Free Vacant by Alex Hughes Page B

never would have seen the vision in the first place.
    The judge was still hesitating.
    Just then, her son opened the door on the other side of Loyola.
    He came out and after a small hesitation went over to hug his mom.
    She looked at me over the top of his head. In that moment, I had her. She’d go along with it. Which was good, because I had to figure out a hell of a lot of other details, and soon, if was going to head off this vision.
    Tommy pulled away. “What’s going on, Mom?” He tried to figure out how to ask about the danger returning, about what had happened to Jason, and couldn’t . . . couldn’t quite get his brain to settle on the tangle of what had happened in a way that would give him words.
    â€œDo you know what a telepath is?” I asked him.
    He looked up and nodded, slowly, still a lot closer to his mom than he would have stood under any other circumstances. I had the feeling he was a tough guy, usually. But the events of this morning would bother grown men, and he deserved truth, not babying.
    â€œI’m here to help stop this morning from happening again,” I said, addressing his unspoken fear. “Agent Loyola and I are going to be making sure you don’t get hurt.”
    His anger flared. “Like those punks could have hurt me.” All bravado, hiding fear.
    Fear I understood. “Would you take my hand for just a minute?” I asked. “You’ll feel a tickle in your head for a bit. I’ll be able to find you anywhere.”
    I held out a hand.
    He looked at me, then at Mom. The judge nodded. She wasn’t happy, but she was going along with this.
    Tommy reached out and took my hand.
    Three things happened at once. I reached out my mind and enveloped his carefully. It was instinct. It was something I’d rehearsed in my mind so that the fulfillment of it took little thought. My mind settled like a blanket around him.
    The second thing, he reacted like a prototelepath, like a boy who’d develop significant, reliable Ability—empathy, perhaps, or telepathy—in just a year or two. He moved away from the contact, and then, suddenly, unpredictably, toward it. Our minds merged around the edges.
    And three, my mind recognized him. On the deepest, most visceral level, I recognized his mind. This—this was the boy from my vision. The boy who would be tied up in the barn. The boy whom I’d seen killed in the vision months ago. I was certain. I knew him.
    Before I could suppress the information, it traveled between us. I saw the moment it registered—and fear, real fear, blossomed.
    *   *   *
    â€œWe have a problem,” I told Jarrod. Tommy was back in his room, unwilling to speak to anyone, and his mom was with him. I had no idea if anyone would let me near him, not after the hysterics he’d thrown. But at least he was calmer—I knew that much through our light link. Unfortunately I had the impression the calm was the calm before the storm, the suppressed disbelief that would wear off over time to lead to more hysterics.
    â€œSpecial Agent Jarrod,” I said. I felt beat up, and guilty. I’d screwed this up already.
    â€œOne second.” Jarrod was fidgeted with some kind of electronics board with his left hand, his right holding upone side of a large set of headphones to one ear as he listened to something. One of the household phones was off the hook, its cord plugged into his board.
    I probably should have been concerned; there was a reason normals (and Guild) feared computer technology since the Tech Wars had used the computers to bring the world to its knees. For that matter, I probably should have been more upset that this particular machine was powerful enough, had enough electromagnetic field to it, to change the waves in Mindspace in subtle ways. It would affect my concentration, my ability to see trouble coming. I should probably be campaigning for him to turn whatever