High School Heroes Chapters 18-21
The continuing adventures of Christine and Co.
Here is the next exciting installment of High School Heroes!
In this section, Christine discovers just where she came from!
Enjoy!
Chapter 18
Secret Origins
Quinn stood there for a long time, watching us. We were caught. Not only had we been caught, in the hallway, when we should have been in class, which would have quickly earned us a detention from a teacher like him but he knew we’d been off school grounds. Not only that, but he knew we’d been at the bank.
Ethan was thinking the same thing. He can’t know. Can he? No. Impossible.
Arguing with yourself isn’t going to help. I hoped he heard me like he had before.
Quinn chuckled then. He looked down at us, and said, “Follow me.” He turned and walked up the hallway. Neither of us thought it would be a good idea to disobey, so, we trudged along behind him.
I spotted Sean and Walter sneaking down an adjacent corridor. They were up to no good, I would imagine. They snuck into what looked like the supply closet Tommy died in. I wondered what they were doing, but couldn’t pursue it just then.
“What about them?” Ethan said.
“Shut up,” I told him.
“But if we’re…”
“Not. The. Time.” My jaw was clenched tight as I could make it, and the lasers that shot from my eyes sockets must have warned Ethan not to further his questioning on the topic.
Ahead, Quinn chuckled. It was infuriating. Not only was he going to be our doom, but he actually laughed about it. I made one more attempt to gain access to his mind, but it was like an invisible brick wall surrounded his head.
“I’d appreciate it, if you would stop trying to read my mind,” Quinn said, only turning slightly to look at me.
“What?” I asked.
Ethan shrugged his confusion.
“Come, Ms. Carpenter,” Quinn said. “You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.”
Yeah, I’m smart. That’s why I have mind reading abilities and still only manage a C average.
“You think too little of yourself.”
I wasn’t sure if he was just continuing his sentence or responding to my thoughts. I really hoped it wasn’t the latter, even though I had an inkling it was. He led us down the science hallway to his classroom. It was just like any other science room, except this was impeccably neat. It was as if students never set foot here.
Why did he bring us in here?
Ethan’s thoughts bubbled out of his consciousness. Shouldn’t we be going to the principal?
If there was any doubt in my mind that Quinn was a mind reader, his next statement dispelled any of those notions. “If you are so eager to meet with Mr. Philmore, it can be arranged.” At Ethan’s bewildered expression, he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile… I would chalk it up as evil. “Please, sit down.”
Despite the fact that I really didn’t want to sit, I found myself walking around behind one of the lab tables and sitting on one of the stools. It was as if my legs had minds of their own. Ethan did the same. Then Quinn sat behind his desk and folded his hands under his chin, elbows on the desk, which, I should mention, was also impeccable. I was beginning to think Mr. Quinn had maybe a touch of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder).
Waves of fear rolled off Ethan like waves at the beach. He knew we’d been exposed and was afraid of a number of things: expulsion being way at the bottom of that list.
“We have a problem here.” Quinn laid his hands flat on the desk and rose out of his chair ever so slightly. “You see, while I encourage you to experiment, I’m afraid the two of you have been just a little too frivolous.”
It was amazing just how many different bewildered expressions Ethan owned.
“Mr. Everett.” Quinn gazed across his desk at Ethan. “If you haven’t figured me out by now, then maybe your girlfriend might explain.” He looked at me and raised both his eyebrows. “Ms. Carpenter?”
I was going to argue the fact that we weren’t dating, but I liked the sound of “girlfriend” too much. I turned to Ethan. My voice barely above a whisper, I said, “He’s a mind reader. Like me.”
“Better than you, actually,” Quinn said with just a hint of pride.
I stopped myself from thinking anything derogatory, knowing he would hear it, but that didn’t stop me from shooting a look at him that would have melted steel.
“Relax, Ms. Carpenter. The only reason I’m better than you is because I have benefited from many years of experience.”
“How nice for you,” I said. I was proud that though he now looked straight into my eyes, my gaze never faltered. I was determined to show him I wasn’t afraid, and nothing he could do would make me afraid.
“I see we have some work to do with you. Starting with your temper.” He turned to Ethan. “So, Mr. Everett, you fancy yourself a superhero.” It was formed as a question, though we both knew it wasn’t.
Ethan looked at me for a second, his eyes betraying his answer. He knew, as well as I, that being in a room with multiple mind readers, he had no chance of getting away with a lie. He nodded at Quinn.
“What would you say if I told you I could help you with that?”
“Umm, I…” Ethan wondered what he should say. Little did he know he had already given his answer. Even as Quinn asked the question, the excitement radiated off Ethan like heat off a fire.
I answered for him. “How would you help him?”
Quinn looked at me with a mild amusement. He’d sucked me in and I hated him for it. “As I’ve already said, I have years of experience. I would be willing to share that knowledge to those who are willing to accept it.” He put special emphasis on the final words. I think he pushed me mentally with those final words as well, but I couldn’t be sure.
He let the words hang in the air for a moment as he turned back toward Ethan. “You haven’t answered me.”
Ethan was warring with himself. Not sure if he should say no, even though he wanted so desperately to say yes.
“Ethan, just tell him yes!” I yelled. “He already knows your answer. He’s just messing with you.” I shot Quinn another nasty gaze and said only to him. “Messing with us.”
“So melodramatic,” Quinn said, not at all bothered by me. “And here I thought Mr. Everett was the one who enjoyed comic books.”
“Speaking of melodrama. I notice you still haven’t said how you could help us. I mean, why so secretive? Who are you and how do you know about us?”
For the first time it seemed like Quinn’s even demeanor broke—looking pleased. He’d been waiting for me to ask that question.
No, I told myself, he led me to ask.
“Very good, Ms. Carpenter. I said you didn’t give yourself enough credit.”
