Chapter 1

Obviously, Logically, and Clearly

            Daniel Lendell Regal was an altogether uninteresting child.  He had no special skills or talents.  He had no quirky characteristic traits that made him different from other children.  He was in every sense just a typical, pre-teenage boy with dark blond hair and blue eyes.  There were only two things that made him stand out from average children, and neither of which were things that most children would be inclined to boast about.  The first was a pale birthmark on his right palm, shaped like a crescent moon.  The second was that he had no family.

Dan had spent his entire life in a Boston orphanage, and as far as he or anyone else could tell, he was completely and utterly alone in the world.   The only visitors he’d ever had were the annual CASAC (Court Appointed Special Advocates for Children) volunteers that came to came to check on the well-being of the orphans and offer a friendly face.

He had never even made any friends with the other children at the orphanage (especially not Tommy Tuttle). His lack of friendship wasn’t for wont of trying or desire – he was just always aware on some deep, subconscious level that he did not fit in with anyone in his life.  He couldn’t explain it; he just knew that he did not belong, and there was not a day that went by where he didn’t wonder if he was the loneliest soul on the planet.

But, as is often remarked, no one is truly alone.  We may get lost from time to time, but we are never alone.  Dan might have been about as lost as anyone could possibly be lost, but nonetheless – though he might not have known it yet – he was not alone.

            It was on his twelfth birthday – May tenth, 1991 – that the events began which would reveal to Dan just how un-alone he was; and there certainly could not have been a more traumatizing way to open a young boy’s eyes.

            Dan was celebrating his birthday by sitting – alone – on the orphanage common room sofa, watching Back to the Future on the television.  Doc Brown was in the midst of warning Marty McFly about the dangers of interfering with the past when –

            BAM!

            A pair of meaty hands reached over the couch and shoved Dan to the floor.

            “Move it, Regal,” an all-too-familiar bullish voice barked, “I ain’t watchin’ this crap.”

            Dan hadn’t needed to hear the voice to know that the meaty hands belonged to Tommy Tuttle.  Just as every schoolyard has a bully, so does every orphanage, and Tommy Tuttle was the bully of Dan’s little world.

            Tommy clumsily climbed over the top of the sofa, plopped his not insubstantial rump into the complaining cushion, grabbed the remote from the sofa’s armrest, and began flipping through the channels.

            Normally, Dan most likely would have gone off to sulk, rather than invoke the wrath of Tommy Tuttle, but this was his birthday, damn it!

He stood up, his pulse boiling with anger, grabbed the remote from Tommy Tuttle’s startled sausage-like fingers and said, “I was watching that, jackass.”

The look on Tommy’s face immediately made Dan regret the outburst.  Imagine the look of a bull that’s just had a tennis ball thrown at its groin.  That would not be far off from the look on Tommy Tuttle’s face.

Tommy rose menacingly from the couch, casting a dark shadow over Dan, for not only was Tommy Tuttle wide, but he was tall as well.  Those two traits, mated with his short temper, made for a very unpleasant combination.

“What did you say to me, shit-face?” the towering Tuttle demanded.

“I-I said, I w-was w-watching th-that…” Dan said, omitting the closing epithet that had undoubtedly sealed his fate.

Dan watched, as if in slow motion, as the bully’s fist balled up and reared back, aiming for a perfect hit.  It would not have been the first time had had received a beating from Tommy Tuttle – but he had no way of knowing at that time that it would be the last.

As Tommy’s fist collided with Dan’s jaw, the world spun and Dan went flying backwards.  He collided with the wall beside the television set, and fell to the floor in a stunned lump. 

But Tommy was not done with him yet (although he very soon would be).

As the bully charged his prey, aiming for a kick to Dan’s ribs, Dan had a momentary fantasy of how nice it would be if he could just set Tommy Tuttle on fire and be rid of the bully once and for all.

The transition from fantasy to reality was so seamless that it took several seconds for Dan to realize that something was wrong.  It wasn’t the image of Tommy bursting spontaneously into flame that had clued him in, for the imagined vision had been very vivid.  It wasn’t even the screams of Tommy Tuttle, for Dan had certainly imagined the screams.

It was the smell.  The smell of burning flesh and hair suddenly permeated the room in a way that even Dan with his vivid imagination could not possibly have conjured in his mind.

It was over in a matter of minutes, for Tommy’s screams had alerted the orphanage staff who rushed to the scene of the phenomenal crime and quickly doused the flames.  Dan was dragged roughly from the common room and marched to his room as 9-1-1 was called by one of the volunteers.

