Powers (12 page)

Finally, we're far enough away from the hole that I relax. That's when I hear sirens. When did she call?

The ambulance guys take care of the man. Mr. Fogerty. They try to talk me into coming back to the hospital, but I insist I'm okay. All I need is to get into my car and turn the heat up.

“I'm going to the hospital to follow up,” Gwen says.

I sense something in her mind. Something cold and calculating.

“You manipulated me,” I say, realizing the truth. “You used me to get your story.”

“So? The shoe is on the other foot. How does it fit, Adrian?”

My muscles go tight; my hands form fists. I fight for control. The worst thing is that I'd save the old guy again in a heartbeat. Risk my life all over again, just to be near her. To feel The Power run through her. To feel it run through me.

She drives off. Hands shaking, I light up a cigarette and inhale deeply. One more addiction hardly matters.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29

Gwen

He was right. I'd manipulated him. I'd discovered something about the visions. I could pull them to me, could see multiple outcomes. Maybe it was because of that night at his house. So close, touching, the energy surging between us. So now the visions came more easily. I'd had a bad moment when the ice cracked under him. But the vision had shown him getting out safely. I had to trust that.

In the end, we both got what we wanted. He had his picture on the front page of the paper. It was a beautiful shot. Crisp, clear, more real than life itself.

The headline was wrong, though. I'd submitted the story as, “Dramatic Rescue Saves Man's Life.” But Doug had changed it. “Man in Coma After Dramatic Rescue.”

I asked Doug about it when I went into the office.

“Yeah, poor old guy,” Doug said. “He had a heart attack late last night. Probably the water was too much of a shock for him, eh?”

I nodded, feeling numb.

“That reminds me. Have you seen the police reports today? Bad news about that guy, the one who outran the train.”

He handed over the police report.

A Rocky Waters resident, identified as Mr. James Dean, was killed in a single car accident late Friday night. It is suspected that Mr. Dean may have fallen asleep at the wheel. Alcohol is not considered to be a factor in his death.

“Too bad,” said Doug. “I guess his time was up.”

Adrian

The rescue story appears the next day in the paper. People at school congratulate me. Clap me on the back. I'm a local hero. Even if the poor old guy is in a coma, the fact remains that I saved his life.

At lunchtime, Jo catches me at the door to the cafeteria. She's holding a stack of notebooks. I expect she'll congratulate me like everyone else, but she has other things on her mind.

“Hey, Adrian. Guess what? I'm back with Conrad,” she says. “He came over last night. Look at this.”

She hands me a notebook. It's filled with sketches. Jo leaning over to whisper a secret into Gwen's ear. Jo at debate practice, intensity in her face. Jo asleep in class, her head on the desk, a thin line of drool dribbling from her mouth.

That line of drool tells me everything.

“He's an
artist,
Adrian,” Jo says, like it's a good thing. “He didn't want anyone to know. Isn't that dumb? He said the guys on the hockey team might think he was gay.”

“Is he?” I ask, hoping.

She smiles. “No. He's loved me since JK. Isn't that sweet?”

“Yeah. Sweet.”

“You and I can still be friends, right?”

“Yeah. Friends.”

Then Jo looks past me and waves to someone. I turn around. It's Conrad.

“Hey, man,” he says. He slides an arm around Jo's waist.

Sure. Rub my nose in it.

“C'mon. Let's all sit together,” Jo suggests.

I look around the cafeteria. Melissa is sitting with Stone. Huh? I guess they're back together. Hard to keep track these days.

Jo is still waiting. “Okay,” I say, accepting her offer. It's better than sitting alone. But then Jo waltzes over and sits at Gwen's table. Imagine my joy. Gwen has her face in a book.
Crime and Punishment.
In front of her sits a plastic container filled with lettuce. She ignores it.

My stomach growls in unison with hers. What is this anyway? Hungry when she's hungry? What did I do to deserve this?

I open my container of homemade chicken salad. Before Gwen can protest, I grab her lettuce and dump half my chicken salad on the side of it. She shoots me an evil look.

