Chapter 7

I closed the front door behind me. The house was comfortable compared to the heat outside. Something made me wait at the door. I didn’t know what, but I didn’t fight it.

I stood in an entryway. High to the right was a small round window. The wall on which ended at a stairwell going up. The rest of the wall was filled with pictures of various people. I came to the quick conclusion that the elder couple in some of those pictures were the Shepherds. They looked pleasantly healthy and vibrant. Other photos were of their children and their families. From the look of the pictures, the Shepherds had three children, all of whom were married with kids of their own. Final count: ten grandkids.

Straight ahead was a doorway that looked like it went to the kitchen. To my left was a partial wall that opened up directly into the main living room. Just inside, on the left, was a floor lamp over a very comfortable-looking rocker/recliner. Next to the chair was a couch along the wall under the windows facing the front porch. Curtains were pulled back letting sunlight fill the room. Another window on the far wall showed the Suburban just outside. An older-style brick fireplace took up the majority of the center of that wall. The hearth had more pictures on it as well as a couple of vases with flowers at each end. To the right of the fireplace was a built-in set of bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Every shelf was thick with hardbound books of various sizes and titles.

Next to the bookshelves, the wall opened up to what looked like the dining area. More windows displayed the house next door and a few sunflowers just outside the window. The remainder of the wall for the living room had an older big-screen television and shelves next to it holding movie cases.

Rachel and Christian had left me in the entry. They walked through the living room without waiting for anyone to greet them or bid them entrance. I glanced toward the kitchen, not sure if I should follow them or not.

I glanced toward the dining room, through the living room, trying to decide what to do when someone said, “Welcome Mr. Sutton.”

A man came out of the kitchen. His aura was a fantastic green that made me think of trees and other green-growing things. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, similar in style to Christian’s, but, instead of jeans, this man wore slacks with a slim black belt holding them up. His shoes were leather and looked well-worn. I wasn’t sure how old Mr. Shepherd was, but he looked younger than the pictures of him on the wall. Maybe it had been poor photography.

“I hope you’re hungry Mr. Sutton, Merrie has made a big lunch for us,” he said as he shook my hand.

“I hope she hasn’t gone to any trouble,” I said, trying to be polite.

“No, she loves to cook,” he said. Then he patted his belly, which was quite trim. “I’m surprised I’m not bigger around the middle, to be honest.”

With that Mrs. Shepherd came out of the kitchen and said, “I may like to cook, but you never eat very much of it.”

I didn’t want to start any trouble and just kept my mouth shut. Mr. Shepherd turned to look at his wife. “Now dear, if I’ve ever given you any reason to not cook, I apologize. I’ve always loved your cooking.”

She kept her eyes on him for a moment. It was something with which I was familiar. My mom would study me after anything I said as if she thought I might not be giving her the entire truth. It made me wonder if all women were like that, and if so, when they had taken the classes to learn it.

Mr. Shepherd glanced back at me but didn’t say anything. The look on his face was clear enough that I didn’t need to see his aura as he passed his wife in an attempt to scurry away before she accused him of something of which he may or may not have been guilty.

Mrs. Shepherd turned to me and smiled. She, like her husband, looked younger than in the pictures. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a dark blue dress that had short sleeves but a long skirt. An apron covered it and had a few stains on it. Low, well-worn pumps peaked out from under the skirt.

She held out her hand to me and said, “Welcome Mr. Sutton.”

“Thank you,” I said, gently shaking her hand. “And please, call me Ral.”

She nodded, “I’m Merrie. Come on, let’s eat.”

I followed her to the kitchen. To the right was a counter that followed the entire wall. At one end was their refrigerator, the middle was the sink, and at the other end was a dishwasher. Straight ahead, another door was open. It looked like it led to a utility room and beyond that was a screen door that led to the backyard.

To the left, everything was open to the far wall of the house. There was no distinction between the kitchen and the dining room. A table that could probably seat eight or more had six chairs around it and place settings for the five of us. Mr. Shepherd was already sitting at the head of the table. Christian and Rachel were sitting to his left and one place setting waited for Merrie to his right. I had a place setting at the foot of the table.

I sat down as Merrie did. Once we were seated, Mr. Shepherd said, “Tuck in.”

For a while, we all just sat there eating Chicken Fried Steak with country gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Tea was the drink served to everyone. It was unsweetened, which I preferred. I already got enough sugar from sodas. The steak was tender and moist. The mashed potatoes were creamy and had chunks of potato still in them, as in real mashed potatoes versus the fake boxed kind a lot of people I knew back home favored. I wasn’t big on green beans but I ate them. It was polite. After all, they invited me to eat and I didn’t want to start this meeting by being rude. Ultimately, to say the food was good was an understatement.

