Lucy pulled me along. "What's the matter? We're going
to be late."
"Sorry, just caught a stray thought that bothered
me."
"Don't worry about what people are saying, or thinking.
You'll be old news in no time flat. Besides, you won't even be here much
longer, and none of this will matter."
No more thoughts came up about the boy, but the school was
abuzz about the fire. Anyone with a penchant or para-power for fire became a
suspect. When Lucy and Luke left me, I just ignored everyone, hid in the
bathroom, and applied another layer of cover-up to my bruise, but hiding was no
use.
Mary and her pack entered the bathroom chattering away.
I scurried into a stall to avoid her, but not in time.
Her hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me out before I
could close the door. "If it isn't the little kiss-ass hiding in the
bathroom. What? Afraid you might scare the younger kids with your new
look?"
I backed away from Mary, fear of conflict once again ruling
me. But something snapped. The small fire that had started when I stood up to
Dollinger now flamed to life. I stepped forward, for the first time invading
Mary's personal space, and stared her in the eyes, so close her breath crawled
over my skin. Power flooded me and I finally felt in control. This dwarfed even
the rush I'd felt by the pool.
"What is your problem, Mary? Honestly, what do you gain
by tormenting me? Does it stroke your fragile self-esteem? Are you so pathetic
that only hurting other people makes you feel better? Do you really think that
makes you hot shit?"
I didn't wait for her to reply. "Well, you know what, I
don't really care anymore. Say what you want, it makes no difference."
Her eyes narrowed and her mouthed dropped open. Not the
response she'd expected.
Her two lackeys held onto frozen sneers, waiting to see what
would happen.
"And here's a tip for you. Don't mess with a girl who
reads minds. I can pull out every thought you've ever had. What do you think
I'll find if I do that? I can tell you what everyone else thinks of you too. Do
you think the guys at this school really like you? That your powers make real
feelings? You're fooling yourself, Mary, but no one else. They despise you for
what you do to them." My voice sounded ugly, nothing like the real me—at
least, the me I'd always imagined. Yet the raw righteousness of it, of feeding
her the bile she always spewed at us, was like peeling off an itchy scab.
Her face collapsed, and she ran out of the bathroom,
followed by her friends.
I sank onto the nearest toilet, shaking. Out of fear, rage,
guilt? Standing up to her didn't feel as good as expected.
Maybe I felt bad because it felt so good, if that made any
sense at all.
But something inside me rose up to greet this new girl who
wouldn't allow herself to be pushed around, and against my own better judgment,
I thought of my mystery boy.
***
I lost track of how long I sat in the bathroom, alone in my
thoughts. When a group of giggling girls came in, I slid past them and out into
the crowded halls of my school.
The bustle of life and my swirling thoughts made it hard to
focus on anything. The adrenaline surge from my confrontation with Mary had
long since passed, leaving me shaky and tired. My head ached and my eye pounded
a steady pulse of pain with each heartbeat.
A familiar tug pulled at me, beckoning me to hide out in my
room and cocoon myself from the harsh realities of life, but I couldn't. I
first had to figure out what had happened to the art studio and my mentor.
With this renewed determination as armor against my pain, I
focused my mind to search for the one person who might have some answers.
Kyle. The only fire starter in school.
His mental signature led me out of the building and through
the gardens and walking paths near The Hub. I found him slumped over on a
bench, lighting his finger like a lighter and then blowing it out. Light, blow,
repeat.
"Kyle, can I talk to you?"
Though I'd kept my voice calm, he still jumped out of his seat
and let loose a small ball of flames into the air. His eyes widened in fear at
the loss of control, and he quickly diffused it before it could start any
bigger fires.
"Sam, I heard you were back. I'm sorry about what
happened... with your art."
I gestured to the bench. "May I join you?"
His eyes shuffled back and forth like a man hunted, but he
nodded.
I settled in next to him and tried to maintain eye contact
despite his shifting gaze. "You know I can read your mind whether you're
looking at me or not."
