"Dear Christ Almighty," Patrick said. "Gee, get the extinguisher. Gee."
Ronald Gee stood frozen as sparks jumped within the depths of the machine. The screen flickered and blinked again and went dark. Jess reached for Sarah's arm. Her fingers brushed the girl's skin and the effect was like walking across a thick carpet. She gasped. Every hair on her head prickled as she felt the charge enter her and wait, coiled.
Sarah trembled, clenched, as flames licked at the monitor and the smell of melting plastic filled the room. The temperature kept dropping. The room was frigid. Someone called out and the words were lost within the buzzing that rose up like the flight of a thousand bees.
"Let it go!" Jess shouted at her. "Into me! Just let it go!"
Sarah turned to look blankly at her and for a moment fear rose up and an oily sickness turned Jess's stomach, and then the girl looked away and a cry like a splitting inside forced itself from her lips as a series of small cracks and then explosions came in quick succession from across the room.
Sarah slumped; then her body jerked once as Jess gathered the girl into her arms and felt the coiled charge jump from her hands and dissipate into the air.
"Oh, baby, sweetheart, it's okay, it's going to be all right. . ." she whispered into the girl's muffled sobs, her body tingling, muscles suddenly weak. She stroked Sarah's hair, smoothed the sweat from her brow, pulled the electrodes from her skin as her own tears spilled out over her cheeks. Sarah curled into her lap like a small child and rocked, shaking. Jess clutched her bony ribs, rocked her, rocked. "It's okay now, I'm here. . .."
Jess heard the hiss of the fire extinguisher and from somewhere far away she watched Patrick spraying the monitor's smoking husk with white foam. The air was thick with a choking, acrid smoke.
Only then did she glance around at the place where the explosions had come from, and saw the rows of specimen bottles shattered across the shelves, their contents lying among the dripping ruin of glass and bottle tops like dead things, evidence at the scene of a crime.
--26--
She was in the empty church, standing with her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, as the afternoon sun trickled through stained glass and painted the polished floor in reds and yellows beneath her feet. She had wrapped Sarah in a blanket and laid her down in the backseat of Charlie's car, had smoothed the fine black hairs away from Sarah's forehead until the girl's breathing deepened and she slept.
Her heart broke for the girl. Who had been there to protect her, all these years? Who had been there to hold her when the darkness crept in, to explain that whatever affliction God had given her, whatever this curse was (and yes, Jess thought, it was a curse), it didn't destroy her humanity?
Her words, whispered before she knew what she was saying: "I'm here for you, Sarah. Everything's going to be all right. I promise. "
She stood now among the shattered remains of her confidence, struggling to find something whole, something she could hold on to and use. But everything needed to be rethought, reevaluated. The world was different now, not on the surface but underneath, where it really mattered. For some reason, her thoughts kept going back to Michael's death; had she wanted it to happen? Had there been a part of her, however small, that had wanted it all to end, had she reached out at that moment and pushed him away when she should have been pulling him in close?
A voice spoke from somewhere like a chittering deviclass="underline" You were happy when he died, weren't you? Happy to have the burden relieved?
Her helpless gaze fell on the statue of Christ, hanging cold and lifeless in the shadows of the altar. A half-remembered children's prayer rose unbidden to her lips, a prayer for forgiveness, for absolution. For strength. What sort of God would make a world like this? she wondered. Where children were given terrible burdens to carry, left alone, abused, even killed?
Everything had happened so fast. It baffled her. When had she become so attached to this girl? Surely she felt sorry for Sarah, felt as if she should do all she could to help. But when had these feelings blossomed into real responsibility, into something even more?
A noise came from the direction of the door. Footsteps offered into silence. A moment later Patrick stepped up next to her, smelling sharply of smoke and chemicals and light sweat. "She's still asleep. I suppose you have someplace to take her?"
"She needs to get back to the hospital before she's missed."
"Are you sure--"
"What else can I do? Another hour or two, they'll arrest me for kidnapping. I can't do anyone any good from jail."
"You're questioning yourself."
"Of course I am!"
"I want you to know that everything you're doing for that girl is honorable. You're the only one who's really tried to help her. You're the only friend she has right now." Patrick's excitement was palpable. But he was fighting hard to hold it in, probably for her benefit. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. The movement did not seem inappropriate.
For a moment she allowed herself to lean into him and regain her balance. She looked up into his face, felt him lean in as well, his lips brush hers. Then he pulled away.
"I apologize," he said, a look very close to shock on his face. "I shouldn't have done that."
"It's all right. I--"
He was shaking his head. "No. That was crazy. I'm taking advantage of an emotional situation. It's just that I've witnessed something I've waited my whole life to see. It's overwhelming. I'm sorry."
He turned and walked down the empty church aisle, pacing, a ball of nervous energy. She watched him go, not sure what to think of anything. Had she wanted that to happen? Had she been sending out some kind of signal?
"She's at the right age," he said finally, turning back. "Puberty often triggers psychic phenomena. We call it the poltergeist effect. But once she's older, these phenomena may very likely grow easier to control. They may even disappear." He studied the light and the patterns falling from stained glass. "I'm sorry for my part in this. I got carried away, I didn't think about how it might affect her. She's scared to death of it, I know. But you've got to understand what this means to me. She's revolutionary. She's one of a kind, all that you told me and more."
"Just don't you try to exploit her, Patrick. I won't allow it."
"You misunderstand me." He turned back, and she searched his eyes for honesty. "The important thing now is to teach her. She's going to face skepticism, fear, mistrust. She's got to learn to hold on to her anger. She has to learn that psi isn't a curse, it isn't something to fight, to be ashamed of. What she's been given is a gift, a blessed, extraordinary gift."
"You're forgetting the fact that she's been involuntarily committed to an asylum and they aren't about to let her just walk away."
"They haven't been playing straight with you. They know exactly what they're doing, and I'm willing to bet there are more people involved in this than you think. Look at the tests they've run, the missing information. Look at her file. They're going to try to push her. They may just push her too far."
"What do you suggest we do?"
"She could disappear tomorrow. I know people who could make it happen. There's a network, you understand? People just like us, who want to help, who could teach her how to live with this gift of hers. More of them than you think. Anywhere in the country, a new name, a new beginning. She'd be in good hands, capable hands."
"You're asking me to break the law. And what's the difference between you and the people I'm trying to get her away from? Do you honestly expect me to believe you won't end up pushing her too far too?"