“You still didn’t answer her,” Ethan piped up, for the first time forming a whole sentence.
Quinn looked back at him, then at me and grinned. It was as if he’d just realized something, but I couldn’t be sure what it was. “Come into my office.” He stood up and walked to a door in the back of the room. “It will be easier to show you.”
I rolled my eyes at Ethan and slid off the stool.
It was like a security room. One wall had nine televisions on it. The top three were tuned to three different news channels.
That at least explains how he knew we were at the bank.
The other six monitors held images of the school. The bottom three looked like live shots, scrolling through empty hallways just like any security monitor. But the middle three had images of me and Ethan: when we stopped Tommy in the cafeteria, when we off after Tommy during the fire, and in the hallway outside the cafeteria just before we left for the bank today. He’d watched us do everything all along.
That meant he knew about Savanah and Peter.
That meant he knew how Tommy really died.
I think I’m going to be sick again.
“There’s a pail just outside the door. Please use that.” Quinn sat before the wall of monitors.
“My god,” said Ethan. “This is like a mini Batcave.”
“No,” Quinn said with a mild amount of impatience. “And before you make another comparison, it is not my Fortress of Solitude, nor is it my own personal Cerebro.”
Even though I was looking at the back of his head, I could tell Quinn was rolling his eyes at him. He hit a few keys on a keyboard and all the screens went blank. “Now I believe the three questions were: How can I help you? Who am I? And how did I know about you?” He punched a combination of keys. “I will start with your third question. One day, in the lunchroom I happened to hear one of your thoughts, Ms. Carpenter. I knew then that I had to keep a closer eye on you, and thus, I activated this room.” His voice turned nostalgic. “It’s lain dormant for so many years.”
Finally, an image came up that covered all nine screens. It was black and white, obviously old. It showed twelve soldiers standing before a barracks. The image looked somewhat familiar.
“As for the other two questions, I believe this should answer them.” He indicated the screen before us. “During World War II, before the United States officially entered the war, the Nazi’s were working on a formula. Hitler was determined to win at any cost and knew he would have a tough time of it if the US ever got involved. So, he kidnapped some of the top minds in the world and forced them to develop something that would make his soldiers unstoppable. No, Mr. Everett, this is nothing like Captain America!”
Both of us looked at Ethan who stood there with a feigned expression of innocence on his face.
“And you say I have a temper.” I sent Quinn a pleased smirk.
He only continued with his story. “One man, quite brilliant actually, named Rupert Weinstein, made Hitler’s dream a reality. He developed a formula that would not only give the Nazi Stormtroopers a definite advantage on the battlefield, but would make his army unbeatable. With minor variations to the formula, they could make a man do anything they wanted. Fly, shoot fire, disappear. The possibilities were endless.
“As I said, we weren’t officially in the war, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have spies in key positions, feeding us information. Once they made the first official test of the formula, one of our agents, a man named Gary Reeves, stole it and destroyed the lab, killing Weinstein in the process. Thankfully, they were only able to test it on one soldier. Can you imagine what an army or Super-Nazis would have done to the Allied Armies?”
“I hate to say this,” Ethan interrupted, “but this really does sound like the Captain America story.”
Quinn sighed. For the first time I felt something from him: frustration. “Even some of the most fantastical of stories have a basis in reality, Mr. Everett. Once the United States had the formula in their hands, there was no way they weren’t going to use it.
“They chose a platoon fresh out of boot camp and administered the formula to them. The men on the screen, referred to as The Dirty Dozen, are the only American soldiers ever given the formula. The tests were so top secret. President Roosevelt himself never even knew. However, it was these twelve men that turned the tide of the entire war.”
I looked up at the screen. Oh my God! I realized where I’d seen the picture before. That was my grandfather’s platoon. That same picture was tucked in the journal sitting on my nightstand.
“I see Ms. Carpenter has made the connection.”
I couldn’t pull my eyes off the screen. My grandfather, given the formula, was a one man army. Why didn’t he say anything to me?
I realized he tried. He gave me his journal. Why didn’t I read that stupid book?
It’s so boring. I could have kicked myself for being so self-centered and stupid. That was how he’d known I hadn’t read it. If I had, I would have had about a million questions for him, questions that were already forming in my mind.
“Mr. Everett,” Quinn said. “Why don’t you take a closer look at the picture?”
I felt him looking at face after face, making no connection. “I don’t understand,” he finally said.
I would have explained, but my head still spun, trying to process this new information.
“Let’s try this, shall we?” Quinn hit a few buttons on the keyboard. The picture zoomed in on one of the soldiers, a handsome young man who looked a little like Ethan himself.
Ethan still showed no comprehension. Quinn shook his head and zoomed in a little more, until the nametag was visible. It distinctly read: Everett.
It took Ethan another two seconds to process what he was seeing. “Oh my God!” he shouted and stumbled back into the wall. I caught him before he hit the ground. “Grandpa?”
“Yes, two of The Dozen were Private Drescoe Everett and Private Frank Carpenter.”
“Holy s…”
I elbowed Ethan before he could finish the sentence.
None of us spoke for a while. It was too much for either of us to take in. We’d each known our grandfathers our entire lives and neither of us suspected they were superheroes.
I turned to Quinn. “That still doesn’t answer who you are or how you think you can help us.”
“Actually, if you paid closer attention.” Quinn hit a few more keys and repositioned the photo on the screen. “Then you would see that it does indeed answer those two questions.”
On the screen was an image of a younger Quinn, minus the goatee. He smiled for the camera, just like the others, looking only slightly younger than the man before us. Why hadn’t he aged during the last sixty years?
“I was one of the fortunate platoon members who was administered the formula twice.”
“Why?” Ethan asked.
