I Am Number Four

I go straight to my room. I retrieve from my bag the piece of paper containing the phone number and address Henri gave me before leaving. I dial the number. A recording comes on. “I’m sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” I look down at the piece of paper and try the number again. The same recording.

“Shit!” I yell. I kick a chair and it sails across the kitchen and into the living room.

I walk into my room. I walk out. I walk back in again. I stare in the mirror. My eyes are red; tears have surfaced but none are falling. Hands shaking. Anger and rage and a terrible fear that Henri is dead consume me. I squeeze my eyes shut and squeeze all the rage into the pit of my stomach. In a sudden burst I scream and open my eyes and thrust my hands towards the mirror and the glass shatters though I am ten feet away. I stand looking at it. Most of the mirror is still attached to the wall. What happened at Sarah’s was no fluke.

I look at the shards on the floor. I reach a hand out in front of me and while concentrating on one particular shard, I try to move it. My breathing is controlled, but all the fear and anger remain within me. Fear is too simple a word. Terror. That is what I feel.

The shard doesn’t move at first, but then after fifteen seconds it begins to shake. Slowly at first, then rapidly. And then I remember. Henri said that it’s usually emotions that trigger Legacies. Surely that is what is happening now. I strain to lift the shard. Beads of sweat stand out on my forehead. I concentrate with everything that I have and everything that I am despite all that is going on. It’s a struggle to breathe. Ever so slowly the shard begins to rise. One inch. Two inches. It is a foot above the floor, continuing up, my right arm extended and moving with it until the shard of glass is at eye level. I hold it there. If only Henri could see this, I think. And in a flash, through the excitement of my newly discovered happiness, panic and fear return. I look at the shard, at the way it reflects the wood-paneled wall looking old and brittle in the glass. Wood. Old and brittle. And then my eyes snap open wider than they ever have before in all of my life.

The Chest!

Henri had said it: “Only the two of us can open it together. Unless I die; then you can open it yourself.”

I drop the shard and sprint from my bedroom into Henri’s. The Chest is on the floor beside his bed. I snatch it, run into the kitchen, and throw it on the table. The lock in the shape of the Loric emblem is looking me in the face.

I sit at the table and stare at the lock. My lip is quivering. I try to slow my breathing but it is useless; my chest is heaving as though I just finished a ten-mile sprint. I’m scared of feeling a click beneath my grip. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“Please don’t open,” I say.

I grab hold of the lock. I squeeze as tightly as I can, my breath held, vision blurry, the muscles in my forearm flexed and straining. Waiting for the click. Holding the lock and waiting for the click.

Only there is no click.

I let go and slouch in the chair and hold my head in my hands. A small glimmer of hope. I run my hands through my hair and stand. On the counter five feet away is a dirty spoon. I focus on it and sweep my hand across my body and the spoon goes flying. Henri would be so happy. Henri, I think, where are you? Somewhere, and still alive, too. And I’m going to come get you.

I dial Sam’s number, the only friend besides Sarah I’ve made in Paradise, the only friend I’ve ever had, if I’m to be honest. He answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I take a deep breath. The shaking has returned, if it ever left in the first place.

“Hello?” he says again.

“Sam.”

“Hey,” he says, then, “You sound like hell. Are you okay?”

“No. I need your help.”

“Huh? What’s happened?”

“Is there any way your mom can bring you over?”

“She’s not here. She’s working a shift at the hospital because she gets paid double time on holidays. What’s going on?”

“Things are bad, Sam. And I need help.”

Another silence, then, “I’ll get there as quickly as I can.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

I close my phone and drop my head to the table. Athens, Ohio. That is where Henri is. Somehow, some way, that is where I have to go.

And I need to get there fast.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WHILE I WAIT FOR SAM I WALK THROUGH THE house lifting inanimate objects up in the air without touching them: an apple from the kitchen counter, a fork in the sink, a small potted plant sitting beside the front window. I can only lift the small things, and they rise in the air somewhat timidly. When I try for something heavier—a chair, a table—nothing happens.

The three tennis balls Henri and I use for training sit in a basket on the other side of the living room. I bring one of them to me, and as it crosses his line of sight Bernie Kosar stands at attention. Then I throw it without touching it and he sprints after it; but before he can get to it, I pull it back, or when he does manage to get it, I pull it from his mouth, all while sitting in the chair in the living room. It keeps my mind from Henri, from the harm that may have found him, and from the guilt of the lies I’ll have to tell Sam.

It takes him twenty-five minutes to ride his bike the four miles to my house. I hear him ride up the drive. He jumps off of it and it crashes to the ground while he runs through the front door without knocking, out of breath. His face is streaked with sweat. He looks around and surveys the scene.

“So what’s up?” he asks.

“This is going to sound absurd to you,” I say. “But you have to promise to take me seriously.”

“What are you talking about?”

What am I talking about? I’m talking about Henri. He has disappeared because of carelessness, the same carelessness he has always preached against. I’m talking about the fact that when you had that gun on me, I told you the truth. I am an alien. Henri and I came to Earth ten years ago, and we are being hunted by a malicious race of aliens. I’m talking about Henri thinking that he could somehow evade them by understanding them a little more. And now he is gone. That is what I’m talking about, Sam. Do you understand? But no, I can’t tell him any of these things.

“My dad’s been captured, Sam. I’m not entirely sure by who, or what is being done to him. But something has happened, and I think he’s being held prisoner. Or worse.”

A grin spreads on his face. “Get out of here,” he says.

I shake my head and close my eyes. The gravity of the situation again makes it difficult to breathe. I turn and stare pleadingly at Sam. Tears well up in my eyes.

“I’m not kidding.”

Sam’s face becomes stricken. “What do you mean? Who has captured him? Where is he?”

“He tracked the writer of one of the articles in your magazine back to Athens, Ohio, and he went there today. He went there and he hasn’t come back. His phone is off. Something has happened to him. Something bad.”

Sam becomes more confused. “What? Why would he care? I’m missing something. It’s just some stupid paper.”

“I don’t know, Sam. He’s like you—he loves aliens and conspiracy theories and all that stuff,” I say, thinking quickly. “It’s always been a stupid hobby of his. One of the articles piqued his interest and I guess he wanted to know more, so he drove down.”

“Was it the article on the Mogadorians?”