False Positive Read online

  Kasumi couldn’t see over the aisles, she was only a touch over five feet, but she could see the woman’s face, and the taller woman apparently had a clear view of what was happening. The woman gave a yelp and dropped something that sounded like canned tuna or spaghetti.

  “You!” a man called somewhere near the front of the store. “Get over here. Now!”

  The woman shook her head and cold realization hit Kasumi, almost making her drop her cup of mixed soda.

  “Get over here or I swear I’ll blow his brains out!”

  The woman started to whimper. She looked to Kasumi for help, for support, for anything, but Kasumi stood frozen.

  The woman looked back to the registers when the man screamed out, “I won’t tell you again!” When the woman looked back, Kasumi was gone.

  By the time Kasumi worked her way to rear of the store, her back was drenched in sweat and her palms were as slippery as eels. The guy at the front hadn’t seen her, and if the woman kept her mouth shut, he would never know Kasumi was there.

  Side-stepping her way to the very first aisle, Kasumi carefully peeked around. Sure enough, some guy was holding up the place. And, like the guy had taken lessons from every B-movie ever made, he started to yell things like “Empty the cash register” and “Stay where I can see you.”

  If it wasn’t real, Kasumi would have laughed. Laughed and peed her pants, to be honest. She’d seen what bullets could do in real life. This wasn’t some movie. And as long as that guy had a gun, they were all in danger. Best thing to do was to hide. She wasn’t Dent. She had no desire to get shot. She slowly began to tuck her head back behind the aisle when she saw the small feet shuffling in front of the woman.

  Shit!

  The woman had a kid with her.

  Kasumi ducked away, her breath coming in rapid beats. What if the gunman decided he didn’t get enough money from the robbery? What if someone did something to piss him off? That young kid could get hurt.

  Kasumi may not be Dent, may not be able to calmly assess situations like this one and figure the best way to take out the bad guy, but she wasn’t helpless either. And she wasn’t about to let that young kid get hurt.

  Calming her breathing, she wiped her palms on her pants and shut her eyes. She fought the fear and the anger that was gripping her and forced them away as best she could. Her heart slowed a little and her back stopped dripping with sweat. Opening her eyes, she found a focus for her emotions. She couldn’t think like Dent, but she could sure as hell try to act as calm as he would in this situation.

  With an image of Dent in her mind, she stepped from behind the aisle, into plain view of the gunman and the guy behind the register. She walked forward, as casually as she could, though the sight of the gun as it glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the front windows almost made her lose her resolve. The guy behind the register noticed her first. A second later, the gunman swung her way, gun leading.

  The woman, who was in between Kasumi and the gunman, began to cry louder, and the gunman yelled at her to shut up. The woman pulled her kid in tighter to her body and the gun in the man’s hand shook as he bounced the barrel between sobbing woman and approaching Kasumi.

  “Stay right there!” he shouted at Kasumi, a touch of doubt in his voice.

  She almost did as he asked, but knew that wouldn’t save anyone. Straightening her back, she continued forward, though now a bit slower and with her palms out and to the side.

  He licked his lips over and over. “I swear to God if you don’t stop ….”

  Now she did, only six feet from him. Ignoring the gun, she looked into his eyes, all the while trying to pretend she was Dent. Calm Dent. Reassuring Dent. Unemotional, ever-practical Dent. She built those emotions up inside herself and then forced them out, letting them bleed into the mini-mart like the cool air from the air conditioning.

  “Nothing has to happen,” she said, surprised that her voice didn’t crack that much. “Everything will be okay.”

  “Wh-what?” the gunman stuttered. His gun was still pointed her way, though it did look like it started to lower.

  “I said nothing has to happen here,” she said, soothingly.

  “You … You stay there! You,” he said over his shoulder to the man at the registers, “get my money!”

  The woman stopped sobbing and actually looked back at Kasumi, hope in her eyes. Whether it was from the emotions being forced on her or simply the fact that the gunman now had one more target for his gun and therefore lowering the odds of her child being hurt, it didn’t matter. As long as the woman stayed calm, Kasumi could get her and her child out of this mess.

