Part 168 – Sammy’s Explanations

“What are you? A poltergeist?”

“No. I am human.”

“I don’t know any human who can do that with their mind.”

“It is not my mind that does it.”

“Not your mind…” Ambrose frowned. “That doesn’t leave many options.”

“These powers…They come from my emotions. If I am angry. If I am sad. If I am irritated. Sometimes when I am happy.”

“So, what are you?”

“I am—”

“If you say you’re human again, I will have to smash something.” He shrugged. “Just fair warning.”

Sammy stood and, for a moment, Ambrose felt as if the other man were towering high above him.

Must be my day exhaustion. Ambrose stood to make things even.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“What? You didn’t answer my first question.”

“Because I choose not to. My power has made life difficult for me and my family. Many sorrows. Many accidents. Many  difficult explanations.”

Another fluorescent light met its maker.

“What I am. What I really am…” Sammy held his head higher with a determined pride. “I have become who I am despite what I am. I am respected because no one knows my truth. And no one ever will. Even you, Mr. Smith.”

“Tell me this much: Are you something evil?”

“No.”

“So, you aren’t a demon or—”

Barbara’s chair fell over, startling Ambrose.

“No.”

“Oh, really? So, what were those shadow things?”

“They were…I know the word, but it is not possible to say it with this mouth.”

“Rough translation, then.”

“They were solid illusions. That is the translation that best explains them.”

“So, all that was just an illusion. I don’t know. Those quills sure felt real to me.”

“Because they were solid illusions instead of ephemeral ones.”

“Oh.” Ambrose rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand and sighed. “Yeah. That makes a whole lot of sense.” He lowered his hand. “Wait. Illusions? Did you create those things?”

“Yes.”

“So. You created those things and made them attack me.”

“Yes.”

“While I was in the throes of day exhaustion.”

“Yes.”

Ambrose considered punching him, but he really didn’t want to get blasted to Cleveland on a Saturday. So, he swore at him in French.

Sammy regarded him with a steady calm. Even as his magic shoved Ambrose into the rubble of Barbara’s desk. “I happen to understand French. I don’t appreciate being called so many ugly things.”

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