As Far as the Sky, part 2

[tamcranver]

Part 1



Things got a lot better after they made friends with Frank. Gerard had never really had a friend like Frank before, a friend who knew about what weirdoes they were and actually thought it was cool, a friend they could tell about Mikey’s weird dreams or the pictures Gerard sometimes drew of stuff that hadn’t happened yet.

Frank made them play sports sometimes, and they still pretty much sucked at them, but sometimes he’d also come hang out in their room. He’d teach Mikey how to play some simple chords on the guitar and then watch while Gerard drew pictures with his harmonica.

“Seriously,” he said as he watched the crayon trace a straight line in mid-air to a wailing note in “House of the Rising Sun,” “That’s the coolest thing ever. Imagine how kickass that would be if you did it at a concert—like, you played your harmonica and dudes in the audience started floating in the air.”

“They’d call the cops,” muttered Mikey, who was running a hand over his starcase and staring at the ceiling. I wish I could make stuff move with the guitar, he added silently to Gerard, sounding vaguely sad and jealous.

Gerard frowned and hit him on the shoulder. Maybe Mikey couldn’t do psychic stuff with musical instruments, but he could do a lot more with just his mind than Gerard could, which was probably more practical anyway. What kind of superhero stopped in the middle of a battle to play the harmonica?

“Hey, you’re doing it again,” Frank said, dangling himself over the top of the other bunk bed to glare at Mikey. “Talk out loud! I wanna hear!”

About a month after they’d come to live at the Home, Mikey jerked awake in the middle of the night, waking Gerard, too. Gerard, he said. For some reason his thought-voice was a million times more irritating than his actual voice when Gerard was asleep, and so Gerard groaned and put a pillow over his head. As if it would help. Gerard! Mikey said again, more urgently. Do you hear that?

“Hear what?” Gerard asked irritably.

It’s a cat. Out in the woods by the basketball court. Mikey poked his head up from the bottom bunk, his eyes looking unfocused without his glasses. She’s lost, and she’s scared, he said. Some jerk dumped her from his car on the road, and she wandered here trying to find her way home.

“God, Mikey, can’t it wait until the morning?” Gerard was seriously not interested in going out in the dewy, chilly night in just his skeleton pajamas. “Can’t cats see in the dark or something?”

Gerard, Mikey said, and he was probably going for scolding, but he came across kind of pleading, and Gerard sighed and sat up.

“Fine,” he said. “But if we get in trouble, I’m totally blaming you.”

They put on their sneakers and carefully crept down the hall. The stairs were pretty creaky, but then, they were creaky even when nobody was stepping on them, so it wasn’t like they were any louder than usual. It was a cool, clear night with a bright full moon, and Gerard had to admit there was something kind of exciting about being outside under that moon, walking through the wet grass and knowing that he and Mikey were the only ones awake.

“Okay,” he grumbled as they made it past the basketball court. “Where’s this cat?”

Mikey paused with a focused look on his face, listening. “This way,” he said, and he vanished into the forest.

The woods were scary at night, full of opaque shadows and a million mysterious noises. The silvery moonlight made everything look almost two-dimensional, like paper cut-out trees set in a thousand overlapping layers. It was awesome, and despite the damp, Gerard totally regretted not taking his sketchpad.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to enjoy it, because he had to keep up with Mikey, and Gerard really wasn’t used to running through the woods at night. “Jeez, Mikey,” he gasped, “slow down! This cat’s not going anywhere, right?”

You don’t have to keep up, said Mikey. It’s not like I’m gonna get lost.

Mikey clearly didn’t get that, as far as Gerard was concerned, being a big brother meant that he didn’t let his little brother go wandering around alone in the woods at night. If he’d been good at sending thoughts like Mikey, he would have said that; instead, he saved his breath to concentrate on staying on the narrow path and trying not to trip over sticks and roots.

Finally, Gerard heard what Mikey’d heard from their room—a soft, pathetic-sounding meow. Mikey practically ran the last leg of the trail and threw himself on a small, mottled patch of shadow in the dark shade of a pile of leaves.

