Лорел Гамильтон - Strange Candy

He fidgeted, glanced away, and knew that it wasn’t his eyes she could read. He laughed, abrupt and harsh. “No, I’m not well. It’s none of your damn business what’s wrong, Dr. Cooper. Let’s get back to Lisbeth. You’re here to save her, not me.”

“Could I save you?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Bromley.” And Jasmine realized she really was sorry. She didn’t want to be sorry for him, to feel anything but hatred and contempt, and fear. Not sorrow, not for Dr. Bromley.

“Tell me what you think about Lisbeth Pearson.”

“I don’t think anything yet. I want to talk to her alone.” Jasmine smiled. “As alone as this place allows.” “We have to monitor the children. It’s part of the project.”

“I remember the arguments, Dr. Bromley.”

LISBETH was placing tiny gilt-edged chairs around a miniature dining room table when Jasmine entered. The child ignored her and continued to rearrange the furniture. She seemed completely absorbed in the task, but Jasmine felt the child’s interest, her power, glide over her skin like a cold breeze.

“My name is Jasmine.”

Lisbeth looked up at that, one small hand cradling a flower arrangement. “I’ve never met anyone named Jasmine before.”

“And I’ve never met anyone named Lisbeth before.”

The child grinned, perfect lips, eyes sparkling. “No, you’ve never met anyone like me.”

Jasmine looked into those brown-amber eyes, shining with humor, and felt the threat. The words were subtle; the power that emanated from the child was not.

The power climbed over Jasmine’s skin, raising the hair on her body, like insects crawling, or a faint buzz of electric current. You could breathe in Lisbeth’s power, choke on it.

The child smiled, even white teeth flashing, but her eyes didn’t sparkle anymore. Games were over; Lisbeth didn’t have to pretend to be “normal,” so she didn’t try. Jasmine stared into her eyes and found—nothing. Inside her head was a great roaring silence.

Jasmine had never met a sociopath at such a tender age. She knew that they were born broken, but to feel it, to feel that emptiness stretching inside this lovely little girl, to feel the void.. .was the most frightening thing she had ever felt.

The child laughed, sweet and joyful. “You’re afraid of me, just like all the others.”

Fear meant control. It meant Jasmine was controllable, so Lisbeth lowered her defenses; she allowed Jasmine to glimpse what was there. Or what wasn’t.

Jasmine’s power eased through the girl, along her mind, and found other things missing. She was an empath; no empath could be a sociopath and bring harm to people, because they would feel that pain as their own. Unless they couldn’t feel anyone’s pain but their own.

Lisbeth was blind to positive emotions; she could only absorb the negative. As far as she was concerned, she alone felt joy, happiness, love. Everyone else was full of hate, fear, shame, or nothing. It was an empath’s version of hell. And the child had never known anything else.

The curling auburn hair had little pink barrettes that picked up the small pink design in the dress. Perfectly matched. Perfect. If she hadn’t been a psychic, Lisbeth Pearson would have been the perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect worker, or wife, or mother, until the day that she broke. The day that The Monster came out.

But The Monster was too close to the surface in Lisbeth; there was almost nothing else left.

The child had gone back to her dollhouse, ignoring Jasmine. She no longer considered her a threat.

Dr. Jasmine Cooper turned abruptly on her heel and walked out; the sound of her high heels was loud and echoing. She leaned against the door trying to breathe. She was shivering uncontrollably, fear

soaking like frost into her bones. Jasmine tried to gain control of herself and knew that Lisbeth felt her falling to pieces. Knew that a closed door was no barrier at all.

An echo of the child’s joy filtered through Jasmine’s nerves like distant, mocking laughter.

JASMINE entered Bromley’s office all cool professionalism. No seams showed; she had swallowed the fear whole. Years of practice.

Dr. Bromley was sitting behind his paper-strewn desk when Jasmine entered. His eyes looked tired, wary. “Well?”

“Just being in the room with her raises the hairs on my arms. You don’t have to be an empath to know that.”

“She’s evil,” he said.

“If you’ve already made up your mind, Dr. Bromley, why did you bring me here?”

He stared at her, without saying anything.

“You want me to save her.”

He nodded once up, once down.

“Do you know what she is?”

He rubbed his fingertips over his eyes. “She’s a sociopath. She’s an empath that can only feel negative emotions.”

Jasmine didn’t try to keep the surprise off her face. “If you know, why is she still alive?”

“Because, Dr. Cooper, I’m tired of killing children. So many of them come through with talents we can’t begin to understand. They can do things that make Lisbeth look safe. But most of the time we just don’t understand them enough to help them. We destroy them because we don’t know what else to do. But Lisbeth is like you were, in some ways; I hoped you could help her, understand her. Keep her alive.”

“And if I can’t help her? If I think she’s too dangerous?”

He shrugged. “I fill out a form, submit it to my superiors, and in a month she’ll be dead.”

“Just like that,” Jasmine said.

“Just like that,” he said.

She stared at the doctor, tried to feel what he felt. Sorrow, an almost unending sorrow. The school had eaten him alive, just as it had the children. There was nothing lef tof him but sadness, fear, and a dogged sense of duty. A fragile wish for hope, for meaning. He was looking for peace.

“I can’t give you absolution, Bromley.”

He flinched. “Is that what I want?”

Jasmine nodded. “You’re wondering if you played God, or were just a murderer.”

He gave a weak laugh. “You are merciless.”

“I had good teachers.”

He nodded. “All right, no absolution for me. Can you save this child?”

Jasmine knew she should say, “Kill her.” Lisbeth Pearson was too dangerous for words. But she looked into Bromley’s tired, sick eyes, and said, “Maybe.”

JASMINE was walking to her room, down the familiar empty corridors. No matter how many children were in the school, there were never people in the hallways. Always there was the feeling of abandonment, emptiness. She walked the halls alone, tracked by the blinking red lights of cameras.

A woman came from around the corner; long yellow hair swept nearly to her knees. She had the height for the hair, slender and graceful. The face was dominated by pale blue eyes. Jasmine stopped and waited for the woman to come to her. A feeling of horrible deja vu swept over her. An almost claustrophobic sense of time spinning backward. “Vanessa?” It came out a question, though it wasn’t meant to be.

The woman smiled, and held out her hands. “Jasmine, it is you.” Vanessa hugged her tight, and Jasmine fought the urge to pull away. She relaxed into the arms of her best friend from childhood, and one of the most powerful telepaths the school had ever had.

When she could, Jasmine pulled back, and said, “Are you visiting?”

Vanessa turned away. She hid her eyes, and her mind was as tight and closed as a locked door. She stepped back from Jasmine. “No, I’m an instructor.” Her voice made it bright, cheerful.

“An instructor. For how long?”

“Since high school.”

“You went away to college, just like I did. We rode to the airport together.” Jasmine felt panic like a cold weight at the pit of her gut.