“I was one of the first to go in for the “Procedure”, as we called it. For several days, even after the rest of the platoon began showing signs of their powers, I exhibited nothing. Thinking the formula I’d been given was a dud, they put me through the procedure a second time. It was only later on—many months in fact, after my ability to read minds and perform telekinesis manifested—that we realized the first procedure had worked. I was shot by some lucky Nazi trooper, and dragged off the battlefield. Before we made it to the medical tent, the wound had healed.
“But, this ability to heal quickly comes at a price. It also grants me a very long life. My cells don’t deteriorate like a normal person’s, so I age at a rate that is about ten times slower than normal human beings.”
“So you’re like…” Ethan calculated the age in his head.
Quinn beat him to it. “I’m eighty-six years old.”
“So, that only leaves,” I said, “how you can help us.”
“That’s the easiest one of all. You see, I not only have over sixty years experience with my powers, but I have been trained to use them—trained by some of the top minds the United States military ever had. I can pass that knowledge to you. You especially, Ms. Carpenter. I mean, who better to teach a mind reader than a mind reader?”
Do I really want this man to teach me things? I mean, surely my grandfather could show me a few things as well, and I know I can trust him. I hardly knew anything about Quinn, other than the fact that he apparently was in my grandfather’s platoon during World War II.
That thought creeped me out more than anything. I mean, here was a man who looked thirty, who apparently knew my grandfather when he was only eighteen or nineteen.
Most importantly, I couldn’t help thinking, What does he want? I decided to leave that question for another time.
“Wait,” Ethan chimed, then stood there as if that were the end of the sentence.
“Yeah?” I prodded.
His eyes met Quinn’s – the first time they’d done so during the entire conversation. “I don’t get it. You said there were five of us. How did we all happen to go to the same school?”
“Another easy question, Mr. Everett.” Quinn leaned back in his chair, and took a sip from a very old looking cup on his desk. “You’re all here, because I want you all here. I have… shall we say, influenced your parents to move to Jefferson Hills.”
What? I couldn’t even fathom what he was saying. He used his power to force all our families to move here. How sick is that?
“It’s for your own protection, Ms. Carpenter,” Quinn mentioned, giving me a look that told me not to verbalize my thoughts.
“So,” Ethan said, “does this mean we’re not in trouble?”
Chapter 19
The Date
Ethan accepted the offer before I could convince him to think about it for a while. His eagerness was going to be the end of me, I just knew it.
Thankfully, even though it was all over the news, my parents never made the connection between me and the girl at the bank. It would have been impossible to explain.
I went to work like I was supposed to, but couldn’t concentrate on my job, even when Mrs. May forced me to fold clothes.
When my mother picked me up I said, “We need to stop at the video store.”
She looked at me with a confused, almost impatient expression. She thought about how she wanted to get home and get into bed. She was so tired lately. I blamed that on the pregnancy. “Why?” she asked.
“Ethan’s coming over.” I realized I had completely forgotten to mention him on the ride home from school. I kicked myself again for my oversight.
However, the mention of Ethan’s name perked my mother’s spirits right up. “All right,” she said too cheerily. “Do you know what you’re getting?”
“Actually, no.”
“Well, since you’ve been dating a while—”
“Mom,” I interrupted. It was finally time to set things straight. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover how I felt saying this to her. I imagined any girl would have this same feeling when talking to their mother about their boyfriend. “I haven’t been dating Ethan. I’ve explained this a hundred times. Tonight is actually our first date.”
I’d said the wrong thing. Things were going to get ugly.
My mother practically shook with enthusiasm. Her eyes went wide and a wide grin stretched across her face. She was already thinking of doing a quick makeover with me before Ethan arrived. I needed to get out of there… and quick.
When she said, “My little girl,” I thought she would cry. “We need to get your hair done. And makeup, I’ll give you my mascara and blush. We need to do something about your clothes.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
But she couldn’t have heard me—she never stopped talking. “You can go out tonight, I’ll drive you to the movies. No reason your first date should be in our living room.”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
“And of course you don’t want your dad checking up on you every two seconds—“
“Mom.”
“…because you know he will. I think you should see a comedy. Everyone likes—“
“Mom.”
“…a comedy. Laughing releases endorphins, that will make you both feel g—”
“Mom!”
“Yes, honey.”
“Can I just rent a video and can you and Dad stay in your room?”
“Of course, hun.” She sounded a little put out that I hadn’t listened to a single suggestion. “Whatever you want.” She didn’t say much more as she drove to the video store. Mom gave me a few bucks. “Get some popcorn for you guys, too.”
“Thanks.”
I spent twenty minutes in the store, unable to decide what to get. I was thinking a comedy, but I wasn’t sure what his tastes were, did he like stupid movies, or sarcastic humor, or neither. I thought about a horror movie, but he’d never mentioned anything about liking those. In the end, I picked a superhero movie—Batman, to be precise. It was popular and I was sure he would enjoy it. Grabbing a tub of microwavable popcorn, I ran back to the car.
“What did you get?” my mother asked.
“Batman.”
“Batman?”
“Trust me, he’ll like it.”
She gave me one of those “whatever you say” looks and then drove home.
Ethan was already there, sitting on the couch across from my dad. I could tell my father had been talking to him. They both sagged in their seats as if the tension had been too much for them. Both appeared mentally relieved I had finally walked in.
Oh, this can’t be good.
“Hey,” Ethan said. Then he looked at my father awkwardly.
I gave my father a hug. “What did you say to him?” I whispered in his ear.
“Nothing, baby,” he whispered back. “Just what any father would say to his daughter’s boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I whispered, even now I was thinking of him that way.
My father shot Ethan a look that made me want to kill myself from embarrassment. My mother, at least, was helpful; she dragged Dad upstairs and left us alone.
“He didn’t pull a gun on you, did he?” I asked once my parents were out of earshot.
“No.” Ethan laughed. “He gave me a talk about respecting women.”
“Really?” I was mortified.
