Spark (33 page)

“Good.”

She stares at me, glassy eyed, heavy lids sweeping low. “Is it Richard or Aiden?”

My mouth dries, my mind too slow in a Fretizine swamp to handle denial and reassurance but my face has already given me away. “I’m sorry … I don’t know.”

Her lips quiver. “I hope it’s not Aiden.”

My throat aches.

“I liked Aiden …” Her tears spill.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What’s going to happen?”

I wish I knew.

“Jamie and I will come up with a plan. Miriam will help us. We’ll stop him, Kit. There’s three of us, only one of him. You’ll be safe.”

Her whisper thins. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die.” I knit my fingers through hers and she slowly unravels. I shape my lips to soothe, praying my promises won’t be empty ones. “Shhh. You’re safe, I’m here and you’re safe.”

We stay like that, hands linked. Soon her breaths lengthen and I know she’s asleep. I hold on for as long as I can but Fretizine and fatigue push me down and I fall into sleep darkly.

My dreams are formless but menacing and at some point I must have rolled onto my back, the white-hot pain knifing me awake. Kitty snores softly on her pillow and though the drug-haze still fogs my brain, I can sense Jamie in the room. I open my eyes on darkness; he must have turned the lamp off when he came in. He sits in his sister’s reading chair, the curtain open so he can look out at the night in silent vigil. A gleam of light on metal rests on his thigh; one of Leonard’s guns, Jamie’s hand loose around it.

He turns, his eyes meeting mine, moonlight and shadow dividing his face. If I could crack open his thoughts and dip my head in …

I rise on my good arm, heavy in my bones. Far off, in the back of my head, a whisper of warning,
don’t be a fool … stay where you are
, but I disable the alarm simply by folding back the quilt and lowering my feet to the floor. I wonder if I have strength to get up and then, somehow, I stand. Almost trancelike, I move through a black-and-white dream, my blissfully naked feet padding from rug to polished boards, instinct, need, inevitability automating my limbs.

Jamie straightens in the chair, his dark eyes wary.

I stop before him, cradling my injured arm. “It hurts,” my voice muffles. “Miriam said …”

He places the gun on the floor then pulls his shirt off over his head, mussing his hair. He bunches the fabric in his hands, looking up at me beneath a knotted brow, waiting.

I swallow thickly then brush my knuckles over his cheek, letting it mean what I can’t say. One stroke dismantling a blockade, releasing my slow hot tears. He closes his eyes, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath, tension lifting from his shoulders. The shirt falls at my feet and he slides his hands around my waist, leaning to press his forehead against my stomach.

One armed, I dig my fingers through his hair and curl forwards to follow the broad slope of his back, tracing the angel, mapping his scars. We both sigh, moving like we’re under water, his hands gliding over the swell of my hips, my fingers relearning the curvature of his shoulders.

When I begin to sway, Jamie steadies me. I brace my hand on the back of the chair, easing myself against him. He shifts to make room, reclining the seat, releasing the footrest so our bodies fold together. I lie on his chest, my face pressed against his throat, salting his skin with my tears, savouring his scent and the current humming between us.

Jamie reaches for the comforter on the end of Kitty’s bed. He shakes it out and draws it over us, careful with my injured arm, bringing my hand to his heart and covering it with his wide warm palm. He holds me and kisses my hair. I close my eyes and fall deeply.

Thirst brings me quickly to the surface. I wake to the sound of rain pouring outside and stiffen, fully aware of where I lie, my body hotly corrugated to Jamie’s. His arms tense around me and then relax. I know by the change in his breathing that my waking has woken him.

Indecision paralyses me. My arm aches and I need water, desperately, but how will I explain throwing myself at him in the night? And what does it mean? And should it mean anything? And what time is it? And what will Kitty think if she wakes and finds us entwined?

“Are you thirsty?” Jamie’s very naked chest vibrates under me.

I crack my lips to speak, “I’m dying.”

“Here.” He moves and I lift my head. “Barb brought it in.” He picks up a glass of water from a tray on the side table, also heaped with untouched food. I blush at the thought of his mother. I dart a look at the bed. No Kitty.

“What time is it?” I croak.

