Bridge

by JC Andrijeski

  She fit right in with all the hacker-type seers.

  She fit in so well, Jon found it borderline eerie.

  In the end, he had to face the fact that he had little to offer her, in terms of assimilation advice. He was more of an outsider at this point than she was. Her clothes practically hung off her and she still had a teenager’s slouch, but Jon saw her throwing taunts back and forth with Anale and Vikram, who she continually called “the Vik-man.” He also saw her punch Declan affectionately in the arm when the seer teased her about some private joke.

  Needless to say, he felt pretty superfluous.

  Still, he could tell Dante was pleased to see him. She’d even given him an awkward, one-armed hug, turning bright red the instant she released him.

  She’d definitely done the best out of the humans, in terms of learning to fit in.

  Jon spent some time talking to his Aunt Carol and Uncle James, who came upstairs, too. Both of them still hovered protectively over Allie, at least until Revik disappeared with her, about an hour earlier.

  Jon’s aunt and uncle left not long after Revik did, but not before Uncle James shook Jon’s hand and Aunt Carol squeezed him in another tight bear hug.

  Jon talked to Frankie, too, along with Angeline, Sasquatch, a few of Allie’s friends from art school and their cousins Kara, Michelle and Marco.

  He even tried approaching Jaden a second time, but he didn’t get much out of him apart from a few angry glares and mutters. Jaden disappeared shortly after Allie and Revik did, but not before he’d lapsed into a sullen silence, sitting on a chair at one edge of the room and staring fixedly at Allie.

  Jon didn’t read him to confirm it, but he distinctly got the impression Jaden saw Allie as drugged and somehow under Revik’s control, maybe even brainwashed.

  Jon hadn’t noticed Tina hanging around in any of the groupings that took place since their arrival. Tina, Jaden’s girlfriend––at least, the last Jon knew, she’d been Jaden’s girlfriend––had been conspicuously absent since they arrived at the hotel.

  Jon hadn’t wanted to probe too deeply into whatever that situation might be, but he couldn’t help wondering. If Jaden was back on some kick with Allie again, it was only going to cause problems all around.

  Well, assuming it didn’t get him killed outright.

  Given how sensitive Revik seemed to be around Allie right now, even more so than the last time they’d been here (which was saying a lot, really), Jon didn’t like Jaden’s chances if he tried to go all stalker on Allie anytime soon.

  That being said, Jon knew Revik was embarrassed that he’d lost his cool in front of Aunt Carol and Uncle James. Jon suspected he was mortified, in fact, and not only because both of them looked pretty shocked when he had his hand around Jaden’s throat.

  “Brother?”

  Jon turned, realizing he’d let his mind and eyes wander again. Reddening a second time, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, clearing his throat.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking I’m not sure I should leave.”

  “Why?”

  Jon shrugged, but still couldn’t hold that dark stare. “You know.” He gestured lamely around the room. “That whole ‘command’ thing.”

  Wreg’s hands went to his hips, gripping them with a little more force than usual.

  He stared at Jon for a moment, as if thinking.

  He stared long enough for Jon to shift his weight on his feet, even as he let his eyes once more scan faces around the room. Most seers looked away quickly after catching his gaze, and Jon found himself thinking they all knew Wreg stood next to him, even if they didn’t look directly at the tattooed seer’s face or body.

  Exhaling shortly, Wreg ran a hand through his black hair, which he no longer wore in a clip. He looked Jon up and down, his scrutiny on the surface.

  “You don’t want to talk to me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I told you what––” Jon began, flustered.

  “All right.” Wreg held up a calming hand, but his eyes held a faint impatience, despite the evenness of his voice. “I understand. But they can spare you, Jon. I waited until you did the rounds with Dante and the others. And it really can’t wait.”

  “What can’t wait?” Jon said, wary.

