He paused for a moment, a brick halfway in place, and wiped a hand across his forehead. What would I do then? Tell Mom and Dad? “Hey, by the way, I can set fire to things with my mind now. Isn’t that great?”
Yeah, that would go over—Well, I’m not really sure how that would go over, he thought as he pushed the brick the rest of the way into place. Would they be happy? Sad? Freaked out?
There was more to it outside of his parents. There would be registration—if he opted into it. Or if Mom and Dad wanted him to go that route. He’d have to get a new license with an NSAU stamp. Everyone at school would know he was an Unusual, and the bullying would probably get worse.
On the other hand, there would be positives as well. Unusuals qualified for a number of scholarships, provided they gave back at the end. There were a number of Unusual organizations that he could make use of even if he didn’t want to practice with his abilities.
That was the other thing. He didn’t have to use any abilities he could have. There was nothing saying that he did, though he wasn’t quite sure if the odd experiences he’d had already would continue once he was sure one way or the other. As long as he didn’t say anything, he could lead a normal life … once he’d graduated from high school.
His fingers scraped cool metal at the bottom of the wheelbarrow, and he glanced over at it in surprise. Empty already? He pushed himself up from his knees with a grunt. Time to get more.
“You’re kind of quiet today,” his dad said, shutting off the cement saw as Mark walked up, letting the wheelbarrow come to a stop next to the pallet of bricks they’d been slowly eating away at.
Mark shrugged. “Just thinking a lot.”
“What about?” His dad rose, stepping over to the pallet and passing a brick over with a smile. “Usually you’re a bit more talkative.”
“Just stuff,” he said as he took the brick. It felt heavy in his hands, and he set it in the base of the wheelbarrow with a heavy thunk. “The stress thing, basically.” That’s technically the truth.
“Yeah,” his dad said with a sigh before passing over two more bricks. “You were quiet about that at dinner last night, too. Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging as he placed the bricks in the wheelbarrow. “I haven’t had an attack today, if that means anything.”
“Well, that’s good, right?” More bricks went into the bottom of the wheelbarrow.
“I don’t know,” he said. He meant it: He wasn’t sure what to make of it. He could still feel the faint pressure. It just hadn’t done anything. “What if … What if it’s not the stress?”
“What do you mean?” His dad slowed, tossing a brick in one hand. “Do you think it’s something else?”
“What if it is?” he asked, reaching for the brick.
“Well, that depends,” his dad said, shrugging. “Would that be a good thing or a bad thing if it was?”
“I don’t know.”
His dad shrugged again. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? If it was something else, you’d probably know about it. And if you knew about it, it’d be pretty easy to tell if it was good or bad.”
“Just like that?”
“Well …” His father paused for a moment. “Is this hypothetical?”
“Hypothetically, yeah,” Mark said, giving his dad a small grin.
“So it’s hypothetically hypothetical,” his dad said with a shake of his head. “Is that like a double maybe, or what?”
Mark gave him a shrug. “Search me,” he said as he started the third layer of bricks. “But what if?”
“What if?” his dad asked. “For a hypothetical hypotheti—hypo— … For a maybe?” He lifted one eyebrow. “Is there something you didn’t tell the doctor or Mom and I?”
“Um … no,” Mark said, keeping his face straight. “I was just thinking about it and wondering if maybe it wasn’t the stress.”
“You have another idea of what it could be?”
“A few.”
“But you don’t want to elaborate, is that it?”
This time he just nodded, taking the bricks his father was passing and setting them in the wheelbarrow. There was only one row to go, now.
“And you don’t know if it’s good or bad.”
“It might just be paranoia,” he admitted. “I Googled my symptoms.”
“Oh,” his dad said, pausing for a moment and repeating it with an even lower pitch. “Oh. You Googled your symptoms. And now you’re freaking out?”
“Yeah.” That much definitely fit.
His dad let out a sigh. “And I’m guessing that you already took into account that most of what you saw was flat-out worst-case scenario stuff, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Which means you found something that has you genuinely worried?”
The question caught him by surprise. “I don’t know,” he said, feeling the tips of his ears go red. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He looked back at his dad and was surprised to see a worried look on his father’s face.
“Is it life-threatening?” his dad asked. “Is it something we should know about? Or is it one of those things where you’re going to have to take pills to keep going to school?”
“No? I don’t think so … to all of those questions?” He hadn’t heard anything about the last one, but he could see it happening.
“So we don’t need to know about it, but you’re worried about it?”
“Um ... hypothetically hypothetical?”
“So maybe.” His dad passed him the last two bricks and then leaned against the side of the pallet. “So you don’t know if it’s good or bad, or even if you should be worried about it, or even if you have whatever it is?”
