Harvest of Changelings (21 page)

J
EFF WOKE EARLY SUNDAY MORNING FROM A BAD dream to still more rain drumming on the roof. Outside cars went by, tires hissing on the pavement. Jeff sighed. He loved rain, but he had planned to go and visit Russell in the afternoon, while the Clarks hunkered down in the living room to read the Sunday papers, do the crossword puzzles, and nap. But even with them distracted, it would be difficult to hide any wet clothes—and he had barely managed to get away with sneaking out Friday and back in on Saturday morning. He knew if he asked, they would have taken him over there—but then they would have to meet Russell's parents, and Russell was afraid of what would happen if they did. Besides, Russell was still grounded. Jeff thought about praying to God to sort things out, but no. Jeff shook his head. His dad had made him go to church every Sunday and every Sunday Jeff had prayed for things to stop and everything to be as it was. It had taken God three years to answer the first part of his prayer and being with the Clarks wasn't how things had been.

But never mind that, Jeff thought, as he leaned against the window. Maybe it would fair off later. Then he remembered Mr. Clark saying it was supposed to rain all day Sunday.

I'll call him tomorrow—I mean later today, Jeff thought, still
leaning against the window. He looked back at the clock on his dresser. 3:11 A.M. Waaay too early to call anybody, he thought. But he was wide-awake and he didn't want to go back to sleep. Sometimes if he woke up and it was still night and went back to sleep, he would have the same dream again, as if it had been waiting for him, just the other side of being awake. He had been in bed and had been frozen. He had been cold and still, with ice on his skin and all around him. And Someone had been in the room, waiting in a dark corner, just beyond where Jeff could see. But
this
dream had been different. When Someone had started walking across the room, his feet heavy on the wooden floor, Jeff had finally been able to do something. He couldn't move, but he had been able to make one of his dinosaurs move: the big one-foot-tall bright red T-rex. T-rex had floated up from Jeff's desk and smashed into Someone. And again and again and again until Someone had fled, howling.

Jeff had woken up when Someone had started howling and running away.

“I did that,” he whispered to himself. “I made that dinosaur move.”

But it had been just another bad dream, right? But now he knew dreams were real—after all, his ears were pointed and if he looked into the mirror he would see his eyes were greener and almost luminous.

Okay, let's see. Jeff stood up from the window, turned on the lamp by his bed, and looked around the room. There was a heap of dinosaurs on the floor. A purple pterodactyl was on the top. In the dream it had been like completing an equation, or completing a puzzle. This here, that there. For a long moment, nothing moved, except the rain outside the window. Then, with a quick jerk, the pterodactyl shot straight up, hit the ceiling and fell back down on the pile.

“Okay, I'm getting there,” Jeff said and grabbed the pterodactyl and held it over his head. “Dreams are real,” he reminded himself and tossed the pterodactyl up in the air. This time when it hit the ceiling it stayed.
Yeeessss
.
Just like in the dream
. The dinosaur banked to the left and zoomed around the room, in and out of the white light of the lamp. He made it do cartwheels, somersaults, figure eight's, loop-de-loops, barrel rolls.
Now
:
here
. And the pterodactyl landed on Jeff's open palm.

For the next half-hour dinosaurs flew everywhere. Jeffs comic books joined them in flight, becoming big paper birds with flapping wing-pages. The lamp flicked on and off, on and off, on and off, over and over again.

“I can't wait to tell Russell,” Jeff said as he lay on his bed, hands behind his head, watching an apatosaurus spinning right above his head. Three triceratops whizzed around the room, swooping and diving low over the bed. A brachiosaurus hovered by the window, looking for all the world as if it were watching the rain outside. The air-trails the toys left behind became a web of blue, an azure net cast over the room.

“Maybe I
can
tell Russell now,” Jeff said and sat up. All the dinosaurs fell down then, banging on the floor, flopping on the bed. “If I can
move
my dinosaurs—” He pushed up the window, and then the storm window and screen, and jumped back almost immediately as the rain and wind hit him in the face. “Sure—” and he
pushed
back the rain and the wind. The air between Jeff and the outside sparkled and shimmered and no rain and no wind came in the window. “Now a test pilot.” He tossed the brach up and out and
caught
it before it hit the grass. Then the green toy flew in widening circles around the backyard, around the trees, under and over the swings.