Jamie brings the water to my lips, tipping carefully. I drink, quick demanding gulps, bumping his hand, spilling water on my chin. It slides down my neck and pools on his chest, wetting my fingers, but I don’t stop until I’ve drained it, panting when I finish.

He returns the glass to the tray then wipes the water from my chin with his thumb. “Around three, I think.”

“In the afternoon?” I try to brush the water from his skin but each stroke makes my blood pound so I stop, unable to meet his gaze. Beneath the comforter his fingers fan over my lower back and he traces exquisite spirals at the base of my spine.

“Help me get up,” I say, flustered and tingling.

“You don’t have to. Go back to sleep. Sleep heals.”

I finally bring my eyes up. “Miriam–”

“Has been in.”

I cringe. “She has?”

“So has Dad. Kitty’s been in and out.”

“Oh.”

A rueful smirk curves his mouth. “They all know about the skin to skin benefits for rapid regeneration; nobody thinks we’re up here making wild monkey love.”

I fight off an uneasy desire to laugh.

“Though,” he says, “the traffic may have been to discourage it.”

I close my eyes, brow tightening.

“Listen,” he says. “You have to know that I–”

“Don’t.”

“But, if you could just understand that–”

“Please,” I come to my conclusion in a snap. “Let’s not make speeches.”

“But it’s a very good speech and I’ve been working on it all night.”

“Jamie,” I groan. “You make it so hard to …” His eyes shift to my mouth and he teases his lower lip through his teeth. I trail off, losing my thread. “You make everything …” I try again but he leans down, slowly, nudging my nose with his, our breath mingling, scrambling my brain. “I mean …” His lips brush mine, a test, a question, then a petition, building in frequency and depth. I forget my point altogether and I’m in it as much as him.

The tether pulls and I break away. “Kitty.”

He kisses me again. “Pretend to be asleep.”

I shove his chest and he chuckles, tipping the chair up, lifting me wrapped in the comforter and depositing me on the end of the bed. Before Kitty reaches the door, Jamie manages to pull his shirt on, throw me a bagel and nab one for himself, his eyes playful.

The door clicks open. Kitty steps in. “About time.” She crosses to sit next to me. “How’s the arm?”

“Better.” It still burns but nothing like the night before and my body no longer feels out of kilter. “Definitely better.”

“You’re welcome,” Jamie says.

Kitty gags.

I don’t look at him. “How’s your mom?”

“Oh, you know.” Kitty tries for a smile but can’t sustain it. “Bit worried about signing my death warrant after taking out my bodyguard.”

“I’m not dead yet. You survived the night and apparently most of the day. I’d say things are looking up.”

“Now we know it’s either Richard or Aiden.”

Jamie sits bolt upright. “You told her?”

Kitty clicks her tongue. “I’m not a complete idiot. It’s not like I haven’t wondered about both of them since the ball. We’ve been debating downstairs, leaning towards Richard. Aiden gets the sympathy vote on account of being nice and poor and a protector of girls from date rapists.”

“Nice and poor doesn’t save you from mutant genes,” I mutter.

“What does Miriam say?” Jamie asks, reaching for more food.

“She left a few hours ago. We’re supposed to call her when Evie wakes.”

I frown. “Where did she go?”

“She didn’t say. She was in her running gear and didn’t take her car. She’s been odd all morning. Barb said she disappeared for a few hours last night as well.”

“You don’t think she’s after Richard?”

“I wondered that,” Kitty says. “If Richard were dead, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“She would,” Jamie says.

I get to my feet, the comforter falling away. I start pacing. “I need to think. I need a shower and I need to think.”

“I’ll get something to cover your bandage.” Kitty crosses to the door pursing her lips. “Can I remind you both that this is my bedroom? I’d rather not have to get it decontaminated.”

“What?”

Jamie grins, rising with the comforter and wraps it around me. “Best keep this on, love, or she’ll need a hazmat team.”

Kitty scowls.

“Wait,” I say. “Has Doctor Sullivan been? Has he called?”

“No,” she bites her lip. “He’s not answering.”

Jamie touches my shoulder. “He’s not likely to have processed Richard’s sample in three days, yeah?”

“It’s taking too long,” I mutter.

Kitty exchanges a look with her brother and slips out the door.

“Tell me what happened last night.”

Jamie lowers his head. “I drove around for a while, looking for the sedan. In the end, I went to Richard’s house. There were a couple of grey cars in the back.”

