CHAPTER TWO
C
ATS
, S
PATS
,
AND
G
LASS
My neck tingled again when the JC and I were about a block from my house. The sensation intensified until by the time I pulled into my driveway, it seemed like a hill of ants had taken up residence on my neck. I shut the car off and closed my eyes. My body tensed in a flight response, but where was the danger? I sighed and rubbed my neck. There was no danger. I was short-circuiting somehow, my energy more out of control than ever with every day bringing me closer and closer to self-destruction.
I yanked the handle and shoved my shoulder into the car door to pop it open. The Jesus Chrysler still ran, but it was a little creaky in the joints. As soon as I was in the house with the door closed and locked, I felt a little better.
This house had always been the one place I could be myself without fear or shame. It’d been my maternal grandparents’ home, and it was strange that I felt I could be myself here since they supposedly didn’t know about my special abilities. I suspected Grandma had known, though. Our family just hadn’t talked about it, like a crazy aunt locked in the attic that everyone ignored. An embarrassment pretended away even when the bumps and moans drowned out normal living.
Framed pictures of Grandma and Grandpa lined the fireplace mantle. I said hello to them as I flicked on the light.
My suspicions of Grandma’s shared complicity came from dozens of conversations I’d walked in on between Grandma and my mother when they’d stop talking and look away from each other. Unspoken words would hang in the air, clouding the light and loving feeling my grandmother filled a room with just by being in it. And there were the sad looks she would give me after my mother sequestered me here when my telekinesis and I had finally pushed my father past his breaking point. I think she’d known and that’s why she left me the house—a permanent sanctuary from my father. But, unfortunately, as it turned out, not from myself.
I tossed my backpack onto the couch and kicked off my shoes on the way to the kitchen for some Gatorade. I’d found that sports drinks helped on high energy days. Electrolytes go fast when you’re a human rechargeable battery. Halfway through my third glass, someone knocked on the back kitchen door.
“Yoo-hoo, Marlee,” my neighbor Mrs. Norris said, with her wrinkled face pressed against the kitchen door window.
I checked the impulse to roll my eyes and opened the door. This could prove to be a disaster. I was in a hurry to get my cat and get to school, and Mrs. Norris tended to hang around. And talk. And snoop.
“Hi, Mrs. Norris,” I said.
“Hello, sweetie.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and instant guilt for my impatience bombarded me. Mrs. Norris had been wonderful to me since my grandmother died six months ago. She checked on me frequently, saying that she’d promised my grandmother she’d look after me if anything ever happened to her.
“I noticed that you’re home. You have class tonight, don’t you? You’re not ditching, are you?” She smiled and eased herself into a kitchen chair.
“No, not ditching. Someone found BooBoo Kitty. He’s returning her to me here, and then I’ll be on my way to class.”
She
tssk
ed me. “Marlee Marie Burns, tell me you did not give your address to a total stranger.”
I finished my Gatorade and tried to suppress another power surge. “Sorry, Mrs. N, afraid so.”
“Marlee!”
“I figured he returns lost cats, how bad could he be?”
“Marlee, Sweetie, I think maybe you being home schooled made you a little naïve to how bad people can really be. The real world isn’t like those old reruns you grew up watching.”
Well, it was hard to go to school when you might launch one of your classmates across the room at the least provocation. And those reruns were my best friends growing up. I even named BooBoo Kitty after a stuffed animal in Laverne and Shirley. It was either BooBoo or Hassenfeffer Incorporated, and that was a little awkward.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s broad daylight, and I knew you and Burt would be home.”
I really didn’t know that, but it sounded good. For old retired people, Kay and Burt were very active.
She straightened my salt and pepper shakers on the table and brushed a few crumbs from Grandma’s gingham placemat.
“Still. A young girl like you should be more careful. I promised your grandmother, bless her soul, that I’d watch after you. You’re not making it easy.” Her eyes snapped to mine, and she smiled. “Did he say if he was single?”
I did roll my eyes then. “Mrs. Norris, make up your mind. Is he a rapist or a potential husband? My standards are a little too high for him to be both.”
