(no subject)
Title: Memories and Dust (5/?)
Fandom: Heroes (Future, AU-ish)
Characters: Janice, Jacob, Matt, Mohinder
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: If I owned Heroes, I probably would be getting laid a lot more often. Thank god there's fantasy fanfic. It all belongs to Kring and NBC.
Summary:That’s worrisome, Janice thought, and then almost laughed at herself for making such an understatement.
A/N: The shifting POV is back! Hopefully it works.
Previous Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four
Chapter Five: Ashes
July 22, 2018
Los Angeles, CA
“Jacob, get your butt out of bed! I’m not going to ask you again,” Janice shouted through her son’s door.
“Yes, you will,” came the sullen answer. “You always do.”
Janice wanted to slam her head against the door. Instead, she twisted the knob and threw it open. She heard Jacob scrambling to burrow under the covers, and ripped them off his bed before he could get a hold on them.
“I am through asking,” she said, balling up the blankets and throwing them on the floor. She went to his closet and pulled out the suit she had bought for him to wear. “You are eleven years old, which is about five years too old to be acting like this.”
It had been like this all week, since the day two detectives from Tom’s precinct had shown up at her house, faces grave. Jacob had been there, in the living room with her. They’d both known what had happened before either of the two men told them a thing.
She turned to her son, who was curled up in bed and glaring at her. She tossed the suit down on the bed next to him.
“Get dressed,” she spat.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“You want to wear your pajamas to your dad’s funeral?”
One week was all it took to unravel the life she’d made. Her husband was dead, her son was suddenly a distant, angry stranger, and what did she care about her work when those two pillars that supported her had crumbled?
“I don’t want to go!” Jacob shouted.
“Not going won’t make him not dead!” she shouted back.
“I don’t care! I’m not going!” he screamed, and he took the suit and threw it on the floor next to the blankets.
Where it exploded in a shower of ashes.
There was a long, silent vacuum of a moment. Janice could have sworn that all the air in the room had gone.
Very carefully, as though her bones might break, she bent down and touched the black dust on the floor. It was greasy, almost like graphite, and stuck to her fingers. Staining them.
“Mom?” Jacob asked.
She turned back to him. "How did you do that?"
He had no answer for her. He looked like a little boy again, guilty and frightened.
It was all too much. Janice rubbed her fingers against her thighs, trying to get the black dust off.
“Get dressed,” she said. “You can wear whatever you want, so long as it’s clean. We’ll talk about this later.”
She left the room quickly, and went into the bathroom to wash her hands.
***
They went to Abalone Cove for the (thankfully short) service. Jacob had dressed in a black t-shirt and a pair of cords, which he’d rolled up before walking out onto the sand. A priest from Tom’s mother’s church said a few words, droned a few prayers that failed to hold Janice’s attention for even a moment, and that was it. No big speeches or eulogies. She couldn’t go through with it.
And even though it went against tradition for officers killed in the line of duty, she’d refused a seven gun salute from the department. Considering her husband had been shot to death, it just didn’t seem appropriate. Or even sane.
She and Jacob walked barefoot into the surf to spread Tom’s ashes in the sea. They floated on the surface for a moment, then were gone in the next cresting wave.
The other mourners moved off, leaving Janice and her son with their feet in the water of the Pacific to pay their last respects.
Much as she hated it, much as she would have preferred to just collapse in the water under the weight of her grief, she needed to have a talk with her son. And if she didn’t have it now, she never would.
Their shoulders were less than a foot apart, but Janice had never felt so distant from her son. She hated it, but had no idea how to reach across the gap. She was stumbling in the dark, she felt, with no idea what was in front of her.
“What happened this morning…” she said slowly. She trailed off, having no idea what to say next.
“I’m sorry,” Jacob whispered. His voice was almost inaudible beneath the sound of the crashing waves. “I didn’t mean to.”
Janice nodded slowly. “Have you done that before?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jacob?” she said, in her I’m-your-mother-and-I-mean-business voice.
“Yeah. A couple times. Usually when I’m angry.”
That’s worrisome, Janice thought, and then almost laughed at herself for making such an understatement. Her own son could turn her to a pile of ash on the ground if he wanted. That was a little more than just worrisome. She was starting to wonder if she was cursed to keep having super-powered men in her life. First Matt, and now-
Oh. Matt. Oh, shit.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Jacob touched her arm. She’d only been startled, but that he thought she was scared to touch him was plain on his face. And who could blame him? She’d had just that thought a minute ago.