“Actually, he was more embarrassed about it than me.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to get here sooner. Anyway, let me get changed. Then we can start the movie.”
I ran up the stairs. My mother was right about one thing—I needed a change of clothes. I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and hurried back downstairs. I rounded the corner into my living room. I found Ethan right where I’d left him, sitting on my couch, rocking back and forth as if he were going to spring up and run for the door at a moment’s notice. He’d never acted so awkward before. It was kind of funny seeing him like that. It was also rather comforting—he was as unsure as I was.
Seeing me, his eyes lit up. I felt my cheeks redden as I pranced to the couch and plopped down next to him. It looked like he’d dressed up too. His usual sports shirt and jeans had been replaced by a blue and white polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants. It wasn’t something one would wear for a job interview, but for his standards, he was definitely dressed to impress.
My heart thudded harder. The thudding filled the silence that had grown between us. I didn’t know what to say, and if I opened my mind to hear Ethan’s thoughts, I’m sure I’d hear the same thing coming from his head. After what seemed like forever a single word made me come to my senses.
“Hey,” Ethan said, then was silent again.
“Hey.”
This was so stupid. We’d had a million conversations before. Why did this have to be like pulling teeth? I wanted to scream.
Instead, I grabbed the rented DVD. “I got Batman.” I stuck it into the player.
“Cool.” He seemed genuinely enthused. “Which one?”
Which one? I repeated in my head. There’s more than one?
“Like I know. I grabbed the one I saw on the shelf.” I made sure the sarcasm leaked through. He should have known better than to ask a question like that.
The movie came on as I sat down next to Ethan. I scrunched myself into him so he had no choice but to put his arm around me. It took him a moment to relax, realizing he couldn’t get away since he was on the edge of the couch. Eventually his arm stretched out over his head and laid across my shoulders. If I were a cat I would have purred.
At least, I would have purred if Ethan hadn’t burst out laughing. I thought I did something wrong and he was making fun of me. But when I looked over at him, I noticed his eyes were glued to the TV where a spotlight was chasing a man in a trench coat. I didn’t know what was so funny about that, but my date was laughing uncontrollably. Just when I thought he was done, he started laughing all over again.
“There’s so much I need to teach you,” he said when he could finally take in some air.
“What?” I asked as the spotlight continued to chase the man. It came across the villains now. I recognized two of them, the Joker and Catwoman—the others I had no idea. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s put it this way. Of all the movies I hoped you wouldn’t get, this was the one.”
“Why? Is it bad?”
“Bad? Are you kidding me? This is the worst Batman movie ever.”
“Oh.” My heart dropped into my stomach. He was laughing at me. I screwed up and ruined our date. “I guess I’ll turn it off then.”
“What? No way!”
He’s just trying to make you feel better, I thought. When I looked at his face though, I saw nothing but sincerity. He wasn’t laughing any more.
“If it’s horrible…” I let my words trail off.
“Oh, it is, but that’s what makes it good.”
I’m so confused.
“The reason I said I didn’t want you to get this one is because I’ve seen it so many times.”
I was about to interrupt and ask a question, but he held up a hand to silence me. He looked me in the eye then and gave me what I would call a half-serious smile. “This Batman was made in the 60s. The creator of this series went out of the way to make it… bad. But it worked. So, it became a big hit. The thing was, back then, people didn’t think it was bad. They loved it. Only when the newer Batman came out did people realize this one sucked. I love this movie, because it’s hysterical.”
“But…”
This time, to silence me, he put his finger on my lip. That finger felt good, and irritating at the same time. I was torn between wanting to comply and biting that finger off his hand.
“I also didn’t want you to think this was the real Batman,” he continued.
Real Batman? I had to roll my eyes at that, which finally silenced the walking comic encyclopedia sitting next to me. That statement proved one thing to me: my boyfriend was brain damaged.
“What?” he asked.
“You do know Batman isn’t real, right?”
He paused for a moment. A moment too long to make his answer seem reasonable. “Yes.”
“Oh my God! You do believe!”
“No. I mean, yes. But not how you think. I think there could be a Batman. But I don’t think there is one.”
I believed him, but I admit being sorely tempted to dig into his brain to make sure.
“Can we just watch the movie?” he asked.
It was a poor attempt to close the subject, but I conceded, for the moment anyway. It would do no good to our relationship if we spent our first date arguing over the reality of Batman.
The movie was just as horrid as Ethan described. We spent a good portion of it making fun of the special effects and the bad acting. Ethan was quick to point out little facts, like how the woman who played Catwoman was the fourth or fifth girl to play the character.
I couldn’t believe anyone ever wanted to watch this. It was, by far, the worst Batman movie I had ever seen. But, since I’d only seen one, that wasn’t saying much.
It all culminated in a laughable fight scene on the Penguin’s submarine where several men dove into the water after pretending to be hit by punches that were a mile from their faces. I don’t think I have ever laughed so hard in all my life. I also never heard Ethan laugh so hard either.
Too soon it was time for him to go. It was close to midnight. My mother called downstairs to make sure he had a ride home. We told her he did and pretended his father’s car had just pulled up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.
“I have work until two.”
“I’ll pick you up at the store.”
“Nope,” I told him. “Come here. I’m still grounded.”
We stood in the front doorway. I felt my mother’s gaze boring into the back of my head from the top of the stairway. She thought I didn’t know she was there. I led Ethan outside and closed the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I repeated his words, then waited.
He stood there like a statue.
He’d kissed me earlier. Why couldn’t he now? It was infuriating. The first kiss was supposed to be the most awkward, and we’d already done it. All he needed to do was lean down and kiss me.
Do it! I shouted inside my head.
“Bye,” he said. Then he turned his back and stepped off my porch.
