Revelations. Part 22

"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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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."

"Chris," he began, "I want to kill them as much as you do. I want to stop it. But this...." He looked down at his hands before continuing. "This power in my hands isn't like yours. My power is meant to take life while yours is meant to save it."

"That's what I want you to do," I said. "To take life."

"I can't always control it," he said.

"And I won't burn," I said with a wicked smile.

"What?"

I held up his hands so they were before both of our faces. "Try it."

He shook his head vigorously. "No way."

"Don't worry," I said. "Just try it."

Starch very reluctantly raised the temperature of his hands. I felt them heating up, felt my own hands getting hot. In a second more, his hands were on fire. So were mine. The fire was small, with flames only an inch or two in height. Holy h.e.l.l, it hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain and regenerated my skin through the process. When the heat resided, I opened my eyes and made sure my hands were perfect and healed. The skin on my hands was slightly pink but otherwise fine.

I showed him my unburned hands. "See?"

"Yeah, but I could tell it hurt," he said.

I shook my head. "Pain doesn't matter," I said. "Not compared to the pain Jonas went through, the pain he's still in."

"Let me go alone," he said suddenly.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

He grinned, a very evil, un-Starch-like grin. "Get me in there, and I'll blast the place straight to h.e.l.l. You stay a safe distance away from the source of the fire. Can you do that?"

I nodded and for once did not lie to him. "I can do that."

"Then it's a deal," he said. He then dropped both of my hands. "What about Jonas?"

"What about him?"

"He'll want to go," Starch said.

"I won't let him," I said. "He's hurt and sick. He'll be a hindrance."

"He'll want to go," Starch repeated.

I smiled softly, knowing he was right. "I'll keep him asleep," I said. "If we leave by morning, head for Nevada, we can get there in a few hours."

Starch nodded. "Okay, Chris. Tomorrow. We'll put an end to all of this."

I leaned forward as far as I could to kiss him. I kissed his lips quickly and lightly, my version of a thank you to the best friend I could ask for. I got up and went to the bedroom to spend some time with Jonas. Because after S-4, we'd move on to Cannon, and that would take at least a couple of days.

Chapter Fifty-Four.

It was hard to leave in the morning. I slept beside Jonas that night, feeling the heat of his fevered body, but I didn't sleep much. I rose at four a.m. and went to wake Starch. He and I readied ourselves, taking only what we needed with us. I didn't have anything in the way of clothes, but Philip's missing wife left some things, and she wasn't too much bigger than me, so I took the liberty of borrowing a few items. Starch pilfered Philip's car keys and we went to the garage.

The sound of the garage door alerted Philip- since I was stupidly not paying attention to him and only paying attention to Jonas- to our escape. We hadn't even driven halfway down the driveway when Philip suddenly pounded on the driver's side window. Starch didn't know what to do, so he stopped the car and looked at me, as if I had any better ideas.

I sighed. "Just open the door," I said.

Starch did so, leaning back when he did because he thought Philip was going to slug him. Instead, Philip said, "Get in the back. I'm driving."

I rolled my eyes. "Philip," I muttered.

"I know where you're going, and I know what you're planning on doing," he said. "And I'm driving."

I knew better than to protest with him; besides, he's bigger and smarter than I am so I knew he'd get his way, one way or another. Starch got in the backseat and slammed shut his door, crossing his arms over his chest in a something of a huff. Philip took over the driver's seat and put the car in gear. I'll tell you that this wasn't his old bug, which he still had but didn't drive as much. This was a somewhat new Honda Accord four-door.

It took only the briefest of moments of not keeping my mind locked with Jonas's for him to wake up to find me missing and the rest of the house empty.

I put my head back against the headrest as Jonas stepped out in front of the still stopped car and slammed his fists down on the hood. He stood there, staring in through the windshield, those glorious amber eyes filled with anger.

Philip got out and yelled, "If you dented my car, I'm gonna-"

"Shut up." Jonas growled fiercely enough for even Philip to step back.

I jumped out of the car and confronted Jonas. "You are staying here," I said.

Jonas shook his head. "Not on your life," he said. "You left me sleeping."

"Yes and I stupidly let go long enough for you to regain your senses. Now go back inside," I said, angry at myself for not paying attention.

"Big mistake letting me wake up," he said through his teeth. "I know what you're going to do."

"I don't want you to come," I said, dropping my anger and replacing it with honest concern. "I want you to stay here."

"Are you going to force me?"

I nearly did. I was more than capable and I really wanted to. I relented. It was the eyes that did it. While his face showed his obvious anger, his eyes radiated his love for me. He didn't want to be without me, not after having spent time in that cell alone. Not after having spent days-still not sure if it might have been weeks- wondering if I was okay or not. Even while they beat him, scoring his skin with the end of a whip, all he was thinking about was me. Was I okay? Did I get away? It broke my heart into shards all over again.

I relented. "Okay," I said.

Starch got out of the back and took over the pa.s.senger seat. Jonas and I took over the back seat. Philip put the car in drive and we headed off down the road. He didn't even wait to see if anyone else would appear and want to join us on our little venture.

In the backseat, Jonas put his head in my lap, which wasn't easy considering his size compared to the size of the seat. He curled up and made himself as comfortable as possible.

"This is stupid," I muttered once he was in a good position.

"You're telling me," he said.

"You should probably be in a hospital, not in a car going to Nevada."

"Are you really going back there?" he asked.

I nodded, tracing the line of his still slightly cracked jaw with the tip of my finger. "I'm not going to let that place continue to exist. Not after what they did to you."

"That guy..." he said, trailing off.

"What guy?"

"The one who waved to you when we escaped."

"Ah," I said. "Him."

"I know him," Jonas said.

"How?" I asked.

"From my lab time," he said. "I don't remember much about him, just that he wasn't really a nice guy."

"That's an understatement," I muttered.

"When the soldiers were beating me," he began, "he'd come into the room sometimes. He'd stop them if the soldiers went too far, but he'd used extreme force. The soldiers stood in a line, and he'd beat them with heated bamboo whips." Jonas shuddered against me. "He'd make me watch, then turn them loose and the soldiers would be up to no good again. It was as if they all enjoyed their place. The soldiers liked beating me then they liked being beaten. He liked beating them. I don't get it."

I smiled sadly out the window. "He probably erased their memories," I said. "Else they wouldn't have gone right back to hurting you."

"I don't know," Jonas said. "But he knew you."

"Yes," I said, biting my lower lip.

"How? And I don't think it was just because you went with him when you were a kid. I think there's something more here."

"Later, Jonas," I said, not wanting to talk about it again.