Super World Page 3

  Jamie didn't see much more of Kevin, but when she checked out the next day with her father, the youth was sitting on a bench outside the hospital.

  "Good luck, Kevin," she said, keeping her distance in case another geyser erupted. "I hope I didn't gross you out too much yesterday."

  "I'd like to see the object."

  Jamie stopped suddenly enough to cause her bag-carrying dad to bump into her. She'd briefly mentioned her explosive encounter with Kevin to Cal during his usual evening visit. He hadn't been pleased that she'd mentioned the cylinder – he still was entertaining dreams of "monetizing" it somehow - but was reassured that Kevin's mental condition would likely prevent anyone believing him.

  "Son, are you even allowed to be out here?" he asked.

  "I checked myself in voluntarily. I can go outside or leave when I want."

  "We could take him with us and then drive him home afterward," said Jamie.

  "You're sure that's a good idea?"

  "I don't see how it could hurt."

  "All right," Cal grumbled. "Kevin, do you promise to keep what you see to yourself? I mean, seriously – not even your mom. We want to think it through before revealing this to anyone. Once people find out about this, the government will swoop in and take over for sure."

  "I don't tell my mom many things."

  "I'm not surprised. But do you promise not to tell anyone?"

  "Yes. I promise."

  Her father sighed. "Okay. Then we'd better call his mom and tell her he's with us."

  Kevin's mom, Karen Clarkson, sounded more puzzled and wary than pleased to hear that Jamie was bringing her son home for lunch. Jamie had met her once. An earnest, attractive woman perhaps in her early thirties, a single mother - professor of something-or-other at UND - very serious about her son's welfare and bright future at the time. It must've been a terrible blow when her child had "gone off the reservation," as one of her coworkers had charmingly put it.

  At her place, Cal carried in her bag, and she had a quick glass of water under Kevin's fidgeting gaze before they headed over to the workshop. Kevin squatted beside it, running his hands without hesitation over its shiny, ultra-smooth surface.

  "What do you think?" Cal asked.

  Kevin sat back on his haunches, rubbing his chin, studying the object as he'd studied the chessboard the day before.

  "I don't know," he said. "You should have someone from the university come look at it."

  Cal exchanged a glance with his daughter.

  "Maybe," said Cal.

  "My mom would know someone."

  "Well, as I said, we're going to go slow telling people about this. Remember your promise?"

  "Yes. But you won't know what this is until you bring in someone."

  "True. I guess we want to bring in the right person or persons. Someone we can trust."

  "What's your best guess about this thing, Kevin?" Jamie asked. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

  "No. My best guess is Monolith."

  "You mean the alien artifact in Kubrick's 2001?" Cal smiled. "It uplifted the human race genetically."

  "Mrs. Shepherd said you'd been changed physically since it arrived. And she is free of cancer."

  "Not to mention surviving a thirteen thousand foot fall." Cal rubbed his face, no longer smiling. "But curing cancer or increasing someone's vertical isn't genetic manipulation...is it?"

  "It could be." Kevin shrugged. "Though physical enhancement could occur through other means."

  "It could just be a coincidence," said Jamie.

  "Coincidence?" Her father chuckled. "Let me show you something."

  They followed him out to the expanded driveway and the basketball hoop on its far edge. He stretched a bit on the pole, performed a few standing jumps, then snatched a basketball from the grass and dribbled up to the basket. Gathering himself with one final bounce he sprang toward the rim, stretching the basketball over his head with one hand. At the apex of his jump he swung the ball toward the basket, skimming the rim before popping through the net.

  He dropped to the ground, face flushed, all grins.

  "You think 'coincidence' would explain that?"

  "Have you been working out?" Jamie asked.

  "Not unless you count lifting beer cans."

  "Maybe we could sell that thing to the NBA."

  "Heh. If it had that effect on people with real talent it would destroy the game as we know it." Cal's grin slipped into something more serious. "And by the way, I haven't had anything to drink since that thing showed up. Haven't felt any need. It's like some huge rock got lifted off me."

