Jaden Baker (16 page)

“Well, I’ll try to remember that next time someone aims a gun at my head,” Jaden said casually. He crossed his arms.

Dalton chuckled. “We won’t be doing that again, we got what we needed.”

Oh goody. He couldn’t be this close to Dalton anymore, so he lay in his bed and stared at the light. It wasn’t bright enough to blind him, maybe he could damage his brain another way.

Dalton followed and Jaden pretended he didn’t notice. “There’s another exercise today. After you’ve had your breakfast I’ll meet you for it.”

Jaden sat up. “Will there be any concealed weapons involved?” he asked.

“None at all,” Dalton said, looking him straight in the eye. “No, after analyzing the data from yesterday I think you can move to stage two. There’s no need to keep you in stage one.”

Jaden wanted to ask what the hell stages one and two were, but then Dalton would know he was curious, and he was trying to keep as much to himself as possible. Moving up levels couldn’t be good, it meant he was giving them what they wanted.

“Fine,” Jaden said, failing to keep a note of disdain from his voice. He fell back in bed, wishing he could kick something. Dalton left.

What was stage one? If he was in stage one and ready for stage two, he should know his current stage. So he considered it. Yesterday, during the flash gun exercise, they’d bored then scared him. That’s when he’d performed PK, transferring the gun from William’s hand and into his control. After some reflection, Jaden discovered a critical error. The first two incidences were reactionary: the gun flew from William’s hand. The third time he got control of the weapon. He controlled it without trying.
That’s
why Dalton had been pleased.

Crap. Stage one was not controlling it. Stage two was control.

Actually, he thought, maybe that was a good thing. He just wouldn’t do it. He didn’t know how anyway, so there was little danger. Stage two would always be out of range.

Breakfast was cinnamon toast and juice. He washed his hands, brushed his teeth again, and waited for Dalton to come retrieve him.

But Dalton did not come, a new person came to collect him instead. This man was tall, dark skinned, and gave Jaden an impression of strictness. The new stranger said little, and Jaden said little back. Jaden followed him out the cell, through the hallways, and into a second testing room, different though similar to the previous. Jaden thought it must only be separated from the room he’d been in yesterday by the observation area in between them. The mirror was on his right; the room empty. No table, no benches, only the padded walls and floor.

The dark man pushed him inside, and the door shut. Jaden was alone. Why did they take him out of his room, where he was already alone, and put him inside this new one?

The door opened again and Martin, the thinner man with a military haircut, came inside with Dalton. Martin, shorter than Casey and with darker hair, carried a long pole, and Jaden watched him affix something to the ceiling: a small hook with an adhesive base. Thinking this couldn’t be good, Jaden looked to Dalton for an explanation. Dalton had his hands in his pockets and watched Martin.

“Perfect,” he said.

Martin came at Jaden now, with handcuffs.

Jaden retreated as Martin advanced.

“Do we need to get other people in here? Or are you going to behave?” Dalton asked. “I promise no one is going to threaten you today.”

The idea of being chained, when he was already trapped in an underground facility, only added to his fragile emotional state.

“That makes me feel much better,” Jaden said through gritted teeth, not able to help it.

“Come on, kid,” Martin said, “the sooner we get this done the sooner—”

“What?” Jaden asked. “You’ll let me go? Why should I do what you want?” he asked. Martin circled him, but gave Dalton a pleading glance.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dalton said.

“Then don’t!” Jaden yelled.

Martin steered Jaden into a corner. Jaden waited until Martin got closer then kicked at him. Expecting the attack, Martin caught Jaden’s foot, yanked him so Jaden fell on his back, then he spun him and put his knee into Jaden’s back. Martin took one hand, then the other, and cuffed him.

Because his wrists were already raw from yesterday, the cuffs added an extra element of pain today. When Martin released him, Jaden rolled onto his side and swung his legs around so he was at least in a sitting position. He did not look at Dalton or Martin but stared at a spot on the floor.

