After the Calling

<<<Ten Years Prior: Part VII

Warnings: LONG!

I’ll be once again requiring your imagination. Photoshop and I are going through a messy divorce. Your imagination will be responsible for stars and keys and little pieces of paper with phone numbers on them.

Posing sim children is still causing global warming and I still hate them.

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

Ryan walked into the living room where Junior was talking circles around Mickey. For the three weeks since she had arrived, the boy had attached himself to her side and rarely shut his mouth. Surprisingly, the teen had taken to him, indulging his youthful conversations and even occasionally laughing at his antics. She was still quiet, jumpy, and unusually apologetic, but around Jericho Jr. she showed hints of personality. The little boy was observably smitten.

Ryan had been keeping a close eye on the pair and she noticed that Junior was unwittingly teaching her things that, as a psychic, she should have had the opportunity to learn. Ryan encouraged it by giving Junior extra information that she knew he would take back to Mickey. Now, instead of ‘lights’, Mickey spoke of auras. She knew that what she could do with her psyche was a form of healing. She learned that most people in the world were completely unaware of the energy inside them and around them. The fact that she could sense such things made her very different, special. And she was learning that ‘sorry’ was not a proper response to every given situation.

“Jay,” Ryan called to her son, pausing the rain dance he was enacting around the teen. “What do we do in the morning when we wake up?”

Junior eyed her suspiciously before answering, “We make our bed?”

“Did you do that?”

The boy opened his mouth in preparation for an adamant affirmation, but then closed it futility. With a deep pout, he slouched passed his mother and out of the room.

Ryan motioned to the teen to follow her. “Come sweety. There is something I want to talk to you about.”

The teen’s face fell into worry. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, never,” Ryan said with an encouraging smile. “There is just something you should know.”

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

 

It was dark by the time Chauncey arrived at on the Lee’s property, but that was no matter. He had left his parents’ home in broad daylight, not remembering his psyche’s new sensitivity to the sun, but he was now very aware of the damage done to his aura. He realized, as he moved toward the home, that this was the worst possible place that he could come in his condition. His initial intentions was to act as a deterrent to any visits his parents might decide to make, but Jax and Chloe were less of a danger to the Lees and their lodgers than he was at the moment. Not to mention that Layne could be much more of a disincentive in any case.

He hung his head and pressed his thumb and index finger against his eyelids. He would have to let Jericho and Ryan know of what may come, what his parents had plotted with Arden, but if they saw him, it was unlikely they’d let him leave. He had nowhere else to go, but he knew he couldn’t stay there. He was more of a danger now than he had ever been, and he was not going to burden someone else with his aura. He tried not to think about the unavoidable consequences of letting himself go without energy for much longer, but his body was already beginning to allude to the obvious. He was breaking down.

He felt weak and a bit sick, and his senses were slowly failing him. His finger tips were numb and his vision was blurring. He even felt like his was losing his sense of smell. Although he had no need for it, he knew that his aerokinesis was weakened. The was a mild ache building in the center of his core that he knew would only grow in intensity. It was not a pain he was ready to meet again, and he questioned himself. What he was doing. What he would gain from letting his aura cannibalize itself. Who he thought he was.

He didn’t know. But maybe it was about what he wasn’t doing. What he wouldn’t gain. Who he knew he didn’t want to be.

He was tired with a fatigue that seeped into his bones. Making sure that he was far enough away from the Lee home so that no one would be able to sense him, he sat down against the trunk of tree and closed his eyes. He needed to rest for just a minute, and then he would figure out where to go next.

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

 

“What do you mean, you’re not buying?” Layne fumed. “I’m driving around with five kilos in the trunk of my car, someone’s buying it.”

“Not me,” Joel shook his head. “I’m done. Career change, man.”

“Bullshit.”

Joel shrugged. “I would have told you before, but you’re not the most accessible guy. I don’t even know your name, dude.”