Janice resolutely wrapped her arms around Jacob’s skinny shoulders. This was her son, and damned if she was going to be frightened of him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Are you mad at me?” His shoulders were shaking. He was struggling not to cry.
“No, honey. I’m just a little overwhelmed is all.” She wiped tears from her own face. “It’s been a rough week, hasn’t it?”
She felt him nod, and then they were both crying, sobs shaking them to their knees in the surf.
It wasn’t until later that night that Janice finally got around to asking a question that had been gnawing at her. All the funeral guests and well-wishers had finally left; leftovers had been thrown out or put in the refrigerator, and she’d made both of them hot chocolate. Neither of them were really drinking it, but the familiar motions and smell of it all were reassuring.
“Is that all you can do?” she asked him. “Turn things into ash?”
“No. I can…” Jacob chewed at his lip for a moment. “It’d be easier to show you, I guess.”
He took the container salt from the cabinet and poured it into his hand. He closed his fingers over it and shut his eyes. A strange scent came into the air, a particular burning smell that Janice would never forget.
Jacob opened his eyes, and then his hands. The grains of salt had clumped together into a single, rough rock.
Janice cautiously took it from his hand. It was warm to the touch, and completely solid. “How did you do that?”
Jacob looked distinctly uncomfortable, shifting under her gaze. “I just kind of… I dunno. Made all the tiny pieces of salt fit together.”
“And when you did that, that other thing this morning?”
His brow furrowed. “I guess I made them all break apart.”
April 24, 2021
Abalone Cove Shoreline Park, CA
Before Dad’s funeral, they had come here a lot. Jacob had loved exploring the rocks and tidepools, and his Mom would play Frisbee with him on the beach.
They probably didn’t have tide pools in New York, Jacob thought to himself. Great. Every time he thought he knew how much his life sucked, something happened to make him realize that, No! It actually sucked a lot more!
As soon as they got to the sand, Jacob immediately bent down to take off the stiff-soled funeral shoes that had been forced on him that morning. He heard a few mutters from behind him, but what-the-hell-ever.
He looked behind him, and saw that the two people that had arrived with the Gay Ex Husband - Jacob didn’t want to call him Matt, and Mr. Parkman made them both sound like tools, so he’d decided to stick with what he knew - the dark skinned man and the tall girl, were both doing the same. G.E.H. was wearing a pair of black, old-school Converse. Jacob wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Everyone else left their shoes on.
Whatever. He wasn’t going to make anything of that. Instead, he amused himself by guessing how many people would be limping back to the parking lot, after trying to walk on the sand in high heels and dress shoes. He hoped a lot. He hoped all of them.
It was only April, and the winter rains had stuck around longer this year. Today had dawned cloudy, with rain in the morning. The sand was cool against Jacob’s toes as he dug them into the ground. Carrying the urn of ashes, he made his way forward, not caring (and maybe even hoping a little) that nobody would follow him.
They did, but they all mostly stopped at the tideline. Jacob kept walking until he was in the water, waves soaking the bottom of his pants.
August 3, 2018
Los Angeles, CA
She’d put it off for more than a week. Janice had plenty of excuses not to call Matt; ten years of long silences interspersed with mostly hostile conversations was the most prominent among them.
But she had questions, and she didn’t know anyone else who even had a chance of answering them. A week and a half of searching the internet for super powered humans had brought a lot tabloid articles, conspiracy theories, and blurry videos on Youtube, but no actual answers.
So that night, fortified with two glasses of wine and all her notes about what Jacob could do, she placed the call.
“Hello?” The voice that answered was warm and softly accented. It was Mohinder, the guy Matt had “shacked up with,” as Tom would say.
Grief pounced on her again for a moment, just long enough to catch her words in her throat. Jesus, she’d never get used to him being gone.
“Hello?” Suresh said again, worry in his tone.
“Hi, Mohinder,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s Janice.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. “Hi. How are you?”
He was always polite, but in such a stand-offish way. Like there were plenty of other things he could say about her, but didn’t because social niceties had to be observed. It had made her hate him a little. A lot of things made her hate Mohinder a little.
She was sure the feeling was mutual (she hoped the feeling was mutual), so she didn’t mind saying brusquely, “I’ve been better. Can I talk to Matt, please?”
There was a short sigh, and then he said, “Yes. Hold on a moment.”
A longer pause; she heard voices in the background, but they were too soft to make out the words. There was a crackle as Matt fumbled the phone (unfair that she should be able to picture him so clearly), and then his low voice was in her ear. “Hi Janice.”
