Revelations. Part 21

He managed a smile. "A real promise."

"I promise," I said. "A real promise."

He nodded.

With as much care as I could muster- which is a lot to say for a cold-blooded killer like myself- I rolled up the leg of his pants to get a better look at the damage done to his knee and have immediate contact with his skin. His knee was a ma.s.s of inflamed flesh and purple to black bruising. The whole d.a.m.n thing was off kilter and sent a chill up my spine.

"Geez," I muttered.

"That's disgusting," Starch said, moving in for a closer look.

I raised an eyebrow at the firestarter, but he only lifted his empty palms in a shrug. Jonas grimaced when I put my hands on his leg, above the mess that used to be a knee. With one last look at his beloved face, I closed my eyes and went to work. I'll tell ya, it was a lot of work. How he was able to walk at all on a shattered bunch of bone was beyond me, but Jonas has a lot of strength, both mental and physical. I couldn't put anything past him.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, I placed the bones of his knee back into place. It was a short process, time wise, but in my head it felt like hours. I can't describe everything in detail, I only can say it was like putting together a many pieced puzzle. It was hard to keep myself above dark waters. I did it. I managed. When the knee healed and the bruised and swollen flesh returned to its normal state-along with the state of his left arm which actually was an accident, I swear-I took my hands off his scaled skin. I got one good look at Jonas's concerned face before I felt Starch's arms around me, and I retreated into the usual darkness.

Chapter Fifty-One.

When I woke, I was on the couch, my head pillowed on my arm. I rubbed my eyes with my free hand and sat up. Aside from a heavy head and a slight headache, I was pretty much okay. Starch came into the room carrying a beer and Philip trailed behind him.

"Hey, you're back," Starch said to me. "Want a beer?"

I shook my head.

"Are you all right?" Philip asked.

I nodded. "Where's Jonas?"

"Bathtub," Starch said.

I once again nodded. Daysaor was it weeks? I was still unsure-locked in a filthy cell would make anyone want to be clean. "Is he okay?"

"As okay as can be expected, considering," Starch said. "He's been beat pretty bad."

"I know," I said. I swallowed the inevitable lump in my throat. I'd seen him in that cell. I knew what had been done to him.

Philip seemed to read my mind, and probably did to the degree he was able. "You should go check up on him," he said.

I gave him a knowing and thankful smile and went down the hall to the bathroom.

I opened the door, not bothering to knock, and let myself in, closing it behind me. Jonas was in the tub with the shower curtain open. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest. His cheek rested on his knees. His eyes were closed, but he didn't need to see me to know I was in the room. Jonas would always know when I was near, even if he went completely deaf and blind.

"Just wanted to get rid of the prison dirt," he said without lifting his head. "You know?"

"I know," I said, sitting myself down on the closed toilet seat- as if I would have sat on an open toilet seat.... I touched his cheek with the back of my hand.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I don't think I felt this sick even after that b.i.t.c.h, Hermione poisoned me."

"Sorry, love," I whispered.

"Don't be sorry," he said. "Especially when it concerns her." Then he slowly opened his amber eyes. "Are you always sorry?"

I nodded, sad.

"You shouldn't be," he told me. "You saved my life, love. You saved Starch. The Commune wasn't your fault." Then he paused. A moment later he said, "Nothing I say will ever change the way you feel, will it?"

I shook my head. We sat in silence for a moment, his amber eyes on my face and my green ones on the floor. After the moment pa.s.sed, I rose and sat on the edge of the tub. Using a soft body sponge probably belonging to Tracy, Philip's estranged wife, I began cleaning his wounds as best I could. I dunked the sponge in the lukewarm water and ran it as gently as possible over the gouges in his back left by a knotted whip. I went over the bruises, the cuts and the swollen flesh. I got a much better look at his injuries as I did this and my hands got a better sense of what had been done to him.

It broke my heart, knowing my cowardice led to the damage.

