by Anthony Ergo
"Aaron. It's you again. So which one of these girls did you get pregnant?"
She points her glass filled hand in the direction of my friends and I cringe. Perfect. It literally took her two seconds to offend everyone. I feel my face redden and dare not look torward Zara or Sasha.
"These are my work friends, Mum. Can we come inside?"
She tuts, wobbles a bit, then opens the door wider for us to file in.
"Don't forget to wipe your feet," she says with a chuckle.
It's meant to be a joke; the carpet hasn't seen a vacuum in a long time. Mum's home is a two bedroom flat, with the living room and kitchen forming one main area. There's a strong aroma of garlic and onion, probably the remnants of a take-away meal. A soap opera plays out on the TV and the coffee table is a mess of cheap magazines, used glasses and a full ashtray. The faint sounds of a neighbour's argument permeate the walls. I moved out years ago, but it could have been yesterday for all that's changed. Mum walks around the table, steadying herself on the back of the armchair as she surveys me.
"You look older."
"I am. Time will do that to a person."
She grunts at my sarcastic reply. It's always easier to deal with her when she's in a drunken stupor. I decide to ask for a favour before she sobers up.
"Mind if I grab some clean clothes? I might need to borrow some of yours too. Not for me, obviously."
"Fine," she says, and I'm not completely convinced she understands me. "You hungry? I'll get us a take-away."
I glance to Zara and Sasha for guidance, but they seem stunned into silence like two shy school girls. I sense their hunger and make the call myself.
"Erm, yeah, sure. Thanks, Mum."
"Drink?"
"No way, you know I don't!"
"I didn't mean alcohol. You didn't think I'd share that, did you? I'll put the kettle on."
I feel guilty. I shouldn't judge her. Alcohol is her way of coping and it has been since Dystopia Day. I remember it clearly; watching the chaos across the streets of London from our top floor window while my mum drank herself into a stupor. I was fourteen years old and I was frightened by what was happening in the world. My mum's answer was to turn to alcohol. I've seen what it can do to a person, which is why I'll never touch the stuff.
I go to my old bedroom. I've not lived here for years, but Mum has kept it exactly the same. She told me that my bed would always be here for me and that felt nice to know. I change into an old pair of sweatpants, then root out a couple of jumpers and tee shirts for the girls. They'll have to match them up with a pair of Mum's leggings. I can't help but laugh at the thought of Zara exchanging her smart suit for this get up.
I don't want to leave the girls alone too long with Mum making awkward conversation. She knows nothing about my job at The Agency because I never wanted to burden her with it all. As crazy as things are with Zara's mother, at least they have The Agency in common. Maybe you need to be a little crazy to get your head around it all. Let's face it, we all have a less than normal family situation.
I walk back in and slump into an armchair. Mum rests a tray of hot mugs on top of the pile of magazines.
"It's coffee, with milk in the gravy boat. Got no sugar though."
Zara looks distraught. Mum tops up her own black coffee with a generous dash of whiskey.
"This is nice," says Mum as she cradles the mug to her chest.
I'm not sure whether she means the drink or the company. I jump on her momentary good mood.
"Can we crash over here tonight? I'll sleep on the sofa, the girls can have my room. And please don't ask why, it's a long story."
Mum shrugs, which I take to mean "yes".
"Where are your manners, Aaron? You've not even properly introduced me." She extends a hand to Zara. "I'm Janice, nice to meet you."
Zara shakes her hand politely.
"Wow, you're really pissed off about the lack of sugar, eh? And you're worried about your mother. Don't be, she's content with where she's at."
Zara snaps me a look, stunned by this revelation. Without saying a word I know that she understands that Mum and I share the same Empath powers. We all have our secrets but I suppose I should have warned them before we came here. I can see Sasha working things out and I know she's dying to ask my mother about her talents.
"Don't mind Mum, she's just pretty good at picking up on how people feel, if you get me."
I wink at Sasha, who completely ignores the hint.
"So you're an Empath, like Aaron?" she asks.
