by M. Leighton
“What is it?” Jackson asked gruffly.
“I see him,” I whispered.
Never had it happened so rapidly, with virtually no effort on my part. My bracelet wasn’t even warm. I’d barely gotten started and bam! There it was. Just what I was looking for.
The clear image of an alive-and-well Commander Jessup melted into the ravaged corpse of a Mer. Saliva pooled in my mouth. My stomach churned in revulsion. I pushed the back of my hand against my lips.
Desperate to rid my mind of the picture, I took in details surrounding the body. I was able to make out two landmarks I thought would help us locate the commander and then I let the image go. I couldn’t bear it one more second.
When my mind returned to my surroundings, to the present, I bent and splashed cool river water onto my hot cheeks, willing my nausea to settle. My head spun dizzily and I closed my eyes against the unsteady landscape.
After a couple minutes, I felt well enough to make my way to the bank. Jackson stood there, stone-faced and silent, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. As I set my foot on the grass, it slipped and I nearly fell. I saw Jackson twitch, as if he were about to reach for me, but thought better of it. I wondered why he would resist even a polite gesture such as that. Whatever had happened to him, the changes ran deep.
I don’t need your help anyway, I thought angrily as I righted myself. And I didn’t need Jackson’s help; I just needed Jackson.
As if on cue, a cold chill blew through the aching emptiness inside my soul like tumbleweed through a ghost town. A sob burned at the back of my throat, but I stubbornly refused to let it escape, clamping my lips shut tight.
“What did you see?”
The indelibly-etched image of Commander Jessup’s mutilated body flashed before my eyes. I would never forget what I’d seen. Thankfully, there was no reason for me to describe it. Jackson would see for himself soon enough. And so would I—in real life. It was not something I looked forward to.
“He’s at the beach,” I managed to force out from between my gritted teeth. “In the reeds behind the sand dunes, near the pier.”
I wouldn’t ask not to go. I needed to see for myself that I was right, that I hadn’t made a colossal mistake. But after I’d confirmed it, I’d let Jackson do whatever he needed to do. I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up two weeks ago. Or years into the future, whichever held more peace and less heartache.
I walked past him and kept right on going without giving him the chance to respond. Two could play his game. The problem was, I didn’t think it was a game.
It seemed to take forever to walk to the beach. I was stewing for the first leg of the journey, so my monologue was entirely internal. But then other feelings began to resurface. Betrayal, disappointment, loss, confusion. We weren’t far from the beach when a question finally burst forth.
“Do you remember the cave in Atlas?”
Jackson’s head jerked toward me. I would’ve given anything to see his eyes at that moment. I didn’t know how he could see in the dark wearing sunglasses anyway. Just another bizarre behavior he’d recently adopted.
He looked quickly away and answered stiffly, “Of course. We hid there until we could escape.”
So he did remember.
That hurt.
Profoundly.
I felt mortally wounded. I had apparently been harboring some hope that his memory had been toyed with, that he just didn’t remember me in that way. But apparently he did. He’d just chosen to live his life without me, as if we had never been.
“Why?”
I was surprised I could even find my voice. “No reason.”
Neither of us spoke the rest of the way to the beach.
By the time my feet hit the sand, I had but one mission: find the body, prove to myself I hadn’t made a mistake and get the hell out of there. I pushed my way relentlessly through the cool sand, trying not to notice the scent of the man I loved as he walked at my side.
I recognized the dune the instant I saw it. My stomach fisted around a ball of dread and held on tight. I veered toward the hill of sand and ascended the front side, knowing full well what lay on the other side. When I reached the top, a warm steel band clamped down on my wrist. I looked back at Jackson.
“You don’t need to see this,” he said quietly.
Did that mean he believed me? Regardless, I needed to see for myself, if only for a moment.
“Yes, I do.” I shook off his hand and continued my quest.
I’d no sooner topped the dune when my eyes fell on him. He looked exactly as he had in my vision, only much more graphic, much more…real.
Drops of mercury dotted the sand. Mer blood. They glistened like silver diamonds in the moonlight, a macabre tribute to the dead. The copious amount and the spray pattern left us in little doubt that this Mer had died a violent death.
Careful where he stepped and what he touched, Jackson moved in to get as close to the body as he could. Bending, he reached forward and turned the faceless head toward him.
It was unrecognizable. I wondered how they’d be able to identify who the body belonged to, as nearly every piece of skin had been removed from the corpse. There would be no fingerprints, no face, no scale pattern, nothing to link this cadaver to a once healthy and hale Mer.
Using two sticks, Jackson manipulated the limp left arm of the body, rolling it outward, exposing the wrist. I could barely make out the dark stain there. It looked like a series of faint letters and numbers.
“What is that?”
“A muscle tattoo.”
“A muscle tattoo?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that?”
Jackson straightened. “It’s the marking of a Sentinel. From the length of this one, probably a high ranking one.”
I had no knowledge of the Mer providing such markings. Of course, if it wasn’t common knowledge, maybe the killer didn’t know either. “High ranking as in possibly Commander-high?”
Jackson nodded curtly. “Yes.”
“Can you read it? Or is there a way to tell who it belongs to?”