He didn’t say anything out loud, but Gerard could feel him soothing the cat even from a distance. The cat’s frantic heartbeat slowed, and it started purring loudly. Gerard stepped closer to get a better look at it and scratch behind its ears. Even if they didn’t take to him the way they took to Mikey, animals tended to like him.

But then he sneezed, and abruptly he remembered that he was allergic to cats. It was easy to forget at home—Mama never had cats around, and it wasn’t like Mikey and Gerard went over to play at other kids’ houses all the time.

“Man, I’m sorry, Gee,” Mikey said, pulling his face from the cat’s neck. “I forgot you were allergic.”

“That’s okay.” Gerard tried to ignore the burning in his eyes. “We’ve still gotta figure out what to do with this cat.”

“Bunny,” Mikey said.

“What?” It was definitely a cat. The sneezing and purring kind of proved it.

“That’s her name. Bunny.”

Gerard wondered if the cat had actually told him that, or if Mikey just thought that Bunny was a good name for a cat for some reason. “Whatever,” he said. “We’re still not allowed to have pets, remember?”

“You think they wouldn’t let me keep her?” Mikey frowned. “Jon loves cats.” Jon was one of the teachers who tutored at the Home. Even though there weren’t classes over the summer, he still hung around to run the summer reading program and referee basketball games. Mikey was right, he did love cats, but Jon wasn’t in charge.

“Nope,” Gerard said. “Spencer’ll probably call the animal shelter. And you can’t hide her in our room,” he added before Mikey could suggest it. “Allergies, remember? I’m pretty sure Spencer’d figure out something was up if I couldn’t stop sneezing and rubbing my eyes all the time.”

“Hmm. Yeah.” Mikey stared at the cat for a long time, like he was giving it a stern talking-to. Gerard shivered. As hot as it was during the day, he sort of wished he had a jacket now. “Okay,” Mikey said suddenly, “let’s go.” He stood up, still clutching the cat in his arms.

Gerard wondered if he’d forgotten about the conversation they’d just had or if he was working out some plan to hide Bunny in the building. Either way, it seemed like a disaster in the making to Gerard. “Um, Mikey?” he said hesitantly.

“Bunny and me worked it out,” Mikey said. “She can stay in the tool shed at night and then we can hang out outside during the day.”

“Well, what’s she gonna eat?” Gerard asked. Oh, there were so many things that were gonna go wrong with this plan.

Mikey looked at Bunny questioningly for a moment and then back at Gerard. “She likes meat and cheese and stuff. I can bring her food.”

“Mikey….” Gerard began. He wanted to tell him that it was a bad idea—summer wouldn’t last forever, and the shed was no place for a cat once it got cold, and didn’t cats need to go to the vet for shots and things, anyway? But Mikey was looking at him, not even pushing at him mentally, just looking at him expectantly with big eyes, and Gerard wasn’t gonna be the guy who pulled a kitten out of his little brother’s arms. No way. “Okay,” he said, sighing loudly. “For now.”

Mikey beamed, and Gerard felt a little better. Together they crept back out of the woods and around the basketball court to the tool shed, where Mikey managed to leave Bunny with only one unhappy sigh. Their pajamas were wet, so neither of them even bothered to get back under the covers, but they lay on top on one of the Home’s plain navy blue comforters in Mikey’s bunk until they went to sleep. Gerard had weird dreams about chasing squirrels through the woods; even in the dream he suspected that Mikey was having some kind of dream-conversation with Bunny and passing it along to Gerard.

Despite Bunny’s less-than-dignified appearance at their first meeting, she turned out to be a pretty kick-ass cat. Mikey must have explained the need for secrecy really well to her, because she somehow managed to avoid being seen by Spencer or Brendon or Jon or any of the other kids while still seeking out Mikey at every opportunity. She seemed to get that Gerard couldn’t handle being around her too much, so she kept a safe distance while still coming across as friendly. And as far as Gerard could tell, she’d do just about anything to protect Mikey.

Every so often, the adults who ran the Home would take everyone on a field trip--not too often, because it was pretty expensive to take forty kids out to museums or the pool or a restaurant, but often enough that everyone was spared cabin fever. Back home, going to the movies hadn’t been a big deal, because Mama had taken Gerard and Mikey for dinner and a movie all the time. It was pretty exciting now, though, as they waited for the bus to come, not the least because they were seeing the new Batman movie.

