Death Whispers (Death Series, Book 1) (8 page)

Garcia startled.

“Caleb!” Mom said sharply, her mouth in a thin
line.

“It's okay Mom, I know that he won't tell
anyone.”

He
needed to feel the burden of my trust, roll it around and taste it
like candy in his mouth. I was hoping that Garcia believed in what he
was, a policeman: to serve and protect.

“
Caleb's
right,” looking at me with kinder eyes, “I don't have to tell
this part. You're right too, Mrs. Hart. He
is
a minor, and hasn't committed a crime.”

I
felt a
but
coming.

“But,” he said and I smiled, “there were
witnesses. A young woman noticed what Caleb did. She is under no such
restrictions. There is no law that will keep her from sharing what
she saw.”

Garcia leaned back and crossed his legs, his ankle
resting on his opposite knee. His black uniform looked crisp, the
sharp creases in his pant legs bisecting the center. His tie tack
glinted in the sun as he shifted.

“I cannot protect Caleb's information.” He
turned to me, “Why do you want to hide it, Caleb? There are other
AFTDs.”

Because it threatened my freedom. I thought of
Gramps, who always told me freedom was more precious than money. I
was beginning to believe him.

“I don't want to end up like Jeffrey Parker,”
I said.

Mom
looked at me with her mouth in an “O” of surprise. I didn't want
to work for the government and have no choices, duh! John nodded,
he
knew what had happened to Parker.

Jonesy gave a nod because his mouth was full.

Garcia was thoughtful, the whole room held its
collective breath.

Finally,
Garcia said, “Yes, that would be enough to give anyone pause.” A
silent consent passed between him and Mom. My identity stripped away,
a possible slave for a government that would use me under the guise
of protecting the nation or some crap like that, ah...
no
.

Dad walked through the garage door with his hair
in disarray, briefcase in hand.

“What's going on here?” he asked, fingers
balanced on the doorknob, tossing his coat on the hook by the door.

I sighed, it was gonna be a long night.

Mom and Garcia started to speak at the same time,
laughing nervously. Jonesy looked from my mom to my dad then back to
Garcia like a tennis match gone wrong, shrugged, and grabbed another
cookie. John had his arms folded across his skinny chest silently
watching the drama unfold.

“You go ahead,” Mom said.

Garcia gave her a brief nod. “Mr. Hart,” he
stood and held out his hand, “I'm Sergeant Garcia with the King
County Police.” Dad took the hand Garcia offered and gave it a few
hard pumps.

I looked at dad, such a huge contrast to the very
Hispanic-looking Garcia. Dad loomed a little over Garcia, standing
six foot-one to Garcia's shy six foot. Garcia stepped away and folded
his lankiness back onto the couch, Dad balancing on the piano bench.

They faced each other. “Kyle Hart.” Dad
smiled.

Garcia was braced for some hostility, but my
parents didn't automatically think someone was out to get them (well
Mom did, some).

Garcia went over the whole story, beginning with
how the dog had been in the road, and Baldy (Smith) had hit him. He
ended with, “... and now you see, Mr. Hart, we are at an impasse.”

I deliberated... a standstill! Gotcha.

Dad's face had been thoughtful during this
retelling, becoming somber at its end.

Finally, he nodded, “We thought that we could
allow ourselves some time to devise a plan that would garner Caleb
some options, to come to terms with his new skills. But his 'skill
set' is accelerating on course with other puberty manifestations,”
Dad finished, his expression expectant.

Jonesy was near drooling at a speech of
complicated proportions, his eyes vacant and glassy, John looked
mildly confused and Mom was irritated. Garcia was valiantly figuring
it out.

“Dad... English!” I berated.

Dad smiled sheepishly. “Sorry folks, thinking
aloud. His face fell into stern lines. “In other words, he is
gaining abilities that I cannot predict and they are popping up at
extremely inconvenient and public locations.”

Understatement of the year!