“There is a way, but it won’t be easy if I can’t talk to anyone in Transport about it.”
“Why can’t you talk to anyone in Transport about it?”
“Because if this is a dead Sentinel and no one has reported it to Transport then either someone is covering it up, which would be hard with a high-ranking official, or…”
“Or what?”
“Or that Sentinel hasn’t gone missing.”
I was a little slow on the uptake. I was tired, though. That was a good enough reason, wasn’t it? I thought so. Either way, that was my story and I was sticking to it.
“Sooooo, what does that mean?” Jackson grunted in frustration. “Look, my mind doesn’t work like yours. And I’m tired. You’re just going to have to spell it out so we can figure out what to do,” I snapped.
“Why doesn’t anyone know this Sentinel is missing, especially a high-ranking one? Think Madly!”
Of all the times for a lesson in critical thinking skills!
I let the facts flow through my mind again and I dissected them as they drifted by, cataloging every important detail.
“You mean maybe the Sentinel isn’t missing?”
But that made no sense.
“And why wouldn’t the Sentinel be missing?” he asked, leading me on, letting me find my way to his conclusion.
“If he’s not missing then…” I drifted off, still stumped. And then a random, crazy, outlandish thought occurred to me. It popped out before I could stop it and save myself the embarrassment. “Someone else has taken his place?”
Jackson’s single nod assured me that there would be no embarrassment. I was right. I was thinking what he was thinking. But it only spawned more questions.
“But who? And how? I mean, how is that even possible?”
“There is only one way that I can think of, something we learned of very recently.”
My mind
was a runaway car, speeding so fast I felt out of control and helpless to guide it. Then it came to a screeching halt.
And I gasped. “Leviathan.”
Again, Jackson nodded. “It’s able to shape shift, so this scenario is a distinct possibility. The question is: does the shift include things like tattoos?”
My mouth dropped open. Jackson really was brilliant. His mind had worked all this out in a fraction of a second it seemed.
“If not then the Sentinel missing his tattoo…” Again, a nod. “But how do we find out?”
“You just let me worry about that for now. I need to get you home and then hide this body. This whole situation is getting much more dangerous by the second.”
And that was saying a lot because it had already been pretty dangerous.
“Why not just leave it here? I’m sure that’s why the killer hid it here. It would likely decay long before—”
“Normally, yes. But what if there is a huge storm moving in?” Jackson interrupted. Even as he mentioned it, I could feel the disturbance in the tides. I’d just been too distracted to make note of it before now. “A storm that’s expected to bring the tide almost a hundred yards inland?”
A hundred yards would more than reach the body, likely sweeping it out to sea. Leviathan would know that, would know that in a few hours, Commander Jessup’s body would be gone and his identity could be taken over completely. Permanently. And no one would be the wiser.
But Leviathan didn’t factor in me. Or Jackson. As the only two people alive who knew, we held a certain advantage. As well as a certain big red target on our backs, should anyone ever find out.
“Jackson, what are we going to do?”
“We have to take things one step at a time. Let me think about it, but first I need to move this body somewhere else until I can get you home and think of a place to store it for longer. I don’t think I should leave it here unattended, right where the killer left it.”
Jackson spun in a slow circle, looking for a suitable location. “Do what you need to do. I can make it home by my—”
“Stop!” he spat. “Why would you even consider going home by yourself? It’s reckless and you know it. Stop acting like a rebellious child. You are important to our race. It’s time you start acting like it.”
His words stung as much as his tone. I felt duly chastised. Wounded, even.
For the first time, I wished I had no feelings for Jackson, that his words and his actions didn’t have the power to hurt me, that I just didn’t care. But that wish was short-lived. Deep down, I wasn’t ready to give up on him, on what we had. Not really. I doubted I ever would be.
“Fine. Where do you want to take the body?”
After several minutes of searching and strategizing, Jackson decided to put the body in a nook up under the pier. It would be difficult to find and pretty safe during his short absence while he babysat me.
As he reached to pick up the body, I stopped him. “Wait! What about the crime scene? I mean, won’t there be useful evidence and stuff around here? Won’t it mess it up to move the body?”
“There won’t be a formal investigation. It will be up to us to figure all this out and…take measures.”
Take measures? Take measures to what? That sounded ominous.
“Well, you’ll get blood all over your shirt. Don’t you think people will notice?” Shining silver on black? Yes, people would notice.
Without hesitating, Jackson kicked off his shoes, stripped off his shirt and his pants, and stood before me wearing nothing but his underwear. “Happy?”
Actually I was. I couldn’t even answer him; I just nodded. I was transfixed by the way his smooth coppery skin glowed in the moonlight.
I watched as he shifted the lifeless body of Jessup, hoisting it onto his shoulder. Jackson’s muscles rippled and bunched as he situated the corpse and then turned to descend the sand dune. Mutely, I grabbed his clothes and shoes and followed.
Not once did my eyes stray from Jackson’s perfect form, not until we’d reached the pier and he disappeared beneath it. I waited for him to reemerge. When he did, he accelerated into a jog, made his way to the surf and dove beneath a wave.
