and reached for her arm. “How did you get this?”
Bright Star did not answer. She didn’t say a word. Jackson grabbed her arms, shook her. “How did you get this?”
She said nothing for a moment. Jackson could feel the frustration mounting to extreme levels inside of him. The tendons in his hands strained.
“You keep it on your nightstand, Jackson. I took it from there.”
Her voice was small, vulnerable. Jackson let her go and she nearly ran away from him while he stood in the hallway trying desperately to control the pounding of his heart.
*
It happened the next morning.
Rush was still in bed… or at least in his room. Jackson had just finished getting ready for work.
As with every day, he and Bright Star met each other in the kitchen. She usually woke up just before he left. This day, she stumbled in as he poured himself some coffee. She fished in the refrigerator for juice. After finding a carton, she leaned against the closed door. Jackson leaned against the counter across from her that held the coffee pot. They sized each other up in silence. Then, like always, Jackson gave it a shot.
“You do know how much we care about you,” Jackson opened.
“You mean how much you care,” she returned, tilting her head to the side with a sleepy but patient smile.
“Rush cares, too. I think he’s just worried. I’m worried, too.” He added that last quickly. “But I think he’s worried that this can’t be fixed. I think it can.”
“What?”
“What what?”
“What do you think can be fixed?” she clarified.
“I think that you can—”
“I can be fixed?” This time, she full out grinned. She was playful in the mornings: her body slow and languid, her mind quick and teasing.
“That’s not what I mean, Bright Star, and you know it.” Jackson was half exasperated half amused. “Fine, then. I care about you. I believe that you are smart, beautiful and Talented.” Bright Star looked directly at him. But mentally, he could tell, she was rolling her eyes. He plowed ahead. “You don’t deserve to be hurt, even by yourself.”
Her smile slowly evaporated until it was as if it had never been there, as if it were desert rain. She turned away from him and put the juice back into the refrigerator. Jackson thought of saying something else to her, but he wouldn’t. He would let his words soak in, because over time, she had to believe it. That was the recommendation Randall Sandoval gave him when Jackson questioned him about the high incidence of suicidal tendencies during the developmental stages of Shift. Some of them also showed homicidal tendencies. Powerful nine-to fourteen-year-olds were frequently sent to “Summer Camp.” The facility was only a floor above where they kept Thad Okwenuba.
Randall proved worth his salt by asking slow and subtly probing questions, using his own particular Talents to discover if Jackson was speaking of himself. Once he realized that Jackson had a very real fear for someone else, he’d done his level best to persuade Jackson to tell him who. Jackson had done his level best to avoid telling him and to block the image of Bright Star from his mind. Sandoval was, after all, a Serviceman first. If he figured out who, he would do his duty and have their best team bring her in whether she was cooperative or not. As long as he could not read her identity from Jackson, he would be limited to offering his knowledge. He offered Jackson the words of support that usually started the slow process of acceptance for what they termed Class D Shifters.
Jackson had spoken these brief words to her. An encouraging phrase or two with a hint of suggestion to keep her safe this day. Every morning he tried to leave her peaceful, her mind and heart still. If she were anxious or agitated, according to Dr. Sandoval, she might be more prone to engage in “erratic” behavior. At Jackson’s rolled eyes, Sandoval assured him that it wasn’t rocket science.
After those words, Jackson
Bright Star did not answer. She didn’t say a word. Jackson grabbed her arms, shook her. “How did you get this?”
She said nothing for a moment. Jackson could feel the frustration mounting to extreme levels inside of him. The tendons in his hands strained.
“You keep it on your nightstand, Jackson. I took it from there.”
Her voice was small, vulnerable. Jackson let her go and she nearly ran away from him while he stood in the hallway trying desperately to control the pounding of his heart.
*
It happened the next morning.
Rush was still in bed… or at least in his room. Jackson had just finished getting ready for work.
As with every day, he and Bright Star met each other in the kitchen. She usually woke up just before he left. This day, she stumbled in as he poured himself some coffee. She fished in the refrigerator for juice. After finding a carton, she leaned against the closed door. Jackson leaned against the counter across from her that held the coffee pot. They sized each other up in silence. Then, like always, Jackson gave it a shot.
“You do know how much we care about you,” Jackson opened.
“You mean how much you care,” she returned, tilting her head to the side with a sleepy but patient smile.
“Rush cares, too. I think he’s just worried. I’m worried, too.” He added that last quickly. “But I think he’s worried that this can’t be fixed. I think it can.”
“What?”
“What what?”
“What do you think can be fixed?” she clarified.
“I think that you can—”
“I can be fixed?” This time, she full out grinned. She was playful in the mornings: her body slow and languid, her mind quick and teasing.
“That’s not what I mean, Bright Star, and you know it.” Jackson was half exasperated half amused. “Fine, then. I care about you. I believe that you are smart, beautiful and Talented.” Bright Star looked directly at him. But mentally, he could tell, she was rolling her eyes. He plowed ahead. “You don’t deserve to be hurt, even by yourself.”
Her smile slowly evaporated until it was as if it had never been there, as if it were desert rain. She turned away from him and put the juice back into the refrigerator. Jackson thought of saying something else to her, but he wouldn’t. He would let his words soak in, because over time, she had to believe it. That was the recommendation Randall Sandoval gave him when Jackson questioned him about the high incidence of suicidal tendencies during the developmental stages of Shift. Some of them also showed homicidal tendencies. Powerful nine-to fourteen-year-olds were frequently sent to “Summer Camp.” The facility was only a floor above where they kept Thad Okwenuba.
Randall proved worth his salt by asking slow and subtly probing questions, using his own particular Talents to discover if Jackson was speaking of himself. Once he realized that Jackson had a very real fear for someone else, he’d done his level best to persuade Jackson to tell him who. Jackson had done his level best to avoid telling him and to block the image of Bright Star from his mind. Sandoval was, after all, a Serviceman first. If he figured out who, he would do his duty and have their best team bring her in whether she was cooperative or not. As long as he could not read her identity from Jackson, he would be limited to offering his knowledge. He offered Jackson the words of support that usually started the slow process of acceptance for what they termed Class D Shifters.
Jackson had spoken these brief words to her. An encouraging phrase or two with a hint of suggestion to keep her safe this day. Every morning he tried to leave her peaceful, her mind and heart still. If she were anxious or agitated, according to Dr. Sandoval, she might be more prone to engage in “erratic” behavior. At Jackson’s rolled eyes, Sandoval assured him that it wasn’t rocket science.
After those words, Jackson
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