“Hi Matt.”
“What’s up?”
Did he have to sound so resigned? Jesus. She was tempted to just hang up now. Instead, she said, “I wanted to talk to you. About people like you.”
“Oh. Um. I’m not sure I should really be talking over the phone about it.”
“Big Brother tapping your lines, Matt?” She was sure she had meant that to sound humorous instead of bitter. Really. Maybe those two glasses of wine hadn’t been a good idea.
“Janice, you know that-”
“What do you suggest instead?” she spat. “Want to meet for breakfast in Kansas tomorrow? That’s about halfway.”
A sigh. Disappointed sighs seemed to be contagious in their house.
“Tom’s dead,” she said suddenly. For the life of her, she didn’t know why. To shock him, maybe. She could see him so clearly, biting his lip and trying not to say all the things he wanted to. How had they ended so badly? How could two good people hate each other so much? And Matt was a good person, that was the worst part; a good man and a good father, and apparently a good husband if his ten years with Mohinder were anything to go by. Just not with her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He even sounded like he meant it. Which was a feat, considering that the last time he’d seen Tom, he’d broken his nose.
Her turn to sigh now. Widows had to be gracious. Social niceties and all that crap. “Thank you,” she said.
“Was he killed by… by someone like me? Is that why you called?”
On the other hand, fuck graciousness. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said, and hung up. She could find answers on her own.
She felt triumphant for about two minutes. Then she realized she had probably just burned her last and final bridge with Matt Parkman, and that this was nothing to celebrate.
She’d never felt so alone in her life.
In the next weeks and months, she’d try to call him again. She’d never get beyond dialing the area code for Brooklyn before setting the phone back in it’s cradle. Too much had been said, or not enough, for them to really be able to talk again.
Instead, on a night when the sight of Jacob asleep and safe in his bed didn’t bring its usual peace, she opened a notebook and wrote the letter.
April 24, 2021
Abalone Cove Shoreline Park, CA
He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t draw this out. Just dump it and leave. But Jacob still found himself opening the urn slowly and looking in for a long minute.
He could see his entire life, every memory of his short thirteen years, in this small, brass jar. This was all that was left.
He tipped the urn on its side, and his mother’s ashes slowly poured out onto the surface of the water.
He stood, watching the waves come in and go out, taking her with them. He felt their pull as well. How easy would it be, he wondered idly, to just follow her out there?
“Hey.”
The voice startled him. Jacob turned to find The Gay Ex Husband behind him. He wondered how long he’d been standing there. He saw that most of the other mourners were walking back to the parking lot. The two people that came with him (he didn’t remember their names, only that they both started with the letter m, which was the cheesiest thing he’d ever heard) were sitting in the sand watching them.
“What?” Jacob said, crossing his arms over his chest. He so didn’t want to hear someone else tell him that his mom was watching him from Heaven, and that he’d see her again someday and all that bullshit.
Go away, he thought resolutely.
G.E.H. seemed to flinch a little, though Jacob didn’t see why. He seemed flustered for a minute, but then recovered.
“I just wanted to tell you that you’re not alone. I know it feels like it, and that you don’t know me or trust me. But we are here for you.”
Jacob was too shocked to say anything for a moment. The other man’s earnestness completely threw him for a loop.
Then he thought, What a joke. Ha fucking ha.
Aloud, Jacob said, “Why did Mom ask you to take me in when she died? I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. She hardly ever even talked about you.”
“I know,” he said. “The whole thing is kind of… complicated.”
“Oh yeah?” Jacob said. “Enlighten me.”
“Fine,” he said. “On one condition. Stop referring to me as The Gay Ex-Husband. My name is Matt.”
Jacob blushed, a little. “I only said that once.”
“You’ve been calling me that all morning.”
“I have not!”
Not out loud, maybe.
At first, he thought Matt said it aloud. But his lips hadn’t moved, and Jacob realized he hadn’t heard the words with his ears. They had been inside his head. But the thought (if it was a thought) wasn’t his. He knew it instinctively.
“What the hell?”
Matt looked at him. “Your mom told me that you were special. That you had an ability.”
Jacob was immediately conscious of the self-made crystal sitting in his front pocket. “She did? Why would she do that?” Secrecy was a lesson he'd had pounded into his head over the last two and a half years. Why would Mom tell this guy, of all friggin people?
“You could say that…” That I’ve got experience in these kinds of things.