"Sorry. It's just... I know everyone thinks I caused
the fire, but I swear, I didn't."
'Don't know anything... but sensed something that
night.... No one believes me.... Think I don't have control.'
"I believe you, Kyle. Can you tell me what you sensed that
night?"
His golden eyes dropped, leaving me to stare at his auburn
scalp.
"Okay, look. I know this sounds weird, but I can sense
if there's a fire around. It's like, my body tingles or something." He
looked back up, perhaps to judge my reaction.
I kept a neutral face and encouraged him to continue.
With more confidence, he did. "I can also tell
something about the fire. Like, I know in my bones if it's manmade or natural
or what, you know?"
"Makes sense."
"So, okay, that night, something weird happened. Like,
that fire didn't just happen by accident. Someone started it on purpose."
"It was arson?" I had no room left in me for fear
or shock, only a numb sadness.
"Yeah, but more than that. See, the fire started with
power. Like, someone else who has a power like mine started it."
This shoved away some of the numb. "Another fire
starter?"
"Yes and no. Like me but not. Fire starting's not their
real, full power. It's like they were stealing the power from somewhere else.
Then I felt it."
"What?"
"The draining. They stole the power from me. So you
see? It really was my fault. I'm so sorry, Sam."
Tears filled his eyes and he dropped his head again to hide
his pain, but it still washed over me in thoughts and feelings and images. I
opened myself and let everything he thought and felt hit me. Then I took all
that raw data and shoved it into a special compartment in my own mind to
examine later.
I reached for Kyle's hand. "It's not your fault.
Whoever did this stole your power... you can't be held responsible for that.
Thank you for telling me."
He looked up with something akin to hope in his eyes. We all
needed forgiveness for our sins, perceived or real. We all craved absolution,
so I gave him his.
"It's okay, Kyle. I'll figure out what happened. It's
not your fault. But, don't tell anyone else this, all right? At least not until
I uncover the truth about that night."
A buzzing filled me, and I left him to his thoughts as I
walked through the winding paths without purpose or destination. Someone had
stolen another para-power and burned up my work.
Why would anyone do that? And who could possibly have that
kind of power?
I needed to find out, and I needed help.
Awareness flickered in and out like pinpricks of light
through a torn window curtain. Voices, footsteps, the clank of metal, the
medicinal smell that permeated his dreams—these small, mundane sounds woke
Drake from his unconscious visions and pulled him from the blue-eyed girl in
his mind.
The thump of his heart seemed abnormally loud, and for a
moment he wondered if he had died and gone to some limbo place where grey souls
lived. But no, not dead—the sound belonged to a monitor attached to him,
broadcasting the rhythmic beat of his heart to the world.
He focused on keeping the sound steady as he opened his eyes
to take in his surroundings. The unremarkable hospital room gave him no sense
of place or time.
A tickle itched his nose and he moved his arm to scratch it,
only to find that he couldn't move. His limbs had been restrained to the
hospital bed: two thick straps across his legs, a strap across his chest and a
strap to tie down each wrist.
An I.V. dripped a viscous yellow solution into his veins and
created a mild burn that ran up his arm and through his body. The door to his
room was closed, so he focused his powers to surge through his muscles and free
him from his prison.
Pain flashed through him like fire in his blood, and his
strength abandoned him.
He lay on the bed panting, wrung out and useless. He fought,
pulled, flexed, and lifted himself in an effort to overcome the effects of the
drug, to no avail. His efforts won him not freedom, but rather several burns
and cuts into his skin. They would heal soon enough, if the drug didn't inhibit
that part of him as well.
Defeated, he relaxed into the bed and wondered how he'd let
himself get caught. He should have listened to Father Patrick and Brad. He
should've known he'd never be allowed to live his dreams.
These thoughts fanned the fires of his rage, but that fire had
no will, no power to grow. Exhausted, Drake slept... and dreamt.
