The Generation of 1954
The Generation of 1954
Fandom: Supernatural/Miracles cross-over, set very pre-series for both. Alternate Universe.
Summary: Did you notice that John and Mary Winchester were both born in 1954? The YED did.
Prompt: Written for spn_xx prompt #15 A past or future generation of the Yellow-Eyed Demons' "Special Children."
Characters: John Winchester, Mary, The Yellow-Eyed Demon, Dean Winchester, Theresa Callan, Paul Callan (primarily age 4), and OC's.
Word Count: 23,877
Rating: Rated R for violence, language, and gore
Beta: Chapter 1 has been beta'ed by the_rejection. :) Thanks!
Author's Notes: This fic answers the following Alternate Universe questions:
What if John and Mary had been part of a past generation of Psychic Children? What about Theresa Callan?
What if Paul Callan was not a medium, but something much more sinister?
The last question cannot be disclosed until the end of the story because it would spoil the ending otherwise.
I must acknowledge my friend and RPG partner K-kitty for inspiring certain aspects of this story. We once wrote an RPG story together in which her character, a techmage, defended my character from a purse-snatcher by dropping a crane arm on him. That story inspired certain events in this one. Thanks also to her for brainstorming with me on the differences between techmages and technopaths.
They never revealed Mary's maiden name or Paul Callan's middle name on either show, so I made them up. They also never revealed when Theresa Callan was born. For the purposes of this story, it was 1954. Kripke has said in the past, I'm fairly sure, that John was originally from Sacramento, California; you'll see that reflected here.
Thoughts are in italics while telepathic conversations are in quotes and italics. This will, hopefully, help distinguish between them.
Other notes can be found at the end of the story.
You do not need to be familiar with "Miracles" to enjoy this story. It's set very pre-series, it's AU, and I had to create most of Theresa's personality from scratch because we saw so little of her in the show. Knowledge of the series will probably help, as you'll enjoy some show references, but it's not required.
Chapter 1: Cold Oak
1977
"Paul! Paaaaul!"
Mary awoke to the sound of someone yelling outside. The female voice was full of worry and panic, just on the verge of tears. Mary sat up slowly with a hand to her aching head and groaned. She had no idea what had happened or where she was.
"Paaaaul! Answer Mommy, please!"
Paul must be a child, Mary thought. Otherwise, what she just said presents some pretty appalling possibilities.
Mary looked around. She was in the living room of a rundown old house, sitting on a light blue Victorian-style couch. Both windows over the couch were broken.
Mary wondered just how she'd wound up here, thinking, Well, I'm not a blackout drunk... and I'm not prone to being knocked unconscious with chloroform and kidnapped like a spy in a TV show... so how did I get in this strange house that looks like it should have been condemned five minutes before I was born?
The woman outside was crying now. "Paul! Paul..." Loud, desperate sobbing followed. "Where are you, baby?"
The sound bothered Mary; she felt sorry for this woman, who seemed to have lost her child. Maybe she could help find Paul. Getting up, Mary searched for a front door, found it, and stepped outside into the sunny afternoon of... wherever she was.
Paul's mother wandered down the street just a few houses away. She had dark brown hair and identically colored eyes set into a soft, gentle face. The thing that caught Mary's attention at first, though, was that the woman carried the largest purse she had ever seen. One of those huge brocade purses usually carried by grandmas that could probably double as a floatation device if the woman was ever on a plane that crashed into the ocean. This one had a gigantic red rose embroidered on its front. Mary took a second to wonder what was in it as she walked toward the woman. I bet the astronauts could see that thing from space, she joked inwardly.
"Hello!" Mary called. "Do you need some help?"
Mary had to get the woman's attention because she was too distracted to notice her. As Mary got closer, she saw the Catholic rosary in the woman's hand; she was fingering the beads and praying quietly, probably for God's help in the search for her child. When Mary called to her, the woman looked up, tears streaming down her face.
Hope came into her eyes. "Oh... hello!" She rushed over to Mary. "Have you seen a little boy around here somewhere? His hair is the same color as mine. Dark eyes. His name is Paul, and he's my son."
"No kidding?" Mary watched her root around in her purse for a picture. The woman couldn't be much older than Mary, but she carried a bag fit for an 80-year-old woman. She couldn't help but smile in amusement at it. "I kind of figured out his name. I'm sure your son will turn up. He's probably exploring one of these houses."
"I know Paul's okay, but..." She thumbed through a few photos she'd found in her purse. "Here he is."
Mary took the picture and examined the smiling little boy while the woman went on describing him. "This morning, I let him pick out his own clothes. He's wearing a red, blue, and yellow striped shirt and little jeans, and his blue Zips with the yellow Z's on the sides... he's only four... and he's scared. Will you help me find my little boy?"
Looking into the woman's tearful eyes, Mary took hold of her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. "Don't worry, we'll find him. What's your name?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just so... I'm Theresa Callan." She tried a shaky smile. "My son is Paul. Paul Callan. He knows his name and phone number and, um, his address... I've tried to get him to memorize my work number, but he keeps reversing the last few digits. He's just four."
Mary put an arm around her shoulders. "Try to mellow out, Theresa, okay? We'll find your son."
"But you don't understand!" Theresa's voice shook and became shrill with panic. "His father and I aren't married. He's a very powerful man, very wealthy, and if he wanted to take Paul, he'd just take him..."
"Oh... why would he want to take Paul?"
"He's the kind of man who's used to always getting what he wants. He hasn't expressed much interest in him so far, but you wake up in a strange, dilapidated ghost town and your mind has a tendency to draw the worst conclusions," Theresa replied.
Smiling a little at the semi-joke, Mary nodded her head and agreed with her. "It is pretty damn strange that we wind up here with no memory of how we got here, huh? I mean, I don't do drugs or drink much, so I have no explanation. Hey, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Paul and I were walking to the park, and..." Theresa suddenly fell silent, looking off into the distance with an expression of pure concentration. "He's close, he's close, he's... Paul!"
Theresa took off running. Mary looked in the direction she was headed and saw a guy coming toward them with a little boy in his arms. Theresa met him in the middle and scooped Paul out of his arms. She hugged her child and kissed his face all over.
"Oh my Paulie, my widdle Paul, I'm so glad you're okay." Kiss, kiss, kiss. "I woke up and I couldn't find you. Do you hurt anywhere? Your head hurts a little, doesn't it?"
"Uh huh. Mommy..." Paul clung to her neck tightly. She kissed him some more.
"Mommy's here. Oh thank you God... thank you Jesus..."
Mary took notice of the guy who had apparently found Paul. He was a dark-haired rebellious hunk around her age, with sharp eyes and a confident stance, and a leather jacket to match. "You found Paul, huh?"
He smiled at her, handsome and warm. "That's what he told me. 'My name's Paul Gabriel Callan, I live at 5542 Callahan Apartment 2 in Boston, Massachusetts. My mommy's name is Theresa Callan.' I even know your phone number now." He grinned at Theresa. "He doesn't seem to know he's not in Boston anymore. I think he got bumped on the head." He stroked Paul's head lightly. Paul smiled a little at him, his head lying on his mother's chest.
"Thank you, thank you so much for looking after my son, uhh..."
"John. I'm John Winchester."
At the mere sound of that name, Mary felt a little spark in her heart. She extended a hand to him. "Mary Thomson."
John smiled wide as he shook her hand. "Well hellooo-oo Mary." Such pretty blonde hair and lovely smile, he thought.
Paul lifted his head to look at her. "Mary is the mother of Jesus."
"That's right." Mary stroked his hair just like John had done.
John squinted at Theresa. "You a big church-goer?" He took in the rosary still in her hand and the crucifix around her neck.
"Oh, yes; I couldn't live without my St. Jerome's every Sunday. Isn't that right, Paul? You love church."
"I go to Sunday school, and Father Calero plays ball with us kids." He looked at his mother. "Mommy, where are we? Mr. John said we weren't in Massatusits."
"Of course we're in Massachusetts..." Theresa gazed dubiously at John. "Aren't we?"
Shaking his head, he grinned and replied, "No ma'am. You have somehow wound up in California."
"California!" Theresa reeled.
"Mommy, is that anywhere near Ant-antlick City?" Paul asked.
"No, baby, it's nowhere near there." She looked at John again. "How did we get in California?!"
Mary had started laughing at what Paul said; her giggles had grown too loud to be ignored. John and Theresa looked at her. "Ant-antlick City," Mary repeated, and giggled again.
They grinned at her. "Yeah," Theresa laughed, nuzzling her son's head with her cheek. He didn't seem to realize what was so funny, and just looked confused.
Mary added, "By the way, hotshot, we're not in California. We're in Kansas."
