Death Whispers (Death Series, Book 1) (23 page)

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I'll get it back on Monday.”

“I don't know, we may not test in the same
building.”

That was true. It was alphabetical. Hart, Weller;
probably not.

“Tuesday then.”

“Okay.”

“So, I have a huge favor to ask,” I began.

“What?” she asked with barely contained
skepticism.

“Can you guys keep this thing a secret?” I
gave her time to think.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, you worried you're
gonna have to go away, to that special school?”

I nodded. She knew what the deal was.

“Like Parker, right,” she expounded.

“Yeah, like that.”

She
shuddered. “I'm
so
glad that I don't have the effed-up corpse-raising to deal with.”

We stood silently, thinking how much it sucked
that I did.

“That was pretty cool that you raised your
grandma.”

“Great-grandma.”

“Did ya know her?”

“No, she died the year I was born.”

“It was pretty tight how strong she was.” Bry
rubbed his mouth.

“Yes, she showed remarkable strength,” Dad
agreed.

“What grade are you in?” I asked Bry.

“Sophomore.”

I nodded.

“What did you do on your AP Test?” I was sorta
curious to see what he had, being Tiff's brother and all.

“Math-Science,” Bry said.

“What focus?” Dad asked.

“Abstractions and Patterns.”

Dad palmed his chin thoughtfully, “Really...
hmm.”

“Dad...”

“Right! Back on task,” Dad said.

Tiff had wandered over to the grave to get a
closer look, shaking her head.

“I've seen this on the pulsevision, but to see
it done in front of you, how we put her back and now it looks like it
never happened.” She turned to Mia, silent all this time, “Come
over here and check this out.”

“I'm not going over there.” Mia folded her
arms across her chest, fuming.

Tiff sighed, “Okay, I am sorry I called you an
ass...”

“... potato...” Mia supplied.

“... right... you pissed me off, bailing like
that.”

She turned to me with that top shelf eye rolling
routine she did. I struggled not to laugh. She was kinda funny,
tomboyish... smart too. The story that Jade told me didn't agree with
this Tiff that I had met.

“What had you all emo about the bird?”

She
looked my way, then off into space for a second. “It was the first
time I
heard
them. And the whispering,” she looked back at me, “it's nothin'
like what you hear, but it was pretty creepy.”

I
nodded, that made more sense, I was freaked out the first time too.
Can anyone say, Biology?
Ü
ber-disgusting
class. I suppressed a shudder. I knew I wouldn't be getting a good
grade out of that.

We looked a little longer at Gran's perfect grave.
Mia stayed away. The day had blown itself out and the wind was gone,
leaving behind a pregnant stillness.

We said our goodbyes with assurances of not
telling anyone about my issue. The parents didn't have to tell me
that the more people that knew I had all five points of AFTD, the
sooner I would get attention from the wrong people.

We left the cemetery, Mom giving a final glance at
Gran's grave. Her Gran was truly lost, not just to death, but with a
different memory superimposed over the old.

CHAPTER 15

Riding in the car seemed longer because Dad wanted
to discuss everything to death.

“I suppose it isn't too redundant I mention the
timing was less than ideal when Officers Garcia and McGraw made an
appearance.”

Mom answered, “Yes, that was the worst of luck.”

A puzzled expression dominated Dad's face. “What
intrigued me was they didn't ask any pertinent questions regarding
what experiments I may be conducting.” He drove on, thoughtful and
silent.

“It terrifies me to think that those two are
hanging around like sharks, scenting blood, waiting for any
confirmation that Caleb exhibits AFTD. I mean, corpse-raising.”

I had her there. “Mom...” I raised my
eyebrows, “... is that the politically correct word?”

Mom blushed. “Cadaver-Manipulator.”

Those words had the ring of finality.

Dad turned to her, surprised. I wasn't, she came
up with the most obscure crap on the planet.

“I have been doing some reading on the subject.
What little I could find, doesn't seem to be much available. There
isn't that much more written than what John gave Caleb,” she said.

Dad
gave me eye contact in the rear view mirror then his eyes fell away
as he turned on the left hand turn signal. I'd pulse Jade when we got
home, the Js needed to know too. Another complication... they just
keep on coming.
Questions
pinged around in my head speeding up, unanswered:
could
I put something back I raised? I'd done it before and it hadn't been
this huge-ass problem. For the first time I thought that it would
have been awesome to be able to talk to Jeffrey Parker. He would
definitely have answers.

The car glided smoothly into the stall as the door
folded down behind us. The engine purred to a stop and Dad turned
around in his seat, all of our harnesses automatically unlocking and
retracting simultaneously.

His face was oh so serious. “What you have here,
Caleb, is too big to go untrained. I don't know who to trust but we
need someone to help you hone your skills.”

I barked out some laughter. The Parents started.

“
No
offense, Dad, but who even knows anything? I mean, who
can
we trust? I know they'll send me to the Kent Paranormal High but what
good will that do if I am hiding what I can fully do? You heard
Garcia.” I looked down at my hands, clenched and tightly folded. I
loosened them purposely, the tension tightly coiled. “He said that
he had to, by law, turn me in.”

Mom and Dad felt the weight of my words, their
message reflected on their faces.

Dad
said, “I have read the percentage of the student population for the
paranormals in the high school you'll be attending. I assume you'll
be attending,” he flung a hand out,
of
course
I would be there, “and the AFTDs are the smallest in number.”

I
looked at Dad
and?
so?

