Jenny Plague-Bringer: (Jenny Pox #4) (26 page)

“You talked to her?” Tommy asked.

“She’s doing well with Mr. Tanner dead, I’d say.  Spent some of the life insurance
money on a candy-pink Le Baron convertible. Didn’t you think she looked well, Buchanan,
in that red Christmas dress?”

“
Yes, very healthy,” Buchanan replied.

Tommy shrugged, as though indifferent to his foster mother’s fate.

“
Have yo
u ever played Monopoly, Tommy?” Ward asked. “I’m offering you a little orange Get
Out of Jail Free card.  We can expunge your entire criminal record, make you a free
man.  No more scurrying around in the dark.”

“In exchange for what?” Tommy asked.  He had a cornered-rat look in his eyes, still
deciding whether to fight or flee. 

“In exchange, you serve our country.  You apply your fear-inducing ability toward
protecting American interests around the world.  Surely you don’t want to do this
for the rest of your life.” Ward pointed inside the dark, loud club.

Tommy shrugged. “This job’s okay.”

“It’s
okay
?  Son, you have a tremendous power inside you.  You’ve got to have some ambition,
don’t you?  You could be out there making the world safe for America.  You could be
a hero instead of a criminal.  Wouldn’t you like that?”

“What’s it pay?” Tommy asked.

“Pay?” Ward shook his head, exasperated.  He was ready to punch the kid in the nose.
“We’re talking about you finally doing something worthwhile with your life.  You’ve
got to look at the bigger picture here.”

“So the pay sucks,” Tommy said.

“It has to be more than you’re making here,” Ward said. “Room, board, medical, and
we’ll pay you what we pay the Special Forces guys.  Is that good enough?  Or do you
want to sit on this goddamn stool collecting dollar bills from drugged-out kids until
it’s time for you to go back to prison with an extended sentence?  What the hell are
your plans for your life?”

Tommy sank on his seat, looking like a petulant child.

“Wake up, kid,” Ward said. “This is your only chance.  You’ve got to see that.”

“I’ll think about it.” Tommy scratched his head.

Ward shook his head in disbelief.  What was the kid’s problem?

“We want your girl to come, too,” Ward added. “Esmeralda, the one who can speak with
the dead?  We want both of you.  Go and talk to her about it, too.”

“You want Esmeralda, too?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Ward glared at the dirty, long-haired kid and tried to keep
his temper under control. “Go and talk to her about it,” he repeated.

“I guess I will.” Tommy shrugged.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” Ward said. “It shouldn’t take you twenty-four
seconds
to make this choice.  At your age, it’s time to stop being a slacker and start being
a man.” Ward handed him a plain white business card—no logo, no name, just a single
phone number. “We’ll be back tomorrow.  Call if you come to your senses before then.”
Ward turned and walked away, followed by his two assistants.

“I’m not working tomorrow,” Tommy said.

“You’re barely working now,” Ward replied without looking back. “Don’t worry, we always
know where to find you.  Just don’t do anything stupid between now and then.”

When they returned to the car, the wheels in Ward’s mind were turning.  He’d believed
that Tommy had been the leader of a small group of paranormals, but he was starting
to doubt that assessment.  The kid could barely lead himself to the bathroom to take
a piss.  The faction must have had a different leader...maybe the zombie-master guy,
but he was dead, according to Heather Reynard’s memories.  Killed by Seth’s healing
power, somehow.

So, Ward reasoned, maybe Tommy and Esmeralda didn’t have a leader anymore, they were
just wandering without any direction at all.  Ward was prepared to give them one.

Their next stop was a motel not far from Tommy and Esmeralda’s apartment, just off
the interstate.  They would listen to the device Buchanan had set up, a laser listening
system pointed at the apartment window.  The laser translated glass vibrations back
into sound, creating a clean way to bug a room without ever entering the premises. 
They would be able to hear what Tommy and Esmeralda’s thoughts might be regarding
whether to serve their country or not.

“Kid looks like a real loser,” Avery commented as they pulled out onto a busy boulevard. 

“We’ll see,” Ward replied.

* * *

“You have to come with me,” Tommy said. He’d already crammed half his clothes into
a duffel bag, and he was trying to shove more into it. 

“The only thing I have to do is catch the bus,” Esmeralda told him, buttoning her
blouse.  It was seven in the morning and Tommy’s eyes were open, which meant he’d
skipped sleeping after he’d gotten home from work.  He looked disheveled, with a sheen
of nervous sweat. “Why don’t you take a bath?” she asked him.

“You’re not listening, Esmeralda.  They’re going to delete my prison record.  If I
don’t do what they want, they’ll probably send me back to prison.  I don’t have a
choice.”

“You could ride away,” Esmeralda said. “Go hide somewhere new.”

“If I did that, would you come with me?”

“I can’t, Tommy.  I have school, and my mother.  And you know how much trouble I had
finding another job after I ran away last time.” She pulled on a pair of dark slacks.
“And that crappy new job is where I need to be in thirty minutes.”

“This is our big chance to really do something with our lives.  Don’t you want that?”
He reached for her arm, but she shook him off.

“I am doing something with my life,” Esmeralda told him.

“What, putting make-up on dead people?”

“I like dead people.  They tell interesting stories.”

“Don’t you want an interesting
life
?” Tommy asked. “Instead of just watching what dead people did with their time?”

“If you want to go off and be an assassin or whatever they want, that’s your choice. 
Staying here and living my own life, that’s mine.” Esmeralda trembled, feeling fear
tinged with hope.  Maybe he would go.  Maybe this was finally it.  He made her feel
protected, but also miserable.  Without him, she would be vulnerable and free.