"Oh, really? Now, I don't know exactly how much time has passed since my last conscious memory, but I doubt it was long enough for me to go from sitting in my car in Sacramento, California, to wherever you think you are in Kansas. I'd never go that far from my baby."
"Your baby?"
Chuckling, John gave a nod. "A 1967 Chevy Impala."
Mary whistled. "Nice wheels."
"See? We're in Cali."
"But how do you know?" Theresa questioned. "I mean, it's just as likely that we're in Mary's home state or mine. We don't know how the heck we got here."
John shifted uncomfortably at that thought. "Geez... why'd you have to suggest that? My car... who's taking care of my car?"
"I've got a better question. What are we doing here?" wondered Mary.
No one had an answer for her. They all looked around, taking in the windmill in the distance and the houses that looked like something out of the Old West.
"We should probably seek some shelter. The sky looks ready to storm."
The two women and child thought John's idea sounded as good as any, so they headed for one of the rundown houses. As they walked, Paul rested his head on Theresa's shoulder; he kept looking at the empty air beside John. Finally, just as they'd reached the porch, the little boy said, "Your grandma's pretty."
John stared at him, bewildered. "What do you mean, kid? Both my grandmothers are dead."
Paul just shrugged.
Theresa's eyes shifted as if she felt uncomfortable.
*****
When they entered the house, they found it was partially occupied. Two dark-haired kids, a guy and a girl, were making out in the kitchen, her sitting on the table and him standing in front of her. Theresa gasped and hid Paul's eyes when she saw the passionate lip lock; the woman's leopard-print top was already half undone. John started to chuckle, covering his mouth.
The couple stopped kissing and glared at the newcomers. "Oh, uhhh... hi," the guy said.
Mary furrowed her brow. These two also seemed to be about the same age as the rest of them.
"Who are you?" the woman asked, hastily buttoning up her shirt.
They each introduced themselves. "You two know each other already?" Theresa asked. Her tone betrayed the fact that she sure hoped so.
"Nope. Just met."
Theresa raised an eyebrow.
"I'm Beth Clinton," the girl said, hopping down off the table. "This is Jordan Kessler."
"Hey," he said, and wiped his mouth.
Mary questioned, "Do you know what we're doing here?"
They shook their heads. "Thought we'd kill some time until we figured it out," Beth explained with a mischievous wink for Jordan.
He smiled back, not opening his mouth. "We found a metal firepit, though. We were going to bring it in here and look for something to cook."
"Firepit?"
"Yeah, you know, one of those big metal bowl things on a stand that you can use to barbecue. It'd be safe to drag that in the house and use it, don't you think?" Jordan suggested to the others. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starved."
Shortly after, the group was sitting around the firepit while John and Jordan worked to get it ready. Through their conversation, they discovered that Jordan was from a suburb of Denver, Colorado, and Beth hailed from Corpus Christi, Texas. Neither one knew where they were.
Mary brought another armful of firewood.
"Thanks, Mary," John said as he took the wood.
Their hands touched. Mary smiled shyly.
Jordan waited for her to walk away before he leaned over and, with a lecherous grin, said quietly to John, "Now that is one fine piece of ass."
A protective, almost possessive surge of anger welled up in John's chest, but he hid it as best he could. After all, he'd just met Mary too. Why did he have a right to think he had any claim over her? "She's very pretty. Not a piece of ass, though," he settled for a reply.
"Oh, sure. She's the last virgin of 1977." Jordan watched Mary cross the room, bend over to tweak Paul's little nose, and tuck some blonde hair behind her ear with a laugh. "Mm. I want a shot at that."
That jealousy surged up in John's chest again. "Weren't you just crawlin' all over the table with Beth a little while ago?"
Jordan blinked at him. "So? We were interrupted."
Rolling his eyes, John snapped, "Just get the matches, will ya?"
Everyone clapped in approval once the fire really got going. The rain started shortly after. Water dripped from a few spots on the ceiling. The group formed a circle around the firepit; Mary eagerly sat next to John, bringing a delighted smile to his face. But Jordan insisted on sitting on her other side. Beth slid in next to him, leaning on him, which he seemed to welcome also. John couldn't help but glare at him a little - who did he think he was? Did he think he deserved both women? Theresa and Paul completed the circle, sitting between Beth and John. Theresa seemed safe from Jordan's advances because of the child.
John was about to open his mouth and bring up the subject of food when Paul beat him to it, whining, "Mommy, I'm hungry."
"I know, baby." Mary finally got to see why Theresa carried such a big purse. She began to remove various delicious items from it, like crackers, spreadable cheese, sandwiches, and plastic bottles of juice. Everyone goggled at the food. Theresa looked around at the others. "You guys want some, don't you?"
A chorus of, "Yeah, uh huh, you bet"s moved through the room in a wave, and they crowded in to get some. It was all the kind of food a child would like (the sandwiches, for instance, were peanut butter and jelly), but no one complained.
John's eyes went wide when Theresa pulled the heel of a salami out of the bag and started to unwrap it. "Why ya carry all that food in your purse, Theresa?"
She cringed just a little at the question, but answered it. "Children snack a lot while you're out and about. With all the preservatives they've got these days, you can carry all kinds of things around wherever you want."
"This is an awful lot of food you've got, though."
Looking down and picking at the Saran Wrap, Theresa shrugged.
John continued, "I'm not complaining, though, I mean, thank you. But it's almost like you knew..."
Theresa looked up sharply. "...Knew we were coming here? No. I had no idea."
Paul stopped trying to spread bright yellow cheese on his Ritz cracker, wincing, and looked up at his mother. "Mommy... it's okay." He handed her the cracker. "Don't get mad."
She took the cracker, breathing deeply. "Thank you, Paul."
John and Mary both eyed the mother and son. It was almost like Theresa had read John's mind, and then something happened between Paul and his mother, like an invisible foot kicked him when she lashed out at John. They both thought it was strange.
One thing Mary knew for sure was that Theresa was telling the truth. "You carry all this stuff around in your purse incase you have to take your son and... it's about what you said earlier? When you couldn't find Paul?"
Theresa nodded.
"I don't get it," John admitted.
As if he could feel the awkwardness between them, Paul put his fingers in his ears.
Theresa couldn't help but laugh, and kissed the top of his head. "Yes, it's about Paul's father." Even though Paul could not really hear them now, she still spoke quietly. "He shows no real interest in our son, but he's also a powerful man who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no.' If he ever decided he wanted Paul... well, we'd have to get out of town in a hurry." She patted her purse. "I've got a change of clothes in here too."
"Oh." John grew sheepish. "I'm sorry for what I implied, Theresa."
"It'd alright." She cut off a piece of the salami and handed it to him. "I thought maybe Paul's father had something to do with us winding up here, but he'd have no reason to take all of you too. It's truly a mystery." With an amused smile, Theresa pulled Paul's fingers out of his ears, making a popping noise.
"Are you done with the tall talk?" he asked.
John and Mary both chuckled.
"Yes. You may go on eating."
He looked back at her, hands on his hips, and responded jauntily, "I think I will."
Laughing along with the others, Theresa ruffled his hair.
Mary looked from one person to the other. She finally couldn't stand it anymore. "Theresa, how old are you?"
Distractedly cutting at the meat with a hard plastic knife, she answered, "Twenty-three."
"So am I," Mary mused.
"Huh," barked John.
Theresa glanced up at him. "You too?"
He nodded. "Yeah." John and Mary looked at each other.
Beth sat straight up, a dab of cheese at the corner of her mouth. "Far out! I'm 23 too." She leaned on Jordan, rubbing his knee. "You?"
He also nodded his head. "That's really weird."
"What does it mean? We're all the same age," Mary wondered aloud.
"I'm only four," added Paul, which made the others laugh and snicker.
"That's right, Paulie, but I think Miss Mary's point still stands." Theresa bit into her piece of salami. "I certainly don't know what to..." She suddenly went quiet, listening.
Everyone watched her and wondered what she heard. John thought he heard someone moving on the porch; he turned his head suddenly to listen with great concentration.
Paul went on arranging his crackers, playing with the food. "Mommy, aren't we going to say grace?" All of a sudden, he too looked up like a wary cat.
There came a sudden clatter of feet outside the front door. A girl opened the door so quickly that it startled everyone, even though they had been expecting her by then. She was Asian, with long black hair at mid-back length. Her clothes and hair dripped with rainwater. She looked at the group, then longingly at the fire.
Mary welcomed her in. "It's okay. Come on in out of the rain."
The girl just stared with confusion and tightly-reigned fear. Mary waved at her, and pointed to an empty spot between John and Theresa that was just big enough for the thin girl. "Have a seat," she offered.
