After the Ending

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Anyway, I’ve been practicing my Ability with Sanchez. I’ve seen a bunch of her memories, things I doubt she wanted me to see, but it’s not like I had a choice. This thing is sort of a gift AND a curse. I feel like I should come with a disclaimer or something.

  I should also tell you that Jake said some bad shit happened in Colorado, and he thinks it was the Colony that was responsible. Long, sad story short…his sister killed herself just so she wouldn’t have to go with them. So we may need to reconsider our rendezvous point. Talk to Jason, and see what he thinks.

  I’ll write you more soon. I miss you, and I’m glad you’re back on the grid. ;o) Oh, and I know you’re probably really excited that Jason kissed you…just be careful.

  Hasta la vista,

  Zoe

  I was looking down at the living room of the home I’d grown up in. Muffled sounds came from upstairs. I strained to hear the desperate words being uttered, but my consciousness was jumbled and I couldn’t decipher them. I couldn’t think. I cringed as the shouting and cursing continued.

  My dad and Jason suddenly materialized in the living room, completely unaware of my presence. Like a reclusive spider hidden in the recesses of a wall, I watched what unfolded with trepidation.

  My brother was bigger than my dad. Jason’s clenched fists and jaw were intimidating, but my dad seemed just as imposing. He was more solemn and threatening than I’d ever noticed before, and he looked older than I remembered. His features were blanketed with an all-too-familiar sorrow; his eyes were filled with loneliness, and their outer corners were wrinkled from a lifetime of worry.

  Jason’s gestures were forceful as he exchanged harsh words with my dad. His eyes were ablaze with so much anger that I almost missed the sadness crinkling his brow. Like a pair of ear plugs had been removed, I could suddenly hear Jason’s venomous words.

  “I can’t stay here anymore!” he yelled. Both men’s chests heaved under their shirts. “She’s dead, Dad! I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t want this life.” I immediately knew who he was talking about…Mom.

  My dad pushed his index finger roughly against my brother’s chest, and Jason’s rage consumed him. Without saying another word, Jason turned and stormed off.

  Running his fingers through short hair silvered with age, my dad turned in my direction. Somehow, in my disembodied state, his eyes were able to focus on me, and they widened with shock.

  The room from my childhood home abruptly melted away, only to be replaced by another familiar setting: our family car.

  No longer incorporeal, I was six years old and sitting in the backseat of our brown and beige Wagoneer. I watched sunlit scenery pass by the window and played with the hem of my dress. Looking down at my lap, I giggled at the sight of my favorite yellow sundress and kicked my small, sandal-clad feet happily. As darkness overwhelmed the sunlight, a sense of dread filled me—something horrible was about to happen.

  I smelled a citrusy scent and immediately knew it was my mother in the driver’s seat. My eyes prickled with tears. I longed to see her face.

  “Mommy?” I asked timidly, wishing she would look at me—wishing I could finally see her face.

  She remained silent and ignored me, driving like it was any other day.

  I couldn’t remember what she looked like. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror where I hoped to catch a glimpse of her feminine features, but the image was blurred, like it was forbidden for me to see.

  The foreboding presence of something malevolent hovered around us. The air was thick with a suffocating fear, and I saw my mom’s body stiffen as she felt it too. I heard the sound of her hands tightening around the leather covering the steering wheel. Even though I was too small to see around the seat back, I knew my mom’s knuckles were white and that her hands were shaking, just as mine were as they gripped the skirt of my yellow dress.

  “Mommy,” I said again.

  “Shhhh,” she cooed softly as she looked over her shoulder at me. Where her face should have been, there was nothing but smooth, featureless flesh. “Shhh, it’s okay, Zoe,” she said again, despite having no lips or mouth to speak from.

