Jaden Baker (39 page)

Jaden walked up the center aisle and let his eyes swallow everything before settling into a pew. Even the hard wood surface felt good. His legs were limp and even his eyelids were sore. He removed his backpack, aware of the loudness of its rustling in this quiet place.

“You’re going to get some sleep?” Seth whispered.

Jaden set the backpack on the floor and crawled down to it, laying under the pew. “Yes,” Jaden yawned. “You’ll wake me when it’s time to go or someone’s coming?” he asked, his eyes closed.

“Of course,” Seth said. “Sleep fast, sleep well. You’re a free man tonight.”

Jaden drifted to sleep, smiling.

He was notified at one thirty in the morning by telephone. There are moments when it takes a few minutes to adjust before getting out of bed, and there are others when the body powers on instantly. This moment was certainly the latter.

Joseph Madrid was dressed and in his car within five minutes of the call, speeding through his peaceful neighborhood, not caring if he woke anyone. His car flew around corners, tires squealing like he was an obnoxious teenager. When he arrived at the main entrance, he observed, with horror, the door blown from its hinges as if rammed by an elephant.

The staff were coming to; all had been sedated with tranquilizers. They moved about the lab with delicate yet clumsy awareness. A few were seriously hurt with back and head injuries; they would be moved to the hospital up the hill.

Madrid had no patience for them.

“What happened?” he asked Malcolm, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“He got out,” Malcolm replied lazily, rubbing his face.

“How?” Madrid demanded.

Malcolm shrugged. Madrid knew there was more to the story than anyone here would tell. He descended a flight of stairs to the observation room, where he looked through the two way mirror into a now empty cell. Three cameras pointed inside, all cocked at different angles. They always recorded. Madrid queued and played the final moments.

Three screens lit up, showing different views of the room. The boy had been sitting in his corner, as he usually did, his face blank. Then he had noticed something, it was hard to say what, as the cameras were turned to night mode, and didn’t capture details or color. Then the boy was twitching and screaming silently, struggling like a freshly caught fish, flopping on the deck of a boat.

Two men came with guns, but the boy was prepared, neutralizing them in seconds. Then the boy traveled up the elevator and was gone.

The time stamp on the video was 11:51 p.m. The boy had been gone for over an hour. He could be anywhere by now.

Heat rose to his face and the tips of his fingers were numb. Madrid took to the stairs with controlled anger and demanded everyone get to his office building in the city, where they would conduct their search and acquisition procedure.

On his way to the building, Joseph Madrid phoned his best men and demanded they get to his office, prepared to work. Madrid initiated the tracking procedure. The longer the boy was out on his own, the greater chance they would lose him. The public relations nightmare of a psychokinetic at large was unthinkable.

At his top floor office in the city’s center, Madrid met with his best people. Loren Dillard was retired FBI and had numerous contacts within the bureau. Dillard worked as a private contractor for Madrid, searching for future projects and, in this situation, tracking a current project. Loren Dillard was a younger man, in his late forties, and, in Madrid’s opinion, extremely capable.

Sofia Burgen was also there, dressed in a business suit with her dark hair perfectly maintained as if she didn’t sleep at all. She hung up the phone just as Madrid entered the office.

“We’ve got bloodhounds en route,” Sofia said.

Loren put his hand over the mouthpiece of his cell phone. “We’re tracking him now. He’s heading south toward Santa Cruz, probably hiding in a truck by the speed. I’ve sent out a team from Salinas to intercept.”

Madrid put up his hand. “They need the safe word,” he said.

“I faxed over the protocol before you got here, sir,” Dillard said, then got back on the phone, talking hurriedly.

“Good,” Madrid said, but he was not reassured. “How long before the dogs get there?”

“Fifteen minutes,” said Sofia.

“It’s already been two hours,” he grumbled.

“We’ll get him back,” she said, then answered her ringing phone.

Jaden woke a little suddenly, thirsty and disoriented, his muscles tight and sore. Every movement was an uncomfortable experience. It took him a second to adjust to his surroundings. His eyes took in the expansive church, its tall ceilings, its jewel colored windows. The silence was so relaxing. Jaden shuffled from under the pew, aware of the incision in his leg, which he had cut last night to remove the tracking device. Wincing, Jaden sat up, took a bottle of water from his backpack, and drank it all in one go.

