The Boy Who Knew Everything (5 page)

“And then there was Sarah…” Letitia murmured, unable to finish her thought. Of course with J. she didn't need to explain more. J. knew all about the day that Letitia had flown with their younger sister, Sarah, and there had been a terrible accident when they got caught in a rainstorm. Sarah had slipped out of Letitia's hands and fallen to her death, and Letitia had never forgiven herself or flown again.

“Mom and Dad will be glad to know where you are,” J. said, changing the subject.

“They aren't our real parents,” Letitia said matter-of-factly and without missing a beat. “They adopted us. They were the ones who called you Johnny, but that wasn't your real name, not the one you were born with.”

“
What?
What did you say?”

Letitia was suddenly sharply lucid. “Don't you remember anything? Nothing?” She watched him closely and saw that he didn't, and then sighed. “Which is worse? Knowing and not being able to have it, or not knowing and never understanding what could be?”

Her rocking returned and she slipped away again.

An alarm sounded and J. remembered that his time had been limited, only now he didn't care. Like his sister's, his time had become infinite. He gathered his things and turned invisible, staying close beside her.

“I want to know what you know,” he told her.

“Jeston. Jeston. Jeston,” she said.

J. liked the way his name sounded on her lips.

 

CHAPTER

6

Conrad's father announced his death on national television. Everyone was watching. Especially Conrad. It is a very peculiar feeling to have your parent declare your death when you happen to know that you are still very much alive.

It was a day like any other on the McCloud farm. Before the sun rose Piper had taken Fido out to stretch his wings. As soon as they had returned to the farm Fido immediately went to Conrad, who was in his lab working on TiTI. Conrad had grown used to the snuffling and bumbling of his new pet and even let him sleep at the foot of his bed. For his own part, Fido didn't like to let Conrad out of his sight and had calmed down considerably as he grew accustomed to the routine of farm life.

After lunch, Conrad, with Fido at his heels, helped Joe with a fence that needed fixing in the back field. By the time that was done and the animals fed for the night, Betty was ringing the dinner bell.

“Piper, I expect you to eat more than that,” Betty fussed, filling Piper's plate with another helping of fried chicken. “Conrad, there's a fresh pair of socks on your bed. You've been growing again; I swear your feet is a whole size bigger than last week, so I figured you needed more.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McCloud.”

Betty was always doing small special things for Conrad. Ever since he'd come to live with them something had told her that the boy needed a little extra mothering. For all of Conrad's smarts, he seemed a little lost to Betty, and she took it upon herself to make him feel cared for, even if it was just making sure he had warm socks and a clean shirt to wear.

“And no feeding that—” Betty searched for just the right word to describe Fido, who sat begging at Conrad's feet. “That—pet or whatever it is at this here table.”

“Yes, Mrs. McCloud.”

Unseen by Betty, Piper slid a small piece of driftwood about the size of a banana in front of her father. “Saw that when I was out flying,” Piper said quietly. “Knew right away that it was made just for you, and I picked it up.”

Joe McCloud was as quiet as his wife was chatty. A small sigh, a nod of his head, or shrug of his shoulder was all it took to get Joe's point across. He was the favorite person to go to when someone needed to talk things out. As Joe fixed a fence or ploughed a field or mended a feed trough it was a common sight to see him trailed by one kid or another talking a mile a minute about something that was on their mind. It was a rare day when they walked away from Joe not feeling one hundred percent better, too.

His gentle hands, weathered by the sun of the summer and the snows of the winter, turned over the piece of wood and nodded. If he wasn't a farmer and he didn't call his whittling a hobby, some fancy city person might actually say that Joe's wood carvings were art.

Joe tucked the piece of wood appreciatively into his pocket and Piper touched his hand with her small pale one.

After two slices of Betty's fresh apple pie, the McCloud clan, both by birth and adoption, gathered around their newly acquired television. It was the night of the national election and Betty was eager to learn the results. As usual, she was as chatty as she was round and had opinions about all the candidates and wasn't afraid to share them.

