Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (22 page)

“Good.” I gave her an approving look.

Then she added a little something of her own. “Repeat what I just told you.”

The other man moaned and said, “No, Tim, no.” We ignored him.

Tim said, “Nothing happened in Edgewood. No teenagers came into contact with the light particles. We saw no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. The man who came by the field on Thursday night was a random passerby and is of no consequence.”

“Perfect,” Mallory said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How sure?” she asked.

“I would stake my life on it.”

My part in this was over. Just like the sensation I had when Mallory’s cut was healed, I felt done. I held up my hands. “Finished,” I said.

Mallory kept her palms pressed against the guy’s chest. “I want you to get up and stand next to your car. When your partner comes to the car, I want you both to get in and drive away. If you recall stopping, you’ll remember that one of you had to get out to pee. If you feel sick tomorrow, you’ll think you both picked up a flu bug. Leave Edgewood as soon as possible. You understand me, Tim?”

“Yes, I understand.” And just like that, he rose up, brushed the dirt off his suit, and walked over to the waiting car. He was a human robot and Mallory was the one doing the programming.

We watched him until Carly said, “Come on, come on. Let’s get going!”

We both crouched over the other man and placed our hands over his chest. Since I hadn’t blasted him quite as hard, he was more aware and in less pain than the other guy. “Not going to listen,” he said in a soft voice when Mallory started her speech, but within a few minutes, he too was agreeing with everything she said. I concentrated on sending healing energy through my hands while she told him our version of reality, complete with their stop to pee and the flu bug they both might pick up the next day. “Do you understand?” she asked.

“Yes, I understand,” he said.

“Repeat it back to me.”

And he did. I looked up at Carly like—
Can you believe this?
But she looked less awed than me, probably because she’d had sixteen years to get used to the idea of teenagers with superpowers.

“One more thing,” Mallory said. “I need to know who the top person is in your organization. I want a name.”

I gave her an appreciative look. She truly was a genius.

“I can’t say,” he said.

“You need to tell me.” Her voice was firm.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know who’s in charge?” I asked. “Or you don’t want to tell?” Mallory and I exchanged puzzled looks. Why wasn’t her mind control working?

The man didn’t answer me. It seemed that only Mallory could ask the questions and get a response. She repeated what I’d said. “You don’t know who’s in charge?”

“No one knows, except those at the top.” He talked like someone who was half-asleep. “We call him the commander.”

“Who do you report to then?” Mallory asked.

“My division leader—Miller.”

“What’s Miller’s full name?”

“Just Miller. I don’t know any more than that.”

Just a last name, and a pretty generic one at that. Mallory’s eyes met mine and she shrugged. “Okay then,” she said, and proceeded to reiterate the rest of the story. From the way she stressed how they were going to feel sick the next day, I got the feeling she was pretty sure this mind control was going to give them a kind of next day hangover. “Do you understand?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay then, get up and join your friend.” Mallory’s voice was kindly, like she was instructing a six-year-old.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” Carly said. “This is taking too long.”

The man didn’t hurry up, but walked at a steady clip. We got back into our cars and watched as the men climbed into their car, put their seat belts on, and drove away.

“Do you think it will work?” I asked Carly.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said. “It seemed to.”

We followed Mallory the rest of the way home in silence, not even listening to the radio. After Mallory’s car was safely inside a closed garage door, Carly drove me home. “Are you coming in?” I asked as we pulled into the driveway.

“No, I have to get back,” she said. “Frank is at the neighbor’s. I said I’d only be gone a short time, and I hate to make him wait.”

“Okay.” Maybe she was a better mom than I gave her credit for. I started to get out of the car and then thought of something. “Carly?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for watching out for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. You know I love you, right, Russ?”