“
The
point is, there will be others like you and they have a trained AFTD
teacher that can help you gain a measure of control. They have
detailed literature...”

I broke in, “... how does that help me? I mean,
if I can't tell anyone what I can do?”

“The why is very important. Knowledge is power,
Caleb. Just learning some practical application can speed the process
of discipline and control.”

Logical as always.

He continued, “The officers, well that is
another matter entirely. An unrelated matter.”

Mom opened the door and we followed.

Walking into the house I was struck by how odd it
seemed. The parents stood completely still, the fine hairs on my body
rising.

Dad
turned his face to mine, his eyes too wide in their sockets, wild,
and shook his head, no noise.

I nodded.

That's
when I noticed, everything was overturned and messy. What the Sam
Hill was this?

Dad grabbed the baseball bat to the left of the
door that leads from the garage to the inside of the house. He held
it tightly in his left hand, his knuckles showing white in a
bloodless grip, keeping it close and slightly behind his body.

Mom and I stayed behind Dad. He coasted along, his
butt to the wall, just turning the corner his body stopped blocking
our line of sight, and the living room came into view.

We should have worried about intruders but the
room was in such disarray we were stopped in our tracks.

My eyes roamed the mess, some things destroyed.
All Mom's indoor plants drooped like sad streamers from a party,
discarded.

Mom started to rush forward and Dad clotheslined
her and the breath fell out of her in a whoosh. “No Ali, it's not
safe,” he said, apologetic but firm.

Mom's hands were wrapped around Dad's forearm
where it was still barring her way. He looked into her eyes, big as
fifty cent pieces, and she straightened up, his arm falling away.

Dad's briefcase and pulse-top were apart and
papers were strewn about like confetti. His pulse-top lay open, the
blue screen-of-death staring blankly back, a winking eye that never
closed. Dad's mouth tightened into a hard line.

“Wait here,” he said, walking off down the
hallway.

It
was the longest five minutes of my life.

Mom
and I stood together while Dad cruised the house, searching for the
A-holes that had violated our
house.
What could I do to protect Mom?

Finally, Dad came back, face grim.

“They're not here, but we're not staying here
tonight.”

“We'll have to pulse the police.” Mom walked
over to the Fam-pulse.

“Wait!” Mom's thumb wavered above the touch
pad, one eyeball hidden by a stray clump of hair.

“What if Garcia comes?” I asked.

“Yes, most interesting,” Dad said and Mom
humphed at that. “What I mean is, we have done nothing wrong. It
chronicles that we may be the ones in danger, not the people hiding
things or perpetuating crimes.”

“Smart,” Mom agreed, her noodle no longer in a
twist.

“Sometimes,” Dad agreed.

“What about,” and I gestured to the house
being torn apart, “our house?”

Dad nodded to Mom and she hit the touch pad.

I walked over and stood behind her shoulder
watching the words assert themselves on the screen.

911,
your emergency?
911
Dispatch

My
house has been vandalized.
Alicia
Hart

Your
house number is 26503, Kensington Heights, is this accurate?
911
Dispatch

Yes.
Alicia
Hart.

Our
sensors do not indicate bodily damage. Is there need for an ambulance
at your dwelling?
911
Dispatch.

No.
Alicia
Hart.

Police
response will arrive momentarily.
911
Dispatch
.

Please
stay on your pulse-phone in case intruders re-enter dwelling.
911
Dispatch.

Mom rolled her eyes. She hated all the automation.

She
thought again,
Connected-
Alicia
Hart
.
This
would allow mom to move around.

“Mom, it's a pulse conversation.”

“I'm
just that old-fashioned,” she said.

Made no sense to me. Who cared, as long as the
information was being conveyed.

Dad was hanging on to the bat loosely. I mentioned
the bat could go away. He looked down at it blankly, forgetting he'd
ever had it. Nodding, he put it back in the garage. That's all we
needed, Garcia and the goon squad showing up and getting a load of
dad with bat in hand.

Then
it struck me;
my
room.

Racing up my coffin step staircase I flung open
the door, heaving a big sigh of relief. Everything looked exactly as
it normally did.

Dad and Mom came up behind me, staring at my room,
as if for the first time. Dad made a gasping noise, like a fish out
of water. “Is this,” his eyes landed on one mess to the next, a
frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad, “normal?”

I nodded vigorously. “Yeah, doesn't look like
they made it this far.”

Dad kinda had a spacey, buzzed look.

“What?”

Dad looked at Mom. “He really... his room...”
Dad paused, uncertain how to continue.

Mom saved him. “Yes honey, I have told you he
never listens about cleaning.”

“I thought you were just...” he trailed off.

I helpfully supplied the word, “ranting?”

Mom squinted her eyes at me. “Watch it, pal.”

I
surveyed my room, the pillowcase for my bed in a tightly wadded ball
at the corner with the bare pillow bunched up next to it. I had a
fake wood floor but my clothes were all over it so no d
é
cor
to worry about. My desk was at the end of the room, like a dark
exclamation point, where the ceiling and eave junction met. A
precariously balanced mess of candy wrappers, pizza boxes and
different varieties of soda pop cans all neatly crushed and waiting
to run out of space so I would then be forced to throw them away. I
frowned, thinking that may have to be addressed soon. My dirty
clothes hamper was empty of clothes but was a great holder for
anything that was not actual trash or laundry. Last months' completed
homework, that was never turned in, resided in the graveyard of my
hamper.