Million Dollar Soul

The door squeaked as I entered, I always say I’m going to fix that and once I’m in the room I always forget. I told myself i wouldn't come back here too, and somehow I always end up here; in a dazed state with heavy feet subconsciously tugging at me. I stand in the still, dusty air the only light to illuminate the space coming from out in the hall, and line of glow. I follow it to the classical wooden framed bed posts, reaching out to the foot of the bed and staring at the vacant sheets. I am carried to a memory of a day when the sun was wafting in this space, full of child laughter, forbidden stories, and dreaded lessons. I had wandered across the room the rest of the way and was reaching for one of the stark still curtains when I heard the echo of steps in the hall, and dropped my hand. "Charlie" my mothers voice rings into the room, "not again dear, come" she beckons me from the door frame. I halfheartedly walked across the room again and our into the hall just behind her and found myself flinching as the door wailed as she shuts it. "I told you you shouldn't come to this part of the house and this is the third time I have found you here in two days," she snides at me, you'd think by her words she is concerned, but her tone dictates her uninterest, she just doesn't want me in there, the whole situation making her uncomfortable. I take her in then, respectable pencil skirt with color matching blazer, and perfectly tamed black and greying hair. Her nose ever pointed and rimmed with green eyes, that I’m pretty sure have gotten a few more wrinkles in the passed few weeks. She looked like a step ford wife if they were ever photographed past 45, or told you for that matter. "Sorry mother, did you need something?" I apologize and get to the point. "I was just on my way to tell you I'm heading out to an early supper with some acquaintances," she fusses with her blazer, attempting to straighten what is already pin straight, "try to behave darling." She touches my shoulder as she passes me and saunters off down the hall. Instead of wandering aimlessly around the house, or going to figure out which assignment I should be heading too soon, i decide to retreat to fathers study. There have to be answers in there somewhere and I have been combing through his research paper by paper for the last week. Opening the door there is much more life in this room, candles lit, the dramatic curtains letting in just enough light of the lasting sunset outside. The walls lined with shelves, either filled with books, research journals, or artifacts father has found on his inquiries or studies. I inhale deeply as I close the door and make my way over to his chair, this place still smells just like him, turned book pages, drying ink, and tea leaves. Sitting down I close my eyes and take a deep breath, it has been almost 2 weeks since he left us. All that spirit and life in him just for it to be taken away slowly, watching him become a little hollowed out shell of what he once was. I have spent so much time with him in those last days, trying to memorize his voice like my favorite song, or the etches of his fingers like they were a lifeline. My father was never a compassionate man, but he was always caring, sometimes gentle when needed. In those days before he passed half shriveled and withering, like an old wilting tree slowly reducing to ash, watching leaf by leaf, he had told me something, he was having trouble breathing but he insisted, stammering and gasping. "Charl... when I’m gone....my power....will....move on" He gulped out in between pumps of air, "you must...must find... the new telepath" In the end I agreed if only to get him to rest but later i would not realize what he meant. I had found out about what we were when I was 12, I had come home from school ticked off by some girl in my class making some rude remark or another at me. I was sitting at the counter in the kitchen, expansive as it was with its one wall lined with deep cafeteria like sinks and the giant marble slab in the middle for prep, and the other wall with just as many stoves, listening to my grandma tell me how i had to believe in myself and not give weight to mean children. I was half listening only out of respect but as i replayed the events in my head i hadn't noticed the faucets had started to rattle and all the ranges had turned on, and all at once water started gushing from the sinks, and the stoves all ignited as if possessed. I gasped and they both sputtered a bit but didn’t die. "Charlotte dear," I look over to my grandmother who was now standing next to me with her hands slightly raised," You need to calm down dear." she placed her hands on my shoulders and took a few deep breaths with me never unlocking eyes with me, and slowly the water and fire receded. Once they were off grandmother visibly relaxed and smiled at me compassionately. That Night she took me to my father who sat me down in his study with my grandmother showing me a great book of the history of the Jackals. A species that was born before man at the start of the world, made by the gods to keep things in order while they were away. As the world progressed the need for Jackals became obsolete, but they endured, and survived. So they repurposed themselves using their gifts for science, medical, or educational purposes; the skillset is specific to each Jackal. There are Elementals who can control an element that they are affinitive too, usually passed down my genetics. Most elementals can use and manipulate an element as long as it is nearby, there are few that can conjure their element. Even more rare are High Tier Elementals, these Jackals have an affinity for the 4 major elements and can conjure them when taught properly, they also usually have a special affinity specific to them. I am a high Tier elemental and my affinity is metal. Then there are Telepaths, most telepaths can control items, move objects and use their mind to generate fields of energy, nothing too crazy being telepathic takes a really big toll on the brain, most telepaths don’t move passed moving standard objects. High Tier Telepaths are the rarest Jackals that exist, they go beyond basic telepathic abilities, they can sway minds, and in most advanced cases control people. There are only ever 7 of them in the world. My father was a High tier Telepath, if his power was passed down to a low tier telepath it could be disastrous. There is an underground among our people, who will do anything for more power. There is a mafia of sorts. They tend to work just on the edge of the councils skirts by using the laws to their advantage, and sometimes doing their dirty work. There are also a few gang like factions, out right breaking the law and hoping they don't get caught. Both will either e*****e, bribe, or even kill for what they feel is necessary. Whether it be taking out a rivaling power, or forming an alliance to try to breed stronger children. A new High Tier anything could throw off the balance but a telepath is worth more than anything in our world. I have been combing through my fathers notes and journals since he became bed ridden, to no avail. None of it says anything about transference or inheritance of power, or where he thought his power would go. There are a few notes on studies of willful power mergers but nothing fruitful ever came of it. I had been looking for looped words even, or margin notes, coded words. Nothing. I found notes on documenting all living telepaths so that they could be monitored for power gains but the counsel deemed it inhumane to try to keep track of people in such a way. Not to mention the pitfalls of having to hope parents registered children, or would come to the counsel at all, since people have issues with even our governing system. I huff in frustration setting that book aside to the pile that I have read in the last week. "Father what do you want me to do?"