Whispers From the Grave (12 page)

“How
could
they?”

“Oh, me and my big mouth! They didn’t do it for the money. They wanted the future to be brighter for everyone—including
you.
But I think Mom regretted her decision later.”

“Really?” I asked, blowing my nose on a napkin.

“Yes. She worried about what your life would be like. But our parents were young when they got involved with Twin-Star, and thought they were doing a good thing when they agreed to freeze an embryo. They hoped the work at Twin-Star would make the whole world a better place.”

“I know Rita didn’t like what they did!”

“How do you know that?”

“See this?” I said, slipping the diary from my jacket pocket. “I found it in our attic. That’s how I found out about all of you. I thought you might like to see it.”

“Rita’s diary,” he said fondly and fingered the cover. “I’m glad you have this. All my family mementos were destroyed in a fire.”

“I can send you copies of some family photographs,” I offered. “Our computer is full of them.”

“I’d appreciate that. This diary brings back memories. I used to sneak into her room and read it. She’d have killed me if she’d known.”

“Mostly she wrote about her boyfriend.”

“
Ben!
”
He jerked his fingers away, as if the diary had given him an electrical shock. “If the state hadn’t given him the death sentence, I would have killed him myself.”

“I hate him too,” I admitted.

“Oh, he was smooth,” Jim said through gritted teeth. “And he had my sister wrapped around his little finger. She thought he was so charming, but I didn’t like the way he drank. He destroyed our family when he killed her.”

“It must have been horrible.”

“Worse than that. And the trial dragged on for months. Those idiot defense attorneys tried every trick in the book to get that killer off the hook. First they dragged in an unreliable witness and put him on the stand—a neighbor boy who was a known liar and couldn’t possibly have seen the killing. They coached him into saying Ben didn’t do it. When that approach didn’t work, the attorneys blamed it on the alcohol. They said Ben was so drunk he didn’t even
remember
it. They said the alcohol clouded his judgment and he shouldn’t have to be responsible for the murder. The jury didn’t buy it.”

“Good. If he’d gotten off the hook, he might have done it again.”

“Ben sobbed on the stand—said he never meant to hurt Rita,” Jim said bitterly. “But I knew he was crying for himself. My family was never the same afterward. The trial was particularly hard on Mother.”

The talk of Rita’s murder was wearing on him. His sagging skin was slightly gray, and his words rolled out slowly.

Promising to stay in touch, we hugged and said good-bye.

Home fifteen minutes later, I went straight to my room without greeting my mother.

As awful as it was, I wanted to read more about Rita’s murder.
If I know everything there is to know about it,
I reasoned,
then maybe I can finally stop thinking about it.
But I was unable to access any of the newspaper files from that year.

“That’s strange,” the librarian said when I called to ask for help. “All newspaper accounts from that year appear to be deleted from the central computer. Even the backup files are gone.”

I figured it was a fluke until I discovered all the Mills family photos were missing from our computer file. If not for Rita’s diary, there would be no evidence that the Mills family ever existed.

13

“Why would someone want to erase my past?”

I asked Kyle. It was Wednesday afternoon and he had stopped by after school to take me to Twin-Star Labs for more tests.

“Maybe it was a computer glitch,” he suggested as we pulled out of my driveway.

“I don’t think so,” I said. I rolled down my window. My eyes felt small and gritty, and I couldn’t stop yawning. I’d slept very little the last couple of nights and my tiredness was catching up with me. As the car picked up speed, a crisp breeze rushed through the window, refreshing me. It slid coolly over my face, blowing back my hair.

“Computers aren’t infallible,” Kyle said.

“Why did my family photos
and
the newspaper files on my sister’s murder disappear at the same time? It’s too much of a coincidence! Someone came into my house and erased everything, and then they went to the library and did the same thing.”

He regarded me skeptically. “Why would anyone do that?”

“That’s what I’d like to know! All I know is
someone
was in my house. My neighbor saw him running away. He must have been watching the house and came back when I left to—”

I let the rest of the sentence hang. I didn’t want to tell Kyle about my visit to my brother. He would never understand why I felt such a connection to Jim.

“Your neighbor saw the burglar? What did he look like?”

