CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I don’t quite understand all of what happened next.

They talked, Patrick laughed, and then they talked some more. From my spot on the other side of the room, it all looked very casual, very un-dangerous. I stood there, hands by my side, feeling as if gravity had finally caught up and was pushing me down towards the Earth. There was no danger because Patrick has a mask, and he sure as hell knows how to use it.

“What just happened?” I ask Caden after my mother has waved Patrick goodbye and he’s walked out of the massive warehouse door.

“To be honest… I have no idea.”

“Maybe she didn’t bring it up,” Sarah says, but I can hear the doubt in her voice.

“No, she did,” Caden says, “I just think that Patrick had a very interesting way of replying.”

“He’s trying to trick her into thinking he’s innocent,” I say.  “He’s trying to trick us. I bet he knew we were watching.”

“It’s pretty smart if you think about,” Sarah says and I look at her. “He doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s a traitor and he knows that we don’t have any physical proof that he is. He’s not just gonna tell us the truth the second we ask. He may as well just hand himself over. No, he’s gonna pretend he doesn’t know what we’re talking about until it’s absolutely necessary to reveal himself – if it’s absolutely necessary.”

I nod, feeling oddly disappointed that the day I had pinned for action and excitement turned out to be one of the most boring days yet.

A silence settles upon us then as we each stare at nothing and everything, waiting for someone to speak, for something to happen, for a sign that will tell us where to go from here. But as far as I know, Sydney doesn’t have any signs that direct you towards a way to swap back, only ones that tell you to stop, to turn, to watch out for speed bumps. Like many things, they lead you through all the dangers but don’t tell you where you’re going. And right now, I’ve never been more uncertain of where I’m headed.

What will it be: an early death or life inside the body that’s always belonged to my friend?

It seems now that Patrick’s shown he’s unwilling to admit he’s a traitor, we have no direction. Patrick, our sole lead, is not budging. And he knows that every second he stalls is one second less of life for me and for Sarah. It’s his backup plan – if he can’t kill me, he’ll wait for me to die all by myself.  

Eventually, Caden must get sick of waiting for a sign, because he says, “So should we head home now? Since we aren’t getting anything out of Patrick, we should probably consider doing some more research. There’s still tons of books in Rand’s library that we haven’t looked in. You never know, we might find something.”

Sarah agrees and so do I. Maybe we could get lucky.

We turn around to walk off, but just then I remember my mother telling me to stay back after the council meeting and I stop.

“Actually guys,” I say, and they turn to look back at me. “I’m just gonna stay here for a bit. I want to talk to a few people still.” A lie, of course, but for some reason, I don’t want to tell Sarah that I’m spending time with her mother. I feel as though I’m taking too much from her – as if I’m stealing her parents.

“But we’ll be getting a lift back with Rand. There’ll be no one to drive you,” Sarah says.

“Don’t worry. I’ll probably just ask Ethel or someone for a lift. That or I’ll catch a bus.”

“You sure?” Caden asks.

“I’m sure. You guys go on ahead get some research done. I just want to see what some of these people know.”

“Okay,” he says and I get the feeling that he doesn’t want to leave me. “I’ll see you later then I guess.”

“See you then,” I say and offer up a smile.

The smile he gives me in return doesn’t quite reflect the happiness that a smile should, and before I know it, it’s gone, and they’ve both turned around and are walking off. I watch them approach Rand, I see Rand say his goodbyes to the people he was talking to, and I follow them with my eyes as they head for the door without a backward glance.

Or maybe I said that too soon, because just before they exit, Caden sends a look over his shoulder, and our eyes seem to connect in a way they never have before. It’s as if it’s more than just a look, more than just a simple, be safe, I’ll see you soon. It feels as if there’s a physical connection, something invisible that only we can feel, and my heart starts to pound in my chest.

It feels like we must hold each other’s gaze for a millennia, but I know it can’t be for more than a second. A second in which the world seems to slow down until there is no such thing as time, no such thing as beginnings and endings, just one big stretch of infinity. And a second in which I realise that I may be more than just a friend to him.

And that he may be more than just a friend to me.

-:-:-:-:-

“Focus, Melissa,” my mother says, her voice echoing in the large, empty warehouse.

“I am,” I say and strain my eyes, trying to further focus on the chair before me.

“If you can use your powers when you’re high on adrenaline, you can use them when you’re calm as well.”

I give the chair another push with my mind, willing it to topple over, but it doesn’t. “Well, obviously I can’t,” I say, exasperated.

“If you don’t believe it, then it won’t happen. Do you believe it, Melissa?”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Sure.”

“I don’t believe you. Make me believe you.”

“I do, okay? I do. I believe it – I believe I can do this. Happy now?”

She smiles. “Now knock over the chair.”

I look away from her and once again focus on the chair. Just do it, I chant inside my mind. Just knock it over. It’s simple – baby stuff.

Nothing happens.