“Then maybe I’ll go without you,” he growled, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe you’ll never
see me again.”

Esmeralda stared back at him, feeling the war inside herself between the part of her
that craved him and shivered at his touch, and the smarter part, the one that knew
he would only destroy her life if they stayed together.

“You don’t have anything to say?” he asked.

Esmeralda sighed and folded her arms. “You need someone to order you around, don’t
you, Tommy?  Somebody in command, like Ashleigh, always telling you what to do.  I
give you your freedom to be anything you want to be, and all you do is piss yourself
away.”

He glowered at her, his jaw grinding inside his cheek.  He looked like a mad dog.

“So you think I’m worthless.  Anything else?” he snarled.

“I did not say that.”

“You basically did.”

“I have to work, Tommy.” Esmeralda started for the door.

“I might not be here when you get back,” he called after her.

Esmeralda resisted the temptation to turn around and say anything.  She walked out
the door, closed it firmly behind her, and started down the concrete stairwell.

When she returned from work that evening, Tommy and his clothes were gone.  So was
the gold 1908 Indian-head coin he’d given her when they’d first met as children. 
She didn’t know if he was keeping it as a reminder of her, or taking it away to show
her that they were finished.

Either way, at least her mother would be pleased to hear that Tommy was gone.  Maybe
she would start talking to Esmeralda again.

Jenny awoke the day after Christmas to find Seth sitting up in bed, staring at her
with a very serious look on his face.  Bad sign.  He usually slept much later than
Jenny.  She wondered if he remembered—

“Are you really pregnant?” he asked.

Jenny hesitated. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

She pushed her blankets off, then lifted up her nightdress and threw it on the floor. 
She took his hand and placed it on her swollen belly.

“Feel that?”

His eyes widened. “How pregnant
are
you?”

“Between four and five months, is my best guess.  You haven’t noticed me getting bigger?”

“A little, but I thought it was all the, you know, cheeses and chocolates and heavy
French sauces...”

“You thought I was getting fat.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.  Four months?  Have you been to a doctor?  Why haven’t
you said anything?”

“I told you why.  I can’t have children, they almost always miscarry.  The few times
that hasn’t happened, the baby dies on the way out.  They can’t handle my poxy birth
canal.”

“Okay...but isn’t there another way, where they take the baby right out?”

“A C-section,” Jenny said. “I’ve thought about it, but it’s very rare that my baby
even lives long enough to try that.”

“But it’s possible,” Seth said.

“I don’t know.  The technology’s never been there before.” She shook her head.  One
bad thing about having so many past-life memories was that she tended think of her
present options as being limited by her past experience. “We could try, but it still
probably won’t be safe enough...”

“But I’ll be there,” Seth said. “If the baby needs healing, I can do it.” He stroked
her stomach, and Jenny felt the warm glow of his healing touch, passing right through
her and into the baby.  The baby stirred in response, and feeling it move nearly broke
her heart. “He’s not going to die if I can do anything about it.”

“Or she,” Jenny said. “Or...it’s better not to think of it as ‘he’ or ‘she.’”

“Can’t the doctors tell by now?”

“I guess they could.  That’s not my point, Seth.  You’re getting your hopes up, but
I have lifetimes of experience showing me it’s hopeless.  It’s better to just accept
that.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I might not have all your memories, but I know we can change. 
We’re not stuck with what happened in the past.  Jenny, I think we can make it work.”

Jenny dared to consider whether he might be right.

“If the baby doesn’t survive, you’re going to hate me,” she said.

“No, I won’t.”

“But you’ll realize that being with me isn’t the best thing for you.  You could be
with someone else and have a much easier, happier life.  Someone like...”
Mariella
.

“Someone like who?” Seth asked. “It doesn’t matter.  I love you, Jenny.  I always
will.  And I want to have this child with you.” He took her hands.

“Seth...” Jenny suddenly found herself sobbing, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“Stupid pregnant hormones.”

“Even your hormones are pregnant?”

“Yep.” She looked up at him. “Do you mean it?  You want to try?”

“I want to try.” Seth put an arm around her and kissed her. “We’re going to make it
work.”

“I love you so much.” Jenny put her arms around his neck and leaned against his chest. 
His hand remained on her hip, a river of golden warmth flowing through her flesh and
deep into her womb.

* * *

In the evening, they met Mariella at one of the wooden Christmas villages that sprang
up all over Paris during December, as if bands of Santa’s elves had emigrated from
the North Pole like itinerant gypsies setting up camps in the city.  Instead of gypsy
tents, the villages were made of wooden chalets that looked as if they’d been transported
from some enchanted place high in the Alps.

Christmas carols played everywhere, naturally, and the chalets offered a dazzling
array of colorful merchandise, from chocolates and Christmas candies to wine, caviar,
and artisan cheeses.  They sold holiday decorations and handmade toys, clothes, and
organic cosmetics.

Jenny, Seth, and Mariella walked slowly down the Champs-Elysees, looking over the
cheerful scene.  Jenny and Mariella were both heavily bundled against the cold, Mariella
to avoid getting lost in flashes of the future from everybody in the crowd, Jenny
to avoid killing anyone.  Jenny and Seth drank hot cider, while Mariella drank a cup
of hot wine.

“You should do yoga,” Mariella was telling Jenny. “My sister Stefania did it every
day her last two pregnancies, and she said they went much easier than the first.”

“I don’t know.  A yoga class?” Jenny asked. “That’s kind of risky for me, all those
people in workout clothes.”

“I will show you,” Mariella said. “In your own home.  I am a black belt in yoga.”