Authors: Roy Johansen
“No. A little too right, I'm afraid.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay. But can I ask you a hypothetical question, Ms. Randall?”
“You can ask.”
“Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'd like you to think about something for me. If, hypo-thetically, Jesse had a way to fake his special abilities, what would you guess would be his motive?”
She stiffened. “You're calling my son a liar?”
“No. Just hypothetically.”
“Don't give me that hypothetical crap. You're asking me to think of him as a liar.”
“Okay. Whether or not he was faking his abilities, he obviously hated Dr. Nelson's tests. Why did he go through with them?”
Latisha hesitated. “He didn't always hate them. He really liked Dr. Nelson. I liked him too. In the beginning, he treated Jesse very well. Jesse's father left when he was three, and I think he liked having a decent man around who would take him places and give him some attention, you know?”
Joe nodded.
“Jesse liked going on TV with him, appearing at the lectures and doing the tests. It was fun for him.”
“Until Dallas.”
“Yes. Dr. Nelson changed. It got to be less about Jesse and more about his own career, I think. Maybe that's the way it was all along, but he just stopped hiding it.”
“It's been an upsetting week for Jesse. Has he been having nightmares?”
“More than ever.”
“Have there been any more … disturbances while he sleeps?”
“None that I know of. But, like I told you, there have never been any shadow storms around here. They were always someplace else.”
Nikki sat cross-legged on the floor, lifting the yellow Naboo fighter toy over her head. “I saw your videos.”
Jesse put down the Darth Sidious action figure. “What videos?”
“I saw you moving things around a table and bending pieces of metal. It was cool.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“You sound real thrilled.”
“People are always asking me to do stuff for ‘em. I'm surprised
you
haven't asked.”
“My dad told me not to.”
Jesse leaned against the bed. “Some people were yelling at me from the sidewalk yesterday. An old man who had cancer, and a lady who couldn't hear. They wanted me to help them, but I couldn't. The man started crying.”
“Wow,” Nikki whispered.
“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Your dad doesn't believe in my stuff, does he?”
She paused. Her dad had told her not to discuss Jesse's abilities with him, but how could she not? Especially when Jesse didn't seem to mind. “My dad doesn't believe in a lot of things,” she said. “He doesn't believe in heaven.”
“Really?”
“I know my mom is there, but he doesn't think so.”
“Where does he think she is?”
“Nowhere, I guess. Except in our memories.”
Jesse looked down. “
I
think your mama's in heaven.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
* * *
Latisha wrung her hands and spoke softly to Joe. “What I hate most about this is how it's changed my boy.”
“What do you mean?”
“He's gotten tense. Irritable. Dr. Nelson and the others put too much pressure on him, and with everything that has happened in the past few days, it's just gotten to be too much.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe he feels guilty?”
“For what happened to Dr. Nelson?”
“No. For fooling Nelson, you, and everybody else.” She started to object, but Joe raised his hand.
“Assuming
I'm correct when I say that Jesse is using some kind of trickery, how do you think he would feel right now? This has gone from a few tricks for his family in Macon, Georgia, to a national news event. Maybe the bigger this got, the harder it was for him to see a way out without embarrassing himself, you, Nelson, and all the others. Have you thought of it that way?”
“I've thought of it
every
way.”
“Have you ever asked him if his powers are genuine?”
“How else could that boy do the things he does?”
Joe leaned closer. “Have you ever asked him?”
“What is there to ask? He told me that he thinks about things, and they happen. And then he showed me.”
Joe nodded. “Maybe you can tell him that it's okay if he doesn't really have these powers. He may need to hear that from you.”
“He'll think I don't believe in him.”
“Probably. But that might be exactly what he needs. Right now he may be afraid of disappointing you.”
She rubbed her temples. “I just don't know what's the right thing to do.”
“I know this has been hard on you.”
