Flash Fire Read online

  “Damn right I am,” he muttered. “Gay freakin’ rights.”

  “Come on,” she said, jumping down from the counter. “I’ll help you with the decorations, and we can plan something that’ll be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done. How do you feel about flash mobs?”

  “Badly,” Nick said, “as everyone should.”

  “Well, we’ve got time. And since it’s up to me to plan everything, we’re all going to coordinate our outfits, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Why do I have to be the one to ask him?” Nick asked, following her toward the stairs. “That sounds sexist. Okay, not really because we’re both dudes, but still. Down with the patriarchy!”

  She laughed, looking startled as she did so, and Nick grinned at her.

  * * *

  Nick would remember this moment, here, right before everything changed. Jazz was still a little down, but he had her laughing again before too long. He couldn’t fly or shoot lasers out of his eyes, but he could help people when they were feeling low. It might not be as impressive as a superhero, but the little things mattered too.

  And that line of thinking was what he’d remember most.

  Once they had a pile of decorations ready to be boxed up and stored away, Nick went to the small hatch in the ceiling of the hallway. He reached up and pulled the thin string to lower the lid to the hatch and the rickety ladder hidden therein. He jumped back as the ladder slid down and clunked against the floor.

  “I’ll go up first,” he said, “in case there are spiders.”

  Jazz snorted. “Yeah, because the last time there was supposed to be a spider, you acted like a knight in shining armor.”

  He climbed the ladder into semidarkness, weak light coming in from a circular window at the front of the house. Boxes and plastic tubs lined the attic. He rubbed his hand against the wall until he found the light switch. He flipped it on, listening in case anything alive scurried around. Nothing did. The house creaked and settled, but nothing seemed to be crawling in his direction.

  “Okay,” he called down as he scanned the attic. “Bunch of boxes up here. I’ll hand them down to you. Cool?”

  “Cool,” she said at the bottom of the ladder.

  He grunted as he pulled himself up. The ceiling was vaulted, coming together like the top of a triangle. He could stand at full height, but only in the middle of the room. Thankfully, Dad hadn’t pushed the boxes too far back when they’d finished decorating. Nick made quick work of it, picking up a box or tub and handing it down the ladder to Jazz, who stacked them on the floor. She’d turned on music on her phone, and by the time he picked up the last box, they were both singing at the tops of their lungs, Nick going falsetto, causing Jazz to wrinkle her nose and tell him to keep his day job. It was good.

  He was about to turn around and climb down the ladder when something caught his eye. In the back corner of the attic, a low glint flashed from the light of the bare bulb. He frowned, letting go of the ladder.

  “Is that it?” Jazz called up.

  “Hold on a second. There’s something up here.”

  “That’s how horror movies start. Don’t be the stupid white guy who needs to check things out.”

  Nick scoffed as he pushed his way further into the attic, moving dusty boxes to give him room. “I’m queer. That means I’d at least survive until halfway through the movie.”

  “I have questions about your logic.”

  “Most do,” he muttered. He grunted as he lifted a heavy box marked RECORDS, a memory flitting about in the back of his mind like a little bird: his mother, pulling a black record from its sleeve and telling Nick there wasn’t anything quite like the Rat Pack, lowering the needle to the record and Frank beginning to sing about how the best was yet to come.

  Without realizing it, Nick began to hum along with the ghost in his head. He only stopped when he saw what had caught his attention.

  An old, gray television was plugged into the only outlet in the attic. The top of it was covered in a thin layer of dust, though the screen looked as if it’d been wiped clean recently. Below the screen was a rectangular slot. It took Nick a moment to realize what it was for. A tape player. A VCR. He crouched down in front of the TV, pushing back the flap of the VCR.

  Inside was a tape.

  “How did people live without streaming?” Nick wondered aloud as he dropped the flap, looking around. Next to the TV was a cardboard box, unmarked. He lifted the lid. Inside were stacks of tapes without labels. He turned back to the TV and pressed the power button, blinking against the blue wash that covered the screen.

