Chapter 21

 

Dr Hanna Waters

 

After Frank recovered from his grief at losing Pinky, he felt foolish and embarrassed by his outburst. But Colin simply smiled understandingly, seeming far older than his tender years suggested. They talked for another hour, and Frank learned some very interesting things about the young man. He had been blind from birth, and his perception of the world was vastly different from that of a sighted person’s. He could find his way around by feel, and had become so sensitive that he could tell when there was an obstacle in front of him by the way it altered the movement of the air around it. Sometimes he felt like he was floating in a void, where the only things in existence were those he could hear and touch directly. Everything beyond that range was immaterial. He measured distances by paces.

People had tried to describe colours to him in terms of heat, and sometimes when he brushed his hands over a particularly bright, simple picture, he could work out what it was. Frank asked if he was an ESPer, but he shook his head.

“They did get a reading out of me, but it was so small it was practically inconsequential. I’m what their psientists call a ‘sensitive’. I have a rudimentary psychic ability, but I’ll never be able to develop any powers out of it.”

By this stage Penny, who had remarkably patient the whole time they were talking, decided she’d had enough. She got up, trotted to the door, sat down and whined.

“I really must take her out for a walk before her bladder explodes.” Colin reached for her harness. “Would you like to come? We can go to one of my favourite cafes for lunch.”

“That’d be great.”

They set off, continuing their fascinating conversation. Frank couldn’t hear enough about Colin’s amazing life. He had never met anyone like him before, and marvelled at his independence. Even with Penny keeping a wary eye out for traffic, he seemed to know what he was doing. Locals called to him when they saw him, and he acknowledged their greetings with a cheery wave. He stopped to chat with a large woman in short shorts and patent-leather bitch-boots, her permed, bleached blonde hair giving her a whole six extra inches of height, and introduced Frank as Pinky’s childhood friend.

“This is Frank Cassidy?” the woman gasped incredulously, in a deep, throaty voice that was obviously male. Her name was Diane, which Colin had pronounced “Dee-arn”.

“Yes,” Colin answered defensively. “Don’t you believe me?”

“I … just imagined him to look a bit different, that’s all,” Diane backpedalled, not liking the filthy look Frank was giving her.

“Looks again,” Colin declared. “You sighted people place far too much importance on looks. There are other senses beside sight. Anyway, Pinky always described Frank as being the handsomest man he’d ever met.”

“That was a long time ago,” Frank declared. “Bit of water’s flowed under the bridge since then.”

Colin hooked his arm through Frank’s. “Come on – let’s get lunch.” He steered Frank towards a café that he hadn’t even known was there. It was a tiny, cosy place, dimly lit by small lanterns, with small, intimate booths. They had to wait to be seated, and when a waiter showed up, he actually blanched at the sight of Frank’s face, his sentence dying in his throat. He had to look twice to make sure the light wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“Yes, we’d like a seat,” Frank growled. He was getting heartily sick of this.

“Yes, of course, right away.” The waiter spun and headed off through the booths to a spare one in a dark, secluded corner. He dumped a menu on the table and fled.

“The service seems to have gone downhill since I was here last.” Colin slipped into a seat. Penny crawled under the table and lay down, resting her head on her front paws. Even though she looked relaxed, she remained alert for her master. “Frank – I’ve noticed that people don’t seem to react to you too well. Why is that?”

“Give me your hand.”

Colin extended a hand across the table. Frank took it and pressed it against the right side of his face. He could feel the pressure of the young man’s fingers, but not each individual digit. “That’s why.”

Some blind people touched everyone they met, feeling their faces so they could receive a better impression of them. Colin always waited for an invitation to touch someone, knowing how uncomfortable people could get. Now he explored Frank’s face with wonder, marvelling at how interesting it was. How could sighted people not find it fascinating? “What happened to you?” he gasped.

“I was shot in the face,” Frank answered in a whisper, moved by the touch of Colin’s fingers on his face. The young man didn’t cringe with revulsion – he examined with avid interest.

“Jesus, really?” Colin was amazed. He removed his hands from Frank’s face. “I’ve been going on and on about myself. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? I can tell that you have a lot you want to talk about.”

“Yeah – I want to talk about it, but I can’t.” He rubbed his forehead.

