Outbreak by Christine Fonseca

always been able to get me to spill my secrets. “Okay, fine. I apparently have a few psychic skills. And yes, my mom and dad dabbled in this stuff in the 60s and 70s. But that’s all I know.”
    Mark glares and Elaine puts on her best I-don’t-believe-you expression.
    “Seriously. This isn’t something we’ve ever talked about as a family.”
    “And what you did to Mark?” Elaine’s tone shifts from curious to concerned.
    “I was scared. Sometimes things happen when I’m freaked out. I’m getting better at controlling it though.” I wrap my hands around each other, desperate to hold myself together.
    “You know,” Mark starts, “I might be able to help you with that. I don’t have any abilities myself, but I’ve read everything I can on the subject. My foster mom used to say I was obsessed.”
    “Foster care?” I ask.
    “Mark was in foster care. His bio-mom gave him up when he was very young.”
    “It’s okay though,” Mark says. “I was lucky and landed with a great family.”
    The attraction in Elaine’s eyes as Mark talked about his past was unmistakable. She was falling for him. Hard.
    The three of us spend the next hour talking about my so-called gifts. Mark tells us everything he can remember on the topic—which is a lot. Remote viewing, telekinesis, telepathy, psychic invasions. With each topic, Mark explains as much as he can, listing every control strategy he can remember.
    Obsession is an understatement
    Elaine and Mark ask me to try all of Mark’s suggestions, demonstrate the extent of my abilities. No way! At least, not with them. I can’t let anyone see what I am capable of; I am not ready to admit that truth yet.
    I listen to Mark’s advice and tuck away as many of the details as I can remember. When I’m alone, I’ll test out his theories.
    “Was Josh like you?”
    Elaine’s question takes me by surprise and chokes off my reply.
    “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. That was really rude of me. This is too painful to talk about isn’t it?” Elaine could always read my moods.
    “No, it’s okay,” I push past my lips. “Josh and I never talked about it, so I don’t know if he had these abilities.” As much as I want to tell her the truth, I just can’t.
    “Oh, okay. I was just curious. I mean, being psychic would be so cool, right?”
    Umm, no. Not right. It’s more like a curse.
    The doorbell rings, saving me from an awkward response. I unfold my legs and stand, happy for the distraction and a chance to change the topic again.
    A postal worker waves from the car as I bend to retrieve a large envelop addressed to me. I inspect the package. Nothing. No return address, no indication where it came from or who sent it. My thoughts tighten as my senses explode.
    Calm down, I say in my mind. Will I ever stop seeing the world as one big threat to my survival?
    “Who is it?” Elaine calls from inside.
    “The mail. I received a package.” I walk into the house with the envelope, feeling around the edges. “I’m not sure I should open it.”
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t know. Who would send me anything?”
    “Maybe your parents?”
    Not likely.
    I nod “okay” and slowly open the clasp. Several black and white photos float to the ground as I tip the envelope upside down. A small leather journal, similar to the one Josh and I found in the safe house, slides into my hand.
    “What is this?” I ask, half to myself. I shake the envelope for more contents. Empty.
    Elaine retrieves the pictures from the floor. “This looks like your mom,” she says. “When she was young. And look, the kids look like you and Josh. And a baby.”
    I grab the photo from Elaine. Staring up from the old photo paper is mom, Josh, and me. Josh is no more than three and I must be nearly two. A baby lies across mom’s arms. He looks no more than a few months old, wrapped tightly in a blanket and clinging to mom’s fingers.
    I don’t remember anything in the picture. Not the room or the clothes. And