When Beth Wakes Up Read online

  “Hey,” I answered. “I was just about to call. I wanted to tell you—”

  “Are you busy?” she interrupted.

  “Not particularly. Why?”

  “It’s Katie,” she said. “There was an incident at school. Her principal wants to see the three of us this afternoon.”

  “What happened?”

  She sighed. “Apparently she heard another student call her a ‘bitch’ and shoved her into a locker. A teacher broke it up before it got bad.”

  “Did the student call her a ‘bitch’?”

  “I don’t know. There were several students around that didn’t hear her say it. According to them, Katie walked up out of nowhere and pushed her.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Katie. The other students are probably ganging up against her.”

  “Or…” she paused for a moment. “It could be that the student just thought it and didn’t actually say it out loud.”

  “But how is that possible? She—”

  I stopped and nearly dropped the phone. There are many “firsts” in a child’s life that a parent never forgets. Her first word. The first time she walks. Even the first time she slams her door in your face because she doesn’t get to go to a friend’s house even though the whole school is going. One “first” that most normal parents never experience, however, is when she reads someone’s mind for the first time because her psychic father passed on the ability to her.

  “I’m sure there’s another explanation,” I said, trying to deny it.

  “Let’s hope so,” she said. “Can you be at the school at three thirty?”

  “Yeah,” I said, quietly wishing that the other students were just jerks.

  “Good. Barbara’s covering my afternoon duty, so I can go. What were you trying to say earlier?”

  “It can wait,” I told her. “Let’s get Katie sorted out first.”

  I left a short while later and was in my car on the way to Frederickson Junior High. I’d been there many times to pick Katie up after school. Before that, I used to pick her up at her elementary school and she’d go on and on about her day, barely leaving me a second to get a word in edgewise. Now, she’d just sit in the back seat with a singular vocabulary. “Did you have a good day?”

  “No.”

  “Did something bad happen?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know any words other than ‘no’?”

  “No.”

  When I arrived at the school, Jessica was already in the parking lot. As soon as I pulled up next to her car, she got out and gave me a little frown through the passenger window. She always made that face when there was something potentially wrong. Every time I saw it, I’d have given anything to see it curl up into a smile. I put the car in park and got out to meet her.

  We went inside together and checked in at the front office. The secretary had us sit down and wait. It reminded me of times I went to the principal’s office as a kid and had to wait. That was always the worst part. Once you got in, he gave you a scolding or called your parents then it was over. It was the anticipation that drove you mad as the loudest wall clock in the world slowly ticked the minutes away above your head.

  It wasn’t long, however, before Katie came into the office and plopped down in the seat across from us. She was wearing her gym clothes, a t-shirt with Frederick Junior High on it and a pair of shorts that in my opinion needed a couple more inches. She slammed her books on the floor and crossed her arms without acknowledging us.

  “Good to see you too, peanut,” I said.

  “This is so stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She didn’t even get hurt.”

  “Well, she could have,” Jessica piped in. “You can’t just go around pushing people.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t go around calling people a ‘bitch’ either.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Jessica told her. “Your father and I are very disappointed.” She nudged me. “Right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Very disappointed. You can’t let people push your buttons. It’s—”

  Before I could finish, the principal, Mr. Gladwell, stepped out of his office and cleared his throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Crawford,” he said. “You may come in now.”

  We all stood up and followed him in. His office was a standard size with framed college diplomas on the wall next to a signed picture of him with a hockey player. There were three little chairs across from his plush desk chair. He motioned for us to sit and closed the door behind him. Jessica and I sat but Katie stayed standing.

  “Sit down, young lady,” Jessica told her.

  “Fine,” she said and took the seat on the end.

  Mr. Gladwell sat at his desk and leaned forward. “Thank you for agreeing to see me today,” he said. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “Well, we can assure you it won’t happen again,” Jessica began.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Normally this sort of thing requires the student to be suspended but if Katie were willing to apologize—”

  “I’m not apologizing to her!” Katie cut him off. “If anything, she needs to apologize to me!”

  “Katie, that’s enough!” Jessica told her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gladwell. She’s not normally like this.”

  He held his hand up. “No need to apologize,” he said. “Kids at this age can be tenacious.” He glanced at me then back at Jessica. “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can,” he added, holding his gaze on Jessica a moment longer.

  “Gross!” Katie blurted out.

  “What is wrong with you?!” Jessica asked her.

  “It’s not me!” She pointed to Mr. Gladwell. “It’s him! He just said he wants to see you naked! You didn’t hear that?!”

  Mr. Gladwell blushed. “I said no such thing!”

  “Yes, you did!” Katie shouted. “You didn’t hear that?!” she asked Jessica.

  “No,” Jessica replied, turning toward me with the same half-frown from earlier.

  “Dad?!” Katie said pleadingly.

