Talent

by Annie B Matthews

  His breath turned to mist. It was getting colder each day and she shivered a little.

  “I have homework to do.”

  “It’s Friday, Libs.”

  “I still have homework.” She started towards the door. “So do you.”

  “She was telling me about this new movie,” he continued as they walked. “It's a comedy. We should go see it, have a bit of a laugh.”

  Libby stopped at the doorway, raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me dull?”

  He laughed at that. “Hardly. You’ve just been through a lot recently. I thought it’d be good to kick back.”

  “Maybe Jess would like to see it again, since it was so hilarious.” She sounded childish, but she didn’t care. “I have work to do.”

  “Okay, okay.” He caught her hand before she could reach the doorknob and tugged her back round to face him. “Let’s start this again. We were just talking.”

  “You never talk. To anyone.”

  “What can I say? You’ve brought out my social side.”

  “So go be social somewhere else.”

  The door opened as they stood there, blinking like owls at the unexpected interruption.

  “Don’t argue on the doorstep,” Francis rebuked them mildly. “Hello Jackson. Come in out of the cold.”

  Libby scowled. Her mother seemed to be Jackson’s biggest fan these days and, whilst most of the time it was great, there were times when she wondered if it wouldn’t be too much for her mum to give her the preferential treatment.

  They stepped inside, the warmth of the house almost stuffy after the chill outside.

  “How was school?” Miraculously, Francis didn't comment on the fact they were home early.

  “Quiet, thankfully.” Jack sounded cheery enough, Libby thought. Her anger with him was growing by the second and she didn't try to stop it. It felt good. It felt real.

  She pulled off her coat and hung it on the coat rack before heading up the stairs, not waiting for her mother’s reply.

  She’d barely closed her bedroom door behind her before Jackson was reopening it.

  “Libby.” He was gorgeous. His hair was tousled, his green eyes warm even though she felt his exasperation. It annoyed her even more that she couldn’t bring herself to send him away. “What’s the matter?”

  “Apart from my homicidal aunt?”

  “Apart from that,” he conceded with a wry smile. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “This isn’t about me talking to Jessica. You’ve been acting weird all week.”

  “No.” She sat down on the bed, rubbed her hands over her face. “No, it’s not about Jessica. Mostly.”

  He sat on her desk chair and waited. He was good at that. He never pushed, not when it was important. And somehow, even when she shielded, he knew what was important.

  “It’s just…mum mentioned that connected talents share their talents.” She hesitated. “We don’t.”

  She stopped. After all, he’d know as well as she did that it was likely because he hadn’t shared his past with her. Having that shielded made the connection weak. It was frustrating. Since the night her mother had come home, she hadn’t been able to get over the fact that everyone knew except her. And however terrible it might be, she now believed that she was the only one who should know. Her mother was right; it could only help to strengthen their bond.

  Jackson stilled as he read her thoughts.

  “Libby, it’s not a good idea.”

  She pushed to her feet, too frustrated to sit still. “Everyone else knows, Jack. Even my mother knows, at least some of it. Why is it not a good idea for me?”

  “Because I don’t want you to know,” he replied harshly, his voice loud. “And no one knows. They know what I’ve let them see and, believe me, that’s not the whole truth of it. Once I open up that part of myself, you’ll see it all in glorious technicolour.”

  The silence lengthened between them. He looked haunted. Libby bit her lip, almost tempted to cave. But she didn’t.

  “Jack. You know neither of us have a choice about this.”

  “Long term, no, we don’t. But right now you don’t need to experience it. I won’t let you.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  He laughed then, but it was an angry sound. “Nice try.”

  “You don’t.” She ran her hands through her hair, pulling on it in her frustration. “You think I want to see whatever you saw? I don’t. But it’s part of the deal and, for as long as you keep this from me, we aren’t a unit. Is that what you want, to have this between us right now? We can’t afford to risk that weakness, not with Maria trying to forge a connection between me and that…the other guy.”

  “You’re so keen to go the full mile,” he observed quietly. “Not that long ago you were telling me that our connection was too intense and that you were going crazy.”

  “But then you kissed me and I was converted.”

  “I don’t remember it that way,” he muttered darkly, refusing to be amused.

  She smiled in spite of herself. “This is what I want, Jack. I want you. I hate having this…thing…hanging over my head. And if knowing gives us an advantage over Maria, shouldn’t we take it?”

  “It could be a disadvantage,” he countered, his eyes dark with anger. “This might not be the best time, did you think of that?”

  “When is a good time, Jackson? In six months, six years? Sixty?”

  His lips curved a little at that. “If I could keep it from you that long, I would.”

  “Well you can’t.” She sat down again, gripped his hands. “Not with everything that’s been going on. Time’s up.”

  “No.” He leaned forward, his mouth an inch from hers. “You can’t make me.”

  “Don't try to distract me. You’re not leaving here until you tell me.”

  “Libby.” He pulled away, pushing to his feet to pace away from her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not.” She followed him, turned him to face her. “I love you.”

  “Libby.” Her name was a warning, but she ignored it.

  “I love you. Tell me.”