I thought I would collapse. No kiss. He didn’t like me like that. The kiss earlier was a mistake. Our date had convinced him of that. I didn’t read his mind, but I knew it. He wasn’t going to lean over and…
His lips met mine. They were warm and soft, unlike that afternoon on the bank roof. He held me and I pressed my face even closer to his until I felt our teeth hit.
Then he was gone. I fell to my knees. It was like I’d been hit by lightning. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to go back inside, even though I was freezing. Part of my motivation for not wanting to go inside was that my mother was on the other side waiting to hear all the gory details.
After what seemed like forever, I pulled myself back up and went in. Just as I thought, she stood in the living room. “I thought you said you got Batman. I heard you two laughing all night.”
I was glowing. I knew it and I didn’t care. She would understand. “I got the wrong one, apparently.”
“Soo….” She was too excited for her own good. I still didn’t care.
“He kissed me,” I said, as if that explained everything.
The sound my mother made was deafening. It was so high pitched I’m surprised our windows didn’t shatter and every dog in the neighborhood didn’t come charging through them. I covered my ears to stop my eardrums from rupturing.
She hugged me as close as she could without pressing me into her extended stomach. Any onlooker would have thought she just won the lottery. For her I’m sure it felt that way. It was just my first date, and just my first…well…second kiss. No reason to go overboard.
“Relax, Mom.” I broke free of her grip. After that, I told her how the rest of the evening went. Then, I said I was going to bed.
“Okay. Invite him over for lunch tomorrow.”
She really does want me to die of embarrassment, I thought, and trudged up the stairs without another word.
In my room, I shut the door and began to dance—a very dangerous thing, since my dancing looks more like a fish flailing about, trying to get off the fisherman’s hook. Nothing could keep me down. I continued dancing as I changed into my pajamas, then lay down intending to sleep, when something on my nightstand caught my eye.
My grandfather’s journal.
I remembered the story Quinn told us and was torn between the need to close my eyes and the want to open that book.
Want won out this time. I stretched my arm, grabbed my grandfather’s journal and began reading.
Chapter 20
Secret Origins: Part II
The Journal
For just a moment, I remembered why I’d stopped reading my grandfather’s journal the other day. The beginning was enough to put someone—even someone who wasn’t tired to the extreme—to sleep. All he talked about was basic training and how much he missed my grandmother. He mentioned new friends he was making, including Ethan’s grandfather. He mentioned him a bunch of times.
The journal started in September, when my grandfather apparently enlisted. My grandmother gave it to him as an eighteenth birthday gift. But, it wasn’t until February that what he wrote began to get interesting.
February 9th, 1944
The trial has begun. I can’t believe I left Sandra for this. I can’t even tell her what I’m doing. Hell, I’m not even sure exactly what it is I’m doing here. I’m assuming it’s some kind of training program to make me a better soldier. The twelve of us were bussed into Camp Hero and the very end of Long Island. It’s like seeing the end of the Earth.
Whatever it is we’re here for, I’m beginning to think I’ve made a terrible mistake.
February 10th, 1944
Today they brought the twelve of us into some underground bunker. I don’t think I have ever seen so much security in my life. It felt like I was walking into Fort Knox, intent on stealing some gold.
General Wilhelm was waiting when we arrived. When he explained what we were there for, my jaw dropped. I didn’t know it was possible, but what the General showed us was astounding. I swear to God, I watched a man float off the ground and fly around the room. I have never been so terrified, and thrilled, in my life. Thrilled because who wouldn’t want to see a flying man. Terrified because the General told us we were next.
February 13th, 1944
I’ve spent the last three days exploring Camp Hero and writing my last Will & Testament. In case no one can find it, I just want it known that, should this experiment go terribly wrong, Sandra will get all my earthly possessions.
General Wilhelm says they can tailor this formula to create different powers, but they still won’t know the end result until our powers are displayed.
They won’t tell us where the formula came from. Rumors are that it was stolen from a Nazi medical facility in Berlin. I shudder to think of Super-Nazis decimating our troops. Whether or not the rumors are true, I’m glad we have it instead of them.
I go in tomorrow for the procedure. No one who’s gone in for it has returned. That only makes me more nervous.
I may be out of it for a while, or so they tell me, so it may be a few days before I can write again.
February 17th, 1944
Lying in a hospital bed is not something I recommend for any sane person. I have only been fully conscious since yesterday, and I feel like I’m already going mad.
The procedure I was not as bad as I expected. All it really was is a series of injections meant to alter my genetic code. Whatever that is. I know it has to do with who I am, so I guess it was supposed to change me. But I don’t feel any different.
I haven’t manifested any powers yet. I’m terrified about what might happen. Gary Walen’s skin apparently carries an electric charge now, and no one can touch him. I can’t even bear thinking about never being able to touch Sandra again.
February 18th, 1944
Still in bed. Still going mad. No powers yet.
February 19th, 1944
I woke this morning with a really bad headache. The nurse gave me aspirin, but it didn’t help. I guess I’m just having just a side-effect.
Charles Smith set his bed on fire this morning. He was still in it, but amazingly he didn’t have a burn mark on him.
I’m still waiting to see what atrocious power I manifest.
February 22nd, 1944
Sorry it’s taken so long to write again. I’ve been having a devil of a time concentrating. But I have a good reason. My powers have manifested themselves. I don’t know what to say. It is very hard to describe. It’s like people’s thoughts come floating into my head.
I didn’t finish reading the entry. I put the book down. I couldn’t believe what I had just read. My grandfather knew I had the same powers. He had read my mind during Thanksgiving dinner. That was why he gave me the journal.
It was also how he knew I hadn’t read it.
It didn’t matter that the clock said it was a quarter past one in the morning. My cell was in my hand and I was finding my grandparent’s number in my phonebook. Pressing Send, I put the phone to my ear.
It rang four times before my grandmother answered with a groggy, “Hello?”