My heart broke even more because I knew I could take it all away.

As I washed his battered body, he kept his head resting on his knees so I couldn't see what was done to his chest. I could see the huge bruise on his side where someone struck him hard enough to break a few ribs. The internal damage wasn't too bad, just one decent fracture and a couple hairlines, but they were enough to make it hard for him to breathe. Jonas was taking shallow breaths I hadn't noticed before.

"I'm going to blow that place straight to h.e.l.l," I muttered.

"What?"

I glanced at his face. "Just thinking out loud," I said.

"Well, I'm with you on that," he said.

He finally moved from his position, stretching out his legs and straightening his back. He groaned quietly as he took a breath, but I said nothing. I'd made a promise I wasn't about to break. His s.h.i.+fting gave me a good view of his chest, where more lines from a whip crisscrossed his skin.

Jonas caught me looking. "I'll live," he said to me as I held out my arms to help him stand. When he was on his feet, I grabbed him a towel, which I used to dry him off. He stepped out of the tub, catching my eye. "I'm fine. I just don't feel very well, that's all."

I watched him wrap the towel around his waist. He dripped slightly on the carpet for only a few seconds after speaking before sitting down heavily on the lid of the toilet. He dropped his head into his hands, and I knelt on the floor before him. I put one hand on his knee and the other I used to move his hands from his fevered face.

"I swear I'm okay," he said carefully. "I'm trying really hard not to throw up. Hurts my ribs too much."

"I can fix that," I said.

His eyes rose to meet mine, and I knew what he was thinking without reading him.

"Your stomach. I can fix that without a problem." With my hand still on his knee, my mind went straight to work. I didn't even give him time to protest, which he would have given the time. A brief moment later, I blinked and came back to reality. "See?" I said, feeling fine. "No problem. Feel better?"

Jonas echoed my blink. "Yeah," he said, somewhat surprised. "I do."

I stood and offered him my hand. "Let's get you to bed," I said. "You need to rest."

Jonas nodded and followed me out of the bathroom and down the hall to the guest bedroom I was already familiar with. Philip had been kind enough to find some clothes large enough to fit Jonas, and, with my help, he put on the sweatpants and the s.h.i.+rt. He lay down on the bed an instant later.

I sat at the foot of the bed, my legs crossed beneath me in a very familiar position to anyone who knew me. I leaned over, put my elbows on my knees, and put my chin in my hands.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his eyes now closed.

"About how we got to this point," I said. "And about how much in love with you I am."

He smiled. "Have I ever told you that I love you?" he asked.

"Once or twice," I answered, echoing his smile.

"Were you serious about being able to put me to sleep?"

"Yes," I said. "That I can do."

"Will you do it now?"

Without another word, I put my hands on his bare feet. I drifted up into his mind, and he was asleep in a second. I sent him down deep enough so not even a 9.0 earthquake would wake him. After making sure his dreams were pleasant ones- another thing my mind is capable of doing with ease- I got up and left him sleeping.

Chapter Fifty-Two.

In the living room, I was faced with three men, all of whom I loved to some degree or other. Starch was on the couch with a beer; not his first nor his second. Doc Daniels had just arrived and was talking to Philip but their conversation ceased upon seeing me.

"Is he okay?" Philip asked me instantly.

"He's pretty sick," I said. "But he's asleep."

"Can I examine him?" Michael asked.

I nodded. "I'm keeping him asleep, so don't expect him to wake up."

"I don't need him awake," Michael said.

"Thanks, Doc," I said, meaning it with everything I had.

Michael smiled and left the three of us alone.

"So what now?" a slightly drunk Starch asked.

"How many of those have you had?" I asked him, indicting the beer.

"Not enough," he muttered.

"He's had plenty," Philip said. "What's your a.s.sessment of Jonas's condition?"

It was such a grammatically correct statement that I laughed out loud for the first time in a long time. Philip raised an eyebrow, and I said, "I think Doc Daniels will know in a few moments."