Martin made a show of taking the silver key and placing it on the tip of the pole. He used the pole to hang the key on the hook glued to the ceiling.

“So,” Dalton started, “you get the key, unlock yourself, and the exercise is over.” That was the simple explanation he gave, delivered as if the task was easy and obvious.

Jaden waited until Dalton and Martin left before looking at the key and deciding, as he stared at it high above him, that he would sit here until they came and got him. He was not going to get the key, he didn’t know how anyway.

He leaned against the wall and waited, thinking.

This whole thing was quite an operation. He hadn’t given it much thought before; he had been focused on getting out. Now he was here, the size and complexity of the place impressed him. He wasn’t sure how big the facility was, or how many people like him were here. So far Jaden counted six staff members plus Dalton. There had to be a kitchen to provide food. He didn’t yet know what was inside the rooms with the mirrors, but most likely computers and other electronic equipment.

When Dalton spoke about what he needed from Jaden, he used “we” rather than “I” which was interesting.

With at least seven people working here, that meant at least seven people knew of this place, knew Jaden was here. Therefore seven people kept Jaden’s captivity a secret.

Did they have families? What did they tell their friends after a long day of keeping a nine year old boy locked in an underground facility where they forced him to do things that many considered, according to Dalton, pseudoscience? Did Martin tell his girlfriend he tackled a boy to the floor and handcuffed him? Did Casey tell his wife he watched a nine year old shower?

Then there was Dalton, the ringleader. What did he go home to? How did he explain his absences?

Jaden shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. He wasn’t sure how long or short a time he’d been in here, he felt cramped and his arms pained him. For privacy, he shimmied toward the mirrored wall and sat underneath it so he couldn’t be seen. Then he lay on his side, relaxing his arms.

He tried sleeping, but it was too bright, he wasn’t tired, and his body hurt.

The silver key glinted, dangling from the ceiling hook.

No, he would not give in. Jaden had principles and he would not perform magic tricks for people hiding behind a mirror. So he waited.

After a while though, an everyday problem reminded Jaden of a rule he made the night before: avoid humiliation. A familiar sensation grew stronger in the area of his bladder.

He came to a crossroads. Did he attempt PK and retrieve the key, unlock himself, and save his remaining dignity, or did he leave it, wet himself, and stay here for however long it took to be taken away?

He was leaning toward option number two; after all, he’d wet himself yesterday, and, though it had been horrible and humiliating, he had survived. A little mess for the staff to clean was a better idea than giving them results.

But...if he stayed here for hours, night and day, what would Dalton do next? How bad would it get before Dalton put him back? Would they force feed him again? Strip him of his clothes, wash him down, and then drape him with nothing but a sheet until he retrieved the key? Dalton would do anything to get results, as he had proved with the gun. He knew which buttons to push.

Avoiding humiliation and keeping some dignity was important. There were different levels of misery, and laying here chained like an animal was level one, but lying here sitting in his own excrement was another.

The key winked at him.

In the long run what mattered more?

Yes, but in the long run how powerful will you become?

Jaden sat up, fascinated with the thought. He had not considered the possibility of becoming stronger. In his mind’s eye, Jaden reflected on everything he had done with psychokinesis. Some acts were small, like moving the napkin tray, opening a door, the guns... Others were more impressive. He had unintentionally made an entire house shake, made the doors open and slam, and objects in the living room fly. It spooked that family so badly they thought Jaden was something otherworldly and called for spiritual reinforcement.

The memory of that short stay had always haunted him, and he tried to never think of it. But now it comforted him. He could be powerful. It was power Dalton wanted, but he couldn’t have it: it was Jaden’s alone.

Was it possible to use psychokinesis to escape? Obsessed with the resistance, Jaden had not spared a thought for what
he
wanted. Perhaps the short term plan of escape should be the long term plan. Instead of frantically running in hopes of escape, he would have to build his strength and prepare himself. Jaden’s freedom required patience and skill.

