“Fatima says we need to keep an eye on him,” Sasha’s saying as I get ready to turn the corner.

I was late leaving gym because I couldn’t find my clothes again. I know that’s courtesy of Mateo and Pace. Immature pranks from seniors who think they’re better than me. You’d think they’d give up by now, but I’m thinking that maybe they need a bigger reason to stay away from me.

Anyway, I figure I’ve missed all the buses, so it’ll be walking for me. I’ve been doing much more of that lately. Walking from my house to Krystal’s, from my house to Sasha’s or down to the sub shop. Thing is, it’s not bothering me at all. Like I’ve got endless amounts of energy now just waiting to be used.

But I know that’s Sasha’s voice with just the barest hint of accent and once I hear the name “Fatima” it’s confirmed. But who are they talking about? And why wasn’t I invited to this little meeting?

“I don’t feel comfortable spying on him.” This is Krystal talking. I’d know her sweet voice anywhere. My body tenses automatically. Apparently it knows her voice as well.

“But it’s hunting him. It wants Jake. Did Fatima tell you why?”

Now that’s Lindsey and she sounds like she’s on the brink of crying. And she just said my name, said something’s hunting me. I should walk around the corner, break up their private little meeting, but I don’t. I press my back to the wall and keep listening.

“She just said this is a crucial time for Jake and for us. That we all have to be very careful of the choices we make because those choices will affect the overall outcome of this battle,” Sasha reports.

There’s a sigh but I can’t tell who it comes from.

“I’m beginning to feel like Jake here, I wish she’d just tell us everything and get it over with.”

“One thing I know that Fatima didn’t have to tell me is that there’s a lot of unrest in the Majestic,” Sasha offers.

“Who cares about what’s going on there?” Lindsey says. “I’m worried about the here and now. What’s happening with Jake is going to ultimately affect us. We’ve gotta do something.”

Krystal says, “I’m with you, Linds. We’ve got to help Jake.”

“We can’t interfere,” Sasha says.

It sounds like Sasha’s throwing me to the wolves. That thought stings a bit because Sasha and I have known each other the longest. We’ve been close for years. Then again, that Fatima chick’s got her so brainwashed lately.

“I won’t stand by and watch him be hurt,” Krystal says. “I don’t care what Fatima or anybody else says. I won’t do it.”

“Neither will I,” Lindsey says with conviction. “There’s gotta be a way we can stop what’s going on.”

I think it’s Sasha who huffs this time before saying, “We don’t even know exactly what’s going on. How do we stop it?”

Above, a flock of ravens swoops down to circle over their heads. I thought for a minute they were going to give me away, but they didn’t. They zoom right in on the girls, circling and squawking until the girls are running away screaming. When I figure they’re long gone I push from the wall and take a few shaky steps. I can’t believe they’re talking about me like I’m some outsider. Like I’m not a part of the Mystyx anymore.

Hurt and confusion quickly turn into anger, which simmers and boils inside me as I walk home.

How dare they leave me out of a discussion that’s clearly about me? And is Sasha now conferring with Fatima the witch woman about me? This is all bull! There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m the same Jake I’ve always been, with a few enhancements.

That’s it. The power.

They’re jealous because I obviously have more power than they do or ever will. All the way home my thoughts churn. Walking onto the first step in front of my house something pecks me on the shoulder. Looking over, I’m not startled or surprised.

They will never understand. You are not like them.

I’ve heard this before, but this time, I believe him.

I’m in the house maybe fifteen minutes before there’s a knock at the door. I hadn’t even made it up to my room yet, since I’d stopped by the kitchen for a snack. Now, I’m heading down the hall to answer the door.

Dad steps out from the living room, ahead of me, and gets to the door first. It’s not even five o’clock yet, what’s he doing home?

“Good evening, officers. Can I help you?” Dad says, opening the front door.

I’m standing behind him but I can see the two cops standing in the doorway looking at and around him. Spikes shiver along my spine as I stand a little straighter, waiting for what they’ll say.

“Can we come in?” one cop asks.

Dad nods and steps back to let them in. I fall a few steps behind him, still keeping my eye on the cops. Something tells me them being here is not a good thing.

The cops step inside and we all stand in the narrow hallway. “There have been some complaints about your son,” the cop with the long mustache that looks like it should be spit on and curled at the ends says to my dad. The other one looks like Butthead from the Beavis and Butthead cartoon.

Dad doesn’t even look at me. “What kind of complaints?”

“Vandalism for starters,” Officer Mustache says, peering over Dad’s shoulder to eye me. “Broken car windows, dismantled tires.”

I stare right back, fingers clenching at my sides.

He continues, “Assault and stalking as well.”

I was going to remain quiet, wait and see what they were accusing me of, then see how I was going to handle the situation. But now I can’t help yelling, “That’s a bunch of crap!”

Dad holds up his hand and my mouth clamps shut. “Who’s initiating these complaints?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Butthead finally speaks up.

“I say it does. If somebody’s accusing my boy of something I want to know who it is.”

“Why? So you can take matters into your own hands?” Mustache says taking a step closer to Dad. “We’re the only law in this town.”