“You have no idea. It's tearing me apart.” She bit her lip. “Yesterday, after that TV reporter went missing, Jesse was … upset. He looked at me and—I'm not used to seeing him that way, and coming right after hearing about that woman …”
“You were frightened of him?”
“Of course not. I could never be—” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“I'm sorry.”
“I love him so much, but it's been
so hard.
I never imagined …”
“Mama, what's wrong?”
They turned to see Jesse and Nikki in the doorway.
Latisha quickly wiped her eyes. “Nothing, honey.”
“What's wrong?”
“It's okay, honey.”
Jesse whirled on Joe.
“You
made her cry.”
Latisha shook her head. “No, honey.”
Jesse glared at him and stepped closer.
“It's your
fault! You made her cry!”
“We were just talking,” Joe said gently.
“Get out!”
Jesse's nostrils flared and his eyes bulged.
“Get out of here now!”
Latisha grabbed him by the wrists. “Don't you talk to him or anyone else that way, you hear me?”
“Get out! Now!” Jesse screamed. “Leave us alone!”
Joe nodded to Latisha. “I'll be in touch.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. Thank you for talking to me.” Jesse was still glaring at him as Joe whisked Nikki out the door.
Garrett Lyles watched as Joe Bailey and his daughter hurriedly left Jesse Randall's house. The little girl was clearly nervous and upset. What had happened?
Perhaps the Child of Light had demonstrated his powers for them. As powerful as the boy was, he did not yet have the patience and wisdom to control his abilities. It was a wonder that more people had not been hurt.
He smiled as Joe and Nikki passed only a few feet from where he stood. He adjusted his video camera and scratched his upper lip. The phony mustache itched almost as much as the long-haired wig. The disguise was entirely in keeping with his cover as a freelancer from Pittsburgh, here to capture footage to sell to independent television stations. The ruse allowed him to keep a close eye on Jesse without arousing suspicion.
The morning's talk on the press line had centered on Darlene Farrell's disappearance. It hadn't occurred to him that Jesse might be blamed for harming her, but it made sense. Nelson had crossed the boy and gotten himself impaled. The reporter had harassed him and been punished.
Good. Let ‘em think that Jesse had offed the reporter. Maybe it would make these other creeps think twice before they bothered him.
Even if it didn't, that was okay. Jesse had a protector.
Do you know I'm out here, Jesse? Can you think what I'm thinking?
Of course you can.
The time of Alessandro is almost upon us.
Your time.
Our time.
It was after ten that night when Joe took the elevator to the sixth floor of the Landwyn University library. The place was practically deserted. No big surprise. The college library wasn't exactly a Saturday night hotspot.
Although Landwyn had become infamous for its parapsychology studies program, Professor Reisman made sure the library was fortified with a large collection of skeptical literature. Joe was ahead of the curve on psychic fraud techniques, but he still spent most Saturday evenings on the sixth floor, perusing the latest additions. That night he planned to check into any new levitation rigs that might be out there.
Nikki and her friends had a weekly slumber party club in which they rotated from one home to another. It was his turn to host only once every eight weeks, so he was left with many Saturday nights alone. He was surprised how big and lonely the apartment was without her.
Get used to it, he told himself. It wouldn't be long before Nikki would be gone almost
every
night. Surely he wasn't the first parent who wished he
could freeze time and hold on to the child who made life so special.
Nikki had been upset by Jesse's outburst that morning, but she didn't hold it against him. “Be for real. If someone made
you
cry,
I'd
be pretty mad,” she had said on the way home.
He couldn't argue with that.
He went to the sixth floor and walked to the occult and paranormal studies section. Each row of tall wooden bookcases ran almost the entire length of the room, ninety feet long, with no breaks along the way. Air from the heating vents whistled down the long rows.
He glanced through a few of the newer books, looking for paranormal studies focusing on children. Many of the tests were worthless, since they were so loosely supervised that it would have been extremely simple for the young subjects to cheat. Jesse was clearly out of these kids’ league.
Joe thumbed through a few books and put them back on the shelf. Nothing here would be of much—
Crash.