***
He sits on the bed, as still as a mouse—as still as a
dead mouse, his new daddy would say. Dead mice can't move. Dead boys can't move
either, so Drake doesn't move a single muscle. He doesn't want to be a dead
boy.
New Daddy will be home soon. New Mommy locks herself in
her room with the bottles that smell funny. She won't come out again, Drake
knows. She won't help him, not like his real mommy who smelled like roses and
laughed a lot, except that last night.
Real Mommy and Daddy gave lots of hugs and cuddles and
let him eat ice cream on special days. They loved Drake, but they weren't
strong like him, and when the car made the awful crunching sounds, and their
blood got all over him, he watched as the light in their eyes faded to nothing.
They died and left him.
Now he will die if he isn't very careful. So Drake sits
still and he waits.
When the front door crashes open, he inhales sharply, but
doesn't make a peep. Not one. If he lies down or tries to hide, New Daddy will
be even madder.
New Daddy starts shouting in the living room and throwing
things against the wall. Soon, New Daddy will come to Drake's room. Soon, it
will be Drake's turn.
Still, he waits.
His bedroom door flies open and New Daddy stands there,
big and mean and scary and smelling like those bottles and cigarettes.
"You've been a bad boy, son. It's time to take your punishment."
Drake squeezes his eyes shut and stays very quiet.
When the blows come, he doesn't make a sound.
When the fist lands on his face and the pain explodes in
his head, he still doesn't move.
When it's over, he's allowed to lie down, finally.
New Daddy leaves and closes the door.
Drake cries silently into his pillow.
New Daddy knows Drake is strong, stronger than other
four-year-olds. New Daddy knows Drake will heal.
And Drake knows New Daddy will be back.
Someday, Drake will be ready for New Daddy.
***
The wild beating of Drake's heart woke him with a jolt,
sweat beading his forehead. He couldn't control the
thrump-thrump-thrump
as his heartbeat accelerated in panic.
A nurse rushed in, needle in hand as if brandishing a
weapon. Her eyes widened in surprise and fear. "You're awake. You
shouldn't be."
He ignored the stupidity of her comment. "Where am I?
Why have you kidnapped and imprisoned me?"
She frowned in confusion. "We didn't kidnap you, we
saved you."
He sneers at her. "From what? A surfing victory? Thanks
so much for that."
She shuffled away from him, though she hadn't come close
enough for him to reach her. "The doctor will be here any minute. He'll
explain everything. But you're lucky we found you in time. You could have
died."
She looked at the needle in her hand, then capped and
pocketed it and left as quickly as she had come.
Guess she didn't want to get too close.
Drake counted the tiles on the browning ceiling as he waited
for the doctor, though he doubted he'd get an honest answer from anyone here.
A moment later, a tall man with bushy eyebrows walked in.
"I'm Dr. Pana, your treating physician. The nurse tells me you think we
kidnapped you."
The doctor's smooth-as-glass voice wrapped itself around
Drake like velvet. His will weakened, for just a moment, and the good doctor
almost cracked Drake's defenses and wormed his way in. Almost.
"I was drugged, knocked out, and strapped down against
my will. What would
you
call it?"
A caterpillar eyebrow shot up in surprise, the only evidence
that the doctor had underestimated Drake's ability to resist him. "A new
organization is bent on destroying anyone with unique gifts such as yours. They
targeted you and would have killed you had we not intervened in time. We're
keeping you here for your own safety, and, given the nature of your gifts and
some of your past deeds, we found it necessary to restrain you for the staff's
safety. We have to make sure you are stable and safe, Mr. Davis, before we can
release you."
"Where am I?"
"You're being cared for in an undisclosed private
facility where anyone intending you harm cannot track you. Now I suggest you
take advantage of this time to rest and heal."
Dr. Pana pressed the nurse's buzzer. "Please bring the
patient's medicine."
When the nurse returned, she shook as if scared, but Drake
didn't think he was the cause. She cast furtive glances at Dr. Pana as she
reached over with a needle and inserted the syringe into his I.V. "Rest
now."