The Asian woman moved carefully to the empty place and sat down. She immediately put her hands up to the fire; they could all see her shivering.
"What's your name?" Mary asked.
The woman just looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows.
"Do you speak English?" John asked.
She seemed to understand a tiny bit of what he'd said. "Little. Little Eng-lish," she replied very slowly and carefully.
John pointed to himself. Everyone watched the exchange with rapt interest. "John," he said. "I'm John." Then he pointed at her.
She looked at her clothes like she expected to see something worth pointing at. Then she got it. "Ah. Ah, John," she said, again slowly. She pointed to herself. "Natraya."
"Natraya, that's beautiful," crooned Mary. Meeting an Asian person who hadn't grown up in America, with different clothes and an exotic name, was a pretty exciting event for a not-so-well traveled girl like Mary.
They went around the circle with the introductions. Then John said, "I was in the Vietnam War. You look like you could be from that area. Vietnam?"
Natraya tried hard to understand what he was saying. She shook her head at the last word. "Thailand," she answered.
"Ohhh, Thailand. You have that Southeastern Pacific look." John waved his hand in front of his face to indicate what part of her reminded him of that area of the world.
Natraya just stared at him and finally nodded with a polite smile.
Continuing with her theory, Mary tried to communicate with the girl by asking, "How old are you?" She pointed to herself. "Twenty-three," she said slowly. "You?" And she pointed at Natraya.
Natraya obviously didn't understand. She tried to, but just stared at Mary with raised eyebrows.
Mary took out her driver's license. She showed it to her. "Do you have one?"
After she examined the piece of plastic, Natraya reached into her pocket and dug out an ID card. No one could read the bulk of it, as it wasn't in English, but there were some numbers on it they recognized.
John looked at the others with an uneasiness about him. "1954," he read off the card.
"She's 23, like us." Frustrated, Mary pounded a fist on the floor. "What does it mean?"
John took her hand and kissed the side that she'd hit against the ground. "Don't hurt yourself because you're frustrated. We'll figure it out."
She just looked at him with a small, lovely smile.
Jordan took his turn to roll his eyes.
Theresa, digging around in her bag, said, "You should get out of those wet clothes. I've got extra." She held out her change of clothes. "Natraya? For you."
Natraya looked at the clothes with confusion.
Theresa added, "To borrow," and held them out further.
Natraya finally seemed to get it. She peeled a section of her shirt away from her wet body to indicate it, then pointed to the dry clothing in Theresa's hands.
"Yes," she replied. "For you to wear."
With a grateful smile, Natraya took the clothes and stood up. She pointed in the direction of an adjoining room.
"Yeah, you go in there and get changed."
She seemed to understand, and, nodding, headed for the room. Before she disappeared around the corner, Natraya carefully said, "Thank... you."
They were still talking and eating around the fire when Natraya came back a few minutes later, wearing Theresa's far more American clothes. Her clothing had been hung on wooden chairs in the adjoining dining room, and was currently dripping all over the floor, leaving round spots and small puddles in the dust. She stood in one place, self-conscious, until the others waved her over and encouraged her to sit by the fire again.
Paul held out some of the cheese and cracker sandwiches he'd made. "Would you like some?"
"Yeah, you look hungry. Eat up." John put a sandwich in front of her.
At first, Natraya looked at them, then at the food, and took the crackers hesitantly, like she wasn't sure she was entitled to it. She began to eat with everyone's eyes curiously on her. Natraya bobbed back and forth, nodding with her upper body, and smiling. "Thank you," she said, a little more confidently than she had before. Natraya chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the texture of this food, which was of a type she didn't eat much of at home.
"You're welcome. There's more where that came from," Theresa told her happily.
That brought a sudden thought to John. Should they ration the food? How long would they be here? No one else seemed to be thinking of those things. He wasn't sure what he should say to the others about his concerns.
Theresa looked at him suddenly, like she knew he was worried. Within seconds, his body language reflected it, from the slow, distracted way he chewed to the frown lines across his forehead.
Natraya smiled lovingly and a little sadly at Paul, as if he reminded her of someone, and patted his small head. While she ate, she attempted to communicate her own concerns. "Thailand?" She looked at Theresa, then John.
"Hm?"
She swept her arms above her head, making an arc. She seemed to be indicating the entire area around them. "Thailand?" Natraya asked again.
John realized what she was saying, and his eyes drooped sadly. "No... I don't think you're in Thailand right now, Natraya. To be honest, we're not sure where we are."
"But we think it's somewhere in America, because of the houses," Mary added.
"How can we be sure of that?" Jordan cut in. "Other countries have 'American'-style houses."
They all fell uncomfortably silent.
Looking at them with confusion, Natraya said, "Not Thailand?"
John shook his head. "I don't think so."
She stared back at him, apprehensive, and swallowed hard.
They ate in silence for several minutes. No one knew what to say, or wanted to talk about it, really. They had no explanations, at least none they had connected to being in this deserted town yet. None of them knew when they would be able to go home.
Or if.
Harried and frightened, Beth finally spoke up. "There has to be some other reason why we were brought here. It can't be because we're all twenty-three. That makes no sense." She took out a cigarette and tried to light it with shaking hands. "We weren't even born in the same place. If we'd been born in the same hospital, or something, I could at least make sense of it. You know, like a story on a soap opera. Or, if we were all chosen to be international spies and this was the start of our training..."
"That's ridiculous," John half-mumbled.
"I didn't say it was the explanation. I just said that if it was like something from a movie, at least I'd have one," Beth said back angrily. "Have you got any bright ideas?"
John tried to think of a reason that this could be happening, but he had to shake his head in frustration. "I can't think of anything either. It really is like something you'd see on television."
Beth took a long, shaky drag off her cigarette. She startled everyone when she suddenly cried, "What are we doing here?!"
Looking from one person to another in bewilderment, Natraya said, very slowly and carefully, "Yellow-eyed man?"
Several of the group gasped. Paul instantly looked up from arranging his crackers into a picture of a dog and stared at the Thai girl in fear. They were all shocked.
They all knew whom she meant.
"You've seen him too?!" Mary cried. "I've had dreams about him!"
"I have too!" Beth said, her tone bordering on hysteria.
"I thought they were just nightmares about the devil," Theresa told them, throwing her hat in. "Trying to tempt me... what does that mean, that you've all dreamed about him too?"
John suddenly grabbed Natraya by the arms. She reacted with confusion and fright. "What do you know? What do you know about the Yellow-Eyed Man?!" He shook her a little. "Why did you say that?!"
Natraya shook her head frantically.
"Stop pretending you can't understand us! You know something, don't you?"
She wildly shook her head again. In reaction, John rattled her teeth in her head with a harder shake. "Tell us why he brought us here!"
"She doesn't know!" Theresa cried, reaching over to try to pry John's hand off one of Natraya's arms. "Let her go!"
"How do you know?" John growled back.
"Because I can feel it!"
John stopped, looking at her as if he partially understood what she meant.
"You've had dreams about him too, haven't you?" Theresa questioned. John glared back at her with wide, searching eyes. "He encourages you to use whatever abilities you have to do evil. Doesn't he?"
Shocked, John slowly released Natraya's arms, not taking his eyes off Theresa. Natraya sobbed and scooted herself across the floor, squeezing herself into a corner across the room. She covered her head with her arms and made little sound above frightened whimpers.
"Look what you did!" Mary yelled scoldingly. She got up, stepped over John, and went to Natraya's side, trying to comfort her.
John did look, but quickly brought his eyes back to Theresa. "How do you know what I've been dreaming?"
"Isn't it obvious? Because I've been dreaming it too."
Paul put his fists to his eyes and began to cry. Theresa scooped him up, holding him, stroking his back. "Shhh, Paulie, it's okay."
Beth wasn't that far from tears herself. "Why does he want us?"
"Because we can all do things. You know what I'm talking about." Theresa glanced at Natraya. "Natraya's terrified because she hardly knows what we're saying, and she's been trying so hard to communicate with us, but it hasn't been easy. You can't imagine how much fear she's been holding back since she got here, especially since we told her this probably isn't Thailand. Can you imagine? At least there's a good chance we weren't transported halfway across the world."
"How do you know all that?" John asked.
"Because I'm an empath. My son and I both are. That means we can sense the emotions of others." Theresa cuddled her cheek to Paul's head. "Sometimes, my little boy drowns in what other people are feeling. I try to buffer it, but I can't always overcome his will. He's just a baby. Someone so little can't fully understand these abnormal things he can do." Her voice quavered with threatening tears.
"Buffer it?" John asked.