  I checked Mr. Gladwell’s thoughts to confirm and he was, in fact, frantically attempting to erase images of Jessica unbuttoning her blouse from his mind and replace them with images of an older woman who I assumed to be his grandmother. I sighed. I really didn’t want this for Katie. There were already enough issues to overcome during adolescence. Thinking that you’re hearing voices shouldn’t be one of them.

  “Mr. Gladwell,” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “It seems to me that my daughter is going through quite a bit of stress. Junior high can do that to you. I’m sure you understand.”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course,” he said, trying to maintain professionalism.

  “I wonder if you wouldn’t consider allowing my wife and me to address the matter ourselves at home. We assure you that it won’t happen again.”

  I wanted to add “you horny bastard” but that would’ve blown his mind even more and, frankly, he was already looking discombobulated. He paused for a moment, allowing more time for the images of the older woman to dominate his thoughts. And then they disappeared completely, leaving a relatively blank slate in his mind that made him only slightly less embarrassed.

  “That will be fine,” he said, no longer making eye contact with any of us. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a meeting I have to attend.”

  Katie hopped out of her seat and was out the door. Jessica and I went after her, finally catching up with her in the front of the school. She was sitting on a bench near the parking lot, wiping tears away. It reminded me of the time we were at the park and she fell and hurt her knee. I sat next to her and put my arm around her, but she pushed it away.

  “Everyone thinks I’m crazy,” she said.

  “You’re not crazy,” Jessica said, standing nearby. “Your father has the same thing.”

  Katie looked at me with pleading eyes. “What is she talking about?” she asked.

  “I have a lot to tell you,” I said, trying to break it to her slow
ly. “For now, just trust us. What you’re going through can be explained.”

  “Why don’t we all go home and talk?” Jessica suggested.

  Katie nodded and got up from the bench. She walked toward the parking lot and Jessica followed closely behind. I started to go after them when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I looked at the display screen and saw a number I hadn’t seen in eight years. It was one I hoped I would never see again. Agent Charles Linden of the FBI.

  Chapter Three

  I had worked with Agent Linden several years earlier on a case involving a highly delusional serial killer and was still recovering from the effects it had on my psyche, not to mention my family. I hesitated before answering and, despite Jessica impatiently beckoning me toward the parking lot, clicked the “Talk” button on my cell phone and waved them to go on ahead.

  “Hello, Agent Linden,” I said.

  “How have you been, Max?” he asked.

  “Busy,” I said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Cutting right to the chase,” he said coyly. “I always liked that about you, Max. I need your help. There’s a woman someone tried to murder and you’re the only one that might be able to get some answers.”

  “I’m sure you have plenty of qualified people that could interview her. Why me?”

  “Because she’s in a coma. She was severely beaten, but, as fate would have it, didn’t die.”

  “Jesus. Is she going to recover?”

  “They’re not sure at this point, but, God forbid, she doesn’t, we’re going to need to act quickly. I thought maybe you could get inside her head and find out who did it to her.”

  “Who is this woman?”

  “I can only disclose if you’re going to commit. I know about the prison, Max. I’m sorry.”

  “Apparently word gets around pretty quickly,” I said, smiling at Jessica and holding up a finger to indicate “one more minute.” “Look, I’ll have to call you back, okay? Things are kind of hectic right now.”

  “Of course,” he said. “You have my number. Just let me know as soon as you decide. She may not have much time left.”

  After I got off the phone, I went home, and Jessica and I had a long talk with Katie at our kitchen table. She listened avidly as we explained the nature of psychic phenomena, how I’d discovered I had abilities at a younger age than her and detailed the work I’d been doing at the prison since she was a kid. Expecting a myriad of questions afterwards, Katie started with one that a lot of teenagers would’ve probably asked.

  “Can I move shit with my mind?” she inquired excitedly.

  “Katie!” Jessica scolded her. “Watch your language!”

  “What?!” Katie acted innocent. “It’s a fair question!”

  “No,” I answered. “You can’t move things with your mind.”

  “Well, that sucks,” she said. “What about controlling other people’s thoughts?!”

  “Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m afraid that’s off the table as well.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “So, then what’s the point?! I just have to hear what other people are thinking and do nothing?!”

  “Well…” I continued. “We were hoping you might use it for something good one day.”

  “Like your father,” Jessica interjected.

  “Booooring,” she said and got up from the table. “This is a lot to process. May I please be excused?”

  “Of course,” I said. “But if you have any more questions—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “I’ll come and ask you guys.”

  She took off toward her room. I watched as she cut through the living room and down the hallway. I’d seen her scamper off in that direction many times before, only now she was taller and a whole lot sassier. Jessica sighed and got up from her chair. She moved to the counter near the sink and turned on the coffee pot. She took a bag of French roast out of a cabinet directly above her head.

  “You never used to drink coffee,” I commented.

  “Gotta keep up with the five-year-olds,” she said.