Next Chapter: Distractions
Fandom: Heroes (Future, AU-ish)
Characters: Janice, Jacob, Matt, Mohinder
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: If I owned Heroes, I probably would be getting laid a lot more often. Thank god there's fantasy fanfic. It all belongs to Kring and NBC.
Summary:That’s worrisome, Janice thought, and then almost laughed at herself for making such an understatement.
A/N: The shifting POV is back! Hopefully it works.
Previous Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four
Chapter Five: Ashes
July 22, 2018
Los Angeles, CA
“Jacob, get your butt out of bed! I’m not going to ask you again,” Janice shouted through her son’s door.
“Yes, you will,” came the sullen answer. “You always do.”
Janice wanted to slam her head against the door. Instead, she twisted the knob and threw it open. She heard Jacob scrambling to burrow under the covers, and ripped them off his bed before he could get a hold on them.
“I am through asking,” she said, balling up the blankets and throwing them on the floor. She went to his closet and pulled out the suit she had bought for him to wear. “You are eleven years old, which is about five years too old to be acting like this.”
It had been like this all week, since the day two detectives from Tom’s precinct had shown up at her house, faces grave. Jacob had been there, in the living room with her. They’d both known what had happened before either of the two men told them a thing.
She turned to her son, who was curled up in bed and glaring at her. She tossed the suit down on the bed next to him.
“Get dressed,” she spat.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“You want to wear your pajamas to your dad’s funeral?”
One week was all it took to unravel the life she’d made. Her husband was dead, her son was suddenly a distant, angry stranger, and what did she care about her work when those two pillars that supported her had crumbled?
“I don’t want to go!” Jacob shouted.
“Not going won’t make him not dead!” she shouted back.
“I don’t care! I’m not going!” he screamed, and he took the suit and threw it on the floor next to the blankets.
Where it exploded in a shower of ashes.
There was a long, silent vacuum of a moment. Janice could have sworn that all the air in the room had gone.
Very carefully, as though her bones might break, she bent down and touched the black dust on the floor. It was greasy, almost like graphite, and stuck to her fingers. Staining them.
“Mom?” Jacob asked.
She turned back to him. "How did you do that?"
He had no answer for her. He looked like a little boy again, guilty and frightened.
It was all too much. Janice rubbed her fingers against her thighs, trying to get the black dust off.
“Get dressed,” she said. “You can wear whatever you want, so long as it’s clean. We’ll talk about this later.”
She left the room quickly, and went into the bathroom to wash her hands.
***
They went to Abalone Cove for the (thankfully short) service. Jacob had dressed in a black t-shirt and a pair of cords, which he’d rolled up before walking out onto the sand. A priest from Tom’s mother’s church said a few words, droned a few prayers that failed to hold Janice’s attention for even a moment, and that was it. No big speeches or eulogies. She couldn’t go through with it.
And even though it went against tradition for officers killed in the line of duty, she’d refused a seven gun salute from the department. Considering her husband had been shot to death, it just didn’t seem appropriate. Or even sane.
She and Jacob walked barefoot into the surf to spread Tom’s ashes in the sea. They floated on the surface for a moment, then were gone in the next cresting wave.
The other mourners moved off, leaving Janice and her son with their feet in the water of the Pacific to pay their last respects.
Much as she hated it, much as she would have preferred to just collapse in the water under the weight of her grief, she needed to have a talk with her son. And if she didn’t have it now, she never would.
Their shoulders were less than a foot apart, but Janice had never felt so distant from her son. She hated it, but had no idea how to reach across the gap. She was stumbling in the dark, she felt, with no idea what was in front of her.
“What happened this morning…” she said slowly. She trailed off, having no idea what to say next.
“I’m sorry,” Jacob whispered. His voice was almost inaudible beneath the sound of the crashing waves. “I didn’t mean to.”
Janice nodded slowly. “Have you done that before?”
He didn’t answer.
“Jacob?” she said, in her I’m-your-mother-and-I-mean-business voice.
“Yeah. A couple times. Usually when I’m angry.”
That’s worrisome, Janice thought, and then almost laughed at herself for making such an understatement. Her own son could turn her to a pile of ash on the ground if he wanted. That was a little more than just worrisome. She was starting to wonder if she was cursed to keep having super-powered men in her life. First Matt, and now-
Oh. Matt. Oh, shit.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Jacob touched her arm. She’d only been startled, but that he thought she was scared to touch him was plain on his face. And who could blame him? She’d had just that thought a minute ago.