“The last one was so great. Usually, I don’t like the movies where they tell you how somebody became a superhero,” Frank said, “because seriously, who doesn’t know Superman’s from Krypton and Spiderman got bitten by a spider and stuff? But this one kicked ass!”

“Totally,” Gerard said, thankful for the millionth time that Frank had turned out to be a comics nerd. “The casting was so great—I mean, could you even imagine a better Alfred than Michael Caine?”

“He was a totally badass Alfred,” Frank agreed.

Mikey nodded, but his face was worriedly blank. Gerard, he said, that Paul kid—the one whose arm Frank broke—he keeps looking at me.

Gerard turned to look. Mikey was right. Gerard didn’t really know Paul or anything. All he really knew about him was that Frank didn’t like him. But for some reason, since Frank had started hanging out with Gerard and Mikey—or maybe since Gerard had been stupid enough to show what he could do during the kickball game—Paul had been looming in a vaguely threatening manner around them. And the look he was giving Mikey now wasn’t at all friendly.

Frank, who was a pretty observant kid, looked over and glared at Paul. “What are you looking at?” he snapped.

Paul sneered, and Gerard winced. He hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a fight. Paul was a lot bigger than Gerard, and almost twice Frank’s size, and even if Frank had broken his arm before, Gerard wasn’t any too optimistic about their chances if he and Mikey didn’t use their powers. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as Paul strode over. “I was just looking at your little faggot boyfriend’s jewelry box,” Paul said. Before Gerard could even parse what he’d said enough to understand it or be insulted by it, Paul had grabbed Mikey’s starcase.

“Give it back!” Mikey shouted, causing heads all around to turn. “That’s mine!”

“Holy shit,” said Frank’s friend Bill. “It speaks!” Gerard gave him a dirty look, for all the good it would do.

Frank glared at Paul, looking almost as angry as he had the time he’d tried to hit Gerard. For all he was a really short kid, Gerard thought he was pretty intimidating. “Paul, stop being an asshole and give him back his starcase.”

“Give him back his starcase,” Paul mocked. “‘Starcase.’ What the fuck, Iero, you turning into some kind of freak like these two fags?” He dangled the starcase by the leather handle in its corner, swinging it around like a purse in an old-fashioned movie. Mikey’s face went pale as he watched.

Gerard felt a fierce stab of anger under his fear. “What’s your problem?” he said, stepping between his brother and Paul. “We didn’t do anything to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Paul stepped forward, narrowing his eyes at Gerard. He had a really bumpy nose, like it had been broken a time or two, Gerard thought. He’d never seen it up close before, but it kind of reminded him of Liam Neeson’s. “You’re friends with him,” Paul said, pointing at Frank with his broken arm. “Enough said.”

Jamia rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Paul. They weren’t even here when you guys had that fight. It’s not their fault.”

“You stay the hell out of this!” Paul scowled at her before turning his glare back on Gerard. “There’s something really fucking weird about you, Minnelli,” he said. “What was that shit you pulled during the kickball game? Why the fuck doesn’t your brother talk?” He held up the starcase and gave Frank, Gerard, and Mikey an ugly smirk. “And what the hell’s in this thing?” He swung it back like he was going to throw it against the wall of the building. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Before Gerard could do anything about it, Mikey ran out in front of him, rushing at Paul. Gerard didn’t have time to get out his harmonica or think of a plan. He just thought HELP ME!, as hard as he could, focusing all of his energy on keeping Mikey safe.

There was a horrifying screech, and then, as if out of nowhere, Bunny appeared, hissing like crazy. She ran faster than Gerard had ever seen a cat run before and leaped through the air, knocking the starcase out of Paul’s hands and scratching his arms with fully extended claws. A couple of kids cried out in shock; Mikey broke out into a huge grin.

“Hey!” Spencer, who’d been holed up in his office talking to Brendon and Jon at the bus rental place, materialized in the doorway, glaring fiercely. “What’s going on here?”

“There was a cat!” exclaimed Greta. “It….” She looked around—somehow, while they’d all turned their attention on Spencer, Bunny had made her escape.