He took a deep breath and looked at the key. Now that he decided to get it, the how was a little harder. Till now, all occurrences had been accidental. Back at the Kauffmans he tried to open a book and failed. How was he to take the key?

Jaden recalled the incidents when he performed the remarkable: he had either been terrified, or remembered the terrifying event. The first time he used PK he had a gun in his face and he thought his life was in danger. The second incident was remembering the first. Everything after was a ripple effect: things just moved and reacted without a conscious thought. Then yesterday the gun. Again, a moment of terror, when his life was in danger, a recollection of the past.

Today was different. Today was a game changer. He had to save himself, not from immediate danger, but from mortification. Eventually he had to amass enough strength to free himself from this padded prison. Yesterday he proved he could control PK, even if that control was fleeting. Jaden assumed it was like any skill—mastering it was a matter of practice.

Jaden closed his eyes, trying to remember the gun in his face, how he felt, and what had happened. The incident replayed in his mind. One second a flash card, then William drew a revolver from his waistband. It swept over Dalton’s head, pointed momentarily at Jaden’s face, then flew away. The gun swept over Dalton’s head. It aimed at Jaden’s face. What had his mind done to save him?

You flicked it away, just like that.

A reaction. Instinct. Yes, he had flicked it away,
just like that
. The gun flew as if swatted with his hand. On the third try, the gun pulled out of William’s grip, cutting a finger, and came to him.

Back at the Kauffmans, when he tried flipping the book in his bedroom, he wanted to control the ability to control it, not to break free and save himself. There was no urgency.

When people were in danger, they reacted instinctively, not thinking about it. It was fight or flight. That was movement, it was living. Maybe PK was like everything else. He never thought about taking a breath or opening his mouth, walking or running. Movement was simple.

Jaden eyed the key again. It was still. All he had to do was flick it off the hook, pick it up in his hand, and unlock the cuffs.

When I want to pick something up, Jaden thought, I reach out and touch it. Psychokinesis isn’t the reaching, it’s the moving. In order to move something I have to feel it first to make contact.

Concentrate on the key. It was small, an inch and a half long. He stared at it until the image burned his retinas. Shutting his eyes, he imagined what the key looked like and how it felt. Hanging from the ceiling for hours, it was probably cold. It was solid, so it would feel a little heavy in his palm. Jaden imagined the key from different angles as it hung on the hook, seeing it from above, from all sides, from the hook’s perspective.

A strange feeling enveloped him; he focused on it. His breathing slowed. He could not hear his heart. Goosebumps tingled over his arms and legs, and the air was suddenly cold. The key. Small and heavy. The silver key hung on a hook fixed to the ceiling. Though his eyes were closed, he saw it, just as it was, and he knew it was not his imagination. He was hyperaware. He felt it there like the padded floor below him, like he touched the key with his fingers, only it felt more real.

He saw it shaking in his mental grip, trying to slide off the hook. He heard the soft
clink
, and he squinted his eyes to see it. The key rattled.

Jaden held his breath. The key shook but did not come off the hook. He closed his eyes again and willed it to come off, but it vibrated there.

So flick it away
.

He stared at it and remained focused. He was close. Jaden squint his left eye in concentration. Behind his back, his right thumb met the tip of his pointer finger. This had to work. Staring at the vibrating key, Jaden flicked his fingers.

As if recorded on a high speed camera and played back at a normal frame rate, the key flew from the hook and fell to the ground, where it bounced twice before landing, a silent drop on the soft floor.

“Ha,” Jaden said under his breath, glad his observers could not see his triumphant face. He pitched himself on his knees, hobbled to the key, grabbed it in his left hand then transferred it to his right. He groped for the key hole, and when he found it, fumbled before the key slid inside. With a satisfactory
click
, his left hand was free. His cramped arms and shoulders thanked him as they came around to his side and front. Jaden unlocked the right cuff.