  At the silence his question produced, Jon lifted his gaze a second time. His eyes met those dark, obsidian-like irises, and that time, Jon found he couldn’t look away. Seeing the harder expression forming there, Jon swallowed, breaking the stare.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Clicking softly, he exhaled, running a hand through his own hair. For the first time, it occurred to him how long it had gotten. It wasn’t long-long, but it had grown out significantly in the months since he’d had it cut, the last time he was in New York. It had certainly grown more than he’d noticed, curling down past his ears and the back of his neck.

  It hadn’t occurred to him to be self-conscious about that, either.

  Not until now, anyway.

  “Okay,” he said, forcing his eyes back to Wreg’s. “Where?”

  Wreg only turned, motioning for Jon to follow.

  Jon felt his muscles stiffening as he did as the seer asked.

  Pain already fought and tightened over his skin in some part of his aleimi, especially in the area of his chest. Reluctance lived there, strong enough that he knew Wreg could probably feel it. Like Balidor––hell, more than Balidor, even––Wreg picked up more than he let on. That was especially true at times like now, when he had his own light sealed up tighter than a vault.

  Jon felt the fear in his light, too, maybe even stronger than the reluctance.

  Whatever Wreg was about to tell him, Jon already knew he probably wouldn’t want to hear it. Worse, he might not be able to handle it, not today of all days, when he already felt like his heart had been ripped open and exposed to the entire construct, even if they’d been gentle about it, probably more so than he deserved.

  Wreg hadn’t said much of anything to him yet, but this was starting to feel like every other prelude to a conversation Jon had had with one of his lovers that began with the phrase, We have to talk.

  He only marginally noticed where Wreg actually took him.

  The tattooed seer seemed to know where he was going.

  He didn’t hesitate as he walked Jon down a carpeted corridor and then out into the lobby of the business offices on the forty-third floor, where the impromptu gathering had been hosted, probably because they had the largest conference rooms and a kitchen.

  The remaining employees of the businesses that leased this space prior to the whole mess of the quarantine had already been incorporated into their makeshift refugee camp by then. From what Jon could tell, the lines between all the different groups had blurred even more over the months following the tsunami than they had from the quarantine itself.

  Jon hadn’t spent much time on these floors personally, though.

  He gazed around at the tasteful art on the walls, focusing briefly on the etched names of departments on organic glass, oddly incongruous with the long planter boxes growing tomatoes, spinach and red-leaf lettuce under full-spectrum lights that had been moved up here following the floods. He recognized the company logo on each of the doors, however.

  Arc Enterprises.

  He only found out after they’d been working with them over a year that the name of the company was one of those hidden tributes to the Bridge. Fitting, Jon supposed, given it was an illegally-owned seer business.

  Well, illegal before. All that legal-illegal stuff was pretty irrelevant now.

  Wreg cleared his throat.

  Jon turned, hands still shoved in his pockets, only to find Wreg holding open a door. It looked like a smaller conference room, or maybe a large office.

  Feeling his nerves ratchet up a few more gears, Jon swallowed, averting his eyes as he passed by the seer to enter the room.

 
; Once he had, he found himself in a plush, large-windowed executive office, one that practically oozed wealth. The long windows commanded a panoramic view of the park––a surprisingly clear view, given the storms Jon remembered from the last time he’d been in New York. He could see smoke from the airfield pluming up in black clouds still, and wondered if Shadow’s people had gone back to salvage anything from the wreckage Revik left behind.

  He was still looking out over that view, squinting at what looked like a gang of people in street clothes running down Fifth Avenue, when Wreg cleared his throat.

  When Jon turned that time, the muscular seer folded his arms across his chest.

  He’d closed the door behind them.

  To his left, an expensive-looking leather couch the color of cinnamon stood beneath an in-built bookcase filled with what looked like scientific manuals mostly: physics, engineering, some project management and business books. Jon knew they were probably decorative only, but he couldn’t help staring at the amount of money represented there.

  He could feel his own avoidance like a tangible force now.

  “Jon,” Wreg began. Shifting his weight, the muscular seer paused, exhaling, as if collecting his thoughts.

