Silence.
"It’s . . . back? How is that even possible?"
"I don’t know how it’s possible. All I know is that I went out sailing with James and Nikki and this terrible squall blew in and lightning hit the boat, so James sent me down below to reset the circuit breaker. So I did, but then I got electrocuted and—and I saw that he lost a baby girl . . ."
"That’s horrible," she says with feeling after a long pause. "Maybe you had an inkling? You knew he was recently divorced, and so something had to have happened and—and electrocuted? Are you sure you’re okay?"
"I think so."
"How do you feel?" she ventures. "I mean, after everything that happened with . . ."
We don’t even talk about it. The terrible tragedy. The aftermath of which gave me a nervous breakdown and a three-week stint at a mental health facility. After that, I turned away from my ability, refused to listen, denying it entirely, until finally, my ability fell silent.
But I’m better now. Stronger. Older. And I’ve healed. My psychic ability burned too hot for me back then. I was a cocky teenager, smarter than everyone else, and way too full of myself. I knew had clarity that evaded most adults. I knew had the gift. Except, I didn’t know how to trust it. I didn’t know how to use it properly. I didn’t know how to save Melissa.
Like a lost love, I always carried a torch for my psychic ability, hoping someday we could reunite, when the time is right. Maybe the time is now.
"I feel a little buzzed and nervous, but I’m good. I feel good."
"Do me a favor then—will you go see a doctor at least? Just have him check you out. See if there’s any lasting damage?"
"Like psychic abilities?" I ask.
She laughs. "Something like that." Then she sits up; I hear the bed squeak. "You know, maybe it’s come back for a reason. Maybe it’s finally time for you to heal."
"That’s funny. I was just thinking the very same thing."
"I’m happy for you, honey. I think this is a good thing. It’s time for you to embrace that part of yourself. To stop running . . ."
"I know," I say softly.
"Hey, I have an idea. Let’s put on the training wheels on and start off easy. You can start with looking into me."
"But I know everything about you!"
"Maybe you don’t." There are shadows in her voice that intrigue me. She actually had a life before I was born, a concept all kids find unfathomable. Maybe there was crazy boyfriend from high school, or a dead pet or something. I feel a twinge of apprehension. Would I see something else? Some dark hidden secret?
"Okay," I say, excited but apprehensive. I’m not sure how to get the ball rolling anymore. Back then it just came to me. Easy.
Superpower 1.0 was the ability to pick up information about people’s pasts and their deeply held secrets. I could see into their hearts and minds. With my psychic laser goggles, I could see people’s hidden dimensions and their past traumas.
Now that the era of Superpower 2.0 is upon me, I have no idea what to expect. Or how to get it working.
"Let me try . . ." I close my eyes and focus my attention on Mom. I visualize her spacious two-bedroom apartment backed onto a small nature reserve. In her bedroom with that ghastly floral wallpaper, I imagine Midas, her white terrier-mutt, snoring down by her feet. The scene set in my mind, I focus hard, trying to tune out all the ambient sounds around me—the refrigerator running, a car driving past my window, and a dog barking distantly—but I hear them all even louder, despite my best efforts.
Nothing. Am I supposed to rub my hands together and say a magic word? I didn’t have to do that with James. But that happened after the electrical jolt. I hope I don’t need a jump-start every time.
I sigh. "I don’t understand. I saw what happened to James. And—"
"Honey, I think you need some sleep, okay?" She yawns. "I need some sleep too. I have an early reading tomorrow morning."
Disappointment mixed with relief washes over me. I’m not sure I’m ready to embrace my ability, but I don’t want it to go away either.
But maybe Mom is right. Maybe I need to see a doctor.
"Okay, Mumsie. Sorry I woke you up. Love you."
"Love you too, honey. Call me when you book your appointment. Night night."
10
BRYNN
I need some fresh air. Clear my mind. Get my bearings. So I slip on Bear’s harness and set out on a quick-paced jog down to the beach, eight blocks away. Bear’s a good running companion. His energy levels are seemingly endless, and when my pace lags, which it will today, I can always count on him to carry me along.
If I can get my heart pumping, my blood moving, maybe I make some sense out of Erin’s accusation and figure out what to do or who to believe. Because after tossing around in bed all night long, my mind going over every detail again and again, while I listened to the rain patter against the windowpane, I finally decided to get up and get moving.
It’s golden hour, the first tender rays of a new breaking day. As Bear runs exuberantly in front of me, barking and leaping at birds in flight, I glance around at the soft light of post dawn. I’m never up early enough to enjoy daybreak, and despite the frazzled edgy feeling of looming insomnia, I find myself awed by the lilting birdsong, pink high contrast post-storm clouds, and sharp invigorating air.
After Erin had shown me the picture of her rearranged face, I drove away in a daze, absolutely blindsided, feeling scared and stunned, while conflicted thoughts ate me alive.
Somehow I ended up in the back streets of Clairemont Mesa, a hillside suburban enclave of modest houses landscaped with parched grass and gravel, searching for a place to pull over and park so I could think and not worry about getting rear-ended.
I stopped down at the end of a bleak cul-de-sac and turned off my car. The silence was deafening. And for the first time in my life, I was afraid to be with my own thoughts.
Who did this to you?
Dan.
Did he? Did he really?
I had sat in my car and cried until my heart twisted with pain and rage and fear. Then I had driven home, feeling numb and exhausted.
As I pick up the pace, I think about the facts that are working in Erin’s favor. First and foremost, her evidence. Second, with a pit opening up in my stomach, I know that Dan had left with Erin the night of his party, and they had "talked." That’s called a fact.
Sounds painful.
Pretty much.
Did he admit to beating her up?
On the other hand, I cannot actually believe that the man I’m in love with would do something this monstrous. I would have seen the signs, at least one of them. Wouldn’t I? We’ve only been together for six months, but isn’t that enough time to see something detrimental in his personality?
It’s one of those weird, twisty things. You can’t believe it, but you can’t not believe it. Dan is smart and talented, hard working, and—okay, he has a black box of a past.
"Babe, I don’t want to look back," he’d told me one evening at the beach about a month after we’d met, laying on a blanket and gazing up at the stars. "I want to move forward . . . with you."