Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (26 page)

“Mattituck station,” a robotic female voice announces. “Next stop, Southold.”
Ding
.

A handful of people scramble about for their belongings and head into the cold. I’m carried along with them. People disperse in every direction. A few more go into the warmth. The door slides closed, cutting off the source of heat. The vehicle pulls away with a series of progressively louder clunks. It takes forever to pass, way longer than a car or a truck would. This is a train.

The train still hasn’t passed as I move along again. Two bodies walk straight into each other in the midst of the people. I’m right next to them when it happens.

“Watch where you’re going, huh?” Dax spits, and continues forward to jog down the stairs and step out into the street. The vision cuts.

Mattituck, Southold. Mattituck, Southold. I repeat those names in my head over and over so I won’t forget them before getting home to my talking Web browser. A tugging feeling tells me that these two little words will be enough to help me finally locate Dax.

At home, I type in the names and allow Google to auto-correct the spellings. Every single result points to the same thing:  Dax is in New York.

***

The next morning, I tell Dad about the train vision and the names of the stations. I don’t even need to mention my online research. He immediately recognizes the words without any added description from me.

“So, he’s on Long Island. I should’ve known that our guy was a New Yorker.” Ironically, he says this without the Boston accent.

“What do we do now?” I ask as he pulls into the school parking lot.

“Eck, New York. Kill me now,” he grumbles. I’m not sure he’s kidding about the death wish. He sighs, and then continues, “I guess I should go poke around and see if I can find him.”

“But, Mom…you can’t leave her without an explanation again. It will crush her.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“For the truth. Now go.” He pushes the button to unlock the van doors.

I hop out as instructed, even though I’d like to talk more about how Dad plans on revealing our gifts to Mom and how he expects to find Dax once he reaches New York.

Shapri’s not in school today, which thrusts another whole world of worry at me. Simmi is upset about Shapri’s absence as well, but decides she doesn’t want to discuss it. I choose not to tell her about the new Dax information—she knows too much already—so I end up hearing some story about her mom and a wounded pigeon.

Halfway through sixth period, I’m called to the office over the PA system. Dad is there waiting for me.

“Came to check you out early for your doctor’s appointment,” he explains with his accent.

We walk quietly side-by-side until we reach the van.

“I thought we could use some time to plan what we’re going to say to your mom,” he explains.

We bat ideas back and forth. Should we tell Mom about the danger? Should we tell her about my powers or only Dad’s? How can we reveal the truth without terrifying her? We decide I should be the main one to tell her, and Dad will jump in if I come across any trouble.

Driving over to Sweet Blossoms, I feel like I’m on my way to the executioner, except I’m the guy wielding the axe and Mom is my falsely charged victim. I pray I can make this as quick and painless as possible.

“Oak tree, what are you doing here? School isn’t out yet, is it? It seems too early,” she greets us over the sound of the bells.

Dad walks in behind me.

“Greg, what’s going on?” Mom plops something wet onto the counter and comes over to give us both hugs.

“Nothing’s the matter,” I say. “It’s just that Dad will have to go away again—and I may have to go with him, eventually. This time we thought you deserved an explanation.”

“You’re leaving?” Mom asks with a squeak.

Since this question was intended for Dad, he’s the one to answer it. “Yes, but I don’t have a choice. If I don’t go—”

“Alex’s vision will come true?”

“What? No.” I’m so used to denying it. This is my kneejerk response.

“It’s about Simmi, right?” Mom says, her voice full of concern. “She’s such a sweet girl.”

“How did you—”

“How do I know?”

Dad and I snap our fingers in unison, awaiting her explanation.

“How could I not know, what with your disappearing and reappearing accent,” she says to my dad. Then she turns to me. “And your erratic behavior, acting out in school, freezing up and getting all quiet sometimes. Other times you scream Simmi’s name in the night. You even sometimes cry out that you ‘can’t let her die.’”

I reach out and place my hand on Dad’s arm to steady myself.

“Not to mention, you
are
working at a psychic shop. I just didn’t realize until recently that you were actually
working
there.”

“So, you know what we are?” Dad sputters.

“Well, of course. Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“N-n-no, of course not.”

Realizing that Mom’s known all this time, or at least for a while, is weird. I thought we were doing such a good job keeping it a secret. I also can’t believe that she hasn’t said a single thing about it despite her constant worrying and overprotectiveness. There is one possible answer I hadn’t considered.

“Mom, does this mean that you’re psychic, too?”

“Sure I am,” Mom says in her happy-go-lucky voice.

My jaw drops, but still no words escape.

“If being psychic by association counts.” She laughs.

I’m so confused. Is she or isn’t she?

“I’m not, Alex. Don’t worry.”

“Didn’t you know that she knew?” I ask Dad, kind of peeved with him for making this a bigger deal than he needed to.

“I…I…I,” Dad stalls. “No.”

“What about your whole mind-reading thing?” I press in irritation.

“I can’t read your mother’s.”

“And it’s a good thing, too. I’ve been pretty mad at you lately, Greg.”

“I’m sorry, Susan. I didn’t like keeping this secret from you. I was trying to protect you.”

“Why does everyone always think I need protecting?”

“It’s not that,” Dad protests.

“Then what is it?” she demands.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you. I was hiding it from myself.”

Mom starts to say something, but I cut in, “How come you can’t read her?” I motion toward Dad. “And how did you figure out what we are?” I gesture at Mom.

