I Am Number Four (15 page)

I look at the shards on the floor. I reach a hand out in front of me and while concentrating on one particular shard, I try to move it. My breathing is controlled, but all the fear and anger remain within me. Fear is too simple a word. Terror. That is what I feel.

The shard doesn’t move at first, but then after fifteen seconds it begins to shake. Slowly at first, then rapidly. And then I remember. Henri said that it’s usually emotions that trigger Legacies. Surely that is what is happening now. I strain to lift the shard. Beads of sweat stand out on my forehead. I concentrate with everything that I have and everything that I am despite all that is going on. It’s a struggle to breathe. Ever so slowly the shard begins to rise. One inch. Two inches. It is a foot above the floor, continuing up, my right arm extended and moving with it until the shard of glass is at eye level. I hold it there.
If only Henri could see this,
I think. And in a flash, through the excitement of my newly discovered happiness, panic and fear return. I look at the shard, at the way it reflects the wood-paneled wall looking old
and brittle in the glass. Wood. Old and brittle. And then my eyes snap open wider than they ever have before in all of my life.

The Chest!

Henri had said it: “Only the two of us can open it together. Unless I die; then you can open it yourself.”

I drop the shard and sprint from my bedroom into Henri’s. The Chest is on the floor beside his bed. I snatch it, run into the kitchen, and throw it on the table. The lock in the shape of the Loric emblem is looking me in the face.

I sit at the table and stare at the lock. My lip is quivering. I try to slow my breathing but it is useless; my chest is heaving as though I just finished a ten-mile sprint. I’m scared of feeling a click beneath my grip. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“Please don’t open,” I say.

I grab hold of the lock. I squeeze as tightly as I can, my breath held, vision blurry, the muscles in my forearm flexed and straining. Waiting for the click. Holding the lock and waiting for the click.

Only there is no click.

I let go and slouch in the chair and hold my head in my hands. A small glimmer of hope. I run my hands through my hair and stand. On the counter five feet away is a dirty spoon. I focus on it and sweep my hand across my body and the spoon goes flying. Henri would be so happy.
Henri,
I think,
where are you? Somewhere,
and still alive, too. And I’m going to come get you.

I dial Sam’s number, the only friend besides Sarah I’ve made in Paradise, the only friend I’ve ever had, if I’m to be honest. He answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I take a deep breath. The shaking has returned, if it ever left in the first place.

“Hello?” he says again.

“Sam.”

“Hey,” he says, then, “You sound like hell. Are you okay?”

“No. I need your help.”

“Huh? What’s happened?”

“Is there any way your mom can bring you over?”

“She’s not here. She’s working a shift at the hospital because she gets paid double time on holidays. What’s going on?”

“Things are bad, Sam. And I need help.”

Another silence, then, “I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

I close my phone and drop my head to the table. Athens, Ohio. That is where Henri is. Somehow, some way, that is where I have to go.

And I need to get there fast.

WHILE I WAIT FOR SAM I WALK THROUGH THE
house lifting inanimate objects up in the air without touching them: an apple from the kitchen counter, a fork in the sink, a small potted plant sitting beside the front window. I can only lift the small things, and they rise in the air somewhat timidly. When I try for something heavier—a chair, a table—nothing happens.

The three tennis balls Henri and I use for training sit in a basket on the other side of the living room. I bring one of them to me, and as it crosses his line of sight Bernie Kosar stands at attention. Then I throw it without touching it and he sprints after it; but before he can get to it, I pull it back, or when he does manage to get it, I pull it from his mouth, all while sitting in the chair in the living room. It keeps my mind from Henri, from the harm that may have found him, and from the guilt of the lies I’ll have to tell Sam.

It takes him twenty-five minutes to ride his bike the four miles to my house. I hear him ride up the drive. He jumps off of it and it crashes to the ground while he runs through the front door without knocking, out of breath. His face is streaked with sweat. He looks around and surveys the scene.

“So what’s up?” he asks.

“This is going to sound absurd to you,” I say. “But you have to promise to take me seriously.”

“What are you talking about?”

What am I talking about? I’m talking about Henri. He has disappeared because of carelessness, the same carelessness he has always preached against. I’m talking about the fact that when you had that gun on me, I told you the truth. I am an alien. Henri and I came to Earth ten years ago, and we are being hunted by a malicious race of aliens. I’m talking about Henri thinking that he could somehow evade them by understanding them a little more. And now he is gone. That is what I’m talking about, Sam. Do you understand?
But no, I can’t tell him any of these things.

