13
Nathaniel
The regret hits when I’m lying in bed that night. I’ve made a mistake. It’s well after midnight but sleep evades me as it always does when my mind starts to whir like this. I need to evolve past needing sleep to survive. Or maybe learn to thrive on only a few hours. That would be a cool superpower.A superpower. Julia has a superpower and this discombobulating fact still bounces around my brain like a photon.
What if there are others like her? Statistically, it’s more than likely. What she showed me was more than just a trick of light. There was a lot of light, but no tricks. What if there are a ton of people out there that have real abilities and we just don’t know? I could easily see how, if a government knew about people like Julia, they would want to keep it secret or worse—capitalize upon it.
A new sort of dread seeps in. What if she really does hurt people, even by accident, and me knowing and not doing anything is considered some sort of criminal activity?
“Oh God,” I groan and stretch to lay on my back.
The streetlights outside my window streak across my ceiling, the lights flashing with the occasional passing car. The longer I’m away from Julia, the more worries seep in. There are more variables I didn’t consider in my excitement. I still can’t believe I offered to let her into the top-secret room of the testing facility. I could already be fired for what I did. I risked the whole project—and my team—because I was briefly enamored by something I’ve never seen before.
But how could I learn about Julia’s abilities and just let that go? Lethergo? She seems so eager to not carry this burden alone. She was quite literally lit up with joy just talking about it. Even though I don’t like keeping things from the team, I have a responsibility to help her. Maybe one day the team will understand. Maybe they could help, with Julia’s permission.
I decide first thing on Monday, I’m going to talk to her more about the testing. She’s right. I don’t have time to delve into something this huge. But I can’t ignore the fact that she is somehow connected to the failing tests, and isn’t that my top priority? Thoughts battle in my brain and there is no clear, right answer. That, above all, scares me. Things are rarely black and white. Just points of views and a cultural history backing it up. Every choice you make as an adult is nothing but shades of a sunset, each color merging into the next.
I committed a security infraction for the first time in my professional career. What if somebody saw? What if they are watching, whoever “they” are?
There’s a bang outside of my house. I jump out of bed. “Shit!”
It’s the FBI and they’re here for me.
A second later I banish the idea as rationality overcomes my racing heart. It’s probably my brother who often stops over at random times throughout the night.
I toss on a shirt and basketball shorts and shuffle to the door, turning on the hall light as I go. Outside, Lincoln’s tossing a basketball in the hoop on the small asphalt patch next to my driveway. His hood is pulled up over his head.
I steal the ball and the shot arcs perfectly through the air. “Nothing but net,” I say.
“Wow. The NBA should draft you,” he says dryly as he reclaims the ball.
I can’t see him in the dark; the floodlight only hides his face in shadow under his hood. The relief that he showed up to distract me from my thoughts is quickly replaced by concern for why he is here. He isn’t ready to talk so we play one-on-one for a while. He’s much better than me. He may be better than I was when I was his age. It isn’t long until my hip starts to ache.
“Let’s get some water,” I say.
“Sure.” His tone is light but as soon as we get inside, I say, “Stop.”
He stills in the hallway, his back to me. “It’s fine,” he mumbles.
“Show me.”
He sighs like the teenager he actually is and not the adult I’m constantly forgetting he’s not yet.
“It’s not so bad. He got me before I was fully awake but I got out of there as soon as he touched me,” Lincoln says.
He turns slowly but his face is still in shadow. I start to shake with worry.
“Lincoln,” I rasp his name as a plea.
He pushes the hood back.
I suck in a breath at his bleeding, split lip. He turns his face away, a scowl sharpening his features. Pain and rage and regret flood me until my lungs can’t suck in a breath. The powerlessness overtakes me.
“That son of a … I’m going to fucking kill him.” Immediately I hate that violence is my first thought. I am better than that man. To me, male power wielded over those physically weaker is the ultimate sign of a coward. But seeing my brother hurt, fantasies of walking into my father’s home and actually killing him burn my brain.
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I pull him in for a tight hug.
He flinches and stiffens. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to touch him but he needs to feel love from someone. I pull him in tighter. After a minute, he rests his forehead on my shoulder and takes a deep shuddering breath in. He’s so big now. He’s so much more a man than I was at his age and yet my father can still do this to him. Fathers have power over their sons, and they can use it in the worst ways. Generation after generation of old hurts causing new ones.
