Lycan Alpha Claim 3 (80 page)

She took her thumb off the pad. “Can we talk after we get your statements?” she asked me.

Mom replied, “No more testing.”

Gale shook her head. “No more, I promise. I followed protocol exactly. I apologize that it backfired. It's not an exact science.”

Dad cupped his hand over his mouth, hiding a smile.

“Sure, okay.” I was acting cool about it, but I did want to talk to her, as long as she didn't pull another whammy.

The cops asked my parents a series of questions. Was the house pulse-alarm activated? Had there been suspicious activity? Were there any known enemies?
Boring.

Finally, they wrapped up, saying they'd make an official report, and we’d have police surveillance at our house.

“For how long?” I asked.

Gale looked up from her pulse-pad. “It'll be random, so the perpetrators can't anticipate our moves. Typically, we give about five days.”

“This area usually doesn't have this kind of criminal activity,” Ward admitted. “Are you sure there isn't someone who has an agenda, a motive?”

I thought the break-in was way too much of a coincidence what with my voodoo death stuff coming online. If I was thinking that, I was sure my parents were. But they shook their heads and didn’t say a word, the silence swelling like a balloon. They wouldn't have shared anyway, especially after Garcia had said he was legally bound to turn in corpse raisers.

“Okay.” She powered down her pulse-pad. “That'll be all for now.” Ward gave her a strange look but she was focused on us. He obviously expected more but she had deliberately shut the meeting down.

She turned to me. “Still up for talking?”

Cautious. “Yeah.”

“You can use the kitchen,” Mom said.

I followed Gale into the kitchen. She took Mom’s chair, and I sat in my usual one. I could hear Officer Ward and my parents speaking quietly out in the foyer, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Gale stared at me. “Spill it.”

“Um… spill what?”

“I know you're more than a two- or three-point AFTD. I’ve never felt anyone as powerful as you.” She rubbed her arms as if she were cold, but the kitchen was really warm. Apparently, she was creeped out.

I was having that effect on a lot of people lately.

“I've felt plenty of AFTDs...” she waved her hand at me, “... but you're something unique.”

I wasn't ready to answer. I decided to ask her some questions.

“How do you know when someone is paranormal?”

She sighed. “It's like I told you before—it's a feeling, a difference. It feels like a low electrical vibration.”

“Is that what they taught you at the school? How to identify paranormals?”

“Yes, some of it. You'll go to the same school I did. I'm a local girl, ya know.” She grinned.

I dug local,
they knew the deal, the people, all that jazz.

“What was it like, the school?”

“It's like regular high school, but you're with people who can do amazing things. AFTDs are the rarest, but fire-starters are running a close second.”

“You mean like the book?”

“The what?”

“The book by Stephen King.”

“Who's he?”

“Only the greatest writer globally!”

“Well, I'm not much of a reader, but the name rings a bell. What's his story about? Pyrokenetics?”

“Yeah, but it's more. Back then, it was just an idea, fiction. No one ever thought it'd be like this.”

I leaned forward. “What do they make you do?”

“Math and English.”

Well, that sucked.

She saw my expression and laughed. “It's not
all
dead stuff and fun! You still have to do core.“But you get to study animation of the dead. That's an actual class—Animation of the Dead in Theory.”

“Wait a second. Who's in that class? I thought all the corpse, I mean, cadaver manipulator's were so rare.”

She looked down at her hands. “Have you heard of Jeffrey Parker?”

I nodded.

“We were some of the first. He was ahead of me, a senior when I was a freshman.” She frowned. “He wasn't treated that well. You can understand there would be some prejudice toward him.”

I bobbed my head again.

“Well, they didn't know what to do with us, with
him
. He was more than they were prepared for. Before him, I don't think anyone knew cadaver renewal was possible. It was just theory. When Jeffrey Parker started to raise things accidentally—”

“What? Accidentally? Really?”

“Yeah, accidentally. In fact, one of the teachers was killed in a car accident, but he shuffled to his job the next day.”

“But how did they know it was Jeffrey? For sure, I mean. It could have been any of you guys.”

“Because the teacher… the
dead
teacher went straight to Jeff and said, 'I am here to serve you.’ Not exactly what he would have done in life. Jeff could control him.”

A fantasy come true
. I took a second to daydream about that.

“Snap out of it. You weren't there. It's not remotely cool.” She rolled her eyes. I decided girls must take eye-rolling classes in kindergarten.

“Well, there's a short list of teachers that I want to do my bidding.” I laughed. The Js would be getting a full report.

She frowned at me.

“Anyway, the AFTD teacher knew that we had ourselves a real, live, cadaver manipulator. No one had ever manifested all five points before. They had a heck of a time figuring out how to put the teacher back.”

I bet they did, remembering the fun of getting granny back-in-box.
Back-in-coffin?
I did a mental shrug.

“What did they do?”

“It was a big deal. The principal came to our class with the empath professor. Of course, we had our AFTD professor as well. He was one of the first to theorize about the potential for cadaver renewal. It had never been well received. Then Jeff proved it
could
be done. And he hadn't even tried.”

Gale pulled a business card out of her pocket. A coffee stain obscured a good half of it.

“Ah, the heck with it. Do you have your pulse?”

I nodded and pulled it out. I put my thumb on the pad and thought,
New contact
.

