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Everything Jake #738 Summer Vacation: The Flight Kiani sat, her eyes blind, her arms bound. Time had no meaning. Space barely meant anything, anymore. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part… the worst part was… The worst part was she couldn't hear anymore. Not just hear, but, Hear. Her mind had been shut down, and nothing, nothing else mattered to her anymore. She wished she was dead, she already was dead. CHRISTMAS EVE: The air was crisp and surprisingly warm for December, but Kiani didn't care as she buttoned her overstuffed down coat. It was a dollar at some small Rainbow Shop, a dollar that went to fight Cancer or AIDS or Survivors of September 11th. It was a dollar well spent, it kept the cold out for her as she had imagined it did for the person who owned it before her. She had wished, for a moment, she could have the power where when you touch something inanimate, it tells you it's history and becomes part of you. She forgot the word for it, and then remembered that Evan who worked with a young man from Scranton, Ohio had developed that power and it drove him insane. The door to her light blue quarter rusted Golf (1987, hatchback) opened with no problem, and she was thankful for that, since the frost makes it impossible to get in. The engine turned and the little car putt-putted down the street from the Bruno home. She felt like she had done the right thing, Jake wasn't like all the other subjects, he was… he was Jake. She knew that by giving him the juice (which was a special concoction of fruit punch syrup and cola syrup, with a dash of ginger ale) and telling him it would break the would, in effect, terminate her position with the Summoners. She giggled that they call themselves the Summoners. The car chugged and spat and choked but started to gain momentum as she took it on the Long Island Expressway. The Expressway she understood, it goes east and west and can take you from New York City to Riverhead. What she didn't get about Long Island was the fact the Southern State and the Northern State Parkways do not, in fact, run North and South, but East and West. But LIE, she definitely understood LIE. They have to know, she thought, and laughed out loud with the knowledge that they could not do a thing about it, or they would lose Jake forever. They still might, and she began thinking of the look that would be on Hector's face when he finds out that she probably just ruined over 17 years of work in one morning. Jake, he would say, needs… special care, my dear. He's a, oh yes, he's a very special boy. We need to take extra care with him, my young one, extra special care, do you understand? Yes, Mr. Hector, I understand. Then go and summon him and see how he reacts to, oh, I dunno, his house on fire. See who he saves first, if anyone. See if he runs, if he hides, if he's too scared to move and just lies there and dies. Record… everything. I will expect a report in 72 hours. Remember, he is young, so we do not, I repeat, do not, make ourselves known. Dismissed. Kiani thought it funny that Hector would always end a conversation with her with a sharp, "Dismiss." As if everything he said to her that sounded honest and true just was bullshit, business as usual. She hated that, but she was young, she was talented, and she was in love with her subject, but at that time, she didn't know it. Even now, knowing that she may never, ever see Jake again, made her upset and sad and heartbroken, but that didn't mask the feeling that she was free. Finally. She was free. She was a young, attractive, somewhat naïve telepath who had no obligations to anyone or anything, forever. She imagined all the trouble she could get herself into, good trouble, trouble that would make your toes curl. The world was hers, all hers, she was free and no one could do spit about it. Spit, she realized she liked saying the word spit. She looked at a car who was making pace with her, threw the word spit in the mind of the driver, and found it to be the funniest thing in the world when Charles Bean of Ronkonkoma, NY, age 57, divorcee, pot smoker (but only during Everybody Loves Raymond), hates his hamster Jim (his little joke: "Jim Bean, get it? Jim Bean?"), tells people he goes to church but actually hasn't since the Steelers lost the Superbowl (big Pittsburgh fan, if it's Black and Yellow, Charles loves it), rolls down the window of his Accord and hocks a big, fat luggy. She gave him a look of disgust, sped up and laughed so hard she almost cried at his face, which said, why the fuck did I just spit out of my window? Freedom, she thought, that's for me. Freedom. It only lasted all of fifteen minutes. The unmarked black mid-sized sedan sideswiped her tiny Golf and knocked it into one of those walls with the relief sculptures of seagulls on it somewhere between exits 57 and 58. She didn't see the car coming, and when the imapct happened, she blacked out. When she woke up, she couldn't Hear a thing. She had given up too long ago to remember. They had all just ignored her until what seemed like two or three weeks ago. She knew it was summer because she smelled the sun on their expensive suits. But that didn't matter, she couldn't Hear anymore. They had asked her questions, strange ones, but she had no intention of ever saying anything again. The questions had to do with Jake, he had got involved with something not registered, there was a mask, she heard the name Jenkins, and perhaps she heard Epel, but she didn't know any Epel's. Hector always spoke the softest, she could tell that he felt bad but was just doing his job. Still. She still couldn't Hear, and for that, she swore, if she ever gets out, she would kill them all.    
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EVERYTHING JAKE is TM & (C) 2000-2011 by Mike Rosenzweig. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