Theresa looked at him with glistening eyes. "I created an empathic link between us. I can tell what he's feeling because of that link. And I can also control it at times."
His voice sounding threatened, Jordan said, "Control it?"
Theresa nodded. "I'm a projective empath."
"You mean, you can make us feel whatever you want?" Beth questioned in an incredulous tone.
"Yes. For the most part." She looked at each of them. "But you know I'm not crazy. You've had the dreams. He wouldn't have brought you here if you couldn't do something too. So what is it? What can you do?" Theresa again addressed them each individually with her eyes.
John pointed at Mary and Natraya. "Make Natraya stop crying. You say you can control emotions, now do it."
"Oh, so you require proof? Fine." She turned partially toward the Thai girl. "Natraya? It's alright. No one's going to hurt you. Do you hear the tone of my voice? Very soothing. No reason to cry anymore. No reason to cry." Theresa's tone was very calming and hypnotic.
At first, Natraya kept her arms over her head, covering her face, and continued to cower in the corner, not even responding to Mary's efforts to comfort her. Within seconds of Theresa beginning to speak, Natraya peeked out from behind her forearms. She had her arms down by the time Theresa finished. The sobbing stopped, and diminished to sniffles.
"That's it. Why don't you come back over here? You feel calm." Theresa held out her free hand, the one that wasn't wrapped around Paul. He had stopped crying too, and just sat in his mother's lap with his head in the crook of her neck.
Natraya stood and strolled back over to the circle. She was practically smiling while she took Theresa's hand and sat down. She looked at John and grinned, almost giddy.
Mary marveled over the difference as she headed back to the group too. "Do you have to talk to the person like that to make it work?"
"No. It's just something I do." Theresa patted Natraya's arm. "I'll stop now."
Almost instantly, Natraya looked on John with fear, recoiling from him. Mary sat down between the two of them and tried to soothe her. "I won't let him do anything else to you, Natraya." She glared at John challengingly.
He couldn't help but smirk, pleased with her. John liked a challenging, strong woman who wasn't afraid to put him in his place. "You're going to stop me?"
"I sure am." Mary put a hand on her hip, giving him an intimidating look.
He barely held back a boisterous laugh, not at her expense, but because he found her so cute like that. When they got out of this, John wanted a date. "I believe ya."
"When you two are finished flirting..." Jordan began.
John and Mary both shot him a dirty look.
"...I'd just like to say that what you just did?" Jordan indicated Theresa. "That was supremely creepy. Stay out of my head, okay?"
Although her expression showed a bit of obvious hurt, Theresa shrugged. "You can keep me out if your will is strong enough. But I have no business in there anyway. You don't have to worry about it."
John knew he was bringing up a touchy subject before he even opened his mouth, but he did it anyway. His mother always said he was too mouthy for his own good. "You said that Paul's an empath too, right?"
"Uh huh."
"But there are other things that he can do."
Theresa, narrowing her eyes, said, "What do you mean?"
"Earlier in the day, Paul was looking to my right, and he said that my grandmother is pretty. But my grandmother's not anywhere near here. In fact, both my grandmas have been dead since I was a teenager," John explained.
With discomfort, Theresa shifted and fidgeted, finally giving a shrug. "He has a big imagination."
"He speaks to the dead, doesn't he?"
Theresa immediately covered Paul's ears. "Don't say that!"
Paul buried his face in her neck, whimpering.
"What do you mean, don't say it? Is it true or not?"
"It's forbidden!"
John, confused, tried to figure out what she meant. "What's forbidden? Talking to the dead?"
"Yes!" Theresa looked quite stricken and ready to shed fresh tears at this topic of conversation. "It says it in the Bible."
Not being raised religiously, John never fully understood people who lived by the spiritual teachings of any book. But he could plainly see that Theresa held the words of the Bible close to her heart. "Surely the book isn't referring to stuff like this. The kid can't help it if he's been given a gift. The Bible just means don't play with Ouija boards and crap like that."
Theresa shook her head. "It is referring to stuff like this. Paul's not supposed to talk to them. It's wrong."
"Why would God give the kid an ability like that if he wasn't meant to use it?" John asked angrily.
Theresa shot back, "Who said it was God?"
They stared at each other with intense expressions and even more dramatic emotions running through them. She added, "Sometimes, we're tested, and there are things we're supposed to resist in life. This very well may be my son's test of faith."
John paused, silent and tense, and then hissed, "Bullshit."
Theresa ground her teeth for a moment. "Do you have any kids?" she finally asked.
"No."
"When you have children, you can decide how they're raised. In the meantime, don't criticize how I raise my son."
"I wouldn't criticize it if you weren't just plain wrong," John said sarcastically. He knew he was being a bit of a jerk, and would react the same way Theresa was reacting if anyone ever criticized his parenting decisions, but John had a problem keeping his mouth shut when he probably should. It had gotten him into more than one fight in his life. He didn't much care. John would rather be alone with his clear conscience than have a hundred unaccountable friends.
Her mouth tight, Theresa glared at him. Before she could respond, Mary put in her two cents.
"Quit picking on her," Mary commanded in a cross voice. "She has a right to her beliefs. You have no idea what it's like to raise a child like Paul. Being a single mother must be hard enough, and then... is it even good for a child to speak to the dead?" She had lowered her voice, but Theresa remained holding Paul's ears. He could still feel all their emotions swirling around inside him; it showed in his pained expression. "He's so young. Can he even understand what the other side is like?"
John scoffed. "The kid didn't seem afraid of my granny."
Paul whimpered.
"Can we stop talking about this?" Theresa asked. She sounded annoyed and tired. "I need to put Paul to bed soon, and we haven't yet heard what you can do," she said to John, with a sarcastic tone.
As she requested, John decided to drop it. He changed the subject by answering her question. "Well, I imagine I'm here because of my special relationship with my best girl." John smirked when he said it.
Mary couldn't help but frown. That was the worst news ever.
"Your best girl?" asked Theresa.
"My car," confessed John, and looked at Mary to see her reaction.
She couldn't help showing her delight at that response, either. His car.
Theresa looked at them both, mooning over each other, and grinned a tiny bit. No matter how he'd acted toward her, Theresa knew there was something right about John and Mary together. There was real possibility there. She could feel it.
"What do you mean, you have a special relationship with your car?" questioned Jordan.
"I've always been talking to machines. It never seemed strange to me until I was old enough to realize that other people couldn't do it. So I read some books about that kind of stuff." John spoke about his ability with wonder and pride. "Turns out I'm a technopath."
"You can talk to your car? The '67 Impala you told us about?" Mary asked.
"Yeah," John grinned.
Jordan added, "Does it talk back?" He sounded doubtful.
"In a way. It all happens in my head. How do you think the thing still runs on all its original parts?" John tapped his temple. "You gotta sweet talk 'er."
"Huh."
John didn't care if Jordan believed him or not. He was just happy that Mary did. "What about you, Mary?"
She shyly looked down into her lap. "Oh, I just have feelings sometimes. About what's going to happen. And then they come true. And I can mimic the powers of others. Nothing big."
"Nothing big?" John said incredulously. "You see the future?"
Mary looked up at him tentatively. "Sometimes."
Theresa could feel the worry in the back of Mary's mind. She wasn't telling the whole truth.
"I can do that too. Mimic the powers of others," Jordan said quietly.
He was telling the truth. But Theresa had a hard time reading the full range of his emotions. It was like he could block her, like Jordan knew how to keep her out. The wall he put up, it felt... it felt like he'd been practicing how to do it. But that would require some foreknowledge of empathy, wouldn't it? Why would Jordan practice such a thing when he didn't even seem to know what empathy was before this day? Theresa hugged her sleepy son closer to her, feeling a sense of foreboding in the air.
Beth volunteered her information before she was asked. "I, um, have this thing where I can manipulate pheromones." She spoke directly to Jordan. "But I promise I didn't use it on you. You really wanted to kiss me."
Everyone giggled, except Paul, who didn't know what pheromones were. He kept nodding off on his mother's shoulder, sleeping in that deep, almost comatose way that children had, so that not even all the conversation disturbed him.
Mary looked at Natraya, who seemed fairly sleepy herself. "I wonder what she can do? If only we could ask her..."
"Let's save it for the morning, okay? We all need sleep." John stood up and got the top to the firepit; it wasn't a good idea to leave it exposed and possibly start a fire.
"I don't know if I want to stay here overnight. It's creepy," Beth commented.
John replied, "I took a look around before I stumbled upon Paul. This city seems to be completely surrounded by a very dense forest. You couldn't even get a car through. So the alternative to sleeping here is hiking out through those trees... in the dark."
Shuddering, Beth concluded, "I think we'll spend the night."