“I were anyone else, you’d be shot in the face. This bullshit,” Layne mumbled again, but he wasn’t an arguer. He turned on his heel and walked away. It was not very hard to move drugs, but he wasn’t too pleased about carrying it around with him. Less pleased that he might have to take it back to Lee home. His operations were being squeezed tight by authorities and his connections were all going into hiding. Now one of his best buyers was leaving him with a significant amount of powder on his hands.

“Wait,” Joel called after him. “Wait, man.”

Layne grudgingly stopped and turned around.

“Look, you dealt honest. As honest as you can be dealing this shit. I appreciate that, but the world turns. Things change.” Joel caught up with him.

“You know, I might just change my mind and shoot you.”

Joel chuckled. “Here.” He handed Layne a crumpled piece of paper with a number on it. “She might buy. I pulled out, the least I can do is get someone to fill my spot.”

Layne frowned at the number. He didn’t like meeting new people. “She might buy.”

“She will, but…” Joel tilted his head from side to side in thought. “She’ll give you a run for it. A haggler. A bit of weirdo too. She likes to set things on fire.”

Layne raised his eyebrows a bit, diluting his frown. “I don’t like weirdos.”

“Dude, you are a weirdo.”

“How do you know her?” Layne asked, eyeing the number again.

“She used to buy from me. A lot. I thought she was a heavy user, but she’s clear as day. She was wholesaling my ass.”

Layne scoffed.

“Whatever. I stopped selling to her unless I was having trouble moving shit. Which was never, but I kept her number. She’ll buy.”

Layne stuffed the number in his pocket. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Don’t you want to know her name or something?.”

“No.” Layne mumbled turning again to his car.

Joel gave a small salute. “Well, alright. You’re welcome? Nice meeting you?”

The only response was the slam of Layne’s car door.

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

Jericho washed and dried the last dish in the sink before finally acknowledging Junior’s deliberate stare. “Alright, kid, now you’re just freaking me out.”

“You don’t have blue eyes,” the little boy said, continue his long standing gape at his father.

“Okay, I know you’re new to the whole talking thing, but usually you want to start out with some context, or maybe even a question, so that the person you’re talking to has an idea what you’re talking about,” Jericho explained with a smile. “Or you could at least blink every now and then.”

Junior blinked at him.

Jericho turned and stared back at his son for a moment and then gave up with a shrug. “No, I don’t have blue eyes.”

“Mommy doesn’t have blue eyes.”

“Nope.”

“Dresden doesn’t have blue eyes.”

“He does not.”

“Layne doesn’t have blue eyes.”

“No, his eye color seems to depend on his mood,” Jericho said quickly with a furrowed brow. “Where are you going with this, kid?”

Junior mouth pinched in thought for a moment. “Someone has blue eyes,” he said

Jericho thought about it. “Tamer has blue eyes,” he referred to a latent that occasionally lodged with them.

“No, not hers.” Junior shook his head vehemently. “I don’t see hers.”

Jericho peered down at his son, his attention peaked. “You don’t see Tamer’s eyes?”

The little boy shook his head again. “I see blue eyes, but they’re not Tamer’s.”

“How do you… see them?” Jericho asked, kneeling down so he could be face to face with his son. He took a moment to scrutinize the child’s aura, a small suspicion playing around in his mind.

Junior smiled shyly and toyed with his father’s sleeve as he considered the question. “I’m… I’m here,” he pointed to himself, “and then I’m there,” his index finger shot up erratically, pointing to nothing in particular. “And then the blue eyes look at me. And then I’m here.” He pointed to himself again.

Jericho nodded his head in slow comprehension. “When you go there,” he imitated his son’s wild pointing, “are you in a different place… or an old place… or maybe a place that you’ve never seen before?”

The boy shrugged, and then stiffened, his eyes growing big. “Mommy’s coming,” he whispered.

Jericho nodded in agreement, as his wife’s aura was drawing closer in proximity. He let his tone fall into forbidding seriousness. “Is the bed made?”