It was not yet day, Seth was absent, yet he had woken suddenly. He pushed a blanket off himself and stood gingerly, looking around.

The blanket.

Jaden ran it over his fingers. He didn’t have a blanket when he came in. There was a scuffling noise behind him and Jaden whirled around. There was a man at the front of the church. Jaden ducked, his heart pounding. He grabbed his backpack and crawled from behind a pew then waited for a clear chance to run. When the man had his back turned, Jaden sprinted toward the doors.

“Hey wait!”

Ignoring the pain, he burst through the front doors and planned to run, but his legs froze.

The vision before him was so extraordinary, his body was paralyzed: he felt no pain or worry.

The domed sky was still dotted with stars, but they were pale. A soft yellow-orange glow tinged the sky, leaving a subtle golden dust on the tree leaves, the roofs of buildings, and the steps he stood upon. Through the gently moving trees, Jaden saw San Francisco’s dramatic black silhouette set against the watercolor sky.

His ears reached past the rumbling of cars for the call of the seagulls flying above. A pair passed overhead and he watched as they made their way through the brightening sky.

A cool wind blew in his face, and Jaden shut his eyes, relishing the feeling on his skin. The air acted like a stunning perfume, and his knees softened. Jaden sat on the church steps and watched the dawn emerge.

The doors opened and shut again, but Jaden didn’t turn. His eyes wouldn’t move from the sky, and his legs would not stand.

A few minutes later an old couple ascended the stairs, holding hands. Their smile was a reminder: time to go. He stood and clumsily climbed down the steps.

An explosion of sound and feeling pushed on his mind when he took the last step. He was suddenly hyperaware of the dozens of people driving their cars, walking the streets, hustling to work. He felt all of them. Car engines, motorcycles, booming radios. His view from the street was expansive, the glowing city enormous. Like Dalton’s presentation, though, Jaden had to adapt to the crowded feeling and push on. Worry about how strange it felt later. Flee now.

He saw a lighthouse on a hill. It pulled at him, beckoning him toward it. Getting out of the city would have to be put on hold. He had to go to the lighthouse and watch the sun rise.

“You don’t have time,” Seth said, appearing by his side. “You have to go.”

Jaden shook his head. “I have to see it.” He jogged up the street, passing people who paid him little attention. He didn’t care that his feet were tender; he increased his pace to reach the lighthouse.

He climbed through some kind of garden, then found himself on a road. A crosswalk to his right pointed the way to a rocked staircase. He sprinted up it, passing a jogger dressed in bright yellow.

When he reached the top of the hill, Jaden walked to the edge and stared. The sun was rising over a long bridge in the distance, spilling its hues of yellow, orange, and pink onto a few wisps of clouds, the bay below, and the rolling hills that shaped the shore. Spinning slowly, Jaden saw Alcatraz, golden from the rising sun, and the Golden Gate Bridge, not gold but red. It was beautiful. Cold wind splashed his face, and he closed his eyes, breathing it in.

“The bridge,” Seth said, pointing at the gray bridge across the way from him. “We have to cross it to leave the city.”

Jaden looked at it, squinting for the pink-orange sun. “How do you know?”

“It’s logical. It’s the quickest way out of here. You’ll need another car.”

A rumbling in his stomach brought him back to reality. “I have to eat first.”

Jaden kept his distance from the crowd but still followed them. He had done a lot of running last night and had no change of clothes. A man in a business suit made a face at Jaden, then quickened his pace to pass.

Since he’d been segregated from the world for six years, his exposure to people had been limited. There were so many different faces out here: a richness in variety. Their voices, some high pitched and harmonic, others deeper, richer, baritones and basses, completed the chorus of human sound. High heels clip clopping, skirts and trousers swishing and rubbing, lungs breathing. Cigarette butts littered the sidewalks, along with old grocery receipts, bus passes; old, dried gum, black and smooth, stuck onto the cement sidewalk. The people talked with each other, laughed over cell phones, jogged past in tight fitting suits. They were all so busy.