When I lifted my thumb, Gale replaced it with hers. The green characters appeared on the screen.

Gale, Bobbi
206.631.6312.

“
That’s my direct line,” she said, “not the department's general one.”

“How'd you get that area code? Is it Kent?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it was my grandmother's number. When she passed, I inherited it. Later, I transferred it to my pulse.”

Officer Ward and my parents walked in, and Gale stood. She shook my hand. When we touched, I felt a low voltage-type zing. I didn't let it show on my face, but her eyes widened.
Too weird.

On the way to the foyer, Gale said she'd be available if I needed anything, day or night. They left, and Mom closed the door behind them.

“Major strange,” Mom said.

“I wasn't real pleased with the 'testing' of Caleb. It seemed odd,” Dad replied.

“I don't trust Garcia much. I liked her better,” I said. We stood in silence thinking about it all.

Then Mom got the broom and dustpan and started cleaning up the shattered pots.

“Caleb, go fetch some of the picnic glasses, and we'll get my babies in some water.”

I started to argue, but when I took in her sad face, I just turned and went into the pantry. I dug through it and found the recycled plastic goblets.

“These ones?”

“Yes, those ones.”

I walked to the kitchen sink, opened the tap, and set it to
gray water
.
I filled each glass about three quarters, arranging them on the windowsill. Low-slanting sunlight streamed through the window, hitting the glasses and creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the floor behind me.

Shaking off the dirt in the compost can under the sink, I placed the four plants that would be saved in their respective glasses. Then, I cruised the living room, throwing afghans on the back of couches, closing drawers, and straightening pillows.

Mom came out of her bedroom. “Nothing has been stolen. Mom's necklace and my diamond bracelet are still there.”

Dad looked up, puzzled. “Nothing?”

She shook her head.

“What about your pulse-top, Kyle?”

“The mainframe shut it down the instant someone tried to hack it.”

“Did they?” Our eyes met. “
Try
, I mean.”

“They most certainly did. When I return to work on Monday, we'll do an analysis of what files they breached, if any. In the meantime, I won't be able to recover anything. It's locked down. It's for the best, if they return. We have to consider the possibility.”

“I thought the police were watching,” I said.

“True, but they don't have the manpower to be here twenty-four hours a day, son.”

That blows
. I shook my head. “That doesn't seem safe enough. I mean, they didn't rob us, but somehow, they got in even with pulse-security. So they can get in again.”

“I'll change the pulse-code,” Dad said.

“But how did they get in to begin with? The cops said there were no signs of forced entry.”

Dad rested his chin on his hand. “That's the best I can do. Also, it provides a fail-safe.”

“A what?” I asked.

“A way to find out who or what may know sensitive information, like our pulse code,” Mom said.

“So that means if someone got in here again, it's an inside job?” I clarified.

“Exactly,” Dad agreed.

“Can't we just assume that now as a fact?” Mom asked.

“I'd like to, but the scientist in me insists it may have been a malfunction or someone using one of the many pulse tools out there to neutralize settings. We need to exclude that possibility first.”

“Thereby allowing them to assign a new pulse-code,” Mom added slowly.

Dad inclined his head.

We got after the cleaning and when it was finally done, I asked, “What's for supper, Mom?”

“How about a McDonald's run?” Dad asked.

“All right!” I yelled, doing a Jonesy-style fist pump.

Mom's shoulders slumped a little. Don't ruin it Mom, I silently begged. Dad closed the distance, taking her by the shoulders and they stared into each others eyes. About this time was my cue to take off... but I stayed. We were in this whole mess together, this was not a gross-out parents moment.

He ran his hands up and down her arms. “It's been a tough day on all of us. Let me take care of you and Caleb tonight. I know you like to make the suppers, but let's get some food in us and a good night's rest. Things will look better tomorrow.”

She smiled, a wan thing, not her usual, full-toothed grin. “Hey, that's my line, buster.” She playfully punched him.

He released her, his hands sliding down her bare arms like a caress.

Definitely a caress.

***

McDonald's was always an act of self-restraint. I had a fantasy where I walked up to the counter and said, “I'll have one of everything.”

Unfortunately, the reality was Dad finding us a place to sit and Mom selecting the food. As Dad put it, “She's the health nut of the house, son.”

That meant that I usually couldn't get a milkshake. It didn't matter if they were made with seaweed or not. I had tried that argument with Mom, and she didn't buy it.

Imagine my surprise when she came back to the table with not two but
three
shakes!

That meant it had been a Really Bad Day.

Mom slid into the booth and put the tray on the glaring orange Formica table top. “It's been a really bad day,” she said as she sat down next to me.

Yay for ransackers!
I guess it was too much for a family to go through for milkshakes, but it was a near thing.

I tore off the lid, sighing with pleasure at the thought of that chocolaty goodness. She had strawberry, and Dad had vanilla. Neapolitan family.

Mom opened hers and stuck in a straw that stood up in the center of the cup in a satisfying way. I liked to slurp, so Mom hadn't bothered to get a straw for me. We chowed down on the burgers and fries.

“Caleb,” Mom said, “what about those papers that John gave you?”

Ah! I had forgotten all about those.

“Maybe they're in my locker at school.”

She knew organizing wasn't a strong point of mine. I smiled over the rim of my shake thinking about it.