Beyond belief (7 page)

Joe shook his head. “I can't say for sure how he does it until I see him do these things in the flesh.”

“Maybe he
does
have special powers,” Nikki said. Her eyes twinkled the way they did whenever she teased her father.

“Maybe
you
have special powers,” Joe said.

“If I did, my math teacher's hair would have caught on fire ten times already.”

“Hmm. Is that your way of warning me about your next report card?”

She grinned. “You'll just have to wait and see.”

“I can't wait. Let's do a little experiment here. Do you still have your fork?”

Nikki picked up her fork, which was still sticky from the bread pudding she had eaten in front of the television.

Joe held her wrist and looked at the utensil. “Okay, honey. I want you to hold that handle and concentrate. I want you to imagine the molecules in the center of this fork dissolving away, turning to mush. Can you picture that?”

Nikki gave him a doubtful look. “Yeah….”

“Do it. Look at this fork and imagine those molecules breaking to pieces, making this metal weaker, weaker, weaker….”

Joe lightly rubbed the lower handle between his thumb and forefinger, just as Jesse had rubbed silverware and other metal strips on the videos. “The metal is breaking down. I can feel it. Whatever you're doing, it's working. Look!”

The fork suddenly bent.

Nikki's eyes widened.

“Keep it up,” Joe said. “Let's see how far you can take this.”

As he lightly rubbed it, the fork bent even farther, until the end was at a ninety-degree angle. The end wobbled, then completely broke off.

Joe sat back. “Wow. I guess your math teacher had better watch out.”

Nikki made a face and tossed the fork handle at him. “Okay, how did you do it?”

“Probably the same way Jesse did. I'll show you.” Joe picked up his own fork. “I really shouldn't be destroying more of our flatware, but we'll chalk this up as a valuable learning experience for you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Joe held the fork in both hands and bent the handle. “See how easy that was?”

Nikki crossed her arms in front of her. “That's
not
the way you did it before.”

“Didn't I? If the subject can get to the objects before the tests, there are all kinds of things he can do to them.” Joe bent the fork back and forth. “Every time I do this, the bend gets a little weaker. Of course, you don't want it to be
too
weak, so you have to find just the right touch.” Joe slowed down and showed Nikki the handle's back side. “Look here. See the bend? Let me know when it becomes a thin crack, okay?”

Nikki nodded.

“This takes some practice, because if you let the crack appear on the top side, the jig is up.”

“There! I see a crack!” Nikki shouted.

Joe stopped bending. “Okay, here's where it gets
verrrry
delicate. We bend just two or three more times to deepen the crack, and
voilà!
It's a psychic miracle waiting to happen.”

He showed her the fork, and from the top it looked perfectly normal. Even from the bottom the hairline crack was barely visible.

“Go ahead and rub it between your thumb and finger. See if you can make it bend.”

Nikki rubbed the handle until it bent and fell apart. She smiled. “Cool!”

“You were getting a little too impressed with Jesse, so I took the fork off your plate while we were watching the last tape. I worked it over and put it back.”

She put the fork's remains on the coffee table. “But what about the other things he can do?”

“I can't say. Metalworks demonstrations are one thing, but those moving objects put him in a class by himself. However he does it, he's incredible. I need to see him do this stuff in front of me.”

“Do you think Vince can do those tricks?”

Joe smiled. As usual, the conversation had come around to Vince. She had a monster crush on him, even if she refused to admit it.

“There aren't many people in the world who can do those tricks, honey.”

Nikki turned back to the screen, where Jesse was waiting for another test to be set up.

“You know, I think I'd like him,” Nikki said, still staring at the screen. “But he looks sad.”

Joe studied Jesse's face. When he was performing his bits of wizardry, he wore the same intense expression he'd had in his bedroom. But in between setups, his eyes drooped and his mouth fell into a frown.

“See what I mean?” Nikki said.

“He may have been uncomfortable with all those people looking at him. He's only eight.”

“He probably wishes they would all leave him alone. I bet he wishes his life would get back to normal.”

Joe put his arm around Nikki. After Angela's death, his daughter had endured a parade of well-meaning friends and relatives, each trying to fill the hole in her life by taking her on rollerskating outings, movie parties, and an endless succession of picnics. The teachers at school had briefed Nikki's classmates on how to behave with her, even offering them a laughable illustrated booklet titled “Barbara's Mommy Went Away.”

“Does Jesse have any friends?” she asked.

“I'm sure he does.”

“I don't know. He looks really sad.”

He motioned toward the screen. “Would you like to meet him sometime?”

“Sure.”

Jesse slowly opened the creaky screen door, careful to avoid waking his mother. The door seemed to make so much more noise at a quarter after six in the morning. He'd decided to go to school early, using
his own special shortcuts, so the reporters wouldn't bother him again. Mama didn't want him leaving the house without her, but he knew he'd have a better chance of sneaking out on his own.

He crawled toward his skateboard, which was parked at the edge of the porch. Lying flat on his belly on the skateboard's rough surface, he pushed away and slowly rolled down the concrete walkway to the back gate. He grabbed the gate's thin metal frame, pushed it open, and rolled into the redbrick alley. He looked around.

So far, so good.

He reached for brick after brick, pulling himself down the alley as the news crews waited on the other side of the houses. He'd never noticed how loud his wheels were on the bricks.

Clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter …

He finally reached the end of the block. No reporters in sight. He picked up the skateboard, slung his knapsack over his shoulder, and walked down Edgewood Avenue toward the school.

He was halfway there, when he felt a sharp jab on his left shoulder.