You can do this, I tell myself. You’ve thrown a man and a ghost and you’ve smashed a window. You can knock over a bloody chair.

Still nothing.

Come on, come on – just fall over already!

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe deeply, in and out, in and out, and when I open them, it’s as if I’ve found a strength that didn’t exist before, because suddenly, everything is centred on the chair, and when I focus, it’s front legs lift up and it topples over, its clatters echoing loudly.

When the echoing finally stops, I look to my mother and she smiles before walking over to the chair and returning it to its original upright position.

“Again.”

-:-:-:-:-

Half an hour later, I’ve knocked the chair over a total of twelve times, each time easier than the last. When it falls for the thirteenth time, she says, “Okay, that’s enough,” and I nearly collapse, exhausted.

“Was then your plan, then?” I ask. “To make me exhausted? How does that help anything?”

“We’re not done yet.”

Who would’ve thought four words could be so painful?

“What now, then?”

“I want you to lift it into the air and hold it there.”

I stare at her, my mouth open. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But I can’t! I’ve never held anything in the air before, plus I’m already exhausted from knocking over a chair thirteen times.”

“You can and I’m gonna show you how, so that no matter how low on adrenaline you are or how tired you are, you’re still able to use your powers.”

“Good luck with that,” I say.

She ignores my comment and says, “It’s all about connections – connections to the moment, to the subject you’re trying to control, to the emotions within you. If you don’t have those connections, then you won’t be able to use your powers. Those connections are the reason why it’s so easy to use your abilities when you’re in a sticky situation. In those moments of action, you’re in touch with your emotions, you’re trapped in the moment, and you have sole focus on the thing you want to move or harm or what have you, plus you have reasons for doing so. When you’re calm and are using your abilities just because you want to, those connections are absent. Your job is to make them present.”

“And how do I do that?”

She grins, obviously glad that I asked. “Different people have different ways of going about it, but I have one method that is particularly foolproof.”

I hate that I have to prompt her to continue. “And that is…?”

“Memories,” she says, pausing.

She continues: “The thing about these connections is that, once one of them is present, the rest are almost one hundred per cent likely to follow. Some people try to form a connection to the moment by forcing themselves to become aware of everything that’s happening around them. Other’s just use focus, and they practice and practice and practice until, when they focus on something, everything else instantly melts away and they gain full use of their powers. Now I’m not saying either of these approaches are bad – I know for a fact they aren’t – but it’s about what works for you, and I find that using memories is much more helpful, much more useful, and much quicker.

“The reason why a fair number of people don’t use memories is because we want to make a connection to the moment, not to the past. But sometimes, the only way we can connect to the moment, is if we look to the past. And the past is where all our emotions lie – anger, sadness, happiness. If you want to form a connection to the emotions within you, all you have to do is pick one from the past, and judging by your past, you’ll probably have plenty to choose from.”

“So what are you saying? That I should think of a memory every time I want to use my powers?”

“Not every time. Just the times when you haven’t made any connections. And it’s not about the memory, it’s about the emotions contained within. You want the emotions in the memory to be present within you. If you want to do something out of anger, you’d pick a memory of a time when you were angry. If you want to do something out of sadness, you’d remember a time when you were sad.”

“What if I don’t want to use my powers because I’m angry or sad or whatever? What if I just want something to move for the sake of it moving?”

“Then pick a different emotion. Any time you want to do something, just pick one. If you’re frustrated that your abilities aren’t working, maybe you should choose a time when you were really annoyed. But remember, the emotion you pick has to be intense, otherwise it won’t have any affect.”

Intense, I think to myself. I’ve got heaps of intense.

I nod.

“Alright, now lift up the chair and hold it, using what I’ve just told you.”

I sigh and once again focus on the chair.

A memory, I need a memory.

I don’t particularly feel like renewing any of my sad past, but the first thing that comes to me is yesterday morning, when the snow fell for the first and I realised that my fake family of three was now only a family of two. It seems like the sadness is always there, resting inside of me, affecting every decision, every thought, every word that slips out of my mouth, and it’s almost too easy to draw upon it.

All I have to do is think of the snow and suddenly I’m filled with emotion, my mind reminding me of everyone I’ve hurt, everyone whose hurt me and all that I’ve lost. It’s almost too much and I have to reign it in before the tears that have welled up start to pour down my face. Now is not the time to start crying.

Instead, I take the sadness and use it to empower myself, forcing all my emotions toward the chair as I will it to rise.

And just like that, the chair rises into the air, hovering a metre above the ground, and everything else fails to exist. It’s just me and the chair, stuck in the moment, an invisible thread of emotion connecting me to it.

A minute later, I hear my mother say, “That’s enough,” and I break the connections, the chair falling nosily to the floor. For a second, I just stare, amazed at what I’ve achieved. Then I look to my mother, who looks back, smiling.

“How did I do?” I ask.

“Perfectly,” she replies.

And I smile.