“Ruby didn’t get a good look at him. She said it could have been a man or a woman.”

“Maybe it was Suki. She’s a weird girl. Didn’t you say she was always stealing stuff from you?”

“Yes,” I conceded. “She’s stolen some of my makeup, but this is different. Why would she mess with my computer?”

“Why would anyone? This whole thing is crazy, Jenna. My theory about Suki makes as much sense as anything else.”

He was right. Maybe Suki
did
erase my past. Maybe she was jealous because I knew more about my history than she knew about hers. She’d seemed so sad when she told me all she had left of her mother was three photographs. But she’d made such a point of wanting to help me “re-create” my family in the VR program. Was that just an act?

Suki was strange. Still, I could not believe she’d be that cruel. My gut feeling said someone else had erased my family history—someone who wanted to harm me.

Something evil is in the air. It’s all around us, closing in, and I don’t know what to do.
I shivered, remembering Rita’s words. No one believed she was in danger—until it was too late. Was
I
in danger? Or was I only imagining things because I was spooked by what had happened to Rita?

With my mind so cluttered, it was harder than usual concentrating on Dr. Grady’s rambling monologues. When he pulled out the visor, I perked up. Though my powers scared me, I admit I was intrigued.

Kyle asked to sit in on my session, and when he saw the visor, he grinned at me, his face flushed in excitement.

“You’re ready for the next big step, Jenna,” Dr. Grady said. “As I explained earlier, the visor is fueled with a PK enforcing substance. When I flick the visor’s ‘on’ switch, the inner tubes heat to 120 degrees. In cooler temperatures the fuel is dormant, but the heat brings the fuel to an active state. The visor’s fuel will pull the PK energy from your brain waves and circulate it back through, strengthening it.”

I slipped the visor over my head. The instant I turned it on, it grew warm. It felt natural, as if it were a part of me. Energy—in the form of crackling, blue rays of light—shot from my eyes. Instantaneously, the energy circled back to an area above my ears and into my mind. It was an odd, tingling sensation that left me heady with power.

“Let’s see what you can do with this,” Dr. Grady said and placed a tall, green bottle behind a Plexiglas screen.

I stared at the bottle, imagining it blowing apart into a million pieces. I channeled all my energy—my anger, frustration, and fear—into the rays aimed at the bottle. The blue rays washed over it, but it remained intact.

“Focus, Jenna,” Dr. Grady urged. “
Focus
!”

I concentrated harder and the rays deepened with the intensity of my thoughts, finally darkening to midnight-blue as my mind seemed to hum. Then, suddenly, the bottle exploded with a bang, sending sharp sprays of glass to the corners of the room.

I leapt back, startled to see I’d actually done it.

“Not bad,” Dr. Grady said. “Two minutes and forty-five seconds.” He tried to sound casual, but there was a breathlessness to his usually gruff voice.

I discovered I could control the dice ninety percent of the time while wearing the visor. And in just two minutes, I twisted a paper clip into a knot. After forty minutes of PK exercises, I was mentally drained and the visor was nearly empty. As the fuel ran low, my abilities weakened.

“That’s enough for today, Jenna,” Dr. Grady said, reaching for the visor. I flinched as his fingers brushed my hair. His touch made my flesh crawl.

“We must be conservative with the fuel,” he cautioned. “It’s mixed from several rare substances. Every drop is expensive and hard to come by. Obviously, you’re exhausted, and therefore using the fuel at a faster rate. We’ll experiment again tomorrow when you’re rested.”

His assumptive attitude annoyed me. He thought he could snap his fingers and I’d obey.

“What if I’m
busy
tomorrow?” I said coolly and glared at him.

He pretended not to notice my resentment, but his eyes flickered darkly. He smiled stiffly and asked, “What day would be convenient for you, Jenna?”

“I’ve got lots of homework,” I said. “I’ll call you when I get some free time.”

I didn’t really have much homework. The truth is, I was anxious to wear the visor again. But I was
more
anxious to take control of my life. So far, the scientists had made all the decisions for me. They’d suspended me on ice for a century and chosen my birth time as casually as they would plan an office party. It was
their
fault I was born in the wrong time—
their
fault I'd never know my real family!

