An excerpt from DETONATOR

Alec Stahnke lived in one of the older homes off Orange Street, in a section of New Haven inhabited mostly by students and young single adults. His apartment was on the second floor, up a wide staircase past a small stained-glass window on the landing, quite common in New Haven homes for some reason.

Alec ushered us in like he was welcoming us into a mansion. "Haven't seen you in a while, Steve," he said, picking up an issue of the New Haven Advocate   from an endtable. "I've got article in this rag, see? On the recent workers' strike at the Klein Biotower." I scanned it politely while Ken glowered in the background, peering around here and there among the neatly arranged living room, scanning Alec's immense bookcase, eyebrows raising and lifting as he read titles, but never moving any other facial muscle.

Ken said nothing. Having a huge ego himself, he never liked to see anyone else go too far with theirs. In fact, Ken's manner made me suspect that he had taken an instant dislike to Alec.

It pissed me off, a little. I'd gone to some trouble to try to help Ken, and here he was copping an attitude around the only person I knew who might be of some assistance.

"On the phone you didn't tell me much about what you wanted," Alec said to me, stroking his short blond beard. He pushed his glasses back up his nose.

Ken, I realized, wasn't about to say anything. With a sigh, I outlined the situation for Alec. My account of Ken's "skill" couldn't be very clear or concise, because at that point we had no clear understanding of what was happening with him. As I told Alec, the main fact seemed to be that when he got mad enough, Ken could make things -- organic things, only, so far -- fall apart quickly. Very quickly.

When I described the exploding birds, Alec giggled. Ken's eyebrows flew up, then met over his nose. There they stayed as Alec gained control of himself.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, "but that really is funny! I can see those birds...." He chuckled. Then he stood up, and walked out of the room.

Ken raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged.

Moments later Alec was back, bearing a cage with a rat inside.

Uh-oh, I thought.

"I have a few rats in the other room," he said. "We use 'em at the labs. I'm taking care of a couple for a friend who's away. Now, Ken. Let's see you do your number on this rat."

Ken looked at him as if he were insane, as did I.

"Look, Alec," I started. Given the incidents in Ken’s past and his frame of mind now after the little scene with Tony Pelvo, it felt to me as if Alec’s needling of Ken might produce an explosive and deadly reaction. Plus, my Conscientious Objector conscience was tweaking me. Was it a good idea to be assisting Ken develop this nightmare skill?

Alec looked down his nose at me. "If you want me to try to help you, I need to see proof of what you're saying," he said, elaborately patient. "It's nothing personal, guys. And you have to see that it's a reasonable request." Ken and I exchanged a look, and I shrugged at him. Alec went on, "Listen! If this is true, it'll be first scientifically documented, solid, honest-to-God example of parakinesis on record."

"What do you mean, if  it's true?" Ken demanded, in a low voice.

"You have to be able to prove it," he said to Ken. Turning to me, he added, "There are any number of people who are trying to fake their way into the record books. Uri Geller, the key-bending guy. Ted Serios, who supposedly thinks pictures into cameras. I need concrete, experimentally verifiable, repeatable proof."

Ken stood. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise, for the first time in my life.

"I don't believe in ESP, " said Ken in a dangerous tone. "I've seen documentaries, I've read books. Come on -- I've seen films of people reading star and wave cards down at Duke and all that. I never once said I believed in any of that, and I never will."

"You certainly have a different act," Alec said, dryly. He couldn't have said a more aggravating thing.

All I can do is to relate what happened. It felt as though a piece of the November night outside slithered in through the walls and wrapped itself around my balls. I shuddered with cold. Something began happening in my stomach, like heartburn. I swallowed and tried to speak, but could force no words past the large lump in my throat.

The rat, a white rat about six inches long, had been pacing and walking around its cage. Suddenly it had stopped.

I wanted to holler to Ken to stop whatever he was doing, but I couldn't move or speak. My ears popped -- I felt my muscles tightening, and again tried again to yell, because I thought that Ken had miscalculated and was going to blow my head to pieces. Blood rushed in my ears. I probably screamed.

The rat exploded.

Alec shrieked "Jesus fucking Christ!" as he was spattered with shreds. I can't describe the sound except to say that it you took a squirrel and dropped it thirty feet onto concrete, it might sound like that rat exploding. Not terribly loud, but terribly final.

There was nothing recognizable left of the poor rat. I admit that I didn't exactly search the wreckage closely. I tried to calm my seething stomach by keeping my attention away from the blood-splattered furniture and on Ken. Under the droplets and bits of organs, he was as pale as I'd ever seen him -- which was one night in a bar when he and I tried to see who could drink a pitcher of beer through a straw faster.

"You wanted me to do it, I did it," he said mildly to Alec whose jaw hung open as mine had on Starling Day. "So. Do you believe it now?" From his tone I could tell that the last, unspoken, word of that sentence was asshole.

"Assuredly!" gasped Alec, wiping his glasses. Something unpleasant hung from his beard. "I realize," he added, looking at me, "that there was a risk."

"A risk! A risk!" I hardly knew what to say. "We -- I -- you -- he --"

"I know, I know, " he said. "There was a chance that his control wasn't developed to the point where he could be relied on to blow up the rat and not one of us. But it was the only way I could see for myself. If this only happens when he gets angry...." He shrugged.

"Well, that's true," said Alec. He looked at what was in the mall cage, and shook his head. "No wonder that old lady freaked. Anyway, the seizure represented enough of a jolt to your endocrine system that it most likely triggered the, uh, explosive effect in the same way a temper fit would. I mean, if we’re assuming that this is all real -- and after the demo, I am inclined to believe it," he added hastily.

Ken stared at him, scratching his chin thoughtfully, his head tilted a little to one side.

"I really can't help you with this at all," Alec said, looking genuinely frustrated. "Much as I'd like to. Thing is, this ability of yours is obviously dangerous. It needs to be tested more completely, preferably in a tightly controlled lab environment." He shuddered. "Wow. Intense."

He got up and began pacing the room. "All right, I have a friend, Graham Enghels, who works in a facility up near Croton-On-Hudson, in New York. The place is a sort of a think tank, specializing in psychological conditions and experimental techniques. I think it's an outgrowth of some government project from the Korean War that went private."

"Korean War?" I didn’t like the sound of that.

"Psychological conditions," said Ken. "This doesn’t seem all that psychological to me."

Alec made an open handed gesture. "You tell me what it is, then," he said. "You came here for suggestions, this is one. They have people there with experience in extreme states of mental --aberration," he finished, casting a glance at Ken.

"You handle it your way," Alec said with a shrug. "All I'm saying is that it would be to your benefit to learn more about this power of yours. You wouldn't want to blow your own brains out, would you?"

This hadn't occurred to us. He blinked at me and then thoughtfully stared at Alec, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He looked over at me again, eyebrows raised.

I nodded slightly. "The man has a point, son," I said.

"Maybe," Ken said. "I'll tell you what," he went on, looking at Alec. "You give me your friend's address and phone and all, and I'll think about it for a couple of days."

Alec nodded. "Fair enough."

We left shortly afterward, while Alec began the distasteful task of cleaning up his living room. "I hope I can explain about the damn rat," he said as we walked out the door buttoning our coats. "I'll have to make something up."

"Tell whoever it got wet and you tried to dry it in the microwave," Ken suggested.

Alec smiled weakly.