Fortunately no one showed any signs that Jaden didn’t belong. Though he felt like a black sheep among the white, no one noticed. At first milling about the mass of people had made him nervous—now they were a cover. No one talked to him, no one looked at him except to show they did not approve of his body odor; no one asked who he was or where he was going. They simply didn’t care.

He didn’t want to give himself away by asking where to get food, so he walked on with the crowd, like one small bird in a flock. At each intersection, people grouped together to wait for the crosswalk signal’s permission to continue, then moved through as one. Jaden stayed with them.

One group veered away from the other, continuing toward the business district. Jaden watched as a young woman used an ATM machine. He had stolen a little money ($277), but knew he would need more. He wasn’t sure how to get it without bringing unwanted attention onto himself. He focused on the present, and pushed passed the group of banks.

A sugary scent wafted into his nostrils, blanketing his own stench. A large blue sign up ahead: Stella’s Pastry.

If there was a heaven, it looked like this. Confections of every kind were displayed through windows, and a chocolaty aroma forced him deeper into the small bakery. He ignored the patrons’ inquiring stares, and withdrew the wad of stolen money.

“What would you like?” asked the girl behind the dessert display. She was young, though older than him, probably fresh out of high school. She had artificially red hair and wore three earrings in each ear. Her eyes, caked with mascara, blinked at him. He’d forgotten about girls his age. About how they looked.

Jaden shook his head, refocusing on the food, and pointed at something drizzled in chocolate with a creamy white filling.

“An éclair?” asked the girl.

He nodded.

“How many?”

“Be sensible,” Seth whispered.

“Ten,” Jaden told her.

“Do you want a box for that?” the girl asked.

“A bag,” he replied, moving along the glass display. He pointed at large cinnamon buns. “And ten of these, too.”

Jaden saw Seth laugh but he didn’t care. For the past six years he hadn’t had any kind of dessert. Not even a cookie. Right now he needed a lot of calories, and couldn’t think of a better way to get them than through éclairs and cinnamon buns.

She rung up the price after bagging the pastries.

“Have a good day!” she said cheerily, and Jaden nodded stupidly, staring at her large breasts as he grabbed both bags of food. He stuffed some napkins in his backpack and tried fitting the cinnamon bun bag into the backpack as well, but found it wouldn’t fit. He removed two cinnamon buns and scarfed them down, grunting with delight as he did so, then licked his fingers to get every last bit of glaze. Before leaving, Jaden took a much needed trip to the bathroom, and checked his appearance in the mirror. His face was flushed, but the rest of him was pale. He had sweat stains under his arms, and though he wore a hooded sweatshirt, the now useless electric collar was easily visible. Strange that no one had commented on it. He pulled off the old sweatshirt and drew out the second stolen hoodie from the backpack, changing into it. At the sink, Jaden refilled an empty water bottle.

Back outside, he continued toward the business district, eating an éclair and moaning as the cream and chocolate filled his mouth. All sense of decency abandoned, Jaden ate two more éclairs, licking his fingers with gusto, not caring if people watched. He wiped his face and saw the napkin was full of brown smears. He chugged down another bottle of water.

“Okay, you’ve had your sunrise, stuffed yourself, now we have to get out of the city. It’s time to pick a car,” Seth said.

Other than the bakery, most of the businesses on this street were bars or restaurants, and it was too early in the morning for customers, so the streets were virtually empty of parked cars. He wandered down the sidewalk, until he saw a directional sign attached to a lamppost on the other side of the street. After looking both ways, Jaden crossed over to get a better look at the sign. The Bay Bridge was straight ahead, and he needed to take Interstate 80 to get there.

He walked a few blocks before he came to a healthy number of parked cars. All were metered. The perfect car would be one with the most time left, but it was still cutting it close.

“It can’t be too new,” Seth said. “We don’t want anything with a navigation system.”

Jaden decided on a maroon Ford Focus hatchback. He walked to the driver’s side and tried acting like he owned the car. The lock popped from within and Jaden jumped inside, tossing his backpack in the passenger’s seat. Using his PK, he turned the ignition and the car jittered to life. Unlike last night, when the roads were mostly empty, now he had to contend with morning traffic.