Bright Star (38 page)

Frustrated by his own actions, Rush felt his body tense, his fists clench at his sides. “You’re strong, Bright Star. Not that strong. You can’t give me a suggestion that will overcome my disgust for you.” He took a deep breath. “Do you remember how you were—who you were—When I first met you?”

“I…” Her brow crumpled. She seemed to be thinking. “You saved me.”

“That is not my question, Bright Star… Elizabeth.”

“Don’t call me that!” Her eyes flashed as she got to her feet.

“But that’s who—”

“No!” her voice was strong and forceful. The one she used to reach all of her Followers. “Elizabeth will die today. For good!”

“You are Elizabeth!”

“I am who you made me!” she raged vehemently.

“Where is she?” he demanded, coming to wrap his hands around her arms. He squeezed tightly until she was lifted from the bed.

Even still she peered at him coyly from beneath her hair. She wasn’t listening. Again, the suggestion of sex was clouding his vision and causing him to harden painfully.

He shook his head and continued scornfully, “I see you know you’re not pregnant.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She gave the appearance of shock.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Rush glared at her. He even leaned nearer her to elucidate, “We both know you tried to get pregnant. You used Jackson. And we both know that even though you had him twice, you aren’t pregnant. That’s the only reason you had the audacity to try what you have tonight.”

“Forgive me,” she lowered her head.

“I won’t,” Rush declared. “You know I don’t want you, and yet you tried anyway. But—Look at me!” Rush commanded as her head remained down. “Look at me!” He commanded again and this time, she showed him her shame. “I just want you to know. It’s not Jackson’s fault. No matter what you think. You can’t get pregnant.”

“What?” Bright Star gasped, pressing her hands to her womb, her completely empty womb. He turned to leave as hot tears started to course from her eyes. She started to shake and utter a low moan.

“Jacob, you had no right to do this to me—”

“I beg to differ. You’ve told me plenty enough times that you believe whatever I do is right.”

“Yes, Rush. Yes, you’re right,” the tears dripped onto the floor, She sniffed as she wiped the back of her hand across her face. Awkwardly, she flattened the gown around her body. She called again before he closed the door. He didn’t want to, but he turned and there before him was skinny, mousy, humble Elizabeth. The very sight of her caused a knot in his chest.

“Bright Star,” he bit out. “I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me,” she contradicted in the voice that had haunted him for days… months… years. “You love me,” she dared.

The fury started a tightening of his jaw. It grew into a slow burn in his chest. The burn seemed to constrict his lungs so that he could not breathe. He opened his mouth to drag in deep breaths. His eyes began to sting and water. Impulsively, he reached up his hand and pressed two fingers to his throat. For a quick moment, he had believed he was having a heart attack because the pain and confusion were so strong. But he knew… Jacob Rush knew that he wasn’t having a heart attack and there was nothing physically wrong with him other than the testosterone, adrenaline and empirical rage building within him. His hands balled into fists and he squeezed and squeezed, trying to get his hands to be still.

Then he struck. Rush hit Bright Star. He didn’t slap her. He didn’t use his High Energy to hurt her. No, there had been nothing paranormal about his assault. It was a pure and undiluted ferocious man’s rage. He hit her with his large and sturdy fist. He connected with her jaw and down she went.

Rush hadn’t expected the release and didn’t want to feel anything good about hitting a woman. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to hit her again and again until the pain went away… until she would… just… stop.

With a busted lip and gleaming eyes she scrambled to her feet from the floor to face him. “I will never stop,” she declared and seemed to raise her cheek to him, waiting for another blow.

Rush’s palm itched with the desire to spend his truly physical tension again. He wanted to hit her and hit her and hit her until she could no longer influence his or his brother’s lives. The need grew too strong for him to control and he punched her again. This time she did not get up.

“Rush, stop! Don’t hit her again!”

The shame was immediate and strong. Rush did not turn to see his brother and Monk coming into the room. It was Jackson’s voice he’d heard. Vaguely, in the back of his mind behind the all consuming red haze in his head, he could hear Bright Star addressing Jackson: “He didn’t hit me.” Her jaw and eye were healing with every breath she took. Redness and bruising faded visibly at a superhuman rate.

“Don’t lie, Bright Star,” Jackson commanded, though the signs were gone.

She darted around Rush to stand between him and his brother. “Jackson, this isn’t any of your business. I’m not hurt. It’s none of your business. You should just go.”

Jackson was obviously not listening. He stood with his legs apart, his fists clenched, and his eyes never leaving his brother.

Bright Star tried another tack, pleading with the cleric. “Monk, take Jackson and go.”

Monk did not take her instruction, either. Instead, his eyes were also trained on Rush. “What did she do to push you this far?” Monk asked in a voice calm beyond suggestion. It soothed the leashed beast trying to break loose in them all. Tension seeped slowly from the room.

Rush placed his hands over his eyes and did not respond. For a long moment he stood there. Though he wanted to, Rush found he could not answer. His tongue was thick in his mouth and he couldn’t stop studying his hands. They were large and strong. They seemed larger and stronger in that moment than ever they had been before. He felt like an oaf… A giant staring down, almost disembodied, at the other occupants of the room, even as they studied him.

