Powers (3 page)

Doug gave me directions to the house. Great. A country road. Narrow, treacherously icy, winding between rock cliffs and swamps. Not to mention the deer that leap across the road when you least expect them. Let's hope I don't crack up Mom's old Volvo.

After twenty minutes of white-knuckle driving, I crested a hill and there it was.
The house I'd watched burn.

At least the police weren't there. Small comfort.

A vile stench hit me as I got out of the car, a combination of charred wood and scorched insulation. Only one corner of the house remained standing. I moved closer, holding my breath. There it was, hanging on the wall.
A poster of a skull, bone-white on a black background.

I wanted to jump back in the car and drive, get away,
run.
I reminded myself I had a job to do. I snapped off a dozen photos, catching the house from all angles. But I knew the shot Doug would choose.

The skull, floating in blackness, framed by charred wood.

Adrian

Cold enough to freeze your balls. I'd always thought that was just an expression. Not at twenty-five below, it isn't.

I drive to Canadian Tire after school. My block heater will take an hour to install, so I decide to check out the town. Bad move. My sinus cavities fill with ice. My nose hairs are as brittle as glass. If I sneeze, they'll shatter. And my toes? I'll probably have to amputate.

I pass a store called Freshly Ground. I go inside, order a triple espresso and gulp it down steaming hot. As I pay for the coffee, something happens. I feel shivery hot and sweaty cold, like an ice cube tossed on a sizzling grill. Beside the cash register, along with the candy bars and breath mints, is a collection of key chains. My hand closes on one.

“How much?” I ask.

“A toonie,” the woman responds.

“A what?”

“Two dollar coin. You new around here?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so. Your accent, eh?”

I'm thinking, I don't have an accent.
She does.
But I say nothing as I hand her a two-dollar coin. It's large and heavy, with a copper disc inside a nickel ring.

“Here you go then. Have yourself a good one,” she says.

I'm outside before I take a closer look at my purchase. A cheap plastic skull, about two inches long, is attached to the metal key ring. The skull's moveable jaw drops down in an obscene grin. Its black eye sockets stare at me.

I must be crazy. I toss the skull into a trash can and walk on.

After half a block, I turn back. I stare into the trash. The skull grins up at me.
Take me home,
it says.

“No way.” I walk away. And stop. Without understanding why, I pick the skull out of the trash. Half a dozen times in the next five blocks, I take it out and throw it away.

But each time, it calls me back.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 7

Gwen

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Joanne and I had opposite lunches. On these days, I ate alone, doing what I did best: Watching.

I propped up my current novel,
Pride and Prejudice,
and dug into my spinach salad. Melissa and her entourage swept past and sat at the table next to me. A moment later, Adrian sauntered in, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt, worn open over a dark T-shirt.

Yeah, heads turned.

Adrian favored me with a glance, but didn't go so far as to nod or say hello. His left eyebrow rose in surprise when he saw the title of my book. As if I cared.

“May I join you?” he asked Melissa, turning his back on me.

Of course you can join her, I thought. Anyone, anywhere, anytime. That's our Melissa.

Melissa nearly fell off her chair moving over for him. Her friends shifted one down to accommodate Adrian. They reminded me of a gaggle of geese, all honking quietly. Melissa, the head goose, glared at them to shut up.

“So,” Melissa said.

“So,” Adrian replied. He tapped his fingers on the table. Nerves? Interesting.

Abruptly, he stopped tapping, leaned toward Melissa and spoke in his sexy just-for-you voice. “Want to know a secret? I can read your mind.”

Spare me.

“Read my mind?” Melissa actually batted her eyelashes at him.

“Sure. I'm psychic. I channel the basic life force of the universe,” he said.

I nearly choked.
Basic life force?

“Give me your hand,” he crooned.

Melissa complied. Adrian closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. “You've broken up with your boyfriend.”

“That's right. How did you know?” she gushed.