  Kasumi took two steps forward. Now she was next to the woman and the child. She risked a glance his way. He was a little brown-haired boy, maybe six or seven years old. His eyes were damp, but he looked at Kasumi with a crooked smile.

  She used that smile, that vote of confidence in her, and took two more steps forward. The gunman was only three feet away now. His gun, only a foot away. She pushed the images of what a bullet could do to a body out of her mind and looked up into the gunman’s eyes.

  Dent, she thought. Be like Dent. Everyone, just be like Dent. Calm. Unemotional. Boring.

  She stared into the gunman’s blue eyes. They stared into her brown eyes. A second passed. Two, then three.

  Calm. Unemotional. Boring.

  The gun lowered ever slightly. Her hopes flared.

  And in that moment, she briefly lost control of her stoic emotions. The gun came back up.

  She forced her focus back on calming the gunman, even harder now. To the point where only his eyes existed. Only his eyes, his emotions behind those eyes, and the emotions she was forcing into him.

  The woman behind her gave a stifled hiccup, and the gunman flicked his gaze that way, then down at the boy. A heavy breath, a light curse, and the gun slowly went down to his side.

  “Screw it,” he said. “Not worth the trouble.”

  He gave Kasumi one last look and then turned. The doors slid open and he walked out. Calmly at first, and then, as he gained distance from Kasumi’s influence, he must have realized how screwed he really was because he took off at a run, through the parking lot, across the street, and into a beat-up truck.

  Ten seconds later, his tires lit up the pavement as he got the hell out of there.

  Now that it was over, Kasumi let go of her false sense of calmness and did the only thing that seemed appropriate. She screamed out a curse.

  The guy at the register grabbed the phone, started dialing 911. The woman began to cry uncontrollably and the child, picking up on his mother’s emotional state — and more likely Kasumi’s — did the same.

  Try as she might, Kasumi couldn’t stop herself from joining them, crying out her frustration and anger and sense of relief.

  By the time the first cop arrived, Kasumi, the woman, and the child were locked tight in a crying ball of hugging bodies. Before their statements were taken by Deputy Ramirez, the nice lady cop that had helped Dent save Kasumi from The Ranch weeks ago, news reporters had shown up. Minutes later, Kasumi was pulled outside and, after the reporter had talked to the other witnesses, began to get interviewed.

  Kasumi stared into the camera as the female reporter started in with, “Can you tell us what happened in there?”

  III

  Dent hopped out of the Cherokee even before Bobseyn had brought it to a complete stop.

  He pushed through the crowd, literally, and came up on Deputy Ramirez.

  “She’s fine, Dent. Just a little shake—”

  He pushed past her as well, zeroing in on Fifth, who was kneeling beside a young brown-haired boy and a woman. Ramirez snapped off a few curt remarks at Dent’s back, but Bobseyn was there, talking to her and getting the rundown of what happened.

  “Fifth,” Dent called, getting the girl’s attention.

  She looked up, smiled at the boy next to her, and handed him a large cup of soda.

  When she stood and
stepped away from the woman and boy, Dent asked, “What happened?”

  She tugged his sleeve and he allowed himself to be led away. When they were far enough out of earshot, she told him the story. He stood there, listening to her go on, trying to catch onto the parts of the story when her voice raised an octave or two as well as the parts where her voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. From his history with her, he knew the louder parts were her being excited, the lower parts were her being scared.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked when she’d finished.

  “What?” she snapped, a little too loudly.

  “Why didn’t you keep hidden? You could have been hurt.”

  Her chin stiffened. “That boy could have been hurt. His name’s Lucas, by the way.”

  Why would he care about the kid’s name? It was irrelevant. Her involvement in this whole thing should have been irrelevant. But she had to go and stick her nose into things again. And because of that ….

  “We have to leave,” he told her.