“I need to talk to grandpa!” I practically shouted. I pictured my grandmother holding the phone away from her ear.
“Christine? What’s the matter, dear? What’s happened?”
Of course she’d think there was an emergency. No sane person called their grandparents in the middle of the night unless something was terribly wrong.
“Nothing,” I admitted, sounding more calm. “I just need to talk to Grandpa.”
As I listened to her fumble with the phone wondering if she knew about my grandfather. He did say he wasn’t allowed to tell her, but would he have done it later, after the war? Had he kept it secret from her for the last sixty years?
“Hello?” my grandfather groaned. He sounded like he was still asleep.
“Grandpa,” I said, then paused, now unsure of what to say. I felt like crying, though I don’t know why. Finding out these things about him was very overwhelming.
“Hold on a second, let me go in the other room.” He muttered something to my grandmother, then said, “I’ll tell you later.”
He groaned again as he shuffled out of bed. After a few seconds he said, “Finally read it, huh?”
“Part of it.” It was hard not to yell but I needed to keep my voice down or I would wake my parents. The last thing I needed was them butting into my business. “I only got up to the part where you discovered you had your powers.”
It’s so odd talking to him like this.
“There is much more in that journal, Christine. I want you to read it to the end.”
“I will, Grandpa,” I promised. “So, that’s why I have these powers?”
There was a pause while he considered his words. “Back then, we didn’t know much about genetics. Apparently, the formula changed my DNA. So, I passed that DNA along when I had your father, and then he passed it to you.”
“So, can he…” my voice trailed off.
“No. I can’t explain why. Not everyone’s children exhibited the powers. I was surprised when I learned you’d started… you know.”
I was more convinced than ever that he hadn’t told my grandmother about this. He couldn’t even say the words “reading minds” or “hearing thoughts.” If he couldn’t say them to me, no way he’d been able to tell her.
“Have you been able to do anything else yet?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I’ve looked through other people’s eyes, and my friend Ethan has been able to hear my thoughts.” Just once, and just this afternoon.
That afternoon seemed like a distant memory. It felt like I’d lived four lifetimes since then.
“That’s just the beginning,” my grandfather said, but didn’t elaborate.
“So, what do we do now?”
“Who else knows about this?”
“A couple of people.” I thought about Ethan, and how his grandfather had served with mine. I couldn’t believe I began to feel awkward when I said, “You remember that boy we talked about during Thanksgiving?”
“Yes?” my grandfather said suspiciously.
“His name is Ethan Everett.”
He didn’t answer for a second. I imagined the memories replaying in his head. “Drescoe’s grandson?”
“Yeah.” I hung my head, as if by looking up I would be seeing his eyes. “Well, he knows.”
“Can he…”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can’t believe… Drescoe’s grandson…”
“We only found out today. We saw the picture with you and his grandfather in it.”
“If he’s anything like his grandfather, he’s a good kid. Don’t let him go without a fight.”
“I don’t intend to.” I laughed.
The floor creaked outside my doorway. Somebody was coming. I reached out and sensed it was my father, wondering who I could be talking to at this ungodly hour. “I’ve got to go, Grandpa. Dad’s coming.”
“Okay. Don’t tell him anything. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hung up and lay down just as my door creaked open. I pretended to be asleep.
“I know you’re up,” he said.
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Who do you think?”
“Oh, sweetie,” he said, jumping to the absolute wrong conclusion, “the boy just left here an hour ago. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow to talk to him?” I could feel the tension radiating from him. It was like he felt that Ethan was a threat to my well being.
“I missed him.” Even though I was lying about talking to my boyfriend, the fact that I missed him was absolutely true.
“You’ll see him, tomorrow. For now, I want you to sleep.”
“Okay, Daddy.” I shut my eyes tight. “Goodnight.”
He shut the door.
I thought about my brief conversation with my grandfather. So, it was genetics that made me who I was. One simply gene made its way into my code. I wondered if my kids would have it, and if they did, what I might do about it. Then I thought of Ethan and I. If we had a kid together, what would happen then. Might it get both of our powers?
Thinking about that gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. But even as I was thinking about that, I thought of something else.
I never told him anything about Quinn.
I didn’t dwell on it. I was very tired and ready to drop. I would mention Quinn the next time I talked to him. I had just about drifted off to sleep when my phone vibrated. I snatched it up and looked at the number. It was Ethan. “Hello,” I said in as sultry a voice as I could muster.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I’m up. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
I had so much to tell him about the journal. We talked until the sun came up.
Chapter 21
Beginning the Downward Spiral
“I can’t do it!” I shouted across the lab table at Quinn.
Monday morning, he had me sitting there when I should have been in my normal science class.
“You can do it. Now, try again,” he insisted.
It was just me and him in the room. Well, him and me—and the stupid glass beaker on the table that he wanted me to slide to myself with my thoughts.
“Concentrate,” he said in an almost hypnotic voice. “There is nothing but you and the glass. Feel it with your mind. Clench it as if your fingers were outstretched. You’re mind is powerful. With it, you can do anything.”
“Jeez, you sound like an ad for one of those tutoring centers.”
“Take this seriously!” It was the second time he’d shed his cool exterior. He quickly composed himself. “I’m trying to help you. Please, try again.”
“Fine.”
I looked at the beaker. I felt like I’d been staring the thing down for days, but a brief glance at the clock said it had only been twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, with no results. I was growing very frustrated. I couldn’t even get the stupid thing to vibrate.
“Concentrate,” Quinn repeated. “Only you and the glass.”
I don’t know how artists can stare at an object and draw it for hours on end. Why aren’t they distracted by things like clocks ticking? Or the breathing of someone else in the room? As I concentrated on that simple glass, I was even distracted by my own heartbeat.
Needless to say, it didn’t move. I heaved a sigh and laid my head on the table.
