Bright Star (12 page)

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 reached out and lamely patted her on the shoulder. She smiled at him still with sleepy eyes and a lazy yawn, assured him that all would be well, and told him she was going to clean the kitchen. Jackson stepped out into chilly December air.

*

In the kitchen, Bright Star took a deep breath. She reached into the refrigerator again, this time removing a pitcher of water. She cast her gaze around and also took hold of the spoon Jackson had used to stir his coffee. She carried them both over by the table and sat cross-legged on the floor in the corner. She took another deep breath and thought of Jackson’s words. She was smart, beautiful now, and talented. Smart. Beautiful. Talented. And strong. She was strong, too. She could do this.

Bright Star lifted the pitcher and poured all of its water into her lap. The water wet her and her nightgown from the waist down. It ran in rivulets over her crossed legs and onto the floor. She Shifted a little, and the water formed a standing, two-inch deep puddle around her. She sat the pitcher down on the floor then took the spoon in her hand and rammed the handle into the electrical socket.

Suddenly the electricity coursed through her like tiny glass shards abrading her veins. She stung all over and her ears were ringing. She couldn’t let go of the spoon if she tried, and did not try. She allowed herself to be magnetized at that very spot; allowed her skin to tense and her hair to smoke. Her body started to convulse and her teeth chattered as she tried to speak. She didn’t know what she would say. She didn’t call for Jackson this time. Instead, she sent her distress call directly to Rush.

That is how Jackson found her. Something in her final, guarded gaze before he left had given her away. He knew something was terribly wrong. That feeling drove him back into the house and found her on the floor involuntarily bending and snapping like a fresh caught fish. Service training kicked in. He shouldn’t approach within 10 feet until he was certain that nothing else including the air around her had been charged with harmful electricity. Rushing across the room anyway, he reached down to jerk her away from the wall.

“Don’t touch her!” Rush commanded as he walked into the room and with a mental push, he stopped Jackson in his tracks. “You’re not grounded,” Rush explained before closing his eyes.

“It can’t hurt me.”

Jackson pulled away from his brother’s suggestion, and dropped down to his knees beside her. His pant legs were wet and he could still feel the tingle of the current. He knew that if he could feel it, it was still affecting her. Her muscles were still constricted. Tearing her from the wall, he watched as blue electricity arced out to her in threads from the socket like starved tentacles. He lifted her stiff body in his arms and took her into the living room where he laid her on the floor. He started to check her vital signs. She wasn’t breathing, and he couldn’t find a pulse. Her body was still taut, every muscle strained. He started CPR.

Before he could lean down to place his lips over hers, she sat up. Her eyes opened, shooting blue lasers across the room. In seconds they dimmed again and she threw herself off the couch. She ran back into the kitchen and fell to the floor in front of Rush, her knees making an awful timpani note on the tile.

“You saved me,” Bright Star gasped and crawled to Rush. She threw her arms around his legs and wept.

“Get her. Get her off of me!” Rush yelled as he tried to extract himself from her grip without actually touching her. The contorted scowl on his face spoke volumes. If Rush did touch her or use Shift, Jackson thought, he was much more likely to stick her back to the wall plugging her right back into the current. “Right now, Jackson!”

Jackson knelt and began to pry Bright Star’s arms from his brother. After Jackson physically lifted her from the ground into his arms, Rush quickly left them, the muscle in his jaw ticking wildly.

“Jackson did you see it?” she mused, turning in his arms. The wide grin stretched her round cheeks. A dimple formed in the side of her chin. She was happy. Happy even as there were sparks in her eyes still and her skin had turned thicker, darker.

Slowly, Jackson eased her to the ground. “I saw that you stuck your finger in a socket and nearly killed yourself. Again.”

Bright Star’s smile turned into a grimace. “No. Don’t be blind. Did you see that he saved me? He rescued me.”

“Yes,” Jackson placated her. His throat nearly closed over the word. “Yes, I saw it. But don’t you understand? Rush is just a man. He has Talents, but so do I. We are just men. It’s like doing CPR for a normal person, Bright Star. It’s what we should all do. We should save someone in need if we can. There’s nothing more to it.”

“There is,” she snapped. “There is. I could
see
him,
smell
him. I could
feel
him, Jackson. All there was in his mind was my coursing life current, that High Energy thread that’s me and me only. Rush reached out to that current redirecting it into my body even as it tried to escape. He repaired skin and bones and blood and nerves as he went to rebuild what I—”

“What you had impulsively and stupidly sought to destroy.”

She looked as if she had been physically wounded. She wiped at her eyes. Her voice became hurried and zealous. “Amazing though it was, what he did for me, Jackson, is nothing. At your Service, didn’t they teach you about Perma-Shift?”

