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My parents looked at me with identical expressions of shock.

  “Why, Caleb?” Mom asked.

  “Because I feel responsible for it now.”

  “We can't just go and take in everything you,” Dad stumbled over this next turn-o'-phrase, “raise or save son.”

  John smirked, this was kinda funny in a perverse way.

  “I know, but when I think about him...”

  “It's a he?” Mom asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, how do you know?” she asked.

  “I just do mom, it's all part of it.” Unimportant random details!

  Dad said, “Go on.”

  “Anyway, I can hear him if I listen and he's lonely for me.”

  John looked at me with a puzzled look, he is?

  I answered his unspoken question, “Yeah and he doesn't like wherever he is.”

  Dad held up his hand. “Let's just say, hypothetically, that we were to agree to letting this dog become your pet. What would that mean for you?” he finished.

  Okay, more chores, dogs have to have food and water, and they gotta make a mess in the yard (and guess who'd clean that up... oh joy).

  Out loud I said, “Responsibility, I guess.”

  “And?” his expression unhelpfully neutral.

  My mind went blank, I couldn't think of a thing.

  “You're fourteen now Caleb. You have four years left until graduation and then the dog would have to become our pet.”

  “We're not sure we want that, Caleb,” Mom said.

  “Oh.” I hadn't really thought about them. “Can you think about it at least?”

  “I see that you're anxious son, but we can't make a snap decision.”

  “It's important to me, Dad.”

  Dad stood up and clapped me on the shoulder, squeezing it. He nodded once. He understood.

  Mom came to stand behind him, her gaze steady on mine. They'd think about it.

  John had to go and told me to read the rest of the papers.

  “Yeah, okay.” I'd been planning to anyway.

  Dad sat down heavily in his usual seat for supper, steepled his hands, looking at me. I popped a large piece of lasagna into my mouth and did the tongue dance, realizing too late that it was hot-as-hell.

  “I know you've been through a lot today Caleb,” Dad began.

  Ah-duh.

  “But, I am fascinated with how this connection with the dog unfolded.” he waited expectantly.

  Mom rescued me. “Why don't you let him finish eating and we can get the gory details afterward, hmm?”

  Mom knew about The Hunger. In fact, I would use the phrase, I Hunger. Which loosely translated meant something like: what is there to eat in this house in the next five seconds? My friends also had The Hunger and we'd fall upon the kitchen table like locusts and The Hunger would be abated, temporarily.

  “So Caleb, what's going on beside dead stuff?”

  She turned, carefully setting a glass in front of Dad, hand on hip. She just missed putting her hand on one of the tiny bells of her skirt. I was fascinated by my mom's fashion sense. I don't truly think she had one, but she was a believer.

  “Nothing much besides Carson and Brett still being jerks.” I hesitated over the next thing; it was hard to keep this kind of news to yourself.

  Mom sat next to me, skirt bells tinkling slightly as she adjusted her position.

  I really had their attention because I wasn't just blurting stuff out like usual. I wasn't in Jonesy's league, but I wasn't super-quiet like John.

  “I like this girl named Jade, Jade LeClerc.” I said. Just saying her name made my heart beat faster.

  “LeClerc,” Dad tilted his head, thinking. Mom looked stumped too.

  “Ya know, her dad is a mechanic for the car shop in the valley.”

  He did his best not to scowl when he realized who Jade's dad was.

  Mom didn't bother to hide her expression. “Terrible news, that.”

  My body tensed, I wasn't going to let Jade get lumped in with her crap family.

  “Wasn't she...” Mom began.

  I finished for her, “... yeah, she was and it's not her fault.”

  “Removed from a domestic situation,” Dad said, adding, “of course it wasn't.”

  A contemplative silence fell on the table. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, dust motes circling lazily in the air.

  “I know the father, and he is not welcome but Jade is. After all, with a family like that...” Dad trailed off.

  Mom finished for him, “... she could use some positive affirmation.”

  “Is she a cute girl?” Mom asked slyly.