“Sure you can.”

“No. It’s classified.”

“Really? Who do you work for?”

Frank wanted to say PsiForce, but he couldn’t. But there was another way he could tell the truth. “I’m still in the army.”

“Ah. Well, why don’t you tell me what you can?”

So Frank started to talk about Vietnam, which no longer contained that many secrets. Eventually the waiter he’d frightened gathered up the courage to return and take their orders. Frank improved his mood by ordering six of the most expensive things on the menu. He could just imagine the conversation in the kitchen.

After lunch, Colin asked Frank if he would like to visit Pinky’s grave. Frank hesitated at first, but then answered he would. Colin and Penny took him on the subway across the river to Flushing. As he led Frank through the graves, Frank marvelled again at how unerring his sense of direction was. Penny only seemed a guide, making sure he didn’t trip over fallen objects or bump into gutters. It was Colin who did the real navigating.

When they came to Pinky’s grave, Frank was almost overcome by his emotions a second time. He’d expected a soaring edifice topped with angels blowing trumpets and playing harps. He would have smiled at such a monument and thought “how like Pinky”. But the small, unassuming headstone did not do his vibrant friend justice. It was made of pink marble, marked with a cross and read simply;

James “Pinky” Robinson 1947 – 1993

A lump rose in Frank’s throat and he gulped, trying to force it down. It refused to leave. Again he found himself short of breath and unsteady on his feet. He fell to his knees on the grass. Colin was at his side in an instant, a comforting hand on his shoulder. “God, I really must be losin’ it,” he gasped.

“No, no – it’s okay,” Colin assured.

He’d never thought it would hurt so much. He had spent most of his life forcing his emotions into a steel strongbox at the base of his mind, cramming them in until finally, it happened. They burst their confines and engulfed him, and it hurt like Hell. Colin had to help him to his feet. “Good bye Pinky,” he whispered.

They returned to Colin’s apartment. Noting the time, Frank was about to leave when he felt a slender hand on his arm. “Would you like to stay here tonight, Frank?” Colin asked.

He had nothing to do the next day but practise. Did he dare spend the night with Colin? His head said no, but of course his heart and various other parts of his anatomy said yes. “I … I’d really like to, but I could get into serious trouble.”

“Yeah, but you look like you need some company tonight.”

Frank smiled at Colin’s use of the word “look”. Then he remembered what General Hartmann had said:

“At the moment PsiForce needs all the psykers it can get, and we aren’t about to let a little homosexuality stand in our way.”

“What about your sister and her girlfriend?”

“They don’t care who I bring home. Anyway they won’t be back till late.”

“Okay. You twisted my arm.”

Colin grinned, and led Frank back into his apartment.

 

Frank didn’t get to see Hanna Waters until Thursday afternoon. She was a very busy young woman, and when he arrived at the PSI’s clinic at five to four, he found a large group of people in the waiting room. A young woman sat next to a five-year-old girl whose arms were hideously disfigured with severe eczema. Occasionally she would scratch at an annoying place, only to have her mother quickly slap her fingers away. A large man in his early fifties sat nearby, one leg stretched out in front of him. A crutch rested against the wall behind him. Beside him sat a young man, pale-faced and sweating. He looked nervous rather than ill – like he’d just some terrible news. Everyone stared at Frank as he approached and took a chair a few feet from the mother and her daughter. The adults soon looked away in embarrassment, but the little girl couldn’t tear her gaze from Frank’s face, more fascinated than horrified. She completely forgot about her rash.

“Look at the soldier’s face, Mommy!” she whispered.

“Stop staring,” her mother hissed. “It’s rude.” She continued to watch Frank out of the corner of one eye.

Frank focussed on a poster stuck to the wall opposite, which depicted an ominous-looking little girl with huge eyes and a serious mouth, staring so fixedly ahead her eyes seemed to be boring into Frank’s. A third eye had been painted on her forehead, and it was a luminous, vivid blue. The captions beneath read:

Do you know what people are thinking? Can you see into the future? Are you able to move objects around without touching them? Do you have ANY special abilities you cannot explain? THEN YOU MAY BE PSYCHIC. The PSI offers free psionic testing five days a week, between the hours of 9 to 5. Make your booking NOW.