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Fandom: Supernatural/Miracles cross-over, set very pre-series for both. Alternate Universe.
Summary: Did you notice that John and Mary Winchester were both born in 1954? The YED did.
Prompt: Written for spn_xx prompt #15 A past or future generation of the Yellow-Eyed Demons' "Special Children."
Characters: John Winchester, Mary, The Yellow-Eyed Demon, Dean Winchester, Theresa Callan, Paul Callan (primarily age 4), and OC's.
Word Count: 23,877
Rating: Rated R for violence, language, and gore
Beta: Chapter 1 has been beta'ed by the_rejection. :) Thanks!
Author's Notes: This fic answers the following Alternate Universe questions:
What if John and Mary had been part of a past generation of Psychic Children? What about Theresa Callan?
What if Paul Callan was not a medium, but something much more sinister?
The last question cannot be disclosed until the end of the story because it would spoil the ending otherwise.
I must acknowledge my friend and RPG partner K-kitty for inspiring certain aspects of this story. We once wrote an RPG story together in which her character, a techmage, defended my character from a purse-snatcher by dropping a crane arm on him. That story inspired certain events in this one. Thanks also to her for brainstorming with me on the differences between techmages and technopaths.
They never revealed Mary's maiden name or Paul Callan's middle name on either show, so I made them up. They also never revealed when Theresa Callan was born. For the purposes of this story, it was 1954. Kripke has said in the past, I'm fairly sure, that John was originally from Sacramento, California; you'll see that reflected here.
Thoughts are in italics while telepathic conversations are in quotes and italics. This will, hopefully, help distinguish between them.
Other notes can be found at the end of the story.
You do not need to be familiar with "Miracles" to enjoy this story. It's set very pre-series, it's AU, and I had to create most of Theresa's personality from scratch because we saw so little of her in the show. Knowledge of the series will probably help, as you'll enjoy some show references, but it's not required.
Chapter 1: Cold Oak
1977
"Paul! Paaaaul!"
Mary awoke to the sound of someone yelling outside. The female voice was full of worry and panic, just on the verge of tears. Mary sat up slowly with a hand to her aching head and groaned. She had no idea what had happened or where she was.
"Paaaaul! Answer Mommy, please!"
Paul must be a child, Mary thought. Otherwise, what she just said presents some pretty appalling possibilities.
Mary looked around. She was in the living room of a rundown old house, sitting on a light blue Victorian-style couch. Both windows over the couch were broken.
Mary wondered just how she'd wound up here, thinking, Well, I'm not a blackout drunk... and I'm not prone to being knocked unconscious with chloroform and kidnapped like a spy in a TV show... so how did I get in this strange house that looks like it should have been condemned five minutes before I was born?
The woman outside was crying now. "Paul! Paul..." Loud, desperate sobbing followed. "Where are you, baby?"
The sound bothered Mary; she felt sorry for this woman, who seemed to have lost her child. Maybe she could help find Paul. Getting up, Mary searched for a front door, found it, and stepped outside into the sunny afternoon of... wherever she was.
Paul's mother wandered down the street just a few houses away. She had dark brown hair and identically colored eyes set into a soft, gentle face. The thing that caught Mary's attention at first, though, was that the woman carried the largest purse she had ever seen. One of those huge brocade purses usually carried by grandmas that could probably double as a floatation device if the woman was ever on a plane that crashed into the ocean. This one had a gigantic red rose embroidered on its front. Mary took a second to wonder what was in it as she walked toward the woman. I bet the astronauts could see that thing from space, she joked inwardly.
"Hello!" Mary called. "Do you need some help?"
Mary had to get the woman's attention because she was too distracted to notice her. As Mary got closer, she saw the Catholic rosary in the woman's hand; she was fingering the beads and praying quietly, probably for God's help in the search for her child. When Mary called to her, the woman looked up, tears streaming down her face.
Hope came into her eyes. "Oh... hello!" She rushed over to Mary. "Have you seen a little boy around here somewhere? His hair is the same color as mine. Dark eyes. His name is Paul, and he's my son."
"No kidding?" Mary watched her root around in her purse for a picture. The woman couldn't be much older than Mary, but she carried a bag fit for an 80-year-old woman. She couldn't help but smile in amusement at it. "I kind of figured out his name. I'm sure your son will turn up. He's probably exploring one of these houses."
"I know Paul's okay, but..." She thumbed through a few photos she'd found in her purse. "Here he is."
Mary took the picture and examined the smiling little boy while the woman went on describing him. "This morning, I let him pick out his own clothes. He's wearing a red, blue, and yellow striped shirt and little jeans, and his blue Zips with the yellow Z's on the sides... he's only four... and he's scared. Will you help me find my little boy?"
Looking into the woman's tearful eyes, Mary took hold of her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. "Don't worry, we'll find him. What's your name?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just so... I'm Theresa Callan." She tried a shaky smile. "My son is Paul. Paul Callan. He knows his name and phone number and, um, his address... I've tried to get him to memorize my work number, but he keeps reversing the last few digits. He's just four."
Mary put an arm around her shoulders. "Try to mellow out, Theresa, okay? We'll find your son."
"But you don't understand!" Theresa's voice shook and became shrill with panic. "His father and I aren't married. He's a very powerful man, very wealthy, and if he wanted to take Paul, he'd just take him..."
"Oh... why would he want to take Paul?"
"He's the kind of man who's used to always getting what he wants. He hasn't expressed much interest in him so far, but you wake up in a strange, dilapidated ghost town and your mind has a tendency to draw the worst conclusions," Theresa replied.
Smiling a little at the semi-joke, Mary nodded her head and agreed with her. "It is pretty damn strange that we wind up here with no memory of how we got here, huh? I mean, I don't do drugs or drink much, so I have no explanation. Hey, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Paul and I were walking to the park, and..." Theresa suddenly fell silent, looking off into the distance with an expression of pure concentration. "He's close, he's close, he's... Paul!"
Theresa took off running. Mary looked in the direction she was headed and saw a guy coming toward them with a little boy in his arms. Theresa met him in the middle and scooped Paul out of his arms. She hugged her child and kissed his face all over.
"Oh my Paulie, my widdle Paul, I'm so glad you're okay." Kiss, kiss, kiss. "I woke up and I couldn't find you. Do you hurt anywhere? Your head hurts a little, doesn't it?"
"Uh huh. Mommy..." Paul clung to her neck tightly. She kissed him some more.
"Mommy's here. Oh thank you God... thank you Jesus..."
Mary took notice of the guy who had apparently found Paul. He was a dark-haired rebellious hunk around her age, with sharp eyes and a confident stance, and a leather jacket to match. "You found Paul, huh?"
He smiled at her, handsome and warm. "That's what he told me. 'My name's Paul Gabriel Callan, I live at 5542 Callahan Apartment 2 in Boston, Massachusetts. My mommy's name is Theresa Callan.' I even know your phone number now." He grinned at Theresa. "He doesn't seem to know he's not in Boston anymore. I think he got bumped on the head." He stroked Paul's head lightly. Paul smiled a little at him, his head lying on his mother's chest.
"Thank you, thank you so much for looking after my son, uhh..."
"John. I'm John Winchester."
At the mere sound of that name, Mary felt a little spark in her heart. She extended a hand to him. "Mary Thomson."
John smiled wide as he shook her hand. "Well hellooo-oo Mary." Such pretty blonde hair and lovely smile, he thought.
Paul lifted his head to look at her. "Mary is the mother of Jesus."
"That's right." Mary stroked his hair just like John had done.
John squinted at Theresa. "You a big church-goer?" He took in the rosary still in her hand and the crucifix around her neck.
"Oh, yes; I couldn't live without my St. Jerome's every Sunday. Isn't that right, Paul? You love church."
"I go to Sunday school, and Father Calero plays ball with us kids." He looked at his mother. "Mommy, where are we? Mr. John said we weren't in Massatusits."
"Of course we're in Massachusetts..." Theresa gazed dubiously at John. "Aren't we?"
Shaking his head, he grinned and replied, "No ma'am. You have somehow wound up in California."
"California!" Theresa reeled.
"Mommy, is that anywhere near Ant-antlick City?" Paul asked.
"No, baby, it's nowhere near there." She looked at John again. "How did we get in California?!"
Mary had started laughing at what Paul said; her giggles had grown too loud to be ignored. John and Theresa looked at her. "Ant-antlick City," Mary repeated, and giggled again.
They grinned at her. "Yeah," Theresa laughed, nuzzling her son's head with her cheek. He didn't seem to realize what was so funny, and just looked confused.
Mary added, "By the way, hotshot, we're not in California. We're in Kansas."