  "Wow. I didn't know that."

  "What about you?" Kevin was staring at Jamie. "You've been exposed to the object, too."

  "I feel good." She took a moment to inventory her body again. "Don't think I'll be trying to dunk a basketball, but I feel better than I have for years."

  "What would happen if you tried to jump?"

  "I'll pass on that. Right now, I'm happy to just be walking without pain."

  "I've been exposed, too."

  Jamie and her father regarded the youth. Jamie felt a tendril of unease. She still wasn't ready to accept the idea that the cylinder had some miraculous powers, but it seemed possible that it could affect people in unpredictable and maybe even dangerous ways.

  "Well, just keep an eye out for any changes," said Cal. "But remember, mum's the word for now. Why don't you talk to us first?"

  "Unless there's a medical emergency or something," Jamie added, with a sour glance at her dad.

  Kevin Clarkson didn't reply. He was gazing back at the shop, lost in his private thoughts once again.

  "We should probably get you home," said Jamie.

  "I'll take him," said her dad.

  "No. I'll drive him."

  "You're sure?"

  "You've been doing almost all the driving for the last few months. I miss being behind the wheel."

  It did feel good steering her Honda down the open road. Lately, she'd been dreaming about driving, among other things that had slipped beyond her reach.

  "I was sick last night," Kevin spoke up a few minutes into the drive. "It seemed like a bad cold. My sinuses were blocked up and I kept sneezing. I assumed you infected me with whatever you had."

  "I thought I was just having an allergic reaction to something."

  "It could've been environmental. Sometimes they change their disinfectants."

  Karen Clarkson greeted them at the front door with a tight smile and worried eyes. Kevin slipped past her and disappeared into the house without a word.

  "Do you, um, have a moment?" she asked, looking after her son.

  "Okay. Sure."

  Jamie backed away from the front steps as Karen Clarkson closed the door and stepped out into the yard after them.

  "Thank you for bringing Kevin home," she said. "Mrs. Shepherd, I wanted to tell you that Kevin spoke very highly of you. That was when he was still speaking to us." She bit back a frown. "You were his favorite teacher."

  "He was a joy to have in class. I still remember his creative solutions to certain calculus problems."

  Karen Clarkson nodded in a distracted way. "Yes. He was so talented – such a promising future."

  "But something changed? I only heard rumors about him, nothing very definite."

  "It started toward the end of his sophomore year. It was gradual, subtle at first. He just seemed to lose interest in what he was doing at times. His grades slipped the next year, and he barely made it to graduation. His grade average had slipped enough to make any of the better colleges out of reach. He started at a community college, seemed to be finding his way again, but then started flunking his classes. We didn't know about it for the first year. He left the house every morning for school and would claim he was doing 'okay' if we pressed him, but he wasn't going to classes. We didn’t know anything was wrong until one of his teachers called and asked about him. We still don't know where he went or what he was doing for mo
st of that first year."

  Jamie listened with a sympathetic face even while thinking about Kylee and how much potential she'd had. Such a smart young girl. In a few years Jamie could have been greeting her child coming home from college and pestering her about her grades or boyfriends.

  "I'm telling you all this mainly so you'll understand my concerns about his mental welfare. He has a very fragile mental state, Mrs. Shepherd. And while I do appreciate you befriending him in the" – she compressed her lips – "the hospital, I hope you'll understand that dealing with suicidal ideation wouldn't be an ideal influence for him."

  "I thought I was dying from cancer." Anger flared in Jamie, which she tamped down with some effort. She could only imagine the stresses Kevin's parents had to deal with. "I'm not suicidal."

  "Jumping out of a plane without a parachute isn't suicidal?" Karen Clarkson regarded her with sad eyes as Jamie clamped her mouth shut. "Of course I understand your choice. I'm not judging. It's just that Kevin isn't well-equipped to handle these kinds of emotional pressures."

  "Mrs. Clarkson, it's not like I'm planning to be your son's new best friend. This was a one-time thing – at least in my mind."