Frank heard the creak of a door, and saw a woman in her early sixties emerge from an office opposite the reception counter. Her face was flushed with joy as she walked with the slow, tentative steps of someone who’d always had difficulty moving – until now. She carried a four pronged walking stick tucked under one arm, but wasn’t using it. She paused, directing her attention back into the office. “Thank you again, Hanna – thank you.” When she turned back to the waiting room, there were tears in her eyes.

“That’s okay, Julia,” a songbird voice called from the office.

Julia moved off with increasing confidence, marvelling at her newfound ability to walk without pain. As she pushed the clinic door open, her shoulders started to shake.

“Why is that woman crying, Mommy?” the five year old girl asked.

“Because she’s so happy, darling,” Mommy answered. “She must have been in real pain before.”

The receptionist checked the appointment book. Then she got up and crossed to Hanna’s office. Poking her head inside, she spoke a few words to the woman inside, then faced the rest of the patients. “Frank Cassidy?” she called.

Frank got up, wondering why Hanna herself hadn’t come out. He stepped into the surgery and closed the door behind him. It was a large, clean room with a narrow bunk running along the back wall. Seated behind a large wooden desk was a young woman with straight copper-coloured hair and huge owlish glasses. She was wearing a frilly, high-necked blouse and a white coat. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in just a sec.” Without looking up, she scrawled some notes in a ledger in front of her.

Frank parked himself in one of two seats in front of her desk and folded his hands in his lap, waiting patiently for Hanna to finish her notation. Her handwriting was small and much too neat for a doctor’s.

“Now,” She looked up, “what can I do … ah. I think I see the problem.”

“Is it that obvious?”

She giggled infectiously. “Just smear on some foundation and a bit of powder, and it’ll disappear completely. I take it you’d like me to see if I can tidy up the scarring?”

“Yeah. It’s really crampin’ my social life.”

She giggled again and rolled out from behind the table. Frank realised with a jolt that she was in a wheelchair. She was very thin, almost emaciated. The stockinged legs poking out from beneath her fawn calf-length skirt were like little twigs, with ankles that Frank could have easily closed his hand around. He couldn’t tear his eyes from those thin little legs, and as he watched she crossed them. Obviously not paralysed then, he thought. “Okay – I’m going to take a closer look now.” She rolled around to his right side, moving easily in the chair, like it was a natural extension of her body. She placed a spread-fingered hand on his scarred cheek, and almost immediately a pleasant warmth flowed from her digits into his flesh. “Can I ask how this happened?”

“In the line of duty. I was shot. See that little scar in the back of my head? That’s where the bullet went in.” He described the passage the bullet took, and where it came out.

“And you survived?” she marvelled.

“Yeah. I have my own healing ability, and it saved my life. But it didn’t put my face back together properly - I think ‘cause my powers hadn’t settled in yet.”

“Ah.” She ran her hand over his face, leaving trails of warmth that slowly seeped into his skin like a high-quality moisturiser. “That’s odd,” she muttered.

“What?”

She didn’t answer, too engrossed in what she was doing. She placed another hand on the back of his head, where the little round bullet-scar was. “Very odd indeed.”

“What?” Frank insisted.

“Hang on.” She continued to touch him for a few more minutes. Just when he couldn’t bear his impatience any more, she took her hands away. “I’m not sure how to explain this, but your physiology is … different.”

Frank didn’t like the sound of that. “How d’you mean?”

Hanna frowned as she searched for the right words. She decided she could only give details. “Your temperature is a few degrees higher than normal, your heartrate is very low – about forty-five beats per minute, and your blood-pressure is also dangerously low. But you’re not ill at all, are you?”

“I’m fine – apart from my appetite.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Ever since I discovered my powers, I’ve needed to eat about five times my normal amount – even more when I psionically exert myself. I reckon I must burn most of it up, ‘cause hardly anything comes out the other end!”

“That’s bizarre.”

“Tell me about it.” He rubbed a hand over his head. “And then there’s my hair. Every morning when I get up I have a full head of thick, black curls. I have to cut ‘em off before I can go out. Look at this growth.” He dipped his head. “At six o’clock this morning I shaved myself as smooth as a baby’s ass, and now there’s at least half an inch. So, what were you gonna tell me about my physiology?”