Janice resolutely wrapped her arms around Jacob’s skinny shoulders. This was her son, and damned if she was going to be frightened of him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Are you mad at me?” His shoulders were shaking. He was struggling not to cry.
“No, honey. I’m just a little overwhelmed is all.” She wiped tears from her own face. “It’s been a rough week, hasn’t it?”
She felt him nod, and then they were both crying, sobs shaking them to their knees in the surf.
It wasn’t until later that night that Janice finally got around to asking a question that had been gnawing at her. All the funeral guests and well-wishers had finally left; leftovers had been thrown out or put in the refrigerator, and she’d made both of them hot chocolate. Neither of them were really drinking it, but the familiar motions and smell of it all were reassuring.
“Is that all you can do?” she asked him. “Turn things into ash?”
“No. I can…” Jacob chewed at his lip for a moment. “It’d be easier to show you, I guess.”
He took the container salt from the cabinet and poured it into his hand. He closed his fingers over it and shut his eyes. A strange scent came into the air, a particular burning smell that Janice would never forget.
Jacob opened his eyes, and then his hands. The grains of salt had clumped together into a single, rough rock.
Janice cautiously took it from his hand. It was warm to the touch, and completely solid. “How did you do that?”
Jacob looked distinctly uncomfortable, shifting under her gaze. “I just kind of… I dunno. Made all the tiny pieces of salt fit together.”
“And when you did that, that other thing this morning?”
His brow furrowed. “I guess I made them all break apart.”
April 24, 2021
Abalone Cove Shoreline Park, CA
Before Dad’s funeral, they had come here a lot. Jacob had loved exploring the rocks and tidepools, and his Mom would play Frisbee with him on the beach.
They probably didn’t have tide pools in New York, Jacob thought to himself. Great. Every time he thought he knew how much his life sucked, something happened to make him realize that, No! It actually sucked a lot more!
As soon as they got to the sand, Jacob immediately bent down to take off the stiff-soled funeral shoes that had been forced on him that morning. He heard a few mutters from behind him, but what-the-hell-ever.
He looked behind him, and saw that the two people that had arrived with the Gay Ex Husband - Jacob didn’t want to call him Matt, and Mr. Parkman made them both sound like tools, so he’d decided to stick with what he knew - the dark skinned man and the tall girl, were both doing the same. G.E.H. was wearing a pair of black, old-school Converse. Jacob wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Everyone else left their shoes on.
Whatever. He wasn’t going to make anything of that. Instead, he amused himself by guessing how many people would be limping back to the parking lot, after trying to walk on the sand in high heels and dress shoes. He hoped a lot. He hoped all of them.
It was only April, and the winter rains had stuck around longer this year. Today had dawned cloudy, with rain in the morning. The sand was cool against Jacob’s toes as he dug them into the ground. Carrying the urn of ashes, he made his way forward, not caring (and maybe even hoping a little) that nobody would follow him.
They did, but they all mostly stopped at the tideline. Jacob kept walking until he was in the water, waves soaking the bottom of his pants.
August 3, 2018
Los Angeles, CA
She’d put it off for more than a week. Janice had plenty of excuses not to call Matt; ten years of long silences interspersed with mostly hostile conversations was the most prominent among them.
But she had questions, and she didn’t know anyone else who even had a chance of answering them. A week and a half of searching the internet for super powered humans had brought a lot tabloid articles, conspiracy theories, and blurry videos on Youtube, but no actual answers.
So that night, fortified with two glasses of wine and all her notes about what Jacob could do, she placed the call.
“Hello?” The voice that answered was warm and softly accented. It was Mohinder, the guy Matt had “shacked up with,” as Tom would say.
Grief pounced on her again for a moment, just long enough to catch her words in her throat. Jesus, she’d never get used to him being gone.
“Hello?” Suresh said again, worry in his tone.
“Hi, Mohinder,” she said, clearing her throat. “It’s Janice.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. “Hi. How are you?”
He was always polite, but in such a stand-offish way. Like there were plenty of other things he could say about her, but didn’t because social niceties had to be observed. It had made her hate him a little. A lot of things made her hate Mohinder a little.
She was sure the feeling was mutual (she hoped the feeling was mutual), so she didn’t mind saying brusquely, “I’ve been better. Can I talk to Matt, please?”
There was a short sigh, and then he said, “Yes. Hold on a moment.”
A longer pause; she heard voices in the background, but they were too soft to make out the words. There was a crackle as Matt fumbled the phone (unfair that she should be able to picture him so clearly), and then his low voice was in her ear. “Hi Janice.”