“A cat?” Spencer said skeptically. “Because it looks like you guys”—he gestured towards Mikey and Gerard and Paul and Frank—“were about to get into a fight. Please, please, tell me you guys weren’t getting into a fight on Movie Day, because I really don’t want to have to find someone to watch you while the rest of us go see Batman.”

Gerard thought his chest would burst with the unfairness of it all. How could Paul’s taking Mikey’s starcase and calling them names possibly, possibly make them worthy of punishment? Mikey, meanwhile, squatted down in the dirt to pick up his starcase and stood up to give Spencer a little smile, apparently oblivious to the travesty of justice about to be perpetrated.

Frank, who clearly wasn’t happy about letting Paul off the hook but who also clearly didn’t want to miss the movie, said, “We weren’t fighting. Seriously, this cat just came out of nowhere and scratched Paul. It was freaky.” Paul, who seemed to know a lucky break when he saw one, nodded earnestly.

Spencer frowned. He looked from one person to another with narrowed eyes, but, apparently more or less satisfied that either they were being honest or they just weren’t going to talk, he finally nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go back in for a sec and call Mr. Ross over at CPS about getting us some more chaperones. Nobody do anything. Paul, why don’t you come with me and I’ll see about getting some band-aids for those scratches?”

“Okay,” Paul muttered. With a final, confused glare at Mikey and Gerard, he followed Spencer back inside.

As soon as they were gone, everyone started talking excitedly amongst themselves, and Frank turned eagerly to Mikey and Gerard. “Holy shit,” he said. “Did you guys do that? Make Bunny attack Paul?”

Gerard didn’t think so, but it had all happened kind of fast. “Did you call her, Mikey?” he asked.

Mikey shook his head. I was just gonna see if I could get the starcase from Paul, he said. Out loud, he added, “Did you?”

“I don’t know.” Gerard had never been able to talk to animals like Mikey—at least, not as far as he could remember. Probably Bunny’d just been hanging around and got pissed off and freaked out when she thought Mikey was in trouble. But it was still a pretty big coincidence that Bunny had appeared right when Gerard was focusing everything he had on calling for help. It was strange, even by their family’s standards, so he shrugged helplessly.

“You guys are so weird,” Frank said, but he was smiling, and it made Gerard feel a lot better.

Spencer did eventually manage to dig up some more chaperones and a bus, and they got to the theater before the trailers but after the weird deodorant commercials, which suited Gerard just fine.

The movie was awesome, and it left Gerard with so many things to say to Mikey and Frank he could barely form complete sentences even in his own head. He stepped out of the theater, blinked at the sunlight, and turned to Mikey to talk about Heath Ledger’s portrayal of the Joker compared with Jack Nicholson’s.

But Mikey didn’t seem to be thinking about the movie at all or paying any attention to Gerard. Instead, he was frowning at a blue Honda Civic parked at the music store across the street. Gee, he said, see that car?

“The Civic?” Gerard asked, somewhat disgruntled at being distracted from his opinions about Batman but curious. Mikey nodded, and Gerard said, “What about it?”

Mikey frowned at it with a look of worried concentration. Something’s going to happen to it, he said. Something really bad. The guy who drives it—we can’t let him get back in the car.

Gerard felt a cold shiver at the back of his neck. Mikey didn’t get premonitions out of nowhere that often, but when he did, they were always right. A hand grabbed at Gerard’s shoulder from behind, and he jerked forward, trembling, before turning around to see Frank standing there.

“Whoa,” Frank said, his eyebrows drawn together worriedly. “What’s up? You okay?”

Mikey nodded and patted Gerard’s arm absently. “We gotta stop that guy from getting in his car, now,” he said, pointing to a short, heavyset guy with glasses coming out of the music store.

Frank wanted to ask why, Gerard could tell, but he didn’t. Instead he pressed his lips together determinedly, stepped forward, and yelled, “Hey! Hey, mister!”

A couple of men walking around turned to look at Frank with bemusement, and Gerard felt himself flush. He’d been kind of hoping they could come up with a sneakier plan than just yelling at the guy, but he had to admit, Frank’s way was the most direct. Frank dashed across the street to the Civic guy, and Gerard and Mikey followed him as fast as they could.