She took a deep breath. “When I touch a person, I can actually ‘see’ inside them.”

“Like x-ray vision?”

She smiled. “Only better. I can see everything; bones, muscles, organs – I can even see diseases, bacterial infections, viruses and internal injuries. Everything has its own different colour, and over the years I’ve learned which colours relate to which medical conditions. But all your colours are different. I wouldn’t know where to start healing you.”

Frank sighed. “Bummer.”

“But now my curiosity is piqued, and I would really like to help you. To start with I’d like a blood-sample.”

“Sure.” Frank rolled up a sleeve, baring his muscular forearm.

Dr Waters rolled back around her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a blood pressure cuff, a pair of latex gloves, a syringe in a plastic wrapper, and a handful of stoppered vials, also sheathed in plastic. She snapped on the gloves, then got Frank to extend his arm so she could wrap the cuff around it. “What kind of psionic powers do you have, if you don’t mind me asking? I assure you, everything that is said in this office is confidential.”

A vague answer couldn’t hurt. “Psychokinesis and self-healing. Dr Carrington said I’m pretty good at the psychokinesis, but I can’t seem to control my healing. It just happens.”

She tightened the cuff. “Nearly all self-healing is like that, a faster than normal regeneration that doesn’t always work on more complicated conditions. Occasionally someone will come along who can look into himself, see where the problem lies, and consciously fix it. Those are the people who can learn how to heal others – like me. I’ve been healing since I was five.”

“So how come you’re in a wheelchair?”

She sighed, checking his blood pressure and confirming that it was pretty low for someone his size and age. “Well, one group of diseases I don’t have much luck fixing are genetic disorders – like my rare bone disease. My bones are like honeycomb – they break very easily. I fell down some stairs when I was five years old and broke seventeen bones. When I was lying in hospital, swathed in plaster like a mummy, I looked into myself and found my healing ability. I was able to completely heal myself in under a month. Nowadays I can set and heal my bones – and anyone else’s for that matter - in minutes.”

“That’s amazing.”

She rubbed a vein on Frank’s arm, and it popped up. “I could probably get around without the wheelchair, but it helps to protect me. All it takes is one good bang on the shins, and my legs will break like shish-kabob sticks.” She thrust a syringe into his skin, and really had to push it to get it in. “God, you have thick skin!”

“No way. It really pisses me off when someone makes fun of my face.”

She giggled. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” She drew out a needleful of blood, then gave Frank some cotton wool to press against the prick. He held it there for a few seconds, then removed it. The needle-prick was gone. “See?”

“That’s pretty fast,” she agreed. She squirted the needle’s contents into four vials, then threw the syringe into a yellow contaminated waste bucket with a biohazard symbol on the side. She held up one of the vials, frowned, and then switched on her desk lamp. “Look at this.” She held the vial up to the light.

Frank craned forward.

With the light coming from directly behind the vial, the semi-transparent liquid inside glittered like it was full of tiny silver crystals. It looked like that glitter stuff little girls used to decorate their schoolbooks. “Christ, is blood supposed to do that?”

“No, most definitely not!” Hanna performed a few more tests on Frank, checking his height and weight, looking into his eyes, peering into his ears, and recording everything on a fresh page in her ledger. “Are you able to come back next week?”

“I don’t know. It all depends on how quickly Doc Carrington finishes up with me. This time next week, I may be back in Washington.”

“Fair enough. Well, I’ll probably have all your test results by then. If you’re in Washington, I can arrange for them to be couriered down to you. But I’d really like to see you again, and perform a more in-depth examination.”

Frank nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“But at the moment, that’s all I can do for you, I’m afraid.”

Frank reached across the table to shake her hand. “Well, thanks for all your help, Hanna. It’s been swell.” He got up and left.

 

On the Friday afternoon Dr Carrington told Frank that he’d mastered enough of his psionic powers to be considered proficient. With his telekinesis he was strong enough to lift at least a ton, and dextrous enough to pull the petals from a flower. He could levitate and shield himself. He could set fire to pretty much anything, and keep the flames concentrated enough to not set any neighbouring objects alight. He could also control the heat inside his own body, something no other pyrokinetic could do.