  Petrified by the empty face in front of me, I tried to close my eyes, but my lids wouldn’t shut. I tried to call out for Daddy or Jason, but only faint sobs escaped my lips. The faceless woman reached for me. I tried to pull away from her slow, mechanical movement, but my seat belt was suddenly too tight to move or even breathe. Gasping for air between muffled shrieks of terror, I attempted to yank my wrist away from her cold, bone-white fingers.

  “No!” I cried out immediately before my body lurched forward. My neck snapped back, almost broken in half. I could see the front of the station wagon, crunched like an accordion against a dingy brick wall. Adrenaline made my heart race. I was trapped, covered in blood…I was dying. I couldn’t breathe.

  The faceless woman sat motionless, pinned against the steering wheel. Her arm was draped over the dashboard, and the fingers that had been on my skin moments before twitched.

  My body lurched as I gasped for air. My hands fell to my lap, suddenly paralyzed, and I took my final, searing breath.

  Jolting awake in bed, I looked around the room. Moonlight shining through the mini blinds cast striped shadows on the wardrobe and the far wall. I was in Fork Knox, in my room in the barracks. I was safe…and I was alone.

  The cotton sheets clung to my sweaty skin. Peeling them from my body, I felt like I was shedding the gloom of my nightmare. My face was clammy, my hair was matted against my cheeks and neck, and my body was shaking. The dream that had haunted me throughout my childhood had returned. Fearing what might come when I closed my eyes again and not knowing what else to do, I climbed out of bed.

  I grabbed my sketchpad from the nightstand and made my way toward the door. I opened it, only to trip over Cooper who was stretched out in the doorway. I stumbled and caught myself against the wall. “Dammit, Coop!” I quietly admonished, but it wasn’t his fault that it was dark; we were conserving the fuel we needed to power the generators.

  Seeing a faint light flicker down the hallway, I realized someone was in the common room. I headed that way, Cooper moseying languidly behind me. When I saw Jake sitting on the couch, reading by firelight, I paused, but Cooper trotted over to him. Hearing the dog’s nails clicking on the floor, Jake looked up, and his eyes met mine.

  “Hey,” I said weakly.

  He stood abruptly, looking pensive. “Is everything okay?” His voice was hoarse from a lack of use, and I held back a smile as he cleared his throat.

  I nodded. Once again, he had a look on his face that I’d seen numerous times—one of thoughtful concern—but this time I understood it better. “Why do you always think something’s wrong when you see me? Am I really that bad?”

  His eyes narrowed, and I acknowledged the silliness of my question with a modest smile and a shrug. “Okay, well this time you can’t save me; don’t worry.”

  One of Jake’s eyebrows arched inquiringly.

  “I had a bad dream and couldn’t get back to sleep. But it’s nothing some drawing won’t fix.” I held up my sketchpad. “What about you, can’t sleep?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You can keep reading. I won’t bother you.”

  He nodded, walking over to the fire. He threw on another log as I situated myself on the couch, wrapped myself in a blanket, and opened my sketchbook to draw. I tried to ignore the awkward silence between us for the second time in a day.

  Jake remained by the fire, leaning against the wall. “Was your dream about Clara?”

  I shook my head. “No. It was a nightmare I’ve been having for a while.”

  “You want to talk about it?” His concern was genuine, but I couldn’t imagine explaining it to him. I didn’t want to sound even more pathetic and broken than I already did.

  Again, I shook my head. “You can sit down,” I offered, not wanting him to feel like he had to leave.

  Jake looked back at m
e with a rare grin on his face. “I can?”

  Wow, that’s two grins in one day. “You know what I mean. I didn’t come in here to ruin your chill time.”

  “My ‘chill time’?” he repeated playfully.

  Laughing, I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. I’m glad I can entertain you.” I thumbed through some of my drawings in search of a blank page.

  “Those are really good,” he said as he sat down a few inches from me, making the couch feel cozier. “Can I see?”

  “Umm…” I hesitated.