  I wasn't falling for that! “She's cute to me.”

  Mom mock-huffed and crossed her arms, “Caleb Sebastian Hart!” she said, teasing. I didn't know if talking about a girl I liked was easier.

  Raising the dead, or girls... let me think.

  Dad joined in, “Now we have to know what your lady-love looks like just in case we pass her on the street and rudely not give salutations,” he winked.

  “Lady-love, Dad? So retarded!”

  “Caleb!” Mom said, mouth unhinged. A theme today.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. But it was retarded, who said that? They couldn't help it, being old and all. Hard to believe that mom was Gramps' daughter.

  “You have to be more sensitive with your language.”

  “ 'Lady-love'?” eyebrows raised to my hairline.

  “I guess that was a little out-of-date,” Dad agreed.

  “Ya think?”

  “So tell us more about Jade,” Mom said.

  “Well, she is really interesting.”

  “That's not what I thought about your mother when I first saw her,” he said with a smile aimed at mom.

  Over share-much...“I mean, she is different than the other girls. She doesn't do that stuff girls do that's super-annoying.”

  Mom crossed her arms again. Uh-oh, I'd stepped in it.

  “What do girls do that's so annoying?” she asked in that innocent tone (translation: I will eviscerate you).

  I looked at Dad for help but he looked back, clearly, you couldn't have just said that.

  I was on my own.

  Girls make us nervous, they act like they like us then treat us crappy the next day. In a word, confusing.

  What I said was, “She treats me the same all the time, not just when she's in the mood. She pays attention to what I'm saying, she actually listens.”

  A slow smile spread across dad's face while mom sat speechless at my words, a rare thing, “She sounds great. I like a woman that is self-possessed.”

  “And she's cute too, right?” Dad winked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “There is that,” grinning back.

  “Oh you two, annoying guys.” Mom smiled.

  Dad said, “Tomorrow we flesh out your abilities.”

  “What are you doing tonight?” Dad asked. Mom looked up from wiping down the kitchen table.

  “Ah... John brought over some papers about the Parker kid.”

  “Don't you have a textbook from school that addresses these abilities?” He looked a question at Mom.

  “Yes, he does. He must. First semester in eighth grade they're required to have one quarter health and one quarter paranormal development. They're linked you know,” Mom stated.

  Yeah, they were linked alright. That Health class had been the dumbest on the planet. I can never get their lame-ass music out of my head. It was some stupid thing like, “Body changes, everyone goes through... body changes.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  “Were you listening Caleb?” Mom asked.

  I stared blankly at Dad.

  “Hey pal, I asked if you still had the textbook here in the house from last semester?”

  I looked at mom. “Try under your bed, that would be my first guess.”

  I turned back to Dad. “I don't know, I'll take a look.”

  “Okay, good. Now that these events are coming to pass, a
refresher would be an excellent pursuit of your time. The sooner the better,” he said with gravity.

  I jogged over to the stairs taking them two at a time. Tearing open my door, I launched myself on my bed, scooping the papers up as I fell.

  I bent my head over them and began to read.

  CHAPTER 7

  Chocolate-brown eyes stared through the mist, luminous, shining. I blinked and they were gone. My eyes flicked down at my feet that were bare, my boxers my only clothing. I looked at my surroundings and realized with dawning horror that I was in the cemetery again.

  I glanced to where the eyes had been and the dog stepped forward, an inky silhouette in the midst of an ethereal fog. The mist was wet, swirling around my face, drenching my hair like fingers attached to my skull. With a start I realized that it was The Dog, from the accident.

  He spoke, whispered, thought: Rescue me.

  The eyes bored into mine with an eerie intensity, that connection I'd felt since the accident still tied.

  Images flooded my head from the dog, like a movie running frame by frame:

  A boy, close to my age, throwing the ball. The Dog's pure joy at the chase, the return, and the reward of the boy's laughing acknowledgment of him.

  Then, a stranger that coaxes me/us with food and a terrible trip in a thing of metal that moves. Alarming smells wafting in through glass that is sometimes a hole, too many to identify. Terrible loneliness for The Boy.

