Farsighted (Farsighted Series) (9 page)

I wasn’t really expecting to find out who Dax is, at least not without a last name. Next time he surfaces in a vision—and let’s face it, there’s definitely going to be a next time—I’ll need to listen for more clues. Maybe if I put everything together, I’ll be able to find him before he gets to Simmi.

Feeling the call to action, I create a new document on my computer and save it as
Information
, hoping the nondescript name will keep my parents from opening it. I type up everything I know about the Dax-Simmi mystery so far. Normally, I would use my Dragon Naturally Speaking software for stuff like this, but I don’t feel comfortable voicing the words of my mystery aloud. The last thing I need is for Mom to overhear and start worrying about me.

“What are you doing?” Dad asks, entering my room and sinking down onto my bed. The worn mattress lets out a springy sigh.

“Homework,” I answer, slamming my laptop closed. Yikes, that was too close of a call.

“Can we talk?” Dad runs his bare feet along the carpet. Static sparks cross the floor and hit my toes with a light tingling sensation, dulled somewhat by their travel.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Good. Your mother sent me in to ask you what you want for your birthday next week.”

“Oh, nothing, I’m fine,” I say, thankful Dad is not here to grill me about my problems again. I’m not ready to share.

“You know I can’t bring that answer back to Mom. Try again.”

I turn around in my desk chair, so I’m facing Dad, and tap my chin with my finger. “How about new boots? I hear mine are a bit scuffed.”

“New boots? Are you sure you don’t want something more fun? Like perhaps a video game or a pony or whatever kids like these days?”

“A pony, Dad? Really?” I shake my head. For a moment, Dad is back to his old, dorky self, if not a bit more charming than usual. I had really started to miss him lately. Inadvertently, my thoughts wander back to Dax. What must his father be like? What kind of father blames his son for something he didn’t do and tries to send him away?

Dad coughs, introducing a change in his voice—the accent is back. “I mean it. You need to come up with something more interesting than boots. Perhaps your friend Dax has a good idea. Mom says you two are getting quite close.”

My head reels. How on earth would Dad know about Dax? I just found out about him—nobody else should know.

“You know,” Dad falters, “your friend Brady seems to always have the latest trendy things. Maybe you should ask him for a few ideas.”

“Brady is not my friend,” I fume. “You know that!”

“Fine, fine. Sorry.” Dad stands to his feet and heads for the door. “I’ll tell Mom you want a stylish new pair of boots. And maybe a book—sound good?”

“Great,” I fume, still angry at Dad for asserting that Brady and I are friends. As soon as he leaves, I print out my notes on Dax, stuff them in my backpack, and delete the file from my computer. Brady? Come on! Even Dad should know better. It’s not just that he thinks we’re friends. It’s that he obviously doesn’t care enough to pay attention to my life. Out of everything, that’s what hurts the most.

***

Dax’s mind forces itself into mine again the following afternoon while I’m sitting in a cramped bathroom stall, willing my bowels to empty between second and third hour classes.

“Bring in the patient,” a deep echoing voice commands. Someone scuffles out of the room, dragging feet across the floor.

A cautious knock at the door comes a few moments later.

“Dax, this is Dr. Merton,” the female shuffle-walker says. “Let’s try to be a bit kinder than usual, hmm?” The door closes, and she walks out, leaving the doctor alone with Dax.

Dax sits in his chair with a thud and presses his fingernails into the wooden seat, creating a sound not unlike nails dragging across a chalkboard.

“Now we both know why you’re here,” Dr. Merton says placidly. “You might as well submit to treatment.”

Dax snorts and grinds his teeth so loudly even I can hear. For a moment, it feels like I am right inside his head, sitting on top of his brain.

“As a minor, your parents decide whether or not you undergo treatment. Since they’ve already consented, treatment is inevitable. It would be so much easier for us all if you didn’t spit on the nurses when they come to give you your injections, if you swallowed your pills like most of the other patients. If you behaved.”

“I won’t take anything. I’m not crazy,” Dax says calmly—too calmly—as he cracks his neck on either side. “And how do I know you’re not giving me poison instead of medicine? If you don’t trust me, then I don’t trust you.” He snorts again and starts rocking the chair’s four wooden legs from side-to-side.