That sounded right. “I guess so,” he said, setting the bricks on the wheelbarrow.
“Well then,” his dad said, straightening. “I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. You can either tell me about it, and then maybe I can help a little bit more … or you’ll have to figure it out on your own.”
“Figure out what?”
“Well …” His dad set his gloved hand on Mark’s shoulder. “For starters, whether it’s good or bad, worrying about it does you no good if you don’t actually have anything. Is there any way to find out? Or is this something we’d have to go back to the doctor for?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Doctor Diallo didn’t check for it. I don’t think he could anyway.”
“Okay …” his dad said, nodding. “But you can check for it?”
He nodded.
“Well, then, is it hard to test?”
“No.”
“Uh-huh. Is it embarrassing?”
“What? No!” He shrank down slightly at the outburst, taking a quick look around the rest of the park. Thankfully, it wasn’t that occupied, even for a weekend. Blessings of a cement saw’s scream.
“Do you need anything from us?”
“For the test?” He shook his head. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem?” His dad bent down and picked up some of the angled bricks he’d cut, lifting them u
p and setting them on top of the wheelbarrow. “Mark, whatever it is, if you can check yourself really quick, and it might not even be bad, than why not find out?” He paused. “You did say it wasn’t life threatening, right?”
“Right.” Unless I manage to set myself on fire.
“And do you think you might really have … whatever it is you think you might have?”
“Maybe?”
“More hypotheticals.” His dad went quiet for a moment, the only sound the scrape of brick against brick as he set another few angled pieces along the sides of the wheelbarrow. “Sounds like your stress-free weekend hasn’t gotten off to a good start.” He motioned towards the handles, and Mark lifted the wheelbarrow with a grunt.
“So then, since you’re not giving me much to go off of,” his dad said, walking alongside him as they moved back towards the half-completed pathway. “I need to ask: Is it urgent? Do you need to find out right away? Because if it isn’t … I’ve got to be honest, I think the only answer I’ve got is to just find out. Once you know, then you can worry about the rest of it.”
“And if it’s bad?”
“If it’s bad, it was going to be bad anyway. There’s nothing you can do about it. But at least you’ll know.”
He nodded. His dad had a good point. There was no point in putting it off.
“But in all honesty?”
“Yeah?” Mark asked as he got down on his knees, already reaching for a brick.
“If I were you, and this wasn’t time sensitive like you said it wasn’t …”
“Yeah?”
“Why not wait it out?” his dad suggested. “Don’t let it eat at you all weekend. Enjoy the weekend and relax.”
“Besides,” he said as he crouched nearby and picked up one of the angled edge pieces he’d cut. “You might just find that Doctor Diallo was right, and it’s just stress. And stressing out about it won’t make it any better.”
“Or …” his father continued. “You could just find out immediately, and then start worrying about something new. But if you want my opinion, just wait for a little while.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure,” his dad said, nodding. “Like you said, it’s not time-sensitive, and you’ve got time off from school in the meantime. If you find out that this thing isn’t stress, that goes away. So take advantage of it while you can and have some fun.”
“Well …”
“And,” his dad said, slotting another edge into place. “I’m ready to talk about something else. See any good games lately?”
“Well …” Mark said, sliding another brick into place. “I did watch a pretty good one last night …”
Overhead, the sun beat down on him as he lost himself in the project and in forgetting about his problems for a little bit. His dad was right.
It could wait. Maybe.
* * *
“Excuse me,” Mark said, waving his hand slightly. “Brother Vilaro?” The large, grinning man turned in Mark’s direction, his grin growing wider.
“Mark!” he said, excited. “Do you need something?”
“Actually, I do,” Mark said, taking a quick look around at the rest of the small church. “Could I ask you about it in private? It’s kind of a stupid question …”
“Well, if it is, then there’s probably a stupid answer, and I’m the expert on those,” Brother Vilaro said with a laugh. Mark let out a chuckle as well. The man always seemed to be smiling, and he always had an answer, even to the strangest questions. Usually one that managed to be both funny and helpful.
“Come on,” the large man said, turning. “We’ll grab one of the side rooms. We have a few minutes before I’m supposed to help with the kids, so hopefully I can answer your question.” He led the way to one of the smaller, unused rooms in the small church. “In here,” he said, leaning himself up against a table that probably hadn’t seen outside sunlight in years. “What do you need?”
“I just had a question,” Mark said, standing with his back to the doorframe. “What does the church think about Unusuals?”
“Unusuals?” Brother Vilaro seemed surprised. “You mean, like, uh—?”
“Magic users?” Mark asked. “Yeah. Or lycanthropes, vampires, or whatever else there is out there.”