“Hey,” said Frank to the Civic guy again, “don’t get in your car.”

The guy frowned and said, “Um, I have to get in my car to go home,” in the confused, controlled and gentle voice that people who weren’t comfortable talking to kids used. “Do you guys have somebody watching you?” He wasn’t much taller than Gerard, but he craned his neck to look over at the group of kids from the Home like he was looking for an adult. Gerard hoped Spencer or one of the chaperones didn’t pick that minute to come out.

Frank glared at the Civic guy. “I’m not a moron, I know what cars are for. But my friend here says you shouldn’t get in your car.” He gave Mikey an encouraging look and said, “Tell him.”

Mikey said quietly, “Something bad’s gonna happen to it,” staring at his shoes the whole time. The man just stared at him.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Gerard said desperately, “But my brother gets these feelings, and they’re pretty much always right, so if he says something bad’s gonna happen, something bad’s gonna happen.”

Frank nodded firmly. “Seriously, Mister, he’s like a psychic.”

The man blinked and pulled off his baseball cap, scratching at his thinning red hair. Finally, he said, “Um. Are you guys with that group of kids across the street?”

“If we tell you,” said Frank, “will you stay out of your car?”

“Jesus,” the guy said, shaking his head. “Come on.” He put his hands on Gerard’s and Frank’s backs, hesitantly ushering them forwards. Looking both ways, he led them back across the street. Gerard had a sinking feeling that they were about to get into trouble.

When they got back to the bus, Jon and Brendon were frantically looking between their clipboards and the group of kids in front of them. When they saw Gerard, Frank, Mikey, and the Civic guy, their anxious expressions dissolved into ones of anger and relief, and they ran over.

“Jesus Christ!” Jon exclaimed. “Didn’t we tell you guys not to wander off?”

Frank glared at Jon and Brendon with a defiant expression, and Mikey hadn’t looked up from the ground yet, so Gerard said, “Sorry.” Jon didn’t look too mollified, but he put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder and squeezed, letting out a deep breath.

“Thanks for bringing them back,” Brendon said. “Swear to God, this trip was actually chaperoned, but with forty kids and six adults….” He shook his head. “I’m really sorry if it was any trouble.”

“Oh, no problem,” said the Civic guy. “They were just…giving me psychic warnings about my car, I guess.”

“Psychic warnings?” Brendon raised his eyebrows, then looked down at Frank. “Frank, have you been holding out on us? Hiding your supernatural talents?”

Frank rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, and Gerard felt a fierce rush of gratitude that Frank was the kind of guy who could keep a secret. Probably it wouldn’t be so bad if Jon and Brendon found out about him and Mikey—they’d been nothing but nice so far, and they didn’t seem the type to be superstitious about witches or Satanists or whatever. But you never knew how people were going to react to the supernatural thing, and it was always better safe than sorry.

“Well, I’m gonna go,” said the Civic guy awkwardly. “I’m just glad I could help.” He turned around, ready to step back down into the street.

At that moment, however, a pickup truck came screeching down the street, weaving in and out among the other cars haphazardly and brushing against the curb. They were already standing on the sidewalk, but Brendon and Jon pulled Frank, Mikey and Gerard back from the curb. The guy driving the pickup was leaning out the window, looking barely conscious. Jon was already digging out his cell phone and calling 911 when the truck took a sharp turn to the right and plowed into the blue Honda Civic, hitting it so hard it pushed the other car up onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, my God,” Brendon said, echoed by the Civic guy.

Frank turned to Mikey and hit him excitedly on the arm. “Holy shit, Mikey!” he exclaimed. “You sure called that one.”

“Yeah,” said Mikey in a dull, gloomy monotone. To Gerard he added, I think something else is gonna happen. I still have a bad feeling.

Gerard didn’t usually feel things the way Mikey did, at least not without clearing everything else out of his mind and concentrating hard enough to make his head hurt, but he felt it now, too, without even trying. The sense that something big was coming washed over him in a dizzying wave of feeling, and he reached out to grab his brother’s hand. “I hear sirens,” he said. They were a few miles away, still, but for once Gerard was the first to hear them.

