“No, Mama! I don’t want to go with them! I wanna stay with you!” The child was pulled roughly away from her mother
and dragged toward a black sedan.
“Mama!!” she screamed, reaching out with every ounce of strength her diminutive, four-year-old body possessed.
She struggled in her captor’s grasp, trying to get free. “Help me, Mama!” She wailed at the top of her small lungs as
she was pulled ever closer to the car. Her violet eyes were wide with terror and luminous with the tears that were
streaming openly down her tiny face.
With a tremendous effort, she slipped her arms free, leaving the man clutching her little red sweater. She got
halfway back to where her mother had collapsed, sobbing, when she was grabbed again.
She screamed again, a high, keening sound, and went rigid. Only her eyes moved.
Startled exclamations erupted from behind them. The man turned to see the sedan three feet off the ground and
rising. His jaw dropped. They’d been told that the child had extraordinary abilities, but he’d never seen anything like
this done by one so young. If they’d needed any more proof that this little girl was a GenXer, here it was.
The child in his grip breathed in labored gasps with the effort. She began to turn a sickening and unnatural shade of
purple.
“Knock her out!” came the order. “Knock her out now, or she’ll kill us all!”
The man contemplated refusing the order for a very brief second. He didn’t want to harm the child-- she reminded
him too much of his own daughter, with her platinum blonde hair whipping in the wind. Wait. Wind? And what’s with
her eyes? He shivered, unnerved, as he looked at the child’s glowing eyes.
“Kyle! What are you waiting for, the Easter Bunny!?”
Kyle sucked in a breath and struck the child a firm blow on the temple. I’m sorry. Raeshel, I’m so sorry.
The sedan crashed to the ground and the wind died as the psychokinetic child went limp.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Myra Jaczinski sat in the wet grass and watched through blurred vision as her only child, her pride and joy, was put
into the black sedan. She continued to sit as the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the tree-lined
street. She stared at the last place she had seen her daughter, as if through sheer force of will she could make the
child reappear.
Fresh rain, not even a half hour old, soaked the skirt of her light blue dress, but she didn’t notice. Her mouth
moved, forming a name over and over again, but she couldn’t tell if she actually made any noise. She raised her
hand to pinch herself, but didn’t know if it actually moved. She felt no pain-- nothing, actually-- in any part of her but
her heart. That had been torn, shredded, when the black suits came and turned her once-happy world upside down.
“Myra?” A soft voice. A woman’s voice. Could it be her own? No. She was calling for Karyn, not Myra.
“Myra, are you okay?” A soft hand touched her shoulder.
Oh, that’s right. She was Myra. Was she okay? What an absurd question.
“Myra, you’ve been sitting here for two hours. Come on, let’s get you inside.” the hand on her shoulder moved to
her arm to help her stand. Once upright, Myra looked at the owner of the hand and voice.
“Thank you, Lillian. I think I will be fine now,” she said, almost without inflection. Her voice sounded dead, even to
her ears.
Lillian watched her for a moment, then sighed softly and said, “Okay, Myra. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll
check in on you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”
Myra turned and walked back to the house. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned on it for long
moments, grief weighing heavily on her heart. When she moved again, it was with steady strides and deep purpose.
She walked through the living room, pausing to gaze at the photographs in their silver frames on the mantel above
the fireplace. “Karyn.” Her voice cracked and tears welled up and spilled over as she looked at the pictures. One
of Karyn holding her kitten, Tiger. One of herself and Karyn, taken just this past Christmas. One of the entire family,
taken when Karyn was two. The three faces in the photo beamed out at onlookers as though everything was perfect.
But it wasn’t. Mikael had had a fatal car accident three months after the family portrait was taken. A year later, in a
temper tantrum, Karyn had levitated her babysitter into the top branches of the maple tree in the backyard. Two
weeks ago, she’d had another tantrum and caused a nearby car to rocket into a telephone pole and explode. The
police were called in on that one, of course. They’d wanted to take Karyn away then, but they couldn’t conclusively
prove that she’d done anything.
And now this.
Myra walked on, towards her office at the back of the house. It used to be Mikael’s office, and was the place he’d
spent most of his waking hours. It was more comfortable, more cozy, than the formal living room they used for
entertaining guests, and many happy memories had been made in that office.
oOoOo
“Daddy, daddy! Watch me!” the tiny blonde child shouted, running into the room with her mother close behind, but following at a
more sedate pace. She crouched down on the balls of her feet with her hands on the floor in front of her, then jumped forward.
“Ribbit!” she said, and did it all over again. “Look, daddy, I’m a frog!”
Mikael looked up from the report he was perusing, turning his blonde head toward the child. His golden-brown eyes crinkled at the
corners and he laughed. “Oh, no!” he said in mock horror. “A frog is in my office. I’ll have to catch it and tickle it.”
He caught the child with ease, and Myra’s silvery-gray eyes sparkled as she listened to Karyn’s bell-like peals of laughter mixed with
the deeper, booming laughter of her husband.
oOoOo
Myra banished the memory with a shake of her head, then took a small silver key from a pocket in her skirt. She
unlocked a small drawer in the desk-- the bottom right one. I can’t handle any more. They’ve taken my life from me.
She choked back a sob and pulled a small, snub-nosed revolver from the drawer.
