groovygamers.com

As Laney walks the last block home she spots a man on the street corner past her house.  He's looking at her as she walks down the street.  He looks to be perhaps twenty, with unkempt hair and a severe case of five o'clock shadow.  He's wearing a surplus army field jacket, old enough to be completely green instead of the newer camouflage patterns.  His blue jeans seem second hand as well, with well worn spots and faded colors.  He wears combat boots, and a black knit cap.  His hands are in his pockets, and as Laney gets closer to her house one of his hands emerges with a mobile phone.  He dials, then holds the phone up to his ear.  Her phone rings.

Laney never asked about the past, didn't even know until she was handed the tri-folded flag at Arlington National - one of the few memories she has of that day.  Even a surplus jacket now makes her uneasy, but not in a way that inspires caution.  It did, in fact, cause her to look away; she was relieved for the timely distraction of her cell.

Glancing at the number, she raises the phone. "Hello?"

The caller ID said it was John.  "Hey Laney, it's John.  I was wondering if you wanted to drive to the dance or get a ride with my dad over, or walk?"

She melts into a smile; John can hear it in her voice.

"I have to ask Mike and Jean if I can use the car before I can answer that.  I mean it's not a far walk from my house, unless you're wearing heels, but if your dad suggested it...Then...um...I don't know."  A nervous giggle, then, "What do you think?"

"My dad said he'd drive us.  So it's up to you if you want to drive or just get a ride.  And if we dress up, maybe we should limit the risk factors."

"That's very kind of him - or he's just trying to keep you out of trouble.  I am trouble.  So he can - Risk?  Oh. That's alright; he can drive.  Um...don't worry about costumes, really.  There's not much time to make anything and I wouldn't know where to start to shop for one.  I should get a better dress, anyway, and that'll keep me busy enough.  I was serious about masks.   Joey makes a really good macaroni mask.  Yes, I was kidding about that.  The macaroni, I mean.  I'd use feathers or sequins or...something..." She seems content to chatter endlessly about trivialities.  The closer to her home, the more familiar her surroundings, and the more comfortable she is.  Almost cheerful.

"Masks would be good.  I have a tuxedo and a suit, but just one suit.  It's blue, I know, shocker there.  Anyway, I'll let you go.  I managed to forget a book at school so I'm heading back there.  Talk to you tomorrow, if not before."

"Yeah, but how long will that take you?"  Another giggle.  "What shade of blue?  Seriously. Don't want to clash.  Or...maybe I do.  Tuxedo then.  I don't know. We can talk to the others going and...Yeah.  Later."  She tucks her phone away, trading it for her keys.  As an afterthought, she glances down the street for that man she saw.   She'd been too reclusive to know the neighbors, other than the kids and one or two mothers.

The man on the corner is gone when she looks again.

Dad would chew me out royally if he - Stupid. in a neighborhood full of kids, Lane. Damnit.  No problem.  I'll tell Jean when she gets home, and she'll have the moms out with pitchforks looking for the guy if he's not local.

She's daydreaming about feathers, colorful patterns, and eyes when she finally arrives home.

After she drops her things and takes care of the things she needs to do after school she sits down to look at her email.  One message catches her attention.

FROM: D@XIII.com
SUBJECT: Message for Laney....The Lucky One.

I got an email from someone.

I see patterns.

You're not crazy.  Chance is.

She does two things once the room stops spinning, once she's sure the cold settling in her brain won't paralyze her completely.

First, she calls John's cell phone.
Second, she Googles that email address.

John answers within a couple of rings.  "Hey Laney, what's up?"

Google on the other hand gives a stranger list of results.  The first article is a news story about what happened to Laney and her family.  The rest are similarly eerie and talk about people surviving unlikely situations.  No matter what though, when she searches the documents for the email string, she doesn't find it.

If she runs the search a second time, Google kicks back No Results.

There's a pause before she speaks, because she did try that search again...and again.

"H-hi. A little warning might've been nice.  J-just a little.  I-it would've sucked if Jean came home and found me dead from a heart attack.  Sorry. I'm not mad. I just um...I got an email from someone and -"  and she shudders, realizing she just quoted the guy. "Did you hear anything back from anyone else from those clinical trials?  You don't have names, do you?  Just emails?"

"Heart attack?  Huh?  I haven't heard anything back yet.  Warning about what?  Are you okay?"

Another pause while she rests her head on her desk.