That last sentence took me by surprise, mostly because we were not a family who professed our love for each other. My dad always said the Beckers were from proud German stock. We were hard workers, on time, reliable. We’d do anything for each other, but we weren’t huggers or kissers or people who gushed. Maybe though, we should be.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. I realized that I hadn’t quite known how she felt about me until that moment. Carly had always been a peripheral person in my life. Always there, but not really there. Flitting in and out of the house, lurking on the edges. We shared parents, but she felt like a young aunt or a much older cousin, not a sister. “But thanks for saying it anyway.”

“You’re welcome.” And then in true Carly fashion she had to throw in some lingo, just to show me she was up to date. “You know I’ve got your back, Russ. That’s how I roll.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t know anyone my age who talked like that unless they were being ironic.

I slipped into the house and past my parents, who were, as usual, in front of the television, although they didn’t seem to be watching it. Mom flipped through a magazine, while Dad had his head tilted back and eyes closed. I knew if I mentioned this later he’d claim he was resting. He never admitted to falling asleep in the recliner. As I went by, I said, “I’m back. Good night,” and I headed upstairs before my mother asked any questions and I’d have to lie about the fictional science demonstration at Mr. Specter’s house.

I’d just plunked myself on my bed and turned on my laptop when I heard my mother’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Inwardly I groaned. She never came up unless I was in trouble or she wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk. I hadn’t done anything wrong that I knew of—my grades were good, I’d completed my chores like a good son, and I’d cleaned up the mess in my bathroom, and thrown away the bloody clothes. No, I couldn’t be in any trouble. This had to be a talk. Not really what I needed right now.

She came up the stairs so slowly it pained me to listen. Mom relied on the railing a lot, and I heard her grab the bar, pull, and step all the way to the top. When she opened the door it was no surprise, but I played along and looked up as if it was. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “What’s up?”

“You ran off so quickly that I didn’t get a chance to talk to you,” she said. Oh no. I was right. We were having a talk.

“What about?”

“Can I sit down?” she asked, motioning to my desk chair.

I could hardly say no, seeing as how she owned the place. “Sure.”

She sat and looked at me intently. “I’m worried about Carly.”

Whew. So this wasn’t about me. I thought carefully about what to say. If I’ve learned anything about dealing with parents it’s that you can get yourself in a lot of trouble talking too much, so my rule was to say as little as possible. “I just saw Carly. She stopped in at Mr. Specter’s to give me a ride home and she seemed fine.” Mom didn’t look convinced, so I added, “I don’t think you need to worry about her.”

“While you were gone she came flying in here, and then she became all upset when she found out about you going to Mr. Specter’s house. She accused Dad and me of being terrible parents, of not thinking things through.” Her eyes looked sad and she got a worried vertical crease in the middle of her forehead.

Time for some damage control. I said, “I don’t know what she’s talking about. You guys aren’t terrible. I think you’re great. I couldn’t ask for better parents.”

Mom looked relieved. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Carly seemed to think that it was suspicious that Mr. Specter would have students over to his house. Frankly, I didn’t think anything of it, but after she said that, I did think it was unusual. Mr. Specter, he didn’t ask you to do anything you were uncomfortable with, did he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with all the talk of adults taking advantage of kids these days…”

“Oh my God, Mom, that’s so sick. Do you really think someone could take advantage of me that way? I’m not six.”

She looked relieved. Mission accomplished. “Of course not. That’s what I thought. Carly just made it sound so sinister.”

“Mr. Specter’s a good guy. A little unconventional, as teachers go, but solid.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Carly also seemed upset about something else. Maybe she mentioned a Mr. Hofstetter who died recently?”

“Yeah, she mentioned him. A really old guy, right?”

Mom nodded. “You’ve probably seen him around town. Nice man. He’s been all alone for years now.”

“Carly said she knew his grandson.”

“She told you about David?” Mom looked startled.

“Just his name and that she knew him in high school. She said he died in a car accident.” I hesitated, about to say that I knew they’d been dating, then remembered my philosophy about saying as little as possible and let it go.

“And that’s all she said?”

“Sure. What else is there?”