  “Never mind.” He turned away from me.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said hastily. I was so amazed that he was partaking in a conversation with me; I didn’t want to mess it up. “Here.” I handed him my sketchpad with both reluctance and anticipation. I wondered what he would think…and I tried to remember all that I’d drawn.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I just have a lot of bad ones in there. It’s more of a doodle book than anything.” I’d never shared any of my sketchbooks with anyone other than Dani, but for some reason I wanted Jake to see it.

  He didn’t say a word as he flipped through pages of realistic depictions of some of what I’d seen over the past few weeks. I became lost in thought as I remembered the time and place I’d started each drawing. There were even some sketches I’d completely forgotten about.

  Jake lingered on a sketch of a Labrador Retriever. “That’s Sammy, Dave’s dog who died…and that’s the cabin we were staying in when Harper and the crew met up with us.” Jake turned a few more pages. “Those are a couple drawings I did on the drive here—they’re not very good.”

  Before I knew it, there were forgotten sketches of Jake—angry ones. His likeness stared up from the page, composed of dark lines and harsh shading that reflected my opinion of him at the time. His drawn eyes were flat, cruel, and judgmental, so different than the pair currently watching me.

  “Oh, uh, you can skip those.” Blushing, I reached over and started flipping the pages as quickly as I could. “I was clearly having a bad day.” Oh my God—this is so embarrassing.

  Jake watched me too intently as I searched for something else—anything else—to show him. Finding my drawings of Cooper, I stopped. “You might like these,” I said, trying to refocus his attention.

  His eyes absorbed the contents of the pages as he flipped through them, but he remained silent, leaving me to wonder what he thought of them. He analyzed the images like there were hidden messages within the lines and shading. Sitting so close to him, I was becoming distracted by our proximity. I leaned away.

  The last drawing was of Cooper’s face, and just as I was about to speak, Jake’s hand moved toward it. He gently ran his fingers over the page like the drawing might come to life. “It’s perfect.”

  “Really?” I whispered, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. “Thanks.”

  As he reached my most recent drawings, depictions of Harper filled the pages…over and over. The images of him smiling in his white lab coat looked true to life.

  “I was practicing,” I tried to explain, though I didn’t know why I felt the need to say anything at all.

  Finally closing my book, Jake handed it back to me and picked up his own. He casually rested his elbows on his knees. “Thanks for sharing.” The distance in his voice had returned, instantly annoying me.

  “Sure.” I pulled myself back into the opposite corner of the couch. “What are you reading?”

  He showed me the hardback’s dilapidated cover. “The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  “I’ve never read it, but the movie was great.”

  “It’s my favorite book…I’ve read it about twenty times.”

  I didn’t doubt it. With its scuffed cover and worn binding, the book was practically falling apart. “Yeah, the binding needs a little restoration. If you put some sort of cover on it, that’d at least stop the rest of it from crumbling.”

  His eyebrows rose in question. “I see,” he said.

  “I know a lot of random stuff when it comes to preserving things. Working in an art gallery was one of my former trades.”

  “And your other trades?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  “Um, let’s see…I’ve never worked on cars, put on a fireworks show, or shot a gun, but I did work at an art supply place and was a live model for some of the art classes at the U in Salem.”

  Jake grinned knowingly.

  “My clothes were on,” I clarified. “Oh, and I was a bartender for a few years…and I dabbled in making saltwater taffy back home.”

  “Bartender?” he asked, chuckling. Even his smile is mysterious. “That sounds like trouble.” Smiles, laughing, and a little less awkwardness…we’re breaking all sorts of records today.

  I relaxed at the sound of his deep, rumbling laugh. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh,” I said, and instantly worried I’d just ruined the progress we’d made.

  “Not a lot of things make me laugh, I guess.” He leaned back further into the couch.

  “Well I’m glad my bartending is entertaining to you,” I said, feigning annoyance. “What about you? What are your other trades?”

  Jake thought for a moment before saying, “Nothing very interesting.” He was avoiding my question, but I didn’t push him.