"Sorry. I don't know. He or she said he got an email.  I assumed it was from you.  I changed my email earlier this year because...Well, I changed it. No one should have this one and...He does. And he knows my name.  Sorry. Just...surprised me."

"Wait!  I didn't give your email to anyone, I gave them mine."  There is a pause, and John's voice is more clam, "Ok.  there has to be an explanation.  Forward me the email, and I'll see if it's one of the ones I sent something to."

She forwards the email immediately, a hand over her mouth to prevent the whimper from carrying over the cell.

"If I saw your list itself, I might be able to pick out who...I mean if the email isn't the same.  I...I'm good at online searches, but not...not this good.  I don't know.  I don't even know if I just brought up all these sites or if someone else did.  And if someone else did, then they had to be close, don't they?  I have to be...I think. How would someone find - it wouldn't be hard to find me, I mean. But this isn't...I don't know what this is. I -"  She working her way into a panic is what she's doing.  Sitting upright, she looks around her room, paranoid now.

"I'll forward the list, and then I'm coming over.  You shouldn't be alone."  he says.

"I'm not - Jean should be home soon with the boys..."  That was as much protest as John receives from her, for she's too unnerved to do what she knows she should: check the house.  Her memories feed clips of stern instructions for situations like this, but for some reason not a one of them explained how to deal with being frightened.

Edit:
I should add:
No, knowing where the key to Mike's gun cabinet in the office downstairs does not give her any comfort.  It's only a fleeting thought amongst many.

The email arrives from John.  "You're alone in the house.  No one in the yard.  I'll just sit here until Jean gets home."

"There was someone in the street earlier...I didn't think he...You can come on.  I'll be down in a sec.  It's alright.  Jean won't be mad, honest.  It's -" Was she about to say something about how cold it was outside?   "You can come in."

And she dashes down the stairs to the front door to allow John entrance, phone still in her hand, even before she looks over the list he was sending.

For a moment they stand there, phones still held to their heads.  "We look silly."  he says, and about that time Jean pulls in.  John smiles, "Safe and sound."  He goes to help Jean when he sees she has groceries.

Laney almost bolted out the door to assist - then froze. Literally.  Darting back in for a coat, then out again, she meant to introduce them.

Jean beat her to it.   The older woman has a broad smile for him, even as she's twisting her well endowed torso over a four-year-old to release him from a car seat.   The two older boys are already free.  One races inside, the other grabs a pair of grocery bags - quite a balancing act with that backpack over his shoulder. 

"You're John, aren't you?  Laney said you had pretty eyes.  She was right!"  Thus affirming to Laney that parents (and guardians) take training courses on how to humiliate their wards while simultaneously embarrassing the kids' friends, too.

John turns a shade of pink, and tries to chuckle.  Then grabs groceries.  "Let me get these."  he says.

Then John learns something (if he hadn't already figured it out before):  Laney keeps very little from her aunt, but what she does keep is so artfully intermingled with truth that one could not fairly call her a liar.   Spilling out from Laney is a story about a man she saw near the house on her way home, she was talking to John about this weekend's dance so he came over because she was scared, oh, and she needs to get a dress...and feathers.   It takes very little time for Jean to absorb all this.  She is, after all, adept at interpreting, not only her own three boys, but her brother's son and Laney herself. 

Laney finishes her story with the additional plea for permission to drag John up to her room to look at something on the computer right quick - since he's already here.  John could only escape after being offered food, drinks, a ride home, and much gratitude for his assistance with the groceries and for his presence when Laney needed someone to wait with her until Jean could get home.

John is polite, and smiles a lot.  "I was close by."  is the answer to his being there.  And close by could have been St. Louis, but Jean doesn't know that.  Once in Laney's room he breaths again.  "Today must be turn John red day."

"I'm sorry!  Jean's great.  She really is. You don't know how much she - Oh. I...well...I should've warned you, anyway.  Um...My parents died last year, so they're...Well, they've known me since I was about seven, almost like second parents. I'm very...lucky.  Um...Sorry.  I don't want to keep you here - I mean I do, but not...Um...I just wanted someone around when I looked at the...Your list of people.  I swear this isn't some joke to get you to show me the..."  She forces herself to just shut up for a minute, staring at her toes.  More aware of her surroundings that John had ever seen her at school or anywhere else, Laney's face doesn't once assume that vacant expression - until she opens his email and scrolls down the email addresses for something...anything.

A description of this house and Laney's room can be found in the Sammy and Laney study thread. I'm just lazy and not looking it up right now.