  Suddenly, an opportunity to escape the confines of the frightening and noisy box that moves. the Dog leaps out of the hole that is sometimes glass and runs until he finds a road, where he scents two boys. He knows they are close to his Boy in Life and he will find his Boy again. He pursues them.

  His last memory is a metal machine hitting him and his life ebbing. Then one of the boys is there, calling to him. He struggles, deciding he wants to play ball again and be a dog for this boy. He Lives.

  I snap out of the reverie of the dog's emotions, our glances lock, his eyes imploring, and I know, that somehow I am responsible for this life, this dog. The midnight-black tail wags like a friendly exclamation mark, moving the mist slightly. Wait, what was that horrible sound; beep, beep, beep, BEEP!

  I opened one blurry eye, slamming my palm down on the alarm. All a dream! I flopped over on my back. Well, that was freaky. The dog was communicating with me while I slept.

  I sighed, sitting up and swinging my feet around to slap the floor, the warmth of my bed like clinging fingers begging me to stay.

  Ignoring that, I walked over to the window noticing the field shrouded in mist. Tall, Western Red Cedar and Douglas fir trees were scattered like soldiers in battle, leading down to Clark Lake.

  I turned away, feeling uneasy from the dream and went for the bathroom. A shower would chase the lethargy away. I was definitely going to find clean clothes, thinking of Jade.

  But my thoughts strayed back to the dog. He was a part of my life now, whether I wanted him to be or not.

  After showering, great smells made their way upstairs; fried egg sandwiches. Yup, that was it.

  I plopped down in my seat and Dad looked up from his reading. “How did that reading go last night?”

  “Kinda scary.”

  Dad raised a brow.

  “This Parker kid,” I hesitated, “was a lot like me.”

  Mom's hand paused, then landed the egg on the buttered toast. She turned and gave me a look, go on.

  Mom placed the glass plate in front of me with a perfectly centered, two-egg, cheese-laden breakfast. Steam rose from the eggs, the cheese melting at the edges. Ah... bliss.

  I waded in without preamble. “He also 'heard' things from animals. He was off the charts on his aptitude for the AFTD.”

  Dad said, “We know that.”

  He seemed annoyed. That I didn't need. I just found out I had this ability and was trying to hide it. Get the dog, get the girl; no pressure!

  Mom shot Dad a look. “What Dad means, is we'd like to hear anything that you felt could help you with this.” She gave me an encouraging look. I relaxed.

  I used my fork like a knife to shear off a corner of the egg sandwich and popped a satisfying hunk in my mouth. I chewed and watched The Parental Unit.

  “Looks like he could see ghosts too.” Dad shrugged his acknowledgment. That was a typical aspect of AFTD.

  This is where I landed the bomb. “He could control them too,”

  Dad stilled, his whole body stiff. Mom glanced at him and they had a look that passed, one of those annoying ones that said a lot but not to others.

  “That's not good,” Dad finally replied.

  I knew why I thought it wasn't a potentially good thing for me to have but I wanted to hear Dad's thoughts.

  Mom echoed my feelings with. “What are your thoughts, Kyle?”

  “If he can control ghosts... hauntings, rather,” looking at us in that quietly intense way of his, “then that is another useful tool. Dad continued in the well of silence, “Him being a Cadaver-Manipulator is certainly rare, but controlling hauntings?” he threw up his hands to emphasize just how big that “little” skill would be.

  “I guess a little terror would go a long way,” I said.

  “Let me get this straight,” Mom queried. “Caleb is what? A domestic terrorist now?” She looked incredulously at Dad.

  “In a word... yes.”

  We were quiet, letting that potential future sink in. My egg began to cool. Well, nothing was going to get in the way of my appetite. I shifted my gaze to the clock, ten after eight. I stuffed down the remains of breakfast.

  “Have you seen ghosts, Caleb?” Dad said breaking the silence.

  “Nope.” I said, using the last bit of bread to wipe up egg yolk.