  “I swear to god, if this is one of Dad’s pornos, I’m going to be scarred forever,” he mumbled.

  He pressed play.

  The VCR whirred and clicked as the tape began to play.

  A park. The sun was shining. Summer, maybe? The trees were green, and the sky was so blue it looked fake. Clouds, thick and fluffy, hung suspended in the sky. And then the camera swung down to show a blanket spread out on the grass, the remains of a meal lying discarded—and a woman sitting on the blanket, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

  Nick fell back against the floor, mouth open but no sound coming out.

  Jennifer Bell said, “What are you doing? Are you filming me?” She shook her head as she smiled. “Stop it. I’m not wearing any makeup.”

  And then Dad said, “You’re beautiful. The camera loves you, baby.”

  She laughed, and Nick couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get air into his lungs, because he’d never seen this before. He’d never known these memories existed. Anger, quick and bright, roared through him, but he shoved it away as he continued to watch.

  The bottom of the screen showed the date in white letters and numbers. A few years before he’d been born.

  The camera zoomed in on her face as she blushed. “There it is,” Dad said, and he sounded so happy—so free—that Nick had to rub the ache in his chest. “Hello, wife.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hello, husband. You still say it like it’s a new thing. We’ve been married for four years.”

  “I want everyone to know,” Dad said. He raised his voice to a shout. “This is my wife and I love her!” The screen shook as Dad spun the camera. “Do you hear me, world? This is my wife and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

  “Oh my god, stop,” Mom said, though she didn’t seem like she meant it. “You’re such a dork.”

  “Nah,” Dad said easily as he focused on her again. “I want everyone in the park to know I love you.”

  “I think they get it,” she said, and she gave the camera a funny little smile, one that Nick recognized from the mirror. He looked like her. He sounded like her. How the hell could Dad stand to be in his presence when Before had become After? “You’re going to get us in trouble. What are you going to do when the police come and ask about the crazy man with the camera?”

  “Noted,” Dad said. “Wouldn’t want the police. They’d just put you to work again.”

  Her smile faded. “I told you, Aaron. Today isn’t about that. I’m here, okay? You and me.”

  Dad sighed. “Yeah, I know. That was a shitty thing to say. Hey, I’m sorry.”

  Mom looked relieved. “And I accept your apology. Come on. Lie down with me. Let’s look at the clouds and see what we see.”

  And they did, though the camera shot never really left Mom’s face. They were speaking in low tones, saying that cloud looked like a dog, and that cloud looked like a dragon, see? There’s the tail. The wings. The head with the horns.

  “Nick?”

  He jerked his head back toward the hatch. Jazz was climbing up into the attic, a concerned expression on her face. They both startled when a box near her suddenly jumped and fell over against the wall. “Uh,” she said, “that was weird. How did— Oh, Nicky. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  He reached up and touched his cheeks. His fingers came away wet. “Look,” he said in a choked voic
e. He turned back to the TV as Jazz moved toward him.

  She settled next to him on her knees just as Mom turned her face toward the camera. Her eyes were bright and knowing. “This is a good day,” she whispered.

  “The best,” Dad whispered back.

  “Is that—” Jazz leaned forward, face inches from the screen. “That’s your mom.”

  Nick nodded dumbly.

  “She looks like I remember,” Jazz said quietly as she sat back on her legs. “Maybe a little younger, but almost the same.”

  “I’ve never seen this before,” Nick said dully. “Dad never told me.”

  Jazz took his hand in hers. “Maybe he forgot.”

  Nick shook his head. “The screen was recently cleaned. I think—I think he comes up here and watches this.” He waved his hand toward the box next to the TV. “There are more tapes in there.”

  She frowned as Nick’s mom and dad whispered back and forth. “Why wouldn’t he tell you about these?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She squeezed his hand.

  Secrets. It felt like more secrets.

  The video lasted a few minutes more before the screen once again turned blue. He hit the fast-forward button, but nothing else came up.