“Nothing. I just wondered.” She stared down at the floor like she was thinking, and didn’t say anything for what seemed like the longest time.

“I wouldn’t worry about Carly,” I finally said. “She was probably just in a mood. You know how she gets.”

“I know.” Mom patted the arm of my chair and then stood. “Okay then, I’m glad we touched base.”

“Me too, Mom. Stop by anytime. It’s always a pleasure.”

“Smart aleck,” Mom said, but I could tell she was amused. She paused at the door. “One more thing. Dad and I are going to Mr. Hofstetter’s funeral tomorrow night and we’d like you to come with us.”

“How come?”

“Do you have other plans?”

“Well, no…” Couldn’t she see how weird this was? Why would she ask me to go to the funeral of someone I didn’t know?

“I’d really appreciate it.” She stood in the doorway like she had all night and wouldn’t be moving until I said yes. “Please, Russ. The poor man had very little family.”

And that’s my problem? But the look on her face was persuasive. “Okay,” I said. “If it’s important to you, of course I’ll go.”

“Carly is going too.”

“And Frank?”

Mom said, “No, not Frank. Why would he go?”

More importantly, why would any of us go? But I didn’t question it. “I don’t know. I just wondered. Never mind.”

“Good night, son,” she said. “I love you.”

As she clomped down the stairs I reflected on the fact that for the second time this evening a family member had told me they loved me. Suddenly people felt the need to say how much they cherished me. Very weird.

All this talk of Gordon Hofstetter’s funeral reminded me of the medallion he’d given me. I got up off the bed and pulled it out from under my keyboard, then unfolded the paper to get a closer look. I turned on the desk light. If my dad were here, he’d say something corny like, “Time to shed a little light on the subject,” and then he’d chuckle like he thought it was hilarious. Both of my parents were really easily amused. With the light on I could see more clearly though. Like a coin from the Civil War era, the medallion just looked old. The spiral design, I thought, had to be connected to the pattern the light fragments made on the field. Mr. Specter’s group had told us that this had happened in other parts of the world too, and many times in the past. Maybe this medallion had historical significance, an artifact from another era. I was tempted to look online and see if I could find another medallion like it, but I knew that was a bad idea.

I was less certain about the paper. The scribbles on it were so light they were hard to read. Someone had sketched some shapes over most of the paper, and along one edge were a series of numbers that meant nothing to me. Some kind of code, maybe? Then again, the paper might be nothing but an old sheet of paper he’d grabbed to wrap the medallion in.

In the car at the hospital Gordon Hofstetter had said someone (his son?) was being held prisoner, but his thinking seemed to be muddled, probably because the poor guy had just been electrocuted. For all I knew he was thinking of a movie or TV show. He’d also said I should carry this medallion and paper with me always. He himself kept it in a secret pocket, so he obviously thought it had some value. I got out my wallet and stuck the wad behind the plastic covered compartment where most people put their driver’s license. It was a safe enough place; I almost always carried my wallet with me, and no one ever looked in it but me.

I read a few chapters from my psychology textbook before turning in for the night. I used to think psychology was my most interesting class, but now that I had the ability to blast people with electricity and heal injuries, the scientific study of the human mind and behaviors seemed downright mundane. Reading did make me tired though, which was what I was going for. After getting ready for bed, I shut off the light and climbed under the covers, ready to get some sleep. I thought back to all my nights of insomnia. Preparation, apparently, for the night I needed to be up to see the light particles fall from the sky. I’d been drawn to the field. It was my destiny to be there on the one night that changed everything.

I thought about Dr. Anton and the fact that he was a child psychiatrist with a specialty in sleep disorders. He’d deliberately gone into a field that would help him identify night walkers like me. And Kevin Adams, owner of a store geared to kids. He probably waited for kids to come in asking about cosmic events in comic books. Mr. Specter and Mrs. Whitehouse at school—watching the sophomores to see if they showed signs of exposure—and Rosie, staying open all night, her diner a beacon for those who couldn’t sleep.