“Hi Matt.”
“What’s up?”
Did he have to sound so resigned? Jesus. She was tempted to just hang up now. Instead, she said, “I wanted to talk to you. About people like you.”
“Oh. Um. I’m not sure I should really be talking over the phone about it.”
“Big Brother tapping your lines, Matt?” She was sure she had meant that to sound humorous instead of bitter. Really. Maybe those two glasses of wine hadn’t been a good idea.
“Janice, you know that-”
“What do you suggest instead?” she spat. “Want to meet for breakfast in Kansas tomorrow? That’s about halfway.”
A sigh. Disappointed sighs seemed to be contagious in their house.
“Tom’s dead,” she said suddenly. For the life of her, she didn’t know why. To shock him, maybe. She could see him so clearly, biting his lip and trying not to say all the things he wanted to. How had they ended so badly? How could two good people hate each other so much? And Matt was a good person, that was the worst part; a good man and a good father, and apparently a good husband if his ten years with Mohinder were anything to go by. Just not with her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He even sounded like he meant it. Which was a feat, considering that the last time he’d seen Tom, he’d broken his nose.
Her turn to sigh now. Widows had to be gracious. Social niceties and all that crap. “Thank you,” she said.
“Was he killed by… by someone like me? Is that why you called?”
On the other hand, fuck graciousness. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said, and hung up. She could find answers on her own.
She felt triumphant for about two minutes. Then she realized she had probably just burned her last and final bridge with Matt Parkman, and that this was nothing to celebrate.
She’d never felt so alone in her life.
In the next weeks and months, she’d try to call him again. She’d never get beyond dialing the area code for Brooklyn before setting the phone back in it’s cradle. Too much had been said, or not enough, for them to really be able to talk again.
Instead, on a night when the sight of Jacob asleep and safe in his bed didn’t bring its usual peace, she opened a notebook and wrote the letter.
April 24, 2021
Abalone Cove Shoreline Park, CA
He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t draw this out. Just dump it and leave. But Jacob still found himself opening the urn slowly and looking in for a long minute.
He could see his entire life, every memory of his short thirteen years, in this small, brass jar. This was all that was left.
He tipped the urn on its side, and his mother’s ashes slowly poured out onto the surface of the water.
He stood, watching the waves come in and go out, taking her with them. He felt their pull as well. How easy would it be, he wondered idly, to just follow her out there?
“Hey.”
The voice startled him. Jacob turned to find The Gay Ex Husband behind him. He wondered how long he’d been standing there. He saw that most of the other mourners were walking back to the parking lot. The two people that came with him (he didn’t remember their names, only that they both started with the letter m, which was the cheesiest thing he’d ever heard) were sitting in the sand watching them.
“What?” Jacob said, crossing his arms over his chest. He so didn’t want to hear someone else tell him that his mom was watching him from Heaven, and that he’d see her again someday and all that bullshit.
Go away, he thought resolutely.
G.E.H. seemed to flinch a little, though Jacob didn’t see why. He seemed flustered for a minute, but then recovered.
“I just wanted to tell you that you’re not alone. I know it feels like it, and that you don’t know me or trust me. But we are here for you.”
Jacob was too shocked to say anything for a moment. The other man’s earnestness completely threw him for a loop.
Then he thought, What a joke. Ha fucking ha.
Aloud, Jacob said, “Why did Mom ask you to take me in when she died? I don’t know you. I’ve never met you. She hardly ever even talked about you.”
“I know,” he said. “The whole thing is kind of… complicated.”
“Oh yeah?” Jacob said. “Enlighten me.”
“Fine,” he said. “On one condition. Stop referring to me as The Gay Ex-Husband. My name is Matt.”
Jacob blushed, a little. “I only said that once.”
“You’ve been calling me that all morning.”
“I have not!”
Not out loud, maybe.
At first, he thought Matt said it aloud. But his lips hadn’t moved, and Jacob realized he hadn’t heard the words with his ears. They had been inside his head. But the thought (if it was a thought) wasn’t his. He knew it instinctively.
“What the hell?”
Matt looked at him. “Your mom told me that you were special. That you had an ability.”
Jacob was immediately conscious of the self-made crystal sitting in his front pocket. “She did? Why would she do that?” Secrecy was a lesson he'd had pounded into his head over the last two and a half years. Why would Mom tell this guy, of all friggin people?
“You could say that…” That I’ve got experience in these kinds of things.
Next Chapter: Distractions