“Oh, Marlee. You’re so sassy.” She chuckled and looked out the window. “Still, I think I’ll hang around until he gets here. We’ve had a strange van lurking around the neighborhood. Mrs. Crenshaw, you know Mrs. Crenshaw don’t you, sweetie? She’s the president of the neighborhood watch. She reported the van in this morning’s community newsletter. Did you read it?”
I shook my head.
“Marlee, you need to pay attention to these things. You’re part of the neighborhood now, and you’re a young girl living alone. We’re all concerned for you.” She pointed to the kitchen door. “You need to get a solid door and put on some better locks, too. You know I can have my Burt come over and—”
A loud knock rattled the front door. I rubbed my suddenly tingling neck.
“Oops,” I said. “That must be Mr. Smith now.”
Remembering Mrs. Norris’s “Is he single?” crack, I checked myself in the magnetic mirror my grandmother had stuck on the fridge years ago during one of her diet phases. Mrs. Norris waved her hand at me.
“Oh, Marlee, you look like a dream. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine. Everyone would love you just like Burt and I do if you’d just open up a little more.”
I sighed and left the kitchen. It was hard to “be myself” when I had to hide who or at least what I was my whole life. With each hurried step toward the front door, the tingle in my neck increased. By the time I snapped the deadbolt and turned the knob, the feeling had intensified to a vibration like being on a massage-o-matic hotel bed. Pressing my palms to my temples didn’t alleviate the sensation, but it did get a strange look from my visitor.
The man at the door was square. That was the first word that popped into my mind when I saw him. About five feet ten, his wide, squared-off shoulders and ramrod posture gave the illusion that he took up more space than he actually did. His crewcut brown hair topped off his squareness. He could probably set a tray on his head and run a marathon without it falling off.
“Mr. Smith?”
He nodded. His unblinking eyes sat dark and flat on his expressionless face. Odd. I’d never noticed someone whose eyes didn’t reflect light. He held up a cage, and I jumped. A meow and perfect little kitty nose escaped the bars of the cage.
“BooBoo Kitty!” I said.
Mr. Smith crossed the threshold and advanced a few steps into the living room. I closed the door so BooBoo wouldn’t get out again.
“Mr. Smith. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”
He turned back to me, and something in his eyes and thin-lipped smile sent a surge of fear through me. He put the cat cage down and took a step toward me. A ball of energy swirled and grew in my chest. I tried to suppress it. The last thing I needed was to overreact to a Good Samaritan and kill him. He
was
a Good Samaritan—I hoped. But he exuded some very strange feelings. In my mind, I saw swirls of dark red and black around him. A small flare blossomed in my chest and escaped. Something crashed in the kitchen.
“Oh my gosh,” Mrs. Norris shouted from the kitchen. “Marlee, your glass just flew off the counter.”
Mr. Smith spun toward the kitchen, and I used the momentary distraction to slip around him and open the cat cage. BooBoo Kitty shot out and disappeared down the hall.
Mrs. Norris appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. She smiled at Mr. Smith. “You must be Mr. Smith. We can’t thank you enough for bringing that cat back. Marlee’s been worried sick about . . .” Her voice trailed off as she got a good look at his expression and those weird eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Smith. Please let me pay you a reward.” I grabbed my backpack off the sofa and clutched it to my chest. Another surge pulsed from the general area of my sternum, and the front door popped open.
I rushed to the door and put my hand on it. “Darned old door,” I said. “It’s always just popping open.”
“I never noticed it doing that before,” Mrs. Norris said. “You know Burt’s on his way over to look at that back door. He’s bringing that big sledgehammer over to fix it. He can look at the front door, too. You know, with the big sledgehammer.”
“Sledgehammer?” I said.
“Yes, dear, sledgehammer.” Mrs. Norris twitched her eyes over toward Mr. Smith, and I finally got what she was doing. My unease must have been apparent and catchy.
“Oh, sledgehammer,” I said, “that’s right.” I shrugged and blinked at Mr. Smith. “You know these old houses. Sometimes you just have to whack ’em with sledgehammers to unstick things.”
Mr. Smith scowled. He grabbed the cat carrier and edged toward the door. “No reward. I’m leaving,” he said.