He jumped. It sounded like an explosion.
Crash.
Another one. On the other side of the room.
Joe peered over a row of books. The bookcases were falling toward him one by one, like giant dominoes. He was in the middle of the row, far from either side. He turned left and ran.
Crash.
If he didn't make it, a tall oak bookcase would smash him flat.
Faster, he told himself. Run faster.
He wasn't going to make it.
Crash.
He dropped to his knees, curled into a ball, and threw himself into the bottom shelf of the bookcase next in line to tumble.
He kicked and elbowed the books through to the other side, knowing that the heavy volumes would soon be falling on top of him if he didn't get them out. Only one more to go …
He gripped the inside of the shelf and pressed his hands and knees against the sides.
Crash.
The shelves in the next row rammed against his. He braced himself as the heavy framework growled and wood splintered above him.
He was going over. The bookcase he was in struck the next one with an ear-splitting crack.
He fell to the floor, and the shelf neatly framed him as it slammed down a moment later. Hardbound back issues of
National Geographic
magazine from the shelf above pummeled him in the chest and head.
He lay on the floor, recovering from the blows as the rest of the cases fell.
Then silence. It was over.
He clawed through the books and shelving on top of him, rolling bound volumes off his bruised back and shoulders. He pushed his way through one shelf, then another, finally hoisting himself on top. He glanced around at the large room, where there wasn't one bookcase left standing. It looked as if a bomb had gone off.
“Is anyone else in here?” he shouted.
No answer.
He thought he'd been alone in the room, but it was possible someone was pinned beneath the piles of books and shelving.
“Hello?”
Still nothing.
His forehead was cold. He touched it and looked at his fingers. Blood.
Thirty minutes later, a library assistant finished bandaging Joe's head. Campus security had confirmed that no one else had been injured. But no one could tell him how it had happened.
Drew Potter, an older campus cop with a ruddy complexion, shook his head. “Never heard of such a thing, and I've been here for a long time.”
“The first case could have been pushed,” Joe said.
“By who? The entire weight-lifting squad?” Potter was right. It would have taken tons of force to unbalance it. “Besides,” the guard said, “no one down here saw anyone coming or going. Did you?”
Joe shook his head. What a week. Between the elevator and now the bookshelves—
Wait a minute.
Joe checked his watch: 10:38.
Well past Jesse Randall's bedtime.
No way in hell.
He stood up and flashed his badge at the security officer. “Lock the sixth floor. Secure it, stand guard, and don't let anyone inside until I get back.” Joe rushed toward the library exit.
“Why?” the guard asked.
“I'm going to get my spirit kit.”
* * *
“One … two … three!”
Joe, four campus security cops, and two library assistants lifted one of the massive bookcases onto four McMillan digital scales. It had taken almost half an hour to loosen the bolts securing it to the other cases. The bolts had probably been tightened more than eighty years before.
The scales’ digital readouts flashed, and Joe added up the numbers. Four hundred and twenty pounds.
Add another five hundred for the books, multiply that by twenty cases, and it totaled about nine tons for each row. It wasn't likely that a kid had accidentally knocked one over reaching for a copy of
Catcher in the Rye.
“Okay, guys,” Joe said. “Let's clear all books off the first bookcase. However it happened, it all started here.”
They cleared away the books. Joe knew they probably thought he was nuts. He could read the faces of the younger library assistants:
It was an accident, man. Get over it.
But he couldn't get over it. Not after what had happened to him in the elevator. Not after what had happened to Nelson.
This time he couldn't escape the eerieness of the situation. Again he had angered Jesse, and again he had been almost killed by the force of an inanimate object. It could have been a coincidence, but that possibility was shrinking with each unexplained occurrence. And if it wasn't a coincidence, who was behind it?
He surveyed the scene and asked himself the first
question he asked at almost every reputed psychic phenomenon site: How would
he
pull off a stunt like this? In this case he would probably try a pair of power poles.