Revelations (26 page)

My heart broke even more because I knew I could take it all away.

As I washed his battered body, he kept his head resting on his knees so I couldn’t see what was done to his chest. I could see the huge bruise on his side where someone struck him hard enough to break a few ribs. The internal damage wasn’t too bad, just one decent fracture and a couple hairlines, but they were enough to make it hard for him to breathe. Jonas was taking shallow breaths I hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m going to blow that place straight to hell,” I muttered.

“What?”

I glanced at his face. “Just thinking out loud,” I said.

“Well, I’m with you on that,” he said.

He finally moved from his position, stretching out his legs and straightening his back. He groaned quietly as he took a breath, but I said nothing. I’d made a promise I wasn’t about to break. His shifting gave me a good view of his chest, where more lines from a whip crisscrossed his skin.

Jonas caught me looking. “I’ll live,” he said to me as I held out my arms to help him stand. When he was on his feet, I grabbed him a towel, which I used to dry him off. He stepped out of the tub, catching my eye. “I’m fine. I just don’t feel very well, that’s all.”

I watched him wrap the towel around his waist. He dripped slightly on the carpet for only a few seconds after speaking before sitting down heavily on the lid of the toilet. He dropped his head into his hands, and I knelt on the floor before him. I put one hand on his knee and the other I used to move his hands from his fevered face.

“I swear I’m okay,” he said carefully. “I’m trying really hard not to throw up. Hurts my ribs too much.”

“I can fix that,” I said.

His eyes rose to meet mine, and I knew what he was thinking without reading him.

“Your stomach. I can fix that without a problem.” With my hand still on his knee, my mind went straight to work. I didn’t even give him time to protest, which he would have given the time. A brief moment later, I blinked and came back to reality. “See?” I said, feeling fine. “No problem. Feel better?”

Jonas echoed my blink. “Yeah,” he said, somewhat surprised. “I do.”

I stood and offered him my hand. “Let’s get you to bed,” I said. “You need to rest.”

Jonas nodded and followed me out of the bathroom and down the hall to the guest bedroom I was already familiar with. Philip had been kind enough to find some clothes large enough to fit Jonas, and, with my help, he put on the sweatpants and the shirt. He lay down on the bed an instant later.

I sat at the foot of the bed, my legs crossed beneath me in a very familiar position to anyone who knew me. I leaned over, put my elbows on my knees, and put my chin in my hands.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his eyes now closed.

“About how we got to this point,” I said. “And about how much in love with you I am.”

He smiled. “Have I ever told you that I love you?” he asked.

“Once or twice,” I answered, echoing his smile.

“Were you serious about being able to put me to sleep?”

“Yes,” I said. “That I can do.”

“Will you do it now?”

Without another word, I put my hands on his bare feet. I drifted up into his mind, and he was asleep in a second. I sent him down deep enough so not even a 9.0 earthquake would wake him. After making sure his dreams were pleasant ones— another thing my mind is capable of doing with ease— I got up and left him sleeping.

Chapter Fifty-Two

In the living room, I was faced with three men, all of whom I loved to some degree or other. Starch was on the couch with a beer; not his first nor his second. Doc Daniels had just arrived and was talking to Philip but their conversation ceased upon seeing me.

“Is he okay?” Philip asked me instantly.

“He’s pretty sick,” I said. “But he’s asleep.”

“Can I examine him?” Michael asked.

I nodded. “I’m keeping him asleep, so don’t expect him to wake up.”

“I don’t need him awake,” Michael said.

“Thanks, Doc,” I said, meaning it with everything I had.

Michael smiled and left the three of us alone.

“So what now?” a slightly drunk Starch asked.

“How many of those have you had?” I asked him, indicting the beer.

“Not enough,” he muttered.

“He’s had plenty,” Philip said. “What’s your assessment of Jonas’s condition?”

It was such a grammatically correct statement that I laughed out loud for the first time in a long time. Philip raised an eyebrow, and I said, “I think Doc Daniels will know in a few moments.”

“I want to know what you think,” Philip said.

“He’ll live,” I said. “His body temperature is really high, and I think he’ll be sick for a while. Weeks, maybe.” I shuddered against the thought. “Jonas has little to no immune system. He never got sick out in the desert because there were no germs to catch. Except for what Hermione did to him, anyway.”

“Bitch,” I heard Starch mutter.

I continued, mostly ignoring him but agreeing completely. “He’s been whipped, burned. He was beaten with a baseball bat. That’s what broke his knee, less than a day ago. He retreated deep into his mind after the first few beatings. He didn’t even know me when I found him.” I left out the part about him trying to strangle me, but I guess they’ll know now, won’t they? That’ll lead to some questions. Then again, a lot of what I’ve written here will lead to questioning… anyway. “They would have eventually killed him.” I pursed my lips, bit into the bottom one, and dropped my bomb.

“Do either of you know the name Arturo Holt?”

I’d never mentioned Holt to anyone but Jonas, who knew enough about my origins to hate Holt without having actually met him— though he’d definitely seen him in S-4. I kept Holt to myself, my own personal secret creator. I’d never delved into anyone’s minds to find out if they knew him. I’d never wanted to know. Since seeing that man at S-4 waving at me as if he was just saying a friendly goodbye, I knew his involvement ran deep. Deeper than a single base in California where he experimented on me.

My question–back to that, a whole paragraph ago–was met with silence and blank (and drunk) stares.

“Who is he?” Philip asked.

I sighed. “He made me. Holt is my creator. After my mother disappeared, he would take me from the orphanage. Every weekend until I left, Holt took me to his base in California. March Air Force Base. There, he did experiments on me, but I don’t remember much because he erased my memory. I remember some of it. Enough, anyway. I know he tried to kill me because I was more powerful than he, and he was the most powerful being on the planet until I came along. He made me what I am. His experiments brought to light the powers I hold within my hands. And kept me more powerful than he was.”