If he was just a Good Samaritan, he now thought my neighbor and I were homicidal maniacs. If he was as evil as he felt, he was giving up. As soon as he was out the door, I shut it and locked it. I leaned over the couch and slivered the curtains open to watch him leave. His free hand opened and clenched over and over as he walked with thudding steps down the front walk and climbed into the passenger side of a gunmetal-gray panel van with darkly tinted windows. The van lurched from the curb and sped away.
He hadn’t come alone. Of course, coming with someone else to return a cat didn’t make him a rapist or serial killer. Come to think of it, he had shown more caution than I had. How could I fault the man for being more sensible than me? I was being paranoid. Right?
“That man was surely strange,” Mrs. Norris said right next to my ear.
I jumped. “Jeez, Mrs. N, you scared me to death.” I let go of the curtains and put my hand over my heart to try to keep it in my chest.
“I’m sorry, dear.” She reached for my shoulder. A spark jumped from my shoulder to her hand, and she jumped back. “Ouch,” she said. “Darn static. That really hurt.” She stuck her fingers in her mouth.
I edged away from her. BooBoo Kitty ran in and jumped on the couch. I started to reach out to her, but when her fur swayed toward me and crackled, I thought better of it.
“Mrs. Norris, I have a favor to ask. I still don’t know how BooBoo got out, and I really need to run to class right now. Can you take her to your house until I get home?”
She wiped her hand on her cotton dress and picked up the cat. “Well, sure I will. I still have some of her food from last time I babysat her when you had that overnight seminar.” She rubbed noses with the cat. “BooBoo loves her Auntie Kay, doesn’t she?”
BooBoo just hung there in her hands and let her have her way. The irresistible lump of fur was so mellow, I just couldn’t picture her running away. Whenever she did get out, she spent most of her time scratching at the door to be let back in. She was a huge coward when it came to the big outdoors. I had hoped her lack of courage didn’t have anything to do with the name I gave her.
Another small jolt of energy escaped me, and one of my shoes tipped over.
Mrs. Norris tucked BooBoo Kitty under her arm. “You know, I think we’re having little earthquakes or tremors or something. Things are moving all over the place.”
I popped my feet into my shoes before they had a chance to levitate or shoot across the room and peered back out the curtain. Good. No dark, spooky vans. I opened the door and ushered Mrs. Norris out.
We said our goodbyes, and I started the JC and backed out of the driveway. A dark van pulled away from the curb several blocks up and turned the corner. My heart leaped.
“Jeez, Marlee,” I said, “you’re really freaking yourself out.”
I concentrated on being calm on the way back to the university. My hopes of dissipating power before I got back into a crowded environment were shot. If I wasn’t too late to class, I could get my regular seat by the back door. I’d explained to the professor that I had claustrophobia, and he let me block the door open most of the time. The natural flow from the open door to the large bank of windows that lined one whole side of the classroom helped push the energy of forty active college students outside instead of lying stagnant in the room for me to absorb. That was one thing I didn’t need. My energy level was the highest I’d ever experienced. I didn’t know what would happen if it got any higher.
I didn’t see any vans, dark or otherwise, on my way to the university. The parking lot was crammed as usual and being late didn’t help my parking spot selection. After fifteen minutes of frenzied searching, I found a stall in last row of J lot. The lots were assigned letters of the alphabet according to proximity of the quad, A through K. K lot was closed for construction of a new parking structure, so I was as far as I could get from the buildings without being off campus. I shouldn’t have gotten upset over parking, considering what had happened during the rest of my day, but I did, and my energy level soared even higher.
I pulled my backpack full of books out of my trunk, threaded my arms through the loops, locked the JC, and jogged to my class. I tightened the backpack straps so the pack wouldn’t beat against my lower back, and I ran. The minimal drain on my energy from the physical exertion took the edge off. At least I didn’t feel so much like Grandma’s pressure cooker at full steam anymore.
The classroom door was closed when I arrived, which made sneaking in late a lot harder. I pulled the door open just enough to squeeze through. My backpack strap caught on the outside knob just before the door clicked shut. I was stuck facing away from the door. My right hand was nearest the knob, but no matter how much I twisted I couldn’t curve my arm enough to get hold of the knob. A trickle of sweat rolled down between my shoulder blades.