Groaning, he continued typing.
Well, it was a lot worse than it sounds. Trust me. I just wish I knew where they came from, what they were, and who sent them. And what those weird waves of power I felt were. Has anything happened to you guys? We better be extra careful, really be on the lookout.
I think we should talk again on the Internet phone-thingy Sofia’s butler helped us all set up. Since tomorrow is Saturday, what about in the morning (for me)—9:00? Let me know.
Tick
Realitant First Class
Tick always signed his e-mails that way, purely for one reason: it bugged the heck out of Sofia. He clicked send, then sat back and folded his arms, watching the screen as it confirmed the message had been sent on its way.
His thoughts wandered. He saw his mom, encased in water, writhing on the floor. His dad’s face growing purple. Remembered the terror of those few moments in the garage, before they were safe. He felt as if his heart had turned to lead.
What if it happened again? Almost certainly, it would. Something like it. Or worse.
A yawn leaked out, almost surprising him, and he snapped out of his stupor. Stretching his arms high above his head, he stood up from the chair, then leaned forward to shut down the computer. Once finished, he turned to head up for bed, already dreading the dreams that might await him.
Womp.
Tick sucked in a breath, reaching out to grab the back of the desk chair. The burst of energy had swept across him, throwing off his balance. Once he was sure he was stable and could stand, he looked around him, searching his surroundings. All he could see were shadows draped across more shadows, a faint light coming through the windows, another small glow from a nightlight down the hall. But the house was mostly dark, and everything seemed a great hiding spot for a monster ready to spring for him.
Womp.
Again. This time he realized how much smaller the energy wave was than those that had hit him earlier that afternoon on the road home from school. It had only been remembering that experience that sent terror pumping his heart when he’d felt the burst of energy this time. He calmed, just a little.
Womp.
Definitely smaller. Weaker. Whatever the word was. Barely there, almost a vibration. A sound that was not quite a sound.
Womp.
A pulse. That described it better than anything else. He was feeling a pulse of energy, sweeping through the air, through his skin, rattling his insides like a tuning fork. He could sense its source, just like he’d be able to tell from which direction he heard a radio or piano playing.
Womp . . . womp . . . womp . . .
Again and again.
It was coming from the basement.
Chapter 7
Beneath
Tick’s racing heart eased when he realized the pulse was far less powerful this time, felt less dangerous. But having it come from the basement—the unfinished, cement-floored, dark and cold basement? That was way worse than a closet.
He had to investigate. He had no choice on the matter. He was a Realitant, and he’d brought this danger—if it was a danger, and it didn’t take a genius to jump to that conclusion—to his family, to his home. Responsibility for that hung like a huge sack of rocks, draped with ropes across his back. Despite what he’d experienced so far with the mysterious power within him, despite what he’d done to Chu’s palace and the weapon called Dark Infinity, despite what he’d done to—
He cut off the thought. The point was, he didn’t feel powerful. Not in the least. Having a gun does you no good if it’s missing the trigger.
Womp . . . womp . . . womp . . .
But none of that mattered. Something weird pulsed in his basement, and he was going down there to figure out what.
He realized his hands were clasped tightly into fists. If he’d had long nails, his palms would be bleeding like geysers. He forced himself to relax, flexing his fingers and taking several deep breaths. Then he headed out of the room, down the hall, toward the door to the basement.
He hesitated in front of it, as though the black shadows of the hallway clung to him like a gluey mass. He stared at the knob, a stub of gold that was the only spot of color in the darkness. The throbs of the unseen force continued, a small vibration in his skull.
He opened the door and stepped through it onto the landing of the stairway that led below. If he’d thought it had been dark before, the bottom of the stairs was a lightless abyss. He fumbled for the switch, found it and turned on the light, banishing the shadows. Before him lay the wooden staircase, surrounded with bare white walls with a cement floor at the bottom. He couldn’t see anything else yet.
Womp . . . womp . . . womp . . .
The pulse strengthened slightly, calling to him from the basement. He had the sudden and terrifying thought that maybe he’d been hypnotized, that he was acting irrationally. He stopped before taking the first step. Was he nuts for even thinking about going down there? The first time he’d felt this energy pulse, something terrible had happened.
But he had to do it. He had to. He wondered if he should get his dad, but pushed the thought away. The hairs of his arms standing on end, he started down the stairs. Even treading lightly, each footfall still made a deadened thump. He wished the steps had carpet. He descended further, running his right hand along the wall, making a soft scraping sound, almost a swish.
Womp . . . womp . . . womp . . .
He reached the bottom, then darted toward the long string that fell from the ceiling, attached to a single light bulb. He pulled the string, waiting in dread to see what the light would reveal. When the bulb clicked on and the room brightened, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The single room in the half-basement was maybe twenty feet wide, and Tick couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
The room was cluttered with boxes, bags, plastic tubs full of old clothes, a horizontal pole holding up dusty coats on hangers, a rack of shoes which hadn’t been worn in years, a pile of Christmas decorations that hadn’t quite been put away yet. He wondered if his mom even knew her wonderful and faithful husband had neglected that duty for months now.
But the pulsing continued, stronger now, though nothing like what he’d felt on the street. Still, it was powerful enough that the energy surrounded him, throbbing, and he couldn’t tell from which direction it came.
Womp . . . womp . . . womp . . .
He slowly turned in a circle, scanning every inch of the room with his eyes. Boxes, tubs, junk. Nothing else.
The pulse stopped. Cut off.
It didn’t slow, didn’t fade. It stopped, abruptly. A powerful silence filled the air. Tick’s skin tingled, as if it had grown used to the almost comforting vibrations of the energy waves and wanted them back. He heard his own breathing as he continued to turn, and for some reason that creeped him out. He felt stuck in one of those nightmares where you know you’re dreaming, but you can’t wake up.