Once everyone had their fill, Merrie got up and gathered everyone’s plates, leaving our glasses so we could continue drinking while we talked.

I wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. I had a good idea of what I wanted to know, but after talking to Rachel en route, I wasn’t sure what they wanted to know. Fortunately, Mr. Shepherd was ready and jumped right in.

“Well, Mr. Sutton, I’m not sure what all Ms. Hendrickson has told you about House Aquilae, but I’m sure you have many questions.” He settled back with a pleasant smile and watched me.

I sat there watching him right back. Again, I knew I had questions, but I wasn’t sure what to ask first.

Mr. Shepherd smiled and said, “Just ask the first thing that comes to mind.”

I suddenly realized that I had a question I never thought I would ever have the opportunity to ask. “Why is this happening to me?”

Mr. Shepherd nodded in a slow knowing way. Then he said, “I have no idea.”

I sat there staring at him, totally perplexed.

“I understand the question,” he said. “I’ve been asked something similar by almost every member of this House, but I have yet to come up with a justifiable answer for any of them or you.” His shoulders slumped just a bit. “You have to understand Mr. Sutton, there is no defining gene or DNA marker that can tell us who will exhibit special abilities and who will not. At least among the umpteen thousand genes that make up the human body, none has been found. If there is an additional factor, it hasn’t been discovered either.”

“So, in a scientific way, you’ve not found the answer.”

He nodded. “And don’t ask for a religious one. I’m not any better with that.”

I shook my head. “I’ve long given up the notion that God or Allah or any other divine entity was involved in what’s going on with me.”

Mr. Shepherd tilted his head to the side. “Most people go to the opposite extreme, seeking religious answers when science fails to help. Have you ... lost your religion?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never really been all that religious.”

He straightened and nodded. “Okay then. So, other than why, do you have any other questions?”

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I knew what I wanted to ask, I just didn’t know how to. “I’m not sure how to ask this...”

Mr. Shepherd nodded, sat back, and watched me with obvious patience. If every member of his House had asked the why question, then they must have had trouble asking other questions as well simply because they hadn’t talked about it before.

I glanced at Rachel and Christian. Their auras were on the soft side of neutral. I knew a good meal always had that effect on people. I looked back at Mr. Shepherd and decided to just spill everything so he might understand what it was that I wanted to know.

“When I was twelve I passed out in the hallway of my school and woke up three days later in a hospital. All I knew was that my head hurt. It hurt a lot. The pain was made up of pressure evenly distributed throughout my skull, like a massive sinus headache. The Doctors had run many tests on me already but they wanted to keep me there for a while longer to run additional tests and to make sure my condition didn’t get any worse. I wasn’t about to argue and only stayed awake long enough that time to see my parents walk in before I passed out again.

“During my stay, I knew something had changed. I was seeing fuzzy-colored smoke or mist around everyone, my mom and dad, my sisters, and even the doctors and nurses. The tests didn’t show anything wrong and since the headaches were diminishing on their own, the doctor said just to keep me at home and let me sleep it off.

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the headaches. For a while after the hospital, I would get a headache every other day. I missed a lot of days at school. My friends made sure I got all my homework and even helped me study for tests my teacher sent home for me. I barely passed that year.

“The colors, the mists, however, didn’t go away. I was scared only because I didn’t know what was happening to me, but at the same time, nothing seemed wrong. I could still see regular colors, so it wasn’t affecting my vision otherwise. But I wanted it to stop. I wanted the weird colors and headaches to just go away. It took a while for me to understand that I wasn’t going to get that wish.

“I took up reading. Watching TV or movies lost all appeal because I’d see mists there too. I knew when stuntmen took the places of actors, ruining the action; similar to stumbling over an obvious typo in a book you’re enjoying. Reading, however, required naught but my imagination, and there was the possibility that I’d find answers to my affliction in books too. So I read a lot.

“Nothing I found described the problem I had. The closest suggestion in Medical books was hallucinations, but I was pretty certain I wasn’t crazy. After all, if I saw the same thing in everyone, that might be a hallucination. That’s not the case though. I know what I’m seeing. I can differentiate between the mists and the people they surround.

“It was about a year after the hospital that I read a book for entertainment that offered a word that sent me into a new direction with my research. The word was ‘aura.’

