Contractor (12 page)

photo in a modest dress, clearly the idol of

the men surrounding her. The young Mrs.

Faldey was much thinner, but he could see

her in it—the same warm curve of her cheek,

and something about her hair.

Daniel pointed to a picture of a man in a

military uniform. "Who’s that?"

"My late husband, Jonathan Richard

Faldey. I met him my senior year."

"He has a lot of badges."

"And you bet your bottom he earned

every last one of them." She nodded at the

photograph proudly. "He was an officer.

Served in Korea and Vietnam. He didn’t like

talking about it much, but his men loved him.

I remember more than a few dinners with

them. They always had the best stories."

"Cool."

"You remind me of John, a bit."

"Really?"

"Oh yes." Her face brightened a little. "I was always the chirpy, energetic one. He

was quiet. Stern, even. If you didn’t know

him well, you would say he was

standoffish."

Daniel scratched behind an ear. "Oh."

She chuckled. "But I’m not comparing

you to the bad parts! He was fiercely

competent, but he never saw himself as such;

that’s what I meant. And, rather than

antisocial, he was perhaps too empathetic."

"That doesn’t really line up with stern."

"No, it doesn’t." Mrs. Faldey gently

lowered her plate to her lap. "He’d never

admit it—I hardly think he realized it—but

that was his way of protecting himself. He

felt too much for those around him. And he

couldn’t bear it, so he kept his distance."

Daniel looked back at the picture.

Jonathan Faldey’s firm eyes stared back. One

frame over, a young Eliza was riding a bike

down a road, and next to that, a young John

was standing with his father in front of an old

roadster. Their whole lives, his and hers,

was played out over the wall.

He noticed something that seemed to be

missing. "…do you have any children?"

"Oh, no. He didn’t want any, either. I

never minded."

"Really?"

"I’m a schoolteacher, dear. I’ve

thousands of children."

Daniel turned away from her. He didn’t

want her to see his face right then.

"He liked when I had them over," she

continued, "or when we met their parents,

though he didn’t admit that, either.

Sometimes I wonder…I think he might have

said he didn’t want any because, well, we

never had any. That was his way."

"You loved him a lot."

"I did." She patted him on the shoulder.

"You’re very handy, just like him, too! That

garage is still his space more than it is mine.

If you ever need to borrow anything, you just

let me know. A lot of car stuff is there, if

you’re into that sort of thing."

"…thanks. I’ll do that."

****

It wasn’t until the fourth day after the

extractor had come that Daniel began to

notice the real change. Maybe he’d been

ignoring it on purpose. Maybe he didn’t want

to see it.

He knew he didn’t want to see it.

His history class was missing five

people. The thing was, he knew they were at

school. One of them was the valedictorian.

She had perfect attendance.

Mrs. Faldey walked in on time, but the

sharp luster of her shell had faded to a dim

glimmer. She didn’t seem to notice how the

room paid her no attention. She wasn’t

aware of how her voice was quiet, of how

she kept losing track of the lecture. She

seemed confused the fourth time she asked

what day it was.

Daniel gripped his desk in both hands so

hard his fingers hurt. He kept reminding her

of what she was talking about. He answered

all the questions she asked. He was the only

active participant, and he was more active

that day than he’d ever been. No one else

seemed to care.

He was late to Mr. Grigg’s class again.

His teacher slowly shook his head. "Daniel,

every time you’re late, I die a little on the

inside."

"Sorry."

"You could at least start walking a bit

earlier when you have a free period."

Daniel did a double-take. "What?"

Mr. Griggs gave him a look. "Isn’t that

what a normal person would do?"

"…I don’t have a free period before

this. History class. Top of the Foster

building." Daniel swallowed. "With Mrs.

Faldey."

Mr. Griggs frowned, then nodded.

"Oh…right. Well, sit down."

Daniel sat. Mr. Griggs blinked, shook

his head. Then he grabbed his chalk and

started writing.

****

Daniel left school by his usual route,

walking along the sidewalk up near where

the woods cut close to the road. Kyle was

there, waiting for him against a tree. His red

mohawk was pink around the edges where

the white shell encased him. His wart, on the

other hand, seemed even more disgusting

than usual. Daniel tried not to look at it too

closely, but it was like trying not to look at a

train wreck—so horrible you couldn’t tear

your eyes away.

"Yo Fitz!" Kyle stood up from the tree

and moved to block the sidewalk.

"Hey wart-face, what’s up?"

Kyle lunged for him. Daniel gripped his

power on instinct. His sneakers shone as if

he wore shoes made of fluorescent light.

Kyle’s attack came in slow motion, as if he

was moving through water. Daniel

sidestepped and let him stumble past. Kyle

took a few steps, surprised that he’d caught

only air.

Daniel kept his magic flowing down

through his legs and to his feet. They were

like unshaded lightbulbs, but Kyle didn’t

even blink. People that didn’t have magic

couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it.

"What’s your problem?" Daniel asked.

"Hold still, faggot," Kyle said. He spat

to the side.

"Don’t make me put that video on

youtube."

"I don’t care if you do!" Kyle shouted.

"Ever since that day everything’s been shit.

My friends won’t even look at me. They

think I’m a wimp because you got me in the

face with spray." He clenched his fist. "That killed my eyes for days. I’m putting you in

the hospital for a week."