Well, babe, might be the white spot on your hand where you took off the ring. Melissa had been dating Stone since grade eight, in an on-again, off-again relationship. Right now it was off. Melissa is high-maintenance.

“He didn't give you the love and attention you deserve,” Adrian continued.

I inhaled a piece of spinach and coughed furiously to dislodge it. Adrian watched me, head tilted, eyebrow lifted.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you,” I replied with as much dignity as I could muster. I wasn't finished eating, but I'd seen enough.

Like seeks like.
He was welcome to her.

Adrian

“Like seeks like?” I turn around, but she's gone.

“Huh?” Melissa says.

“Is that a Canadian expression?” I ask.

“Is what?”

“Like seeks like.”

“I didn't say that,” Melissa said with a frown.

“No. Gwen did.”

Melissa gives me a blank stare. The other girls look at me as if I'm crazy. Whoa. Think fast.

“Guess I read her mind,” I joke.

They stare at me with mouths gaped open. They look like a bunch of birds, like geese or something.

I almost expect them to honk.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 8

Gwen

I'd had the strangest dream. A herd of deer crossed Bjorn Bay to reach the first island. Stalking them was a gray wolf. Symbolic. The deer are obviously Melissa and her group. And guess who is the wolf?

Only it didn't feel symbolic. It felt
real.
Like the dream of Adrian, the house fire, the skull, the dead child.
What's happening to me?

I showered, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and joined Mom in the car. She drove cautiously, creeping around corners and putt-putting along the icy sections.

“We're here,” she said, arriving at the bakery where she'd worked since high school. She got out and I slid into the driver's seat. “Be careful,” she said.

“I'll be careful,” I promised. It was our morning ritual. Be careful of what, I wasn't sure, but when I said the words some of the tightness eased in her face.

I waited for the last minute to go to English class, dreading the fact that Adrian would be there. I needn't have worried. He ignored me when I walked into the room.

Arrogant jerk.

At lunchtime, I was relieved to find Joanne alone at our table.

“You sure you can eat all that?” Joanne asked by way of greeting. She pointed to my Caesar salad without dressing and my bottled water.

“We can't all eat like you, Joanne.”

“Who peed in your cereal this morning?”

“I didn't have cereal this morning. Nothing else, either.”

Joanne made an exasperated huffing noise. “How often do I have to say it? Read my lips.
You are not fat.”

“Read
my
lips,” I replied. “You're my cousin. It's your job to say that.”

Joanne stewed for a minute, had a few bites of her chicken strips with barbeque sauce, then changed the subject. “So, I broke up with Conrad.”

I glanced over at Conrad. He sat with the boys, his beetle-brown eyes trained on Joanne. He held his fork in a fist-like grip, mounding the macaroni and cheese on his plate and then mashing it down.

“Looks as if he took it pretty hard,” I said.

“Too bad. He told me he didn't want me talking to Adrian. So I told him it's over.” Joanne brushed her hands together in a dismissive gesture.

In the next second, she caught sight of Adrian.

“Hey, Adrian! Over here.” I kicked her under the table. She kicked me back. “What is
wrong
with you?” she hissed.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Adrian arrived. He carried a lunch tray with tuna salad, yogurt, and an apple.

“Hi, Jo,” he said, with his ultrabright smile.

At the next table, Conrad stabbed his macaroni.

“So, how's our amazing mind reader?” Joanne asked.

Adrian pulled the lid off his yogurt. A tiny bit splashed on his long-sleeved black shirt. He dabbed at it, frowned, and smiled at her. “I'm great. How are you, Jo?”

Right then, if I could have shot a lightning bolt at him, I would have.

“Joanne,” I said, “he can't read minds.”

“Sure he can,” said Joanne. “I heard he read Melissa's mind yesterday.”

I groaned. “Parlor tricks, Joanne. He makes general suggestions to people, watches their reactions, then plays on them. He's a fake.”

“I'm sitting right here, Gwen.” Adrian's voice held an undercurrent of anger.

“Fine.
You're
a fake,” I said to his face.