Junior shook his head, slightly panicked.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Jericho raised his eyebrows, mocking anxiety. “You must run! Save yourself!”

Without hesitation, Junior spun around and ran, stride for stride out of the kitchen just as Ryan was walking in.

“Whoa,” Ryan said, darting out of the way. “Fire?” But the little boy was gone.

“You didn’t encourage that,” Ryan half-asked her husband.

Jericho pinched one eye closed and tilted his head to the side. “Encouraged. Masterminded. Such critical terms.”

“Oh, you’re silly.”

Jericho grinned, watching Ryan prepare to slice a number of green apples for pie. “I convinced Sirian to go see his son.”

“Uh-oh,” Ryan tisked. “You’re starting trouble.”

“It’s no trouble to go and see your child.”

Ryan squinted a bit. “Loren is raising Raleigh on The Fringe. Sirian is not welcome there. He’s trouble.”

“He’s not trouble,” Jericho huffed.

“He brings trouble wherever he goes, he might as well be.”

“He’s never brought me trouble.”

Ryan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, nothing except for that lovely brand on your face. And those adorable scars. And hey,” she said before Jericho could protest. “Sirian is family, I’m not saying he isn’t. And I’m not saying he shouldn’t be allowed to see his boy. I’m just saying, you’re starting trouble.”

Jericho examined the pattern of the tiled floor for a moment before changing the subject. “Did you speak with… Mickey?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and sighed. “I told her about everything. Her name. Her family. Considerately, of course. She went off quietly, I suppose to think, but I don’t know if she understood. She’s not very expressive, that girl. No fault of hers, but there is some sort of… barrier between her and reality, and she put an awful lot of energy into constructing it. I doubt it will be very easy to take down. But I will take it down if it is the last thing I do in this world.”

“Don’t rush her. I think she should be the one to take it down when she’s ready.”

“Oh, don’t stand there and sage me,” Ryan said. “I know that, ultimately, she has the final say on when she’ll step out of her shell, but I am not going to let her just sit in it. She’s going to overcome this, whatever this is. She has a family that is waiting for her.

“Ryan,” Jericho said softly. “You don’t honestly think that we can return her to her parents?”

Ryan spun to face him, her mouth forming an oval of incredulity. “Oh, so Sirian can go and start an uproar, possibly bringing attention from The Calling to himself and his family in the process, all so that he can be reunited with his child, but –”

“This is different, and you know it.”

“It is not different. Imagine if one of your own children went missing. No matter how long it has been or what state they are in, you’d give anything to get them back.”

He laid a consoling hand on her arm. “It’s different.”

Ryan shook her head, unwilling to settle. “We can teach her how to be a psychic.”

“And then send her off into a non-psychic environment where she will have to fend for herself. Where she may not even be able to confide in her own parents. Where she’ll be just as exposed as she was when she was kidnapped,” Jericho countered. “You’re imagining some triumphant return to a normal life for her, and that is unrealistic. Not even possible.”

“When have you ever tailored yourself to the possible and the impossible?” Ryan scowled at him. “You see the future, for goodness.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe, possibility is the wrong frame of reference.”

Ryan sniffed. “If that girl wants to go home, I’m taking her home.”

“You forget, she doesn’t even remember what home is.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ryan sighed, letting her shoulders fall. “How about you conjure up a vision and tell me what happens so we all can just get to the point.”

Jericho smiled. “Doesn’t quite work that way.”

“Then get out of my face.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Says you.”

Ryan spun to leave but her husband caught her arm and pulled her back toward him.

“Your son may be having visions,” he said, his grin growing wider.

Ryan turned, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, you’re just looking to make my day, aren’t you?”

“I figured I’d piss you off all in one go,” he said, making a sweeping motion.

“You’re doing an excellent job. Are you sure it was a vision?”

Jericho nodded. “A small one. Something involving blue eyes.”

“Tamer?”

“Nope. Someone he does not know.”

Ryan turned to face him fully. “He had a disparate vision? A vision about someone he’s completely unaware of? I do doubt that, Jericho.”