  He could’ve left it there. He could’ve turned off the television and gone back down the ladder and done what Dad had asked him to do. Later, when Dad came home, he’d tell him what he’d found, and maybe he’d be a little pissed off, but he’d give Dad the benefit of the doubt. This tape was innocent. Maybe the rest weren’t, and Nick didn’t want to see things he shouldn’t. If they were private, then Nick needed to respect that. Dad was allowed to have his own way of coping with his grief.

  Except …

  This was his mother.

  Nick ejected the tape and set it on top of the TV. He grabbed the box, pulling it toward him as Jazz peered over his shoulder. He riffled through the tapes, not knowing what he was looking for. Unmarked. Unmarked. Unmarked. All of them were unmarked. He was about to pick one off the stack he’d made next to them when he saw a flash of white near the bottom of the box. He pulled the tape out.

  There, across the front, was a label. And on this label, written in her familiar messy scrawl, were two words:

  the truth

  A little voice in the back of his head whispered he should stop while he still could, that whatever was on this tape could only lead to him hurting more than he already was. He barely noticed when the bulb above them flared, Jazz tilting her head back and murmuring, “These power surges. I don’t know why they keep happening in your neighborhood.”

  He pushed the tape into the TV.

  Mom appeared on-screen, her face close as she adjusted the camera. The date blinked at the bottom. It took Nick a moment to place when this was. She and Dad would have still been in school. Their last year, maybe. Or second to last. Not married yet. It’d be a few more years before that happened.

  He didn’t recognize where she was. It looked like the living room of a small apartment. She frowned as she fiddled with the camera again, her light hair falling on her shoulders. She huffed out a breath of air, causing her bangs to flutter. She stood upright, taking steps back until she was standing in front of the camera. She wore jeans and a white shirt covered in cerulean blue stars. Her feet were bare.

  “Okay,” she said. “It’s time. I’ve thought this through. I hope.” She shook her head. “They’ll be here in a minute, so I’ve got to be sure.” She wiggled her shoulders as she took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m so scared. I hope they see past that for what this is.” She gnawed a thumbnail before wringing her hands. “I can’t do this on my own anymore.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Jazz whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Nick said. “Maybe she’s—”

  On the television, a doorbell chimed. “Coming!” Mom shouted, stepping off-screen. An awful paisley couch lined the wall behind her, and Nick laughed wetly at the Backstreet Boys poster hanging above it. At least he knew where he got his taste for terrible music.

  Other voices spoke, but they were low and Nick couldn’t pick out the words. Shadows played along the walls and floor from the afternoon sunlight. Nick thought there were two more people coming into the apartment.

  Mom reappeared first, looking nervous. She was smiling, but the edges of it curled down, as if her mouth couldn’t support the weight of it. “Stop it with that look. I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t,” Dad said, and Nick knew that tone. Dad had been thinking exactly that. “But even if you were, we’d deal with it together.” Dad moved into view, shoulders stiff, a worried look on his face. His hair was longer, hanging almost to his shoulders. He looked barely older than Nick did, skinny and awkward.

  Mom snorted as she shoved him onto the couch. “‘Deal with it.’ Just what every girl wants to hear.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Dad protested feebly. He looked off-screen. “Tell her.”

  Another voice spoke, causing Nick’s blood to turn to ice. “He didn’t mean it like that. But I’ll admit I was thinking it, too, and I didn’t want to be here for that conversation. I get that we’re best friends, but I don’t think I’m ready to be an uncle yet.”

  “That’s how it works, man,” Dad said as Simon Burke appeared on-screen. He moved through the room as if he’d been there countless times, kicking off his shoes and settling on the couch next to Dad, slinging an arm over his shoulders. He looked so much like Owen that Nick couldn’t do anything but breathe through the storm in his head.

  “Nicky,” Jazz whispered. “Maybe we shouldn’t be watching this.”