“I’ve already explained, we’re giving you the medicine and the therapy to help control the hypomania and the borderline and schizoaffective personality disorders,” the doctor explains in a patient voice.

“I don’t know what any of that means!” Dax is on his feet; his voice is coming from a place over my head. He has lost his forced calm and is bordering on panic. “How can you say you’ve told me, if everything you say is in code language? There’s nothing wrong with me—Goddamn it!”

The whole room trembles. Books inch off from their shelves and land on the floor. A picture frame slides down the wall and shatters.

“What’s—what’s going on? An earthquake?” the doctor asks in a feeble voice.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Dax thunders.

Lightning strikes a tree, or at least that’s what it sounds like. The electrical charge hanging in the air becomes so overwhelming, my hair practically stands on end. There’s a zipping noise—the sound of a thousand tiny wood splinters breaking apart. The doc squeals as the door thrusts open; several people rush in, all of them clamoring around Dax.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dax enunciates. His temper retreats suddenly. The room settles to the state it was in just moments ago, before all the rumbling began. The electricity is gone.

I hear Dax arguing with a cluster of people, the sounds of their hands slapping to form vice grips and force him out of the office.

 “What happened?” Dr. Merton asks, the sound of his voice growing distant. His breathing is so heavy, it interferes with his speech.

“I don’t know,” someone answers. “An earthquake wouldn’t rip your desk in half perfectly down the middle. I just can’t believe it.”

Dax laughs, or maybe he cries, under his breath, and the whole scene disappears, leaving just me and the empty school restroom. The bell must’ve rung, meaning everyone else has already made their way to class.

I sit in my stall for a long time, not even worried about missing Algebra. I’m so shaken up by what just happened I can’t even move. Somehow, I know deep within my gut, Dax was responsible for the scene in the doctor’s office. Earlier, I thought he was getting blamed for Simmi’s death unfairly, but now I know, he’s extremely dangerous. I shudder when I realize he must be “gifted,” too.

***

After school, I race to Miss Teak’s shop and into the small back room. I fling my palm upon the table and wait. Maybe she can explain what’s going on.

She takes hold of my hand, absorbing all the information it contains. “Had a bad day?” she asks in a way that sounds more like Shapri than herself.

“What? Of course I had a bad day! Didn’t you see what happened with Dax?”

“Yes. He is…a very dangerous character.”

“Obviously, so what do we do? What can we do?” Now I know Simmi doesn’t stand a chance against Dax, and it’s up to me to keep her away from him.

“Won’t you excuse me for a moment?” Miss Teak asks, getting up and going into the main area of the shop. A moment later the phone rings; Miss Teak comes back and closes the thick door between us. What is she doing, traipsing about like nothing is the matter? This is urgent, and she seems almost bored with it. When she finally returns after several minutes have passed, I’m beyond angry.

“Why can’t you take this seriously? Don’t you care if Simmi dies?” I fume.

“Indeed, I am deeply concerned with the unfolding of events. Simmi’s mother was the one on the phone, and I couldn’t allow her to become aware of our conversation. I needed to delay her arrival to the shop today so as to give you my full attention.”

Her explanation makes perfect sense. Of course, I don’t want Simmi to find all of this out. I can’t begin to imagine how I would feel if I learned my life could be cut short by a psychopath at any moment.

“You are right to be worried about the role Dax may play in Simmi’s future,” Miss Teak continues. “He has an unusually strong telekinetic gift, and without any training, I’d guess. There’s no doubt he’ll impact the world. He must decide whether to help or harm.”

“This guy’s evil! The stunt he pulled with the doctor’s desk? I mean, who does that?” I protest. Dax is definitely not a good guy—no way.

“Not what he did,” Miss Teak corrects. “What he will do, what he might do.”

“What he might do?” I ask, hope creeping in. “Can we prevent all of it from happening?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Teak says. “Two types of prophecies exist. Those that will happen no matter what, and those that can be prevented. We can’t know which is which.”

“Then what do we do?” I ask, trying my best to stay calm when what I really want to do is scream and shake Miss Teak until she gives me the answer I need.

“Since we can’t know the difference, we must assume this, and your earlier visions of Dax, are the kinds of predictions that can be stopped, and do all we can to prevent them.”

“But Simmi,” I whimper. “I can’t let her die.”