“I have disparate visions.”

“You’re an old fart, you geezer, he’s five years old.”

“It’s unlikely, but not impossible,” he replied with a chuckle. “And it had no physical affect on him, it seemed, so it must have been miniscule.”

Ryan looked down at the floor, the wheels in her head clearly turning. “Was it cognitive?”

Jericho shrugged. “Don’t know. It could have been. Although, I couldn’t tell you if it was based in future or past. Honestly, it seemed a bit clairvoyant, like he was just… seeing.”

“Umph,” Ryan groaned. “The boy’s a psychic.”

“Well, we knew that.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I think I wanted him to be just a little boy for a bit longer.”

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

Joel keyed the lock to his apartment and pushed open the door. “Salem?” he called, but the place was dark.

A few weeks ago he had come back to the same situation. He had been sure that Salem had left, keeping to her promise that she would only stay with him for a few days, but she had returned a few hours later with little blonde Roux tightly in tow and a bag of groceries. From then, it had seemed that she was going to stick around for a while. Maybe because she didn’t know where to go next. Or because she felt safe from whatever she was running from. Joel didn’t know, but he shooed his regular druggies when they came to his door, watched his language around the kid, and kept his business on the streets. Now he wouldn’t have to keep his business anywhere, for he had none. He smiled at the thought of telling Salem.

He threw his keys on a kitchen counter and pulled open the fridge. Grabbing a bottled water, he eyed the last few oranges in the produce bin. After some careful deliberation, he figured he’d leave them for Salem and Roux, wondering where they had gone. They didn’t leave the apartment very often, and when they did, Salem rarely took Roux out in broad daylight.

“She doesn’t like people,” Salem had briefly explained to him once.

“She doesn’t like people?” he had questioned with a frown. “She’s five.”

“It is what it is.”

“Shouldn’t she be in school or something?”

Salem had only shook her head and sighed. “She’s not like other kids, Joel. Just leave it alone.”

Joel had backed off, taking it for what it was. Weird. Salem didn’t tell him much of anything, despite her secrets lurking so close to her surface. Whenever she did open up, he tried not to press her.

He shrugged at his own thoughts, and fingered a box of cloves that had been sitting, neglected, on the dining room table since Salem had shown up at his door. He didn’t want to smoke around the little girl, but now was an excellent opportunity to take advantage of a brief moment of solitude. He grabbed a clove and stuck it in his pants pocket. He’d smoke it out on the fire escape just in case the pair showed up unexpectedly.

It took some getting used to, living with a woman that he wasn’t sleeping with and a little girl. He couldn’t even scratch his balls anymore. But cooked meals and companionship were much more tolerable than listening to stoned nonsense from whores and hobos.

His feelings for Salem hadn’t dimmed since she left him, but they were in a different context now. Tinged with more guilt than he would ever truely admit to himself. While she was around, he would try to do everything he could to keep her around. Even with the odd little girl. But he didn’t mind Roux. Strange, yes, but she was quiet, very smart, and often amusing. He would occasionally pick up cheap toys from the corner store and bring them home for her, feeling like she needed something to entertain herself with if she was going to sit inside all day.

He tossed his jacket and peeled off his shirt as he walked into his bedroom. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could catch a nap on his own mattress instead of having a fight with the couch cushions.

His shirt had barely hit the wood paneled floor before he felt two hands grip his head and yank it sharply to the side. The sickening crack echoed in his ears as his neck snapped and blackness consumed him.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

Mickey, she thought to herself. Mickey.

The name didn’t even sound familiar, but since that wonderful woman, Ryan, had told her that it was hers, her mind had been whirring. She was content with the “honeys” and “sweethearts” that the people in Ryan’s home had come to calling her. A name had been irrelevant. She was warm, surrounded by smiles of kind people. What else did she need?

She could not remember ever thinking about having a name… or caring about the names of anyone else except for one man. Arden. For so long, no one had spoken to her except for him, and he never called her Mickey. He never called her anything.

