Jay Posey - Three

“Can you check, make sure his signal didn’t slip?”

She nodded and followed her son out. Once they were gone, Three returned to Jackson’s side and crouched. Whatever the boy had done didn’t seem to be external. There were no obvious bruises or even scratches. Jackson’s leg position suggested he had been bedside and fallen slightly backwards, but mostly straight down. More than anything, it looked as though he had simply collapsed where he stood. Whatever Jackson had done had made Wren feel threatened, that much was certain. Beyond that, Three was at a loss. He looked into Jackson’s staring eyes. Poor kid, to have survived the Weir only to be dropped by a harmless looking five year-old. He reached out and shut Jackson’s eyes. At least he’d be at rest now. Finally.

Three ran his hand over his own head, over his stubbled face, pinched the bridge of his nose. One less person to worry about. But troubling questions to answer. Was it even safe to travel with the boy now? He exhaled loudly, stood to his feet. Dropped his neck to one side to crack it. Froze.

On the floor below him, Jackson’s eyes had opened again.

Back in the Commons, Cass dabbed Wren’s tiny hand with a medpatch, watched the foam seep into the wound, cleansing and sealing it. Wren winced at the sting, but held as still as he could. Neither had spoken since they’d left the room. They both stared intently at the hand until the tiny scouring bubbles had all but died away.

“There,” Cass said. “OK now?”

Wren wiggled his fingers, closed his hand into a fist.

“It’s cold. And tingly.”

“That means it’s working, sweetheart.”

The questions were eating her up inside, but she didn’t want to push him if he wasn’t ready to talk. From what she could tell, Wren wasn’t hurt at all. Scared maybe, but mostly, she could see now, frustrated. His mind was at work, replaying the events, trying to understand what exactly had happened and not being able to piece it together. He stared absently at his hand.

“How about something to drink?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“For what, baby?”

“I killed that man, didn’t I? I killed Jackson?”

Cass put her hand along her son’s cheek, felt it warm, soft.

“I think so.”

“He was real nice to me.”

She was dying to know what had happened, but just leaned forward, kissed his forehead, put her head to his.

“He was nice to all of us, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean he was good.”

“He was good, Mama,” Wren answered. “It was the other ones I didn’t like.”

Jackson’s eyes swam, focused, shifted to Three. And in the next instant, Three was on him, blade in hand, opposite forearm across Jackson’s collarbone, pinning him to the ground. Jackson squirmed weakly under Three’s weight.

“Wait wait wait, it’s OK, I’m alright!”

“Not necessarily.”

“C’mon, you’re chokin’ me here!”

“What did you do?”

“ Me? Ask the kid!”

Three shifted his forearm upwards, where Jackson’s neck met his shoulder. Nerves pinched, blood-flow halted.

“Gah! Get… get off, I’ll explain!”

Three raised up, grabbed a handful of Jackson’s shirt, and hauled him up on to the bed. He didn’t sheathe the blade.

Jackson sat for a moment, rubbing his neck, working his shoulder, swinging his leg. He glanced around like it was the first time he was seeing the room. Pupils dilated. Movement stopped.

“What’re we doin’ here?”

“You tell me.”

“Why’d you bring me here? ”

“I didn’t. This is where we found you. This is where you brought Wren.”

Jackson shook his head in disbelief. Then settled back, as if remembering.

“Not me. Whit.”

Three had no idea who Whit was, but nothing about the way the kid said it suggested he was lying. He was telling the truth. Or at least what he believed was true.

“This is Whit’s old room.”

“He still around?”

Jackson chuckled humorlessly. “No. Not anymore.”

There was more to the words than Three understood. He waited, knowing the silence was more likely to get answers than any questions he asked.

“That kid… Wren. What is he?”

“How do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Jackson said with a shrug, shaking his head. “He… something he did. He fixed me.”

“What ‘others’, sweetheart?”

“It wasn’t just him. I mean Jackson was the only one, but there were others. Inside. I think they wanted to hurt us.”

“And they tried? To hurt you?”

“He was right there, when I woke up. Standing there with a pillow. But he felt wrong, Mama. There was something wrong with him. I didn’t want to hurt him . I just wanted the others to go away.”

Wren was starting to get upset again, reliving whatever terror Jackson had put him through. Cass picked him up, pulled him into her lap, rested his head on her chest.

“It’s not your fault, Wren. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He sniffled. Crying, though she could tell he was fighting it. Trying to be brave.

“It’s alright, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“Then why does it keep happening?”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ you,” Jackson said. “They’re gone. The kid did something to me, and they’re all gone.”

Three sheathed his blade, and dropped into the only chair in the room. As far as he could tell, Jackson was telling the truth. Whatever Wren had done had actually been a good thing, hard as it was to believe. Three looked at Jackson, still sitting awkwardly on the bed. Afraid to move too much for fear of what Three might do.

“Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“So you believe me?” Jackson asked, shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Doesn’t make sense. But nothing has, since I met those two.”

Jackson scooted back up the bed, rested his back against the headboard, pulled his feet up under him cross-legged. He placed his hands in his lap, then picked them up again. Looked them over.

“I’m in bad shape, yeah?”

“You could use a bath, sure. We gonna be OK to stay here tonight?”

Down here, underground, with all the activity, Three realized he was losing sense of time. But he guessed there wouldn’t be time enough to pack up and get to a wayhouse in the light they had left.

“Yeah, of course. You can stay as long as you like.”

“Doubt that,” Three said, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go check on the girl and her kid. Why don’t you take some time, get cleaned up. Gimme a chance to…”

He wasn’t even sure what all he needed a chance to do. Think. Rest. Prepare. He had important work tonight.

“They thought I was dead, yeah?”

“Yeah. Better let me break the news. I think everybody’s had enough shock for the day.”

Jackson nodded, understood.

“I’ll be up later.”

Three nodded in response and then left Jackson to look after himself.

They were sitting together in an oversized Temprafoam chair, cuddling. Cass looked up with anxious eyes when Three entered. He grabbed a chair and dragged it up next to theirs. They’d both been crying.

“You alright?” he asked, though he himself wasn’t even sure who he was talking to. Cass nodded, and he guessed that was good enough.

“So, Wren. Jackson’s alright.”

Mother and child both looked stunned, though Wren seemed more relieved, more hopeful than Cass did.

“You didn’t hurt him. In fact, I think you helped him.”

“He’s… he’s OK?” Wren pressed.

Three nodded.

“Better than OK, kid. Whatever was wrong with him before, you fixed.”