  Mom let out a sigh of relief. “I guess we don't have to worry about that.”

  I hated to burst her bubble but....

  “That was the last skill he gained before the government took him.”

  “What year did your reading say that he was transferred to the 'government school'?” Dad made airquotes.

  We weren't dumb enough to think the school was anything more than a farce so they could exploit kids.

  I thought about that. The first year that they could push through their FDA approval for the drug that made us all “reach our genetic potential” was 2015, or 2016? Didn't matter, it was in those years that the first group of teens, nationwide, had been inoculated for a hell of a lot more than Hepatitis B. It had all been in those papers. The more I read, the scarier the connections became. It was starting to stink like conspiracy.

  I said, “I think 2016...?”

  Dad nodded. “Yes, that rings a bell.”

  Mom looked at the clock. “You better skedaddle there.”

  “I have a plan, we'll talk after school,” Dad said.

  I stopped my jog and turned slowly. “You're gonna be here, Dad?”

  “Yes, I'm taking the day off.” Since Dad never took a weekday off unless it he had the barf-o-ma-tic it must mean this was top priority.

  “We'll experiment with your skills.”

  “Don't forget we need to talk about the dog,” I reminded.

  Forget jogging, I shifted right to sprinting until my lungs burned, singing their resistance. That's all I needed: possible detention. Carson was a regular feature in detention hall.

  I burst through the main entrance, the bell shrilled behind me as the two-way door swung back and forth on its hinges, slapping empty air.

  CHAPTER 8

  I plopped down next to John, Jonesy was across from me with his head in his palm.

  “What's your problem?”

  He was absolutely never quiet.

  “Can't wait for Sunday, I'm itching for payback.”

  John rolled his eyes.

  “What is it today, Wednesday?” I asked.

  John nodded.

  “Well, get over that. Let's talk while we work on this.” I looked down, studying my heart-shaped box. Mr. Morginstern sa
untered up, hands thrust into his pockets.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” he said in his I-love-mornings voice.

  We all said hi.

  Morginstern studied my box and pointed out some rough spots, emphasizing that if those weren't perfectly smooth, they'd hang up the lid.

  “You see this here.” He pointed to an almost invisible bump on the interior arc. I squinted and there it was, huh. I nodded.

  “That is the kind of thing that can make a project frustrating.”

  Geez, really? The whole project had been pretty hard. I wished now that I had chosen a square, like Jonesy, or a rectangle, like John. Mother's Day was coming up. Mom always said she didn't care but if I knew girls and I was getting the hang of that, she would say that but feel bad if I didn't.

  It was a ruthless minefield.

  Morginstern studied Jonesy's box and had a similar lecture for him but pronounced John's as ready for the lid. Jonesy and I both looked at each other in perfect understanding, John just got stuff.

  Morginstern wandered off to bug the other kids and we put our heads together like a football huddle.

  “I'm in deep crap. I read the Parker kid's stuff last night.” Nodding in John's direction, “He had some things that I haven't done yet, but, if I play out like him, I will too. It's even more important that I not spike their radar on the tests this Monday.”

  “Did your dad get the cerebral inhibitor?” John asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, he's got it and he took the day off because he wants to go over The Plan.”

  Jonesy stuck out his jaw, leaning back. “What 'Plan'?”

  I leaned forward, motioning to get closer. Jonesy's eyes were so brown the pupils were lost in the darkness, John tilting his head, worried.

  “I don't know. The minute we talk I will pulse you and let you know.”

  “Kyle thought it was okay that we knew?” Jonesy stuck a thumb in his chest.

  I laughed. “Yeah, you were there, there's no hiding any of it; the black outs, the fugues...”

  “The cemetery,” John stated the obvious.

  That reminded me. “Have Carson and Brett said anything?”

  We both looked at Jonesy, he talked to everyone.

  “Not yet,” rubbing his hands together with undisguised glee.

  As John leaned forward, his frizzy hair covered an eye. “Don't take this too far. We don't want to hurt them.”