Arden. She tried to push him out of her mind. The mere thought of him made her stomach hurt with anxiety. It was odd, the fear she had. Arden had always frightened her, but she had grown complacent in that fear. It had become a natural state of being. But since she had been freed of him, the occasional ball of dread that grew in the pit of her stomach was uncomparable. It had taken almost the whole three weeks since she had been with Ryan and her family to convince herself that he was not hiding behind every corner, waiting to snatch her back.

She blinked her eyes, realizing that dusk had fallen and it was hard for her to see. She had come outside to think among the bluffs and dunes of the Lee’s backyard. Her legs were numb from sitting on the hard ground for so long, and she stood up stiffly. She was about to continue on her way to the house when she sensed something oddly familiar further out on the lightly wooded property. It was an aura, a weak one, and she knew immediately who it belonged to. She began making slow steps toward it, a little uneasy about moving so far away from the house, but the appeal of seeing the aura’s owner again kept her moving forward.

He was a long way from the house, farther out than she had ever been, sleeping against the base of a tree. It was a sleep she recognized, a deep sleep wrought from the fatigue of a dim aura. She had seen it before among Loris’ company, prefixing pain and paranoid mania that came with silver hair. She wondered what happened that he would let his aura get to this point. She had never seen anyone do it willingly.

She sat down next to him, careful to be quiet, although she knew it would be hard to wake him. Placing her palm on his chest, she passed him a thin, continuous line of energy, and when it was clear that he would remain asleep, she let her aura surge forward and surround his. His aura responded in kind, seeming to reach out towards hers.

She sat there for some time, drawing a curious sense of comfort from restoring him. So much that she didn’t notice when his eyes opened.

She jumped as he grabbed her wrist and jerked upright, abruptly halting her passage of energy to him. His eyes studied her with soft bewilderment, and he released her arm.

“Sorry,” he said before she could. “You startled me. You’ve got to stop waking me up like that.” He looked down at the ground. “Thank you… you didn’t have to…”

She tilted her head and studied him. He looked tired. Sad. And even with what she had given him, his aura wasn’t very bright. She wanted to touch him again. To heal him completely, but she could tell he didn’t want her to.

“My name is Mickey,” she blurted out. Even though she felt no connection to the name, she was suddenly desperate for him to know it.

He looked back up at her and smiled broadly. “Mickey,” he repeated. “I should have asked before.”

“Ryan told me today,” she said simply.

His smile faded. “You didn’t know it,” he said, not quite asking.

She blinked and looked away, feeling something… different. Embarrassment. Just then, it became obvious to her how strange it was not to know her own name. Everyone had a name, why wouldn’t she be aware of her own? She felt a small urge to cry.

He leaned over to reclaim her gaze, not letting her fall into discomfort. “What else did she tell you?”

She didn’t quite remember everything that Ryan had told her. She had heard the name, and then lost the rest of the conversation. But one thing that she could appreciate, “I have parents.” It came out oddly, but hearing herself say it aloud shocked her. If she had a name, she had to have a family who gave it to her. What happened to them? Why wasn’t she with them?

She looked up to see that some of his smile returned and she realized that she had nothing to call him. Up until now, in her head, he had been the redhead with the gentle eyes. “You have a name,” she said to him, as if bringing it to his attention.

“Chauncey,” he replied quietly, still watching her.

“Chauncey,” she tested it, “you’re sleeping outside.”

He glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the Lee home. “I like looking at the stars.”

It was a lie, she knew, but she tilted her head up to look at the sky. She wondered if the stars always shone as bright as they did on this night, and she smiled, feeling that this was the first time she had ever seen them. They were beautiful.

“Ryan might get worried if you stay out here much longer,” he pulled her attention back down to earth. “It’s very late. I can walk you back.”

He stood up and helped her to her feet, and they made their way across the grassy space back to the Lee home.

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

“Roux, baby, I can’t walk,” Salem said gently.