“One without plates?”

“Dad mentioned that when I got home, but I didn’t notice.” He frowns. “I saw Richard with his father in the library.”

“How was he acting? Did he seem wound up?”

“Like someone who’d just been driving like a lunatic, trying to run a car off the road?” Jamie arches his eyebrow. “Extremely wound up. They were arguing. Richard was screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“He hates his father for ruining his life and being a compassionless bastard who understands nothing and he hopes he burns in hell.”

I stare at Jamie and swallow, thirsty again, post-Fretizine.

“I was waiting for him to go upstairs and then …” he taps his temple.

I feel weak and faint. “You would have broken in and … if I hadn’t reached you?”

He cups my face, his eyes hardening. “Yes.”

The unimaginable truth. Life snuffed from an actual person, even a completely revolting person with almost no redeeming qualities. It seems inconceivable, the ceasing to exist and the aftershock of such an end, rippling through a family, a community. Even with all my paranoia, the act of killing is something I’ve envisioned only in the heat of the Fixation Effect: that blind, primal instinct responding to a present threat, the culmination of adrenaline and electricity and genetically fueled rage, where you became something entirely other, controlled by stimuli and synaptic response. But to come at it this way, coldly, by an act of will?

“This is so messed up,” I groan and lean my forehead on his chest. “I still can’t be sure.”

“You may be advanced, Everton, but you can’t Harvest from civilians.”

How can he be so adamant? “What about Aiden, the blank wall of nothing? That’s not normal either.”

“You want it to be Aiden?”

“No!” I say. “Of course not.”

Jamie tips my chin up. “You don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.”

“For the
wrong
person’s death.”

“Then we’ll test it. Try it on Barb or Dad, but we need to act. For him to attack like that, out in the open, it means he’s getting desperate. He’ll try again and it will be soon.”

“Call Miriam. I want her here. I need to know what she’s thinking.”

“Do I need to do anything?” Leonard sits on the edge of the sofa, his fingers curling into fists on his knees. “Should I try to visualise something?”

“No, Dad, relax.” Jamie rubs his father’s shoulder.

I stand at the window, looking out on the grey afternoon. The rain hasn’t stopped, the doctor hasn’t called, and still no sign of Miriam. I cross to the sofa, taking a seat beside Leonard, feeling horribly self-conscious with everyone looking at me.

“Mr Gallagher, I’ll need to hold your hand. The rain makes it hard for me …”

He opens his palms, wide and warm like Jamie’s, and cocoons my hand in both of his, giving me an encouraging squeeze. Immediately, the static increases.

It always feels like this with civs, it doesn’t mean anything
.

“Maybe close your eyes …”

He does and I do too.

My dip into the bandwidth is as timid as last night’s reach for Jamie was bold. I look, not wanting to see; reach, not wanting to connect. I can feel Jamie’s expectation – or non-expectation – rolling at me, his certainty about Richard’s guilt. I open my eyes. “That’s not actually helpful.”

Leonard opens his eyes and everyone looks between Jamie and me.

“You can read each other’s minds?” Leonard says.

I blush. “No. It’s not like–”

“I thought rain interfered?” Kitty says.

“Not between us,” Jamie says. “Not at this proximity.”

His family look at him, bewildered.

“Synergist perk,” he says. “Sorry, Everton, I’m not trying to–”

“Can you move away?” I say, irritated by my own embarrassment. I hate feeling like a sideshow freak. “You’re distracting me.”

He pushes up from the couch, taking up my sentry post at the window. He lifts his hand. “I’ll be good.”

“This is creepy.” Kitty shivers. “Like being at a seance.”

Barb’s eyes widen. “It really is.”

“Sorry,” I say to Leonard. “Can we try again?”

He draws a deep breath, as though about to plunge under water, and closes his eyes. This time colour bursts in my mind and sensation sweeps over me, shocking in detail and intensity. His hands, my hands on Miriam. The heat of her mouth. I have to fight my way out of it, almost falling off the couch.

My cheeks flame.

I scramble to my feet.

Leonard jerks back. “You … you saw something?”

“You didn’t?” I pant, my hand pressed to my chest, pain stabbing my arm.

“No,” Leonard says. “Nothing.”