“Rush—”

Rush silenced his brother with nothing more than a mental shrug, then Shifted himself from the room.

Revelation

“Why do you think she did it?” Monk dropped down to sit on the ledge of the building, shoulder-to-shoulder with Rush.

The night was cool and crisp. The city that spread to the horizon around them was subdued and dark-metal blue. There were no stars out this night, and Rush missed them fiercely.

Periodically, Rush had been casting himself off the building into the night air. Each time he had returned to the edge of the building. He found comfort in the weightlessness. Released from all pressure, even the downward pressure of gravity, Rush reveled in the void. And then, reluctantly, resentfully, he returned himself to the ledge and allowed himself to be compressed again. He reveled in every worry and expectation until he couldn’t take it anymore. And then, he jumped again. And again. That was when Monk found him. Rush returned to his seat and found the cleric there.

“Why do you think she did it?” Monk asked when he didn’t get a response.

“I don’t know,” Rush answered quickly this time.

“I think you do,” Monk argued.

“Why are you here? Or is a better question why am I here talking to you, of all people?”

Monk had followed Rush shortly after he disappeared from that room. He’d had to make a choice. Stay and try to prevent the likely disaster brewing between the highly charged couple, Bright Star and Jackson, or try to help Rush make peace with himself and what he had done.

He’d been surprised to find Rush on the roof jumping into the night air. Rush rarely engaged in any recreational activity that one could observe. In those times that he was visible, he was either having a beer and watching television, eating, or performing unimaginable feats of Shift. There was little else. But rather than worry too much over this, Monk decided to focus on the high level of need within Rush. Normally, Rush would protect them all from his feelings. This night he didn’t seem to care. His lack of control had already caused brownouts all over the city. White streaks shot frequently through the sky. Even the ground sometimes seemed to recognize Rush’s feelings with an almost imperceptible rumble.

Rush looked over at him and gestured towards the ledge. “Again, Monk, what the hell are you doing here? Why do you think I’m going to talk to you?”

“Everyone talks to me,” Monk offered slyly, then stood at the edge. He didn’t look down. Instead, he slid forward until his toes were over the side. He balanced there, raising his arms out to the side. Then, all of a sudden he lurched forward. He flapped his arms. He missed. “I felt that.”

“Of course you did,” Rush did not deny the push. “You are, as always, aggravatingly right.”

“We’ve all got to be good at something.” Monk grinned. “As it turns out, I’m good at two things. Well, if you ask Point, I’m sure she’d say I’m good at at least five,” he waggled his eyebrows. “Anyhow, one of those things is physics. The other, apparently, is being a holy man. Who knew?” Monk sat down again and gave Rush a sidelong glance. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Rush answered dryly, though he felt his words to be more bravado than anything else.

“You feel bad about hitting her,” Monk pressed.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Why lie to me now?” Monk asked. “You’ve haven’t lied to this point, so why now?” He didn’t truly expect an answer, so he continued, “You do feel something. You feel despair. You feel helpless. And—if I’m not mistaken—you are experiencing a profound grief that I can’t for the life of me understand.”

Rush gave a wry smirk. Whether Monk believed in him or not. Whether he was really a holy man or not, he had a profound Talent for reading the emotions of others. He had pinpointed Rush’s feelings down to the one emotion behind all the others that even Rush had been unable to identify.

“Maybe,” was the reluctant acquiescence.

Monk said nothing further. Instead, he reached out and placed a hand on Rush’s shoulder. The warmth and acceptance and unconditional forgiveness that radiated from him seeped into Rush, who was surprised to find tears collecting in his eyes. He was alarmed to find this becoming an increasingly frequent habit. He was also alarmed at how much he needed the reassurance and love that came from the holy man.

“This is what you do for all of us,” Monk told him. “Every day.”

Rush couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t. It just made him want to fling himself off the roof again, and this time, not return. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he opened up. “She was stronger than him,” Rush began. Instinctively, he knew Monk would realize he wasn’t speaking of Bright Star or Elizabeth. He was silent, still, listening.

“She was stronger,” Rush started again, putting his hands over his eyes. “He never knew that all she had to do was think hard enough and his nervous system would shut down. Though she wasn’t that powerful, she had the precision of a surgeon with her skill, she did. He never knew that she held his life in her hands.”

Monk, again, was silent.

Rush kept his eyes covered as if that would save him from his memories of his tortured mother and of Bright Star. “I can’t understand why I did it, why I wanted to do it, why I will probably want to do it again.”

“Well…” Monk began. “If you want my honest opinion, which you probably don’t…”

“What is it?” Rush lowered his hands and for once looked like a lost little boy.

“I don’t think you wanted to do it at all,” Monk offered tentatively.

Rush didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Don’t think for a minute that I question if she’s capable of it. She is capable, and I absolutely would prefer to think it was her fault. But honestly, Monk, do you think I could have fallen to that simple a suggestion?”