“Of course, Bright Star,” he answered exasperated. “That’s just
Parameters of Shift 101
. The bigger the Shift the more likely you are to experience severe Perma-Shift.”

“But he didn’t.”

“I’ve seen him experience it before.” Jackson recalled the time he had surprised his brother in his bedroom.

“Maybe, but not this time. Saving a life is the one most difficult, unstable, complicated, and strenuous Shift of all. Jackson, you know it. It’s huge. And he didn’t even blink.” She held tightly to Jackson’s shirt as she tried to communicate her message. “You don’t recognize his power for what it is. He’s not some EMT who saves one or two people on his shift. He’s not some random Serviceman fumbling around with his budding Talent. Rush can save us all.”

“From what, Bright Star?” Jackson asked and for once she didn’t have an answer readily available. She paused long enough for Jackson to calm down. He untangled her from his shirtfront and set her back from him. He tipped her face back to look at the blue eyes, soft creamy skin, perfect, supple pink lips. She looked a strange mix of passion and vulnerability and Jackson wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

At that thought, he firmly took a step back, farther away from her. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t let his mind travel that path. No matter how intrigued he was by her. No matter how strong the attraction. No matter that his brother wouldn’t come near her with a ten-foot pole. Jackson knew there was a stronger bond between Rush and Bright Star than he could ever have with her. She only ever watched Rush, had just literally been pulled off of him. Jackson knew, somehow, that if he were to seek her out, it would be a betrayal Rush would not likely forgive.

She answered his question finally. “From ourselves.”

“Jackson,” Rush called firmly from his room. “Do
not
let her in your head. Remember what she just did. Remember that you just saw her convulsing in a puddle she made on the floor. Remember that just a minute ago, you were trying to save her damned life! She’s suicidal. She’s crazy.”

“If you believed I was suicidal and crazy, you could have stopped me before I did it,” she countered without shouting. Of course, Rush could still hear her. “You would have stopped me.”

“I didn’t think you would go through with it.” Rush volleyed.

“A suicidal crazy person would have.”

Jackson knew she had made her point. He was surprised to see her face crumple in hurt. Something he hadn’t been privy to had happened. Bright Star and Rush’s final psychic exchange had not left her as confident. Jackson slid down into a chair at the table and studied the hands that had
not
been instrumental in rescuing her.

“I believe in you,” she declared to Rush out loud. “Of course you must understand. I believe in you. I believe in you!” She started to scream it hoarsely as tears coursed down her eyes. “I won’t stop believing in you! I won’t stop! I won’t stop! I won’t stop! I believe!”

She and Jackson were left alone in the room both physically and mentally. Before he said the words, her eyes flared and snapped to him. Her tears dried and her mouth parted in a little snarl. Jackson started to speak. His lips even moved, but no words came out. It was more than a suggestion, it was a full on Shift. Bright Star tilted her head to the side. Jackson’s eyes widened as he realized that it wasn’t his brother, but Bright Star who had ruthlessly, cruelly taken his voice. She snatched her attention away from him suddenly. Jackson’s words came back. He said to her: “You can’t stay here unless you talk to someone.”

Bright Star was silent, the set to her jaw mutinous as the seconds ticked by slowly. Jackson rubbed his throat, still not quite believing she had attacked him although, he reasoned, she was very upset, had nearly died moments before. He had to remember that she needed his help. It wasn’t so hard when he studied her face.

“I know someone.” Jackson plunged forward, “He’s a doctor and he’s sort of a friend at the Service. He can help you.” When there was no response, not so much as a change in expression, he continued. “I can make sure he leaves you alone for the time being. You don’t have to show him the extent of your powers. You know how to mask them. I’ve seen you do it. If you do that, then he won’t feel like he has to keep you there.”

Bright Star said nothing, but her expression did change this time. It was resigned. It was sad.

She nodded.

Getting to Know You

When Jackson found Bright Star, she was stuffing whites into the washer and looking incredibly normal. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the dryer to watch. She wore white track pants and a white tank top. Her arms were long and white and taut with smooth muscle. They complemented a well-built torso. She still looked soft, but Jackson noted that she looked strong as well. Her collarbones were both prominent and delicate. The swell of her breasts was undeniable, and her waist tapered from a broad and sinewy back. Her stomach was just slightly rounded. Her track pants rode low on flaring hips. For some reason, he wondered if she was wearing shoes or socks. The pants were a little too long for her, so he couldn’t see her feet. His own feet danced and he couldn’t figure out whether to stand or continue leaning.