The Death Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy Box Set: (Books 1-3) (15 page)

CHAPTER 15

In the car on the way home, Dad said, “I suppose it isn't too redundant I mention the timing was less than ideal when Officers Garcia and McGraw made an appearance.”

Mom answered, “Yes, that was the worst of luck.”

“What intrigued me was they didn't ask any questions regarding what experiments I was conducting.”

“It terrifies me to think that those two are hanging around like sharks, scenting blood, waiting for any confirmation that Caleb exhibits AFTD. I mean, corpse raising.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Mom, is that the politically correct word?”

She blushed. “Cadaver manipulator.”

Dad turned to her, surprised. I wasn't, she came up with the most obscure crap on the planet.

She shrugged. “I’ve been doing some reading on the subject, what little I could find. There isn't much more written than what John gave Caleb.”

Dad pulled the car into the garage, and the door folded down behind us. He turned off the engine, and our harnesses automatically unlocked and retracted.

Dad turned in his seat. “What you have here, Caleb, is too big to go untrained. I don't know who to trust, but we need someone to help you hone your skills.”

I barked out some laughter. The Parents startled.

“No offense, Dad, but who even knows anything? I mean, who
can
we trust? I know they'll send me to Kent Paranormal High, but what good will that do if I’m hiding my power? You heard Garcia.” I clenched my hands. “He said that he had to turn me in, that it’s the law.”

Dad said, “I’ve read the percentage of the student population for the paranormals in the high school you'll be attending. There will be others like you, and they have a trained AFTD teacher to help you gain a measure of control. They have detailed literature—”

I broke in. “How does that help me? I mean, if I can't tell anyone what I can do?”

“Knowledge is power, Caleb. Just learning some practical application can speed the process of discipline and control.” He sighed. “
The officers… is another matter entirely.”

Dad parked the car in the garage and we got out.

Walking into the house I was struck by how odd it seemed. The parents stood completely still, the fine hairs on my body rising like static electricity gone berserk.

Dad turned his face to mine, his eyes too wide in their sockets, wild, and shook his head,
no noise.

I nodded my understanding.

Stepping into the living room, I noticed everything was overturned and messy. I froze, and so did Mom.

Dad grabbed the baseball bat to the left of the door and held it tightly in his left hand, his knuckles showing white in a bloodless grip, keeping it close and slightly behind his body.

He coasted along, his butt to the wall. He rounded the corner, his body blocking our line of sight, and the living room came into view.

We should have worried about intruders but the room was in such disarray we were stopped in our tracks.

My eyes roamed the mess, some things destroyed. All Mom's indoor plants drooped like sad streamers from a party, discarded.

Mom started to rush forward, but Dad blocked her with an arm.

“No Ali, it's not safe,” he said.

Mom's hands were wrapped around Dad's forearm, which was still barring her way. He looked into her eyes, big as fifty-cent pieces, and she straightened, silently letting go of his arm.

Dad's briefcase and papers were strewn about like confetti. His pulse-top was open, the blue screen of death staring blankly, a winking eye that never closed.

Dad's mouth tightened into a hard line.

“Wait here,” he said, walking off down the hallway.

Mom and I stood together while Dad cruised the house, searching for the A-holes that had violated us. What could I do to protect Mom? Five minutes later—the longest five minutes of my life—Dad came back, face grim.

“They're not here, but we're not staying here tonight.”

“We'll have to pulse the police.” Mom walked over to the Fam-pulse.

“Wait! What if Garcia comes?” I asked.

“Yes, most interesting,” Dad said, and Mom harrumphed at that. “What I mean is, we have done nothing wrong. We are the ones in danger, not the people hiding things or perpetuating crimes.”

“Smart,” Mom said.

Dad nodded at Mom, and she hit the touch pad.

I walked over and watched the screen over her shoulder.

911 Dispatch:
911, your emergency?

Alicia Hart:
My house has been vandalized.

911 Dispatch:
Your address is 26503 Kensington Heights. Is this accurate?

Alicia Hart:
Yes.

911 Dispatch:
Our sensors do not indicate bodily damage. Is there need for an ambulance at your dwelling?

Alicia Hart:
No.

911 Dispatch:
Police response will arrive momentarily.

Please stay on your pulse-phone in case intruders re-enter dwelling.

Mom rolled her eyes. She hated all the automation.

Alicia Hart:
Connected.

That would allow her to move around.

Dad still held the bat. I mentioned that he should probably put it away. He looked down at it blankly, as if he’d forgotten about it, then nodded and put it back in the garage.

Then it struck me.
My room.

Racing up my coffin step staircase I flung open the door, heaving a big sigh of relief. Everything looked exactly as it normally did.

Dad and Mom came up behind me, staring at my room.

Dad made a gasping noise, like a fish out of water. His eyes moved from one mess to the next, like a frog leaping from lily pad to lily pad, “Is this normal?”

I nodded vigorously, relieved. “Yeah, it doesn't look like they made it this far.”

Dad had a spacey, dazed expression. He looked at Mom. “He really... his room...”

Mom said, “Yes, honey. I told you he never listens about cleaning.”

“I thought you were just...”

I helpfully added, “Ranting?”

Mom squinted at me. “Watch it, pal.”