“Okay, relax.” Quinn handed me a bottle of water. “Take a breather and we’ll try again in a minute.”
“I don’t want to try again. I’m never going to move it.” The whine that escaped my mouth made me want to hit myself. I was better than that.
I sighed again and composed myself. “All right. Give me a minute.” I took a swig from the bottle, then closed my eyes. I pictured moving the beaker, just like Quinn told me to do. It hadn’t worked before, and no doubt it wouldn’t work now, but I had to keep trying, if only to prove it couldn’t be done.
With my eyes closed, I imagined reaching out for the beaker and lifting it off the table. I felt it with my mind and had it hover inches above the table. It flew left, then it flew right, then it went higher.
I opened my eyes and saw that the glass was exactly where I’d left it.
“Did you think you could just do it like that? With no effort at all?”
He was mocking me now, which only added to my frustration.
Closing my eyes again, I envisioned that retarded beaker, the new bane of my existence. I imagined picking up the thing, with my hands this time. Picked it up and looked at it. Felt its weight in my hands. Hurled it at the blackboard. Watched it shatter.
CRASH!
My eyes opened just in time to see the last shards tinkling to the floor. The beaker hit in the exact spot I’d pictured it. Even in my astonishment, I was still able to shoot Quinn a very satisfied look.
“Don’t get cocky,” he said. “You’ll need to be able to move things when your eyes are open.” He walked over to where the glass hit and began sweeping up the pieces. “You can’t use your anger every time you need something done.”
As much as I knew he was right, I also knew anger was how I’d discovered my abilities.
Quinn only smiled—he must have heard my thoughts.
“What about the others? How are you going to help them train? You don’t know anything about their powers.”
“I know about all your powers, and how to properly use them. Remember, I was there to watch my buddies use them. I watched them train. I know more about them than you realize.”
“Okay,” I said.
The bell rang. The halls filled with students. I closed my mind so it wouldn’t be flooded with voices.
“Get out of here,” he told me. “I’ve got a class coming in.”
I ran for the door. By that time the hall was already full. As I rounded the corner I ran headlong into Sam. He practically knocked me over.
When I regained my senses, I saw he was holding Samantha’s hand. While Sam looked at me apologetically, she looked at me with nothing but contempt.
“Hey,” Sam said. I could tell he felt awkward.
“Hi,” I said, just as awkwardly.
“C’mon, Sam.” Samantha tugged his arm. “We have to get to class.”
Anger at her boiled up in me. I contemplated giving her another taste of the rats she loved so much. But then I remembered what Quinn said not five minutes ago. You shouldn’t be using your powers out of anger.
I let them go by, then walked to class, all the while thinking Sam and I would have it out during English. I wouldn’t take this anymore.
Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention in history, but we began a unit on World War II. Since Friday, I’d become very interested in that subject. Mr. Murray talked about how things might have been if the United States never officially entered the war.
I raised my hand. Very rare.
“Wasn’t there something about… super weapons and soldiers Hitler was supposedly training?”
“There are many rumors about Hitler in the 1930s and into World War II,” Murray explained, seeming quite surprised and pleased that I was actually participating in class. “One said something about his soldiers having incredible strength. But nothing has ever been proven. However, what is true is that Hitler was searching for what he considered to be the ultimate weapon against the Allies. He had in his possession, the Spear of Destiny. Does anyone know what that is?” He waited, but no hands went up.
“It is supposedly the spear that killed Christ on the cross. It is said that anyone who possesses the Spear will be invincible. Charlemgne supposedly used it, and attributed no less than fifty victories in battle to the artifact.”
“If he had it, why would he be searching for it?” I asked.
“The weapon was incomplete. He had the spear, but it was only one piece of four. He also wanted the Shroud of Turin, the True Cross and the Holy Grail. All four artifacts associated with Christ’s death. Four artifacts that supposedly touched Christ’s blood. All are rumored to hold great power. Imagine what might have happened if Hitler got his hands on them.”
“You act as if the rumors are true,” Peter said from the back of the room.
“They might be. They just might.”
The bell rang and I hurried to English class. Sam was already sitting happily at his desk. Anger surged again. After all these weeks, I still felt betrayed. I still couldn’t help thinking he went out with Samantha to make me jealous. Seeing the way she marched him away from me this morning—like I was some kind of rabid dog—was just too much.
“Sam.” It came out louder than I intended, but I didn’t care. I sat next to him.
“What’s up, Chris?”
“Why are you going out with Samantha?”
“What?” He looked confused. “I like her.”
“Well, I don’t!” I practically yelled. “She’s evil. You’ve seen the way she treats me! I don’t understand how you can go out with someone like that. It’s like you’re trying to torture me.”
“I’m not trying to torture you.”
“That’s all you have to say?” I yelled. He acted like he didn’t care about anything I had to say. “I can’t believe you!”
All my rage was emptying out. I wanted to hurt him and I didn’t care.
“What do you want me to do, Chris? I like her. Nothing is going to change that.”
“What do I want you to do? I want you to break up with her! Then come back and be my friend again! That’s what I want you to do! I’m more important than she is!”
He looked like he was about to yell at me, but the fire behind his eyes died—as if a bucket of water had been thrown on it. A tear came out of his eye. Then he got up and walked out of the classroom like a zombie.
Well, that went well.
I thought about following him but as I began to get up, class began. I’d hurt him. As my anger cooled, I knew I couldn’t live with myself. I would see him during lunch and apologize. I would also tell him about me and Ethan. He’d find out eventually. It would be better if he heard it from me.
I tried rolling my pencil back and forth with my mind as Ms. Schroeder went on about metaphors and similes in poetry. Listening to her lecture was like hearing a bunch of nuts and bolts swirling in a blender. I only accomplished making it budge, ever so slightly, a couple of times. Hey, its progress.