“Come back,” he called and the brach turned and floated back to his hand.

I can do this
,
I know I can do this
.

Jeff closed the screen and storm window and the glass window and then, feeling more wide-awake than he sometimes felt in the daytime, Jeff snuck out of his room and down the hall and out the back door to the deck. He climbed up on the porch railing and stood there for a moment, balancing himself, his eyes closed.
I'm getting soaked—hey
,
if I can push the rain back out the window
—
There
—Now the faintly sparkling air surrounded Jeff; it moved as he moved, as if it were a separate skin. And he couldn't feel the rain or the wind.
All right
.
Just like moving the dinosaurs
,
pushing back the rain, except it's me
.
One
,
two
,
three—
Jeff flew, the wind and the rain parting before him, the night all around him like a black glove. He flew faster and faster, his eyes still closed, until he ran headlong into a pine tree. The sparkling air disappeared as if it had been cut off. Branches slapped his face and ripped a long tear in his shirt and down his back. Crying and wet, Jeff fell, breaking more branches until he hit the ground with a thud.

He sat unmoving, water soaking through his shorts to his skin, rain on his head, running down his nose, into his eyes, down his back. At least the rain was slowing down a little. He gingerly moved each arm and leg. Nothing broken. His back was a little sore and when he reached behind him, Jeff felt something warm and wet. In
the light from the deck Jeff could see a dark streak on his hand. He shrugged and wiped the blood on his shorts. He stood up slowly, pulling a few twigs and needles out of his hair. A trail of broken branches marked his path down the tree.

“Okay, let's try again with eyes open and away from trees. First, the sparkly air,” Jeff said. The annoying rain disappeared. Satisfied, Jeff glanced toward the house: no sign of the Clarks. Good, they hadn't heard him crash into the tree.

Onetwothree
...

Jeff flew straight up, not stopping until he was high above the trees and power lines. Then Jeff floated on his stomach, his arms spread out like Superman. The cars looked no bigger than the Matchbox cars he had left at his parents' house. Their headlights seemed to be running in front of them, white shadows pushing back the black. Jeff let himself drift for a long time. He floated on his back, pretending he was in an invisible hammock, swaying back and forth. Flying was just how he had dreamed it would be.

“Okay, Russ,” Jeff said and flew up and over the trees and other houses and streets between his house and Russell's. The night was amazingly dark: no moon, no stars, only the heavy clouds and the rain. At least it was beginning to taper off, and the wind was almost a breeze. He wished the clouds would go away and let the moon and stars come out. Then the night and everything in it would be all his—for right now, as he flew, there was no one in the whole world but Jeff. He was almost disappointed to reach Russell's house. Down Poole, and then left here, down the Whites' driveway. There was the house, standing alone in the middle of its big, ragged going-to-weed yard. Jeff landed on the roof, just outside Russell's window. He could see Russell's manger scene through the glass.

“Windows lock on the inside,” Jeff muttered.
Just like the dinosaurs
. Even so, moving the metal lock was harder and required more concentration. Jeff closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He felt the sparkling air wavering around him and he felt just a hint of the cool, wet night.
There
. The lock
moved
and Jeff shoved the window up. He carefully set aside the little manger and the statues, and crawled inside. He let the sparkling air fade away.

“Russell. Russ, wake up. It's me, Jeff. Wake up,” Jeff whispered and shook the lump beneath the spread.

“Huh? Jeff? Watterya doing here in th' middle of night? How'dya get in?” Russell finally rolled over and pulled the covers back from his head. He looked up at Jeff, his face still heavy with sleep.

“I flew here from the Clarks.”

“Huh? You did what?”