I looked down at my empty palms. My two hands could accomplish so much, given the chance. “The point is,” I continued, “I saw Holt at S-4. He waved to me. But he let me walk out of there with Jonas. I need to know why.”

Starch got up, swayed on his feet and downed the other half of his fourth beer. “Why do you always have to know why?” he asked, putting the bottle down hard on the coffee table, to which I saw Philip wince at the assault on his furniture. Starch staggered towards me and looked down at me from his six five height, a few inches taller than Jonas.

“I have to know the truth,” I said quietly, looking up into his now hazy blue eyes. “I have to know why he let me go. And if I can, kill him.”

Starch shook his head. “He let you guys go. Isn’t that enough?”

I echoed his head shake. “It’s never enough.”

Philip stepped in, seeing Starch was only going to continue to argue with me. “What are your plans?” he asked.

“I’m going to blow them sky high,” I said. “S-4. Cannon. Every place I can get to. I’m going to destroy them all. If I can.” I turned and looked deep into Starch’s baby blues. “And I’m expecting you to help me.”

Starch knew what I wanted. He knew without asking. Angry and afraid of the powers he held within himself, Starch stormed out of the room. I heard him open the fridge, knew he pulled out yet another beer, and he went outside onto the porch, slamming the front door behind him. I let him. I’d bring him around in time.

To Philip, I said, “He’ll be okay.”

Philip only nodded. Then Michael came out of the bedroom, and that was the end of that.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Michael’s assessment—to use Philip’s choice of words—of Jonas’s condition was the same as mine. Jonas had been severely tortured. He suffered from uncountable injuries, but he would heal. He was also severely ill, though he would get over that, given ample time to rest. Michael was worried, but optimistic. He was very…well…doctor-like.

Afterwards, Philip knew I wanted to talk to Starch alone. He and Michael went out into the backyard to have a few beers of their own. Starch was still out on the front porch and still glowering. I like that word – glowering. Despite his still welling anger, I went out to him.

“What do you want from me?” Starch slurred when he heard the front door close.

“I want your help,” I said.

“I can’t help you,” he said firmly, aware of his own drunken state. “I can keep you safe, but not like this. And not if you keep running off like that.”

“I’m not asking for your protection,” I told him. “I’m asking you to do what you were born to do.”

He shook his head. “I won’t.”

He was leaning against the wall by the door, looking out at the neighborhood and beyond. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear a lawnmower, but otherwise the neighborhood was empty.

“I know why you won’t,” I said to him.

He turned to me, eyes wide. His alcohol drenched mind suddenly forgot I could easily read it.

“Because of your mother,” I said. “Because of what happened to her. It wasn’t your fault. You were just a little boy. You couldn’t know what would happen.”

Starch shook his head and drank deeply from his bottle.

I went and snatched the bottle from his hand. “You can’t blame yourself for that,” I said quickly. “You were a little boy.” I faced him and put my hands on his shoulders, the bottle hanging loosely in my grip. “Your mother loved you. She taught you well. You are a very powerful person.” I squeezed his shoulders. “I need you. I need your help. I can’t just walk in there with the firepower I’d need to blow the place up. You can do that, without dynamite or gasoline. Destroy the place. You can help me stop what’s going on there. And everywhere else.”

“Chris,” Starch said, his voice soft.

I shook my head at him. “Can you still do it?”

He nodded.

“Will you at least show me?”

Once again, he nodded.

“Are you sober enough to do it?” I asked.

He smiled his crooked smile. “Come on,” he said and went inside.

Inside the living room, he sat down on the floor, his legs crossed. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. I sat before him, a few feet away. We were alone in the room. Philip and Michael were still outside drinking beers, and Jonas still deeply asleep, held there by my own mind. I would be the only witness.

Starch opened his blue eyes, and they seemed to burn an even brighter blue. I realized his eyes were the perfect blue, the blue you see the very instant you light a match. He put his hands out towards me, cupping them together. “Just watch,” he said quietly.

Watch I did.

It didn’t even require half as much concentration from him as healing did from me, and he was in complete and utter control. In the center of his cupped hands, on the very surface of his palms, a small red flame suddenly burst into being. I started, but did not move more than a few centimeters. The ball of fire grew until it was about three inches across. Flames rose from its center, creating a small pillar of fire. A thin trail of gray smoke drifted up to the ceiling. The pillar suddenly grew higher and higher, reaching up to the popcorn roof then, in a burst of light, the fire went out. Starch showed me his hands, unmarked by the flame.

I looked up for a brief second at his face during this demonstration and saw his eyes on my face. His eyes never left my face until the fire disappeared.

“Wow,” I said when it was over. I don’t think I’ve ever been more amazed. That was up there with watching Alendra morph from human to wolf and back again.

Starch only lowered his eyes.

“Don’t be ashamed,” I said.

“Can’t help it,” he said sadly. “I killed her.”

“It was an accident,” I said.

“Accident or no, it was my fault,” he told me. “I killed her.”

I reached out and took his hands, the hands that were on fire not a few moments before. “You didn’t kill her,” I said, emphasizing each word. I didn’t realize I was like him, believing something was my fault when there hadn’t been much I could have done to stop it. Starch didn’t see the connection between us either.

Starch only shook his head.

“Sweetie,” I said, “I love you. You’re my best friend. And Jonas loves you, too. And you know how much I love him.” I paused, chewing on my lip. “I would do anything to get my hands on the people who did that to him, and I will kill them all. I’m not afraid of murder, Starch. What those people are doing out at Cannon is only another form of murder. It needs to stop. We can stop it, you and I.”