“I read books on auras, but one after another talked about how an aura changes colors with a person’s emotions. I found a few other books that said auras are colored according to the person’s personality, but again, it didn’t match what I see because they only mentioned about a dozen or more possible colors, and I can see a lot more than that. Plus, none of those books talked about how auras softened when someone was happy or became hard-edged when they were angry or upset. None of those books explained the number of different patterns of motion I see every day. Regardless of the disappointment I felt with each new book I read, I was sure, certain, that what I see are people’s auras.”

Mr. Shepherd and Christian both asked questions at the same time. “You see auras all the time?” and “Do you still have headaches?”

I looked from one to the other. Christian looked at Mr. Shepherd and waved for him to go first. His expression was tight, his aura was neutral. Mr. Shepherd nodded at Christian, a small smile on his face. “You have a valid question as well my friend.”

“But I’m not Head of House,” was Christian’s reply.

Mr. Shepherd shrugged as if being Head of the House wasn’t that big a deal to him. He looked at me. “You see auras all the time?”

I nodded. “I’ve never found a way to make them stop.”

“And you’re wondering if we might have a way to do that.” It wasn’t a question. He had probably heard it enough times already.

I shrugged. “If you don’t know what causes it, then I doubt you’d have a way to stop it.”

Mr. Shepherd watched me for a moment. “Even if we had a way to stop it, we couldn’t.”

I glanced at Rachel, who met my glance. Her aura tightened in confusion, reflecting my own. I looked back at Mr. Shepherd. “I don’t understand. If you have a way to stop it, why wouldn’t it work on me?”

“Because Mr. Sutton, your ability to see auras isn’t like their abilities.” He held out his hand to indicate Rachel and Christian.

I shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

I glanced at his hand when I asked, but I could still see the flash in his aura. When I looked back at his face, Mr. Shepherd was squinting as if he’d seen the flash as well. “Well, Mr. Sutton, if I’m right, you’re a Psionic.”

I didn’t see how that made any difference. Labeling me only made me stand out, it didn’t answer my question. “I don’t understand.”

Mr. Shepherd nodded. “Then let me help demonstrate what I mean.”

Mr. Shepherd turned to look at Christian. Again his aura flashed. I had been looking at Christian so the flash from Mr. Shepherd didn’t affect me. “Christian has a gray aura. Its outline is a touch fuzzy, meaning he’s in a good mood. Deeper within his aura, he has a certain solidness to him, like a weight, and a patch of blackness that forces away the light around it.” Mr. Shepherd turned back to me. “Can you see those extra details?”

I glanced at Christian. He just looked at me, watching with a level of patience I didn’t understand. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Mr. Shepherd held his hand out to Christian. “Try.”

I looked at Christian again. He gave a slight nod that was barely perceptible. With that, I felt free to look, as if I needed his permission. I looked.

Focusing on just his aura, trying to see past the man, I found the extra details. They glowed and that glow made his whole aura brighter than it should have been, except for the patch of blackness. I looked at it carefully. It vaguely reminded me of the aura of the man I had seen in the alley on campus, which faded away. This part of Christian’s aura wasn’t simply black. The closer I looked at it, the better I understood. The mark opposed the colors around it. Out loud I said, “I see them.” My voice was soft with astonishment, just the way I felt.

“Do you know what they mean?” asked Mr. Shepherd.

Looking back at him, I shook my head but said, “I understand the fuzziness. I’ve been able to see that in everyone. If he gets angry or distraught, it becomes harder, or more solid.” I shrugged. “Since I see them all the time, I’ve just gotten used to it.”

Mr. Shepherd nodded. “Yes, correct. Seeing them all the time does have its advantages. But what do those symbols or marks represent?”

I looked at Christian again. This time it was like the other details came out, not that I had to go in. “He has the weight. I couldn’t ignore that now, even if I wanted to. But the darkness ... it’s not true black. It’s simply opposing colors to the colors around it,” I reasoned aloud. “His aura is brighter because of those additional details, but I still don’t know what they mean.”

Mr. Shepherd held his hand out toward Rachel. “Then take another look at her aura.”

I did what he suggested. Quickly, additional details, the ones that made her aura brighter, became obvious. She had a massive set of liquid wings, a gold rose, and a pair of eyes that made me think of eagles. I described what I saw.

Mr. Shepherd looked at her again. “I’ve known about the wings and the eyes, but I don’t see the rose or the liquid state you describe.”

Rachel looked at Mr. Shepherd. “You’ve told me about the wings and the eyes.” Then she looked at me. “But what’s this about a rose?”

