Touch: A survival story. - 114. Need: 9.7

James:

‘Question nine: Which graph represents the equation y=4x-5?’

James could not care less about his math homework right now. Not even a little bit. He raised his pen, and circled option ‘B’.

This was the correct choice. Math was healthy. He was not thinking about Charlie. He most certainly was not angry. Or betrayed. Or even hurt. No. He was doing math. So what if that stupid, self-centred little-

He shook himself.

‘Question ten: If Lucy has eleven dollars and buys five apples-’

James stared at the page for almost a full minute before he realized he’d stopped reading.

He huffed quietly, forced his eyes back into focus, and tried again. This would not be like last time. He would not shut down. He refused to be hurt by this again.

‘If Lucy has eleven dollars-’

He'd really killed someone though? Really?

“What the fuck, Charlie,” he whispered. “Just… Why?”

He blinked the water out of his eyes. He was not crying. He refused to be crying.

Why are you surprised? Were you expecting him to change?

He shook his head. Knuckled his eyes. No. Charlie had already been broken. He’d known that. He sniffed.

Ok. No math.

He set his workbook aside, pushed himself up off his bed, and stood.

They’d told him an hour ago. Casper too. They’d been hanging out together in Casper’s room. Jamming quietly on his acoustic. Then, in came his dad. A brief, distracted explanation with Jackie standing behind him in the door, eyes on something far away. And then, the adults were gone again.

James almost resented them for that. Why’d they have to go and spoil the mood.

Casper had offered to talk about it. James had asked to be alone.

That wasn’t working out too good.

He stepped out onto the landing, and made his way quietly toward the stairs. If he couldn’t be distracted, then he could at least be informed, right?

The stairs rarely creaked underfoot anymore for him. Too light, now. He didn’t risk it either way. He let himself drift up, just a quarter inch or so. Just enough to not be walking anymore. He didn’t want them shutting up just because they knew he could be listening. He could already hear the voices coming from his father’s office. Angry. Arguing.

He peaked around the corners to make sure he was alone, then floated over to the door.

It wasn’t hard to listen in. They weren’t shouting, but it wasn’t quiet.

“He left four agents in a coma, Jackie. We can’t bring him in like this. We need to reassess.”

“So what,” Charlie’s mother snapped. “We just give up on him again? Those agents knew what we were hunting. They all signed on.”

“I’m not saying that,” Peter replied, his tone one of forced calm. “But this clearly isn’t working. Our baseline psy barrier wasn’t even close to enough to keep the field agents safe. I say we pull back. Withdraw anyone who can’t cast a mental shield of at least second level or above, and move in more cautiously.”

“That’ll cut our force in half.”

James could tell from her tone that Jackie hated the idea for that alone.

Peter’s response was reluctant, but blunt.

“Your point?”

Jackie groaned.

“I don’t have one. You’re right. We’ll pull them back.”

A quiet grunt. A deeper voice. Older. Hideyoshi.

“Good. Now. On to the real problem. The Whale. We need to kill it. It’s clearly still tied in to Charlie. No telling what it will do if we take him away.”

Jackie scoffed.

“How is that a problem. Thing’s long overdue to be torn in half.”

James couldn’t help but agree with that particular sentiment. He knew his dad’s response before he made it, though.

“Because the last time we got close to killing it, your son threatened suicide.”

James nodded.

Exactly.

Part of him still wished he’d flipped that coin. He tried not to dwell on it.

Jackie’s tone was sullen when she responded.

“Charlie wouldn’t follow through with that. My son is not the type. If James had thought about it for two seconds-”

James flinched. Okay. That one stung.

Jackie’s voice had trailed off.

It was Tsuru who spoke up next. Her tone was acid calm.

“You don’t get to blame my grandson for what he did during a combat engagement you were not involved in. James did everything that could be expected of him. I was there. You were not.”

The silence that followed was awkward even from outside the room. His grandmother wasn’t done.

