Powerless

Powerless

By LuAnn Williamson

“Honey, it’s OK to talk about things like this in the family but we don’t talk about it to outsiders, OK?” My Mom had soothed my hair back off my forehead as she sat on the bed after tucking me in. “We know things and can do things that most people can’t. Since they don’t know about these things, they think they aren’t real, but we know they are.”

       I’m Bella and I had just finished telling my Mother about my dream from the night before. I’d been another person, a grown woman with a house and children of her own.

       “That’s probably you, in another life that you lived before,” my Mother had told me. “You are special in that you remember your past lives. Most people do not.” Momma had told her five year old daughter.

       As I grew, I came to realize just how special the rest of my family was. On a few, rare occasions, I would see sparks shoot from my Father’s fingertips. Once, when he thought I wasn’t looking, he lit a bonfire with just his bare hands and his special gift. Once he saw me watching, he’d beckoned me to come closer.

       “I hadn’t meant for you to see what I just did. It’s kind of a secret.” He rested his hands lightly on my shoulders. “This is the kind of thing that your Mother has told you not to talk to outsiders about. Most people can’t use electricity like I can. Most of them just don’t believe it and a few get jealous. So we just don’t tell them. Understand?”

       I nodded. A few minutes later, my Mother brought out the hot dogs and the rest of the food. The family started to enjoy the picnic.

       Both my parents were vague about their jobs. Sometimes, they’d go away for days, even weeks at a time. Most of the time, it was either one parent or the other but a few times, both of them would leave for business and I stayed with either set of Grandparents.

       Eventually, I did go meet my Mom at the Federal Building a few times when any of the Grandparents wanted to meet her for some reason.

       In time, my brother, Sam was born, and then a few years later, our sister, Sarah, was born.

       Eventually, I approached puberty. Not only was I treated to the discussions of growing and my changing body, but also discussions of the possibility of development of extra sensory perception, clairvoyance or other abilities. 

       Although I still had the memories of past lives, more of them recalled over the years, I had not developed any special abilities. When one of Mother’s friends tested me, I did not score much above random results at ESP or precognition.

       Our family was very careful to stress that they were never disappointed that I did not have any special abilities.  My grades were very good, just missing Honor Roll, not that I really care about that. I played baseball in the spring and volleyball in the summer. I tried out for cheerleading but wasn’t all that disappointed when I didn’t make the squad. I wasn’t sure that I would have wanted it, even if I had been asked.

       In the fall of my sophomore year, I was home alone, studying. Dad was off on a business trip. Mom had taken the younger siblings to visit her parents for the Columbus Day weekend. But there was a party I wanted to attend and I was hoping to attract the attention of a certain guy on the boys’ baseball team.

       Even if my parents were insistent that we lock the doors, especially after dark, I forgot. It was nearly the time I planned to go to bed when the door burst open and three men, dressed in black, complete with full face masks came in, carrying huge guns.

       I screamed, “Get out!” as loud as I could but wasn’t sure if anyone could hear me.

       “Shut up, Bitch! The man closest to me said in a harsh voice. He pointed the large, black gun at my face. I couldn’t tell what kind of a weapon it was but by the size of the magazine, I was pretty sure it was at least a semi-automatic.

       “What do you want?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know.

       “Your Mother. The best way to get to her is through you,” the first man rasped out.

       “What? Why?” I was beginning to wonder if the government job that our mother held since long before any of us was born, involved more than typing forms and opening mail.

       “Cut the crap,” another man, off to my right said. He reached out and grabbed me in a harsh grip. The man to my left moved in to grab me from the other side.

       “My Mother is a secretary to a manager at HUD, Housing and Urban Development. She types up forms after endless forms, files paper copies. Do you believe it? In this day and age, they have paper copies and carbon packs?”

       “She doesn’t know?” The man on my left said as he manhandled me into a chair that the first man pulled out of the dining room.

       “I don’t know what? My Mother works as a Secretary. I’ve been to her office. I’ve met her boss and her coworkers. She types and files and makes travel arrangements and…”

       A heavy hand smacked me across the face. “It doesn’t matter what she knows or doesn’t know,” the first man growled out. It seemed like he was their leader.  “All that matters is that we grab Maranda. Nothing else matters.”