**

As a general rule, Patrick Stump was pretty modest about claiming knowledge for himself. He knew a lot about music and organizing schedules, a fair amount about computers and talking to people over the phone, and very little about European history or quantum physics. He was cool with that, and he always tried to step carefully in areas where his knowledge was particularly spotty. Knowing what Pete Wentz wanted, however, wasn’t one of those areas.

As soon as the tow truck, the cops, and the Smith Home’s bus pulled away, he pulled out his cell phone and called Pete.

“Patrick!” Pete said before Patrick could get so much as a word out. “Dude, you have to come save me. Andy brought in these guys who keep talking about, like, predicting the future by counting the number of letters in the Bible, and every time I mention the fact that different translations have different numbers of letters, they just stare at me like I’m from another planet. Christ, where does he find these whackjobs?”

Patrick didn’t point out that Pete pretty much invited people like that into his life—and more than that, he made Andy and Joe and Patrick bring people like that into his life—or that Pete, who pretty much embodied the idea of an eccentric rich guy, was in no position to be calling other people whackjobs. Instead, he said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. My car got hit by a truck.”

There was a loud thump in the background. “Jesus!” Pete said. “Holy fuck, Patrick, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I wasn’t actually in it.”

Pete exhaled loudly. “I’ll send a car for you.”

“You don’t have to--” Patrick began, but Pete’s attention was clearly elsewhere.

“What? No, I don’t have a supply of holy water—Christ, these people! What are they, vampire hunters or something? See you soon.” Patrick didn’t have time to ask him what was going on before he hung up.

So, Patrick found a bench to sit on, set his new CDs on the ground, and, while he waited for the car, thought about just what he was going to tell Pete. The thing was not to get him too excited, Patrick thought, make him understand this could just be a fluke, and that even if it wasn’t, that they had to proceed carefully.

Dirty and the car showed up sooner than Patrick had expected. Rolling the window down, Dirty stuck his head out and yelled, “Hey, man, you need a ride?”

“Thanks,” said Patrick, lugging his stuff over and dumping it in the back seat. “My car’s pretty much done for.”

“What happened?” asked Dirty after Patrick had settled himself in the passenger seat. “Pete was, like, freaking out. You get in an accident?”

“Not really,” Patrick said. “Some guy hit my car with his truck.”

He didn’t feel much like talking about it, so he was grateful when Dirty let it go after sighing loudly and saying, “Bummer, dude.” They spent the rest of the trip back to Decaydance listening to one of the new bands on Pete’s label and occasionally singing along.

Patrick scarcely made it out of the limo before Joe, Pete’s head of security, was running out of the house. “Dude,” he said, “You’ve got to get Pete to stop messing with these people. They’re such con artists, it’s not even funny.”

Patrick sighed. It wasn’t like Pete didn’t have enough money. Pete had more money than God, so Patrick didn’t get why he spent so much time and put up with so many liars looking for get-rich-quick schemes—paranormal get-rich-quick schemes, no less. But ever since high school, Patrick had made a living getting Pete what he wanted, even if it made no sense at all. He hoped to God those kids today had been the real deal, and Pete would be satisfied, and they’d never have to deal with all the goddamn scam artists again.

“Hey!” Pete said as Patrick walked in the door. “Check it—apparently the number of groups of three and seven words in a Bible verse can tell you—what was it, the positive vibrations of your birth sign or something?”

“Not exactly,” said a tight-faced man in an ill-fitting suit.

Patrick looked from the tight-faced man to the jovial-looking man next to him—his partner, probably—and then to Pete. Someone who hadn’t been working for Pete for the past seven years might not be able to detect the brittle mockery under his apparent good humor. Patrick could, and he gave the two strangers a polite smile.

“I’m Mr. Wentz’s personal assistant,” he said. “Thank you so much for your time, but I’m afraid Mr. Wentz has an appointment in fifteen minutes with one of his producers and he needs time to prepare. Would you like me to call the limousine?”

“That’d be great,” said the cheerful man, looking a little less cheerful. The tight-faced man looked like he wanted to put up a fight, but his partner elbowed him in the side. In a matter of a minute or so, Joe had managed to hustle both of them outside.