"Oh, really? Now, I don't know exactly how much time has passed since my last conscious memory, but I doubt it was long enough for me to go from sitting in my car in Sacramento, California, to wherever you think you are in Kansas. I'd never go that far from my baby."
"Your baby?"
Chuckling, John gave a nod. "A 1967 Chevy Impala."
Mary whistled. "Nice wheels."
"See? We're in Cali."
"But how do you know?" Theresa questioned. "I mean, it's just as likely that we're in Mary's home state or mine. We don't know how the heck we got here."
John shifted uncomfortably at that thought. "Geez... why'd you have to suggest that? My car... who's taking care of my car?"
"I've got a better question. What are we doing here?" wondered Mary.
No one had an answer for her. They all looked around, taking in the windmill in the distance and the houses that looked like something out of the Old West.
"We should probably seek some shelter. The sky looks ready to storm."
The two women and child thought John's idea sounded as good as any, so they headed for one of the rundown houses. As they walked, Paul rested his head on Theresa's shoulder; he kept looking at the empty air beside John. Finally, just as they'd reached the porch, the little boy said, "Your grandma's pretty."
John stared at him, bewildered. "What do you mean, kid? Both my grandmothers are dead."
Paul just shrugged.
Theresa's eyes shifted as if she felt uncomfortable.
*****
When they entered the house, they found it was partially occupied. Two dark-haired kids, a guy and a girl, were making out in the kitchen, her sitting on the table and him standing in front of her. Theresa gasped and hid Paul's eyes when she saw the passionate lip lock; the woman's leopard-print top was already half undone. John started to chuckle, covering his mouth.
The couple stopped kissing and glared at the newcomers. "Oh, uhhh... hi," the guy said.
Mary furrowed her brow. These two also seemed to be about the same age as the rest of them.
"Who are you?" the woman asked, hastily buttoning up her shirt.
They each introduced themselves. "You two know each other already?" Theresa asked. Her tone betrayed the fact that she sure hoped so.
"Nope. Just met."
Theresa raised an eyebrow.
"I'm Beth Clinton," the girl said, hopping down off the table. "This is Jordan Kessler."
"Hey," he said, and wiped his mouth.
Mary questioned, "Do you know what we're doing here?"
They shook their heads. "Thought we'd kill some time until we figured it out," Beth explained with a mischievous wink for Jordan.
He smiled back, not opening his mouth. "We found a metal firepit, though. We were going to bring it in here and look for something to cook."
"Firepit?"
"Yeah, you know, one of those big metal bowl things on a stand that you can use to barbecue. It'd be safe to drag that in the house and use it, don't you think?" Jordan suggested to the others. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starved."
Shortly after, the group was sitting around the firepit while John and Jordan worked to get it ready. Through their conversation, they discovered that Jordan was from a suburb of Denver, Colorado, and Beth hailed from Corpus Christi, Texas. Neither one knew where they were.
Mary brought another armful of firewood.
"Thanks, Mary," John said as he took the wood.
Their hands touched. Mary smiled shyly.
Jordan waited for her to walk away before he leaned over and, with a lecherous grin, said quietly to John, "Now that is one fine piece of ass."
A protective, almost possessive surge of anger welled up in John's chest, but he hid it as best he could. After all, he'd just met Mary too. Why did he have a right to think he had any claim over her? "She's very pretty. Not a piece of ass, though," he settled for a reply.
"Oh, sure. She's the last virgin of 1977." Jordan watched Mary cross the room, bend over to tweak Paul's little nose, and tuck some blonde hair behind her ear with a laugh. "Mm. I want a shot at that."
That jealousy surged up in John's chest again. "Weren't you just crawlin' all over the table with Beth a little while ago?"
Jordan blinked at him. "So? We were interrupted."
Rolling his eyes, John snapped, "Just get the matches, will ya?"
Everyone clapped in approval once the fire really got going. The rain started shortly after. Water dripped from a few spots on the ceiling. The group formed a circle around the firepit; Mary eagerly sat next to John, bringing a delighted smile to his face. But Jordan insisted on sitting on her other side. Beth slid in next to him, leaning on him, which he seemed to welcome also. John couldn't help but glare at him a little - who did he think he was? Did he think he deserved both women? Theresa and Paul completed the circle, sitting between Beth and John. Theresa seemed safe from Jordan's advances because of the child.
John was about to open his mouth and bring up the subject of food when Paul beat him to it, whining, "Mommy, I'm hungry."
"I know, baby." Mary finally got to see why Theresa carried such a big purse. She began to remove various delicious items from it, like crackers, spreadable cheese, sandwiches, and plastic bottles of juice. Everyone goggled at the food. Theresa looked around at the others. "You guys want some, don't you?"
A chorus of, "Yeah, uh huh, you bet"s moved through the room in a wave, and they crowded in to get some. It was all the kind of food a child would like (the sandwiches, for instance, were peanut butter and jelly), but no one complained.
John's eyes went wide when Theresa pulled the heel of a salami out of the bag and started to unwrap it. "Why ya carry all that food in your purse, Theresa?"
She cringed just a little at the question, but answered it. "Children snack a lot while you're out and about. With all the preservatives they've got these days, you can carry all kinds of things around wherever you want."
"This is an awful lot of food you've got, though."
Looking down and picking at the Saran Wrap, Theresa shrugged.
John continued, "I'm not complaining, though, I mean, thank you. But it's almost like you knew..."
Theresa looked up sharply. "...Knew we were coming here? No. I had no idea."
Paul stopped trying to spread bright yellow cheese on his Ritz cracker, wincing, and looked up at his mother. "Mommy... it's okay." He handed her the cracker. "Don't get mad."
She took the cracker, breathing deeply. "Thank you, Paul."
John and Mary both eyed the mother and son. It was almost like Theresa had read John's mind, and then something happened between Paul and his mother, like an invisible foot kicked him when she lashed out at John. They both thought it was strange.
One thing Mary knew for sure was that Theresa was telling the truth. "You carry all this stuff around in your purse incase you have to take your son and... it's about what you said earlier? When you couldn't find Paul?"
Theresa nodded.
"I don't get it," John admitted.
As if he could feel the awkwardness between them, Paul put his fingers in his ears.
Theresa couldn't help but laugh, and kissed the top of his head. "Yes, it's about Paul's father." Even though Paul could not really hear them now, she still spoke quietly. "He shows no real interest in our son, but he's also a powerful man who doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no.' If he ever decided he wanted Paul... well, we'd have to get out of town in a hurry." She patted her purse. "I've got a change of clothes in here too."
"Oh." John grew sheepish. "I'm sorry for what I implied, Theresa."
"It'd alright." She cut off a piece of the salami and handed it to him. "I thought maybe Paul's father had something to do with us winding up here, but he'd have no reason to take all of you too. It's truly a mystery." With an amused smile, Theresa pulled Paul's fingers out of his ears, making a popping noise.
"Are you done with the tall talk?" he asked.
John and Mary both chuckled.
"Yes. You may go on eating."
He looked back at her, hands on his hips, and responded jauntily, "I think I will."
Laughing along with the others, Theresa ruffled his hair.
Mary looked from one person to the other. She finally couldn't stand it anymore. "Theresa, how old are you?"
Distractedly cutting at the meat with a hard plastic knife, she answered, "Twenty-three."
"So am I," Mary mused.
"Huh," barked John.
Theresa glanced up at him. "You too?"
He nodded. "Yeah." John and Mary looked at each other.
Beth sat straight up, a dab of cheese at the corner of her mouth. "Far out! I'm 23 too." She leaned on Jordan, rubbing his knee. "You?"
He also nodded his head. "That's really weird."
"What does it mean? We're all the same age," Mary wondered aloud.
"I'm only four," added Paul, which made the others laugh and snicker.
"That's right, Paulie, but I think Miss Mary's point still stands." Theresa bit into her piece of salami. "I certainly don't know what to..." She suddenly went quiet, listening.
Everyone watched her and wondered what she heard. John thought he heard someone moving on the porch; he turned his head suddenly to listen with great concentration.
Paul went on arranging his crackers, playing with the food. "Mommy, aren't we going to say grace?" All of a sudden, he too looked up like a wary cat.
There came a sudden clatter of feet outside the front door. A girl opened the door so quickly that it startled everyone, even though they had been expecting her by then. She was Asian, with long black hair at mid-back length. Her clothes and hair dripped with rainwater. She looked at the group, then longingly at the fire.
Mary welcomed her in. "It's okay. Come on in out of the rain."
The girl just stared with confusion and tightly-reigned fear. Mary waved at her, and pointed to an empty spot between John and Theresa that was just big enough for the thin girl. "Have a seat," she offered.