"Eh?" says Mum with a hiccup.
I make the zip-it sign by running my fingers across my lips and the message finally sinks in. Mum downs the rest of her Irish coffee. Her throat must be immune to the hot drink and the strong alcohol.
"Right, I'd better go and get some sugar before those looks kill me. I'll pick up some food while I'm out."
I offer her some cash, which she refuses, so I stuff a note into the money jar after she leaves.
"I don't believe it," says Sasha. "Your Mum is an Empath, and she doesn't even know she is?"
"And she doesn't know you are," adds Zara.
The cat's out of the bag. They might as well have the full story.
"It doesn't sit well with her. I've seen her struggle for years. I didn't understand it when I was younger. I felt embarrassed by her. It was only when I joined The Agency that I found out that having these skills is not a free gift. Mum makes a living as a fake tarot reader. People are blown away by how well she can read them. The future stuff she just makes up."
I only hope they don't judge her, or me.
"Don't worry about it," says Zara. "Are you forgetting that I just introduced you to my mother in a mental hospital? I guess we're all a little broken in one way or another. That doesn't mean we can't be fixed."
+ + +
Considering the events of the day, we manage to have a nice, relaxing evening. Zara eventually sees the funny side of being dressed in an oversize jumper and leggings. Sasha seems to have recovered from her ordeal. It doesn't seem to have affected her appetite at any rate. She seems to warm to my mum and it's nice to see. Maybe it's because she's lacking in the mum department. Or maybe it's because my mum isn't so bad after all. She entertains us with stories about me as a boy, like the time I brought home a duck from the local park and wanted to keep it as a pet. Ducks and one-bedroom flats don't exactly go well together.
It gets late and Mum heads off to bed, doing a poor job of hiding the bottle of whiskey she takes with her. The small talk had distracted us for an hour, but once we're alone our minds return to the gravity of our situation. As usual, Zara steps up to the Team Leader role, even though her leggings and jumper detract from her normal power-dressed attire.
"Ludvig will have reported back to Blake by now," she says. "As far as Blake knows, we're all dead. That buys us some time to find Agent Hunter."
Sasha bites her bottom lip.
"But we only have twenty four hours until it's Friday and Hangman's Day."
"It's enough time," I say, hoping I sounded more confident than I am.
Sasha nods, but underneath her smile I know she thinks I'm just humouring her, and to be honest, I'm humouring myself. Zara empties her pockets onto the coffee table and begins to sift through the contents: a mobile phone, an Agency credit card and some soggy bank notes.
"Looks like my mobile survived the water damage," she says, scrolling through the menu. She must notice my look of concern and read my mind. "Don't worry, I took the SIM card out and destroyed it so they can't track us. At least I still have the recording of Blake at Tyburn." She picks up the credit card and snaps it in two. "I won't be needing this anymore."
I'm reminded that this whole episode probably means the end of The Agency and with it any future prospects we had. I'd feel disappointed if it wasn't for all the recent near-death experiences.
"We should try and get some sleep," says Zara. "Our brains won't work properly unless we recharge. We'll talk ag
ain first thing tomorrow."
At least one of us is thinking straight. Zara heads off to my room; I only hope my old bed isn't too uncomfortable for her. Sasha leans back on the sofa to yawn and stretch, accidentally clipping my ear with her hand. We smile at each other, too tired to laugh or exchange words.
I'm suddenly aware of how little space there is between us, and how it feels charged with electricity, like if we touch again we might combust. Despite this feeling, I want to close the space between us until it disappears. I feel like there is something I should say, but I'm too brain-dead and can't think up anything appropriate. I move my hand onto hers, tentatively, like I don't know what might happen if we touch. It feels good and makes my pulse-rate rise. Even when Sasha is tired, stressed and dressed in my Mum's clothes, she still looks beautiful. I find myself wanting to protect her more and more.