“Eat it before I shove it down your throat.” I'm so hungry I nearly snarl.

“Poor boy. Hungry?”

“You
know
I am.”

“Beg me.”

“What?”

“Beg.”

“Fine. Gwen, I'm begging you. Eat it before I shove it down your throat.”

She giggles. She's
enjoying
this! “Okay,” she says, taking a huge bite of chicken salad. “Hmmm, not bad.”

I want to strangle her. Conrad and Joanne exchange a look of
what's with them?
I don't bother to explain.

Conrad says, “I've noticed you drive an old Mustang.” So we talk about that. Meanwhile, Gwen eats the chicken. My navel unsticks from my spine.

“Want to come over tonight for a game of hockey?” Conrad asks me. Suspicious of his motives, I check his thoughts. He's feeling guilty that he'd ordered Jo not to talk to me. Thinks he might score some points with Jo if he befriends me. Wants to satisfy her need to see us as one big, happy family. Feels sorry for me, moving around so much, not having any guy friends.

If there's anything I've learned, reading minds, it's that people's motives are never simple.

“So you interested?” Conrad prompts.

“I, uh, that is, I—”

“Don't tell me you don't know how to skate,” Conrad says.

Right then, both Gwen and Joanne tune in. I feel like an idiot. These people probably skated before they could walk.

“No problem,” Conrad grins. “I'll teach you. Even loan you a pair of skates.”

“Uh, okay.” He seems like an okay guy. Dumb jock, but otherwise okay. And let's face it, I could use a friend.

*   *   *

When I go home for dinner, Mom greets me with the newspaper in her hand. She gives me a big hug. Dad claps me on the shoulder, says, “Well done, son.” But then Mom asks, “How did you happen to be there, Adrian?”

I see the suspicion in her mind. So I lie. I
have
to. There is no other choice.

“Uh, Gwen wanted to show me an ice road. We were there when the van showed up and went through the ice.”

“Gwen?” Her mother's radar goes into overdrive. “She wrote that other article, too, didn't she? About the train. The first time you were in the paper?” And she's thinking of my words:
Mom, do you believe in ESP?

“Yeah. I was in town getting paint. I guess it was coincidence that I drove past right then.”

She doesn't believe me, but she has no evidence against me. Dad's a different story. He tunes in to my emotions. He knows I'm lying. He doesn't confront me, that's not his style. But he knows I'm lying.

Mom makes a cherry pie for dessert. It's my favorite, but it tastes flat and metallic in my mouth. I have to get out of here. Escape their questions; escape my guilt.

I head over to Conrad's after dinner. Two of his brothers are there, plus a couple of guys from school. Conrad laces me into skates and hands me a stick. He makes me the goalie, which suits me fine. Less skating. I listen to the guys' blades slice across the ice, feel the bite of acid air in my lungs, watch the Northern Lights flare green and white in the blue-black sky.

Finally, when my ankles ache from standing up and my butt hurts from falling down, I head home.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 30

Gwen

It was one of those houses that could be anywhere. One-story, white stucco.

It was a man who could be anyone. I couldn't see his face, only the back of him, as he walked around the building, checking doors, windows.

Then, I saw the house from the outside, blazing against a dark winter sky. Fire trucks, ambulance, police.

And Adrian. Standing there. Watching it burn.

Adrian

I wake up, before dawn, with choking smoke in my room.

Fire!

“Cleo!” I hunt frantically on the bed, find her, scoop her into my arms and race out of the room. Cleo gives a surprised and angry yowl in my ear, scratches my bare chest. I ignore her efforts to escape and race toward the stairs.

I come to my senses with one foot on the bottom step. I am buck-naked, holding one extremely pissed-off cat. There is no fire. Gwen is dreaming.

Cleo rakes me again and I let her go. She bounds away, leaping up the stairs two at a time. I am now fully awake and in a bad mood.

I work out for an hour, shower, and head upstairs to whip up breakfast. I hear the shower running in my parent's bedroom. I get out the stuff I need for a protein shake, but stop dead in my tracks. I'm picking up my father's thoughts. He's in the shower and he's not alone.