  Jon noticed Wreg wasn’t looking at him now, either.

  “…Jon, I can’t do this anymore.”

  That pain in Jon’s chest abruptly worsened. He didn’t speak. The concept of speech felt far away suddenly, and anyway, he could tell the seer hadn’t finished.

  “It’s not just mixed signals, Jon,” Wreg said, exhaling again, his voice heavier. “It’s no signals. Nothing for months. It’s cutting me out entirely… only to ask me not to fuck other people. In public, I might add. Where others heard it.”

  Jon felt his face reddening, remembering what he’d done in the lobby, when he’d seen Wreg with that female seer, Preela. He felt some part of him that wanted to protest, to explain himself, but Wreg seemed to feel it, and raised a hand, maybe to preempt any words.

  “I’ve talked to the others,” he added, raising his eyes for the first time.

  His dark eyes looked almost dangerous, but Jon saw the wall there, too. He felt glimmers behind it, but not enough to make sense of what he felt. He recognized the wall, though. He knew what it meant.

  “…They all agree with me,” Wreg added. “This isn’t a tenable situation, Jon. Not for what’s going on right now. They’ve asked me to resolve it in some way.”

  Jon swallowed.

  When the silence stretched, he found himself speaking, almost without understanding his own words.

  “Resolve it?” he said.

  His voice came out low. So low, he wondered if the seer even heard it.

  He did hear it, though.

  “Yes,” Wreg said. His voice sounded heavy once more. Widening his stance, he refolded his arms. “Jon, I think our options are pretty limited at this point.” He took another breath, looking away. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want to be with me right now. I’ve told you from the beginning…”

  He hesitated, then shook his head, firming his voice.

  “…I said I’d respect any decision you made on that front, that I wouldn’t push. But under the circumstances, if that’s where this is going, I think we need to sever it. The connection, I mean. You and me.”

  He hesitated again, maybe seeing something in Jon’s face.

  When Jon didn’t speak, Wreg averted his gaze, making a vague gesture with one hand, without unfolding his arms.

  “Nenz. Balidor. The old woman. They said they’d help with this.” Wreg shrugged, still looking away, towards the wall. “They’re just waiting for the signal from me.”

  Again, he seemed to be waiting, but Jon didn’t speak.

  Wreg went on, his voice gruff.

  “I didn’t want to just do it,” he said. “Not without talking to you. I don’t want there to be hard feelings, Jon… at least, not any more than I can help. I don’t want you to think I won’t be there for you, or that we can’t be friends at some point. When I’m… I don’t know…”

  He made another vague gesture with his hand.

  “…Over all of this, I guess.”

  His voice sounded deadened as he finished, stripped of anything.

  “Jon, I need you to give me permission to do this,” he said, when Jon still hadn’t spoken. “Maybe it’s me being old-fashioned, but I feel like, even if we didn’t have anything formal in place, we’ve had agreements in the past. I’m asking you to release me from them. I’m asking you to…”

  His words trailed.

  Jon felt the seer staring at him, felt some kind of reaction flicker off the other man’s light, pretty much the instant that dark head turned to look at him. He almost couldn’t feel it at that point though, couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t see him anymore. He couldn’t see anything in the room, but he couldn’t seem to go unconscious, either.

  “Jon… gods.”

  Jon just shook his head. He fought to speak, but couldn’t make his chest work.

  “Jon, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Jon had no idea what the seer meant.

  Something happened in that space. Maybe just a hiccup on the timeline, a blank place in his mind, where nothing happened at all.

  Then Jon found himself on the floor.

  “Jon! Gods… Jon, breathe. Breathe, goddamn it…”

  Somehow he was on the floor.

  He didn’t remember getting there.

  He didn’t remember seeing the seer cross the room, or hearing his words, although he could tell he’d been speaking for a while. He could only kneel there, on the floor. He tried to do as the seer said and breathe, but he couldn’t do that, either.