No more.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The shot was heard in the next house, but the owner chalked it up to those dratted teenagers on the next street
over making their car backfire again. He went on with his business.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Welcome to your new home, Karyn. I’m Doctor Keaton, and this is Doctor Ishihara. You can call me Anabel if you
want.” She smiled at the little girl, the corners of her blue-gray eyes crinkling up in a friendly fashion.
Karyn studied both women nervously. Anabel seemed okay, but Doctor Ishi--what was it? She couldn’t think, and her
head was throbbing from the blow she’d received earlier. Doctor Ishi looked… not happy, but not angry, either. She
looked the way Mama would look when Karyn kept asking her the same question over and over. Maybe she’d be like
Mama in other ways, too. Karyn gave a weak, watery smile that quickly faded in favor of a fearful expression.
“Come this way. We’ll get you changed into some appropriate clothing and give you your new name,” Dr Ishihara
said, all business and nothing like Mama. She turned and led the way through a swinging door and down a long
white hallway. Karyn hung back until Anabel held out her hand to the frightened child. She took it, but once they
were into the hall, Karyn refused to walk any further. Anabel took pity on the child and swept her up, ignoring the
disapproving glare it provoked from Ishihara.
“You cannot honestly expect a four-year-old child to take this any better than she is. I’m not sure I would take it as
well. She’s terrified, Mariko.”
Ishihara sniffed. “Don’t get attached to her, Keaton. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Anabel took Karyn into the dressing room while Ishihara went on to get Karyn’s name and room assignment. Karyn
was set down in front of a large metal footlocker and told to pick out what she’d like to wear. Karyn picked a dark
green sweater and dark pants, thick socks and a pair of white bunny slippers. Dr Keaton helped her into her clothes
and was just putting her slippers on when Dr Ishihara returned.
“Her name is ‘Sarah’ and she’s in room 215.” To Karyn, she said, “You will be called Sarah from now on. No one will
call you Karyn, and it would be best if you don’t fight it. It will make the change easier.
“Let’s go.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Two Years Later
“Mia, stop that! Come here,” Sandra Jacobs yelled, attempting to corral her two-year-old daughter. The child
whipped through the tiny living room, moving so fast that she caused the newspaper on the old, battered coffee
table to go flying. The harried mother’s hair lashed her face as she made an ineffectual lunge for the toddler and
instead crashed into the ancient, threadbare couch and flipped over the arm.
She righted herself with a curse, then slipped over to the doorway to the kitchen, where Mia had disappeared to.
Lurking off to one side, she said sternly, “Mia, come here!” She picked up the end of a slender piece of rope and
pulled it taut--it stretched across the kitchen doorway at a height of four or five inches.
A loud crash issued from the kitchen. “Mia!” Sandra cried, increasingly frustrated. “Get your scrawny butt out here,
now!” A brief flurry of running footsteps and a loud thump of a body hitting bare wood floor later, Sandra had tight
hold of the child’s arm. Mia wailed and thrashed her free arm as a tiny rivulet of blood trickled out of her nose. Her
large violet eyes were overflowing with tears of pain.
“Lemme go!!” Mia screamed, raining tiny blows on her mother’s arm.
“Not a chance, kiddo. I wouldn’t have to do that if you’d just come when I call. Now, let’s clean up your face.” Sandra
hiked the child under her arm like a football and headed for the bathroom. Mia jerked involuntarily and gave a little
whimper when the cold, wet washcloth touched her nose. Sandra dabbed gently at the blood, trying not to jostle the
little button nose she worked on. Mia’s eyes gleamed luminously in the dim light as she stared at her mother’s face.
A loud knocking interrupted Sandra’s ministrations. Pulling Mia along with her, she headed for the front door.
The pounding continued, accompanied by a male voice with a slight Scottish accent. “Miss Jacobs?”
Sandra opened the door a crack to see out. A man in a dark suit turned his attention from the door to the face
appearing in the crack. “Miss Jacobs?” At her affirmation he continued. “I’m Aidan Kyle from Hayashi Labs. I
believe you contacted us in regards to your daughter.”
“Oh. Ah, yes. Come in.” She opened the door wider, ushering the man in, still keeping a firm grip on Mia. “Ah,
would you like something to drink? I have--”
“No thanks. Miss Jacobs, I’m here for Mia.”
Sandra looked distinctly disturbed. “What exactly do you mean, ‘here for Mia’? I don‘t really like the sound of that. I
only asked for help, but it sounds to me like you‘re going to take her away.”
“I assure you, Miss Jacobs, that we’re only doing what’s best for everyone. It was assumed that you knew what
would happen when you agreed to our help. In fact, I’m sure you were told.” He fixed Sandra with a pointed look.
“Without proper guidance, GenXers could be a major hazard. Just last week we found a boy who could create an
EMP simply by clapping his hands. He’d shut down an entire town before we caught him. Children with these…
abilities need to be taught how to use them properly, as well as the appropriate times to use them. And growing up
among their own kind will assure that they are not hated and shunned as they would be among normal humans.”
Mia watched the stranger and tried to make sense of what he was saying. Was he going to take her somewhere?
Had mommy found a new babysitter? Her mother’s grip slackened and she pulled her arm away. Maybe if she was
nice to the new man, he’d take her for ice cream.
“Hi! I’m Mia. I’m almost three. Who are you? Are you my babysitter?” She spoke fast and with a child’s lisp. “Are we
going to the park? Can I have ice cream? Please?”
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