“Frankly, it is only out of respect that you are allowed to be part of this conversation at all. You are emotionally compromised. You are not in charge. This is not your call.”

James winced at that.

Real smooth, Baba.

Jackie clearly had a response to that. Judging by the noise, she bit it back before the first word was more than halfway out her mouth.

Then was Peter’s turn. He was at least a touch more diplomatic.

“Even if you’re right, Jackie. Do you want to take that chance? Drag him home kicking and screaming only to find him strung up by his laces? No. We need a way to talk him down.”

“Leave that part to me.”

“No offense, Jackie. By the looks of the Bermuda lookout? Your last attempt to talk him down did not go well.”

James half expected her to explode at that. Instead, she merely seemed to grunt.

“Fair point. Any suggestions?”

Tsuru’s voice.

“None that spring to mind. As it stands right now, your son is either far gone enough to abet murder, or he’s gone completely mad.”

“He’s spent nine months alone with a psychic predator. You can’t judge him for-”

“I’m not. But the situation is the same.”

“... Then we use Father. Keep him pacified long enough to get him home. Work things out from there.”

James shuddered. Was Jackie really that desperate? He waited for his father to object.

He did not.

“And you’re on board with that?”

"Yes, Peter. Father isn't indiscriminate. He doesn't target children who he knows have families waiting for them. He likes to think he has integrity. He's not going to rape my child just because he has the opportunity."

"That's a lot of trust to put in him."

"Better Father than the Whale."

No one disagreed with her. James pulled away from the door. He felt sick.

Without a sound, he started floating back upstairs. Listening in had been a mistake.

Father? They were going to ask for help from Father?

He paused by the bathroom door, momentarily wondering if he was going to be sick. Maybe he should talk to Casper. Just to vent it all out.

No. That was the last thing he needed. Cas was so messed up over Father he’d probably think it was a good idea. James couldn’t stand that kind of simping right now.

And Jackie was on board with this? Heck. It had been her who suggested it.

He returned to his room, lay on his bed, and screamed into a pillow.

Screw this.

Charlie:

Charlie was floating. Just laying there, horizontal in the water, maybe six or seven feet below the surface, basking in the diluted warmth of the afternoon sun.

He was happy.

They’d found a cove; a captured pool of beachfront where the shallow water let the sun beat down on the pearly sand like a perfect temperature control. Charlie was enjoying it. His companion had even consented to join him, dragging the train-sized grandeur of its bulk through the narrow inlet and more or less beaching itself up alongside him on the sand.

It didn’t usually like the warm. It preferred cold and claggy places; damp and lightless, but for the ambient glow of the ever present sea life.

Today was different.

They were singing together, their minds dancing through a melody absent sound or sight or texture. Just the way they used to.

Charlie allowed himself a contented sigh, the last few bubbles of air he had unknowingly been keeping in his lungs escaping skywards with the faintest splosh. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he really needed air.

It was easy now. In the aftermath. In the song. Easy to set the memories aside. The guilt when that man had shot himself. His mother’s voice on the radio. Easier.

For the first time in as long as Charlie had known it, his companion wasn’t hungry.

The relief was practically euphoric. The strain. The quiet tension. Just… Gone. They had unity again. A companionship that lacked that sense of quiet hurt. He could even wonder, comfortingly, if it had ever truly been upset with him at all.

So here they lay, soaking in the sun and basking in one another’s warmth.

He’d made the right choice. Things were good again. It was easy not to worry. Not to wonder about when the hunger would be back.

What they would have to do when it returned.

His companion must have noticed the shadow in his thoughts. It let out a warbling not-sound from its position some twenty feet away, one of its tendrils swooshing over to brush against him in the water. Checking in. Not quite worried.

He opened his eyes, pushed the anxiety aside, and batted the tendril playfully away with his palm.

I’m fine. I promise.

He forced himself to smile.

We’re gonna be fine.