Roux let Salem ease her leg from her grasp and take hold of her hand, helping her up the first flight of stairs of the dirty building. Roux was not quite ready to go back to the apartment, knowing that she’d have to stay in there for days until Salem thought it was okay for them to venture out again. Despite it, she jumped the stairs two at a time, eager to show Salem how long her legs were.

“Oh wow, look at you,” Salem said. “Be careful.”

Salem was always careful. Today, they had gone to the park, but Salem hadn’t let her go outside until she knew how to use a can of mace. The sun had set, so of course no one was around except for an occasional barely dressed woman, or smelly, dirty looking man, but no one to use mace on. And Roux liked it better that way, when no one was around and she didn’t have to feel so much.

Everyone’s aura always had something behind it. Emotions that she didn’t like. Fear was the worst one. And sometimes she’d hear things, or even see things. Random words and images that she knew she wasn’t supposed to see. If the owners of the auras knew she was listening in, surely they would be upset, but despite her efforts to block it out, the sounds and images would peek through anyway.

Around Salem, however, everything was quiet, and she loved that. There were times when, if things were getting too loud, she could focus on Salem, and the noise would go away.

As they reached his floor, Roux’s thoughts turned to Joel while she tried to ignore the auras of the other tenants in the neighboring apartments. His aura was a bit loud, especially around Salem, but she had been around louder. Psychic auras were deafening.

She liked that Joel wasn’t psychic. And she liked that he would bring her crayons and convenience store comics. And she liked that he sometimes called her “Kanga-Roux”. And she liked that he liked Salem. She did too.

“I’m in the mood for fruit. You want some fruit?” Salem asked her. She balanced awkwardly on one foot when Roux latched onto her leg again, and unlocked the apartment door. “There are some oranges left, I think. Unless Joel ate them all.”

Roux nodded and moved to follow Salem into the apartment, but she was stopped short when Salem grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

“Ow,” Roux complained. Salem hadn’t hurt her, but she felt it was a reasonable response to being halted so abruptly. However, looking up, she quieted quickly.

Seated at the dining table was a man, suited and bespeckled, sitting casually, but Roux knew he was not welcome. She felt like she had seen him before, but could not place his face. His aura was silent, like Salem’s. She couldn’t sense it, but somehow, she felt like he was hiding it from her on purpose. From the way he was staring at her, she was glad she couldn’t sense the emotions that might waft from him.

“Come inside. Close the door,” the man said suddenly, but his voice was more weary than commanding.

Roux could feel Salem’s nails digging into her skin, but she kept her mouth shut while Salem slowly eased inside the apartment and pushed the door closed.

“Roux,” Salem said in a tone Roux didn’t not recognize, “Go sit in the bedroom for me.”

“That’s not the best idea.” The man interceded. “I’ve met your roommate.”

Salem sucked in a sharp breath, gasping as though she had touched something hot.

Roux eased herself behind Salem. It was impossible to tell from her aura, but something in Salem’s demeanor made her think that this man was someone to be afraid of. And she was.

“Not in front of her, Garcia,” Salem said shakily.

The man didn’t answer, but Salem took a hold of her hand and pulled her quickly across the room to the bathroom. “You sit in here okay,” she said to Roux, setting her on the toilet. “When I leave, you lock the door behind me.”

“I don’t want to,” Roux said, feeling a knot forming in her throat.

“Hey, kiddo, don’t worry,” Salem told her, rubbing her cheek comfortingly. “Nothing is going to happen, I’m not… I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You just lock the door. Okay? Yeah?”

Roux nodded reluctantly, and stood up with Salem to lock the door behind her.

“Lock it.” Salem gave her a reassuring nod as the door closed and Roux was left alone, in silence.

___________________________________________________________

___________________________________________________________

 

Salem had hardly closed the door behind her when her tears began to flow. She pressed her hands to her face as she wept, silencing her sobs so that Roux wouldn’t hear. She had been careless. Stupid. And now who knew what was going to happen.