However before he could leave, Dr Carrington wanted to put Frank in the psi scanner again, to check a theory she’d been toying with for the past week. His reading hadn’t changed. It still fluctuated between 13.6 and 16.2 MHz However this time she got him to use his psychokinesis to float a cup across the room, and his reading spiked to 16.5 MHz. When she made him move the table with the printer on it, it spiked to 17.0 MHz. Readings that high had never been recorded before. She raked her fingers through her thick black hair and whistled.

“What’s up, Doc?” Frank asked.

“All I can say is that your psi rating isn’t constant. It changes when you use your powers.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” But deep down she did. If Frank concentrated for long enough, he could perform psionic feats of truly godlike magnitude. “When you get back to your military base, you’ll just have to experiment – see if you can discover your upper limits for yourself. You may get changed now.”

“Okay.” Frank was both excited and concerned about the prospect of exploring the upper limits to his psionic powers. What if he burned himself out in the process? Then again, what if he discovered that he could move entire mountains? He shivered, a delicious mixture of fear and excitement.

Dr Carrington was waiting for him in the corridor outside the cubicle. “Well, I guess that’s it, Colonel – it’s been interesting, to say the least!” She thrust out a hand and he took it.

“Likewise.”

“You can inform General Hartmann that I’ll finish my report over the weekend, and FedEx it to him on Monday morning, okay? Until then he’ll just have to be satisfied with my interim observations.”

“Will do.” He turned to leave, and she caught his arm.

“Did you get to see Hanna Waters?”

“I did. She’s a very brave young woman. She checked me out, took some blood, did some tests, and said she’d have to get back to me. Unfortunately she couldn’t do anything for me on the spot.” He decided not to elaborate on his alien physiology.

“I see. Well, take care of yourself, Colonel. Hopefully we’ll see you again.”

He patted her shoulder. “You probably will.”

Frank returned to his room, changed out of his fatigues and into civvies, and went out to visit Colin. During his last visit, on Tuesday night, they ate a fine meal at his loft, which he’d prepared with his own hands. Frank had thoroughly enjoyed it – until Colin’s sister and her girlfriend came home. He could only take their stares for a few minutes, and had to leave. As he waited for the elevator, he heard Colin criticising his flatmates’ behaviour.

He hoped that the women would be out tonight so he could enjoy Colin’s company all by himself. He really liked the brave young man, and could see himself forming a relationship with him. Unfortunately, as he had to return to Washington the very next morning, this would be very difficult. He hadn’t told Colin what he was doing in New York, even though the young fellow had asked several times now.

As he rode the elevator up to Colin’s floor, he rubbed his head, and short hair prickled against his palm. When he’d gotten up this morning to cut his hair and shave, he discovered that his hair’s mad growth was finally slowing down. It had been only about four inches long. He’d started bagging the hair up and taking it away, not wanting to arouse too many suspicions by leaving great black hairballs all over the dorm washroom.

Colin let him in with a relieved smile. As soon as Frank closed the door behind him, Colin slipped his arms around his neck and pressed his warm young body against him. “Your sister and her partner aren’t here, are they?” Frank asked softly.

Colin’s smile faltered. “No. Marie and Claire have gone out to a party.”

“Good.” Frank returned the embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Colin whispered against Frank’s shoulder. “I should have told them about your face when I saw them on Sunday afternoon. But I was just so happy – all I could talk about was how great you were. I guess your face shocked them.”

“It shocks everyone – except you.”

“You know I don’t care what people look like.” He initiated a kiss, and for a few minutes Frank was swept away. Why do I have to leave? he wondered. Why can’t I just stay here with his lovely young man, forever?

But he was no longer the insecure nineteen-year-old who’d been prepared to give everything up for Pinky Robinson. Back then he’d only had one year of military service under his belt. He’d been a nobody. Now he was a lieutenant colonel in the PsiForce, the most secret and prestigious organisation in the US. He had no skills outside the army, apart from a penchant for history. Who would possibly employ a guy with a messed up face like his?

Finally he broke the embrace. “Colin – we have to talk.”

Colin led him over to the lounge. He didn’t look worried, only curious. “What about?”

“Us. I really like you, Colin, but I’m not sure how we can make his relationship work.”

“Because of your career?”

“Yes. You know how the military feels about this sort of thing.”

Colin sighed. “I really do pick ‘em, don’t I?”