“Are you gonna kill me, dickweed?”

Jesse didn't have to turn to know that it was Al Whatley, a kid who was twice as big as any other kid in the neighborhood and twice as stupid. Whatley went to Willingham, a school for students with disciplinary problems, which meant that he had to get up early to catch his crosstown bus.

Jesse kept walking, but he felt another jab. And another. And another.

Two strong hands gripped his shoulders and spun him around. It was Whatley all right, and he had two buddies, Matthew and Josh, with him.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you!” Whatley's face was marred by a myriad of cuts and bruises.

Jesse backed away. “I gotta get to school.”

“Everybody says you're a killer,” Whatley said. “But I think you're just a little wuss. You think you can hurt me? Let's see you try!”

He pushed hard against Jesse's chest. Jesse turned to run, but Whatley's buddies grabbed him.

“I knew it,” Whatley said. “You're just a scared little wussy boy!” He smiled through his chapped lips and punched Jesse in the stomach.

Matthew and Josh twisted his arms behind him until he was sure his limbs would break. He could feel his eyes stinging.

Please, please don't let me cry, Jesse thought. If that happens, they'll
really
cut loose.

A tear ran down his cheek.

“Aw, look at baby Jesse!” Matthew said.

“Whatsamatter, baby?” Whatley taunted.

Jesse raised his head and glared at Whatley. He could feel his heart beating faster and the rage coursing through his entire body.

Whatley stopped laughing.

The next moment Jesse's glasses flew off his face and struck Whatley's chest. The glasses clattered to the ground.

Matthew and Josh released Jesse and stepped away.

Whatley appeared to be shaken up, but he tried to shrug it off. “It's just a trick,” he said.

Jesse was still glaring at him.

The cigarette tucked behind Whatley's ear suddenly flew away. “It—it was the wind,” he said, as if trying to convince himself.

Jesse turned and stepped toward Josh.

Josh backed away. “We were just kidding, Jesse. We were just having some fun.”

Jesse continued toward Josh, staring straight at him.

“We didn't mean nothing by it.”

Josh was clutching his notebook against his chest. Suddenly the papers began to flap and wave under his chin. Josh screamed, dropped the notebook, and ran. Matthew was right behind him.

Jesse turned back toward Whatley, who nervously licked his lips. “My dad says it's all bullshit. You can't hurt me.”

Jesse said nothing.

“I'm not afraid of you,” Whatley said.

Jesse nodded.

Whatley stepped over to where Jesse's glasses lay on the sidewalk. He cast a glance back at Jesse and placed his foot over the wire-rimmed spectacles.

Still Jesse did not move.

Whatley took a deep breath and slowly lowered his foot. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a large hand gripped him by the neck and lifted him into the air.

Jesse gasped. He'd never seen such a strong, powerful man. He looked like a character in a video game.

“What do you think you're doing?” the man said with soft menace.

Whatley made a gurgling noise from the back of his throat.

The man cocked his head toward Jesse. “Stupid, don't you know that little kid could splatter you against that garage door? Just like I'm going to do.”

The boy started crying.

Jesse backed away. He wanted to run, but he couldn't take his eyes off the giant.

Still holding Whatley up by the neck, the man slammed his head against the garage door.

“A little piece of rat shit like you isn't fit to walk the same planet as this boy.”

Whatley's head was bleeding. He began to sob.

The man looked like he was about to slam Whatley's head again, but the voices of a group of joggers coming around the corner stopped him. He gave a low curse and dropped Whatley in a heap to the ground. He turned toward Jesse. “Come with me.”

Before Jesse could respond, the man scooped him up and carried him around the corner to a pickup truck. He threw Jesse into the passenger seat, then climbed behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

“Everything's going to be okay.”

Jesse frantically reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't work. The childproof locks had been activated.

“Let me out!”

“Don't worry. You're safe now, Jesse.”

“How do you know my name?” Jesse said.

The man stared at him in disappointment. “You don't know who I am?”

“How could I? I've never seen you before.”

“But I thought sure you'd be able to—that's all right. You can call me Lyles. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

Lyles gave him a brilliant smile as he put the truck into gear and stepped on the gas.

J
oe ran up the front steps of Lackey Hills Elementary School and yanked open the door. Before his eyes could adjust to the dim atrium, a forceful, overweight African-American woman was in his face.

“Police?” she asked.

“It shows?”

“It
always
shows. I'm Laurel Adams, the principal.”

“Detective Joe Bailey.”

“This way.”

The principal led him down the corridor, past several colorful construction-paper collages that offered the inner-city kids hope of a life beyond their depressed community. Anti-gang messages were everywhere.

Laurel opened her office door and ushered Joe inside. Jesse Randall stood near the window.

“What happened, Jesse?”

The boy turned toward him. “I already told Ms. Adams.”

“Tell me.”

Jesse related the morning's events to him, pausing to describe the giant in as much detail as he could. Joe jotted down the description.

“So this person just dropped you off in front of the school and left? Did he say anything about getting in touch with you again?”

“No, but he said his name was Lyle or Lars. He said we'd have a lot of time to get to know each other.”

“What did he mean by that?”

Jesse shrugged. “Can I go now?”

“You're absolutely sure you've never seen this man before?”

Jesse shook his head. “Never.”

Joe turned to the principal. “How's the other boy?”

“I called the principal at his school a few minutes ago. Eleven stitches in his forehead, but he'll be all right. I think he's home now.”

“And he doesn't know this man either?”

“No.”

Joe turned back to Jesse. “If you ever see this guy again, I want you to stay away from him and tell your mother, okay?”