The Asian woman moved carefully to the empty place and sat down. She immediately put her hands up to the fire; they could all see her shivering.
"What's your name?" Mary asked.
The woman just looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows.
"Do you speak English?" John asked.
She seemed to understand a tiny bit of what he'd said. "Little. Little Eng-lish," she replied very slowly and carefully.
John pointed to himself. Everyone watched the exchange with rapt interest. "John," he said. "I'm John." Then he pointed at her.
She looked at her clothes like she expected to see something worth pointing at. Then she got it. "Ah. Ah, John," she said, again slowly. She pointed to herself. "Natraya."
"Natraya, that's beautiful," crooned Mary. Meeting an Asian person who hadn't grown up in America, with different clothes and an exotic name, was a pretty exciting event for a not-so-well traveled girl like Mary.
They went around the circle with the introductions. Then John said, "I was in the Vietnam War. You look like you could be from that area. Vietnam?"
Natraya tried hard to understand what he was saying. She shook her head at the last word. "Thailand," she answered.
"Ohhh, Thailand. You have that Southeastern Pacific look." John waved his hand in front of his face to indicate what part of her reminded him of that area of the world.
Natraya just stared at him and finally nodded with a polite smile.
Continuing with her theory, Mary tried to communicate with the girl by asking, "How old are you?" She pointed to herself. "Twenty-three," she said slowly. "You?" And she pointed at Natraya.
Natraya obviously didn't understand. She tried to, but just stared at Mary with raised eyebrows.
Mary took out her driver's license. She showed it to her. "Do you have one?"
After she examined the piece of plastic, Natraya reached into her pocket and dug out an ID card. No one could read the bulk of it, as it wasn't in English, but there were some numbers on it they recognized.
John looked at the others with an uneasiness about him. "1954," he read off the card.
"She's 23, like us." Frustrated, Mary pounded a fist on the floor. "What does it mean?"
John took her hand and kissed the side that she'd hit against the ground. "Don't hurt yourself because you're frustrated. We'll figure it out."
She just looked at him with a small, lovely smile.
Jordan took his turn to roll his eyes.
Theresa, digging around in her bag, said, "You should get out of those wet clothes. I've got extra." She held out her change of clothes. "Natraya? For you."
Natraya looked at the clothes with confusion.
Theresa added, "To borrow," and held them out further.
Natraya finally seemed to get it. She peeled a section of her shirt away from her wet body to indicate it, then pointed to the dry clothing in Theresa's hands.
"Yes," she replied. "For you to wear."
With a grateful smile, Natraya took the clothes and stood up. She pointed in the direction of an adjoining room.
"Yeah, you go in there and get changed."
She seemed to understand, and, nodding, headed for the room. Before she disappeared around the corner, Natraya carefully said, "Thank... you."
They were still talking and eating around the fire when Natraya came back a few minutes later, wearing Theresa's far more American clothes. Her clothing had been hung on wooden chairs in the adjoining dining room, and was currently dripping all over the floor, leaving round spots and small puddles in the dust. She stood in one place, self-conscious, until the others waved her over and encouraged her to sit by the fire again.
Paul held out some of the cheese and cracker sandwiches he'd made. "Would you like some?"
"Yeah, you look hungry. Eat up." John put a sandwich in front of her.
At first, Natraya looked at them, then at the food, and took the crackers hesitantly, like she wasn't sure she was entitled to it. She began to eat with everyone's eyes curiously on her. Natraya bobbed back and forth, nodding with her upper body, and smiling. "Thank you," she said, a little more confidently than she had before. Natraya chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the texture of this food, which was of a type she didn't eat much of at home.
"You're welcome. There's more where that came from," Theresa told her happily.
That brought a sudden thought to John. Should they ration the food? How long would they be here? No one else seemed to be thinking of those things. He wasn't sure what he should say to the others about his concerns.
Theresa looked at him suddenly, like she knew he was worried. Within seconds, his body language reflected it, from the slow, distracted way he chewed to the frown lines across his forehead.
Natraya smiled lovingly and a little sadly at Paul, as if he reminded her of someone, and patted his small head. While she ate, she attempted to communicate her own concerns. "Thailand?" She looked at Theresa, then John.
"Hm?"
She swept her arms above her head, making an arc. She seemed to be indicating the entire area around them. "Thailand?" Natraya asked again.
John realized what she was saying, and his eyes drooped sadly. "No... I don't think you're in Thailand right now, Natraya. To be honest, we're not sure where we are."
"But we think it's somewhere in America, because of the houses," Mary added.
"How can we be sure of that?" Jordan cut in. "Other countries have 'American'-style houses."
They all fell uncomfortably silent.
Looking at them with confusion, Natraya said, "Not Thailand?"
John shook his head. "I don't think so."
She stared back at him, apprehensive, and swallowed hard.
They ate in silence for several minutes. No one knew what to say, or wanted to talk about it, really. They had no explanations, at least none they had connected to being in this deserted town yet. None of them knew when they would be able to go home.
Or if.
Harried and frightened, Beth finally spoke up. "There has to be some other reason why we were brought here. It can't be because we're all twenty-three. That makes no sense." She took out a cigarette and tried to light it with shaking hands. "We weren't even born in the same place. If we'd been born in the same hospital, or something, I could at least make sense of it. You know, like a story on a soap opera. Or, if we were all chosen to be international spies and this was the start of our training..."
"That's ridiculous," John half-mumbled.
"I didn't say it was the explanation. I just said that if it was like something from a movie, at least I'd have one," Beth said back angrily. "Have you got any bright ideas?"
John tried to think of a reason that this could be happening, but he had to shake his head in frustration. "I can't think of anything either. It really is like something you'd see on television."
Beth took a long, shaky drag off her cigarette. She startled everyone when she suddenly cried, "What are we doing here?!"
Looking from one person to another in bewilderment, Natraya said, very slowly and carefully, "Yellow-eyed man?"
Several of the group gasped. Paul instantly looked up from arranging his crackers into a picture of a dog and stared at the Thai girl in fear. They were all shocked.
They all knew whom she meant.
"You've seen him too?!" Mary cried. "I've had dreams about him!"
"I have too!" Beth said, her tone bordering on hysteria.
"I thought they were just nightmares about the devil," Theresa told them, throwing her hat in. "Trying to tempt me... what does that mean, that you've all dreamed about him too?"
John suddenly grabbed Natraya by the arms. She reacted with confusion and fright. "What do you know? What do you know about the Yellow-Eyed Man?!" He shook her a little. "Why did you say that?!"
Natraya shook her head frantically.
"Stop pretending you can't understand us! You know something, don't you?"
She wildly shook her head again. In reaction, John rattled her teeth in her head with a harder shake. "Tell us why he brought us here!"
"She doesn't know!" Theresa cried, reaching over to try to pry John's hand off one of Natraya's arms. "Let her go!"
"How do you know?" John growled back.
"Because I can feel it!"
John stopped, looking at her as if he partially understood what she meant.
"You've had dreams about him too, haven't you?" Theresa questioned. John glared back at her with wide, searching eyes. "He encourages you to use whatever abilities you have to do evil. Doesn't he?"
Shocked, John slowly released Natraya's arms, not taking his eyes off Theresa. Natraya sobbed and scooted herself across the floor, squeezing herself into a corner across the room. She covered her head with her arms and made little sound above frightened whimpers.
"Look what you did!" Mary yelled scoldingly. She got up, stepped over John, and went to Natraya's side, trying to comfort her.
John did look, but quickly brought his eyes back to Theresa. "How do you know what I've been dreaming?"
"Isn't it obvious? Because I've been dreaming it too."
Paul put his fists to his eyes and began to cry. Theresa scooped him up, holding him, stroking his back. "Shhh, Paulie, it's okay."
Beth wasn't that far from tears herself. "Why does he want us?"
"Because we can all do things. You know what I'm talking about." Theresa glanced at Natraya. "Natraya's terrified because she hardly knows what we're saying, and she's been trying so hard to communicate with us, but it hasn't been easy. You can't imagine how much fear she's been holding back since she got here, especially since we told her this probably isn't Thailand. Can you imagine? At least there's a good chance we weren't transported halfway across the world."
"How do you know all that?" John asked.
"Because I'm an empath. My son and I both are. That means we can sense the emotions of others." Theresa cuddled her cheek to Paul's head. "Sometimes, my little boy drowns in what other people are feeling. I try to buffer it, but I can't always overcome his will. He's just a baby. Someone so little can't fully understand these abnormal things he can do." Her voice quavered with threatening tears.
"Buffer it?" John asked.
Theresa looked at him with glistening eyes. "I created an empathic link between us. I can tell what he's feeling because of that link. And I can also control it at times."