Pete shot Patrick a sharp grin before his expression collapsed into one of exhaustion. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, sending a glare towards the entrance to the kitchen, in Andy’s direction. “Those guys weren’t after my money or anything.”

“I told you they were probably con artists,” Andy said calmly. “You said it was worth hearing them out. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Pete rolled his eyes and then sank into the couch, throwing his feet up on the chrome and glass coffee table. “Come sit by me, Patrick,” he said. He patted the seat beside him, and Patrick sat down and let Pete lean on him. “How about you, you okay?” Pete asked softly.

“Yeah. My car’s done for, but….” Patrick shrugged philosophically. “Couple of kids made sure I wasn’t in it at the time.”

Pete straightened up and gave Patrick a look of keen interest. “What are you saying?” he said. “Did someone intentionally total your car?” Patrick didn’t miss how his eyes shot over to Joe, who’d come back in to settle on the armchair, or Joe’s own reassuring look in response.

“Not to my knowledge,” said Patrick. “No, what I’m telling you is….” He paused. What was he telling Pete? “These kids. Three of them. They came up to me, and told me that one of them got psychic impressions, or something, and that he had a bad feeling about my car, so I shouldn’t get into it.”

“Seriously?” Pete’s curious gaze grew sharper, hungrier. “You sure they weren’t playing a joke or something?”

“Hell of a coincidence if they were,” said Patrick. He thought back on the way the short kid had been all but dragging him across the street, the weird intensity in the way the other kid had told him that his brother’s feelings were always right. “I don’t think they were joking,” he said.

Pete leaned back in the couch with wide eyes. “Holy shit,” he said. “You think they’re the real deal?”

Andy stepped forward with a frown. “Pete,” he said, “we just kicked one bunch out. We’re not talking to two groups of scammers in one day. I’m putting my foot down.”

Patrick frowned. He got where Andy was coming from—did he ever get where Andy was coming from—and maybe it was just the almost near-death experience shaking him up, but this felt different from all the other times they’d dragged palm-readers and fortune-tellers up to Decaydance. “I don’t think these kids were scamming me, Andy,” he said. “It’s not like they asked me for money, or picked my pocket, or…I don’t know. I guess they could have been freaking me out for kicks, but seriously, like, moments after I walked them back to their bus, a truck came out of nowhere and slammed into my car.”

“Whoa,” said Joe, blinking slowly. “That’s crazy, man.”

“And it wasn’t just a one-time thing?” Pete said eagerly. “Like, you think this kid could predict other stuff? Stock market developments and what’s gonna sell well and stuff?”

And this was why Patrick had been a bit hesitant to bring it up in the first place. “Jesus, Pete, I don’t know! He was just a kid—I don’t even know if he’d know what a stock market development was. And it’s not like I could ask him about the psychic stuff without seeming totally creepy.”

“Did you get his name at least?” There was an edge of frustration in Pete’s voice now.

“Yeah.” Patrick pulled the folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Probably not, but it didn’t matter. “The psychic kid is Mikey Minnelli. He’s got an older brother, Gerard. After the thing with my car, I got their address from the guy that runs the orphanage so I could write to them and thank them.” He handed Pete the piece of paper.

He took it without even seeming to notice. “Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Pete said. “You’re telling me your psychic kid’s an orphan? Oh, shit, Patrick, this is great!”

“Yeah, kids not having parents always brightens my day,” said Joe dryly, and Pete made a face at him.

“Dude, you don’t get it. I thought I was gonna have to go to this kid’s parents and convince them I wasn’t, like, Michael Jackson or something, and then get them to let their kid come over and work for me. But orphans! I can work with orphans.”

“Oh, God.” Andy rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna make me do something illegal, aren’t you?”

“Uh, no,” said Pete. “Why would I—Look, this kid saved Patrick’s life, so why would it be so weird if Patrick decided to return the favor and, like, adopt him?”

Maybe Patrick should’ve been expecting it, but the idea still struck him with enough shock to take his breath away. “Adopt him?” he said incredulously. “Pete, what the hell? I can’t raise a kid!”

Pete gave him a shit-eating grin, and Patrick felt an unreasonable urge to punch him in the face. “Aww, Patrick,” Pete said, “I think you’d make a great dad.”