Dan sat in shocked silence on his bed, violent tremors shaking through his body as the terrible scene replayed itself in his memory on an endless loop.  Even the sound of the ambulance arriving and departing for Massachusetts General Hospital couldn’t drown out the ringing sound of Tommy’s screams in Dan’s memory.

Mrs. Potts – the administrator of the orphanage; a stern, portly woman – came to his room and questioned him about what had happened.  The social workers came and questioned him.  The police came and questioned him.  All of them he told the same story – the truth – and in all of them he could see the disbelief in their eyes.  But the only alternative to the truth would have been to lie and tell them that he had actually set Tommy Tuttle on fire, and somehow he didn’t think that would have boded any better for him.

Word came from the hospital shortly thereafter that Tommy’s condition had been stabilized and that he would live.  Although a relief for sure, it was by no means a complete reprieve for poor Dan’s guilt.

***

Naturally, Dan did not sleep very well that night as his dreams were haunted by the images and sounds of Tommy’s torment.

In the morning, when Mrs. Potts coldly announced that he had another visitor, Dan naturally assumed that now it would be the psychologist, come to lock him away in a padded room with a straight jacket.  Despite the severity of the situation, he couldn’t help but think that at least in a padded room he’d be able to have fun bouncing off the walls.

             Following the administrator into Dan’s room was the most peculiar man Dan had ever seen.  His peculiarity was not in his dark skin color, for Dan had met many volunteers at the orphanage of varying complexions and had not developed any racial biases.  His peculiarity was not in his height, for he was tall, but certainly not abnormally so.  He was old, but not too old for a freshly-turned twelve year-old to contemplate – surely no older than sixty-five. 

His white hair was neatly cut and his equally white beard was neatly trimmed – against his dark complexion the white hair gave him a very wise, dignified look.  He wore a perfectly acceptable light-blue dress shirt with black slacks.  His choice of a bright orange and yellow checkered tie was a little unusual, but even the wisest and greatest of men are allowed the occasional fashion faux pas’.

No, what made this individual so peculiar – such that even the orange and yellow tie seemed perfectly normal in comparison – were his eyes.  They were purple – a deep violet purple reminiscent of an amethyst.  Dan had never met anyone with purple eyes before, and he was quite certain he had never heard of anyone having such an unusual optical pigmentation. 

Although Dan might have found this abnormality disturbing, there was something about the gentleman’s demeanor that made him feel at ease.  He generated a grandfatherly warmth that Dan had rarely experienced in his brief twelve years of life, and there was an unmistakable twinkle in his interesting eyes that recalled in Dan the long-suppressed desire for the family he never had.  Even with the slight uneasy feeling in his stomach – probably from his nervousness, he guessed – he could not help but feel comfortable in the presence of this stranger, as if he had known him his entire life.

            “This is Mr…Laurent is it?” said Mrs. Potts, introducing Dan to the stranger.

            “Loeren, actually,” corrected the stranger, offering his hand to Dan, “Nevar Loeren.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just terrible with names,” blushed Mrs. Potts.

            “Think nothing of it.  It is admittedly not the commonest of names, so I’ve grown quite accustomed to being called by many appellations, several of which are probably best not repeated in polite company.”  He smiled ever so subtly and winked at Dan, who couldn’t help but grin as he started to imagine some of the names people might have called him.

            Mrs. Potts, on the other hand, did not seem to know just quite how to take this comment.  “Well…yes, I guess I’ll just leave the two of you to talk then…” And at that, she fumblingly backed out and closed the door.

            Mr. Loeren beamed at Dan as the door closed behind the administrator.

            “So, as we have established, I am Nevar Loeren, and as we have not yet established but we are both aware, you are Daniel Regal.”

            “I prefer Dan…” Dan mumbled meekly.

            “Ah yes, that’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dan.  It’s quite proper to inform people at a first meeting of your name preference.  My friends, quite naturally, call me Nevar, but as you most likely shall be attending my school, it will of course be more appropriate for you to address me as Mr. Loeren.”

            “School?”

            “Ah yes, of course.  I do apologize for getting ahead of myself.  You will find, if you have not already, that I often do just that.  I got so caught up in establishing our introductions that I completely forgot to mention the entire purpose of our little visit.  You see, Dan, I am the principal of a school for...‘specially gifted’ children and we have reason to believe that you might fit in quite nicely.”

            “‘Specially gifted?’ What do you mean? You’re not here because of what happened yesterday?”

            Mr. Loeren chuckled slightly at this remark.