“You may not have a say in the matter. Destiny will decide, not you or me,” Miss Teak resigns with a sigh. “But we will do everything we can to save her.”

I’m too exhausted to speak any more. I think about sweet Simmi, smelling like an Almond Joy candy bar. She doesn’t deserve this kind of end. Nobody does. Choked to death by some madman who finds amusement in sticking a tennis ball down her windpipe, forcing her to die a dog’s death? I think about her sing-song voice, the magical feeling I get whenever she touches me.

All of a sudden, my image of her—well, it’s a combination of smells and sensations actually, with my idea of what she might taste like thrown into the mix—becomes much clearer, as if Simmi’s sitting right next to me. But she’s not sitting, she’s getting up. She unbuckles her seatbelt and jumps out of her mother’s SUV, closing the door softly behind her. She walks around to the driver’s side of the car and her mother rolls down the window, letting the autumn air permeate the interior of the vehicle.

“I’ll pick you up in one hour for your dentist appointment,” her mother says.

“Okay, bye,” Simmi says, pulling her drooping bag up higher on her shoulder with a shuffle of cloth.

“And Simran,” her mother says. “Learn well.”

“Yes, Mummy,” she says obediently. Mrs. Shergill rolls up her window and pulls away. Once the car is out of hearing range, Simmi walks. The wind lifts her long scarf into the air behind her, releasing the perfumed scent of vanilla as she strides toward her destination.

I lose my image of Simmi and am at once returned to Miss Teak’s shop. I begin to wonder where Simmi is going, if she’s heading toward the place where Dax is, what her mother meant when she said, “Learn well.” A subdued knock comes on the door outside of our inner sanctum.

“Enter,” Miss Teak says, her voice shaking. The door opens and the beaded curtains pull apart with a familiar raining sound.

“Hope I’m not disturbing,” Simmi says as she comes into our intimate circle.

“Not at all. Hello, dear,” Miss Teak says, letting out a slow exhale.

I realize now this wasn’t a vision. I was hearing what was going on outside the door. Seems I’m quick to assume everything is a vision these days. I smile to myself. Wait, didn’t Miss Teak just talk on the phone to Simmi’s mom and tell her not to come? She must have decided not to listen. I hope Simmi didn’t hear what we were talking about before she entered.

Simmi sits down on the shaggy area rug and pulls her legs up under her. “Hi, Alex,” she says. “It seems everywhere I go, there you are.” She laughs.

“Hi, Simmi,” I say, trying to give off a light and happy air. “I hope you don’t mind having me as your shadow.”

“Actually, you were here first, so I guess I’m your shadow.”

“Or maybe we like the same things,” I offer. I can sense Miss Teak and Simmi looking at each other and wonder if I’m intruding on something important. “Um, if you need to talk about something in private, I can head over to Sweet Blossoms for a little while,” I say as I stand up to leave. “I could come back in an hour, when you head to your dentist’s appointment. It’s no trouble.” I want to be polite to Simmi, but I also can’t imagine leaving this conversation half finished, having to go to bed worrying about what Dax is up to and wondering what I can do to stop him. I need Miss Teak to tell me what to do, and anyway, this is all for Simmi’s benefit—if she knew, I’m sure she’d thank me.

“What did you say?” Simmi asks, sounding tenser than usual.

“You’re going to the dentist in a little bit, right?” I pick up my cane from the floor and grasp it before me. “I can come back later. No problem.”

“But, Alex.” She pauses. “How did you know I was going to the dentist?”

Simmi’s seriousness over something as insignificant as a dentist’s appointment puzzles me. “I heard you just now,” I explain. “Before you came in. Your mom said she’d pick you up in an hour.”

Neither Simmi nor Miss Teak says anything, so I keep talking out of nervousness.

“I mean, I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. You were just outside the door,” I falter. “Miss Teak heard, too.”

Miss Teak stares at me intently. I feel her eyes digging into my skull. “I didn’t hear anything, Alex. I had this room soundproofed to protect my clients’ secrets. Those outside don’t hear those who are in, and those inside don’t hear those who are out.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” I say. “I heard Simmi and her mom clear as day. You better ask for a refund on your soundproofing material, because it doesn’t seem to be working very well.”

Both Simmi and Miss Teak are staring at me now. I can feel it. There’s a saturated silence.