John puts a hand on her shoulder as she looks at the list.  "Don't try looking for a pattern, just pick one.  Maybe we can figure out who contacted you, assuming it's someone off the list."

"I..I know. I'm sorry. This is all just coicindence, isn't it?  Anyone could find me, right?  It's just he...or she mentioned an email and...the subject kindof personal and...Is he trying to be funny?  I can't tell.  Um..."

She pulls her gaze from the screen a moment to smile at John.  Then, "That one."  picks a random name.

John looks at the name she chose, and then logs into his email to send them a message.  "Let's see if this is them."  The message is away, and a minute later his phone rings.  "Hello?.......yes........I'll ask."  He covers the mic on his phone.  "He wants to talk to you.  You don't have to if you don't want to."

Feeling much like she'd jumped off a cliff minus a bungee cord, Laney nods, reaching for the phone.

John hands her the phone.  "Laney?"  the voice says on the other end.  "My name is Adrien.  Sorry if I spooked you.  I see patterns.  I shouldn't have emailed you.  Sorry.  I don't deal with the real world well sometimes.  Sorry."

"A-adrien?  W-why did you say...those things?  About an email from someone and...and chance...How did you find me?  Why?"

"Your friend wanted to know about the experiment.  And I just followed the patterns."  He begins to explain, in a very excited manner, the mechanism by which he figured out your email address from the message John sent.  It's totally abstract, but mathematically works out in Laney's head.  Using the ASCII value of each character, and the time code on the message, running those values through a sequence of calculations yields Laney's current email address.  "So I bought a bus ticket.  Thirteen dollars and seventy-eight cents took me as far as Oak Park.  Where you had to be.  And the mail man delivered a flier for a grocery store to me, with your address on it.  When I saw the girl walking home, I called my doctor to tell her I was going to miss my appointment, and your phone rang too.  That told me you were the person, I made you nervous.  I'm sorry.  I just know how hard it is to think that it's random and you're life is spinning of of control.  But it's not.  You can call me, if you need to talk.  Need to know you're not crazy.  They say I'm highly functional, they have no idea.  Don't hold on so tightly, it makes probability slip through your fingers like a bar of soap.  Am I making any sense?  I'm sorry, I ramble sometimes."

Laney was swept into a world of numbers and outrageous leaps of logic that would only make sense to someone who had sensed what she had, caught up in his enthusiastic explanation to the extent that her own mind offers alternate methods, tangents she might've tried. And she might have enjoyed speculating with him if John, her family, and...well, reality weren't on hold for her.

"Yes, you're making sense.  But...it is random.  If it's not, what is it? Sorry. I...I do want to...to talk to you when I...Later. Adrien, where are you from?  Are you still in Oak Park?"

Who found whom?  I didn't draw him here, did I?  Would I have gone this far to find someone like me?

"I'm catching the bus home tonight.  You can call me at this number.  And it is random.  Only, we disrupt the natural flow of random.  Like rocks that make up the rapids in a river.  We are part of the equation, part of what makes random work.  But we're fluid.  Random changes with us.  You just need to learn to be aerodynamic.  It was nice to know you're real.  And you're not the only one."

"Hydro-dynamic or...drown.  I make no sense.  Sorry.  What - Have you met other people like me? Like you? Sorry.  I should go. But I want to know...How do you...um...survive?"

"Relax.  Breath.  Little things.  Crosswords.  Jig-Saw puzzles.  Lottery tickets.  Call me when you have time."  And Adrien ends the call.

"That was like having a conversation with you."  John says smiling.  "Now maybe you know how the rest of us feel."  He takes his phone and texts her the number.  "Are you."  He pauses.  "Okay?"

Adrien had made sense when very few people Laney listens to do.
So much so that John's attempt at light humor has her sobbing into her hands in...oh, about thirty seconds.

John is at a loss, he might have hugged her, if he thought that wouldn't have made things more confusing.  for him.  "Sorry.  Not funny.  Have I mentioned I'm not good with people?"

"S-sorry.  Th-thanks f-for f-finding s-someone. I d-didn't - I couldn't - H-he could've s-skewed that entire th-thing, you know? Th-there might not be any o-others. He could've rigged it.  I can...I did. I tested it.  I - you - It's easier. To change the results.  When others do it.  Not me. Like the dice. Remember? Last w-week with Colin? I-if I'd had you roll them...it would've been easier.  I think. I..."