You filthy bastard. What is it with you and that shower? That's my mother!

Yeah, and that's her husband, I remind myself. Leave. Leave now. I drive to school, now in a
very
bad mood.

I pull into the parking lot. There's Melissa, talking to good old Stone. He's leaning back against his car, a new SUV. She's leaning into him, her hands on the front of his jacket.
Is everybody getting some but me?

But as I lock my car door and start toward the school, I see all is not well with the happy couple. He pushes her away. Curious, I stay where I am. They're too wrapped up in each other to notice me. I'm too far away to hear them, but I can read the echo of their words in their minds.

Stone:
I can't believe you. We're back together a week and you screw someone else? How could you do this to me?

Melissa:
We didn't do anything. I told you. We went out for a coffee.

Stone:
Sure. At least three of my friends saw you with him. Your tongue was halfway down his throat.

Melissa:
We kissed. That's all. Just kissed.

Stone:
Do I look that stupid? I don't understand you, Melissa. I don't understand why I keep coming back to you. Is there
anyone
you haven't done?

Melissa's face turns almost as red as her hair. She pulls back her hand and smacks him, hard, across the face. He raises his hand, and—

I'm there in a few steps. I grab Stone from behind and yank back with my arms, hauling him off his feet. Melissa bursts into tears, and runs into the school.

Stone struggles to break loose. I'm holding him a few inches off the ground. He's not that light, but I'm pumped.

“Wrong move, dude,” I tell him. “I'd suggest you calm down.”

He grunts as I force the air out of his lungs.

“I press two hundred,” I inform him. “How about you?”

“Dunno,” he wheezes. Some of the fight goes out of him. He's willing to rough up a girl half his size, but doesn't want to go up against me.

“Play nice?” I relax my grip enough to let him draw some air.

He gets the message. “Yeah.”

I give him one more jerk with my arms, then release him. He checks me out, recognizes me, straightens his jacket, and walks away.

I'm suddenly in a much better mood.

Gwen

All day Friday, the vision pushed into my waking world. At school, sitting in the cafeteria, I smelled smoke. I saw flames licking up the walls, reaching for the ceiling. I blinked. There was no flame. Breathed in. No smoke.

Driving home, I heard sirens. Pulled over to let the fire truck go by. Waited. No fire truck, no sirens. No fire.

Except in my head. Flame, smoke, sirens. A man restrained by the police, struggling to break free. Yellow hoses, spurting jets of water, heat, noise, confusion. And Adrian.

I told my parents I felt ill, had a bath, and went to bed early. At ten-thirty, I woke up, gasping. Fire, flame, smoke. I sneaked downstairs. The lights were out, my parents already asleep.

I got in the car and drove to town.

Adrian

Fire, flame, smoke.

I jerk awake, almost falling out of my chair. Disoriented, I look around. I'm in a visitation room, sitting beside a coffin with a dead guy for company. I must have dozed off.

I find my father in the office, looking over the details of tomorrow's funeral. I tell him I'm done for the night. He assumes I'm going home. I don't bother to correct him. I race out the back way of the funeral home and hop in my car. A siren wails a few blocks away. I head toward the sound.

I arrive before Gwen. Flames rocket from the windows of the house. Black smoke billows into the sky. Firefighters move with methodical speed, wrestling a yellow fire hose, shouting above the crackle and roar of the fire. Police cars and ambulances stand waiting, their lights fragmenting the night.

Two firefighters exit the building. I read their minds. They couldn't reach the upper floor. The fire is too intense.

Gwen arrives. She sees me, wonders what I'm doing there. Wonders how I got there so fast.

That's it. I'm gone. There's nothing I can do, anyway. Then I hear a voice in my head.

I don't want to die.

Images hit me. Too fast, too hard, too strong. Huddled on the floor. Breathing in smoke. Choking. Flames racing up the wall.

Help me.

I try to block. I can't. I'm there with her, locked in her mind, on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by smoke and flame. I stagger back.

Can't breathe. Smoke. Burning my lungs. Can't …