            “Oh, no, I most certainly am here because of what happened yesterday,” Mr. Loeren said.  “Your little…ahem…demonstration yesterday established fairly reasonably that you have the gifts we seek.”

            “Setting people on fire is a gift???” Dan asked, shocked.

            Again Mr. Loeren chuckled.

            “In a sense, yes,” he admitted.  “Although, as long as we have broached this uncomfortable subject early enough in our conversation, I suppose I must ask the question that must be asked.  Why did you set Tommy Tuttle on fire?”

            “I didn’t!” Dan exclaimed, infuriated that no one would believe him. “I just imagined it, and it happened.  I didn’t really want it to happen!”

            The look on Mr. Loeren’s face stunned Dan into complete silence.  It was not the look of disbelief and skepticism that he had encountered from everyone else he had told the truth to, but a look of complete understanding and, maybe even, satisfaction.

            “A very good answer, my boy,” Mr. Lauren said, beaming.  “Of course, you could have been lying about not really wanting it to happen, but I assure you I would have known.”

            Something about the man’s penetrating purple eyes made Dan believe him completely.

            “I certainly did not intend to imply that you had physically set Tommy on fire with a match or a flamethrower or some such device,” Mr. Loeren continued.  “I was merely attempting to discern whether it was your youthful emotions getting the better of you, or a more malicious intent.  And you answered that question for me, so I have no qualms whatsoever about inviting you to our school.

“However, I think I need not stress the importance of you learning to control your emotions,” Mr. Loeren continued.  “I’m certain that after your experience yesterday you understand why.  A team of Memorfictators – individuals who specialize in memory modification, or ‘Memorfictation’ – will be placed on the lookout here at the orphanage to help if any future outbursts occur between now and your departure, but I think you would agree that it would be best if their talents were not necessary.”

            “What ‘special gifts’ do you look for?” Dan asked, desperately trying to change the topic to something a little less uncomfortable.

            “There are some people in the world who have very unique skills and abilities.  We call ourselves ‘The New Race’ or ‘Norcinites’ – I personally prefer the latter term.  It sounds much less self-indulgent, I think.  We who have been so gifted have the ability to do things – many things – with our minds.  The school of which I am Principal is the Steven Noricin School for the New Race, more commonly referred to as Snisnar.”

            “But, what is the New Race?” Dan asked, utterly overwhelmed by the whole conversation.

“You see, Dan, the human mind is an extremely powerful tool, and the average human being only ever uses around twenty-five percent of its potential. Well, the Norcinites have had that extra seventy-five percent unlocked, and our abilities are only limited by our individual willpower and imagination.  It’s what our modern contemporaries might call psychic or paranormal powers, whereas in Medieval times they more likely would have been labeled as ‘magic’ or ‘sorcery,’ though there is absolutely no evidence that there were any of our kind that far back in time.”

“So what, kinda like the X-Men, or something?”

Again, Mr. Loeren chuckled. 

“Yes, something like that.  Though we don’t generally run around in spandex saving the whole world, but of course every family does have its misfits. 

“Incidentally, it is interesting to note that you brought up super heroes, for it is one of our society’s best kept secrets that Jerry Siegel, the creator of Superman, got his inspiration from an encounter he had with one of our kind where the Norcinite saved his life.  His memory had been altered after the event – we generally try very hard to stay under the radar of the rest of civilization – but no memory can ever be truly erased, and the subconscious imprint of the incident leaked its way into his conscious mind and thus, Superman was born. 

“The publication of the comic books created quite an uproar in our community because, as I said, we tend to prefer to go unnoticed.  Fortunately, the comics contained more fiction and fantasy than fact, and within a few decades superhero comic books were such a cultural phenomenon that even the most conservative Norcinite did not feel threatened by the possibility of comic books revealing our presence to the world.”

All of this was just too much for Dan to take in.  This couldn’t be possible.  He started to wonder, if this was some sort of trick to get him to come along willingly to the padded room, after all.

“I assure you, this is not a trick to get you to come along willingly so that I can incarcerate you in a padded room – although I must say that I agree whole-heartedly with your earlier assessment that bouncing off the walls of a padded room would be a most enjoyable pastime.  I shall have to see about getting such a room added at Snisnar when I return…”

Apparently, Dan’s surprise was more than evident, for Mr. Loeren laughed and explained, “Among our many skills, is the ability commonly referred to as ‘reading minds,’ though it is of course a bit more complicated than simply taking a buzz saw to someone’s skull, opening it up and reading their brain.  Actually, I think I might have chosen a rather poor example, as all of that work would be quite a bit more complicated than when we read minds…”

Nonetheless, the example conjured up a nice, grotesque image in Dan’s mind.  He had a feeling that he was going to like this Mr. Loeren.