  Teaching hadn’t aged Jessica a bit. She was still as beautiful as the day we met, unaffected by the passage of time and its many tolls. I, on the other hand, seemed to find a new wrinkle every time I looked in the mirror. I watched dazedly as she made coffee, her shapely figure filling out a long, flowing, flowery dress. She seemed out of place in our mundane kitchen.

  “They’re shutting the program down at the prison,” I announced matter-of-factly. “In one week, I’ll be out of a job.”

  She turned away from the coffee pot and looked at me. “Oh, Max. I’m sorry. I know how much it meant to you.”

  I shrugged. “I did it for fourteen years,” I said. “Maybe it’s time to do something different.”

  “Well, it’s not like we need the money,” she said. “We’ve saved so much over the years you could practically retire.”

  “Or…” I began. “I could work in another capacity.”

  “Like what?” she said, sitting down at the table across from me.

  “That call earlier…it was Agent Linden.”

  “Oh, Jesus. Him again? What did he want?”

  “He wants me to help him with a case. A woman was badly beaten and is now in a coma.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “He wants me to enter her mind and find out who did it,” I continued.

  “Have you ever gone into a coma patient’s mind before? I thought you only did dreams.”

  I shook my head. “It might not even work, but, if there’s a chance, it may be worth a shot.”

  “Okay, but does it have to be with him? The last time things got pretty ugly. I don’t want any of us to have to go through that again.”

  “And we wouldn’t. Look, I don’t like him either. But what good is having psychic abilities if I don’t use them to help somebody?”

  She reached out and took my hand. “You know I’ll support you no matter what you decide,” she said. “I just want you to be careful.”

  What I hadn’t told Jessica was that I had entered one of the inmates’ minds during a moment of unconsciousness outside of normal sleep. His name was Arnold Greasey and he had been incarcerated for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. One day, I was walking through the prison grounds when Arnold and another prisoner got into an argument over a third prisoner and which of them he “belonged to.” The argument escalated into violence when the second inmate knocked Arnold to the ground and proceeded to ram his head into concrete repeatedly.

  By the time the guards intervened, Arnold wasn’t moving. They pulled the other inmate off him and dragged him away. After contacting the infirmary to come and get Arnold, I leaned down beside him and checked his vitals. He was still breathing, albeit shallowly, and his heartbeat was steady. I said his name several times and asked if he could hear me, but he was unresponsive.

  A small crowd had gathered at that point and, once the medic arrived, Arnold was laid out on a stretcher. I helped take him to the infirmary and stood by as a doctor and nurse did what they could to help him. His heartbeat suddenly slowed, and the doctor and nurse acted more quickly. Wanting to help in some way, I entered Arnold’s mind while they were occupied to wake him up from inside.

  Once in his mind, however, I found myself in a dark room surrounded by what seemed like thousands of luminescent butterflies. They swarmed around me and picked me up off the ground. As we ascended toward the ceiling of the room, I noticed my reflection in one of their wings. I was no longer myself. I was Arnold Greasey. Seconds later, I was jolted out of Arnold’s mind and back into the infirmary. Despite the doctors’ and nurses’ efforts, Arnold was dead.

  After that, I developed an interest in the mind moments before death. I didn’t get another opportunity to experience it firsthand but researched it quite a bit. I discovered there were more questions than answers, not to mention the fact there was no way to follow up with a subject once he was gone, and decide
d to move on to something more accessible. When Linden called about the coma patient, my interest was piqued once again. Obviously, I didn’t want the woman to die but couldn’t help but wonder what I might uncover in such a state.

  Katie abruptly appeared in the kitchen. “I have more questions,” she said with a serious look on her face. “Can I turn it off?” she asked.

  “No,” I told her honestly. “But you will learn to control it so that it doesn’t control you.”

  She nodded. “Can I tell my friends?”

  “Definitely not,” Jessica answered. “This doesn’t leave this room, okay?”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “I’m not kidding, Katie. If the public finds out, they’d never leave us alone. Your father only let the CIA know and, thank God, we’ve been able to keep it a secret this long. Promise us you won’t say anything to anyone.”

  “I promise,” she said with the same innocent look on her face she had when she was four and promised she wouldn’t take cookies from the pantry without asking. She plopped down in a chair between us at the table. “What’s for dinner?” she asked nonchalantly.

  A short while later, I stepped out and into our backyard and called Linden. He was, as I expected, stingy with the details. The woman, Beth Martin, had spent the weekend in rural Kentucky at her parents’ house and was driving back home to Louisville late at night. A truck driver noticed her abandoned car on the side of the road and called the police. Her parents and fiancé were contacted, and, after an exhaustive search of the surrounding area, she was found lying unconscious in a field a half a mile from where her vehicle was discovered.

  “Did anybody see anything?” I asked.

  “Nope,” replied Linden. “It all happened on a farm road in the middle of the night. There was no one around.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “Her purse was missing from the car,” he answered. “According to her parents, she didn’t carry cash around with her, so it was mainly credit cards and a few makeup items.”