[Ganzfield 2] Adversary (31 page)

Isaiah ran away from the house, back through the rain. The pain faded with the distance. Trevor staggered downstairs, his equilibrium knocked out of balance by the burning agony we’d felt from Isaiah.

From the front porch, we saw six sparks emerge from various points along the street, converging on Isaiah. From the looks of them, four were McFees and the other two were Underwoods. They rushed toward Isaiah, yelling to each other.

“Faster! He’s going for the car!”

“Keep focus on his chest!”

“I’m trying!”

“This damn rain! I can’t get the fire to stick!”

“Dave, the gas tank!”

“I know! It’s too far!”

“Dammit! He’s getting away! Move, move, move!”

“Do it now!”

Somehow, they’d figured out how to combine the effects of their abilities to extend their range. But they were unpracticed, and the rain weakened their ability to light things. Isaiah gunned the engine and was gone.

The sparks gave up their pursuit. Several swore in dripping frustration. They regrouped around us on my mom’s front porch.

One of the McFees pulled out a cell phone and made a quick call. “He got away.” Disappointment colored his thoughts dirt-brown.

I heard Dr. Williamson’s voice through his mind.
“I’ll be there soon.”

Another of the sparks looked us over. He was probably in his early twenties with the standard-issue McFee compliment of red hair and freckles, and was built as solidly as a tree. “You’re Maddie and Trevor, right? I’m Dave McFee. You two okay?”

He was pretty sure we weren’t okay.

Trevor still held me against his chest. Blood dripped off the end of a four-inch-long sliver of wood embedded just above my ankle. Dave couldn’t see the golden shield that Trevor still had wrapped protectively around us or the silver shield I still maintained over our minds.

The eight bullets floating like a frozen swarm of metal bees caught his attention, though.
Wow. Cool,
he thought, as he realized what they were.

Trevor and I were still too shocked to care.
We almost died.
Isaiah should’ve been able to kill us. The mental blast should’ve destroyed Trevor, and then the gun should’ve destroyed me.

We were still alive because we’d done something we didn’t know was possible.

Hannah.
Where was she? Had Isaiah done something to her?

“Where’s Hannah?” Trevor asked for me.

“She’s with the others, a few blocks away,” said Dave. “We got her out when Claire said Isaiah was on his way.”

They’d known Isaiah was coming?
Why—?

The police car turned the corner, coming fast. “We don’t have a charm with us. We’ve gotta fake normalcy for the cops, okay?” Dave’s worried eyes gave us another once-over.

A half-laugh escaped me. Apparently, Trevor and I didn’t look very normal at the moment.

Trevor scooped the bullets from his shield and tossed them back into my room through the splintered remains of the front windows. Any forensics experts would find their positions inexplicable.
What’re we going to tell the police?
We needed a plausible reason for someone to’ve shot up my mom’s house.

My mom—the
psychologist
. She dealt with people with mental problems every day. I dropped the shield from my mind and Trevor’s, feeling exposed and vulnerable as I did so. However, we had only seconds and I needed to give everyone the same story.

A crazy guy drove up while we were all hanging out, watching a movie. He yelled at the front of the house then opened fire and ran away. Got it? You’ve never seen him before. You had no idea what was happening. Don’t give details except what he was wearing and what the car looked like.

The police car drove up onto the lawn. Two officers jumped out, guns drawn.

I’m in trouble if they ask me any questions,
I told Trevor.
I can’t answer out loud.

You’re in shock, of course. Look dazed.

No problem.
I really didn’t need to act for this one.

Once the police officer had established we were unarmed, the sparks did a good job of coordinating their stories about the “deranged man” who’d yelled at the house and then opened fire.

I mentally supplied the phrase, “Stupid shrink, you ruined my life!” to their stories.

The cops bought it.

My mom drove up. She threw her car into park on the street and ran up in near-panic. She’d had this nightmare before—the one in which she came home to find the house where she’d left her child was now a crime scene.

Mom! We’re okay. I’m okay.
She shook her head, unused to having my voice in her mind, and didn’t even break stride.

I’ll believe Maddie’s really okay when I can put my arms around her.
She kept coming, fast.

A cop stepped forward. “Ma’am, this is a crime scene.”

“This is my house. My daughter’s in there. You want to stop me, pull a gun on me.”

The cop took a moment to assess the look on her face, and then stepped back. I would’ve smiled, but I knew she was coming for me next. My mom took in the scene from the living room doorway. I sat on the couch, and Trevor’s arm protectively circled my shoulders as a paramedic treated the gash above my ankle.

Oh, thank God she’s all right.
My mom enveloped me in a hug.

Mom, it was Isaiah
. She took a flanking position on my free side.

Why didn’t that boy do more to keep her safe?
Her eyes moved from the blood-soaked bandages on my leg to Trevor.

Mom, don’t start. Trevor just saved my life. He stopped the bullets—

An overwhelming sense of
holy crap
hit me. I met Trevor’s eyes as I started trembling. It was just as well I had to act like I was in shock.

Actually, who was acting?

Trevor said all the right things to the police. They didn’t press me to answer questions with more than a nod or a headshake. I leaned against him and his heartbeat against my cheek soothed me.

The paramedic looked at me critically. “I want you to go to the hospital. You need stitches.”
And psychiatric observation for shock and posttraumatic stress.