Daniel’s hands fell to his sides as he felt

the fight drop right out of him. Kyle’s friends

weren’t ignoring him because Daniel

outsmarted him. They were ignoring him

because he was turning into a ghost. Hitting

Kyle now was like curb-stomping someone

with no teeth. "…I don’t feel like it today,

Kyle. I’m going home."

"I don’t give a shit if you feel like it!"

Kyle ran in for a tackle, arms wide. Daniel

watched it happen. He waited until the last

minute to dodge, and as he moved past, he

shoved a hand on the back of Kyle’s head.

Kyle’s body followed into the dirt.

Daniel watched him splay onto the

ground. His power had already progressed to

the point that a normal person couldn’t keep

up with him. He turned and started walking

up the sidewalk.

Kyle clambered to his feet. "The hell are

you going?!"

"Home, dumbass."

"Fuck you!" Kyle shouted. Daniel turned

his head. Kyle had a knife out. He stabbed at

Daniel’s back.

But Daniel had killed 176 Vorid spawn.

Seeing the weapon, the pity he felt for his

assailant shriveled to nothing.

Daniel’s right leg glowed white through

his jeans. He snapped his foot up with

everything he had. He felt the bones snap as

he connected the point of his shoe with

Kyle’s hand. The fingers contorted into

angles they weren’t supposed to go. The

knife flew into the trees.

Kyle collapsed to the ground, howling.

He clutched his arm to his chest. Daniel

watched him with a detached sadness, the

sort of expression people make when they

hear news about a natural disaster 5,000

miles away.

He almost called an ambulance, but

then, remembering the long years of violent

harassment, turned away and left Kyle to

crawl in the dirt.

****

The weekend came again. Daniel hunted

the Vorid as soon as his brother and father

went to sleep, and stayed out until it started

getting light. The blocks around the school

had been cleared; he had to range further

every day. Even then, he was killing more

and more each night because he could move

faster.

He’d always had an average build; it

felt strange to run so fast and see his arms lift

fifty pound weights like feathers. He’d been

worried he’d wear out his clothes or hurt

himself from the friction or momentum, but

his power protected everything he touched.

He had trouble stopping quickly if he was

really sprinting, but for the most part, his

enchantment grew with him.

He kept measuring his top speed. His

gains from killing the spawn were

plateauing. At first, a few dozen had been

enough to knock a full second off his time,

but now a hundred only cut a hundredth of a

second.

In an odd moment of inspiration, he

decided to make a graph of kills vs speed.

Surely science could discern the nature of his

superpowers.

When he plotted it out, it was definitely

rounding out at the top. It was worrisome to

see his growth slowing, but there wasn’t

anything else he could do. Just keep stomping

ants. If he stomped enough, it wouldn’t

matter.

****

On Monday, Daniel sat in the history

room alone.

A map of the United States still hung on

the right wall. Everything else that had

marked the room for any form of social

studies was gone. There was a small ring of

dust around the spot where a globe of the

world had sat on the corner of Mrs. Faldey’s

desk, unmoved for years. The janitor had just

come in, given Daniel an odd look, and taken

it out the door. Daniel hadn’t tried to stop

him. He’d stopped trying to remind people

about her last week.

The bell rang. No one came in.

He’d asked a few people what they

were doing. They all thought they had a free

period. Mrs. Faldey and her history class

were erased from their minds, replaced with

foggy recollections of study hall. None of his

other teachers could remember her anymore,

either. Just him.

You had to have the required number of

history credits to graduate—some of his

classmates were in the class because they

had to be. Invented explanations filled the

gaps in their heads. They even contradicted

each other. When he pointed those out, they

became distracted, unable to focus on what

he was saying.

Mrs. Faldey shuffled in. Her body was

transparent. The shell around her was an old

bulb about to burn out. She slowly lowered

herself into the chair behind her desk and sat

there. The warm energy that kept her smile

glowing had drained from her face.

Daniel got up. "…Mrs. Faldey?"

A little spark blinked into her eyes. "…

Daniel? I…feel a little lost. Hmm."

Daniel stood at the front of the room.

"You made it to class. That’s a good start."

Mrs. Faldey smiled briefly, then flicked

back to neutral. Daniel was about to say

something when she looked back at him.

"You have a good sense of humor. That’s

good. Very good."

"…you think so?"

She nodded slowly. "John always says

he loves that about me. You’re quite good at

that. Though, don’t let that cynical streak get

the best of you, now."

"…I won’t."

"I was telling him about you, and he said

what you need is some good hard work. He

was forgetting…about when you fixed that

shutter…didn’t he do that? I—it broke in that

big storm, last year, and you…no, he…ah…

hmm."

Daniel watched her struggle. Her eyes

moved over her desk, searching for solid

ground to land on. They found none. The

room was silent again.

Suddenly, she spoke. "You know, as

long as you keep laughing, you can get

through anything. That’s what I think."

Her words reminded him of something

his mother had told him. Something that stuck

close. Too close. It was grown into him.

Thorns embedded in his heart.

Daniel squeezed his eyelids shut. "Yeah.

Guess so."

"I heard your mother died two years

ago. I always wondered about that." Her

head lowered. "I couldn’t ask you about that,

though. It’s rude to ask things like that…"

Mrs. Faldey frowned. "Isn’t it?"

"She…and my dad, they got mugged.

The guy panicked. She got shot."

Mrs. Faldey’s eyes searched for

something. "…what now? I don’t

understand."

"A mugger killed her. He killed her."

"…I see." Her head bobbed. "What a

shame."

It was too weak. The normal Mrs.

Faldey would have been in tears. She would