For I Could Lift My Finger and Black Out the Sun (20 page)

10

Now, if I lived in a movie, the bus would have zipped along the highway so that, by noon, I’d be standing in the middle of General Tulloch Park, facing off against Sol like gunslingers in an old Western.

What I didn’t understand about the bus I’d chosen was that it was a “local.” That meant it stopped a lot. I mean,
a lot
. I gave up counting after the twelfth time. People got off once in a while, but mostly people got on. More and more and more people, heading to the capital. I was pushing and pushing and pushing, trying to keep from being noticed. Until finally I realized something. These people simply didn’t care. The life of the long-distance commuter is one of mindless process. Get from point A to point B, with as little fanfare, as few problems or interruptions as possible. They couldn’t care less that a kid was sitting in the back of the bus. They didn’t know me, my life, and they didn’t want to know. So I relaxed.

Anyway, it took hours. A lot of people on the bus slept. They were clearly used to this routine. Others read, or talked or texted on their phones. But no one, and I mean no one, interacted with anyone else, unless they came on board together.

Adults are crazy.

But it helped me stay in my little bubble of anonymity.

I didn’t know the way, and had no idea what to look for in terms of landmarks telling me when we’d arrived. But gradually the buildings started to get larger, then much larger. And finally, the riders all started to do things: wake up, sit up straighter, gather belongings. It was clear something was about to happen. When the bus came to a stop next to a wide, dingy building, the other buses around made it clear we had arrived at our final destination. I followed the rest of the passengers out, being sure to apply little pushes here and there. No need to get caught at the last minute.

The capital city. Or at least, the dingy backside of it.

I had no clue where I was or where to go. For a moment, I stood motionless on the sidewalk as people brushed past me from every direction, heading in every other direction. The city was a lot busier than I was used to, and despite my special skills, I found myself scared. Or maybe just intimidated. I didn’t have enough knowledge of the world at large to even come up with a plan to figure out how where I was.

Seconds went by, maybe a minute. I had come to the city to face an enemy who likely could kill me with a single thought. And yet the bad thing happening to me at that very moment was so much simpler, so much more frustratingly basic; I was lost.

The crowd of anonymous people finally ebbed. I guess that each new arrival and departure created a small maelstrom at the bus station that abated shortly after. As the sidewalk slowly cleared, I saw something of use. A large kiosk with a map of the city.
Thank God
, I thought, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

YOU ARE HERE proclaimed a red dot in the center of the map. Scanning across the surface, I looked for parks, any park. Green spaces, I assumed, were usually shown in green on maps. General Tulloch should have been easy enough to find. That is, it would have been if it were a park where I came from. In my town, the parks were good-sized, with plenty of grass and trees. Apparently in the city, they called just about any square inch of land a park if it didn’t have a house or office building on it. It took me 15 minutes to find the tiny rectangle of General Tulloch Park on the map. Sure, Sol had said the park was in the center of town, but the map I was using was centered on the bus stop, on the city’s outskirts. General Tulloch Park was far up and way to left of the red dot where I stood.

Some friendly cartographer had placed concentric circles on the map showing distances. Quarter-mile, half-mile. Tulloch Park was much farther out than any of these helpful rings, meaning it was well over a mile away. That was fine. I could walk. I got my bearings from the map, noted some street names, and started off.

Early afternoon in the late fall, the sun was still up and the temperature was decent, so no one took too much notice of a kid wandering the city streets alone. Whenever I felt someone’s eyes on me, a quick push solved the problem. Still, it didn’t save me from getting turned around.

The capital was mostly north-south and east-west streets, but where it got confusing was the big traffic circles with radiating spokes that seemed to go off in any old direction. I didn’t realize that until I think I’d walked two or three miles, far more than I actually needed to walk. Feeling foolish, I closed my eyes and just…
sensed…
for a moment. The beacon was still out there, but now it was behind me. Turning around, I backtracked for a while, noticing that the sun was setting over the tall buildings. That’s when I realized I’d be spending the night alone in a strange city.

Or worse.

I’d be with Sol.

Engrossed in this rather terrifying thought, I came to an intersection where six streets connected to a box-like square. In the center of the square was a grassy space, not as tiny as it looked on the map. Park benches and cement walkways spread in various directions around a central hub: the large statue of a man on horseback who had to be General Tulloch. My heart first skipped a beat, then, to make up for it, decided to beat double-time. I had arrived. Sol was near. I could feel his presence, although the direction had become less clear. Like something was jamming the signal just a bit. Just enough distortion to obscure the true source.