I shook my head—not gonna happen. Hey, could my mom talk the paramedic out of that?
Mom, you’ve got to reassure them that you can handle any psychological problems I may have.

She met my eyes. “Maybe you should…”

Mom, I’m fine. Really.
Did I sound convincing?
And talking to a therapist’s not really an option right now, you know?
Geez, and I’d thought my life had been bizarre
before
I’d encountered the killer telepath.

“She’ll be okay with us. We’ll take care of her,” she told the paramedic.

You also can tell the cops that the description of the shooter sounds like a former patient of yours named Jonas Pike, okay?

My mom frowned. She didn’t want to lie to the police.

If you tell them the truth, they’ll probably commit us both. Dr. Williamson’s on his way—he’ll explain everything.

It took more than an hour for the police to finish asking us questions. Our shot-up house now had yellow crime scene tape around it. Neighbors returning from work gawked curiously at the shattered windows and the array of police cars on the lawn. My mom had told the cops that we’d stay with friends until they caught the deranged mental patient, Jonas Pike, who’d done this.

One of the officers knew the name.
Jonas Pike. Isn’t he a higher-up in some crazy group that claims people with evil superpowers are among us?

I hid my smile. That’d actually synched up better than I’d hoped.

In the town car on the next block, Dr. Williamson waited with a shield around his mind. How did he get here so fast? Apparently, he hadn’t gone back to Ganzfield after all. I wanted to pepper him with questions, but he stopped me.
Pay attention to the police right now. Make sure the others have the right answers to give them.

I reluctantly returned my attention to the situation around me. Yikes—just in time. Upstairs, in my destroyed bedroom, the investigating officer scowled as she noticed that the bullets were in the strangest pattern she’d ever seen.
It looks like they were just dropped around the crime scene. What’s going on here?
She took several digital pictures, and then started bagging the bullets.

I caught Dave’s eye.
Dave, a cop’s in the bedroom upstairs. Her camera needs to fry before she leaves, okay?

Dave smiled and gave me a barely discernable nod. He headed to the top of the stairs to intercept the officer as she left.
Crap
. What if there were pictures of other crime scenes on that camera? Oh, well.

The last of the cops pulled away. Dr. Williamson’s car arrived less than a minute later, trailed by a black Ganzfield van. I didn’t recognize the minds of most of the arrivals.

Hannah found me in the living room. Her thoughts were full of remorse.

What happened?
I asked her.
Are you okay?

“I’m so sorry, Maddie!” She was nearly crying. “I forgot to call right away! I left a message for your mom, and then I had an idea I needed to check out about Broca’s area. I didn’t call until after lunch!”

“Call?” asked Trevor.

“I was supposed to call Dr. Williamson if Maddie woke up.” Hannah suddenly noticed the bandage on my leg. Without asking, she laid her hands on either side of the gauze. The pins and needles started and the laceration healed over cleanly. I decided to leave the bandage on for the rest of the day, in case the police came back.

Dr. Williamson entered the house. As always, his suit was perfect. Cool relief soaked into me. I could relax—Dr. Williamson was in charge now. Everything would be okay.

We all crowded into my mom’s living room, pulling chairs from the dining room and the kitchen to find enough seats.

Do I have enough food in the house for all of these people
? My mom’s thought made me smile.

Dr. Williamson caught sight of our little group huddled on the couch. “Maddie, how are you doing?”

Woke up from a coma this morning, got shot at this afternoon. So, you know, the usual. You?

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His mental shield grew stronger, and my brow furrowed. It was as though I‘d be able to see through the block in his thoughts if I just concentrated more. Something was upsetting him, something more than Isaiah still being on the loose. A hush fell expectantly over the living room as Dr. Williamson cleared his throat.

“It didn’t work,” he said. “What went wrong?”

What didn’t work?
I thought. Next to me, Trevor had the same thought. Were we still mentally synched, or just equally out of the loop?

“I called you too late,” said Hannah, miserably.

“The rain shorted us out. We should have been able to fry him at that distance.” Dave still felt frustrated about that.

“I didn’t tell them to move into position in time,” said the young woman next to Dave. “I didn’t have a strong enough fix on him.” Guilt flashed within her, muddy-yellow and acidic. Was this Claire? She was tall with pixie-cut, nearly-black hair and startlingly blue eyes. Dave put a hand on her back and she leaned against him.

“We’ve had this trap ready for nearly a week. Maddie was put in danger by your incompetence.” Dr. Williamson let everyone feel how disappointed he was. I caught a flash of anger underneath that, although I was pretty sure he wasn’t trying to broadcast it.

Trap?
I asked.

“Why don’t you speak aloud?” he asked, chastising me for my latest breach of telepathic etiquette.

Would if I could.
I felt my anger rising. I projected into everyone’s minds—I still could follow the spirit of the rule, at least
. Isaiah burned out my speech center a week ago last Saturday.

The shock Dr. Williamson felt was genuine. “What?”

Didn’t Hannah tell you when she called?

“I didn’t have a chance,” interrupted Hannah. “I just told him that you were awake and he asked if you’d been given dodecamine. He hung up as soon as I said yes.”

“Once you were awake, Isaiah could track you,” Dr. Williamson explained. “He modeled his RV abilities on scans of Charlie Fontaine. Charlie could find G-positive minds as long as they were conscious, even without dodecamine. The ones on dodecamine were like beacons to him; they practically shouted their presence.”