"I want to know what you think," Philip said.

"He'll live," I said. "His body temperature is really high, and I think he'll be sick for a while. Weeks, maybe." I shuddered against the thought. "Jonas has little to no immune system. He never got sick out in the desert because there were no germs to catch. Except for what Hermione did to him, anyway."

"b.i.t.c.h," I heard Starch mutter.

I continued, mostly ignoring him but agreeing completely. "He's been whipped, burned. He was beaten with a baseball bat. That's what broke his knee, less than a day ago. He retreated deep into his mind after the first few beatings. He didn't even know me when I found him." I left out the part about him trying to strangle me, but I guess they'll know now, won't they? That'll lead to some questions. Then again, a lot of what I've written here will lead to questioning... anyway. "They would have eventually killed him." I pursed my lips, bit into the bottom one, and dropped my bomb.

"Do either of you know the name Arturo Holt?"

I'd never mentioned Holt to anyone but Jonas, who knew enough about my origins to hate Holt without having actually met him- though he'd definitely seen him in S-4. I kept Holt to myself, my own personal secret creator. I'd never delved into anyone's minds to find out if they knew him. I'd never wanted to know. Since seeing that man at S-4 waving at me as if he was just saying a friendly goodbye, I knew his involvement ran deep. Deeper than a single base in California where he experimented on me.

My questionaback to that, a whole paragraph agoawas met with silence and blank (and drunk) stares.

"Who is he?" Philip asked.

I sighed. "He made me. Holt is my creator. After my mother disappeared, he would take me from the orphanage. Every weekend until I left, Holt took me to his base in California. March Air Force Base. There, he did experiments on me, but I don't remember much because he erased my memory. I remember some of it. Enough, anyway. I know he tried to kill me because I was more powerful than he, and he was the most powerful being on the planet until I came along. He made me what I am. His experiments brought to light the powers I hold within my hands. And kept me more powerful than he was."

I looked down at my empty palms. My two hands could accomplish so much, given the chance. "The point is," I continued, "I saw Holt at S-4. He waved to me. But he let me walk out of there with Jonas. I need to know why."

Starch got up, swayed on his feet and downed the other half of his fourth beer. "Why do you always have to know why?" he asked, putting the bottle down hard on the coffee table, to which I saw Philip wince at the a.s.sault on his furniture. Starch staggered towards me and looked down at me from his six five height, a few inches taller than Jonas.

"I have to know the truth," I said quietly, looking up into his now hazy blue eyes. "I have to know why he let me go. And if I can, kill him."

Starch shook his head. "He let you guys go. Isn't that enough?"

I echoed his head shake. "It's never enough."

Philip stepped in, seeing Starch was only going to continue to argue with me. "What are your plans?" he asked.

"I'm going to blow them sky high," I said. "S-4. Cannon. Every place I can get to. I'm going to destroy them all. If I can." I turned and looked deep into Starch's baby blues. "And I'm expecting you to help me."

Starch knew what I wanted. He knew without asking. Angry and afraid of the powers he held within himself, Starch stormed out of the room. I heard him open the fridge, knew he pulled out yet another beer, and he went outside onto the porch, slamming the front door behind him. I let him. I'd bring him around in time.

To Philip, I said, "He'll be okay."

Philip only nodded. Then Michael came out of the bedroom, and that was the end of that.

Chapter Fifty-Three.

Michael's a.s.sessment-to use Philip's choice of words-of Jonas's condition was the same as mine. Jonas had been severely tortured. He suffered from uncountable injuries, but he would heal. He was also severely ill, though he would get over that, given ample time to rest. Michael was worried, but optimistic. He was very...well...doctor-like.

Afterwards, Philip knew I wanted to talk to Starch alone. He and Michael went out into the backyard to have a few beers of their own. Starch was still out on the front porch and still glowering. I like that word a glowering. Despite his still welling anger, I went out to him.