  I glanced down at my sketchpad, leaving him to return to his book, but I could tell he was distracted. “Do you think we’ll ever be…not awkward around each other?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  My question hung in the air as he continued reading. Finally, he turned the page, and without looking at me, asked, “You mean, like friends?”

  “Yeah, I mean…like normal people who can have a normal conversation.”

  He peered at me. “Funny, I thought that’s what we were doing.” His tone had hardened.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I don’t have a lot of friends,” Jake added reluctantly.

  I didn’t know how to respond, so I leaned back and stared at my empty page. I couldn’t concentrate with him sitting beside me. I wondered what he was thinking. I started to doodle on the page, unable to stay focused. I thought about our silent flirtation in the garage, the blood transfusion, and the fireworks. I kept asking myself what it all meant, or if it meant anything at all. I wondered why it was bothering me so much that he wouldn’t open up to me—why it preoccupied me to the point of drawing my knot tattoo over and over again.

  I sat, stewing in questions, further confused by the sense of unease I felt radiating from Jake despite his calm appearance. The sounds of the fire, book pages turning, and my pencil tracing the length of the textured page were all that filled the passing minutes. Yawning, I guessed an hour or so had passed, and since I had to wake up early, I figured I should get some sleep.

  Gathering my things, I stood. “Well, I’m training with Harper tomorrow, so I should call it a night.” Folding the blanket and laying it on the back of the couch, I met Jake’s narrowed eyes.

  “You’re still leaving?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “Yes,” I said simply, not wanting to start an argument. And you’re not coming with me. “Goodnight.”

  36

  DANI

  Careful not to wrinkle the priceless photo sheltered in the safety of my coat pocket, I searched around the ranch for Jason. He wasn’t in the house, the stable, or the pasture. After the kiss…Oh, what a kiss!…he’d disappeared. I’d enlisted the help of dozens of animals in my search and was keeping the mind connections open in case they tracked him down.

  Finally, I heard the faint sound of Jack’s howl, and I knew he’d found my quarry. “Come. Hurry. Strange,” my dog said as he appeared at the crest of a nearby hill, barking nonstop for emphasis.

  “Okay, okay, hold your horses. I’m coming,” I grumbled, stalking up the hill. It was cold, and after connecting with so many minds in my call for help the previous night—human and animal minds—I was as exhausted as a person could be wit
hout collapsing. Something about using my Ability on people seemed to wear me out more than anything I’d ever experienced, and my several hour nap hadn’t rejuvenated me completely.

  After walking for a few minutes, Jack and I spotted Jason in a sparse copse of cypress trees. He was hacking his way through their trunks, tree by tree. His bare, glistening back bunched and flexed with each swing of the ax. Part of me wanted to just stand and admire him from afar, but I had been looking for him for a reason.

  Once I was close enough that I didn’t need to shout, I asked, “What are you doing, Jason?”

  He paused with the ax raised but didn’t face me. “Chopping firewood.” Duh. He swung again. And again.

  “This is kind of far from the house.” Double duh.

  Another pause. “Yep.” Another swing.

  I rounded the tree he was currently hacking away at, careful to keep clear of the ax’s arc and the erratically jettisoned wood chips. Jason avoided looking at me while I studied him. Other than his curt answers, he acted like he was completely alone. He seemed to lose himself in the meditative motion, and I lost myself in watching him. Lift. Swing. Thunk. Lift. Swing. Thunk.

  He wore an expression of grim determination as his chest and abdominal muscles rhythmically clenched and released. Clenched and released. It was hypnotizing. And erotic. And annoying.

  “How will you get it all back to the ranch?” I asked, watching his focused, granite expression. There was so much beneath his attractive surface. I wondered how many women had bothered to consider who he was on the inside when his outside would more than make up for pretty much any personality flaws. He was complicated and conflicted—he had always been—though he rarely let it show. It took the world ending for me to realize it.