  "But perhaps not in his. In many ways he's a child, but in other ways he's, well, a fully functioning grown-up man." Karen turned away, staring at the empty clothesline in the yard, a hint of color invading her cheeks. "He had quite a crush on you back in the day. He wouldn't appreciate me telling you this, but I found a photo of you in his desk drawer that first year in high school."

  Jamie felt a blush coming on herself. Kevin had been friendly but unfailingly polite, unlike a few of the other boys. Or even their fathers, when they'd showed up for parent-teacher meetings and their eyes strayed to her legs or lingered a beat too long on her chest. She'd had that effect on some men before death and disease had wilted her. Jamie hadn't realized until that moment that she now missed what she'd thought of as unwanted attention back then.

  "Does Kevin have any friends?" she asked. "Anyone besides you he can talk to?"

  "He has one friend, a paraplegic who is also a high-functioning Asperger."

  "Terry Mayes?"

  "Did you have him as a student?"

  "No. I just saw him rolling through the halls. I heard he was quite bright."

  "He is. He and Kevin have a lot in common." She said that as though it weren't a good thing.

  Jamie remembered that while the kids had mostly admired Kevin's intellectual feats and accepted his standoffish ways, things hadn't gone so easily for Terry. He'd had the triple-strike of being black, autistic, and confined to a wheelchair. Unlike Kevin's handsome face and tall, well-shaped form - which he'd seemed clueless about, oblivious to the looks and giggles girls tossed his way – Terry's face and body were deformed, warped by a bizarre and rare joint-bone disease. She'd heard kids refer to him as a "The Ghoul" or "Pterodactyl" because his sides projected like bony wings. She generally liked the students, but sometimes, even if unintentionally, they could be such unfeeling little monsters.

  "I'm glad he has someone," said Jamie. "Glad for them both."

  "Yes. But Terry probably doesn't have much longer to live, sad to say."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "And of course, we were very sorry to hear about your...situation." She eyed Jamie with sudden puzzlement. "How are you doing with that? I'm surprised you're up and about, especially after that terrible fall. You don't even look..."

  "Sick?"

  Karen nodded. "You've lost weight, but you're kind of...glowing?"

  Jamie smiled. "Thanks. Turns out I'm cancer-free at the moment."

  "Oh, that's great news! You're in remission?"

  "The doctors don't know. So far they haven't found any trace of cancer, and I feel pretty normal."

  "Well, anyway, I'm very happy for you. And what I said about you and Kevin...please disregard it. If you did want to be friends with Kevin or whatever, I'm fine with that."

  Whatever? Jamie forged a smile.

  "I guess we'll see," she said.

  Chapter 3

  KEVIN STARED AT THE chess pieces – elegantly hand-carved marble, but of standard Staunton design as opposed to the fancy, Byzantine ivory pieces his dad had preferred. These were serious pieces for serious players. They didn't distract you with their artistry – they drew you into their solid, beautiful universe.

  Kevin moved his black queen to the black square on C7. The piece and the marble square's color matched so perfectly it was as if the black queen's base had merged with the table.

  Terry Mayes broke out coughing. A hoarse, whispery, wheezy sound that Kevin had worked hard to learn to accept.

  "Do you want some water?"

  Terry shook his head. The cough might mean he was tense about the move or nothing more than a random manifestation of his disease. Kevin normally didn't think much about his motivations or psychology in general, which had puzzled him deeply for most of his life. But lately, he found himself wondering about what people were thinking – even what they were feeling. He could trace those first musings to an hour or so after seeing his teacher again. Years ago, he had sometimes wondered what would please her or attract her interest, but more as a mathematical exercise. Certain things or combination of things would please her. He could decipher those logically by observing her reaction.

  Logic, however, often proved rather deficient about such things. Something was missing in their equations. For the first time in his life, Kevin thought he might understand what that was. He'd never considered feeling what the other person felt. What was called "empathy." He'd understood it intellectually, but in the abstract way a color-blind person might understand color: you don't truly get it unless you can see color.