  His eyes were full of fear and the sight of it had her nerves skittering. Still, she held fast.

  “You don’t want to see this.”

  “I need to.” Her spoke urgently, her voice quiet with conviction. “And you need me to see it. Haven't you been alone in this for long enough?”

  The truth of that showed in his expression, the glimmer of hope in amongst the turmoil. She knew enough of fear to understand the longing for someone to share it.

  “Show me.”

  “Libby.”

  She grabbed his arms, shook him impatiently. “Damnit Jack! Show me.”

  It blasted though her. The terror, the screams, echoed through her mind relentlessly. The burning, the unspeakable pain had her staggering back, dragging him with her as they clung together.

  White hot fire. Fear. And the pain. Always the pain.

  “Christ. Oh Jack.” She stumbled, grasped the wastebasket that he thrust into her hands as her legs gave way beneath her.

  He held her as she retched, his voice full of pain, remorse. She barely heard his words and it was some time before the roaring in her ears subsided. This is what he lived with, she realized in horror. He lived with the memory of this every day.

  “Libby-”

  “Just wait.”

  She made it to the bathroom, still gripping the bin. Feeling nauseous, weak from it, she cleaned up. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she paused, shocked by the pale clamminess of her skin. She ran the water cold, as icy as she could bear. It helped, a little.

  When she returned to her room Jackson was as she had left him. Without a word she climbed up on the bed beside him, wrapped herself around his too-still form.

  “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “Not as sorry as I am.”

  She had no answer for that. “How did this happen?”

  He didn’t speak immediately. Wh
en he did, his voice was quiet and laboured as though he had to force the words out.

  “There was a guy on a train. He seemed normal. Christ.” He paused, rubbed his trembling hands over his face. “He was just some guy on the train. I’d been out with friends and I was the last one on. It was late, so there were only a few people in the carriage. He must’ve known I was a talent, he must’ve known who I was. Looking back, it was too much of a coincidence to be anything but a set up. He said he had something to show me, something amazing. The things we can do,” Jack shook his head, disbelieving. “That’s what he said. The things we can do.”

  “He did this?” Her voice shook and she tightened her grip on him as though she could save them both.

  “Yeah, he did it. It was so easy for him. A match, petrol, fire. He enjoyed it.”

  Shocked, Libby struggled to understand. “He burned them alive. All those people.”

  “His talent is to locate. He knew who was in the apartment block, waited until almost everyone was home. He blocked the exits.” Jack shuddered. “He wanted to boast, wanted to show off his skills because he was so damned excited. He could find anyone, anywhere.”

  “How many?”

  “Thirty.” He pressed his hands to his face. “He took me there, walked me through it. It was like being paralyzed. I couldn’t move, couldn’t react. I couldn’t get him out of my head. I didn’t know how, then.”

  Libby pressed her face into his shoulder, horrified, terrified.

  “How did it end?”

  “With a well-timed emergency stop.” He huffed out a wry laugh. “Someone in the next carriage pulled the emergency cord and the train driver slammed on the breaks. The distraction was enough to break the connection.”

  “Is he…did they catch him?”

  “Yes.” He reached up, unclasped her grip so that he could turn to face her. “He was found criminally insane, since he ranted about his talent during the trial. He won’t be getting out.”

  The thought offered little comfort. In spite of what he’d told her about being open, she knew he had managed to keep some of it from her. She’d seen a glimpse, just a glimpse of the memories that Jackson would carry for the rest of his life. As though he had been there, as though he'd been part of it.

  “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry I told you.”

  “You’d have had to tell me at some point.”

  “I wish that wasn’t the case.” He brought her hands to his face. “I wish you didn’t have to have that in your head.”

  But she did. She’d be lying if she said that it was fine, that she could manage it.

  “There’s no point thinking that way.” She took a shaky breath, wondering when the sickness would fade. Did it ever fade? “Jack. I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “You don’t need to say anything. You look so tired.” He lay back on the bed, pulling her with him. She curled up against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder.

  “Do you dream of it?”

  “Yes, sometimes.” He laced his fingers through hers. “I’m so sorry.”

  She shook her head firmly. “Don’t be. I don’t regret you sharing this.”

  “No?” His voice sounded distant. “Well, I do.”

  The shout blasted through her, and she jolted upright. It took a moment to orientate herself in the dark. She was in bed, still fully dressed. The memory of what had passed between her and Jackson returned with a vengeance. His hand lashed out, narrowly missing her face as he fought the nightmare.

  “Jack, wake up.” She laid a hand on his arm, startled when he lurched up and knocked her flying. With a yelp, she grabbed on to him and they tumbled off the bed, taking the bedside lamp crashing with them.

  “Umph!” Libby lay for a moment, breathless. He was heavy.

  “Libby?” He raised his head to look at her, his eyes gleaming in the dark. “What…are you okay?”

  “I may have broken a rib.” She sat up as he moved off her, winced as she let out a brief laugh. “Probably not. There's not quite enough pain.”

  Jackson sat with his back against the bed, his hands over his face. She felt his confusion, a hint of embarrassment dimming the horror of his nightmare.