  Each breath came out sideways, hurting his body.

  Wreg knelt beside him. After the barest hesitation, he caught hold of Jon’s arms, holding him half against his body. Light left the man’s hands and fingers.

  Jon felt Maygar there briefly, Allie, Revik––

  “Jon!” Wreg gripped him tighter, holding him against his chest. “Breathe, goddamn it!”

  Jon closed his eyes. He tried to breathe. He tried.

  He didn’t want to be here anymore.

  He just wanted to fucking die.

  “Jon!” Wreg shook him, anger coiling off his light. Tears filled the other man’s voice. “This can’t be from my words. It can’t be. Gods above… you’ve all but told me to my face to leave you. I was pretty sure you were fucking Jorag by now, anyway… as well as whatever the hell is going on with you and Nenz.”

  Jon let out a choked laugh.

  It turned into a sob.

  He leaned against the other man’s chest, eyes shut, his jaw so clenched it hurt. Like earlier that day, he felt like he’d been crushed, like someone had reached into the middle of his chest and crushed whatever light had once lived there.

  He cried like a child, too lost to even care that he did it, or why, or that he was doing it in front of someone else. His arms wrapped around himself, gripping his chest, his ribs. He shielded his body and face, maybe to compensate for the rawness of his broken light––maybe even to protect himself from the man who held him.

  At the same time, he leaned his face against that same man’s chest and cried.

  “Jon.” Wreg’s voice softened. He stroked his hair and back, pulling him into his lap.

  Jon let him do that, too.

  “Tell me what you want, brother,” Wreg said. “Tell me what you need from me.”

  The pain in Jon’s chest worsened at his words.

  He fought to speak, but could only shake his head. Pain blinded him, caused him to clutch at the other man’s clothes. Violence slid briefly through his light, but that felt childlike, too, a wanting to pound his fists against Wreg’s chest, maybe to crack through something that still felt too far away, too invulnerable to anything inside Jon himself.

  He wanted to hurt Wreg in those few seconds, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that, e
ither. He didn’t want to hurt him. He loved him.

  Wreg sucked in a breath. His arms tightened around Jon’s back and shoulders.

  “Jon, goddamn it…”

  Jon felt that part of him crack again, leaving him exhausted.

  “What do you want?” Wreg said. “What do you want from me?”

  Jon shook his head. “What is there to want?” he managed.

  He said the words aloud, forced himself to say them, maybe to make them real to himself, to make himself hear them in a form he could actually understand.

  “You’re breaking up with me,” he said. “You’re leaving me.”

  “I’m not the one who fucking left!” Wreg snarled.

  The words burst out of him in an explosion of light, holding so much hurt and anger, Jon flinched. He didn’t move away from the other man, though. He didn’t relax the hand he had fisted in his shirt, what had sweated against his clenched fingers below where Jon’s head rested against the other man’s shoulder.

  Jon shook his head after the seer spoke, but not in a no.

  He felt the other man’s chest heave as Wreg fought back emotion, or maybe fought with how to express it. He could feel Wreg wanting to yell at him, wanting to hit him, too. He felt so much on the other man suddenly, he couldn’t see anything else.

  The room disappeared. Jon’s mind disappeared, too.

  Every thought he’d had or didn’t have about Wreg, everything he’d thought he understood about what went on with them before, it was gone. Not just emotion, not even pain––pictures flooded his mind. Wreg crying in that house in San Francisco, hunched over himself on the floor and crying, in so much pain he could barely breathe––

  The image cut into Jon, nearly broke him in half.

  The next time he knew anything, they were kissing.

  Jon found himself lying under the other man, not sure how he got there, either. Wreg had him pinned to that expensive carpet, his hand rough as he yanked open the front of Jon’s shirt. They kissed for what felt like a long time––long enough that it wasn’t enough, that Jon wanted more, then the pain was half-killing him again, ripping apart his insides, making him beg for more, loudly enough that he felt he might be losing his mind for real.