“Now, that there Senator Harrington would make a fine president. That's who got my vote.” Betty nodded approvingly as Senator Harrington's face flashed across the television screen. “He talks nothing but the truth, and I like that. Folks have gotta be able to trust their president, and I say Senator Harrington is as honest as the day is long.”

As much as she hated to admit it, even Piper could see why her mother felt kindly toward Harrington. There was something about the way Harrington talked that made you want to listen to him—and believe in him. He was almost hypnotic.

Suddenly Betty squinted and leaned forward to study the screen with a renewed intensity. “I declare, I din't notice this 'fore but this brand-new TV is so sharp it makes me see that Senator Harrington looks a heap like our Conrad. Don't he, Mr. McCloud?”

Joe McCloud nodded quietly, looking between the television and Conrad.

Piper squirmed uncomfortably. What would her parents think if they knew that Conrad really was the son of Senator Harrington? Betty and Joe had never asked where Conrad came from. To them he was simply a youngen who needed a place to stay and a family to keep him safe, both of which they were glad to provide.

“Senator Harrington's a big phony,” Piper said quickly and with passion. “Sure, he's got blond hair like Conrad, but lots of folks do. And I wouldn't trust him farther than I could throw him.” Piper spoke more harshly than she meant to and she cast her eyes in Conrad's direction to see his reaction. Conrad was sitting with Fido on his lap, petting him absently; his eyes fixed on the television screen, his face intense and unguarded, as though he had forgotten that anyone was around. Piper could see naked longing in his expression, as if he was drinking in every image of his father and was thirsty for more; as if he wanted to climb through the television and stand next to him.

Piper could imagine but never know what it must feel like to have your father heartlessly abandon you and never want to see you again. As much as Conrad acted nonchalant, something like that had to hurt.

For the better part of an hour the family watched the results come in and the analyses accumulate until finally they braced for the big announcement.

“And winning the election by a landslide,” the reporter on the television told them excitedly, “is Senator Harrington. I repeat, Senator Harrington is officially the president elect of the United States of America.”

Betty clapped excitedly. A flush spread across Conrad's face and it seemed to Piper that he was looking at his father with pride.

When President Elect Harrington came forward with his wife, he also introduced his four-year-old daughter, Althea. Piper knew that it was the first time Conrad was catching a glimpse of his baby sister, who was born after Dr. Hellion had taken him away. She stood very still, holding her mother's hand as the cheering died down and Harrington launched into his victory speech.

“I believe in action and results. I am a can-do man and this is a can-do nation.” President Harrington was tall with square shoulders and a handsome face. No question, Conrad was his spitting image.

“The recent death of my son was a hard test for my wife and me to overcome,” he continued. “But—like this great nation—we found a deeper strength inside of us. We found strength in our pain and used it to move us forward to reach for something better.”

Piper was aghast. “Did he just say his son
died
?”

Conrad's face drained of all color.

It was one thing to reject your son; it was another thing to declare him dead in front of the entire world.

Conrad was not stupid: he knew that he wasn't dead. He rationally and factually knew that he was very, very much alive. Which made it all the more strange that he suddenly felt the life seep out of him.

 

CHAPTER

7

By spring Conrad had a lingering cough that wracked his thin shoulders and caused his entire body to bend. Dark circles lined his eyes and he had somehow managed to lose even more weight so that his clothes hung like a defeated flag about his body. To Piper he looked like he was being habitually starved and whipped, neither of which was true.

Conrad walked slowly and kept his eyes down as they left the Lowland County Schoolhouse. He bent forward to counterbalance the weight of his book bag against his bony back.

“What you got in that bag?” Piper chirped, bobbing next to Conrad, as though her sheer enthusiasm might rescue his low spirits. “A small planet?”

“Math homework.” Conrad switched the lump of a bag to his other shoulder.