“I can only read other psychics,” Dad answers. After a moment, Mom realizes it’s her turn to speak. Her voice takes on a disparaging tone, the same one I heard every day from October to January. “When you left, it really hurt me,” she says. “I didn’t know what it was I did to make you leave. Times were really hard, but luckily I had Alex there to help me through it. As I started to feel better, I noticed that he was feeling worse and worse. His friends quit coming by the shop after school, and he quit visiting Miss Teak.

“He just moped around the house all the time. Well, of course, I started to worry, so I paid close attention to try to figure out what was wrong. I overheard plenty of conversations about gifts this, and universe that—most of the time Alex talked to himself, which was another red flag. Put them together with the nighttime screaming and the other strange behaviors…” Mom’s voice returns to its normal harmony as she finishes her speech. “And voila! It’s not really such a big mystery now, is it?”

“No, I guess not,” Dad says.

“That’s why I didn’t ask many questions when you came back. I knew that somehow you already knew about Alex, and I suspected it was because you had some similar sort of talent. I’ve also overheard a few of your one-sided conversations with Alex. ‘You can tell me, or I can find out myself.’” She drops her voice and takes on a slight accent in her impression of Dad. “I thought your leaving must have had something to do with everything that was going on and that you’d tell me when the time was right. I guess it’s finally right-time o’clock.”

“And you’re okay with it? Not worried at all?” I ask, unable to believe that she can be so nonplussed about this revelation.

“I’ll admit I was pretty worried at first, especially since you appeared to be in so much pain because of it. But then I realized that fussing about it wasn’t going to help you at all. And when your dad came back, you did seem to be getting a little better. I guess the thing that bothers me the most is that neither of you felt like you could tell me.”

“We were trying to protect you,” Dad repeats.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself,” Mom says with an uncharacteristic seriousness before switching back to her light and playful tone. “I think I should be the one worrying about the both of you. I don’t want you marching into danger. And voluntarily, besides.”

“Mom, we have to save Simmi. If she died…”

“It’s okay, Alex. I understand why the two of you have to go, even though I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. At least promise me you’ll both come back safe and sound. Can you do that?”

I swallow.

Dad answers for the both of us. “Of course, of course. Just as soon as we can.”

“Then there’ll be no trouble from me. Just be sure to call every once in a while to check in. If things get too dangerous, I expect you to both turn around and come straight back home, got it?”

“Yes, yes,” Dad whispers as he pulls us both into a tight hug.

“And bring me a good present when you come back,” Mom adds, exiting the hug and returning to work.

Chapter 21

The traveler must journey deep within to confront that which he’d rather avoid. By so doing, he will emerge with a stronger awakening of his abilities.

Dad’s been gone just over a week. Simmi, Miss Teak, and I train harder than ever before, trying to find a way for me to focus my psychic energy and get more information about Dax so I can give it to Dad and actually help out for a change.

Shapri continues to mumble to herself and have occasional outbursts to the tune of “stop it,” “leave me alone,” and, “go away.” Miss Teak says this has happened before. A pushy spirit is hanging around Shapri, trying to talk to her and explain what it wants. Obviously, this is upsetting for a girl who refuses to accept her gifts. Since none of the rest of us can talk to spirits, we don’t know what it’s saying—only how Shapri is reacting.

Yesterday, I couldn’t handle seeing her upset anymore, so I lent Shapri a couple of sleeping pills, which I thought could help send the ghosts away. But they didn’t help her like they helped me. Now a drugged-up version of my friend is sitting next to me on the sofa as the three of us watch—or in my case, listen to—
Napoleon Dynamite
.

“No you can’t, nuh-uh, naaaaa,” Shapri says, then her voice trails off into nothingness. Her body slumps to the side, shaking the couch, as she falls into a reclined position and starts snoring.

Simmi reaches up and puts her arm across my knees, keeping it there as we continue to watch the movie. A while later the phone rings, waking Shapri with a start. She sits up, slamming the footrest into place.

“No more screaming. No more. Too loud, la la la.” She sounds like a crazy person. I hope I’m not like this when I take the pills.

I get to my feet, leaving the girls to continue the movie without me, and go to answer the phone.

“Alex,” the Boston version of my dad says before I can even manage a hello. “You’ve got to give me more to go on.”

I turn my back to the living room and cradle the phone to my shoulder. Don’t want Simmi to overhear. “What do you mean? I’ve told you what I know.”

“Well, I haven’t found him yet. Isn’t there anything else, anything at all?” Dad begs as the city traffic sings around him.

“Well,” I drop my tone as low as it will go, “he’s a boy, about my age, I think. From a rich family. Goes to Fairfax in Connecticut. And to New York. Is a crazy psycho killer. That’s all I’ve got.”

“It’s not enough. I’ve tried everything. I’ve checked the birth registry looking for babies born in the state with his name, but without a last name, it’s impossible. Who’s to say he was even born here? I created an account on Facebook and sent friend requests to every person named Dax I could find. I’ve Googled him. I’ve even tried Twitter. No sign of our guy.”

“Is that all you’re doing, searching the Internet? You could’ve done that from here.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Dad scolds. “That’s what I’m doing when I need to rest. Most of the day I’m out walking around the city, trying to get inside people’s minds, to find other psychics. I’ve met a few nice people, but no one can help. They don’t know of a telekinetic by the name of Dax, but if they come across one, they say they’ll give me a call. What more can I do, Alex? Any ideas?”

“Maybe give Twitter another try,” I suggest, and hang up before he can pressure me about how I need to work harder toward improving my powers. I know that; being reminded of it constantly only makes this whole deal even harder.

Simmi gives me a hug from behind, putting my nerves to rest. How much has she heard?

“Don’t be tense. You’ll get there when you’re meant to get there,” she says, swaying with me from side-to-side.