I did a mental face-palm when Jonesy piped in, “I
still wanna know what happened to the dog.” This said mid-chew on
a cookie.

John looked at Jonesy.

“
What?”
Gulp, slurp with the milk. Mom wrinkled her nose.

“I mean, this is good news because, my bro
here,” brandishing his empty glass in my direction, “saved a dog
and everyone is freaked over it,” he said, shrugging. For the
Jones-man this was a simple affair of right and wrong. Jonesy didn't
do shades of gray.

John
spoke up, “Yeah, it's cool about the dog but not everyone is going
to think it's cool Jonesy. In fact, I bet some may notice that we
don't want noticing. The same ones that noticed Jeffrey Parker.”

John's speech struck everyone mute.

Mom spoke next, “I was cleaning out your room
Caleb.”

Great,
as I visualized all the crap strewn over the floor.

“And I found some papers that talked about the
Parker boy. Once he was identified with AFTD and the government
became involved and enacted an amendment against some of his rights
as a person; his freedoms were stripped.”

Mom was gonna rage, I felt it coming as sure as I
was sitting here.

Garcia
must have been more astute than I gave him credit for because he
gestured with his hand,
wait
a sec
.
Mom popped her mouth shut. Huh, she hadn't even Made-Her-Point.

“Mrs.
Hart, let's not panic yet. That was a decade ago. Parker was the
first, extreme case that had been seen. You remember the headlines.”

As I had only been five in 2015 when that first
inoculation round had been given, I didn't remember.

“He
was not typical.”

Garcia turned to Dad, seeking confirmation.

Dad,
no intellectual slouch
.
“You're
right. This wasn't a teen that just talked to the dead, divined
ghosts, or gleaned how someone had died. He was a
Cadaver-Manipulator.”

My parents and the Js all looked at me.

I opened my mouth to spill my guts when Garcia
said, “Well, isn't it fortunate that Caleb doesn't have to worry
about that. Controlling the dead is a whole other ball of wax.”

“Very fortunate,” Dad agreed, giving me his
best, I-will-throw-lab-beakers-at-you-if-you-talk stare. I snapped my
mouth shut. The Js were as silent as the tomb. I mercilessly
repressed a wild urge to laugh.

Garcia braced his palms on his knees and stood,
smoothing his uniform as he straightened. Dad stood too, running a
nervous hand through his hair and making it messier than before.

Garcia fished something out of his perfectly
ironed shirt pocket. I leaned forward to look.

He
handed me a card that read: Sergeant Raul Garcia, Pulse:
206.968.8640.

I told him I'd never seen that area code.

“Yeah, it was my dad's, he was a cop too.”
Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, “I got it when he retired.”

Dad did the humph sound. “I haven't seen one of
those in thirty years.”

Garcia smiled, shaking my parents' hands and with
his other hand resting on the oversized bronze handle, he gave me
good eye contact.

“You call me if you need anything. Just thumb my
number in your pulse,” he raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I've got a
pulse.”

Brain Impulse phones were newer but who wanted to
text the old way?

He nodded. “... anytime, for whatever.”

His gaze traveled to the parents and I was sure he
knew there was something more but he let it go. Stepping back into
the threshold of the doorway, the twilight edged around him like a
halo as he slipped out the door.

Mom leaned against the closed door, locking the
dead bolt backwards as she stepped away.

“Wasn't
that close!” she said.

“It's
safe to say we're fast running out of time before there will be a
contingent of people with a clearer understanding of just what Caleb
is capable,” Dad said.

“
I
think he's a good man. But, he may not be ready to know that last
part,” mom hesitated, “Cadaver-Manipulator might be a bit much
.
”

Jonesy burst in with, “Corpse-raiser,
corpse-raiser, it rocks!” air-pumping with his fist.

John corrected, “You didn't think it 'rocked'
when you sprinted out of the cemetery,” John paused for effect, “or
when Caleb and I had to do the little blood ritual.”