Through hiccupping sniffles, Laney's garbled apologies run about a half dozen more times: for keeping him here longer than he wanted, for the email, for being so awful to talk to, for crying, for Jean, for feathers...

Now John hugs her.  He issues reassuring sounds and holds her to his chest for a little while.  "Why do I have the feeling that you'll be a hard person for me to deal with?"  he says, but he certainly seems like he wont be going anywhere.

When calmer, resting her cheek on his shoulder, Laney murmurs, "I'm a lot of trouble.  Didn't I warn you?  Polite and smart.  Such a warm babysitter..."  She closes her eyes.

"You don't have to deal with me, John.  It's alright.  I realized today at lunch...I have to stop trying to recover what I was.  I changed.  I'm not me anymore.  Not anything.  And...and I have to stop trying to be normal again. 

"I-it wouldn't be such a bad thing...to be able to do...whatever I can do...if everything didn't fall apart - including me.  I think I could do a lot with it."

"We change.  Normal is a word that people use to describe things.  Just like soft, and warm.  I can't begin to imagine what it's like for you.  The truth is no one can really know what it's like for someone else I guess.  Just don't beat yourself up so much.  I hate that I can't really do anything to help you."

"You have helped.  Are helping.   A lot.  You don't know that?   

"I can't tell you how to help me any more, because I don't know how to help myself.  I guess I'll have to talk to Adrien and see how he's coping."  If he's coping.

"'Normal' is a word I use to describe what I was.  What I want to be.  That's all.   Funny.  I wasn't really normal before, but compared to now...Um...That would be Mikey trying to sneak up the stairs.  He always forgets to skip the third step.  It creaks.  D-do you want to stay for dinner or um...I guess you should go home, huh?"

"I need to take care of some stuff."  he says, stepping back from her some.  "I'll see you tomorrow at school.  And I'm glad I'm helping, even a little."  He starts to make his way out.

Laney is shaky, but smiling shyly.  With impeccable timing and minimal roadblocks, she manages to escort John out of the house after giving his hand a squeeze and a simple, "Thanks."

Little Mikey, John can hear (and see) scurries into his room and watches them leave through the crack of the door across the hall.

"If you need me, just call."  He walks down the drive, and along the street to the corner, then he's gone.

It's only much later that evening, when she'd normally be sleeping (she tires faster and sleeps longer than her younger cousins lately), that she lies awake in the dark and stares at her cell phone resting in its charger, thinking of calling Adrien.

The soft chime from her computer tells her that she has a new email message.  If she checks she sees it's from Adrien.  I was going to call you, but I don't have your phone number.

Pulling Gram's patchwork quilt around her shoulders, Laney curls up cross-legged on the chair at her desk, phone in her lap, squinting at the glowing screen.

She types her phone number and almost adds a note. Almost, but she does not, hits Send, and changes the ring tone for the number she has for Adrien.   Why she did not call him herself, she could not have explained.

I don't sound like a complete idiot via email.  I should stick to that. Why do I want to hear his voice?

It's only a couple of minutes before Adrien calls her.  "Trouble sleeping?"

"I - "  Truth was always easier.  She had no wish to work herself up as she had before.  "I guess so.   Sorry I didn't...didn't want to sound crazier than I usually do in front of my friend earlier.  I um...Do you have trouble sleeping, too?  Sorry.  Stupid question.  I owe you thirteen dollars and seventy eight cents, don't I?"

"I sleep in fits.  Some times it's better, sometimes it's worse.  You don't owe me anything.  I'm okay.  I sound crazier to people who used to know me too.  But no one really knows me anymore.  Come to think of it, I don't think I know me either.  I'm sorry.  What were we talking about?"

"Nothing.  I think I wanted to tell you it's okay you went all creepy stalker-like on me today because it was kindof weird for me to have my friend try to track down people from those trials.  I mean it was supposed to be confidential.   Doesn't anyone know about...I don't even know what to call it.  Patterns?  That you can see them?  What about your doctor?  Mine doesn't.  I don't want to tell her.  We were almost to the point she thought I might be alright without seeing her every week."

