Free Weavers by Aric Davis Page B

arms as she grabbed at them—strong enough to feel but not painful for her—and with concentration, Cynthia discovered they could be parted. Watching Linda as she worked, Cynthia could see the woman’s face twitching slightly, even as nonsensical thoughts burned through Cynthia’s mind. / Get out, bitch / Just leave us here / We’ve got this figured out / He doesn’t need you or the brat to be happy / He just needs me /
    Cynthia gasped. The thoughts in her head were poison, and the electricity on her hands now felt like thrumming tar. Cynthia tried to pull herself free, but it wasn’t possible. She was stuck in the knot as sure as if it were a tangible thing, and then she began to scream. The knot turned pitch black, sending black threads toward all three of the adults, and then all of them were screaming together. Cynthia heard what sounded like static electricity and then a sound like a balloon popping. The threads fell away from her, even as the screams became louder, and then the knot roared toward her, and Cynthia fell into the black.

CHAPTER 13
    Darryl laid his hands on the keyboard and took a deep breath. He felt alive, connected, and he hadn’t even begun to reach out yet. Going without booze for a few days sucked, but this moment was always the same—he felt pure and alive—and though he knew the feeling would die, it made him wonder why he covered this with booze. This was his gift, what he was meant to do, and he willingly buried it under alcohol.
    “Do you want me to help you get started?” Terry asked from across the room, but the words may as well have come from across Texas.
    “No,” said Darryl as he began to type. Terry had showed him how to enter live chat rooms, and Darryl found himself entering one that was supposed to offer conversation about a game called Resident Evil . Not that it mattered. Darryl couldn’t have cared less about the game or what other users had to say about it.
    It only took a few moments for Darryl to connect. There was a user in the chat room named JVTINE911, and Darryl let his mind wander until he could make a connection. He was used to seeing the threads and working amongst them, but this was different. He was with JVTINE911, but stuck inside of the teenage boy’s head inside of his room. Darryl knew nothing about the boy and then everything in an instant. His name was Bryce Rucker, he was in tenth grade, and he loved his PlayStation. Bryce had never kissed a girl, was smoking the occasional cigarette, and had masturbated twice in the boys’ locker room at school. Bryce’s dad was a lawyer with the Crawford and Crawford firm in Phoenix, where their family lived, and Bryce’s mother was a homemaker. Dad worked too much, Mom tried too hard, and Bryce was spoiled and lonely.
    As disconnected as he felt from them, Bryce still knew a great deal about his mother and father. As he began to type on his keyboard, blood started to pour from his left nostril, but Bryce made no effort to wipe it away. Threads of pure amber spilled from his head and his fingertips, all of them brushing over the keyboard and screen of his computer, but the only things Bryce was moving were his fingertips. He was a zombie, a sight that would have made his mother scream and dial 911, but Bryce was hard at work. Despite the fact Bryce felt like he didn’t know his parents very well, his father’s online banking security information collapsed at his fingertips.
    Darryl knew he was shitstomping the kid, but he didn’t care; he couldn’t care. Bryce was a victim of circumstance, nothing more and nothing less. He had no aura, no ability to protect himself from someone, like Darryl, who could bend him. It was perfect and couldn’t have been any easier if Darryl had held a gun to his head. The kid knew everything that Darryl needed, and in just forty-five minutes the work was done.
    Darryl gave Bryce one last push, a hard one, before leaving, and though he didn’t hear the gunshot, he knew what