Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) (29 page)

Ugh.  Ugh.  Maybe she was glad she’d come now.  At least she’d be able to face him before he was on the street. 
I’d never have known that if I hadn’t come
, Sam told herself, trying to distance herself, the same way one did during an uncomfortable trip to the dentist or doctor.  Small steps.  Break it all into small, easily digestible pieces.  Small steps took her with the boys into the pastel waiting room, whose pleasant colors had faded into a drab reminder of the blandness that was early nineties décor.  Small steps sat her down on a stiff, worn couch with no arms.  Small steps made her smile back at Lane when he put his arm around her shoulders.

All nice, easy things she could do piece by piece, like pick up a magazine and read an article about celebrities’ rumored marriage troubles and plans to buy a house and other concerns that seemed far removed from her own.  It was small steps that took her to meet the orderly who came into the room, but when he told her that Lane and the others couldn’t come, her carefully crafted peace shattered.

“What?  I have to go alone?”  She looked back at Lane with wide eyes and pursed lips, “I can’t go alone.”

“You won’t be alone, miss.  There will be orderlies there.  Besides, your father is well medicated now.  He hasn’t shown any violent tendencies in a long time.  Otherwise, we wouldn’t let him have visitors.”

“But—but—” Sam’s protests fell on deaf ears, and she found herself towed by the orderly to meet her doom.

#

Doom took place in a surprisingly light and friendly room.  Granted, it was a government-run mental hospital, but the management took their jobs seriously.  The activity room held comfortable chairs, low bookshelves with old books and games, and large windows with a pleasant view of the grounds.  They let her in, again insisting Lane wait outside.  “He doesn’t want to see anyone else,” an orderly told her, “We have to respect his wishes.”  Apparently, the wishes of the free people didn’t count.

Her father sat at one of several round tables that looked like they belonged in a school cafeteria.  He had the strong jaw, high cheekbones, and patrician nose that looked distinguished no matter your age.  Ten years older, but still handsome.  Actually, now that she thought about it, she realized he was only in his early forties.  Of course he would still look young—he’d been nineteen when Sam was born.  He’d been a mere thirty-one years old when he attacked her, all of those years ago.  Strange that she’d always thought of him as old.  And he looked so normal, his hands resting in his lap. 
What was I expecting
, Sam thought? 
Demon horns?
  If she was being honest—yes.  At least, some outward indication of the inner decay.  Not this handsome man, clearly in his prime, relaxed and intelligent.

Sitting down, Sam gave a brisk hello.  He didn’t respond.  The seconds dragged into minutes as the two stared at each other. 

“Are you going to say anything?”  Samantha said.  Her father didn’t reply.

“Fine, I’ll start.  I’ve been attacked an astounding number of times in the past week.  Two of them have mentioned you.  So I’m here.  Care to shed some light on the matter?”

“You’re my daughter.”

Her jaw clenched and an eye twitched.  Sam fought the instinct to run, to hide, to do anything to avoid this man’s blank stare.  She pushed it down with another, stronger emotion: fury.  It took over with its characteristic, for Samantha at least, cool control.

“I certainly am,” she said, “Did the orderly clue you in or did you figure it all by yourself?  And did you even hear what I said?”

“You look like a perfect combination of my mother and your mother.  But you have my eyes.  Strange.”

“It’s called
genetics
.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, I changed your diapers,

remember!”

“Actually I don’t.  But you broke my arm.  And my nose.  And you tried to shoot me in the head.  I remember that.”

He fell silent.  Another minute went by in silence.  Sam started to get up.

“I never thought you’d make it this far in life.”

She paused, confused.

“Adulthood,” he said with a smile, “Didn’t think you’d make it.  You’ve surprised me.”

Sam didn’t sit back down.  She hovered, halfway, between sitting and standing.  “Why wouldn’t I make it to adulthood?”

His hand played the edge of the round table.  A fingernail caught a snag in the Formica and worked at it.  “I was trying to do you a favor, you know.”

“I didn’t see it that way.”

“Fuck no, of course not.  But think of the alternatives.”

“What alternatives?”

“The same ones you’re running from now.  The same ones you’ll be trying to outrun the rest of your short life.  Let me tell you something.  You studied economics, right?  Low supply meets high demand equals high price.  The price on your brown curls was always so steep.”  He clucked his tongue, shaking his head, “I hope your boyfriend realizes that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said, wishing it were true.  How could he know all of this?  How could he know what she studied in school?  How could he know about Lane?

With a force of will, Sam forced herself to sit down.  He made her skin crawl, her stomach turn, but now that she was here she wanted the information.  He had answers, and she wanted them.  Craved it, the knowledge and understanding she’d never had, all those nights she’d wondered why.

 Her father crooked his finger at her and leaned in, “You’re a smart girl to have made it this long.  Let me give you a piece of fatherly advice,” he said, “There’s no outrunning the numbers.  Your only choice is which deal you’re gonna take.”

“Is that what you call this?  A good deal?” 

Her father gestured to the room at large, “Hell yeah!  Three steady meals, all the books I can read, a soft bed to sleep.  What more can you ask for?”

“A life, maybe?”

He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound, it was purely for show.

“Kids.  You think you know everything.  Let me tell you, what I’ve got?  It sure does beat the electric chair.  Sometimes, if you want to live, you have to take what you can get.  You should know that by now.”

“No.  I won’t be controlled.  Not like you.”

“Who said I was being controlled?” 

He looked up.  The eyes that met hers
were
hers, almost.  Except his had a dark steel tone underneath the gold.  Sam wondered, absently, if her eyes took on that same cast when she was angry.  Her heart started pounding, even as her mind tried to rationalize. 
He can’t hurt me,
she told herself,
the orderly is right there.  He wouldn’t dare.
  Even so, she felt herself pushing her chair back, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, getting ready for fight or flight.  There was no reasoning with instincts.