She leans toward me like she's going to kiss me, then seems to think better of it and leans back, biting her lip. It's a small act, but it still feels like rejection. She gives me a conflicted look and rests her hand on mine. I breathe in a deep sigh of relief as all of the feelings she is hiding from me trickle through her fingertips and into my thoughts.
She is just as confused as I am, and just as attracted to me as I am to her. She wants me to touch my lips to hers, but she's afraid to make the first move. She's so worried for her dad and even worried about my mum. It's so sweet of her to have these thoughts swirling around her mind. I think better of taking advantage of the situation tonight. Smiling inwardly, I know that I'm not the only one falling here. I close my eyes, not wanting to ruin this, whatever it may be.
"I wish I was strong like you," she says.
She's rubbing the outer edge of my thumb with her's while she drifts off in thought.
"You are," I reply, firmly. "Just in a different way."
"That would be me in one word. Different."
"Beautifully different," I add.
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
"Goodnight Aaron."
She thinks I'm rejecting her now, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Better to let her rest tonight and deal with this when her dad is safe again. That has to be our first priority right now.
I squeeze her into me tightly and whisper goodnight. She leaves the room, and as tired as I am, it takes me a long time to fall asleep.
Chapter 22
Thursday 19 September 8:08am
Sasha Hunter
Sometimes, when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. Maybe it's because I'm so drained and tired, or maybe it's because my mind has run out of nightmares. In my dream, my mother says my name. From her favourite armchair, she beckons me to her. I'm younger; around seven years old. I climb onto her knee and we read a book together. She strokes my hair and I feel warm and safe. I hear her voice outside of the dream, gently pulling me torward consciousness. A hand strokes my face; it's a loving gesture and it feels like Mum's.
My eyes open and the sense of security vanishes. I'm not home, not with my mother. I'm in a strange bed. It's a male voice, but it's not Dad's voice either. It's a handsome boy, and he's smiling down at me. He strokes a strand of hair from across my face. I remember my mum stroking my hair when she kissed me goodnight as a child.
"Time to get up," says Aaron. "You look beautiful when you sleep, you know."
He scratches behind his ear and looks away, like he's embarrassed by what he just said. I study his face in the morning light. His features are all proportionate, his eyes dark and lively, his warm skin a flawless olive tone. He has probably always been this handsome. The muscles in his arms flex as he rubs the back of his neck. I've felt attracted to guys before, but it felt nothing like this. The boys at school were still just boys; Aaron has the body of a strong, powerful athlete. Why does he play on my mind so much?
"You ok?" he says, his eyes searching mine. I realise I've been staring at him in my half-awake state. "Zara has a plan. I'll leave you to get dressed."
Aaron is rarely serious, but when he is I notice the hard line of his eyebrow and jaw, and an inner intensity. I mean to say something, but all I can do is groan. I cringe to think what I must look like. When he walks away, I slouch immediately. I hadn't realised I was so tense. I'm not exactly giving him the right signals. Maybe it's because I've been wary of affection of any kind since Mum left my life. It's only now that I realise how deep that wariness went.
I'm very much the leave-me-alone-and-I'll-leave-you-alone type. In general, people are not my sort of thing. Mum told me once that I can't be on my own forever and when I find someone right for me I'll know. How can I know what I feel if I don't fully know who I am? I've never been properly involved with someone before, especially someone who is a little older, and I don't know what Aaron's expectations are. Life becomes confusing when boys are involved.
I sit up in bed, looking around Aaron's room in the daylight. This is the place he grew up in. The walls are adorned with posters of classic horror films. They would have scared me last week; now they look silly. A pair of dumbbells creates a ridge in the carpet and next to them is a stack of computer games. This room belongs to a fourteen-year-old Aaron, just before he decided to leave home. Less than a week ago I was also preparing to leave home to go away to college. Both of our lives could have been so different, so normal. It makes me wonder whether our inherited abilities are gifts, or curses.