“My dad’s been captured, Sam. I’m not entirely sure by who, or what is being done to him. But something has happened, and I think he’s being held prisoner. Or worse.”

A grin spreads on his face. “Get out of here,” he says.

I shake my head and close my eyes. The gravity
of the situation again makes it difficult to breathe. I turn and stare pleadingly at Sam. Tears well up in my eyes.

“I’m not kidding.”

Sam’s face becomes stricken. “What do you mean? Who has captured him? Where is he?”

“He tracked the writer of one of the articles in your magazine back to Athens, Ohio, and he went there today. He went there and he hasn’t come back. His phone is off. Something has happened to him. Something bad.”

Sam becomes more confused. “What? Why would he care? I’m missing something. It’s just some stupid paper.”

“I don’t know, Sam. He’s like you—he loves aliens and conspiracy theories and all that stuff,” I say, thinking quickly. “It’s always been a stupid hobby of his. One of the articles piqued his interest and I guess he wanted to know more, so he drove down.”

“Was it the article on the Mogadorians?”

I nod. “How did you know?”

“Because he looked like he had seen a ghost when I mentioned it on Halloween,” he says, and he shakes his head. “But why would somebody care if he asked questions about a stupid article?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I would imagine these people aren’t the sanest in the world. They’re probably paranoid and delusional. Maybe they thought he was an alien, the same reason you aimed a gun at me. He was
supposed to be home by one and his phone is off. That’s all I can say.”

I stand and walk to the kitchen table. I grab the slip of paper with the address and phone number of where Henri has gone.

“This is where he went today,” I say. “Do you have any idea where it is?”

He looks at the slip, then at me.

“You want to go there?”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“Why can’t you just call the cops and tell them what happened?”

I sit down on the couch, thinking of the best way to respond. I wish I could tell him the truth, that the best-case scenario with the cops getting involved would be Henri and I leaving. The worst case would be Henri being questioned, maybe fingerprinted, thrust into the sluggish-paced bureaucracy, which would give the Mogadorians the chance to move. And once they find us, death is imminent.

“Call which cops? The ones in Paradise? What do you think they would do if I told them the truth? It would take days for them to take me seriously, and I don’t have days.”

Sam shrugs. “They might take you seriously. Besides, what if he just got held up, or his phone broke? He might be on his way home now.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Something feels off, and I have to get there as soon as possible. He was supposed to be home hours ago.”

“Maybe he got into an accident.”

I shake my head. “Maybe you’re right, but I don’t think you are. And if he’s being harmed, then we’re wasting time.”

Sam looks at the sheet of paper. He bites his lip and remains silent for fifteen seconds.

“Well, I know vaguely how to get to Athens. No idea how to get to this address once we’re there, though.”

“I can print directions from the internet. I’m not worried about that. The thing I am worried about is transportation. I have a hundred and twenty dollars in my room. I can pay someone to drive us, but I have no idea who I would ask. There aren’t exactly a whole lot of taxis in Paradise, Ohio.”

“We can take our truck.”

“What truck?”

“I mean my dad’s truck. We still have it. It’s sitting in the garage. It hasn’t been touched since he disappeared.”

I look at him. “Are you serious?”

He nods.

“How long has it been? Does it even still run?”

“Eight years. Why wouldn’t it still run? It was nearly new when he bought it.”

“Wait, let me get this right. You’re suggesting we drive
there ourselves, me and you, two hours to Athens?”

Sam’s face twists into a devious smile. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

I lean forward on the sofa. I can’t help but smile as well.

“You know we’ll be in deep shit if we get caught, right? Neither of us has our license.”

Sam nods. “My mom will kill me, and she’ll maybe kill you, too. And then there is the law. But yeah, if you really think your dad is in trouble, what other choice do we have? If the roles were reversed, and it was my dad who was in trouble, I would go in a second.”

I look at Sam. There isn’t an ounce of hesitation on his face in his suggesting that we drive illegally to a town two hours away, and that’s not to mention that neither of us knows how to drive and that we have no idea what to expect once getting there. And yet Sam is on board. It was his idea even.

“All right then, let’s drive to Athens,” I say.

I throw my phone in my bag, make sure everything is zipped and in order. Then I walk through the house, taking everything in as though it will be the last time I see any of it. It’s foolish thinking, and I know I’m merely being sentimental, but I’m nervous and there is a sort of calming sensation to it. I pick things up, then I set them down. After five minutes I am ready.