It took her a long moment to pull herself together enough to ask, “Is he…?”

Garcia remained quiet at the dining table behind her, his silence answer enough.

“He had nothing to do with this,” Salem said through her tears. “Why would you – ”

“You would rather I kill the girl, then,” Garcia said stoically, “since she has everything to do with this.”

Salem put her hand over her mouth, stifling a particularly strong sob, and moved away from the bathroom. She could only hope that Roux wasn’t overhearing the conversation. Joel’s bedroom door loomed in front of her, and a wave of nausea accompanied the idea of what was behind it. She reached for the knob, wanting to confirm the horror her imagination was painting, but Garcia hastily stood up from the table. Although he didn’t touch her, his movement gave her pause.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice sharp.

“You didn’t have to kill him. You came here for me and he didn’t do anything. He – he was all I had!” Her face collapsed again and the wet streaks grew thicker on her cheeks. “How did you get here? How did you know?!”

Garcia rubbed his temple tiredly. “You’ve been in the same place for almost a month. It’s fairly easy to catch up to something that isn’t moving.”

“I just – I just didn’t want to run anymore,” she cried into her palms.

“You should have considered that as a possibility before you started running.” The detachment was heavy in his voice, but it was calculated. Forced.

Salem was focusing on regaining control of her breathing. Her tears were slowing, but her lungs jerking with spasms. She stood for a moment, just breathing, before roughly wiping the wet streaks from beneath her eyes. He had positioned himself between her and the door, although both of them knew she wouldn’t attempt an escape.

“So what happens now?” she asked, her voice steadying.

“I take you back to Rowanne. After that, I don’t know.”

“You know.”

He titled his head away from her, eyes reaching the ceiling. “There are limits to everything, and I’ve reached mine with you. I’ve done all I can.”

“Then why do anything for me in the first place? Why let me go if you were only going to drag me back?”

“If I had known that you were going to waste whatever pity I had on you, I wouldn’t have.”

Salem squeezed her eyes shut. “You don’t pity me.”

“I do,” Garcia said.

“Don’t fool yourself, Garcia,” she said. “I’m an idiot for being here, but I’m not completely stupid. Rowanne sees me as a traitor. And she sees that little girl as an abomination. You’re not the only one that she has looking for me, so if you know I’m here, then Rowanne must know I’m here. And if Rowanne knows I’m here, then her whole crew is on their way.” She paused. “But you’re here first. And it’s not because you feel pity for me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He watched her blankly. “I have an obligation to Rowanne’s establishment.”

“It does matter!” She exclaimed. “Don’t stand there give me that loyalty bullshit when I know that you – ”

“My loyalty to Rowanne is what afforded me the ability to feel anything for you! Pity or otherwise!” he stopped her. “I had to earn her trust, and I did so with acts far worse than killing a drug dealer in his apartment. You benefitted from that trust, and you wasted it.”

His words stung. Enough to hush whatever argument or plea she would have otherwise thrown at him. But beyond his words, Salem could see that his brick wall was beginning to crumble. Or at least she hoped it was.

She pulled in a deep breath, her body shuddering as she exhaled. Pressure beneath her lids once again threatened to release tears and she struggled to remain calm as she edged toward him. With every step she made in his direction, his body visibly stiffened, and she wondered which one of them was the true threat.

Reaching up slowly, so as not to alarm him, she pulled the tinted lenses from his face. His eyes, as she had hoped, held a completely different message than the one coming out of his mouth. Relief flooded her, and she almost smiled in spite of herself.

Like a youth caught in a lie, he averted his gaze. With his hand on her waist, he pushed her away from him, although she didn’t quite let him.

“So what do you gain by being cruel to me?” she asked him quietly. “You think you can convince yourself that you’re heartless? You think you can convince me? Well, you can’t. I know who you are.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he replied, a bit angrily. “Why would you stay in one place for three weeks? You thought we would stop looking? That Rowanne would forget? You can’t afford to get comfortable.”