“We’re different, you know... We can give and take as we please... It scares them.”  His voice trailed off, “They were gone—I’d beaten the fuckers and I was better not perfect, but better and now... you... come... along.”  Her father stood.  Sam noticed that his pupils were dilated.  “Get away from me,” he snarled, “Stay away from me.”

She didn’t have to be told twice.  Somewhere, in the background, she could feel power building.  It couldn’t be—it wasn’t her—was it her father?

Jumping to her feet, Sam strode quickly towards the door, “I’m leaving.”

An iron grip latched around her shoulder and hauled her away, hurling her against a wall.  Another yank turned her back around and his fingers clamped around her neck. “You bitch!  YOU THINK YOU CAN COME HERE AND START IT ALL OVER AGAIN?  YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCK WITH ME?”

Over his shoulder, she could see the orderly, scrambling, trying to move to help her—but something was stopping him.  Her dad, of course.  He had talent.  Far more powerful than hers.  He wasn’t just drawing it from the environment the way she could, he was using it, as well—using it to keep the security away—but not using it on her.

He wants to kill me with his bare hands.
  The thought popped into Sam’s head and she knew it was true.  She needed help, but her father’s power was strong enough to hold the doors around them closed.  She could hear Lane, trapped outside, screaming to be let in, could feel him trying to counteract her father’s TK—but he wasn’t strong enough. 

“Let.  Go.  Of.  Me,” Sam said, latching her hands around her father’s, trying to pry his fingers away from her neck.  He retaliated by pulling her back and slamming her head into the back wall, and Sam had had enough.  She brought her hands up, pressing her thumbs into his eyes, forcing his head backwards.  Screaming, he released her and took a step back.  

“She chose you and what did she get for it?  Death!  You’re the reason I’m here in the first place!  Why didn’t you fucking die when you were supposed to?”

Stunned at this unexpected turn, Sam wasn’t in time to duck the first blow to her face.  But instinct propelled her down and away from the second one.  And the third time her father attacked her, Sam was ready.  Using his weight against him, she ducked, grabbing his arm and hurling him across and over her back and into the wall.  Thank god for afterschool women’s defense classes.   

He slammed into the opposite wall, hitting like a sack of potatoes and sliding to the ground.  Taking advantage of his distraction, Sam consciously
reached
into the environment, towards the currents her father manipulated and pulled them to her.  She had no idea how it worked, but it did.  She felt the energy flowing into her, wrapping around her, like a superheated cocoon.

“I’ll kill you,” he snarled and reached for the power.  Sam felt her footing shake as he yanked, pulled, and tried to drag the energy from her.  But in matters of willpower, Sam had long ago become a master.  She dug in her heels, literally and figuratively, and hung on.  She may not be able to use it herself, but at least she could keep him from using it.  Shaking and tense, the effects of the background power struggle ringing in her head, Sam straightened.  She turned to her father.

“I swear, I’ll finish you right this time.”  Sitting on his rear, elbows and knees akimbo, powerless, he looked like a child, not a monster, as Sam advanced on him.

“No,” Sam said, voice low, “I’m strong now.  You can’t hurt me anymore.  I won’t let you.”

Behind her, the door burst open.  Lane flew into the room, followed by several security guards.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” he yelled, placing himself firmly in front of Samantha, between her and her father.  Sam didn’t pay attention, concerned with the ebb and flow of power in the room.  It felt unnatural to her.  At that moment, the power twisted out of Sam’s grip and her father leapt to his feet.  The orderlies surged forward before and managed to restrain him, one going for a tranquilizer gun in his belt, the other pushing her father back and against the wall.  Gritting her teeth, Sam reached again, pulling the energy towards her once more, a tug of war she was determined to win.  She never wavered, though her headache returned with sudden, evil force, worming its way into her skull.

And Lane stood between it all, momentarily stunned and for once unsure of what to do.  He could sense the power struggle going on but had no idea how to handle it.  Sam solved the problem for him, spinning on her heel and striding out the door.

 “Come on,” she said, “Nothing more here.  We’re just adding fuel to his fire.” 

“You fucking bitch,” her father called out as the orderlies restrained him, struggling to avoid the injection.  “You did this to me!”  His words were acid.

Sam’s stride lengthened as the door shut behind them.  The screaming tirade echoed down the corridor, evil words following them to the elevator.

“Your mother and I were happy before you were born!”

They reached the elevator.  Harry and Al were there, holding the door for them.  All four slid in and Lane hit the “close door” button three times.  The door didn’t close quickly enough to block out her father’s last words, hurled down the corridor at the top of his lungs.

“YOU KILLED HER!” her father screamed.  “YOU KILLED YOUR MOTHER, YOU BITCH!”

The doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent. 

Admirably, Al and Lane both managed to keep their mouths closed, though Al couldn’t resist staring at her, mouth open.  Standing next to the door, looking straight ahead, hands folded in front of her, Sam pretended not to notice.  But as the elevator descended, she could not help but reach in her pocket and pull out her inhaler, shuddering as she took a deep breath.  Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, “I think that answers
my
question: My father is both crazy
and
evil.  Everyone else satisfied?”

“No,” Lane said, “I have to tell you—”

“Not.  Now.”  The words were clipped and brusque.  Sam turned a steel cold gaze to Harry and Al, “You two?”

They shook their heads rapidly.

“Good.”

The silence lasted until they made it out into the parking lot.  Then Lane couldn’t hold his tongue any more.  Rather than unlock the door, he stood in front of her, “Sam, your dad—I couldn’t get to you because your dad took my power.  Not just my energy, my TK.  He
took
it.  He’s not supposed to be able to do that.”