Foolishly, I walked directly up to the statue, standing below its pedestal and staring up, oblivious to my surroundings. Letters chiseled into the base confirmed my thoughts: General Avery J. Tulloch. It noted his year of birth and death, which to me sounded like dates from another epoch. I’m pretty sure dinosaurs were a daily threat back when General Tulloch roamed the Earth. Above me, the horse reared on two legs as the general thrust out his sword, a gesture frozen in time.

Did you really fight with a sword?
I asked. Looking again at the dates, I thought it was very well possible. In the shadows of the looming buildings of downtown, I imagined a man on horseback waving a sword against the combined forces of police cars and military tanks. I figured Tulloch had about as much chance against them as cars and tanks currently had against Sol.

Sol…

I whipped around, expecting an attack.

There was nothing, no one, just random pedestrians ambling through the park, following the journeys of their various unknown lives. I scanned left and right, saw nothing unusual, so I began to edge around the statue, keeping the good general to my back as I sort of crab-walked around in a large circle.

When I returned to the front, back under the raised legs of Tulloch’s stone horse, I stopped. Sol wasn’t there.

By then, the sun was behind the buildings to the west and streetlights were beginning to turn on automatically. I was no city slicker, but I had seen enough movies and TV shows to know that hanging out in a city park after dark was inviting trouble. But where the hell was I going to go? Not only did I have no place to go, no place to eat dinner or sleep, I didn’t even know where to begin looking. Homesickness hit me hard, like an emptiness in my belly that no hot meal could fill.

And that’s when I saw it.

Rustling lightly in the soft breeze, a piece of paper was perched at the top of the statue’s pedestal, near one of the horse’s rear hooves. I had seen plenty of litter during my walk through the city, paper scraps and bits of plastic that skittered by. But this one held firm, anchored by something I couldn’t see, and so it kept my attention.

The pedestal was maybe seven feet tall, meaning the paper was well out of my reach, but I could get to it with a little climbing. I knew it was for me, and that it was from Sol. He’d left me a note. How considerate.

Conveniently, the note was directly above a small sign: NO CLIMBING OR SITTING ON STATUE. I froze, looking around, worried who might see. Always the nerd. When I realized that I could simply push the transgression from the mind of any passing police officer, I laughed at myself, then stepped onto the protruding lower section of the pedestal. With a little effort, I was high enough to put my hand on the paper. The tape that held it down came loose in my hand, and I jumped back down to the ground.

If anyone had seen or cared, I couldn’t tell. I opened the folded paper and found just what I’d expected. A note from Sol.

* * *

John

Welcome to the capital city, my friend! Unfortunately, I am rather preoccupied today. Many wheels are turning. I’d greatly prefer to meet you tomorrow, here in this very spot. Shall we say noon?

Sol

* * *

So after all that, we would face off like gunslingers at high noon. Not that I had a gun. Compared to Sol, I felt like I had no weapon at all.

I stared angrily at the paper in my hand, and it crumpled into a ball. But my hand hadn’t crushed it, hadn’t even moved. I looked at the ball of paper through squinted eyes.
How’d I do that?
I was sure I’d used my mind, but unlike when I rolled the pencil around on my desk, this time I hadn’t even been trying.

I decided to try to flatten the paper with my mind, reverse the trick. Nothing happened. I gave it another shot, staring at the paper intently.

“Son, are you okay? Are you lost or something?” a woman’s voice said, just beside me. I nearly jumped out of my skin, turning to see a kind-looking elderly woman in a black coat, eyes looking at me with concern through thick glasses.

I had let down my guard so much that someone had noticed me. Maybe several someones. Quickly, I reached out to push her mind, too fast and hard at first, then controlling myself. She was just a kind old woman trying to help me.

Her expression changed from focused concern to blank indifference, and she began to walk away. Then I realized I needed something from her.

“Ma’am?” I called, and she half-turned back toward me.

“Yes, dear?” she said, slowing but not stopping as she walked away.

“Is there a hotel nearby, maybe one with a restaurant in it?”

“Oh yes, of course, there are a few.”

“Could you please point me in the direction of one of them?”

The woman paused, thinking, then pointed down one of the main streets radiating from the square. “Just down there, on the left. The Lexington. Give that a try.” Then she was off, moving like she had to be somewhere without actually knowing why. Apparently I was getting really good at pushing.