  “Miss Ramirez said she needed me to stick around.”

  “Bobseyn’s taking care of that. He told her to keep you close until we got here. And we’re here now. And now, we’re leaving.”

  He turned, found Bobseyn talking to one of the reporters off camera, and started making his way to him. A few steps in and he realized Fifth wasn’t following. He stopped and turned to stare at her.

  After a few puffs of her chest and a foot stomp or two, she stiffly came to join him.

  Together, they walked to the sheriff. Fifth seemed to be focused on looking straight ahead. The people they walked by, whether talking calmly or trying to get a better view of what the police and cameras were doing there, started to talk louder.

  Dent ignored them, or tried as best he could, as a few began shouting at each other. All around them, smiles turned to jaw-clenches and he noticed a lot of gesticulation from those closest to him and Fifth.

  He pushed one woman aside, who was yelling at her husband about getting their car washed, and she pushed Dent right back.

  “Watch yourself,” she threw at him with a growl.

  He ignored her, but a hand to his shoulder from the woman’s husband turned him back.

  “You’d best apologize to my wife, buddy,” the middle-aged man said.

  Dent didn’t have time to deal with this. He looked at the man’s hand, still on his shoulder. In the blink of an eye, Dent brought his own hand up, gripped, twisted, and bent the man’s hand back. The man dropped to his knees in pain.

  “Dammit, Dent!” Fifth cried, clutching at the screaming man’s wrist. “Let him go!”

  Dent gave the man one last look, untwisted, then shoved, sending him to land flat on his ass. Only Fifth’s grip on the man’s arm kept him from falling completely on his back. Fifth muttered something that may have been an apology and then rounded on Dent.

  He knew that look she was giving him. Before she could lecture him on what he’d done wrong, even though the man who’d put hands on Dent clearly was in the wrong in this, he told her, “Watch your language.”

  He could practically hear her teeth grinding as she stared up at him. All around them, people started becoming even more vocal and the woman, who’d snapped at Dent a moment ago, took a step forward and raised her hand as if she were going to strike him.

  “Calm down! Everybody, just calm down,” Bobseyn said as he stepped between Dent and the woman. Bobseyn looked over at Fifth and slowly, only loud enough for her to hear, said, “Calm down, young miss. We don’t want these people acting … irrationally, do we?”

  Bobseyn knew all about Fifth’s talent, and even though the moderator chip in his brain rendered her forced emotions practically ineffective on him, he knew how others could react when she lost control.

  Fifth tore her eyes from Dent and looked up at the sheriff. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Hey, it’s understandable.” He gave Dent a look, one Dent didn’t recognize. “Now, let’s get you safely out of here. Cherry’s already headed home. She’ll meet us there.” He patted Fifth on the shoulder and led her towards the Cherokee.

  Dent had no choice but to follow. For some reason, his cheeks felt flush and his heart had picked up speed. He looked at Bobseyn and Fifth a few steps ahead and when the sheriff leaned over to say something, Fifth laughed. Dent’s fists clenched. He didn’t understand it. If Bobseyn could get the girl to calm down where he himself couldn’t, then that was for the best. Why should it bother him?

  Once they were settled in the Cherokee and on the way back home, Bobseyn looked at Fifth through the rearview mirror, asking, “You okay, young miss? That had to have been tough to go through.”

  Dent felt the girl kick the back of his seat. “I’m fine, I guess. Thank you for asking, Sheriff,” she said, in a tone that Dent now knew was meant to be a stab at him. “At least somebody here cares for my well-being.”

  When Bobseyn looked his way, Dent was unsure if he was supposed to respond.

  He didn’t.

  Bobseyn let out a heavy breath. “Dent cares for your well-being, Kasumi.”

  “Yeah?” Another seat kick. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Now, Dent knew, he should say something. “Are you okay, Fifth?” he asked.