When the bell finally rang, I ran to lunch looking for Sam. He was my friend, for better or worse. I would even stomach the Evil One if it kept him in my life.
I had to blink a few times to make sure I was seeing correctly. Samantha, without Sam, was sitting at the cheerleader table. Courtney had her arm around her. Samantha looked like she was crying.
Sam sat at our table talking with Ethan. He didn’t look upset. I started in that direction. Time to talk to him before anyone else arrived. Too late.
Tiffany and Savanah got there, sliding into spots at the table. Then Peter came.
What was going on?
I concentrated on Samantha and opened my mind. Her thoughts were a jumble, like she was warring with herself. I concentrated harder and, after a few seconds, got a clear read of her thoughts.
Why would he do that? Not even a reason. I hate him. He was lucky to even have me! Then why do I feel like crap? Did I like him? No. Not that much. Why? I don’t know.
I couldn’t believe it. He actually broke up with her?
Did it have something to do with what I said?
I decided I didn’t care. All that mattered was Samantha was out of the scene. I walked over to the table. “Hey, Sam.”
I still needed to apologize to him, even though things seemed to have worked themselves out. “Sorry about before.”
“Don’t worry about it, Chris.” He motioned for me to take the seat next to him. “What are friends for?”
I chose the seat next to Ethan. I really hoped Sam didn’t think he still had a chance with me.
“Four more days and we’re free for two weeks!” Peter announced.
“Anyone doing anything exciting?” Tiffany added. “I’m just staying home.”
“My parents are taking me on a ski vacation,” Savanah said with only a hint of snobbishness.
No one else answered and I wondered about Ethan. He hadn’t said anything about his upcoming holiday. I didn’t want to not see him for two weeks. It would be like murder to be away for that long.
Sam still seemed cheerful. I needed to tell him about Ethan and me. Hell, it might be a good idea if Peter knew too. The sooner I let them both know, the better off everyone would be.
“Sam.”
He looked at me with such warmth that part of me didn’t want to continue. All eyes were on me. Did they sense what I was about to say. Why couldn’t they go on with their own conversations?
“Umm…” I began.
“Yeah, Chris?” His eyes were expectant, as if he waited for me to profess my undying love and devotion to him.
Now to deliver the deathblow. I looked him in the eye, still very much aware of everyone else’s attention. “Sam, I just wanted to tell you that Ethan and I, are sort of seeing each other.”
I looped my fingers into Ethan’s and held them up for all to see.
Sam continued looking at me and smiling. “That’s great,” he said. From the warm feelings still wafting in my direction, I could tell he was being genuine.
Confusion swept over me. Not from everyone else at the table, who had already guessed about Ethan and me. I expected Sam to be a little upset. To get no reaction at all felt wrong.
“You heard me, right?” I had to make sure, so I opened my mind to him.
“Yeah. You and Ethan. I’m happy for you,” Sam said. Again, it was genuine. There was no sarcasm, no sense of sadness. “Congrats, man.” He extended his hand to Ethan.
My boyfriend took it and shook. “So what happened to you and Blondie?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Sam swung his head around to look at Samantha. “She just suddenly seemed unappealing. So, I broke up with her and became friends with Chris again. Chris is more important.”
I don’t know if it was what he said, or the way he said it. But I suddenly knew I caused this. It wasn’t that I talked to him. It was that I ordered him to do it. Those were my words he was repeating. It was my thoughts in his head.
“Chris? Are you okay?” Tiffany shouted.
I must have turned an impressive shade of green. The room spun, and for a moment, I didn’t know which way was up. A pair of hands slid under my shoulders and lifted me from my chair. I was dragged somewhere.
When my vision cleared, I was in the bathroom with Savanah and Tiffany. I found myself staring into the mirror.
“What did you eat?” Tiffany asked.
“Nothing,” I muttered. I still felt a little sick. How could I do that to my friend?
“She’s looking better already,” Savanah chimed in.
I hated the reflection staring back from the mirror. He broke up with her because I put the thought in his head. No, I forced the thought in his head. I made him do it. Once again, my anger had discovered a new power: Mind Control.
I got a whiff of cleaning fluid and my stomach churned again. I crouched back over the sink in case it decided to let loose.
I peered up at my two friends in the mirror. Tiffany was ready to pull back my hair in case I really did hurl. Savanah was standing back for the same reason.
Tiffany had been my friend forever; we’d been through a lot. We knew everything there was about each other, except for one thing.
“Tiffany,” I said, “I need to talk to Savanah alone for a second.”
“Oh?” Her face dropped.
She was already feeling snubbed. She thought that I thought she didn’t matter. It couldn’t have been further from the truth, but I couldn’t tell her my secret. Which made me feel even worse.
After she, I stood up straight and looked at Savanah. The girl looked back at me with her arms crossed. I could tell she didn’t want to hear what I had to say, but she was the only choice I had.
“Okay, what’s going on?” She huffed like my wanting to talk to her was an annoyance. I wanted to smack her. The least she could do was show some concern. It wasn’t too much to ask.
“I forced Sam to break up with Samantha,” I said, as if that explained everything.
“Do what?” she sighed, growing bored with the conversation already. “Look, Loser, I don’t have time to be your therapist.”
I balled up a fist, ready to punch her. “He broke up with Samantha because I told him to.”
“So?”
“So? So?” She didn’t understand anything. “I planted the thought in his head with my mind!”
“So?”
Why did I even bother? “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes. And so what? You got what you wanted, didn’t you? He isn’t seeing that witch anymore. He’s you’re friend again, right? I don’t see the problem.”
I was about to argue, but something in my head clicked. What she said made sense. It was exactly what I wanted. No one got hurt, except Samantha, and I really didn’t care too much about that. So, what was the problem?
I don’t know, I was forced to answer.
“So, are you good now?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “I think everything is just fine.”
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