The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,54

said, “I knew I wasn’t alone. It was the best feeling in the world.”

“But what about your parents?” Joel said. “They had the same gift as you.”

Dana shook her head. “You don’t understand. I wanted friends. People my own age to run around with. I didn’t want to go stale sitting at home every night with my parents.”

“That makes sense.”

“Getting involved with the group gave me the self-confidence to try new things and meet new people. I was able to stop focusing on my abilities and actually live for a change.”

Joel looked at her across the table and thought she was the most remarkable human being he had ever met. He found himself suddenly wanting to lean across and kiss her, to feel her moist lips press against his, to explore her mouth with the tip of his tongue. It was a feeling that lasted all through the meal and continued to course through him as they sat in the darkened theater watching an Andy Samberg comedy. Listening to her laugh was like hearing a jazz combo playing a light, lilting tune you knew you would never get out of your head. Again, he wondered what he would see if he reached over and took her hand, but she caught him staring at her and gave him a quick smile before turning back to the screen. And later, as he dropped her back home and she thanked him for the evening, she brushed her lips against his cheek—just softly and quickly enough that all he read off of her was that she was happy. And that was enough.

And now he lay in the bed wondering what would have happened if he had just wrapped his arms around her and kissed her like he wanted. Would he have fallen into pure ecstasy at the touch of her lips? Or would the sensation have been too much? Just like—

Did you know there were canals on Mars?

Just like that night long ago.

Hey, Roberts!

And before he could stop himself, he was back there on that crisp October evening a decade ago. Friday night after the football game. Cruising around with Mike Bennett and Scott Harris in Mike’s T-Bird. Drinking Bud Light and blasting Nelly. All stoked up because they had won their game and now they were going to celebrate and have some fun and maybe tear some shit up. And Joel didn’t care because at least he would be out of the house and not having to take a bunch of grief from Clifton. And maybe he could forget about these weird sensations he was having every time he made contact with someone on the football field, as if he was seeing inside them, feeling inside them. How brushing against someone was like hearing fifty radios blasting at him all at once.

And when they caught up to Candy Johnson walking along Eighth Street, he was more than happy to scoot over and share the backseat with her, to pull a bottle from the second six-pack of the night and hand it to her. And how he had watched—fascinated—as she turned up the bottle and drank it down in four gulps and asked for another.

And soon he and Candy were talking about school and Mr. Peterson’s astronomy class and he said, “Did you know there were canals on Mars?”

“Really?” she asked and took a sip of beer.

He wasn’t sure if she was actually interested or she was just zoning out from the beer, but he said, “Yeah. A long time ago they thought that meant there was water there. And life.”

“Real Martians?”

“Yeah.”

A little while later they were parked at a clearing out by the railroad tracks, and Joel and Scott sat draining the last of the beer while Mike and Candy were getting busy in the back seat. And it wasn’t long before Mike crawled out, zipping up his jeans, and said, “Hey, Roberts! She wants you now,” and Scott clapped Joel on the back and shoved him toward the car.

And suddenly Joel was standing at the open door of the T-Bird, staring in at the darkness where he could just see Candy lying in the backseat illuminated by the lights from the dashboard. Usher was pounding in the speakers, and Joel could feel the throb of the bass course through his chest, down through his belly to his cock, which strained against the fly of his jeans. And all he could think, even through the fog of the beer buzz, was that it