“So, what’s the deal? I go to this school and learn how to use my powers?”

“Learning to use them is not so much our concern, as learning to control them.  Of course, you do have a choice in the matter.  Should you decide not to attend our school, your memory of course shall be modified to forget we ever had this conversation and a Memorfictator shall be assigned to constantly survey you whenever your powers should act up.  Personally, I should think such an existence of denial and not knowing who you truly are would be subconsciously unbearable, but I suppose we must each have our vices.  You have exactly twelve days to decide if you will attend the school.  Should you decide to attend, you will be notified at that time of your instructions for being picked up on Monday, the third of September.”

            Mr. Loeren reached into his pocket for a piece of paper, scribbled something down on it, and handed the paper to Dan.  Written on the paper was a series of numbers, “466-364-6216-551.”

            “Twelve days from now, dial that number from any telephone and you will be connected to the school.  If you happen to forget, do not worry; we shall call you anyway to confirm your decision. 

“Oh yes, one more thing.  Due to the unusual nature of your familial status, I have made arrangements for you to stay at the school over the winter and summer holidays.”

            “So I won’t be coming back here to the orphanage?” Dan asked, thinking it was too good to be true .

            “Yes, that is correct.  However, if you really wished to return I suppose I could have that arranged…”

            “No, that’s okay.  I’ll be fine staying at the school for the summer.”

            “I thought that might be the case,” Mr. Loeren said, with a knowing grin.  He pulled a very old and well-worn gold pocket watch from his jacket pocket and checked the time.  “Goodness, look at the time.  I’ve noticed that the older I get, the more often it flies, regardless of whether I’m having fun or not.  I’m afraid I really must call our little tête-à-tête to a close, for the time being.”

            “How am I supposed to know that this is real and not some kind of joke?” Dan asked, still not fully wanting to believe this could all be true .

            Mr. Loeren smiled a Mona Lisa smile as he returned the old watch to his pocket and replied, “I think my mode of departure ought to satisfy your doubt.  Either that or it shall leave you doubting your sanity…In either scenario doubt is involved, and I’ve found that no matter what some people try to tell me, threads of consistency mingled with a touch of variety truly are the spices of life.”

            And on that enigmatic note, Nevar Loeren disappeared into thin air, sure enough leaving Dan wondering if he had gone mad.  He decided to convince himself that it was simply a dream and that he would wake up any minute.  When after several minutes he had not yet awakened, he decided that this must be a dream that would not end until, in the dream, he went to sleep.  Then he would awaken and reality would be restored.  He thus resolved to find himself in a state of unconsciousness as quickly as possible, even though it was only eleven thirty in the morning.

            Dan drew the blinds shut and began to cross to his bed when his attempt at a nap was momentary waylaid by a knock at the door.  Mrs. Potts entered and, looking startled, said, “Oh, has Mr. Loeren left already? I didn’t see him leave…”

            “Yeah, umm, he said he was going to leave out the, uh, back entrance…”

            “But we don’t have a back entrance…”

            “Yeah, uh, that’s what I told him, but he didn’t, um, seem to mind…”

            “What an odd fellow that man was…” she muttered as she turned around and closed the door behind her.

The administrator was not helping him convince himself that this was all just a hallucination.  But then he reminded himself that if this was a hallucination, then she was part of the hallucination, also, and therefore would not be very inclined to assist him in his return to reality.      

Exasperated, Dan climbed into bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and closed his eyes.  Despite the earliness of the day, he did eventually doze off, for a few minutes at least.  When he awoke, the queasiness in his stomach had dissipated and he decided that he felt as normal as he could feel.  Clearly, he had just slept in late and awakened from a very unusual dream.  As he rose out of bed, he was somewhat troubled by the fact that he had slept in his day clothes, but convinced himself that he must have just forgotten to change into his pajamas the night before.

As he headed to the Dining Hall to grab some lunch – since he obviously had slept through breakfast – he was somewhat puzzled to find a piece of paper with thirteen numbers written on it.  He realized that of course he had found the piece of paper the night before and had simply incorporated it into his dream.  That was the obvious explanation.

When he got to the Dining Hall, he was disappointed to find that the cook had run out of turkey and only had ham sandwiches for lunch.  He took one, nonetheless, because he was hungry (or, at least he should have been, he told himself, from not having eaten yet). 