  Terry glanced up at him. Was he sensing some of the change? Was he wondering about his strategic plans? Not questions he would've considered before. Terry probably wasn't considering them, either. He was lost in the chess world, his only concern the defense of his besieged king. Terry was his friend, but until recently that was just a label that others placed on them, and with it came certain distinguishing characteristics: they spent time together and they enjoyed each other's company. They "liked" each other.

  Kevin always placed quotes around that in his mind because when he liked someone it meant that he took some pleasure from them, just as he did from chess or playing the piano or cruising the internet. He liked Terry and other people in exactly that same way, as far he could tell. He knew intellectually that most other people meant something different. For a time, he'd wondered if the burst of desire he felt when seeing a pretty girl – at its strongest with his former teacher, Mrs. Shepherd – qualified as that form of liking. Now, for the first time, he saw that it wasn't. It was just an intense variation of wanting something in the utilitarian sense that you'd want a new car or toy.

  The insight was too new and novel for it to be disturbing. He suspected it would need to unfold in the way his logical analysis generally did before he'd know what to make of it.

  Terry slid his rook over to attack Kevin's queen. That was Terry's style. He rarely defended. His motto was "The best defense is a good offense." He was all aggression, and luckily for him, he excelled at attack.

  Kevin preferred solid, sound defensive moves. "Rome wasn't built in a day" was his chess motto. So usually their games took the form of Kevin weathering a vicious assault or succumbing to one. His approach gave him a small lead in their lifetime series.

  Now, as he prepared to shore up his front lines for another onslaught, Kevin suddenly saw another possibility: a dynamic in the position that permitted, even encouraged, a withering attack of his own. He was usually uncomfortable with aggression in any form, just as Terry was allergic to defense – "Attila the Hun versus the Great Wall of China" was how Terry's father characterized their styles – but today he felt strangely open to the idea of attack. He had the sense of doors opening in his mind leading to places he'd never dreamed of visiting. Should he step th
rough?

  He slipped a bishop in behind his queen, leaving one of his pawns en prise. Terry appeared startled. You weren't expecting that, were you? Kevin smiled. Something he rarely did – especially a smile of satisfaction. He normally wouldn't take either joy or sadness in anything Terry might be feeling. The question of what he might be feeling wouldn't even come up. Now he was curious. More than curious, he was enjoying Terry's puzzlement – enjoying the fact that he'd caused it. Why? What was enjoyable about that?

  Predictably, Terry ignored Kevin's attacking possibilities and continued his own plot of aggression, doubling his rooks against Kevin's h file. Kevin went into defensive mode, wading through the various possibility trees, calculating that he could defend, but if he did not vigorously shore up the fortress around his king that it would be breached in four to five moves.

  On the other hand, he calculated shredding Terry's king-defenders in three moves – threatening mate in four. If he was right, Terry would need to defend or he would lose. This was the first time Kevin had ever dared to consider a game as a race – the first time he understood: I don't have to defend if my attack comes in first.

  Which it did. Terry scratched the ever-present cap that covered the growths on his misshapen skull as he pondered this bizarre outcome.

  "Strange," he said. "You changed tactics."

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "I saw another possible – "

  Kevin's sneeze hit out of nowhere, enveloping the chessboard in fine mist. Kevin imagined millions of his antibodies, DNA strands, microbes, and minerals – along with various enzymes – bathing the pieces. He was so focused on that image that he only noticed Terry's defensively raised hands a few moments later.

  "Are you sick?" Terry asked, peeking out from behind his gnarled hands.

  "I was – a few days ago in the hospital."

  "You know better than to expose me to a cold."

  "I don't think it is a cold. And if it is something, it may be something you'd want to catch."

  "What does that mean?"

  Kevin reflected. He had promised to say nothing about the cylinder, and he would abide by that. It seemed possible that he was infected – but the means of transmission might not have been the object but rather his former teacher. It was possible that nothing was happening; he was just having a strange day. More time was needed to confirm the various hypotheses.