“Seriously, Pete, there’s no way.”

“Well, it can’t be me—the press would be all over it,” Pete pointed out. “You’re the only one who has any reason to even give a shit about this kid in particular, you know? And it’s not like I’d actually make you, I don’t know, go to PTA meetings or whatever. You’d just have to get the kid here, and I’d take care of him.”

“Oh, goddammit, Pete,” said Joe with a groan, “you’re not actually doing this, are you? This is a kid we’re talking about, not, like, a ficus.”

“What, you don’t think a kid would want to live here?” Pete gestured around: towards the glass-walled patio leading out towards the pool, to the door of the home theater, to the shelves full of CDs and band memorabilia. Patrick had to admit, it would be a pretty tempting prospect for a kid. It had been for him, anyway.

“It’s not like they just let you walk in and take a kid, Pete,” he said, and then gave himself a mental kick in the ass. He was already thinking about the technical obstacles to Pete’s plan, rather than the fact that he was seriously not into the idea of adopting some psychic kid so Pete could get supernatural financial advice.

“But--” Pete began.

Andy cut him off. “No. Really. You can’t buy a kid. Don’t tell me that’s not what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” said Pete, giving Andy a dirty look. “Jesus. What I was gonna say is, we can do a little research, find out what kind of papers and shit you need to adopt a kid, and then….” Pete waved a hand in Andy’s direction. “You can make it happen.”

“Did I or did I not say that you were gonna make me do something illegal?” Andy sighed and went to sit on the ottoman, shoving Joe’s legs aside.

“Pete, do you even know anything about raising a kid?” asked Joe as he kicked absent-mindedly at Andy. “I mean, how old did you say this kid was, Patrick, like, ten or eleven?”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah. His brother was a little older, maybe thirteen or fourteen.”

“And that’s another thing!” Joe pointed at Pete with both hands. “No way in hell that kid’s gonna want to go anywhere without his brother. So, okay, let’s say maybe the brother’s psychic, too, so you’ve got two psychic kids living here. They’re gonna have to go to school, or get tutors, or something, and, I mean, teenagers are always fucked up, but orphan teenagers who can fucking tell the future and shit? Dude, Pete, it takes me and Patrick and Andy together to get you to take care of yourself without bringing in two kids who are probably gonna have some major issues.”

“Dude.” Pete actually looked kind of hurt. “Okay, first, I can deal with teenagers, all right? I mean, how old were you when I hired you again?”

“That was different,” said Joe, but he’d taken to picking at a scab on his arm rather than look Pete in the eye.

“Right, sure, Trohman. And also, I’m aware that this—or, you know, these kids might have some issues. I’m not stupid, okay, and I’ve known a hell of a lot of teenagers with issues. And I know I have some issues, too, but maybe that means I could help these kids in a way, you know, Mike and Carol Brady or whatever couldn’t.”

Patrick snorted at that and said, “Mike and Carol Brady had some issues of their own.”

Pete shot him a bright white grin, and Patrick couldn’t help but smile back. “Plus,” Pete added, “it’s not like I can’t afford to take care of two kids or whatever. And admit it—having actual psychic kids would be awesome.”

Patrick paused for a moment to think about it. He couldn’t picture himself as a father, not even in this crazy-ass pipe dream they were talking about. But it wasn’t like he disliked kids or anything. It’d mean a thousand stupid things to add to his agenda, but on the other hand, if the whole psychic thing worked out, that would mean a thousand stupid things that Patrick didn’t have to do, and taking care of a couple of kids had to be less embarrassing than calling up the fucking Psychic Friends Network and inviting them over to meet with Pete. And maybe Pete was right—maybe they really could help these kids.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, and he turned to Andy. “How much fucking around with paperwork would we have to do?”

Andy sighed and Pete crowed triumphantly. “Hey,” Patrick said sharply, “I didn’t say yes.” Who was he kidding, he thought glumly. He was going to say yes. Shit, he was actually going to go through with this. One of these days, he was going to ask Pete just how he managed to get him and Joe and Andy to agree to these dumbass schemes. It wouldn’t at all surprise him if Pete turned out to have some kind of psychic power of his own.

Part 3