If she can produce 30,000 degrees of spot heat without even trying, have you ever thought what might happen if she really set her mind to it?
Brad
3
“I want to see my father,” Charlie said when Hockstetter came in. She looked pale and wan. She had changed from her jumper into an old nightgown, and her hair was loose on her shoulders.
“Charlie-“he began, but anything he had been meaning to follow with was suddenly gone. He was deeply troubled by Brad Hyuck’s memo and by the supporting telemetry readouts. The fact that Brad had trusted those final two paragraphs to print said much, and suggested more.
Hockstetter himself was scared. In authorizing the changeover of chapel to testing room, Cap had also authorized the installation of more Kelvinator air conditioner around Charlie’s apartment-not eight but twenty. Only six had been installed so far, but after Test No.4, Hockstetter didn’t care if they were installed or not. He thought they could set up two hundred of the damned things and'not impede her power. It was no longer a question of whether or not she could kill herself; it was a question of whether or not she could destroy the entire Shop installation if she wanted to-and maybe all of eastern Virginia in the bargain. Hockstetter now thought that if she wanted to do those things, she could. And the last stop on that line of reasoning was even scarier: only John Rainbird had an effective checkrein on her now. And Rainbird was nuts.
“I want to see my father,” she repeated.
Her father was at the funeral of poor Herman Pynchot. He attended with Cap, at the latter’s request. Even Pynchot’s death, as unrelated to anything going on here as it was, seemed to have cast its own evil pall over Hockstetter’s mind.
“Well, I think that can be arranged,” Hockstetter said cautiously, “if you can show us a little more-““I’ve shown you enough,” she said. “I want to see my daddy.” Her lower lip trembled; her eyes had taken on a sheen of tears. “Your orderly;” Hockstetter said, “that Indian fellow, said you didn’t want to go for a ride on your horse this morning after the test. He seemed worried about you.”
“It’s not my horse,” Charlie said. Her voice was husky. “Nothing here is mine. Nothing except my daddy and I… want… to… see him!” Her voice rose to an angry, tearful shout.
“Don’t get excited, Charlie,” Hockstetter said, suddenly frightened. Was it suddenly getting hotter in here, or was it just his imagination? “Just… just don’t get excited.”
Rainbird. This should have been Rainbird’s job, god-dammit.
“Listen to me, Charlie.” He smiled a wide, friendly smile. “How would you like to go to Six Flags over Georgia? It’s just about the neatest amusement park in the whole South, except maybe for Disney World. We’d rent the whole park for a day, just for you. You could ride the Ferris wheel, go in the haunted mansion, the merry-go-round-”
“I don’t want to go to any amusement park, I just want to see my daddy. And I’m going to. I hope you hear me, because I’m going to!”
It was hotter.
“You’re sweating,” Charlie said.
He thought of the cinderblock wall, exploding so fast you could see the flames only in slow motion. He thought of the steel tray flipping over twice as it flew across the room, spraying burning chunks of wood. If she flicked that power out at him, he would be a pile of ashes and fused bone almost before he knew what was happening to him.
Oh God please-“Charlie, getting mad at me won’t accomplish anyth-““Yes,” she said with perfect truth. “Yes it will. And I’m mad at you, Dr. Hockstetter. I’m really mad at you.” “Charlie, please-”
“I want to see him,” she said again. “Now go away. You tell them I want to see my father and then they can test me some more if they want. I don’t mind. But if I don’t see him, I’ll make something happen. Tell them that.”
He left. He felt that he should say something more-something that would redeem his dignity a little, make up a little for the fear
(“you’re sweating”)
she had seen scrawled on his face-but nothing occurred. He left, and not even the steel door between him and her could completely ease his fear… or his anger at John Rainbird. Because Rainbird had foreseen this, and Rainbird had said nothing. And if he accused Rainbird of that, the Indian would only smile his chilling smile and ask who was the psychiatrist around here, anyway?
The tests had diminished her complex about starting fires until it was like an earthen dam that had sprung leaks in a dozen places. The tests had afforded her the practice necessary to refine a crude sledgehammer of power into something she could flick out with deadly precision, like a circus performer throwing a weighted knife.
And the tests had been the perfect object lesson. They had shown her, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who was in charge here.
She was.
4
When Hockstetter was gone, Charlie fell on the couch, her hands to her face, sobbing. Waves of conflicting emotion swept her-guilt and horror, indignation, even a kind of angry pleasure. But fear was the greatest of them all. Things had changed when she agreed to their tests; she feared things had changed forever. And now she didn’t just want to see her father, she needed him. She needed him to tell her what to do next.
At first there had been rewards-walks outside with John, currying Necromancer, then riding him. She loved John and she loved Necromancer… if that stupid man could only have known how badly he had hurt her by saying. Necromancer was hers when Charlie knew he never could be. The big gelding was only hers in her uneasy half-remembered dreams. But now… now… the tests themselves, the chance to use her power and feel it grow… that was starting to become the reward. It had become a terrible but compelling game. And she sensed she had barely scratched the surface. She was like a baby who has just learned how to walk.
She needed her father, she needed him to tell her what was right, what was wrong, whether to go on or to stop forever. If-“If I can stop,” she whispered through her fingers. That was the most frightening thing of all-no longer being sure that she could stop. And if she could not, what would that mean? Oh, what would that mean? She began to cry again. She had never felt so dreadfully alone.
5
The funeral was a bad scene.
Andy had thought he would be okay; his headache was gone, and, after all, the funeral was only an excuse to be alone with Cap. He hadn’t liked Pynchot, although in the end Pynchot had proved to be just a little too small to hate. His barely concealed arrogance and his unconcealed pleasure at being on top of a fellow human being-because of those things and because of his overriding concern for Charlie, Andy had felt little guilt about the ricochet that he had inadvertently set up in Pynchot’s mind. The ricochet that had finally torn the man apart.
The echo effect had happened before, but he had always had a chance to put things right again. It was something he had got pretty good at by the time he and Charlie had to run from New York City. There seemed to be land mines planted deep in almost every human brain, deep-seated fears and guilts, suicidal, schizophrenic, paranoid impulses-even murderous ones. A push caused a state of extreme suggestibility, and if a suggestion tended down one of those park paths, it could destroy. One of his housewives in the Weight-Off program had begun to suffer frightening catatonic lapses. One of his businessmen had confessed a morbid urge to take his service pistol down from the closet and play Russian roulette with it, an urge that was somehow connected in his mind with a story by Edgar Allan Poe, “William Wilson,” that he had read way back in high school. In both cases, Andy had been able to stop the echo before it sped up and turned into that lethal ricochet. In the case of the businessman, a quiet, sandy-haired, third-echelon bank officer, all it had taken was another push and the quiet suggestion that he had never read the Poe story at all. The connection-whatever it had been-was broken. The chance to break the echo had never come with Pynchot.