“What do you mean?” Brother Vilaro asked.
“Well, are they good or bad or—?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brother Vilaro said, holding up a hand. “Mark, Mark! Are you kidding? Has no one ever talked about this with you?”
“Well … no,” he said, shrugging. “That’s why I was asking.”
Brother Vilaro let out a sigh. “Tell me, Mark. Do we turn away anyone because of the color of their skin?”
“No.”
“What about their sex?”
“No.”
“Age?”
“No.”
“Race?”
“No.”
“Then why,” Vilaro said, his head falling to one side. “Why then would you think that the church would turn someone away because they were an Unusual?”
“Well … aren’t they … you know … different?”
“So?”
Mark shook his head. “I mean, they can set people on fire, or turn into wolves or something?”
“Again,” Brother Vilaro said. “I ask: so?”
“Well, isn’t that … I don’t know, against some commandment somewhere?”
“Ah …” Vilaro said, nodding. “Well, at least you’re asking the right question. Is it?”
“Is what?”
“Is being an Unusual against any commandment?”
“Well …” He paused. “That’s kind of why I was asking you. I don’t know.”
“Well then, let me explain it in as plain terms as I can,” Brother Vilaro said. “Suppose a man or woman comes into our church to worship on the Sabbath and has cancer. Do we turn them away?”
“No.”
“Right. What if they had cancer, but were a murderer?”
“Well …” Mark said. “That’s kind of complicated. Are they looking to commit more murder?”
“Yes.”
“Then they’re not really worshipping God,” Mark said. “So no, I don’t think they’d be welcome until they were at least trying to follow the commands of God that have been laid down.”
“All right,” Vilaro said, nodding. “What about someone who wasn’t a member of our congregation but a member of another religion came and was respectful and curious? Would we allow them to come?”
“Yeah.”
“So then, what about a vampire?” Brother Vilaro asked. “What if a heavily wrapped woman came in, sat down and removed her wrap to reveal that she was a vampire?”
“Well …”
“She doesn’t hunt human victims, and she abides by the rules of our church,” Brother Vilaro said. “Would we turn her away just because she fell victim to a virus that changed her body?”
“Well … no,” Mark said. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Of course not,” Brother Vilaro said, shaking his head. Unusuals are human, Mark, just like you or I.”
“But they have powers,” Mark said. “What about those?”
“You want powers?” Brother Vilaro asked, grinning. “I can crack a coconut with my bare hands. That’s a power, if you like coconut milk. Does that change who I am?”
“No.”
“Of course not,” Vilaro said, lifting one hand and bringing it down on his thigh with a meaty slap. “It’s what I do with my hands that matters to the Lord. Do I do good with my hands? Am I following in the path that the Savior, requires of me? If so, than I am good in the eyes of the Lord. And if I do evil, then I earn my reward.”
“Someone who is Unusual is no different,” Vilaro said. “Though they may have different trials than you or I, their abilities are as much a part of who they are as yours or mine. What matters is if they follow the commands of God, do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Mark said,
nodding. “I think I do.”
“Everyone is given different challenges and skills, Mark,” Vilaro said. “For instance, there are certain commandments—guidelines—given by prophets of old concerning the act of necromancy. To someone who actually has that ability …” He shuddered. “It is up to them to control and use their gifts within the lines that our Savior has decreed for us. Much of what they could do would be against the commands of God.”
“So it’s what an Unusual does with their power,” Mark said.
“The same as any of us,” Vilaro said. “Remember, Mark. The Savior came to save all mankind who followed him and did as He asked. What color a person is, whether they’re old or young, whether or not they can spin light into their air somehow … none of that matters. What matters is that they follow the commandments of God. That may mean using their abilities in a way they had not anticipated, or it may mean not using them in a way they previously intended, or not using them at all. But it doesn’t matter what you are, it’s who you are. As long as that who is trying to follow the admonitions of the Savior, striving to keep His commandments, and living within the boundaries that He sets, then that’s what matters. Not whether or not they’re a member of The Pack or some other group. Unless that group is actively trying to keep them from obeying those same commandments.”
He shook his head. “Whew. That was a bit longer of an answer than I expected. Does that help with your question?”
“Actually … yeah, it does,” Mark said, nodding. “Thanks.”
“Do you mind if I ask why you were curious?”
“I, uh … just asking for someone I know. I’d never really thought about it before.”
“Uh-huh,” Brother Vilaro said. Then he pushed himself away from the table. “Well, I’m glad you asked. Some people just want to hate something that’s different and use whatever they can as an excuse—though I expect you understand that going to our school here.”
Unusual Events: A Short Story Collection Page 5