Mom's mouth unhinged itself from her jaw and Dad
looked astounded.

“Blood ritual?” they asked in unison.

I wiped my hands off on my jeans. Geez, this
sucked.

“Well, I didn't know if it was gonna eat me or
what, I knew you guys could handle it.” Jonesy grinned at us both,
extolling his faith in our bravery... riggghhtt.

“You didn't tell us that detail,” Dad said,
thoughtful.

Mom said, “Is that how you think you did it?”
She was frowning now, thinking about all the ways my safety could
have been in jeopardy (it was), or some other thing that could have
befallen me (it did).

“Well, kinda,” I began.

Dad was measured. He waited for me to spit it out.
Mom was biting her tongue on about nine different levels.

“Caleb, just barf it out,” Jonesy said.

Huh, so much for time to gather any thoughts.

I fought not to tap my fingers on a surface. “I
felt like a tingling... an energy.”

Dad
made the circle gesture with his hand to go on, “... as soon as I
stepped through the gate of that cemetery I knew there was one voice
above the others that was calling me.” I put my hands over my ears
in reaction to the memory.

They all waited for me to continue, even Jonesy.

“When I got there I felt like I was in the
middle of a whirlpool, that something was just under the surface,
waiting to rise. It was like all the energy in the world was waiting
for me to take that next step,” I said.

“And then I hit him a good one!” Jonesy
interrupted with a loud thwack of his right fist smacking into the
palm of his left.

Mom jumped, giving a nervous laugh.

I glanced at Jonesy. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

He
gave the
what?
expression. John shook his head, hopeless
.

“Do you think, after Jonesy hit you the catalyst
was the violence or the blood? Because blood is organic, but so is
violence, if one thinks on that,” Dad said.

Now
that was interesting. I hadn't thought violence was any part of it.
I'd assumed that the blood was somehow an integral part of why the
corpse rose to begin with.

“That would explain the dog,” John said
quietly.

We looked at him while he shifted his weight, arms
still locked over his chest. “I mean, the car hitting the dog was
an act of violence, right? If Baldy...” John continued.

“Smith,” I corrected.

“Whatever,”
he shrugged. “If Smith,” he gave me The Look, “hit that dog,
then he wasn't being careful. There are protections about obstacles
now in all cars, it's standard,” he stated. John was kinda stiff,
but he was making some good points. “Really, if you think about it,
he shouldn't have hit the dog at all.”

Dad was nodding.“John's right.”

John sat on a stool, speech finished.

“Which
brings me to wonder: why that wasn't the first thing Garcia was
after, not your possible ability,” the look he gave me spoke
volumes. “Do you boys remember this witness? This young woman that
Sergeant Garcia mentioned, the Aura Reader.”

I shook my head, with all the action happening,
the crowd was the last thing I remembered.

Jonesy brightened. “I saw that hot girl from PE
in the crowd on the way here.”

John just looked at him.

“What? He asked.”

Dad laughed. “That's okay. I think there's more
than just professional interest. I'm thankful we didn't blindly tell
him the extent of your abilities. Not before I've had a chance to see
them. And finalize the use of the cerebral inhibitor.”

“Kyle, that worries me,” Mom said.

“This is the lesser of two evils, Ali. If he
shows his hand, they may do a 'Parker' on him.”

“Even now?” Mom asked.

“Especially now.”

“Your
mom and I have been reading up on Parker, how our government
responded to him. It looks like Parker took the Aptitude Test and was
the first student, nation-wide, to hit that high of a score on AFTD,
five-points.” Dad said, holding up all five fingers. I knew this
part, “There hasn't been another.”

Until
me
,
was the unspoken ending.

The Fam-pulse chimed, as Mom walked over to the
wall pocket and pressed her thumb to the pad.

Dad asked, “Who is it?”

Mom held up her index finger.

She turned to Jonesy. “It's your mom, apparently
you didn't tell her you'd be over today.”