  He received another seat kick in response and swore he heard Bobseyn chuckle.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing, Dent. Nothing.” Then, to Fifth, “I’m glad you’re okay, young miss, but that was a bit dangerous, you going head on with a man with a gun.”

  “Nothing I haven’t done before.”

  “Still, I’d like it — and Dent would, too — if you were safe. We’re just concerned.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “We’ll leave it at that, then.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  The Cherokee was quiet for a while, just the humming of the engine and the thump-thumping of the tires over the aged asphalt of the street.

  After a good ten minutes, Fifth asked, “What’s so bad about me saving those people back there? If I have this ability, why not use it?”

  Bobseyn opened his mouth, but Dent answered first. “I don’t care about those people, Fifth. It’s the fact that you were on live television that will cause us problems.”

  He heard her take a breath to say something, but she must have finally realized her error back there. She mumbled something that sounded very much like an expletive. Then, “And if I was on TV ….”

  “Then that means they know where you are.”

  They, meaning, Grant Chisholme, her mother, the one she called Noman, and any number of other people who wanted her for their own designs. Graftsprings was no longer a safe respite for them.

  Chisholme already knew they were there. They had shut down The Ranch, his testing facility of a young boy with a talent similar to Fifth’s, but Dent and Bobseyn had hoped Chisholme would have assumed Dent and Fifth had run soon after.

  Now they would have to.

  Dent was almost … glad to have a reason to be away from other people. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about the changes Fifth was forcing upon him manifesting at the wrong time.

  IV

  “Are you packed?” Dent asked her, though the fact that she was bouncing softly on his bed told him she likely was.

  “Yep. Not much to pack.” She bounced a little less. “Sheriff says I can keep some of my clothes here in the guest room.”

  He looked over. “Why?”

  She scrunched up her face at him. “So I have some when we come back.”

  He looked away, pulling the last of his neatly folded clothes from the drawers. “We’re not coming back, Fifth.”

  The bouncing stopped. “Why not?”

  “They know we’re here still. It won’t be safe.”

  “But I have you to protect me.”

  “Being here would put Bobseyn and Cherry in danger,” he replied without thought. Then he froze. Where did that come from?

&
nbsp; The girl didn’t miss it, either. “Are you … concerned for them, Dent? I mean really concerned? Like feelings and stuff?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?” She resumed her bouncing.

  “Nothing.” He stuffed the last of his clothing into the suitcase, trying to come up with a lie and falling short.

  She asked, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You feeling okay?” she asked in one of her tones.

  “That was supposed to be a joke, wasn’t it?”

  “Hey, a girl can try, right?”

  He shrugged.

  “Where we going, then? Back to the big house in the mountains and all the trees?”

  He shrugged. It was their only option at this point. He zipped up his suitcase and was about to ask her where her stuff was when her pocket chimed. She leaned back onto the bed and dug her phone out of her pocket. She gave it a look, tossed it aside with a strange look, then dug into her other pocket. She pulled her EB out and tapped the screen.

  Her eyes went wide.

  “What?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “What?” he asked, again.

  She shushed him with a finger and tapped the screen a few more times.

  Seeing as how she wasn’t being forthcoming, he leaned over and snagged the EB from her grip.

  “Hey!” she snapped, but he ignored her, looking at what he already knew was going to be on the display.

  “It’s Otto,” Fifth needlessly stated.

  “I can see,” he needlessly replied. “Have you been talking to him?”

  “No! After The Ranch thingy, you told me to let you know if he tried contacting me again.”

  “Us,” he corrected her. And he doubted her veracity regarding her promise to inform Dent about Otto and any more of his mysterious messages.

  Otto had directed them here to Graftsprings, had used them to shut down The Ranch. The eBlocker earpiece they’d taken with them from one of the guards, was at the bottom of Dent’s suitcase. Otto had told Fifth to get one, promising that he knew of a way to reverse it so that instead of blocking intrusions from eTech — and in essence, Fifth’s talent — it could dampen the emotions she sent out, enabling her to not force her emotions onto others. At least in theory.