  The door opened a little, the hall light slicing through the complete darkness of the room.

  “Everything ok?” Her mother’s concern almost made Libby smile.

  “Bad dream.” Jack’s voice was rough. “Sorry Francis.”

  There was a pause, no doubt as she read the emotions. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Libby found her voice. “Thanks mum.”

  The door closed again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Libby climbed back into bed. “Come on. You need to sleep.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “Right.”

  They lay together, her arms looped around his shoulders. It was nice, she decided, having him here like this. There was something comforting about it.

  “I can’t believe they let you stay in my room,” she commented, wondering if her parents had simply left them after they’d fallen asleep. “I know we're all over age and everything, but....it's new for all of us, I guess.”

  “It’s the connection. And the fact that your mum knows what you saw tonight.”

  She didn’t want to think about that.

  “The connection? Yet again, it’s the answer.”

  He laughed, the sound quiet in the darkness. “It was more the other. If we’d have been feeling romantic, your dad would have thrown me out.”

  “I can believe that,” she grinned at him. “He’s pretty fierce when he wants to be.”

  Sighing, Jackson closed his eyes. “Then we should sleep, before he comes in here and beats the crap out of me.”

  “Sure.” She stroked her fingers through his hair, felt him relax. “Sleep, Jackson.”

  His breathing steadied as he fell back to sleep. She was amazed that he could. Her heart was still racing and she stared into the dark, trying not to picture the reason for his nightmare.

  I could stay here forever.

  Libby smiled at the sound of his voice, her eyes still closed as she absorbed the warmth of him spooned around her.

  Maybe they’ll forget we were here. We could hide out all day. Starving though.

  “I think I’ve got a Mars bar in my desk, if that helps,” she offered lazily.

  He stiffened. Lifting her head, Libby glanced back at his stunned expression and shifted around to face him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I wasn’t talking out loud.

  The alarm in his expression softened into amusement as she gaped.

  No way!

  Way.

  They grinned foolishly at each other.

  “I can feel you,” his grin stretched wider as he tapped his fingers against his chest. “Right here. God, it feels a bit…”

  “Like you have multiple personality disorder?” Libby offered, tongue in cheek.

  “Kinda. Wow. No wonder you were flipping out. That's definitely weirder than voices in your head.”

  Wow. So this is it.

  He smile dimmed. “Yeah, I guess. Libby, about last night-”

  “Stop it.” She sat up, pushed her hair from her face. “I know. It’s horrid. You’re annoyed that I pushed you into it. Get over it.”

  “Get over it,” he repeated slowly. “You want me to get over it.”

  “I meant the part about me knowing,” she clarified, hurriedly.

  “I know what you meant.”

  Of course he did. She huffed out a breath as he rubbed his hands over his face. She watched him, waiting as his thoughts ran through her own head. It was bizarre, disjointed, fascinating; a jumble of sound and moving images.

  He didn’t want her to know, was annoyed at what he saw as being his own weakness. He wanted her safe.

  “I understand now,” she said at last. “I get why you didn’t want me to know. But Jackson, you cou
ldn’t have kept this from me forever.”

  “I could have. Maybe.” He shook his head, disgusted with himself and more than a little annoyed with her.

  She smiled in spite of it. “Breakfast?”

  “Absolutely.” He pushed up out of the bed, grateful for the change of subject. “Big family lunch today, remember?”

  She grimaced. “It’s so weird, having our mums get on so well. Don’t you think?”

  His eyes laughed at her as he pulled his jumper over his head. “Yeah. It’d be so much better if they’d hated each other on sight.”

  “You know what I mean.” She pulled her hair back into a rough pony tail. She was starving, so a shower would have to wait. “It’s like they have some weird bond. I wonder what they talk about.”

  She caught the embarrassed look on his face. “What?”

  No idea.

  “Jack. What?”

  He pulled a face. “They may have discussed a wedding.”

  For a moment Libby thought her legs were about to collapse under her. “Ours?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  She stared at him, aghast.

  “In a futuristic way,” he hastened to reassure her.

  “How futuristic?”

  “Flying car futuristic.”

  She let out a breath, shook her head. “Yeah, right. This is insane.”

  “Totally.” He didn’t seem worried, which was amazing to her. She wondered what else he knew, but decided she’d had enough shocks for one day. “Talking of your mother, she’s cracking eggs down there. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  The days dragged. They all seemed to be pretending that everything was normal, but having Jackson living in her spare room was not. Neither were the seemingly casual drinks that the parents met up for at the Arms once each week.

  “They think we’re idiots,” Libby grumbled after her parents had left the house. “We all know they’re discussing the latest developments, or lack of.”

  Jackson glanced over at her, his amusement clear in his eyes. He shoved aside the maths book he’d been working with for the last half hour and leaned back in his chair.

  “It’s more likely our mothers are planning our engagement.”

  Libby tried not to look horrified. Just because she knew she would be with Jackson from now on didn’t mean she was ready to talk weddings. And he knew it of course, which was why he used the topic to distract her on a regular basis. Devious, but effective.