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  “Yeah, that's accurate,” I replied.

  Garcia gave me the “cop stare.” Adults want kids to fill those awkward silences. That's where I'd get tripped up. Mom was giving me a puzzled look. She knew something was going on.

  “Now, it's interesting that you mention the dog.” Garcia began, (actually, Jonesy had) “because Mr...” he rolled his eyes up, “... Smith,” he remembered, “said that he was certain the dog had been killed.”

  My heart sped, my hands immediately dampening. “No... no, he was still alive, barely.”

  “Okay... Caleb,” he paused, giving a small smile, “there were some witnesses who said that you,” he glanced down at his notepad (man, was I beginning to hate that thing), “ 'laid hands' on the dog and it began breathing again.” Looking directly at me with a piercing stare out of eyes which blended with the pupil, I was suddenly reminded of Brett. He had those eyes.

  “Maybe he was dead for a minute...” I began, choosing my words slowly, “but he must have revived or something.”

  Garcia didn't even pause, “One witness said that the dog's breath had gone out of it before you reached it. That when you touched it, there was an 'energy' around you.”

  My head snapped back up. What? Was that possible?

  “The witness is an Aura Reader, Caleb.”

  I was screwed! They identify paranormals. I am sure I had my panic-face on. John was as pale as a ghost (hardy har-har).

  “You know, Sergeant Garcia,” Mom's voice was all sweet, but dude, I knew that tone!

  “Caleb is a minor (that word came out sounding vaguely like lawsuit, I noted with grim satisfaction), and hasn't perpetuated any crime, so I'm not sure that this line of questioning is justified.”

  I heard: stop bugging my kid or I'll make you sorry.

  Garcia looked at Mom thoughtfully. She tilted her head to the side and a large, gold hoop swung forward, peeking out of her thick hair, twinkling in the late sunlight streaming through the window. I had a sudden stab of love for Mom, standing up for me. I decided to man-up, I wasn't little anymore.

  I broke the silence. “I have Affinity for the Dead.”

  It sounded like a disease, ya know: I have cancer, I have two weeks to live. I wasn't going to die. I was going to start living now and stop being scared. The Js looked at me like I was insane.

  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.”

  Jonesy sighed and went to the Fam-pulse, thumbing the pad. He sat there silently for a minute, then lifted and read the screen. He depressed one more time then turned...

  “I gotta go, mom's on a rage.”

  Mom frowned. “Maybe knowing where you are is sort of important Jonesy.” Doing the I'm-going-to-stick-up-for-the-other-parent thing.

  “Yeah Ali, I know.” He brightened. “Thanks for those cookies...” Mom was already getting a little ecobag for the road, Jonesy grinned. Delayed gratification.

  He gave me a finger salute, turning for the door. “See you dudes tomorrow. Let me know what's going on Caleb.”

  John lifted his chin in goodbye, then we heard his pounding footsteps and the front door slamming.

  Dad got back on topic. “Being prepared is the most important defense.”

  “
True, as long as we're on the same page with this cerebral,” Mom searched for the word, “depressant.”

  Dad corrected her, “Inhibitor.”

  Dad continued, “Caleb, tell me what happened at the accident, especially about this mystery dog.”

  I started with how we had been walking home like usual and ended with how I was sure the dog had been alive, at least a little, because I had felt that “spark.” Dad latched on to the word.

  “Okay, let's go over the cause and effect one more time, Caleb.”

  John and I groaned out loud. I actually face-palmed.

  “Dad...” I started.

  “No Caleb, let's look at this with some applied logic. The dog was hit and flew,” Dad paused, “you said ten or twelve feet in the air?” I nodded acquiescence. He pressed on, “... and it lay there for how long?”

  John interceded, “We went to the dog right away. I mean, Caleb went to it and I followed.”

  “Yeah. It was like he was calling back to me, it was faint. I could feel its will, or whatever. It wanted to be alive, he didn't want to die.”

  Dad put his elbow on his knee and cupped his chin. “It hasn't been mentioned that Parker has this ability. As a point of fact, I hadn't heard that this was a part of AFTD.”

  Mom asked, “Would Caleb's ability to bring something back from the brink of death still be the same thing, categorized similarly?”

  “Perhaps...” I heard Dad's whiskers as he rubbed his chin. “We'll have to put some things to the test and see exactly where his abilities reside.”

  A thrill of fear shot through me. I wanted to use the AFTD, it made the whispering almost disappear. It felt good, right. So far, all AFTD got me was two enemies at school and a dog's reclaimed life that brought me notice from an observant cop.

  “What are you thinking, Kyle? That we give him what, a pre-aptitude test?” Mom asked.

  He nodded. “Exactly. If we can nail down his skill set, know how to defend ourselves, defend him, and decide his future.”

  “Maybe Caleb doesn't want to be some government puppet.” John said.

  Exactly what I'd been thinking.

  “It's a terrifying proposition, the loss of one's freedom,” Dad said and Mom nodded.

  “I think I want the dog,” I said suddenly.