Dad doesn’t back down.

Like father, like son, I guess.

“We have a right to know who’s accusing us of breaking the law.”

“There’s no ‘us,’ just your boy back there. He’s the troublemaker, as we hear it. We also got a tip he might know about that missing busload of people from a couple months back. So we’d just like to take him in for some questioning.”

“No,” Dad says.

I’m still reeling over the fact that they think I know about the missing kids from the bus. How would I know about that?

“If he ain’t guilty, then why can’t we question him?” Butthead asks, pulling his nightstick out of his holster.

My fingers are flexing at my sides. I don’t think he can see them because Dad’s in front of me, but man, I’d love to punch him just once.

“You come back with a warrant or a subpoena and we’ll get our lawyer and think about talking to you. Until that time stay away from my boy,” Dad told them in his taking-no-sh** voice.

He’s pissed, I can feel the anger rolling off him like big fat waves slapping against my face. I’m not too happy either. Pace and Mateo must have run to the police whining about what’s been going on between us. Funny how they start whining when I start fighting back. For as long as they’ve been picking on me, I’ve been taking it, not saying anything to anybody. Now, the big and bad seniors think they could just run to the cops and tell them everything. What a couple of punks!

Dad’s slamming the door as the cops just walked through it. But that was just after Butthead turned to give me a warning: “We’ll be watching you.”

Dad told him to get out. I wanted to tell him to go ahead, watch all you want, you’re not gonna like what you see. Because they’re definitely not. Pace and Mateo aren’t getting rid of me by reporting me to the cops. The next time I see them they’re gonna wish they’d never decided to mess with me.

“What’s going on?” Pop Pop says, coming down the hall.

He’s using his walker today instead of the wheelchair. I saw it in the corner of his room this morning and figured it was going to be a day he didn’t use it. He got in those moods sometimes, like he had to prove to us and himself that he could still get around without it. Today, however, he’s not proving a thing. He’s barely moving with this walker and leaning into it more than he should be. Come to think of it, he doesn’t look well. His face is all drawn and he looks pasty. When he talks his chapped lips stick together. I go into the kitchen, ignoring his question, to get him a cup of water.

“It’s those same boys, the ones that were bothering you in school. They’re the ones who sent the cops over here, aren’t they?”

Dad’s right behind me, helping Pop Pop and his walker so we’re all in the kitchen now. Everything he says is a question. He knows the answers but he’s putting them out there anyway.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Did something else happen other than them messing with you at school?”

I’m holding the glass to Pop Pop’s lips now, tilting it slowly so he can sip and it doesn’t run down his chin and the front of his shirt.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry when the police come knocking on my door asking questions about my son? Come on, Jake, this is serious. If there’s something I should know you need to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m dealing with the situation.”

“What’s the situation? If they’re bullying you then we’ll press charges.”

“No!” I say adamantly. “I don’t want the law involved, that’ll just give them something else to hang over my head. I’ll handle it on my own.”

“You know what happened to those kids on the bus,” Pop Pop starts talking. “He got to ’em. Needed their eyes so he could see everything that’s going on around here.”

“For Christ’s sake, stop talking about that stupid damned power!” Dad yells.

“Everything revolves around that damned power, Harry. You’ve known that all along. When he took Cecelia he said he’d have Jake one way or another. You knew this day was coming. Denying it doesn’t make it go away.”

“I don’t care what he wants, he’s not getting my son!”

“And I’m not going into a state of denial, nor am I going to cower from these bullies. I’m sick of living in this box, feeling like I’m not good enough to breathe the same air as them. I’m just as good as they are. I’m more powerful!” I yell.

Saying the tension in this room is thick is an understatement. Each man, three different generations of Kramers, are about to throw their own little temper tantrum right about now. But it’s way past time. We’ve walked around this house for years suppressing what we feel and what we think, it’s a wonder we don’t all have mental complexes.

“You are not to go near those boys, Jake,” Dad says slowly, his thick eyebrows drawing together to create that nasty unibrow. He’s really angry or really afraid, I can’t tell which one. But I’m really pissed off. I want Pace and Mateo to pay and it’s all I can think about.

“They get to do whatever they want, say what they want and nobody cares. But when I stand up for myself the cops want to come looking for me. Well, they know where I am, come and get me!”

“Jake,” Dad starts.

“It’s the darkness. He’s feeling it all over now,” Pop Pop says quietly.

“Stop it!” I yell in his direction. “Just stop telling me half of what I need to know. If some evil mojo wants to come and get me then just let him try it!”

I’m so angry right now. A part of me wants nothing more than to tear something up. Then another part, like it’s in the distance somewhere, is confused and wondering how I got to this place.

“Jakey boy,” Pop Pop says in a softer voice.

“This isn’t helping me. You aren’t helping me by trying to hold me back and not being honest with me.”

Both Dad and Pop Pop look totally stumped right now. They don’t know what to say to me or how to take this outburst. I want to explain, but don’t know that I can. So I storm out.

“They’ve got him, Harry. The dark’s got Jakey by the throat,” Pop Pop says, in a whisper.