“I’m sorry. I’d really like to stay, but I don’t think I can. Tomorrow morning I’m supposed to be heading back to the Pentagon.”

“You work there?”

Frank nodded, realised his mistake, and said “yes.”

“I can see why you’re worried.” He patted Frank on a shoulder. “Well, it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“I haven’t felt like this for years, Colin. It was more than fun – it was unbelievable. I’ve never met anyone who could use his hands and mouth like you.”

Colin laughed. “Comes from having an excellent sense of touch.” He gulped, and Frank could see tears glittering in his sightless eyes. “Well, if you’re ever back in this part of town, look me up.”

“Of course.”

Colin slipped his arms around Frank’s shoulders and held him. Frank felt tears burn his own eyes. It might have only been a three-day relationship, but it had been one of the best of his life.

When Frank departed New York early the next morning, after eating an enormous breakfast in the PSI’s cafeteria, he was in a gloomy mood. Was he doomed to lose everyone he loved? The relationship might have worked; Colin had accepted him for who he was, warts and all. But Frank couldn’t afford to abandon his career now, not when he’d come so far. When he thought back to his youthful dreams back in Promise Falls, he realised his final goal wasn’t so far away after all. Maybe he would become General Frank Cassidy, in command of thousands of soldiers.

The morning was warm and muggy, with a heavy sky that constantly threatened rain but never delivered. It only served to make Frank even more uncomfortable as he manoeuvred his way north out of New York. There seemed to be a lot of idiots on the road this morning, and his temper had worn dangerously thin by the time he reached the open highway. His hands were curled so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles whitened, and he started to smell burning plastic. When he lifted a hand he noticed imprints of his fingers burned into the wheel.

“Shit,” he swore on realising how out of control he was. Gotta calm down, he thought. Can’t afford to wreck this truck!

He fiddled with the radio, searching for a station that wouldn’t cause him to punch the dash in a temper, and eventually settled on some C&W, which had always soothed him in the past. Some crooner was wailing on about killing his wife’s lover and dumping his body in a dam. Real cheerful stuff.

With a throaty roar a large Toyota four-wheel drive with huge knobbly tyres shot out from behind him and drew level with his truck. Heavy metal music bellowed out of an open window. Two young men, who didn’t look nearly old enough to drive, let alone afford such an expensive vehicle, sat in the front laughing and joking. They wore bandanas and sunglasses, and black singlets. Young kids, heading out into the country for the weekend. Frank noticed three cases of Bud bouncing around on the back seat.

The passenger leaned out of his window, staring directly at Frank. Frank tried to keep his attention on the road.

“Fuck me are you ugly!” the kid declared. “It’d take two of you to get any uglier!” He hooted with laughter, then turned to talk to the driver and Frank didn’t hear any more. He didn’t need to. His short temper snapped like a cheap guitar string. He had had enough. He directed his attention at the Toyota’s front wheel, keeping it there as the 4 wheel drive drew ahead with another bestial roar. He visualised all air inside that great, knobbly tyre heating up and expanding until something had to give.

Something did. The tyre burst like a gunshot, and the Toyota slewed sideways in front of Frank. He hit the brakes watching as the 4 wheel drive with its obnoxious occupants skidded across his lane, onto the soft shoulder, crashed through the barrier and slammed into a tree. Frank pulled to a stop about fifty yards down and jumped out. He could hear the Toyota’s horn blaring. The driver must have fallen on it.

He heard another car slide to a stop as he approached the crashed Toyota. The bull bar had taken most of the impact, and its windscreen was still intact, but Frank could see blood splashed across it. Peering into the side window, he saw both youths slumped forward. The passenger’s head had smashed like a ripe melon on the windshield, and the driver was impaled on the steering column. Neither had been wearing seatbelts.

Frank hadn’t intended such harsh results. Maybe a few bruises, some soiled underwear and a hearty scare. Certainly not death. He wasn’t frightened. His heart pounded, but not from fear. He felt exhilarated. He had used his powers to kill, and no-one would ever suspect that the tyre had burst from anything other than wear. If those silly bastards had been wearing their belts they would still be alive.

He was quite prepared to explain what he’d witnessed to the two police officers who were hurrying towards him.

 

* * * *