Part 8 (1/2)

”He's dead.” She spun around toward me. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and a bit wild looking. As scared as I was, I almost felt sorry for her. She was out of her element here. She sure as heck wasn't used to me talking back.

”He's dead, gone,” she said in a softer voice. ”There's no use in rehas.h.i.+ng the past.”

The words killed me. Like a knife to the chest, they were actually painful. ”I need to know the truth, to understand what I am, what I'm capable of. I'm tired of feeling like there's something wrong with me.”

She closed her eyes. ”I've never said there's something wrong with you.”

”No, you just made me hide my ability, made me feel like I was a freak.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze pleading. ”Because of other people, not because of you!”

I released a harsh laugh and paced across the small kitchen. My skin felt too tight, my heart racing to go somewhere...anywhere. ”Yeah, explain that to a five year old who has been abandoned by her mother.”

”Your mom was addicted to drugs, Cameron, you know that had nothing to do with you.”

I paused. The truth hurt.

So Grandma had no problem dis.h.i.+ng the dirt on Mom, telling me her every dark secret and repeatedly reminding me, but wouldn't even tell me where Dad was buried. ”What about when I was little and you made us move away from Michigan?”

”I was protecting you.”

”I'd only told one person-”

”And she told five others, including the cops-”

”And you made me feel horrible!”

We fell silent, both of us breathing heavily as we fought our anger. I wanted to scream in frustration. Why couldn't she understand? She'd made me feel like I was a freak. She'd kept the truth from me. She wouldn't keep this from me too.

She snorted, a sarcastic laugh. ”So, what will you do, rush out and help people like some d.a.m.n superhero?”

”What's wrong with that?”

”That's what got your father killed!”

She'd stunned me into silence. Was she lying in some pathetic attempt to make me afraid? If so, it had the opposite effect. Lewis had been right, my father was a hero. He wasn't a coward, like me. ”And so I'm supposed to stay here, never say a word, let innocent people die?”

”Better them than you.”

I shook my head, ashamed of her. I didn't want to feel guilty; I didn't want to grow up afraid, like her. ”I can't stand by anymore and let horrible things happen to people I care about. Maybe you can, but I can't.”

She pressed her hands to her temples, her entire body trembling. She looked weak and pale under the brilliant light of the rising sun coming in through the small window above the sink. ”You're not some superhero, Cameron. A bullet can kill you as well as anyone.”

”I know,” I said, softening my voice. ”But I'm leaving, for me. Please understand that.”

She slammed her fists onto the tabletop. ”You will not leave this house! Until you're eighteen, I control you!”

”Not anymore.” She wouldn't understand. Not now, maybe never. ”I have to, they're coming for us.”

The furry seemed to drain from her face along with any color. ”What are you talking about?” Before I could answer, she turned toward the stove, obviously intent on ignoring me.

”Lewis told me about S.P.I., whoever they are, using people like us.”

She turned and pointed her spatula at me. ”As long as we stay out of trouble, they'll leave us alone.”

I moved around the table. Everything felt oddly off balance. The tides had turned and Grandma wasn't in control, Grandma seemed to know less about S.P.I. than I did. ”Will they? Are you sure about that?”

”Of course.” She tossed a plate of bacon onto the table.

”What if you're wrong?”

She looked directly at me, her hazel gaze hard. ”We are safe, Cameron.”

My determination wavered. Could I trust her? I should, shouldn't I? She was my grandma after all. But she'd also kept the truth from me about my father and about what I could do. ”Tell me you'll teach me how to block my thoughts, how to...how to show people mental images. Tell me you'll teach me everything you know.”

”You don't need to learn,” she insisted. ”Nothing is going to happen to you.”

”Is that what you told my dad?”

She went pale and I knew I'd gone too far. I hadn't meant to say the words, I hadn't meant to be so cruel.

”How dare you,” she hissed.

It was too late. I couldn't take the words back. Unless I apologized, our tumultuous relations.h.i.+p would be over. My pride wouldn't let me apologize because deep down, I did blame her for everything that had happened. I turned and on shaking legs made my way to the hall where I'd left my suitcase. And I told myself, as I moved through the kitchen, that I was doing this not only for me, but for her.

”You are not leaving!” she screamed.

My heart lurched. I didn't dare look her in the eyes. I refused to respond because I knew I couldn't. I was afraid she'd scare me into staying. It was five minutes until eight. If I was going to do it, I needed to leave now. I moved around her and made my way to the front door, my suitcase wheels whizzing over the hardwood floors.

”I'm sorry, Grandma.” My voice caught as I fought the tears. ”But I'm done hiding.”

I pushed the front door wide, the hinges screeching, and stepped onto the stoop. I fully expected her to stop me. She didn't. The cool morning air eased the sweat gathering between my shoulder blades.

”You don't think it's insane to leave with a guy you barely know?”

I paused for a moment as my grandmother's words. .h.i.t me. She was right, I knew that, but couldn't seem to care. Lewis's silver car was parked directly in front of our home; Lewis leaning against the hood. The dark blue sweater he wore stretched across his broad shoulders. He'd come for me. My heart leapt with joy. He pushed away from the car, and when our gazes met, a wide smile spread across his handsome face. I rushed down the steps, my suitcase thumping after me. I didn't stop until I was only a foot from him. Fisting my hands, I resisted the urge to throw my arms around his neck.

”You're coming,” he stated the obvious.

”Yes.”

Don't go, Cameron, please. Grandma's voice whispered through my mind. It was the first time she'd asked me for anything and for a moment I paused, her plea stinging.

My heart hammered wildly. Indecision held me captive. Could I really leave and take the guilt? Could I stay? I'd die here, maybe not physically, but mentally and emotionally I'd die.

”Cameron, are you ready?” Lewis asked, taking my bag.

”Yes,” I whispered. Without looking back, I slid my hand into his.