Therefore, he was quite surprised when he bit into the sandwich and found it to be not ham, but turkey.  Curious.  Very curious.  Clearly he was somewhat disoriented from sleeping in so late and had just not noticed that he had grabbed the last of the turkey sandwiches.  That was the logical explanation.  It’s not like he could turn ham into turkey just because he was upset about the lack of choices.  That would be preposterous.

That night as everyone at the orphanage slept, a dozen masked figures, dressed from head to toe in black, appeared out of thin air outside the orphanage.  Silent and unnoticed, they entered the orphanage, going from room to room.  Not far away, a similar occurrence was happening at Massachusetts General.  However, seeing as Massachusetts General was a hospital, not everyone there was asleep, so the strangers were not able to do their business completely unnoticed.  However, for some mysterious reason, anyone who did happen to see the strangers completely forgot about the incident as soon as the strangers were out of sight.  They spent an extra amount of time in one room – the room of a strange burn victim – treating and healing the poor boy’s burns faster than should have been possible.

Throughout the night and all across Boston, these men appeared on the doorsteps of police officers, social workers, doctors, reporters and anyone else who had happened to hear about the terrible fight between two orphans that had almost ended fatally.  By morning, there was not a soul in Boston who remembered a thing about the mysterious case.  Even Tommy Tuttle would swear to his dying days that the scars all over his body were a result of the car crash that had killed his parents when he was an infant.

***

Dan did his very best to put the dream and the piece of paper (and the turkey) out of his mind.  He was nearly convinced that the conversation with the strange stranger was a dream, since although he did remember most of the conversation there were some parts that seemed rather fuzzy and hazy.  He had some inkling that those parts had something to do with Tommy Tuttle, but Dan could not for the life of himself imagine why he and Mr. Loeren would have had any reason at all to discuss Tommy Tuttle.

Dan was actually somewhat successful at putting these thoughts out of his mind, despite the increasing number of oddities over the following week (one time, as he reached for his pencil, it seemed as if the pencil had jumped into his hand.  In another instance, he seemed to be disappearing.  Clearly he just needed more sleep…). 

The return of Tommy Tuttle from his visit to the hospital to cure him of a rather nasty case of the flu certainly helped keep Dan distracted.  For some reason neither Tommy nor Dan could quite explain, there was a certain degree of increased animosity between them. 

After a week and a half, Dan had almost completely managed to forget that anything unusual had – or still was – happening to him.

Until the phone call.  It wasn’t just the fact that Dan had never received a single phone call in his entire twelve-year stay at the orphanage, but that this phone call came exactly twelve days after his mysterious encounter with a man who could only have been a figment of Dan’s imagination.  Warily, Dan followed Mrs. Potts into her office, where the phone waited, lifted the plastic receiver up to his ear and tentatively said “Hello?” into the mouthpiece.

“Hello Daniel,” came a firm, authoritative voice over the phone line, “this is Mrs. Marabeth Gruoch, Assistant Principal and Instructor of Matter Control at the Steven Noricin School for the New Race.  I believe our principal, Mr. Loeren, visited with you about two weeks ago and told you about the opportunities our school has to offer you.  We hadn’t received a reply phone call, so we just wanted to check in and see what your decision regarding attendance was.”

Dan closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  There was no more denying it.  Either he was going insane, or something strange really was going on.  He weighed his options. 

If it was all in his head, then it didn’t really matter what he said one way or the other, because he would only be saying it to himself, and right now he just plain didn’t care to hear what he had to say.  However, if it wasn’t a hallucination, and Nevar Loeren was a real person who had evaporated into thin air, then Dan had two choices.  Stay at the orphanage alone, unhappy, and constantly having his memory rewritten every time he did something abnormal, or go to this school and maybe find a place for himself to belong in the world.

“Mr. Regal?” came the voice over the toy phone.

“Yes, I’m sorry.  I will be attending.”

“Excellent.  You have made the right choice, I assure you.”

She proceeded to tell him where he would be able to meet the bus on the morning of the third of September.  “You need not bring anything with you, except for your clothing, of course (just because we’re a more enlightened race does not mean we’ve gone nudist).  Clothing withstanding, all your school supplies shall be provided for you.”
            “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Regal, and we look forward to seeing you in September.”

Dan tenderly returned the receiver onto the cradle; half convinced it would suddenly spring to life and try to bite his ear off.  Whether he was going insane or something extraordinary was going on, one thing was undeniable – Daniel Lendell Regal was anything but an altogether uninteresting child.