In this day and age, animal experiments were illegal. Yet
I
felt like the proverbial guinea pig.
No more!
If I helped with the experiments, it would be on my terms.

If.

I hadn’t made up my mind if I was going to continue working with Twin-Star. My biological parents had signed a contract with Twin-Star. But I had rights. I was pretty sure the scientists couldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to.

I toyed with the idea of telling Dr. Grady I had no intention of returning—no intention of ever wearing the visor again. Then Kyle smiled at me. “You were great, Jenna!” he whispered. “Really great!”

I melted as his shining eyes held mine. The PK experiments were so important to him—a tribute to the grandfather he adored. Involuntarily, my lips curved into a smile as wide as Kyle’s.

“I wish my grandfather was alive to see this,” he said proudly.

In that instant, I made a decision. I would help with the experiments. But I’d make it clear to everyone it was
my
choice. “I’ve got some time Saturday,” I told Dr. Grady. “I could come in for a while in the afternoon.”

I told myself I was doing it for Kyle. After all, what difference did it make to me how many knots I could tie in a fork with my mind waves? I could see no practical application for my newfound talent. The one time I’d tried to use it outside the lab, someone had gotten hurt. Whenever I saw Ruby hobbling around with her walker, I felt a fresh wave of guilt.

But my guilt, my doubt, and my gnawing sense of foreboding were whisked away with Kyle’s kisses. When he dropped me off, he held me close. As his lips gently brushed mine, I felt a surge of emotion I was sure must be love. I wanted to make him happy, and I silently vowed to do my best on Saturday.

On Saturday, everything changed. My drive to succeed had nothing to do with Kyle or Dr. Grady or any of the scientists at Twin-Star Labs. You see, I discovered the reason behind the PK experiments. It was a theory so fantastic, it seemed impossible. But if it proved true, I could right the terrible wrong that had been done to me.

14

It was thoughts of Rita that led me to the
truth. She was constantly on my mind. When I looked in the mirror, I imagined
her
eyes staring back at me. At night I dreamed of her. Vivid dreams that seemed to fill every second of my slumber.

The dreams usually started happily. Rita and I would find each other and she would instantly recognize me as her sister. Ecstatic, we’d laugh and skip like children. We’d frolic over rolling hills, dance under rainbows, and bounce on pink, fluffy clouds.

But always the dream lost its soft fairyland quality, sharpening and distorting until it twisted itself into a grotesque nightmare. Rainbows turned black and clouds wept blood. Rita became a skeleton, rattling her bones as she danced away from me.

“Rita!” I shrieked. “Come back!”

“I can’t, Jenna,” she replied. “Can’t you see I’m dead?”

The awful dreams left me sick and anxious.

You’d think I’d want to forget her, to shove all thoughts of her from my mind. Rita’s life had ended so tragically. What was the point of dwelling on it?

Yet, I made no effort to forget my sister. On the contrary. I ached to know all I could about her. I slept in her room, strolled on her beach, stared at the same stars that sprinkled her sky. Still, it was not enough.

Listening to Rita’s music partly filled the void. On Saturday afternoon, when my parents were away visiting friends in Salem, I programmed our computer to play the melodies my sister was so fond of. I could hardly wait for Mom and Dad to leave so I could have the house to myself. But Mom had dawdled, watering the plants and changing her outfit three times, and then had practically
begged
me to go with them. “Please come with us, Jen-Jen,” she asked with annoying cheerfulness.

I cringed at my childhood nickname—the corny, gooey name she gave me as a baby.
I’m not your Jen-Jen!
I wanted to shout. Instead, I said stiffly, “I’ve got things to do.”

“Your homework will still be here when you get back. The Halversons would love to see you! You haven’t seen Sheila in over three years. You two girls were so cute together when you were little,” she gushed, her eyes focused in that faraway, sentimental way she gets when she reminisces. “I remember when Marnie and I used to bathe you girls together. You had a little blue plastic tugboat you named Betsy. You took it in the tub with you and —”

Her words died as she noticed my cold stare.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I said with icy politeness. “But I really have things to do. Dr. Grady is expecting me at the lab this afternoon.”