Minutes later, I was standing outside the front door of the Lexington Hotel, the nighttime city lit up with a thousand lights around me.

11

“Wake up, John, it’s time for school,” my mom said, gently nudging me.

“Just a few more minutes, Mom,” I grumbled, turning over.

The phone rang, startling me fully awake. Not the digital beeping I was used to, echoing down the hall from our phone’s place near the kitchen, but a blaring chime that felt like it was coming out of my own head. I rolled over, pushing white puffs of something out of the way.

Comfortable, fluffy billows of cloth. Stacks of posh pillows.

The phone rang again, jarring me to sit up.

Where the heck am I?

Then I remembered. Thanks to the benefits of mental suggestion, I had spent the night in a junior executive suite at the Lexington Hotel.

At the foot of the bed, the TV flashed, some show I didn’t recognize, with kids getting ready for school as a laugh track backed up every single statement they made. Next to me, the phone rang a third time and I jumped to pick it up, if for no other reason than to stop the noise.

Holding the handset to my ear, I heard a robotic voice: “This is your. Wake-up call. The time is. Nine o’clock. A.M.” There was a click and the message repeated, so I hung up the phone and took in my surroundings.

What was it, a queen-size or king-size bed? It didn’t matter. Compared to what I was used to, it was an ocean of comfort. I briefly considered how many geese had to be plucked to make the mound of pillows I’d been sleeping among. Across the room a small table was flanked by two well-appointed chairs, and on the table sat the remains of the previous night’s dinner, mostly just a salad that was essentially untouched. No trace of the cheeseburger and fries I had ordered remained. I remembered other things on the menu with much higher price tags, but when I saw “cheeseburger and fries,” my stomach double-flopped and I knew I had to have it. The empty remains of three sodas finished the picture.

As delicious as the burger had been, my stomach growled, reminding me that breakfast would also be a really good idea. Fully adapted to the junior-executive-suite lifestyle, I picked up the phone and pressed the button marked ROOM SERVICE, waited a moment, and a man answered.

“Room service, how may I help you?”

“Do you have bacon?” I asked.

“Sir?”

“Bacon.”

“Yes, sir, of course. But was there a specific dish from the menu you wished to order?”

Oh, crap. Menu. Stretching the cord, I could just reach the dinner menu still sitting on the side chair where I had dropped it the night before. I scanned the thick, expensive-feeling paper and saw no breakfast items mentioned, but flipping it over found what I was looking for. “Ah, here it is. The, uh, the omelette. It’s called the Hearty American. Bacon and cheddar. Can I get that? And some orange juice?”

“Absolutely, sir.” The man recited my room number and I confirmed it.

Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I didn’t bother to get cleaned up, since I was already dressed. I’d only brought the clothes on my back for my little journey, so although they were rumpled from a night in bed, they’d have to do. I opened the door and a twenty-something man walked in with a covered tray smelling of delicious food. The tantalizing scent of bacon wafted through the air, and I followed like a cartoon dog, nose up, taking it in. The deliveryman looked at me sideways, but a little push fixed that. He even left thinking I’d given him a sizable tip, and took the dinner tray with him. Of course, I hadn’t actually given him a tip. I didn’t have any money on me at all. I guess I should have felt bad, basically stealing a hotel room and all, but honestly it didn’t seem as important as what I had come to do.

I sat alone in the large suite, many times the size of my bedroom at home. Hell, it was probably as big as our entire house. The omelette was delicious, the bacon stuffed inside wonderfully crunchy, but it left me hollow.

Mom and Holly were home, and the only reason Mom didn’t miss me was because I’d lied to her and bent her mind. I hadn’t done any such thing to Holly. Did she know I was gone? Then of course there was my dad. He was just…
gone
. A fact that would always be my fault. No mind push was going to change that.

And by the end of the day,
I
might be gone, too. I looked at the clock. 9:58 a.m. My meeting with Sol was two hours away.

I took another bite of my breakfast, washed down by a swig of pulpy orange juice. And I broke down in tears.

“Mom,” I said, sobbing. I spoke the words aloud, even though the room was empty. “Mom, I’m sorry. Holly, I’m sorry. If I don’t come back, remember I love you. And Dad. I just want you to know, there’s something
the same
about me, and Bobby, and Sol. So I have to do this. And I have to try to get Bobby away from him. But I don’t want to die.”

I sat there a long time, thinking of what to do.