       The third man pulled a roll of duct tape out of one of the oversized pants pockets. He started to tear off strips and catching my own legs that I’d been using to try to kick him with, began to secure me to the chair. A moment’s thought about how Mom was going to be mad if the tape ruined the finish on her oak chairs passed through my mind before I realized I was in far more trouble than to worry about chairs.

       Quickly, they wound the tape around my ankles, wrists and upper body, with new rolls being pulled out as the old were used up and thrown aside. Apparently leaving behind fingerprints was not a concern.

       The leader pulled out a cell phone and dialed. “Hello Maranda,” I wondered if that was his real voice or if he was trying to disguise it. “I have your daughter here.” He snapped a picture of me with the cell phone. I assumed he sent it to her. “She can’t come to the phone; she’s a little tied up.” Raucous laughter rang throughout the living room.

       The leader held the phone up to my face. I clamped my mouth shut. One of the men grabbed my ankle just below the tape and took off my shoe. He pulled my foot upwards at an unnatural angle. I resisted as long as I could. Then I did scream: it was a deep, primordial scream from the primitive part of my brain.

       “Are you going to cooperate now?” The leader asked.

       “Fuck. You!” I spat out. Then I realized that I’d be doing extra chores for using inappropriate language in the house. I could hope Mom would cut me some slack, considering the circumstance.

       The man held the phone up to me again. I clamped my mouth shut. The henchman, I decided to call him number one, for lack of a better name, pulled my other shoe off.

       “One torn tendon and you’re off the cheerleading squad,” the leader growled. Well, his info wasn’t perfect but he did seem to know when I would be home alone.

       “Mom!” I heard my Mother’s voice and hated to even contribute to the cause of the worried tone. “Whatever they want, don’t do it!”  I said words in rush as I wasn’t sure how long I’d get to speak. Henchman One pulled my foot up towards my head. This time, I felt the tendon pop and the wrenching pain. Finally, even though I tried to fight it, I screamed.

       The Leader took the phone back and barked instructions into the handset. It involved where to meet them and the classic “come alone.” I couldn’t hear all the words spoken but the ones I did hear were the kind I’d seldom hear my mother utter.

       All the men were nearly identical height and body type. The clothing fit so closely that even telling skin color was almost impossible. Except for the leader, who’d moved close enough to see his eyes. They were green, a startling green. Where had I seen eyes that rare color? I tried to remember but the stress was too much for me to think clearly. When he moved closer to hold the phone up again, I managed to grab his arm with the part of my hand below the tape, and pulled up his sleeve a little bit. I caught a glimpse of blue tattoo that looked rather like a fish tail. He was white, for sure. Slowly, the pieces clicked into place. It was one of men who worked with her Mother and he had a mermaid that waved its tail when he flexed his arm. I’d been fascinated by it as a kid.

       Henchman Two pulled my left arm. I screamed again as I felt tendon’s tear and muscles rip.

       Leader Fiend held the phone up again. “Tell her to come get you.”

       I managed to scrape together some saliva from my parched throat and actually managed to spit in his eye. I had only a moment to enjoy my success. Of course that earned me a sharp smack across my mouth. I spat out the blood that filled my mouth. He cursed me as he wiped off his face.

       “She really is a dud,” Henchman One said. He seemed amazed. “I guess the bloodline skipped this one.”

       “I have no special gifts,” I spat out around the mouthfuls of blood from a cut lip. “I can’t do a thing. A score averaging 28 percent on the ESP tests. Just slightly above chance. Worse on precognition, no psychometry, no healing energy.”

       “She’s not cooperating.” Henchman pulled out a huge knife. I actually hoped he would cut my throat and my family could be free.

       “Get the damned cat!”

       One of the henchmen, the slightly stockier one, went into my bedroom and came out with a howling Tabatha dangling by the scruff of her neck. The other criminal pulled off the last of the duct tape and taped her paws together.

       “Tell her to come get you,” the leader held the phone up to my face.

       “Mom! They’ve got Tabatha!” I flashed back to the time our family was picking out the tiny kitten at the shelter. They’d named her after the child in a sitcom the family enjoyed.

       Criminal One held the cat up by her tail.  He obviously didn’t know much about cats since she wriggled free almost at once.