I looked at Mr. Shepherd. He nodded and said, “The eyes mean she has Extraordinary Vision. She has eyes like an eagle, allowing her to see details from great distances, miles further than you or I could discern.” Then he arched an eyebrow. “As to the rest, I think you should describe them, Mr. Sutton.”

I looked again. “I think the liquid state of the wings is what allows you to let them out and pull them into your back.” I met her eyes. “When you let me watch as you pulled them into your back, your skin seemed to turn into a sort of liquid. I think you’d have wings all the time if not for that.” I focused on her aura again. “The golden rose though...” I said as I studied it as closely as I could. I could almost feel the texture of the pedals. They were soft and made me think, “flawless.” I pulled back and looked at her again. Her skin seemed to match the texture and gave me the same impression. She wasn’t just pretty but radiant. “I think I understand, but I’m afraid to say. I may get punched in the nose.”

Everyone frowned and exchanged glances. Rachel turned to me first. “Just say it.”

I swallowed and braced myself. “You seem to have an almost supernatural beauty. You glow with it.”

She didn’t punch me, thankfully, but the expression on her face made me feel like punching myself.

Mr. Shepherd cleared his throat. “Well ... Thank you, Mr. Sutton.”

Christian sat quietly with a soft smile on his face. When I looked at him again, he glanced at Rachel. I understood. I would probably be in trouble later. Thankfully, he decided to help divert our attention for a moment. “My marks are difficult to explain. The more obvious, the dark or opposing colors in my aura regard my negative energy control.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Negative energy?”

He nodded. “When I use it, nothing short of vehicles, trees, or houses can stay near me. I repel anything that weighs less than that or anything that isn’t suitably rooted to the earth.”

I’m sure I looked disbelieving again. “Okay, that would explain the dark area, but I don’t get the weight.”

Mr. Shepherd said, “Tell him how old you are Christian.”

Christian held my eyes with a steady gaze. “I just turned four hundred and eleven.”

If I was disbelieving before, now I was completely skeptical. I could feel my eyes grow wide. After blinking myself back to something akin to normal I asked, “How?”

Christian shrugged. “I guess that weight is some form of immortality. I seemed to have stopped aging by the time I hit thirty.”

I nodded acceptance and then looked back at Mr. Shepherd. “Okay, I understand more about their auras, but what does it have to do with helping me.”

He nodded, looking at me intently. “Well, I’m sure you can see my aura, but have you looked for those additional details like you have with Christian and Rachel?”

He was right, I hadn’t. I looked. “I see a band or arch around your head, but that’s all.”

He nodded. “And when I attempt to look at your aura, I see multiple bands around your head.”

I glanced at Rachel. She looked both confused and curious. Looking back at Mr. Shepherd I said, “I don’t understand.”

“You and I share similar marks, Mr. Sutton because we are both Psionics.”

“Ok,” I said, not sure what the point was, “You said this was a demonstration to explain why your way of stopping me from seeing auras wouldn’t work.”

Mr. Shepherd nodded. “You’re correct, we did get off track for a bit.” He held out his hand to Christian and Rachel again. “As you’ve observed, their marks are different from yours and mine.”

I nodded. “And you said that was because we were Psionic,” I glanced at Rachel and Christian. “But they’re not?” I made it a question both to make sure I understood correctly and to not make it sound like I was belittling their abilities.

Mr. Shepherd nodded. “Correct. As it currently stands, we can ... shall we say, suppress their powers, but not yours or mine.”

I studied Mr. Shepherd for a moment. He looked both pleased and sad. “I don’t understand. Why would something that could suppress their powers not work on us?”

He shook his head. “Because we are Psionic.” Without waiting for me to ask for a deeper explanation, he went on. “Their abilities are based on their physiology. Our abilities are based on our mentality.”

To me, it sounded like he was trying to say we were simply imagining things. “I thought I was pretty clear earlier. I know that I’m not hallucinating.”

He shook his head. “I never said you were. Our powers are based in our minds but theirs are based in their bodies.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“According to the studies done, no,” he said.

“Studies?” I asked. “What studies?”

“There was an extensive study performed by a House in Michigan,” he said. “They had met an individual who had the amazing ability to suppress the abilities of those around him. Unfortunately, it was not a permanent solution. To summarize, with his permission, they formulated a drug that, when injected, could suppress an individual’s abilities as long as the drug is in their system. Again, this is not a permanent solution, but regular doses of the drug allow those who take it to live normal lives.”