“Let’s go,” I say to Sam.

“You want to ride on the back of my bike?”

“You ride; I’ll jog alongside.”

“What about your asthma?”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

We leave. He gets on his bike. He tries to ride as fast as he can, but he is not in great shape. I jog a few feet behind and pretend that I’m winded. Bernie follows us as well. By the time we get to his house, Sam is dripping with sweat. Sam runs into his room and comes out with a backpack. He sets it on the kitchen counter and goes to change his clothes. I peer inside of it. There is a crucifix, a few cloves of garlic, a wooden stake, a hammer, a blob of Silly Putty, and a pocketknife.

“You do realize these people aren’t vampires, right?” I say when Sam walks back in.

“Yeah, but you never know. They’re probably crazy, like you said.”

“And even if we were hunting vampires, what the hell is the Silly Putty for?”

He shrugs. “Just want to be prepared.”

I pour a bowl of water for Bernie Kosar and he laps it all up immediately. I change clothes in the bathroom and remove the door-to-door directions from my bag. Then I walk out and through the house and into the garage, which is dark and smells of gasoline and old
grass clippings. Sam flips on the light. Various tools have rusted with disuse and hang on the Peg-Board walls. The truck sits in the center of the garage, covered with a large blue tarp that’s coated with a thick layer of dust.

“How long has it been since this tarp was removed?”

“Not since Dad went missing.”

I grab one corner, Sam takes the other, and together we peel it away and I set it in the corner. Sam stares at the truck, his eyes big, a smile on his face.

The truck is small, dark blue, room inside for only two people, or maybe a third if they don’t mind an uncomfortable ride sitting in the center. It will be perfect for Bernie Kosar. None of the dust from the past eight years has made it onto the truck, so it sparkles as though it was recently waxed. I throw my bag into the bed.

“My dad’s truck,” Sam says proudly. “All these years. It looks exactly the same.”

“Our golden chariot,” I say. “Do you have the keys?”

He walks to the side of the garage and lifts a set of keys from a hook on the wall. I unlock the garage door and open it.

“Do you want to paper-rock-scissors to see who drives?” I ask.

“Nope,” Sam says, and then he unlocks the driver’s side door and gets in behind the wheel. The engine cranks over and finally starts. He rolls down the window.

“I think my dad would be proud to see me driving it,” he says.

I smile. “I think so, too. Pull it out and I’ll close the door.”

He takes a deep breath, and then puts the truck in drive and slowly, timidly, inches it out of the garage. He hits the brakes too hard too soon and the truck slams to a stop.

“You aren’t all the way out yet,” I say.

He eases his foot off the brake and then inches the rest of the way out. I close the garage door behind him. Bernie Kosar jumps up and in of his own volition and I slide in beside him. Sam’s hands are white knuckled at the ten and two positions of the wheel.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“Terrified.”

“You’ll be fine,” I say. “We’ve both seen it done a thousand times before.”

He nods. “Okay. Which way do I turn out of the driveway?”

“We really going to do this?”

“Yes,” he says.

“We turn right, then,” I say, “and head in the direction away from town.”

We both buckle our seat beats. I crack the window enough so that Bernie Kosar can fit his head out, which he does immediately, standing with his
hind legs in my lap.

“I’m scared shitless,” Sam says.

“Me too.”

He takes a deep breath, holds the air in his lungs, and then slowly exhales.

“And…away…we…go,” he says, taking his foot off the brake when he says the last word. The truck goes bouncing down the driveway. He hits the brakes once and we skid to a stop. Then he starts again and inches down the drive more slowly this time until he stops at the end of it, looks both ways, and then turns out onto the road. Again, slow at first, then gaining speed. He is tense, leaning forward, and then after a mile a grin begins to form on his face and he leans back.

“This isn’t so hard.”

“You’re a natural.”

He keeps the truck close to the painted line on the right side of the road. He tenses every time a car passes in the opposite direction, but after a while he relaxes and pays the other cars little attention. He makes one turn, then another, and in twenty-five minutes we pull onto the interstate.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam finally says. “This is the craziest shit I’ve ever done.”

“Me too.”

“Do you have any plan when we get there?”

“None whatsoever. I’m hoping we’ll be able to scope
the place out and go from there. I have no idea if it’s a house or an office building or what. I don’t even know if he is there.”

He nods. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I have no idea,” I say.

I take a deep breath. We have an hour and a half to go. Then we’ll reach Athens.

Then we’ll find Henri.