His voice sounding threatened, Jordan said, "Control it?"
Theresa nodded. "I'm a projective empath."
"You mean, you can make us feel whatever you want?" Beth questioned in an incredulous tone.
"Yes. For the most part." She looked at each of them. "But you know I'm not crazy. You've had the dreams. He wouldn't have brought you here if you couldn't do something too. So what is it? What can you do?" Theresa again addressed them each individually with her eyes.
John pointed at Mary and Natraya. "Make Natraya stop crying. You say you can control emotions, now do it."
"Oh, so you require proof? Fine." She turned partially toward the Thai girl. "Natraya? It's alright. No one's going to hurt you. Do you hear the tone of my voice? Very soothing. No reason to cry anymore. No reason to cry." Theresa's tone was very calming and hypnotic.
At first, Natraya kept her arms over her head, covering her face, and continued to cower in the corner, not even responding to Mary's efforts to comfort her. Within seconds of Theresa beginning to speak, Natraya peeked out from behind her forearms. She had her arms down by the time Theresa finished. The sobbing stopped, and diminished to sniffles.
"That's it. Why don't you come back over here? You feel calm." Theresa held out her free hand, the one that wasn't wrapped around Paul. He had stopped crying too, and just sat in his mother's lap with his head in the crook of her neck.
Natraya stood and strolled back over to the circle. She was practically smiling while she took Theresa's hand and sat down. She looked at John and grinned, almost giddy.
Mary marveled over the difference as she headed back to the group too. "Do you have to talk to the person like that to make it work?"
"No. It's just something I do." Theresa patted Natraya's arm. "I'll stop now."
Almost instantly, Natraya looked on John with fear, recoiling from him. Mary sat down between the two of them and tried to soothe her. "I won't let him do anything else to you, Natraya." She glared at John challengingly.
He couldn't help but smirk, pleased with her. John liked a challenging, strong woman who wasn't afraid to put him in his place. "You're going to stop me?"
"I sure am." Mary put a hand on her hip, giving him an intimidating look.
He barely held back a boisterous laugh, not at her expense, but because he found her so cute like that. When they got out of this, John wanted a date. "I believe ya."
"When you two are finished flirting..." Jordan began.
John and Mary both shot him a dirty look.
"...I'd just like to say that what you just did?" Jordan indicated Theresa. "That was supremely creepy. Stay out of my head, okay?"
Although her expression showed a bit of obvious hurt, Theresa shrugged. "You can keep me out if your will is strong enough. But I have no business in there anyway. You don't have to worry about it."
John knew he was bringing up a touchy subject before he even opened his mouth, but he did it anyway. His mother always said he was too mouthy for his own good. "You said that Paul's an empath too, right?"
"Uh huh."
"But there are other things that he can do."
Theresa, narrowing her eyes, said, "What do you mean?"
"Earlier in the day, Paul was looking to my right, and he said that my grandmother is pretty. But my grandmother's not anywhere near here. In fact, both my grandmas have been dead since I was a teenager," John explained.
With discomfort, Theresa shifted and fidgeted, finally giving a shrug. "He has a big imagination."
"He speaks to the dead, doesn't he?"
Theresa immediately covered Paul's ears. "Don't say that!"
Paul buried his face in her neck, whimpering.
"What do you mean, don't say it? Is it true or not?"
"It's forbidden!"
John, confused, tried to figure out what she meant. "What's forbidden? Talking to the dead?"
"Yes!" Theresa looked quite stricken and ready to shed fresh tears at this topic of conversation. "It says it in the Bible."
Not being raised religiously, John never fully understood people who lived by the spiritual teachings of any book. But he could plainly see that Theresa held the words of the Bible close to her heart. "Surely the book isn't referring to stuff like this. The kid can't help it if he's been given a gift. The Bible just means don't play with Ouija boards and crap like that."
Theresa shook her head. "It is referring to stuff like this. Paul's not supposed to talk to them. It's wrong."
"Why would God give the kid an ability like that if he wasn't meant to use it?" John asked angrily.
Theresa shot back, "Who said it was God?"
They stared at each other with intense expressions and even more dramatic emotions running through them. She added, "Sometimes, we're tested, and there are things we're supposed to resist in life. This very well may be my son's test of faith."
John paused, silent and tense, and then hissed, "Bullshit."
Theresa ground her teeth for a moment. "Do you have any kids?" she finally asked.
"No."
"When you have children, you can decide how they're raised. In the meantime, don't criticize how I raise my son."
"I wouldn't criticize it if you weren't just plain wrong," John said sarcastically. He knew he was being a bit of a jerk, and would react the same way Theresa was reacting if anyone ever criticized his parenting decisions, but John had a problem keeping his mouth shut when he probably should. It had gotten him into more than one fight in his life. He didn't much care. John would rather be alone with his clear conscience than have a hundred unaccountable friends.
Her mouth tight, Theresa glared at him. Before she could respond, Mary put in her two cents.
"Quit picking on her," Mary commanded in a cross voice. "She has a right to her beliefs. You have no idea what it's like to raise a child like Paul. Being a single mother must be hard enough, and then... is it even good for a child to speak to the dead?" She had lowered her voice, but Theresa remained holding Paul's ears. He could still feel all their emotions swirling around inside him; it showed in his pained expression. "He's so young. Can he even understand what the other side is like?"
John scoffed. "The kid didn't seem afraid of my granny."
Paul whimpered.
"Can we stop talking about this?" Theresa asked. She sounded annoyed and tired. "I need to put Paul to bed soon, and we haven't yet heard what you can do," she said to John, with a sarcastic tone.
As she requested, John decided to drop it. He changed the subject by answering her question. "Well, I imagine I'm here because of my special relationship with my best girl." John smirked when he said it.
Mary couldn't help but frown. That was the worst news ever.
"Your best girl?" asked Theresa.
"My car," confessed John, and looked at Mary to see her reaction.
She couldn't help showing her delight at that response, either. His car.
Theresa looked at them both, mooning over each other, and grinned a tiny bit. No matter how he'd acted toward her, Theresa knew there was something right about John and Mary together. There was real possibility there. She could feel it.
"What do you mean, you have a special relationship with your car?" questioned Jordan.
"I've always been talking to machines. It never seemed strange to me until I was old enough to realize that other people couldn't do it. So I read some books about that kind of stuff." John spoke about his ability with wonder and pride. "Turns out I'm a technopath."
"You can talk to your car? The '67 Impala you told us about?" Mary asked.
"Yeah," John grinned.
Jordan added, "Does it talk back?" He sounded doubtful.
"In a way. It all happens in my head. How do you think the thing still runs on all its original parts?" John tapped his temple. "You gotta sweet talk 'er."
"Huh."
John didn't care if Jordan believed him or not. He was just happy that Mary did. "What about you, Mary?"
She shyly looked down into her lap. "Oh, I just have feelings sometimes. About what's going to happen. And then they come true. And I can mimic the powers of others. Nothing big."
"Nothing big?" John said incredulously. "You see the future?"
Mary looked up at him tentatively. "Sometimes."
Theresa could feel the worry in the back of Mary's mind. She wasn't telling the whole truth.
"I can do that too. Mimic the powers of others," Jordan said quietly.
He was telling the truth. But Theresa had a hard time reading the full range of his emotions. It was like he could block her, like Jordan knew how to keep her out. The wall he put up, it felt... it felt like he'd been practicing how to do it. But that would require some foreknowledge of empathy, wouldn't it? Why would Jordan practice such a thing when he didn't even seem to know what empathy was before this day? Theresa hugged her sleepy son closer to her, feeling a sense of foreboding in the air.
Beth volunteered her information before she was asked. "I, um, have this thing where I can manipulate pheromones." She spoke directly to Jordan. "But I promise I didn't use it on you. You really wanted to kiss me."
Everyone giggled, except Paul, who didn't know what pheromones were. He kept nodding off on his mother's shoulder, sleeping in that deep, almost comatose way that children had, so that not even all the conversation disturbed him.
Mary looked at Natraya, who seemed fairly sleepy herself. "I wonder what she can do? If only we could ask her..."
"Let's save it for the morning, okay? We all need sleep." John stood up and got the top to the firepit; it wasn't a good idea to leave it exposed and possibly start a fire.
"I don't know if I want to stay here overnight. It's creepy," Beth commented.
John replied, "I took a look around before I stumbled upon Paul. This city seems to be completely surrounded by a very dense forest. You couldn't even get a car through. So the alternative to sleeping here is hiking out through those trees... in the dark."
Shuddering, Beth concluded, "I think we'll spend the night."
Chapter 2
Chapter 3