“Whoa, easy, boys and girls, no bickering,” Joanne said. “Let's put it to the test. Here, Adrian, tell me what I'm thinking.”

Adrian reached across the table toward Joanne. His shirt pulled back, revealing strong wrists, long fingers, and meticulously clean nails. He closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. “You are thinking you'd like to go to a movie with me tonight.”

“No,” said Joanne. “I mean yes.”

“Which is it?”

“No, I was thinking about my History quiz. But, yes. I'd love to go to a movie with you.”

“No,” I said, too loud, too fast.

“Why not?”

“Joanne has a boyfriend, right, Joanne?”

“But, I—”

I kicked her again.

“Joanne already has a boyfriend,” I said to Adrian. I said each word slowly and clearly, so there would be no mistake.

“A-a-l-l-l r-i-i-ight.” He drew the words out, mimicking me. Mocking me. I wanted to kick him, too, only
hard.

Then he gave Joanne his big, fake smile. “I can wait my turn.”

Yeah, in a pig's patootie,
I thought.

Adrian's head whipped around. For a second, I thought he'd heard me. His eyes held me, immobilized me, like an animal in a leg-hold trap.

“You're afraid of me.” He made it a statement. A challenge.

“No.” But my pulse raced.

“Give me your hand. If it's a trick, you have nothing to fear,” said Adrian.

“Don't patronize me!” It's hard to say “patronize” when you are gritting your teeth, but I managed.

“I'm not patronizing you.”

It was his voice that made up my mind for me. He'd dropped it down, slow and even and hypnotic. He thought he could control me with that voice. No way.

I let him take my hand. The cold blue flame in his eyes held me, seared me.

“Do you feel it?” he asked.

“No.”

“It's a warm tingle, isn't it? In your hands, moving up your arms, like a current.”

“No.” My hands tingled with warmth. It moved up my arms like a current.

“Don't lie to me, Gwen.”

“Let me go.”

“No.” Then he noticed my scar, a raised white ridge between my index and second finger. He ran his thumb lightly over the scar tissue.

I flinched. I hated that scar. I'd earned it through sheer stupidity, trying to separate frozen burgers with a steak knife.

“It's never going to go away,” Adrian said in a condescending voice. “I still can't believe you did that.”

My heart thumped unevenly. “What do you mean?”

“Used Crazy Glue to seal the cut.”

I swallowed. “How did you know that?”

“Who could forget?” Adrian said, shaking his head. “All that blood, and you insisting you didn't need stitches.”

I looked at Joanne. She looked at me. “Uh, Adrian?” she said. “You just got here. You couldn't possibly know that.”

Adrian dropped my hand. His voice wavered, as if he was unsure of what had happened. “But, I saw it, Jo. I felt it. The knife, so sharp, it didn't hurt. Not at first. Not until the blood spurted out. Over my shirt, my white shirt.”

He stopped, stared at me.

“No, not my shirt. Your blouse. You never got the stain out, did you, Gwen?”

“Wow.” Joanne jiggled in her chair with excitement. “Wow, this proves it!”

I froze. “You told him, Joanne, right? You're both in on the trick.”

“Nobody told me, Gwen. It was as if the memory was in my own head. I can still feel it.…” Adrian's voice trailed off as he rubbed the webbing between the first and second fingers of his own hand.

My chair clattered to the floor as I pushed away. Heads turned toward me, but I didn't care. I ran.

Adrian

She takes off, not bothering to get her coat. I follow her to the parking lot. The frigid air slices through me.

“Gwen, wait,” I call.

She backs up against an old maroon Volvo wagon. “Go away.”

I feel a wave of fear, so strong I could reach out and gather it in my hands. And I realize it's not
my
fear.

It's hers.

“How are you doing it?” she demands.

“I'm not doing anything.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don't believe it myself. It's as if I'm reading your mind. Did you send me the thoughts? Is that it? Are you telepathic?” I'm babbling like an idiot.

I'm not sending you thoughts. I can't read your mind.