  Nick ignored her, glaring at Burke as he smiled at Mom. “Okay, you’re not pregnant. That’s good. It means Aaron remembered to wrap it, like I told him to. Still doesn’t explain why we’re here.” His gaze drifted until it settled on the camera. He squinted at it. “Are you recording this?”

  Mom nodded as Dad craned his neck around her to see what Burke was looking at. “For posterity. And I have a feeling you’re going to want to watch it after I’m done.”

  “Done with what?” Dad asked, pushing Burke’s arm off him. “What’s going on, Jenny? You’re starting to freak me out.”

  She fidgeted, moving like she didn’t know how to stop. Nick was struck once again by how he took after her. She couldn’t keep still, and Nick thought it was more than just nerves. What if she’d been like him? ADHD was genetic, right?

  “Okay,” Mom said. “I’m going to show you something, and you’ll have a billion questions, but I ask that you … wait until I’m done. I don’t have anyone else I trust that I can show this to. I didn’t get a chance to talk about it with Mom before she died, and Dad’s been gone for years, so no help there.”

  Dad paled. “Are you sick?”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t like the day in the park in their future. It was fragile and soft, like she was scared. “No. Not—not in the way you’re thinking. It’s nothing bad, but some might see it that way, which is why I’ve kept this to myself for as long as I have.”

  “What is it?” Burke asked. “Jenny, you can tell us anything. We’re here for you.”

  “I know,” Mom said, glancing over her shoulder at the camera. “And that’s why I asked you both to come here today. Aaron, because I love you and this might affect you, too, one day, if we decide to have a family. Simon, because I need your brain. You’re smart, and if anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”

  Burke arched an eyebrow, and Nick wanted to smash his face in. “Consider my interest piqued.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Just … hold on.” She stepped off-screen once more, Dad’s and Burke’s gazes following her. She reappeared only a moment later, holding a clear plastic cup filled with what looked like water. She set it down on the cheap coffee table in front of the couch. The two men leaned forward with interest, Burke’s gaze narrowing as he stared at the cup, Dad looking
up from the table at Mom, confused. Mom took a step back from the table so the camera had a clear view. She said, “You might want to sit back,” as she raised her right hand, palm outstretched toward the cup.

  Dad did so immediately. Burke hesitated but followed suit.

  “What’s she doing?” Jazz asked as a buzzing noise began to fill Nick’s ears.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Like, a magic trick? She’s—”

  The cup shook slightly as if someone had kicked the table, the water rippling.

  Dad’s eyes bulged. “What was that? An earthquake? I felt it in the couch. Jenny, you—”

  “Hush,” she said. “I need to focus.” She crooked her fingers like little claws before taking a deep breath, letting it out slow. The cup twitched before rising off the table in midair, spinning end over end without spilling any water. It lowered back to the table. Her fingers twitched as her brow furrowed. Instead of the cup lifting off the table once more, the water did, rising like it was sentient, limbs reaching out and gripping the edge of the cup. The water—the goddamn water—pulled itself out of the cup, quivering but holding together. The glass toppled over, but the water didn’t spill and splash out. It formed a small translucent ball, glittering in the sunlight pouring in from a window out of sight.

  The water ball began to stretch until it was at least a foot long, a thin strand whose surface rippled like a rock thrown into a pond.

  “Oh my god,” Dad and Nick breathed at the same time.

  Mom glanced back at the camera again, a trickle of sweat sliding down her cheek. When she looked back at the water, the ends of the strand connected, forming a circle. It widened as it moved above her. She lowered her hand, the circle descending until it passed her head, her shoulders, her arms, her chest to her waist. She shimmied her hips a little, and the water bounced back and forth, wetting her shirt slightly when it touched her.

  “A hula hoop,” she said. “Funny, right?”

  Dad gaped at her. “Funny? Funny? Jenny, what the hell? How are you doing this?”

  Burke didn’t look away from the sight in front of him. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. Nick didn’t like the expression on his face. It was off, somehow, and hungry. “Psychokinesis. Telekinesis. The same thing, for all intents and purposes.”