“Wake up, Russ. It's like what you did when you
shoved
Mrs. Findlay at school. I, we, can
move
stuff. I had my dinosaurs flying all over the place and I
moved
me. We can fly and stay warm and dry—I mean—Russ, are you awake? Watch me.” Jeff floated straight up to the ceiling and then came down slowly to stand on Russell's furry rug. Then, slowly, the spread peeled itself off Russell and clumped at the foot of the bed.

“Now hit me,” Jeff said and the air shimmered and glowed around him.

“Hit you?”

“Hit me. Go ahead. You are awake, aren't you? It's okay, hit me. Go on. It won't hurt.”

Russell got out of bed and slowly swung his hand toward Jeffs face. His hand stopped a few inches away. He pressed hard and still he couldn't reach Jeff's face.

“Man, I can't—but—this is more magic, isn't it? And you said you flew here, right?” Russell asked. “Can you show me how?” He sat down on his bed and pulled his spread around him. He was wearing only his State gym shorts.

Jeff sat down beside him, still wrapped inside his shimmering air shield. “I think so. I can see, when this air is around me, lights all around you, layers of light. Close your eyes and hold my hand.”

Russell nodded and closed his eyes. He couldn't quite get his hand around Jeff's; instead, he was holding the shimmering air. His hand tingled, and then for a long moment, nothing happened. He could hear Jeff breathing and his own breathing. Then small, white stars appeared behind his eyes. The stars grew bigger and brighter until there was nothing but brightness and it hurt and yet felt good and funny and warm and too hot and cold and—it was gone. And Russell could feel Jeffs hand, each finger, and he knew.

“Well?” Jeff said when Russell opened his eyes. Russell got up and opened his wardrobe and looked into the mirror. He was surrounded by the same shimmering, twinkling light as Jeff was—no, Russell's light was more the color of fire, a yellow streaked with orange and red. The light rippled in his red hair, making it like a living flame. Jeff's light was cooler and more subdued. It was the color of ice: blue, white, and streaked with pale green. Jeffs light was wet, Russell thought, if a light could be wet.
His
light burned.

“Ready to fly?” Jeff asked. He stood by the now-open window. Russell hesitated. All he could see behind Jeff was night.

“Here, Russ, hold my hand for a little while,” Jeff said and they
climbed out the window and onto the roof. “One, two, three, blastoff!”

For a few seconds Russell knew he was a weight, dragging Jeff down. Then, it came to him, as if someone had flicked a switch, or pulled curtains back to let light in. He saw what Jeff had been trying to make him see. At first, a strange, intricate pattern, convoluted, intertwined, sparking, shifting colors, then, he could see the pattern, trace it, and there it was, he
saw
. Russell let go of Jeff's hand and flew past him, straight up, the fiery light around him crackling and sparking and hissing in the air.

“I'm flying, I'm flying! C'mon, Jeff, let's race, let's do something, anything. We
can fly
.”

Jeff caught up with Russell when they were a good hundred feet above Russell's house. Russell was floating on his back and laughing. Jeff flew up and under him and flipped him over and darted away, a quick air-fish.

“I'm gonna get you!”

And they flew, one after the other, two small comets in the sky, one blue-green, the other yellow-orange.

Russell wondered, as he turned and banked to chase Jeff over the trees if this was the same Jeff who had been so terrified on the cliff above the swimmers' sea. The same Jeff who tried to be invisible in school? And yes, he thought, the same Jeff who swam like a fish and rode on dolphins' backs. Each one was Jeff, whose eyes were like twin green stoplights.
I bet
my eyes are like that
:
green lights
. He shook off his questions. There was too much happening all at once for Russell to even get close to any answers. Below and behind him was his house, but it didn't look like his house anymore. It was a white box receding into the shadows of the forest, which was all dark and green and black. Jeff's neighborhood looked like a patchwork quilt made of uneven squares and rectangles. Russell caught Jeff when they crossed Poole Road and they flew side by side, their arms outstretched, a hand's width apart. Russell flew a little closer and tapped Jeff on the hand.

“Tag. Yer it.”

“Wait, I've got a better idea,” Jeff said, laughing. “Let's go to the school, to the playground. I want to try something. When we get there, let's play follow-the-leader. I'll be leader first, okay?”