"Depends on the doctor.  Mine is okay.  She's worried that I get distracted easy, afraid I'll get hit by a bus.  Always a bus.  I don't do well with other people.  Too many variables, I get distracted.  It's okay, I don't mind.  He was worried about you, it's understandable.  We don't seem to fit in the world, or the world doesn't seem to fit us.  It's like earthquakes.  The Richter Scale.  Every step is ten times the last one.  Regular people don't measure.  Lucky people are a one on the scale.  We're not lucky.  It's not all bad though.  I've learned to functional pretty well.  On my own.  Some people look out for me, friends.  They're gonna worry when they find I'm not home, they'll call me.  I used to think it was safer to be alone.  It's not really.  It's safer if there are people around.  More chances for things to be normal."

"That's what I'm afraid of.  Distractions.  I don't want to hurt anyone or myself.   But it's better not to be alone. Less accidents. Thanks for saying so.  It's nice to hear someone else think so.  Or are we both crazy?  Adrien, have you met other people like us?  What do you...do?  Is it alright if I ask you that?  I'm sorry.   This is very new for me and no one knows how to help."

"It's okay to ask.  I can tell you what I know, what I understand.  The study was to determine if there was a way to influence chance.  They discovered it by accident.  At least, they think they did I guess.  It's just observation, not an accident really.  We influence things around us.  We see patterns that aren't really there to rational minds.  We make leaps that are absurd.  But to us it makes sense.  Random chance passes through us, and can be altered by us.  In some it's a see-saw.  Back and forth, good and bad.  For some it's positive events, until probability stretches so thin it snaps back and hurts them.  For some, it's just like the ocean.  Tides come in and go out, high and low.  If you don't hold it, it will flail around like a fire hose.  But it you hold it too tight it will strain you until you snap.  Magical theory can quantify it, but it's anti-magic.  Science can explain it, but it defies explanation.  It's like feeling.  You can't make things happen, but things will bend in your direction or away from others.  I help find missing people.  It's how I focus it.  I see patterns, in the ordinary.  I do better when I'm off my medication.  But without it my head hurts a lot.  It gets harder to function.  It's not this way for everyone, just me."

"Everyone...There are others.  How did they..."  She was gnawing on the corner of the blanket while she listened.   Scowling at the mangled, wet corner she asks, "How long have you been able to do this?  How long did you know?  Not the same question.  I can't even tell when sometimes.  Not until something falls on me or breaks or..."  Then she notices the threading on one of the patches.  "...or unravels."

"I started seeing the patterns after I got shot.  I may have always had some influence over probability, but it was really not something useful until I could see the patterns.  There is a little girl, she's like us.  And the mom lady.  I can't remember her name though, it's too hard sometimes.  And the guy in the suit.  He makes money.  The mom makes the traffic lights.  The little girl makes ripples in the world.  There are some others, but those are the ones like us.  Over five on the scale."

"Earthquakes. Right.  I...I've been seeing them for months.  Patterns.  But nothing so bad as...I stayed home and it was safe.  But I started school last week and...and now it's...Well, they're already talking about pulling me out of classes.  Just talk, I guess.  I was asking how long it's been for you because I wanted to know how you figured it out.    When did you get shot?  Did you..." work with the cops before?  She didn't like that line of thinking. Not at all.  It reminded her uncomfortably of the past, and the abused blanket was not heavy enough to warm her any more.

"In the Gulf War.  I was in the Army.  It's been a while.  I spent some time in the hospital, then was in the study, and then sort of just wandered around.  You should try to stay in school.  An education is important I think.  I couldn't stay in college.  Too many things not wokring then, not clear enough."

"Oh.  They offer online courses for suspended kids, ones who have to work...that sort of thing, now.  It's nice.  Not all courses are offered, but many.  They were setting it up before...In case I couldn't be normal.  Lots of testing.  I haven't figured things out.  You said before you survive by...just...well, many things.  Relax, huh?  I don't even know where the local head shop is." She muffles a giggle in her blanket-mitted hand.  "Um...Thanks for coming all this way.  I'm real enough.  I'm glad you are, too.  May I...um...call you some other time?"

"Sure.  My friends make me carry my phone all the time.  I travel a bunch, for work.  Well, when I work.  Some days I'm better.  More coherent.  Maybe you can catch me on a good day to talk.  The odds are in your favor."  he laughs in a geeky snort sort of way.  "Sorry, just funny.  It wasn't too far.  I like the bus.  You get to meet a lot of interesting people on the bus.  You should try getting some sleep.  What time is it?  Oh, it's late.  I should sleep too.  Goodnight Laney."

"'night, Adrien."

After she folds her phone closed, she stares at the computer screen awhile longer, debating.    I could find him any time I want with only a map.  I could find...
She shuts it down and crawls back into bed.