Free The 6th Power by Justin David Walker Page A

objections. I lay in bed for a long time, staring at my ceiling. Eventually, fortunately, the pill wore off and the memories of the day diminished in intensity. Still, though my memory was bad on its own, it wasn’t like I was going to forget what had happened, about the mess that I had made. In more ways than one.
    Around about midnight, the minivan pulled back into the driveway. I peeked out the window in time to see Mom and Robert get out. Robert was wearing a set of hospital scrubs and was holding his stomach. He didn’t make much noise coming upstairs or going to his room.
    But at some point that night, he’d be coming to pound me. There was a part of me that felt that maybe, after what I’d done to my brothers, I deserved a pounding. Fortunately, my self-preservation outweighed my guilt. I pulled the little envelope out of my pants pocket and placed another pill under my tongue.
    There. When Robert came in, I’d be ready with some kind of power to defend myself. I got back in bed and waited. The memories of the mess I’d made of things came back, along with a desire to just clean it all up.
    Didn’t know how I could do that, of course. Mom was always cleaning stuff up. Cleaning the house. Cleaning the kids. Wash my face. Wash my hands. Use soap. Soap bubbles. Bubble bath. Kinda missed bubble baths. Purple soap, smelled like grapes. Purple bubble beard. Mom and I laughing. “Down the drain,” she’d sing as she’d dry me off. Jingle she’d written for work. “Use Bubble-Bubble and the dirt goes down the drain.”
    I flipped my pillow over, enjoying the cool side. It was getting warm at night. Warm. Hot. Fire. Fire cleanses things. Magellan’s yard was so bad, might just have to burn the place down. Get Human Torch over there. Flame on. Human Torch. Human Bubble. Use Human Bubble and the puke goes down the drain.
    I faded away with the warmth that spread through my body.
    Sometime later, I sneezed. The world around me rippled. I didn’t think I’d ever sneezed in a dream before. But surely I wasn’t awake, because I was surrounded on all sides by mountains of soap bubbles. The bubbles covered every surface of my room, stacked high, almost to the ceiling, glowing as they filtered the sunlight streaming in my windows. It was morning. It was morning and I wasn’t dead. It was morning and I was covered in bubbles. This dream was completely ridiculous. I didn’t know what Dad had put in that goulash, but something had set off my subconscious. I mean, even if this was real, if there had been some tragic accident with the washing machine in the basement and the house was flooded with suds, even if that could be true, there was no way in reality that the bubbles would be a deep shade of purple.
    Yeah. I wasn’t waking up.
    This wasn’t good. Not good at all. If my mother walked in and saw this… purple bubble-mountains majesty, she’d either kill me, ground me or have a heart attack. Probably all three. I had to get rid of it. Figure out how it got there later, get rid of it now. I leapt out of bed.
    Funny thing about soapy floors. They’re kinda slippery.
    I fell and was instantly buried under the ocean of purple foam. Unfortunately, despite their grape appearance, the bubbles tasted just like regular non-purple bubbles. What in the name of Irish Spring was going on? Did I make all of these bubbles? If so, how? I shook my head, spitting foam out of my mouth without much success. I needed water, not questions.
    I managed to get my feet underneath me and half-shuffled, half-slid my way to the door and eased it opened. All was clear. I heard Mom down in the kitchen with Kiki. Robert’s door was closed, which was good as the last thing I needed was for my brother to see me and let Mom know that a shampoo bomb had exploded in my room. Was that what this was? Did Robert somehow do this?
    Again, there wasn’t time for questions. I shuffled into the bathroom, trailing bubbles behind me. I looked in the mirror