He was under for several minutes, long enough for me to wonder if he was going to surface or if he’d just up and decided to leave, to run away to a place where there were less troubles. But then I saw his dark head break a wave and he swam toward shore until he could stand.
He’d rinsed off.
Shaking his head like a dog, Jackson walked toward me, his muscular legs cutting through the water effortlessly. In his hand, he held those stupid sunglasses. Finally, he’d taken them off. Unfortunately, he was too far away for me to see his eyes, but I knew he watched me. I could feel it like warm fingers all over my body.
In the shallows, Jackson slipped the aviator glasses back into place and jogged up the sand toward me. His abdominals rippled and his pectorals danced beneath the light dusting of ebony hair on his chest. My breathing grew labored as I remembered the feel of that hair, of that skin and that muscle as his body moved against mine. Heat flooded me.
Several feet away, Jackson stopped dead in his tracks. It was as though he’d run into an invisible wall. He faced me, neither moving nor speaking for the longest time.
I felt like both predator and prey. And it felt wonderful! In that moment, I felt like I had Jackson back.
My mouth went bone dry as I watched drops of water snake their way down his body in glassy rivulets. I wanted to dry him. With my hands, with my mouth, with my body.
As if responding to a supernatural cue, a stiff breeze blew, slowly drying Jackson’s skin. He stood motionless and let it. Finally, he raised one hand and ran his fingers through his short hair, the muscles in his biceps bunching.
He lowered his arm slowly and took one step toward me. And then another. And another, his pace speeding until he was upon me, his hands in my hair, his mouth devouring mine.
I was deliriously happy. I didn’t question the hows or the whys of it. I just wanted Jackson and was elated that he still wanted me. There was still some life left in him, some life left for me.
His tongue tangled hungrily with mine as his hands left my hair to rove the curves of my back. Down over my hips and back up my sides to the swells of my breasts, they left a trail of fire everywhere they touched.
And then he was pushing me away. Like I was hot. Like I was toxic. His brow was knitted as if he was confused by his actions. But which actions? By kissing me? Or by pushing me away?
Either way, the moment was lost. So was the brief rekindling of our connection, or so it seemed. I felt the absence of Jackson’s ardor just as I felt the absence of the breeze that had dried him. Neither was perceptible. Because both were gone.
It was over.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
If I’d thought there was tension and strain between us before, apparently I knew nothing. I was almost quivering with unease as Jackson dressed and we made our way back to the dorm. And Jackson couldn’t get away fast enough. As soon as I was back in the company of Clary and Gere, Jackson gave them a fake status report and was out the door without a word, disappearing into the night.
Dejected and rapidly losing hope that things would ever be the same again between us, I let myself into my room.
Jersey must’ve been pacing. She was on me like a jungle cat the instant I closed the door behind me.
“What’s going on? What did you find out? What happened to Jessup?”
“Jersey, please! Give me just a second.” I was unnecessarily sharp and I knew it.
Jersey looked taken aback. She was only being concerned, as we all were, and I’d met those concerns with toxic run off from my dissolving relationship with Jackson.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. And frustrated.” Emotional angst having sapped my physical body, I made my way to the bed and sank down onto the soft mattress. I couldn’t help but moan; it felt like every bone in my body was broken. Or at leas
t bruised.
“You really are turning into an old woman, you know,” Jersey observed waspishly. “You moan, you’re tired all the time, you give bad medical advice, you’re grouchy and now you smell like funky feet.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“That’s because I’ve been in the river. It’s probably my wet shoes you smell.” I took one off and stuck my nose in it. I held it out to Jersey and she sniffed.
“You stinky freak! Ew! Why would you want me to smell that rank thing?”
“I just held it up. You didn’t have to smell it. It’s not like I held you down and shoved it in your face. What kind of weirdo wants to smell the rank shoe of a stinky freak? ”
“I was tricked.”
“Tricked? How did I trick you into smelling my shoe? Please, tell me how I did that.”
“You held it up there like it didn’t stink. You drew me in with false advertising.”
“I told you it was probably my shoes. It’s not my fault you didn’t believe me.”
“Stop talking to me,” she said quietly, putting the back of her hand to her head. “I feel faint. I might pass out. From funk,” she breathed dramatically.
“You’re such a faker,” I said, lobbing my shoe at her head. She squealed, as I suspected she would.
“Ohmigod, get that thing away from me! For all I know, it’s a petri dish for flesh-eating bacteria.”
“You don’t even know what a petri dish is,” I teased.
“I’ll slap you in your petri dish, you saucy wench,” she replied tartly. I could see her lips twitching in an effort not to grin, though.
I couldn’t help but chuckle over that. “Saucy wench? What have you been watching now?”
“Discovery channel. It teaches you all about petri dishes, flesh-eating bacteria and saucy wenches.”
“Good to know. Good to know.”
“So,” she said, kneeling in the floor in front of me, all humor gone from her eyes. “What happened?”
I got the distinct impression she was talking about much more than just the facts. Much more, as in Jackson more. But the tightness that clogged my throat assured me it wasn’t the time to start pouring out my heart to her. If all that heartache started flowing it might not stop, and I had things to do.