She dropped to the floor and without the ability to right herself; she landed hard on her side. She howled and hissed. I am sure the cat was cursing the evil men. I smiled at the idea of what kind of chores her mother could impose upon the cat.

“What’s so funny?” Leader-devil asked.

I sobered. “Nothing. Stress reaction. That’s all.”

One of the minions pulled the cat’s tail. She howled in pain.

He held the phone up to my face. I spat out a glob of partially congealed blood onto it.

“He’ll pull off her tail,” the man threatened. “If he does that, she’ll probably bleed to death.”

I, Bella Goodchild, had never felt more helpless in my life. I prayed to the God and Goddess my family worshiped as Pagans.

I had detested him before. He kept making passes at me whenever Mom wasn’t around. And he made sure she was away for at least part of the time whenever I visited the office. It made me disgusted. It’s not like I’d want to date someone about the same age as my parents. Not to mention he always had bad breath. Yuck!

“That man needs his crotch set on fire,” I muttered to myself under my breath. I concentrated on a spot just under the fly of his pants. A few moments later, he twitched. He pulled the phone back and swatted at the area just under his zipper.

I concentrated even harder. I could smell smoke. At least I thought I did. He swatted at the area again as if in pain. Then he slapped me. With my head turned and my anger concentrated, the curtains caught fire.

At first they seemed oblivious. One subordinate concentrated his torture on the helpless animal.

Then the curtains caught and seemed to go up in a big puff.

“Fire!” I screamed. The leader turned to follow my line of sight.

A few choice curse words left his lips.

“Run!” It was all he said. All three took off out the door, leaving it wide open to feed the flames. The carpet caught on fire, while I remained firmly stuck to the chair. 

I tried, futilely, to wiggle myself free.

It seemed like forever, as I watched the flames spread across the dining room and towards the living room. In reality, it was only a few minutes when the next door neighbor stood in the doorway. His wife came right behind him, cell phone still held to her ear. The man dashed into the room, tipped the chair backwards and pulled me outside, still secured. His wife was still talking to the dispatch, describing the scene as she saw it.

“Tabatha!” I screamed. “Save her!” The husband, Mr. Jones, I remembered his name, left the chair in the driveway while he dashed inside to pick up the bundle of cat. He just made it out the door when the entire house flashed into flames.

He handed the cat to his wife who gently petted the frightened animal. Mr. Jones pulled me, still seated, further down the sidewalk till the chair, overstressed as it had been, fell apart. I landed with a splat on the sidewalk. I knew I’d have another bruise to add to my rapidly growing collection.

I heard the sirens in the background.

“You just saved my life. Our lives.” I looked up at him from the ground.

“Is there anyone else inside?” He asked, looking at the house, engulfed in flames.

“No, just Tabatha and me.” Mister Jones helped me to stand. Or rather he tried to. My ankles bucked from under me. A police officer pulled up and get out of the car. 

I gave him a summary of what happened. He pulled out his pocket knife and cut me free of the remaining wood from the dining chair, slipping each piece of tape into a separate evidence bag and the wood into other bags.

The ambulance pulled up and I was quickly loaded into it.

Mrs. Jones promised to take Tabatha into the emergency vet. I assured her that Mom would reimburse her.

The City recognized the Jones family as heroes. They even honored them in a ceremony.  All the news cameras were there and they made the news on TV.

I was giving a statement to the police as Mom rushed into the emergency room. I could see her Grandma and Grandpa and my younger brother and sister in the hall. I flashed them a thumb up sign with my right hand, the only part of my body not damaged.

I held my Mom for a long time, not wanting to let her go. Then I whispered in her ear. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Mom told me she’d talked to the Jones family. Our poor cat had a sprained tail, strained limbs and was missing large patches of fur where they had to cut the tape off of her a bit at a time. Mom showed me a picture. She sure did look funny. She wouldn’t be able to flick her tail at me whenever her breakfast wasn’t ready when she thought it should me, which happened most days.

The next day, just before they wheeled me into surgery, my Mom told me that they’d caught Randy Stephenson, the creepy coworker of hers.  He’d come strolling into the office as if nothing had happened.  Funny thing, she mentioned; he couldn’t explain how he got third degree burns on his crotch.

“Was that you? My little fire witch?” I nodded sleepily.