“
You
have homework?” Piper rolled her eyes. “Conrad, that's plain crazy.”

“Actually,” he explained, “there's nothing crazy about it. Most kids find math very challenging.”

“Most kids haven't hacked into the United States Defense Department mainframe and reprogrammed an orbiting satellite. And most kids haven't figured out a way to bend the space-time continuum so—”

“Most kids at twelve years old—”

“You're
not
most kids.” Piper stopped suddenly and blocked Conrad's path. “You're not even some kids. You're in a group of one—you're a super genius.”

“Not anymore.” Conrad stepped around Piper and continued down the path.

Piper sighed deeply:
That again
.

Ever since that darned election Conrad had become a different person. The very next morning Conrad couldn't even get out of bed and didn't go to his workshop in the barn. Long days passed where Conrad just sat in his room, staring out the window with Fido curled at his side.

Of course, when you have a brain that is soaring like a jet sitting on top of your shoulders and it suddenly grinds to a halt, there are consequences. Conrad developed blinding headaches; his head hurt so much that he couldn't eat or get out of bed. His room had to be absolutely dark and he would lie perfectly still until the throbbing had eased enough for him to sit upright. Gradually he became accustomed to the pain and convinced Betty and Joe to let him go to the local country school. It was a basic place, but Conrad thought it might be good for him to attempt simple tasks like the other farm children of Lowland County to clear the fog that had settled over his brain.

He worked very, very hard at the Lowland County School, but as far as Piper could tell, the closer Conrad came to normal the sicker he got. When Piper had first met Conrad he was puffed up with anger and devious plans. His blond hair caught the light and framed his handsome face while his body, like his mind, was always in motion toward some greater purpose. That Conrad was a distant dream, and the person who walked next to her as they left the schoolhouse was shrunken and dull, like central casting had sent a bad stand-in for the real thing.

As another coughing fit wracked Conrad he dropped his book bag and held onto a tree trunk for support. He had already entered the wood that bordered the playground, and Piper leaned over, concerned.

“Maybe you should go see Doc Bell again. You've had that cough for months now.”

“I'm okay.”

“You look like something the cat dragged in.”

“I left my throat drops in my desk,” Conrad said through a cough.

“I'll get 'em,” Piper offered quickly.

“No, I should—”

Piper turned on her heels and was gone before he could argue. When the coughing fit subsided Conrad slowly straightened up and once again began walking into the wood.

Just as the path rounded a bend and he was out of view of the schoolyard a branch snapped loudly. It was immediately followed by sharply rustling leaves. Moments later Rory Ray Miller emerged from the bushes, flanked by his four brothers.

Rory Ray was seventeen and bulky from hard work in the fields. His callused hands toyed with a tree branch, pleased with its weight and heft. It annoyed Rory Ray, more than he was already annoyed, that Conrad didn't look scared and wasn't trying to run away. It was only further confirmation of what Rory Ray felt about Conrad, which was that there was something wrong with him. He knew Conrad was different—it was clear that the boy was physically weak and in pain. But other times it was something else entirely—perhaps the hunch that Conrad was far more dangerous than he appeared and posed some unnamed threat to Rory Ray and everyone else, too. A twisted herd instinct that dwelled in the deepest reaches of Rory Ray Miller was activated by the mere sight of Conrad.

“I done told you that you ain't wanted in these parts, Conrad No-name.”

Conrad wouldn't tell anyone his true last name and so Rory Ray had taken to calling him “No-name.” Rory Ray sauntered forward and his younger brothers flanked his every movement. “If I din't know better I'd start to think you liked these beatings.”

Conrad watched the band of boys but said nothing. He made no movement to run away or preparations to fight. He was for all intents and purposes frozen, as though he knew what was about to happen next, but was unable to participate in it in any meaningful way.

“Maybe we didn't make ourselves clear,” Jimmy Joe sneered.

“Maybe he ain't got the smarts to figure out exactly what our meaning is,” added another brother.