I slap myself around the face, forcing my body to get up and ready myself for the day ahead. I make the bed the second I'm out of it, something I'd never normally do at home. Imagining home, and Mum, makes me ache with loneliness. If I can't be with her anymore, the least I can do is act like her. I straighten the duvet on the side Zara had slept on. She lay with her back to me and must have got up early. I was out pretty quickly last night, I only hope I didn't snore or roll into her. I can't help but feel guilty that I've asked so much of Zara. She must be sick of the sight of me by now.
The bathroom is next to Aaron's bedroom, so my immediate plan is to attempt to make myself look half-human somehow. I don't recognise the face staring back at me in the mirror. When I look at my reflection, I see a curtain of hair and dark eyes staring back. The girl looking at me has long, black hair and a pale complexion, but that's where the similarities end. A trail of make-up runs from my eye down my cheek, like I've been crying in my sleep. I look like I've aged by a year or two in the space of a few days. It's like seeing someone else for the first time. Maybe it's because I wear all that has happened to me like a mask.
I splash my face with water and rub hard at my skin. I'm embarrassed that Aaron has seen me like this. But then, what does he see me like? Maybe he just views me as a little sister he needs to protect. Aaron is not my boyfriend, but would he be, if things were different? Zara would be a far better match for him and he's obviously quite close to her. Maybe I need to get over my crush and focus on the important things, like life and death.
I change into my own clothes which have been washed and dried overnight. They smell soapy and feel much softer than any time I've ever washed them at home. It was nice of Aaron's mum to do that for us. I wear my dark top inside-out, as usual; I know it's stupid, but old habits are hard to change.
When I open the door to the lounge I notice a big bunch of bright flowers sitting in a pint glass of water on the coffee table. A note rests against the glass which reads "Thanks Mum." Aaron must have popped out this morning to buy them. It's a nice, thoughtful gesture. When we arrived here, I got the feeling that he didn't quite see eye-to-eye with his mother. The fact that he left home at such a young age supports this theory. Maybe the evening spent in her company, hearing stories about better times, has melted some of his resentment. It's nice that Aaron has found a kind of acceptance with his mother. Maybe he was a little harsh on her, just like I was with Dad.
When I walk into the room and look toward the kitchen I see something I wish I hadn't. Aaron and Zara are locked in an embrace, holding each
other closely. Zara's head rests on Aaron's shoulder. It goes on for several seconds. I shouldn't feel jealous, but I do. I shouldn't feel surprised either; they have worked together closely for over a year. I've been on the scene for barely a few days. They are both young and good looking. Why wouldn't there be an attraction? Many couples meet at their workplace, why should it be any different for them?
I feel like a foolish little girl for ever thinking that Aaron would want me over Zara. Eventually they separate and notice me standing there gawping. I look from Aaron's face to Zara's; neither has a shred of awkwardness like I have right now.
"Hey Sasha," says Aaron, greeting me like nothing has happened. "You OK?"
It's a stupid question for anyone to ask, least of all an Empath.
"I'm fine," I say, too sharply. I hurry to amend it. "Just tired. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't," says Zara dismissively.
I'm rocked by how harshly she responds. Did she find out about our kiss?
"I had some pretty bad nightmares last night," says Aaron, as though that explains everything.
Why would a few bad dreams lead to such a close embrace between two people who are meant to be colleagues? They are clearly more than just friends.
"I should explain things," says Aaron, finally using his Empath skills to pick up on my confusion.
Zara coldly turns away to put the kettle on. Aaron drops into the sofa and moves the blanket he slept under to make room for me. I sit in the armchair instead.
"We don't know how we inherit our skills but we do know that they come at a cost," he begins.
I purse my lips. It feels like he's skirting around the subject, treating me with kid gloves, just like Dad does. I lean back in my chair and Aaron leans forward to the edge of the sofa.
"We have this amazing gift, but we also each carry a defect of some sort. It's a yin-yang kind of thing; they balance each other out. The theory is that our gifts are counteracted by whatever defect we have, and every Agent has one. Mine is that I suffer from nightmares. Horrible nightmares that haunt me most nights. Some nights are worse than others, but they always come regardless. It's turned me into a borderline insomniac."