“We have no where to go,” she said over his scolding. “I have nothing. I can’t have a five year old on the streets.”

“You shouldn’t have her, period.”

“Well, I do have her, and there’s nothing you can do about that, so just help me.”

Garcia’s frowned sharpened. “I can’t help you again.”

“You have to,” Salem said, before he had finished the sentence. “You’ve left me with nothing.”

He blew a strong stream of air out of his nostrils, like an angered bull. He was silent, staring rigidly at the wall over her shoulder, his thinking so severe, she could almost see each thought pass across his face. After a moment, he closed his eyes and reached into the inside pocket of his suit, producing two massive sheaves of money, large bills pinned by straining money clips. He handed them to her. “Take it.”

Salem balked. He was handing her, by her quick estimate, something like fifty thousand dollars. “Wait, I can’t – ”

“Shut up. Take it. Stick to the cities until the trail cools. The more people around you the harder it is to track that girl’s aura. She’s too young to know how to block it off, but she should start practicing keeping her thoughts clear of your name. Of her name. Of anything that a listening telepath might find interesting enough to pay attention to. When we’re off your tail – and be sure of it – isolate yourself. Find someplace unplugged, no cell phone towers, no satellite hotspots, very very few people. Connect with no one. And maybe, if things work out for you, you can stay there for a while. But the minute you feel anything is off, you leave. Head back for the cities. Hide within the people.” He clenched his jaw. “Figure out how to teach that girl how to control her aura. It’s substantial, and it will give you away wherever you go.”

Salem nodded emphatically, deciding not to worry about how she was going to make the money he had given her last forever, or how she was going to teach Roux anything about auras when she couldn’t even sense her own, or how Garcia was going to explain her second disappearance under his watch. She took the money and forced it into pockets of her jacket, adjusting the fabric to hide the bulges.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Anger and grief over Joel swirled within her, mixing conflictingly with gratitude and an intense need to kiss the man who had, in only a few hours, toppled her life only to restore it. Again. She reached for his face, trying to lift her lips to his, but he pulled back.

“Don’t do that.” He cringed and moved away.

Salem didn’t bother to hide her hurt, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying again. The rebuff threw her, and for a moment, she didn’t know the next step.

Garcia, not looking at her, gave a reminder. “Get the girl, and get out of here.”

She hesitated, but only briefly, before returning to the bathroom and reassuring Roux that she could unlock the door. The child practically leaped at her when the door opened, but her enthusiasm slacked the minute she laid eyes on Garcia.

“It’s alright,” Salem assured her, and with a firm grip on her hand, rushed to the door of the apartment. But on arrival, she stopped short.

Salem stared at the doorknob, reluctant to touch it. If she opened the door, if she stepped outside, then this would be real. She’d be running for her life, for the life of a little girl that she had no connection with outside of happening to bear witness to the moment she was orphaned. She’d be leaving Joel, unable to even say goodbye in last rite. If she opened that door, she would doom herself to a life of flight, and doom anyone who tried to help her to the risk of death. Was the alternative so much worse?

“Go.” Garcia’s voice snapped her back into focus. “Now.”

She touched the doorknob, her brain releasing stilted data on how to turn it, open the door, run from the building, but nothing happened.

“Salem,” Garcia said her name, his voice urging her to move forward. But she didn’t.

Instead, she deserted the door and rushed back to him. Be it surprise, or inability, this time he didn’t refuse her, and from the meeting of their lips some internal strength was rebuilt within her.

His lapse in austerity was short-lived and he gently, albeit firmly, pulled her hands from his shoulders and gave them back to her. His eyes were bleak, and she could see that from where she had gained courage, he had only gained weakness. She had made this harder for him, but for that she was not sorry. He deserved at least that.

Considerately, she didn’t linger. Returning to Roux, she took the little girl’s hand and, drawing her close, rushed out of the apartment.

“Salem, who was that?” Roux asked her.

Salem reached down to pick her up. “I don’t really know.”