My pillowcase lay in a tightly wadded ball in the corner of the bed with the bare pillow bunched up next to it. Clothes covered the floor. My desk stood at the end of the room where the ceiling and eave junction met. A precariously balanced mess of candy wrappers, pizza boxes, and neatly crushed soda pop cans obscured the top. My dirty clothes hamper was a great holder for anything that was not actual trash or laundry.

Dad looked an unspoken question to Mom. “Yep, he's ours.”

He shook his head again, walking out of my room and downstairs without word.

“What's the matter with Dad?”

“He's had a shock, honey.”

“Yeah, the losers that wrecked our house.”

“Well, I think it's a toss-up between what happened in our house and him discovering that your room looks like it was ransacked.”

I didn't get it. “But my room wasn't messed with.”

“I think that may be the shock, that this is the normal state of your room.”

Huh. Parents.

I heard the pulse-chime. The cops had arrived.

Show time.

I went downstairs, and two new cops stood in our foyer. They had their guns out and pointed upward. That one thing made me more nervous than anything could.

When Mom and I appeared, they turned, guns at the ready.

Dad said, “Whoa, guys. It's just my family.”

The tiny woman cop looked reluctant to lower her weapon. In a husky voice that didn't match her body, she said, “Sir, we need to secure the house.”

“Of course, go ahead,” Dad replied.

She of the small build and tough attitude gave a curt nod. Her gaze lingered on me for a second, then she and her partner went down the hall, guns drawn.

We watched them as they disappeared and reappeared around corners, exploring every part of the house. A few minutes later, they returned to stand in front of us. An awkward silence ensued.

Dad nodded toward the male officer. “So Ali and Caleb, this is Officer Ward.”

“Chuck,” he corrected with a wink.

Dad gestured at the woman. “And Officer Roberta Gale.”

Officer Gale stepped toward me.

She smiled, but not like she meant it
.

“What are you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Then she let me have it, but it was nothing like it had been with Tiff. With Gale, it was a soft breeze, a gentle thing, as if someone took my heart and squeezed it until it burst through her fingers. The breath left my body, and I sagged to my knees, sucker punched.

Mom screamed, “Caleb!”

She reached out to grab me.

I held out my hand, warding her off.

With Gale’s
extra creepy
still running through me, I reached down where that special power always lay and prayed for enough to deal with it.

The power rose to my call, a life force welling up and pouring out of my body like a vessel. I visualized a spear and aimed it at tough chick Gale. I’d never used my power like that, but she'd hurt me, and I was in defense mode.

She flew back as if shoved by an invisible hand and slammed against the wall. A high-pitched whistle escaped in a rush, leaving her mouth opening and closing seeking air that wouldn't come.

Chuck pulled his gun and aimed at me. Keeping his eyes on me, he said out of the side of his mouth, “Bobbi, what's this about? Tell me
right now
, so I don't have to hold my gun on a teenager. I hate this paranormal crap,” he muttered.

Officer Gale wasn't talking just then, thank you very much
.
But her eyes were on my face, her hands pressed to her chest, as if I had shot her. We kept serious eye contact and finally she spoke.

“He's AFTD,” she gasped out.

“Didn't I say I hate that paranormal crap?”

Dad's helped me to my feet. My parents stared at Officer Gale as if she were an alien.

“Put the gun away,” Gale told her partner. “It was a test.”

“Great,” Ward said as he holstered his weapon. “Think you could warn me next time?”

The tension eased down a notch.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. It was what I was trained to do when I encounter another paranormal, an AFTD paranormal in particular.”

“What, suck the life out of me?” I asked with a touch more sarcasm than I intended.

She lowered her eyes. “I wasn't expecting it to be quite like this.”

“How’d you know about me?” I asked.

“It's hard to explain, but it's like when you know someone is American.”

I nodded, there were so many foreigners living in the U.S. that it was getting harder to identify, but I knew what she meant. There was a look, an arrangement of features. I knew it when I saw it.

“Or it's similar to a scent in the air.” She bowed her head for a second. “Or a taste. But
you
… I haven't encountered that before.”

Dad asked, “We heard they’re now pairing all non-paranormal officers with paranormal ones.”

“Not yet,” Ward responded. “Soon it'll be a mandate. Informally, we're already pairing.”

Ward laughed and pushed away from the wall. I didn't see what was funny.

“Let's face it. People that can set fires with their minds, manipulate the elements, and raise the dead. If those people are on the wrong side of the law, things can be problematic.”

Problematic...
ya think
? It was my turn to laugh. I was sure the cops were kept busy with the paranormals that were criminals. I bet the pharmaceutical tycoons didn’t consider that before they administered drugs that gave us the cool skills
.

Gale regarded me with eyes that reflected nothing. Something about her name clicked. Bobbi Gale. She was the chick who used her AFTD to find murder victims.

“Aren't you the one that did that article about AFTD?” I asked.

She cocked her head.

“Oh yeah. Well, at that time, I was the only AFTD on the force.”

“There's more?”

She nodded, giving a small shrug of dismissal. “Not many.”

“Maybe that's natural selection,” I said.

Dad looked at me in surprise.

I grinned. “Sometimes I listen to you.”

He grinned back then turned to Gale. “Okay, now that you're done with the theatrics, can we figure out what this”—he swept his hand around—“violation means?”

Gale took out her pulse-pad. All ideas and notes transferred automatically as she thought them. Those were cool. I bet most cops had them. Except for Garcia.